A follow-up that reduces most, but not all, of my initial anger/concern, is described here.
This really, really pissed me off today.
I was trying to deposit some money at the counter at the one surviving HSBC branch near to my house.
#199
ROWLAND HEIGHTS OFFICE
(C. F. PLAZA) 18250 COLIMA ROAD
ROWLAND HGTS, CA 91748
An elderly lady, accompanied by her grandson, entered the bank, assisted with a manual walker. She and her grandson make their way slowly to the window nearest the safe deposit boxes. Once they are at the end, the local branch manager (or some high-ranking banker in the branch), a tall Chinese guy, informed them that they will need to actually wait in the line. The old lady shuffles back slowly to the line. The banker barely mumbles a "sorry" before hurrying away to his office.
The line goes very slowly. They are understaffed on a Friday afternoon - understaffed, at least, at the counter.
I, the old lady, and the grandson wait in line for about 20 minutes.
There were a few bankers in cubicles, including the unhelpful tall guy. Not a single banker stepped back behind the counter to open a register. It's possible they don't have that authority or flexibility. It's possible they were required to fill out paperwork or process critical information at 4:30 PM on a Friday.
But the overwhelming message I got was a big "fuck you" to the people waiting, and especially to this old lady. I wonder if it would've been different if she hadn't had her grandson carrying a heavy satchel.
To my shame, I didn't offer her the opportunity to go ahead of me in line. I really should have. I thought about even lugging a chair from the waiting area to the line so she could at least rest for a while. (But then I thought that she could have rested in the waiting area, and had her grandson wait in line for her, if she felt the need.)
This isn't the first time I've witnessed this crappy customer service by the tall guy. A similar situation, a couple months ago, involved long lines and zero support behind the counter by the senior bankers.
Look, I realize HSBC is restructuring its North American footprint. Although the heavy Chinese concentration in Rowland Heights probably means this branch will remain open, I understand if people are stressed about keeping their jobs. At a previous visit, I congratulated a teller, explaining that I assumed she had recently gotten the job. As it turns out, it sounds like she lost her full-time position elsewhere and was now a part-time employee. :(
Also, I like HSBC. They've kept their fees low, and I've really enjoyed their customer service in New York, Maryland, and in Pasadena/San Gabriel. So I'm not someone who has an axe to grind with a bank because I was dumb enough to let my account be overdrafted.
But the point is, I still think he should've let her go to the safe deposit box. At the absolute bare minimum, he should've apologized a bit more generously to the lady, explaining either that it was unfair to other customers to help her first, or at least acknowledge her existence. Hell, this lady probably survived the Cultural Revolution. Or early KMT rule in Taiwan. That should count for something.
It is dangerous to generalize from a single person's behavior on multiple instances to a more general statement about culture. Yet I will do precisely that, because it does mesh with other experiences I've had with the emerging Chinese and Chinese-American culture. If this banker is any indication, the narrative of Confucian reverence for elders is absolute bullshit, at least in the finance industry. The bank is completely Chinese or Taiwanese; not a single employee I saw was not fluent in at least Mandarin.
What this banker communicates is that it's perfectly acceptable to treat someone like shit, no matter how old, as long as they are a low-value customer. The bank wasn't making much on that safe deposit box. Maybe she didn't have a mortgage with the bank. Maybe she, like me, had just a crappy checking account and modest savings there.
But she's still an old lady and a human being.
Maybe there's a cultural thing I'm not getting. Maybe its considered rude to imply, however obliquely, to the elderly that they need help. I hope my Chinese friends let me know. (Given the other experiences, I'm unwilling to extend the banker the benefit of the doubt.)
I usually don't do this, but I'm going to definitely communicate this as a letter to the branch manager. I had to do some banking at Chase later the same day, and it was shocking the difference in attitude and basic human decency. It takes a lot to get this old crank into action. But congratulations asshole; you achieved the impossible today. I'm not going to pretend that my withdrawal of my broke-ass cash will make a difference. But I will tell people as much as I can about this disgraceful incident.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Wait a minute - NOW I get research insight?
