After more than a year of Civil War consisting largely of defeats, setbacks, and confusion for the Unionist cause, President Abraham Lincoln and a critical Northern Press were clamoring for a new direction and strategy that would lead towards successful conclusion of the bloody conflict. General Ambrose E. Burnside inherited the Union Army of the Potomac on November 7, 1862 from Major General George B. McClellan, who had been largely regarded as overcautious by Lincoln and others. Burnside’s 120,000 men had been occupying camps near Warrenton, Virginia. Upon taking command, he quickly turned the troops toward Fredericksburg, which lay midway between the Union and Confederate capital cities, Washington and Richmond.
General Robert E. Lee hadn’t expected Burnside’s shift to Fredericksburg and thus found himself at a sudden disadvantage. However, the Union troops had to cross the Rappahannock River in order to advance on Fredericksburg and all the civilian bridges had already been destroyed by Confederates. A combination of poor weather, miscommunication, and inefficient bureaucracy (see below highlighted contradiction) delayed the construction of pontoon bridges until after November 25, by which time Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had assembled on the other side of the river in defensive lines. Since Burnside’s strategy had depended upon an unopposed river crossing, his plan had already failed before any shots were fired. Nonetheless, political pressures forced Burnside’s hand to act before the approaching winter turned the roadways of Virginia into mudpits and delayed any prospective advance on Richmond until spring.
Union engineers didn’t begin their pontoon construction until December 11. Troops made nine separate attempts to cross the river near the town, but each was abandoned following heavy losses from Confederate snipers. A two hour long artillery bombardment also failed to dislodge the Confederate infantry. Finally, enough Union troops managed to ferry themselves across the river in order to charge the Confederate marksmen, driving them through the town of Fredericksburg one block at a time in one of the few instances of street fighting during the War. By dusk the Confederates had withdrawn to their main defensive line west of the town.
Finally relieved from the withering sniper fire, Union engineers were able to complete their bridge construction the next day, enabling the Union troops to finally cross the river in force and enter Fredericksburg on December 12. But lacking a plan to organize an immediate attack, Northern troops squandered the day pillaging and plundering homes and shops, and delayed the attack until the next dawn on December 13.
Burnside’s plan (enjoyed) some initial success when confusion in the Confederate lines allowed Union troops a brief opportunity to break through the lower end of the Southern defenses. Additional Union troops were to support the Left Grand Division’s progress by advancing toward Marye’s Heights near the middle of the opposing forces. But by late morning, after the initial attack had begun to falter, Burnside proceeded with the next stage of his plan anyway. Sending his troops charging across an open field in a hopeless attempt to breach a sunken road behind a stone wall met with unprecedented slaughter …
Benny had been reading Elliot’s first attempt at his DC Herald writing assignment between moves in their chess game. New to the game, Elliot agonized over each decision while Benny hardly glanced at the board before moving and going back to his reading. After several minutes, Benny set the two typed double-spaced pages down on the dining room table and rubbed his eyes.
Elliot asked, “Well? Did you like it?”
Benny gave a little sigh. “It’s a little… uh, depressing, isn’t it?”
Elliot replied defensively, “It’s the Civil War! So, yeah. It’s depressing. Am I missing some uplifting piece of history here?”
Benny picked up and looked at the pages again. “It’s just that… I’ve got to stay focused on my audience. They’re mostly young and contemporary. They don’t read the Herald to be moved philosophically. Issues of war and peace are really beyond the scope of the publication.”
“Then why did you suggest I write something about the Civil War?”
“Just like I said: writing something that might work for the Herald might help get you started on your travelogue. But I was thinking of something more like a parody, something amusing, entertaining. Something to occupy someone’s time while they’re waiting for the bus or subway.” Benny tapped Elliot’s pages and said, “You can get your point across and still make it entertaining. War is terrible, but in hindsight, it’s also ridiculous. I’m just thinking out loud here – maybe something from the point of view of one of the Union soldiers about to charge the bloody stone wall. The poor guy is looking around at all these hopped up, testosterone-overdosed men and asking something to the effect, “You want me to what? Run across that field? Are you crazy? Who’s responsible for this outrage?”
