Concluding Questions
When is it a good idea to give up? Be sure to learn about the sunk cost fallacy. Does it imply that we should quit on things more often? How about on people?
The sunk cost fallacy is our tendency to follow through with something that we’ve already invested heavily in (be it time, money, effort, or emotional energy), even when giving up is clearly a better idea. In economic terms, sunk costs are costs that have already been incurred and cannot be recovered. For example, the $50 already spent on concert tickets would not be recovered whether or not you attended the concert. Therefore, it should not be a factor in current decision-making. It is irrational to use irrecoverable costs to justify a present decision. If we acted rationally, only future costs and benefits would be taken into account.
The sunk cost fallacy doesn’t always have to do with money. Imagine you’ve signed up for a new class offered at your university. After the first week, you realize that it doesn’t really match up with your interests and you’d much rather swap it out for something else. But you think you have already invested time to writing the first assignment, this is where the sunk cost fallacy kicks in, hand-in-hand with the status quo bias—our preference to keep things the way they are to avoid potential losses. The sunk cost fallacy means that we are making irrational decisions because we are factoring in influences other than the current alternatives. From sticking with unfulfilling relationships, investing in underperforming projects, or continuing with a career choice that no longer aligns with your interests, we
are constantly facing choice related to the sunken cost fallacy. This fallacy affects many different areas of our lives—such as our relationships, investments, and career paths—leading to suboptimal outcomes.
It is not only at a personal level. One famous government example was the Concorde project (supersonic transport aircrafts). Even though it was clearly to be a financially unprofitable choice, it was allowed to continue. The sunk cost fallacy is associated with commitment bias, where we continue to support our past decisions despite new evidence suggesting that it isn’t the best course of action.
The sunk cost fallacy may, in part, occur due to loss aversion, which describes that the impact of losses feels much worse to us than the impact of gains. We are more likely to avoid losses than seek out gains. One of the reasons not following through on a decision leads to a feeling of loss is because the situation gets framed together, instead of in stages. If we don’t follow through on a decision, the narrative is one of failure, even if the subsequent choice not to continue is actually in our best interest.
Is it always better to know how long it’ll take you to get somewhere? If not, what are examples of times when it would be better not to know?
Many things in life, we have a schedule or a plan with expected dates. Whether it is a road trip or studying for a test, or even relationships. But things don't always work out like we planned. If they did, we might not experience the sunk cost fallacy at all. So, for relationships, I would say it is better not to put a time stamp on things, take things naturally. Also, for creative works, ideas come unexpectedly. There is no way to know when you'll have an aha moment. Additionally, when striving for a dream, a big accomplishment, it might be better not to know how long it will take, or we might never have the guts to start it at all. We all want to take the most direct path, save the most time, or at least have clarity, but in doing so, we might miss out on purely the enjoyment and indulgence of being in the vibe.
What if it takes us forever to get there? Consider the “dichotomy paradox” posed by the Greek philosopher Zeno. He observed that to walk across a thing—for instance, Greenland (which belongs to Denmark)—first you need to walk across half of it. Then you need to walk across half of what’s left, then half of what’s left after that, and so forth. Since there is always another half to go, you’ll never reach the other end. How would you solve this and his other paradoxes of motion?
Can you imagine a speedy Achilles never overtaking a tortoise crawling at a snail’s pace? Or an arrow in mid-flight frozen stiff? These are just some of the mind-bending conundrums Zeno of Elea set out over two thousand years ago. And they’re still vexing philosophers and mathematicians today.
Zeno lived in a time with many new ideas that shaped his own thinking about metaphysics (the nature of reality), cosmology (the study of the universe), and
ontology (the study of existence). Some philosophers, such as Heraclitus, thought change was everywhere! Others disagreed. Pythagoras among them (he loved maths). Why did Zeno create his paradoxes? To back up Parmenides and protect his beliefs. He made them up to show that believing in change and motion leads to problems and inconsistencies.