For those who want only the insight that I got from a dream, scroll down.
Introit (Introduction):
For those who don't know me well, I'm about four years out of grad school. It was rough going, and I actually left with a masters degree with a full year of NSF fellowship money to go. I suppose I could've stayed another year and no one would've bothered me too much, as I had my own money. But it was hell, mostly self-inflicted. It's tricky though to still be uncertain about whether it was the right choice.
During that time, I worked on something called non-redundant aperture masking interferometry. It's a lot of words, and it deserves them. I'll do my best to explain it without much jargon.
Assuming little or no science background
Because light behaves as a wave, it can form interference patterns. I used a specially designed device that "created" the interference pattern by forcing a star's light to pass through a small metal disk in a detector. The metal disk had a number of holes drilled into it (9 or 18), spaced apart just so that it would generate a snowflake pattern that was both pretty and scientifically useful. Very Important Fact - the spacings were such that no two holes were the same distance apart, and were arranged at a variety of angles along the disk. By analyzing the pattern using some sophisticated software, it was possible to identify binary stars that were otherwise too close together. The software could also be modified to do things like detect asymmetry - as in a planetary nebula. Second Very Important Fact: this only works at telescopes that have adaptive optics, which can help correct for atmospheric turbulence.
I was part of observations at Palomar Observatory, a couple hours outside of San Diego. (Fun aside: one of the observatory staff told me stories of a former Cornell professor who shall remain nameless who, back in the day, would take his students to TJ when they were rained out. Once in TJ, they would get completely drunk. Needless to say, I'm guessing he had an all-male research group, and that he's a particular outlier as far as professionalism/personal adventurousness. I believe he's still a professor, and quite successful.)
Analogy for high school/early college physics students (non-majors):
Remember Young's double-slit experiment? Well, instead of two slits, I had pinholes arranged such that each set of pinholes was essentially a double-slit, each in a different direction. This is the non-redundant part.
More complicated, for engineers and scientists
The non-redundant mask generated an interference pattern that was spread across the near-IR detector (InGaAs, if I recall). The baselines ranged from about half the pupil length to nearly the full pupil, and sampled pretty comprehensively different orientations on the sky. The hole diameter was made to be smaller than the scale of an atmospheric turbulence cell, given by the Kolmogorov 5/3 law.
To wit, you use a (inverse) Fourier transform on the interferogram to reconstruct the original image. The key is to use closure phase, which basically says that for a flat incoming wave, the difference in phase across each leg of a triangle array should be zero. Any nonzero results are due to asymmetry in the wavefront, which is corrected using the telescope's adaptive optics system and a nearby calibration star.
Don't ask me for any more mathematical details. It'll just remind me of the stony silence I got at my committee meetings when I struggled with the presentations.
Note: I realize this is fairly elementary to radio astronomers. The key excitement factor is getting the technique to work in optical and near-IR wavelengths. It deserves to be kind of a big deal.
Astronomer's note: the targets were nearby low-mass stars (class M), identified as such by spectroscopy and their high proper motions.
Kyrie (frustration):
One of the frustrating things is that it often didn't work well. I was using someone else's software, and to be honest, I had trouble following the math. I had the background, but it was still a challenge, and my Fourier Transforms class at Mudd was right after lunch. (This means I fell asleep a few times, even though it was a class of only about 25 people.) Also, I'm guessing atmospheric turbulence made it challenging. Additionally, the targets we were looking at were relatively dim. More dim means less light, which means the snowflake pattern gets pretty weak. All of this conspired to make it such that, when it came time to present my work, I had no results from the dozen or so stars I looked at that actually used the technique. (I did identify a half-dozen or so previously undiscovered companions using standard adaptive optics.)
