Greg Gbur: Long suffering at the hands of the ghosts, I have eaten an Energizer. Now the hunter becomes the hunted.
Physics has forsaken this place. Asteroids pass through each other, vanish before me, appear behind me.
Brian Switek: We should start thinking about this now: when there’s no more ice at the North Pole, where will we say that Santa lives?
“Santa? Why, darling, everybody knows that Santa lives with Cain and Abel in the Lord Shaper’s domain of the Dreaming. He makes a list, checks it twice, and if you’ve been naughty, you’ll fall asleep and wake up, and wake up again, and again…”
Ta-Nehisi Coates: Forgive all the cartoon talk. I spent the day trying to understand, whatever I didn’t understand, about [The New Republic]. More Monday.
Me: I’m reading this as saying that ’80s cartoons are essential for understanding TNR.
TNC: Yes. But I haven’t figured out why…
This little exchange, and the Jem and Robotech discussion which led up to it, got me to thinking about the cartoons of my own childhood. In turn, that called something to mind from my years of studying the Found-in-Used-Book-Store-Basement Canon. Quoting from Antonia Levi’s Samurai from Outer Space: Understanding Japanese Animation (1996):
Why do young Americans stick with an art form that is so foreign and so difficult to understand, an art form that actually makes them work? Generation X’s image does not usually include much emphasis on the work ethic. Yet, this is the generation that has chosen to tackle a challenging art form purely for the purpose of entertainment. One reason, of course, is that the Baby Busters simply aren’t as lazy as Boomer curmudgeons would like to believe. The other reason, however, is that anime more than repays the effort by providing its fans with a fantasy world more compelling and more complete than they can find anywhere else. Okay, it’s escapism, but for a generation whose defining characteristic is that they are the first set of Americans who will not do as well as their parents, good escapism is worth a little effort.
Plus ça change, amirite?
Subhead: This tiny, eccentric institution in Chicago was just voted the worst place to study in America. But does Shimer, which shuns lectures and has no societies or clubs, deserve such an accolade? Jon Ronson went there to investigate.
In the body, we have a bit more detail:
This is a ‘great books’ college. The great books of the western tradition, not the professors, are the teachers: Da Vinci’s Notebooks and Aristotle’s Poetics and Homer’s Odyssey and de Beauvoir’s Ethics of Ambiguity and Kafka and Derrida and Nietzsche and Freud and Marx and Machiavelli and Shakespeare and the Bible.
Dear liberals, When you side with today’s 3rd wave intersectional feminism, you are siding with the intellectual equivalent of creationism.
Reading what people write as they try to cope with the assault on our common humanity known as Fifty Shades of Grey is weirdly addictive. Midway through one recap/critique, I realized that given the “hero’s” character, this “love story for the ages” would honestly have ended a few chapters in, and very badly. Then I realized just what TV show Christian Grey—rich, arrogant, with an opinion of his own intelligence far exceeding the evidence—would have been a murderer on.
“The officer outside said it looks like an accident.”
“Yes, well, any time a person dies not under a doctor’s care, my department gets involved. Usually it just comes down to paperwork. Always the report, we have to file.”
“And she had just graduated college, you say? Such a shame. A lovely, bright young woman like that. She had her whole life ahead of her. I hardly knew her, but I can’t help… Such a tragedy, and so unfair.”
“It never is fair, sir, you’re right about that.”
“If you don’t need me any longer, Lieutenant, I’ll be on my way. You can reach me through my office.”
“Oh, I think we’re about done here. We’ll give you a call if anything turns up.”
“Please. Good afternoon, then.”
“Oh, Mr. Grey, just one more thing! For my report, you know….”
OK, let’s give Steinmetz a big heaping dollop of benefit-of-the-doubt. Suppose you really are just exasperated by celebrities being, you know, celebrities in interviews. Sure. Fine. Then shouldn’t you direct your ire to the media apparatus which persists in caring about what celebrities do and say, regardless of what they are actually good at? If “media trends” are your problem, why don’t you criticize, I dunno, the media?
“Words to ban” pieces, like their year-in-review cousins, are perfect candidates to be granfalloons of petty grievances. They are also ideal capsules of public shaming in the interests of orthodoxy.