The Dichotomy Paradox: Zeno’s most well-known conundrums, challenges our comprehension of movement. It states that an object must complete an infinite number of tasks in a finite period of time in order to travel any distance at all. The paradox raises profound questions about how things move if there is an infinity of points to pass through, yet it takes only a finite amount of time to do so. It suggests there may be more to space, time, and movement than our everyday intuitions tell us.
The Achilles and the Tortoise Paradox: Achilles gives a tortoise a head start in a race. By the time Achilles reaches the tortoise's starting point, the tortoise has moved a little further. When Achilles reaches that new point, the tortoise has moved again. Achilles can get closer and closer, but logically, he can never actually overtake the tortoise.
The Arrow Paradox: At any specific "instant" in time, an arrow in flight is at a fixed position. If it is at a fixed position, it is at rest. Since time is made up of these "instants," and the arrow is at rest in every one of them, the arrow is never actually moving.
The Stadium Paradox: Picture three lines of things: Line A doesn’t move; Line B moves to the right; Line C moves leftwards, but at exactly the same speed as Line B. If we watch how things progress in these lines, there seems to be something funny going on. Objects in Line B appear to zip past those in Line C twice as fast as they do those in Line A (even though all are moving at an identical pace relative to members of Line A itself).
Zeno’s paradoxes have been puzzling thinkers for centuries, leading to various philosophical and mathematical attempts to unravel them. From a philosophical perspective, some argue that Zeno’s paradoxes show there are limits to our understanding of motion and infinity, prompting further exploration of these concepts. From a mathematical perspective, the breakthrough came with the development of calculus by Isaac Newton and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz in the 17th century. Calculus introduced the idea of limits and infinitesimals, which enables us to make sense of how infinite series can add up to finite values.
By breaking motion down into an infinite number of infinitesimally small steps, calculus reconciled Zeno’s paradoxes with what we observe about continuous motion in reality.
“Are we there yet?” is a question linked with impatience. Explore the psychology of patience: what makes some people willing to calmly wait a little longer? Is patience more valued in some cultures than in others? And does patience have downsides?
This funny clip shows impatience due to utter boredom as Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey take a long, long, long, long trip to the city. An innocent question exasperates Shrek and reveal human nature's frustration towards waiting.....
In terms of patience, it is widely considered a virtue. The Bible states in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, that "love is patient and kind, not envious, not boastful, or proud. Love does not dishonor others, is not self-seeking, easily angered, or resentful, and it keeps no record of wrongs." On the other hand, modern psychology says that patience is a complex psychological trait driven by a mix of biological factors and active cognitive strategies. While often celebrated as a virtue that fosters resilience and better decision-making, its expression is deeply influenced by cultural norms and can have significant downsides if not balanced with assertiveness.
Patience depends on personality, cognitive strategies and trust. People with higher emotional stability, conscientiousness, and optimism tend to be more patient. Those who are "agreeable" or high in empathy also find it easier to wait calmly. Studies show that people are far less willing to delay gratification if they don't trust the person or system promising the future reward. Psychologically, the act of waiting can actually increase the perceived value of the object being waited for, which in turn reinforces the person’s willingness to continue waiting.
Many cultures value patience such as China and Japan, which perceives it as endurance. Other Western cultures that view time in a linear mindset might feel that it means a loss of opportunity. Latin America or the Middle East view time as open-ended and fluid. Events take as long as they need to, making a "calm wait" a standard social expectation rather than a test of willpower.
World War I was “the War to End All Wars”; 1989 was, per Francis Fukuyama, “The End of History”. The first meant achieving global peace; the second trumpeted the triumph of liberal democracy. The world isn’t there yet, in either case, but is it getting closer? Should one or both of these be our goals in the first place?
In 1989, a policy wonk in the US State Department wrote a paper for the right-leaning international relations magazine The National Interest entitled “The End of History?”. His name was Francis Fukuyama, and the paper stirred such interest – and caused such controversy – that he was soon contracted to expand his 18-page article into a book. He did so in 1992: The End of History and the Last Man.
