Twin Medics

I’m generally a fan of thought experiments (see the blog title, for example), whether about the nature of reality, ethics1, language and meaning, technology, or anything else. They may be called by various names: experiments, paradoxes2, dilemmas, problems…

The advantage of a thought experiment is that it allows one (or many) to consider the nuances and implications of a situation before getting into it. This is especially handy if the situation is one that requires quick decisions, or has a high cost. Plus, it’s just interesting to consider what might be, and what are the implications and ramifications of a decision.

I find scenarios a little frustrating, however. There may be a good point behind them, but the way they are presented means the immediate solution is a matter of grammar or semantics. For example, the “Omnipotence Paradox”, usually expressed as (something like) “if God can do anything, can he create a stone too heavy for him to lift?”. Whether the answer is yes or no, it establishes something that God cannot do, thus God cannot be omnipotent. It’s really about the logical inconsistencies of our concept of omnipotence, and the limitations of our language in expressing certain concepts. Which is fine, those are worthy topics of discussion, but we shouldn’t claim it tells us anything useful about the nature/existence of God.

Another famous one that doesn’t really hold up is the “Epimenides’ Paradox”, named after a Cretan philosopher who claimed that all Cretans were liars. But he was a Cretan, so he must have been lying. So Cretans are not liars, so he was telling the truth, so … 😕

But that's a false dichotomy. The statement “All Cretans are liars” is not the same as the (more specific) statement “All Cretans always lie”. In the real world no-one lies all the time (despite recent evidence). Of more relevance is the (somewhat blander and more formal) “Liar Paradox”, encapsulated in “This sentence is false”. This has been the basis of much discussion of the problems of self-referential language.


Speaking of lying, though, I saw an article purporting to list the 5 lies you are allowed to tell in a relationship. The morality of lying has been a hobbyhorse of mine, so I was intrigued. But ultimately disappointed. Their list of acceptable topics to lie about was:

  1. Whether you liked the meal they cooked
  2. Whether the hotel room is okay
  3. Whether it’s fine for their family to visit
  4. Whether those clothes look good on them
  5. Whether they’re right (in an argument)

In general, this seems to be mistaking lying for diplomacy. In all these situations, lying about your feelings to spare theirs is a bad idea. Again, it’s presenting a false dichotomy: you have more options than lying through your teeth, or giving it to them with both barrels. Telling the truth can (and should) be done gently, and with respect for the person you’re talking to. It’s a lack of that respect that makes the truth blunt and rude.

A specific note on outfits: they advise praising an outfit that works and saying nothing about an outfit that doesn’t (i.e. lying by omission). Again, the truth would be better, but this is a scenario where you have to show you deserve the right to tell the truth. The stereotypical girlfriend’s “test” (“Does this make my bum look big?”) isn’t about the clothes. It’s not a yes/no question. You pass by showing that you want her to look good, and can say something’s wrong without hurting her feelings.

Ultimately, don’t you want those close to you to respect and value your feelings and opinions? How can they do that if you’re not being honest?


1 A topical example is the Trolley Problem—first popularised in the late 1960’s—which directly relates to the decision-making of automated vehicles in potential crash situations (do you drive into the other car, or the pedestrian?).

2 Yes, the heading is a dreadful pun. No, I’m not sorry. 😛

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Knapsack problems

Some computer games draw a lot of ire because of what is sometimes called “Inventory Tetris1. This is where the items the player is carrying are represented on a (finite) grid-like structure, and usually crops up in action/rpg games. It can quickly become fiddly and annoying to the player, trying to decide what to keep (given there isn’t enough space for all the valuable doodads they may come across).


By SharkD – Own work, GPL, on wikipedia

It gets especially complicated when items are not a uniform size, going from “I can carry this many items” to “I can carry these items provided I can rearrange them to fit“. Which just evokes all the joys of packing2.

Given that “Ugh!” is many people’s initial reaction to this sort of puzzle, why do so many games include it? Well, some people’s reaction to any puzzle is “Ugh!”; we need a more compelling reason for avoiding it. Solving a packing puzzle can be very satisfying—just ask anyone moving house/apartment/etc. who has (finally) managed to sort out their furniture in their new room(s). Any puzzle can be a worthwhile challenge to include in a game, provided it harmonises with other aspects of the game.

Limited inventory also adds realism3 to a game—a character is not able to carry a small village in their pockets. But realism is not the be-all-and-end-all when it comes to video games. All games abstract away details from the real world to try to capture the core of an experience (Does anyone ever run out of petrol in a racing game?). As such the relevant question to be asked is not “do I/my audience like this kind of puzzle?”, but “does this fit with the game’s core experience”.

Let me give a couple of examples of where the “inventory tetris” mechanic fits, and where it doesn’t.

Sir, You Are Being Hunted


From Rock, Paper, Shotgun

This is a game about sneaking around to collect parts for the MacGuffin that will allow you to escape. Armed robots attempt to stop you. Along the way, you scavenge necessary supplies, like food and weapons (and stuffed badgers).

The whole experience is about coping with limited resources, and a restricted inventory forces you to prioritise. If you choose to leave your majestic stuffed badger behind, you could potentially come back for it later, but just getting to where you left it can be difficult (i.e. having to fight/sneak your way past the robots).

Adventure Games

With the traditional “adventure game” genre (think “Colossal Cave”, “The Secret of Monkey Island”, “King’s Quest”, “Myst” etc.), the player’s inventory is essentially unlimited. This may be because there are only a small number of collectible items in the game anyway, but of more relevance is that retracing your steps (in this type of game) is not interesting or challenging. If a player is at the front door and needs to open a parcel, a knife being in their inventory is essentially an abstraction for remembering seeing a knife in the kitchen and going to get it.

These games often induce a sort of kleptomania; experienced players will grab anything that isn’t nailed down because it’s bound to come in handy later, and it saves them backtracking.

Occasionally, a particular puzzle will require putting limits on what the player is able to carry, but these should be treated as exceptions, and not change the normal inventory mechanic. For example, in the text-adventure Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, solving a certain problem involves the player traversing a narrow space which gives an excuse for them to only take one item with them. In Broken Age, carrying a particular item (noted in-game as being exceptionally heavy) means the player cannot cross a particular surface without falling through.

So, as with all game mechanics, inventory tetris has a place, but can be very annoying if it is used somewhere it doesn’t fit.


1 Or, more prosaically an Inventory Management Puzzle, but that just doesn’t have the same pizzazz.

2 You may recognise this an example of the knapsack problem, one of many NP-complete problems which we have no efficient way of solving. I may burble more on this distinction in a later musing, if anyone is interested.

3 I use the term very loosely. 🙂