Elliot said, “What you’re describing sounds like slapstick.”
Benny considered the word. “Slapstick. Hmm… maybe. I’m just saying that your piece needs something.”
Elliot didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe… But I don’t see how why the Civil War is any less interesting than your Thermodynamics of Ideas article.”
“Well,” Benny drawled, “that was the exception to the rule. I needed some quick filler before going to press last month. So I reached into a box where I keep such things and that’s what came out. The second part of the article is in the missing box I asked you to look for. It was too long for the space I had available, so I cut it in two. Besides, the Thermodynamics of Ideas is a very practical concept. Did you read the article?”
“Yeah, I read it. But I don’t get it. The fact that I only had half the article might explain my confusion. Is it supposed to be some sort of joke?
“No, it wasn’t a joke!” Benny looked briefly insulted. Then he relented a bit saying, “Well, it could be sort of a joke, depending on your point of view. Tell me what you think it was about.”
“I can’t begin to explain it. I think it was something about … ideas as living things, maybe?”
Benny said, “Uh-huh, sort of. Our ideas seem to speak to us, in words or pictures. It might be a good idea, or it might be a bad idea. We might keep the idea to ourselves, or we might share it with others. The only way we have to judge the value of an idea is how far the idea communicates from one person to another. So the theory proposes an objective method that could give some sort of indication: is this a good idea or a bad idea?” That’s the general idea anyway. Or at least, a part of it. It’s sort of an idea of ideas. It gets a little complicated.”
Elliot was unconvinced. “But ideas don’t eat or breathe. They don’t do anything that living things do.”
“Ah-ha! That depends on your definition of life.” Benny got up to scan the jumble of books on the dining room bookshelves as he continued. “Scientists a lot smarter than you or me have suggested that life is, at its core, an information process. If you broaden your perspective, you can accept that some things can behave in ways that seem remotely life-like while remaining completely different from you, me, plants, animals, or any other kind of life form that we’re familiar with.”
“Like how? Can you give me an example,” and as a zinger to Benny, Elliot murmured, “in twenty-five words or less if you can manage that.” (Edit the following:)
“Okay. Like evolution, or technology.” After searching for a bit, he pulled an old worn paperback off the shelves and handed it to Elliot. “Here,” said Benny. “This will start you thinking about other kinds of life.” Elliot looked at the book and the title. It was “Star Maker” by Olaf Stapleton. “Or simplify the question and take this chess game for example…”
“And like living things,” he continued, “different ideas sometimes cooperate and converge and sometimes they compete and diverge. Sometimes comparable ideas will combine and coalesce with mutual benefit. Right now, we’re looking at two ideas – the DC Herald and your travelogue. They both want to get published and read. There’s no reason why we both can’t come up with some kind of middle ground between the two (needs/desires) that we can live with; something like your Civil War piece perhaps.”
“Yeah, but what if the Herald work interferes with my travelogue?”
“That’s my point exactly. Sometimes ideas collaborate, but sometimes they compete against one another with one idea trying to overpower and control the other one. You could slant your article from that angle. Two competing ideas – North and South – doing battle to determine which side will write history. The Thermodynamics of Ideas isn’t just about the big historic ideas, but everyday ideas. Keep the Volkswagen, or get rid of the Volkswagen. Have soup for lunch, or have a sandwich. Some ideas are antagonistic to each other and sometimes ideas are mutually beneficial.” Benny turned his attention back to their chess game and moved one of his pieces. “You could think of chess as an illustration of competing ideas: White-to-win against Black-to-defend. Look, suppose I was to move my queen so that your pawn could take it and I wouldn’t have any benefit to show for the move. That would be a bad idea. Right?”
Elliot agreed, “Bad for you, good for me, right.”
“Of course, because chess is a zero-sum game. Win or lose. But I think you’ll agree that there exists some better move I could make that could lead to some better circumstance than throwing away my queen for no good reason. On any chess board at any given time there are thousands of decisions that can express a good or bad move towards gaining the objective, of winning the game. You and I are the motivating force behind our pieces. Our ideas, our desires, our creative imaginations direct the behavior of the pawns, queens, and what-have-you. The world is like a chessboard in that way, except that we are the pawns and pieces being pushed and pulled around by invisible forces much larger than we can understand. There are thousands and millions and billions of possibilities that exist at any given second. The Thermodynamics of Ideas is the process that weeds out the bad ideas from the good ideas. My queen move might fail miserably and we could call this game a draw.”