Fukuyama’s use of the word “history” here is best approximated by synonyms in sociology such as “modernisation” or “development”. His argument was that the unfolding of history had revealed – albeit in fits and starts – the ideal form of political organisation: liberal democratic states tied to market economies.
For him, a liberal democratic state requires three things.
1) Democracy: allowing elections, but the outcomes result in the implementation of the will of the citizenry.
2) Authority + Strength: State possesses sufficient strength and authority to enforce its laws and administer services.
3) Constrain: The state – and its highest representatives – are not above the law.
I choose to believe. Endings aren’t always clear. In the final episode of Stargate Universe, a starship flies off into the vast emptiness between galaxies, its fate never to be resolved; cancellation left its crew’s future ambiguous. Other works of fiction have ended with more deliberate uncertainty. The Sopranos infamously cut to black; the last chapter of Life of Pi lets us decide whether the main character really made friends with a tiger; Deckard may or may not be a replicant. How important is it that stories end definitively? Can you think of any that should have ended a little earlier—or skipped their epilogues?
The Stargate shows were based on the successful 1994 Stargate feature film about a team of military explorers who use an ancient alien portal to explore planets across the universe. SG-1 turned the movie into a weekly episodic adventure. They were on TV for more than a decade, even though they were never bigger names than Star Trek or Star Wars. It went through several changes and spin-offs and then, it was just cancelled.
In hindsight, the abrupt end of Stargate Universe (SGU) has been increasingly viewed by critics and fans alike as a poignantly perfect conclusion to the series. While the cancellation was unplanned and left major plot threads hanging, the final moments of the episode "Gauntlet" provided a thematic closure that many feel outshines a traditional resolution.
In the final episode, the ship must travel between two galaxies — so the crew decides to put themselves in stasis to survive the journey and converse resources, which could take a few years to complete (or thousands of years if the FTL drive fails and strands them between galaxies). The only problem? They’re one stasis pod short. So the character of Eli Wallace (David Blue) volunteers to stay alone, with plans to hopefully repair the broken stasis pod and join the rest of the crew in stasis once he’s made the repairs.
It’s a beautiful moment, and a fitting next step in the arc of Eli, who served as the “audience surrogate” character in the ensemble. He was just a college-aged kid who solved a complicated puzzle and found himself accidentally tagging along on this mission. A brilliant kid with a world of potential, forced into tapping it before he’s ready and learning on the fly how to survive in this sci-fi world. But by the end of Season 2, Eli — much like the series itself — had found his voice and his confidence. And that’s where the season, and series, ends. With Eli standing on the observation deck and staring out into a never-ending universe of wonder and hope.
The Sopranos is an American crime drama television series created by David Chase. The series follows Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini), a New Jersey Mafia boss who has panic attacks. He reluctantly begins seeing psychiatrist Dr. Jennifer Melfi (Lorraine Bracco), who encourages him to open up about his difficulties balancing his family life with his criminal life. Widely regarded as one of the greatest and most influential television series of all time, it has been credited by media commentators with helping usher in what some critics call a Second Golden Age of Television.
The Sopranos' final scene sees the titular family meet in a diner, with Tony anxiously looking at the door every time someone comes in. While Tony (and by proxy, the audience member) expects a potential gunman to come in and kill him, it never happens, with it always being another Soprano or a customer. However, the final shot sees Tony look up at the door one last time, with the song cutting off and The Sopranos cutting to black for good.
The abrupt "cut to black" in The Sopranos finale, "Made in America" (2007), remains one of the most polarizing and scrutinized creative choices in television history. The sequence lasts for exactly 11 seconds of total silence before the credits roll, a duration creator David Chase shortened from an original goal of keeping it black through the entire credits.