Rex tremendae (Research insight):
So here comes the dream. I'm in a Harvey Mudd classroom, specifically the electronics/modern physics lab in the physics department with people from high school. Then it hits me - the problem is throughput. Therefore, move the targets to brighter stars (sun-like stars). We did that for the calibration stars. But wait! This could be used to analyze the host of transiting systems detected by ground observations and the Kepler mission. (These are systems where a planet passes in front of the star, which is detectable from Earth as a small decrease in the star's brightness.)
Non-redundant aperture masking could actually improve the resolution such that it would be possible to determine the precise orientation of the planet and star along the sky. Coupled with radial velocity data, it might lead to improved resolution on the planetary masses.
Lacrymosa (Problems with this insight):
As I wake up more fully, I'm realizing a couple problems with this.
First, the point of this research was to get resolved data on a binary system. By taking snapshots at regular intervals, it would be possible to determine the orbit in 3-D space, allowing for a precise mass determination of both components in a binary. (It could be generalized to more complicated star systems, but the analysis gets - you guessed it - more complicated.)
Sampling from just across the planetary disk won't provide enough information on the orbit to actually provide a full 3-D picture of the orbit. Or, more accurately, it provides little that can't be determined just from regular techniques.
Another problem: Transiting systems are ideal for analysis precisely because they are edge-on systems. What this means is that the line of observation (Earth to the transiting system) is necessarily perpendicular to the angular momentum vector of the system. This means the radial velocity data provides not a lower mass limit, but the actual mass.
The potential improvement in determining this angle is minor, at best.
The only possibility for actually useful results would be if this technique still provided enough information about asymmetry that it could, with standard photometry, get a more accurate sense of the size of these planets. This could provide information about its density and potential composition, which could prove important for formation models.
But again, as I wake up a bit more, I'm less confident about this.
Agnus Dei (Conclusion):
It was interesting - I told a classmate in the dream that I was going to blog this.
Unfortunately, the wakeful, somewhat thoughtful part of me is now questioning the value of this "insight" gained in the dream. This is unfortunate, not because I felt like making a contribution to observational astronomy and extrasolar planet research, but because it was going to be the first problem I had solved in a dream. (During my first semester in college, I occasionally had dreams about programming and math, but I never actually solved anything this way. Also, in dreams where I'm being chased by bad guys, my gun never works. I wonder if my subconscious is trying to suggest I'm sterile or impotent. In that case, fuck you subconscious!)
Poo. This wasn't worth waking up and breaking Facebook fast.
Introit (Introduction):
For those who don't know me well, I'm about four years out of grad school. It was rough going, and I actually left with a masters degree with a full year of NSF fellowship money to go. I suppose I could've stayed another year and no one would've bothered me too much, as I had my own money. But it was hell, mostly self-inflicted. It's tricky though to still be uncertain about whether it was the right choice.
During that time, I worked on something called non-redundant aperture masking interferometry. It's a lot of words, and it deserves them. I'll do my best to explain it without much jargon.
Assuming little or no science background
Because light behaves as a wave, it can form interference patterns. I used a specially designed device that "created" the interference pattern by forcing a star's light to pass through a small metal disk in a detector. The metal disk had a number of holes drilled into it (9 or 18), spaced apart just so that it would generate a snowflake pattern that was both pretty and scientifically useful. Very Important Fact - the spacings were such that no two holes were the same distance apart, and were arranged at a variety of angles along the disk. By analyzing the pattern using some sophisticated software, it was possible to identify binary stars that were otherwise too close together. The software could also be modified to do things like detect asymmetry - as in a planetary nebula. Second Very Important Fact: this only works at telescopes that have adaptive optics, which can help correct for atmospheric turbulence.
I was part of observations at Palomar Observatory, a couple hours outside of San Diego. (Fun aside: one of the observatory staff told me stories of a former Cornell professor who shall remain nameless who, back in the day, would take his students to TJ when they were rained out. Once in TJ, they would get completely drunk. Needless to say, I'm guessing he had an all-male research group, and that he's a particular outlier as far as professionalism/personal adventurousness. I believe he's still a professor, and quite successful.)