“You just say that because you’re losing.”
“No, I’m just giving an example. One way ideas act like living things is how they disperse and spread themselves from person to person. They behave sort of like a virus. For example, someone might say “War is stupid; let’s not do that anymore but live in a thousand-year millennium of Peace on Earth instead.”
“That would be impressive. But how do you propose to do that?”
“Bingo! As laudable a concept it might be, Peace on Earth is very hard to achieve; it’s too complex. How do you even define such a thing? It’s like the hidden move on a chessboard that leads to the winning game. Another idea might be … oh, I don’t know. Pick some relatively simple thing that we could do easily, like going out for a nice cup of coffee, or taking a drive to the country…”
At that moment, Maggie was passing through the dining room from the kitchen when she overheard only the last piece of their conversation. “What’s this about a drive to the country?”
Benny said, “No, we were just talking about competition between good and bad ideas.”
Maggie said, “I think driving to the country is a great idea. We could visit Erica this weekend. I haven’t seen her in years.”
Benny said, “Erica? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. I thought she was overseas.”
Maggie said, “Apparently she’s back. She wrote that she’s been living out in the Virginia mountains near that community she was involved with.”
Benny explained, “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about actually driving to the country! I was just giving Elliot an example of the Thermodynamics of Ideas.”
Maggie said, “I thought you liked Erica.”
“Of course I like Erica.”
Elliot asked, “Who’s Erica?”
Maggie said, “Go ahead and tell him who Erica is. I’m going to write her that we’re coming to visit next weekend.”
Benny said, “Wait a minute! What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that car of yours. You said that you’d have it up and running by now.”
Benny winced when Elliot said proudly, “Benny had it running today!”
Maggie said, “Great! Then it’s settled.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Benny waved his arms excitedly and said, “How did we get off the subject here?”
Maggie said as she turned to go, “We’re not off the subject. We’re discussing good and bad ideas, and I think we’re all agreed that driving to the country is a good idea.”
Elliot said, “I’m game.”
Maggie added as she headed upstairs, “You can work for Peace later. Next weekend, we’re going to see Erica.”
Benny frowned at the realization that he’d been cornered. This wasn’t his intended result. He’d been out-voted, and Elliot wasn’t helping one bit because he knew – or he should have known – that the car was far from road-worthy. But of course, Benny couldn’t say so; not in front of Maggie. Driving up and down the alley or around town on side streets was one thing, but barreling down super-highways at deadly speeds was quite another. The fact that Benny had unintentionally demonstrated a tenet of his own conjecture about ideas had left him stuck with his reasoning. The probability of any idea coming to fruition is proportional to the relative ease of its implementation. As laudable and idealistic an idea as Peace on Earth may be, driving to the country to visit Maggie’s friend was much easier to accomplish.
(Such are the fruits of democracy – the results of striking a balance are often less than ideal, but usually something we can live with, as long as it doesn’t kill us. Sometimes there’s a thin line of compromise between cooperation and conflict.
Once Maggie was up the stairs out of ear-shot, Benny glared at Elliot and said, “Thanks for nothing!”
Sincerely puzzled, Elliot replied, “What? What did I do?”
A quick calculation played itself out in Benny’s Brain, again proving the efficacy of his theory. It was much easier to simply continue their chess game than it was to wrestle with the issues of the car’s mechanical condition, his time constraints, and all the work it would take to argue against Maggie’s proposal. Relieved to put off further discussion of the country trip and the Thermodynamics of Ideas for another day, he said, “Never mind. I’ll make it work somehow. But now I’m all mixed up. Where were we?”
Elliot said, “I was just about to take your queen with my pawn.”
Benny said, “Oh my! You won’t mind if I take back that last move, will you?”
“Sure, if you’ll tell me who Erica is,” said Elliot.
Benny retracted his last move, advanced his knight instead, and proceeded to tell Erica’s story.
thermodynamics of ideas 