ScreenRant believes the tense scene is the culmination of everything that we know about Tony Soprano, as it shows that no matter what, Tony will always have to look over his shoulder. Due to his past actions, Tony's anxiety and guilt will not leave him, with this constant fear being a personal hell for the character. The most prominent technical theory is that the cut represents Tony Soprano’s death through his own eyes. One interesting twist is that a man in a Members Only jacket enters and goes to the restroom, which is located at a 3 o'clock angle from Tony’s booth—his "blind side." This mirrors the famous bathroom scene in The Godfather.
The ending was so sudden that millions of viewers contacted their cable companies believing their signal had cut out. It has since been lauded as a "sophisticated choose-your-own-adventure" that forces viewers to confront the reality that for a man like Tony, the end is never a grand climax, but a sudden, silent void.
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The ending of Life of Pi leaves viewers questioning the true meaning of the story, as the movie tells two different versions of his adventure at sea.
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The film stays close to the source material, with Pi's story ending in a Mexican hospital bed, but the details and interpretation are left up to the viewer's preference.
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The ending challenges viewers to consider the themes of faith, belief, and the power of storytelling, as Pi's goal was to make others believe in something greater than themselves.
Life of Pi explained that Pi ended his story in a Mexican hospital bed, but the 2012 movie's ending was also a little confusing about the truth of what happened to Pi and Richard Parker. Ang Lee's Life of Pi earned critical acclaim along with solid box office numbers. However, for every mention of Life of Pi's 3D or its amazing CGI tiger, there's confusion about the movie's meaning. Readers of Yann Martel's original novel also face the challenging last-minute question presented by the story's narrator. The Life of Pi ending explained that Pi's adventure concluded in a Mexican hospital bed, where he was interviewed by Japanese Ministry of Transport officials. The agents tell Pi that his story — which includes multiple animal companions and a carnivorous island — is too unbelievable for them to report. So, Pi tells them a different version of the story: one that paints a much darker and emotionally disturbing variation of events. Pi leaves it up to the viewer to decide which version they "prefer."
The epilogue of the Harry Potter movies, as per the books, is set 19 years after the main events of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. In this scene, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), Ronald Weasley (Rupert Grint), and Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) are seen saying goodbye to their children on Platform 9 3/4 as they depart for Hogwarts. They have aged bizarrely, but this is actually the least jarring thing about the scene. It was completely iconic, and it gave many viewers a sense of relief to see their favorite characters appear happy. But in many ways, it makes little sense.
Harry Potter largely focuses on children, who are only technically reaching adulthood as the series ends. But unlike in real life, many of them end up marrying who they dated in high school. Ron and Hermione end up together, as well as Harry and Ginny. While it is not explicitly mentioned in the epilogue, Ron's brother Fred actually married old Gryffindor chaser Angelina Johnson. The Harry Potter main characters all endured major trauma in their childhoods and teenage years, so tying their stories off so neatly in the Harry Potter epilogue feels insufficient. From Harry naming all his kids after key
characters to them all ending up with childhood sweethearts, it just seemed too too expected. Harry Potter's epilogue shows a happily functioning world, which is fair enough, as the only scene it contains is set in Kings Cross train station, but it seems a bit too tidy. Dumbledore's Army saved the muggle world from Voldemort, so his impact didn't have to be felt by muggles the world over. In a sense, the normality of the muggle train station in the epilogue reflects this nicely. But it is also true that there are many things about the epilogue that are too cookie-cutter to feel credible as the end of the first series of the Potterverse movies.
This ending is clear: we’re there. Where do we go next?
WSC has been an incredible journey. We've in involved with WSC since elementary, and we can't believe how much we have learned and how it continues to inspire us as a small community of curious kids to celebrate our uniqueness and explore this multifaceted world. We are so grateful for all the scholars who write and encourage us from around the world. Each time we meet scholars at a WSC event, we feel an instant bond. Each year brings new friends and teammates together to explore interesting aspects of society and find ways to challenge ourselves. Who knows where this road will lead and we hope to see you all somewhere along the way, at regional, at global, or at TOC. Give us a hollar!
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