Language is all bound up with emotion, sometimes trying to fill an emotional need with pure verbal art. Larry Gonick‘s example was promoting someone to “vice president”, instead of giving her a raise. “A switchboard operator no longer, you are now Vice President, Corporate Communication!” Here, the policing of vocabulary gives people who don’t have a lot of power themselves the ability to stomp on those with even less. Sometimes, word rage is a way of punching up: e.g., getting one back from the executive class by condemning manager-speak. People who insist “impact is not a verb” come across, to me anyway, like they’ve heard it too many times in vacuous babble from middle management (cf. “think outside the box!”). But a lot of word rage is punching down. When a usage is commonplace, people grow accustomed to it, and complaining about it becomes a niche pursuit of peeve-ologists. But when it’s an idiom spoken by Those Other People, it’s common enough to be noticed, but it doesn’t become familiar. It’s how Those Other People talk, and distaste for Those Other People gains a convenient and superficially polite outlet, in disparaging their vernacular.
Dawkins claims that Hölldobler has “no truck with group selection”. Wilson and Hölldobler (2005) proposes, in the first sentence of its abstract, that “group selection is the strong binding force in eusocial evolution”. Later, Hölldobler (with Reeve) voiced support for the “trait-group selection and individual selection/inclusive fitness models are interconvertible” attitude. Hölldobler’s book with Wilson, The Superorganism: The Beauty, Elegance, and Strangeness of Insect Societies (2008), maintains this tone. Quoting from page 35:
It is important to keep in mind that mathematical gene-selectionist (inclusive fitness) models can be translated into multilevel selection models and vice versa. As Lee Dugatkin, Kern Reeve, and several others have demonstrated, the underlying mathematics is exactly the same; it merely takes the same cake and cuts it at different angles. Personal and kin components are distinguished in inclusive fitness theory; within-group and between-group components are distinguished in group selection theory. One can travel back and forth between these theories with the point of entry chosen according to the problem being addressed.
This is itself a curtailed perspective, whose validity is restricted to a narrow class of implementations of the “multilevel selection” idea. (Yeah, the terminology in this corner of science is rather confused, which doesn’t make talking about it easier.) Regardless, I cannot think of a way in which this can be construed as having “no truck with group selection”. The statement “method A is no better or worse than method B” is a far cry from “method A is worthless and only method B is genuinely scientific”.
If Dawkins has some personal information to which the published record is not privy, that’s fine, but even if that were the case, his statements could not be taken as a fair telling of the story.
EDIT TO ADD (21 November 2014): I forgot this 2010 solo-author piece by Hölldobler, in a perspective printed in Social Behaviour: Genes, Ecology and Evolution (T. Székely et al., eds). Quoting from page 127:
I was, and continue to be, intrigued by the universal observation that wherever social life in groups evolved on this planet, we encounter (with only a few exceptions) a striking correlation: the more tightly organized within-group cooperation and cohesion, the stronger the between-group discrimination and hostility. Ants, again, are excellent model systems for studying the transition from primitive eusocial systems, characterized by considerable within-group reproductive competition and conflict, and poorly developed reciprocal communication and cooperation, and little or no between-group competition, one one side, to the ultimate superorganisms (such as the gigantic colonies of the Atta leafcutter ants) with little or no within-group conflict, pronounced caste systems, elaborate division of labour, complex reciprocal communication, and intense between-group competition, on the other side (Hölldobler & Wilson 2008 [the book quoted above]).
And, a little while later, on p. 130:
In such advanced eusocial organisations the colony effectively becomes a main target of selection […] Selection therefore optimises caste demography, patterns of division of labour and communication systems at the colony level. For example, colonies that employ the most effective recruitment system to retrieve food, or that exhibit the most powerful colony defence against enemies and predators, will be able to raise the largest number of reproductive females and males each year and thus will have the greatest fitness within the population of colonies.
In times gone by, the word “nerd” was an insult.
Now, it refers to a set of people who can be simultaneously marketed to.
Which is obviously totes better.
Thought for the day:
Darth Vader being Luke’s father did not have to mean that Vader was Anakin Skywalker.
An interesting essay from last month, by Fred Clark: “Phlebotinum, young-Earth creationism and the willing suspension of disbelief” (20 October 2014).
I think this analogy has something to it, but there’s also a point of contrast. A well-written phlebotinium story establishes the limitations of its fictitious technology, the rules by which it operates. Neither deflector shields nor transporters exist outside the story, but it’s well known that you can’t beam through the shields. Warp speed can only get you to the next star system so quickly. Go too fast for too long—warp 9.9 for more than seven minutes, let’s say—and your ship will break, and you will go no farther into space today.
By contrast, creationism flips from one standard to another, rewriting its own rules whenever convenient (or, rather, whenever it’s necessary to avoid an incovenience). Molecular biology is fine as long as it’s making pretty pictures of things “too complicated to evolve by chance!!!”, but as soon as it provides an explanation, out the door it goes. “Academic freedom” is the creationist rallying cry, as long as it’s creationists who are being cruelly un-freedom-ized (perhaps by the hateful demand that they actually get some science done).
Your password must contain a pound of flesh. No blood, nor less nor more, but just a pound of flesh.
Your password must contain all passwords which do not contain themselves.
Your password must contain any letter of the alphabet save the second. NOT THE BEES! NOT THE BEES!
Your password must contain a reminder not to read the comments. Really. You’ll thank us.
Your password must have contained the potential within itself all along.
I can’t find my copy of The God Delusion. It wandered off to join the fairies in the Boston Public Garden, or something. This is only a problem when I’d like to look something up in it, to point to a passage and say, “Ah! If we’d read more carefully, we could have guessed that Dawkins was that terrible all along. It should have been obvious, even before he discovered Twitter!”
I could say more on this, and perhaps if the book turns up, and I have important work to procrastinate on but no Columbo episodes to watch, I might write at greater length. For now, I’ll just comment on a little thing which I don’t recall anyone pointing out before. The epigraph of the book is the Douglas Adams quotation to which I alluded, the one to the effect that the beauty of a garden should be satisfaction enough, without having to imagine “fairies at the bottom of it” in addition. This quotation comes from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, where it is part of Ford Prefect’s inner monologue. Ford is rejecting Zaphod Beeblebrox’s claim that their stolen spaceship is currently orbiting the lost planet of Magrathea. To Ford, Magrathea is “a myth, a fairy story, it’s what parents tell their kids about at night if they want them to grow up to become economists”.
“Don’t feed the trolls.”
It might have been good advice twenty-some years ago, when a “troll” was a guy who showed up in your newsgroup to argue that he could prove Fermat’s Last Theorem using the power of his perpetual motion machine. Perhaps such an annoyance would fade away if deprived of attention.
The motivations, the methods and the harms that can be wrought are all different. Let’s leave the facile suggestions back with Joel-versus-Mike, where they belong.
Postulate (Sturgeon’s Law): 90% of everything is crud.
Observation: Part of being educated in a field is learning how to filter out the crud produced in it—the work which is slapdash, too banal to spend brain-time on, fundamentally misguided, boring. This “learning how to filter” includes both recognizing bad work quickly when one sees it and taking advantage of existing social mechanisms for winnowing intellectual wheat from chaff.
Result: When Alice, trained in one field (say, physics) looks over into another (e.g., philosophy), she’s likely to hit crud. If this happens a few times over, Alice is apt to form a low opinion of the other field, a low opinion which is in a way justifiable but which in a deeper sense is misleading. This process repeats with Bob, Carol, etc.; by the time we get to Xenia, there is a notion afloat in one field that the other isn’t much good, leading to reciprocal enmity from the other.
Observation 2: If Amelie is formally trained in one field (say, pure mathematics) and accomplishes something legitimate in another (perhaps she pens an evocative new translation of the poems of Ryōkan), then the fact that she jumped discliplinary boundaries will be less remarked upon than if her effort failed. The departmental affiliation of a competent worker is easily forgotten, but that of a grandiose blowhard is easily remembered.
Overall result: In a subtle way, the world gets worse.