Analogy for high school/early college physics students (non-majors):
Remember Young's double-slit experiment? Well, instead of two slits, I had pinholes arranged such that each set of pinholes was essentially a double-slit, each in a different direction. This is the non-redundant part.
More complicated, for engineers and scientists
The non-redundant mask generated an interference pattern that was spread across the near-IR detector (InGaAs, if I recall). The baselines ranged from about half the pupil length to nearly the full pupil, and sampled pretty comprehensively different orientations on the sky. The hole diameter was made to be smaller than the scale of an atmospheric turbulence cell, given by the Kolmogorov 5/3 law.
To wit, you use a (inverse) Fourier transform on the interferogram to reconstruct the original image. The key is to use closure phase, which basically says that for a flat incoming wave, the difference in phase across each leg of a triangle array should be zero. Any nonzero results are due to asymmetry in the wavefront, which is corrected using the telescope's adaptive optics system and a nearby calibration star.
Don't ask me for any more mathematical details. It'll just remind me of the stony silence I got at my committee meetings when I struggled with the presentations.
Note: I realize this is fairly elementary to radio astronomers. The key excitement factor is getting the technique to work in optical and near-IR wavelengths. It deserves to be kind of a big deal.
Astronomer's note: the targets were nearby low-mass stars (class M), identified as such by spectroscopy and their high proper motions.
Kyrie (frustration):
One of the frustrating things is that it often didn't work well. I was using someone else's software, and to be honest, I had trouble following the math. I had the background, but it was still a challenge, and my Fourier Transforms class at Mudd was right after lunch. (This means I fell asleep a few times, even though it was a class of only about 25 people.) Also, I'm guessing atmospheric turbulence made it challenging. Additionally, the targets we were looking at were relatively dim. More dim means less light, which means the snowflake pattern gets pretty weak. All of this conspired to make it such that, when it came time to present my work, I had no results from the dozen or so stars I looked at that actually used the technique. (I did identify a half-dozen or so previously undiscovered companions using standard adaptive optics.)
Rex tremendae (Research insight):
So here comes the dream. I'm in a Harvey Mudd classroom, specifically the electronics/modern physics lab in the physics department with people from high school. Then it hits me - the problem is throughput. Therefore, move the targets to brighter stars (sun-like stars). We did that for the calibration stars. But wait! This could be used to analyze the host of transiting systems detected by ground observations and the Kepler mission. (These are systems where a planet passes in front of the star, which is detectable from Earth as a small decrease in the star's brightness.)
Non-redundant aperture masking could actually improve the resolution such that it would be possible to determine the precise orientation of the planet and star along the sky. Coupled with radial velocity data, it might lead to improved resolution on the planetary masses.
Lacrymosa (Problems with this insight):
As I wake up more fully, I'm realizing a couple problems with this.
First, the point of this research was to get resolved data on a binary system. By taking snapshots at regular intervals, it would be possible to determine the orbit in 3-D space, allowing for a precise mass determination of both components in a binary. (It could be generalized to more complicated star systems, but the analysis gets - you guessed it - more complicated.)
Sampling from just across the planetary disk won't provide enough information on the orbit to actually provide a full 3-D picture of the orbit. Or, more accurately, it provides little that can't be determined just from regular techniques.
Another problem: Transiting systems are ideal for analysis precisely because they are edge-on systems. What this means is that the line of observation (Earth to the transiting system) is necessarily perpendicular to the angular momentum vector of the system. This means the radial velocity data provides not a lower mass limit, but the actual mass.
The potential improvement in determining this angle is minor, at best.
The only possibility for actually useful results would be if this technique still provided enough information about asymmetry that it could, with standard photometry, get a more accurate sense of the size of these planets. This could provide information about its density and potential composition, which could prove important for formation models.
But again, as I wake up a bit more, I'm less confident about this.
Agnus Dei (Conclusion):
It was interesting - I told a classmate in the dream that I was going to blog this.
Unfortunately, the wakeful, somewhat thoughtful part of me is now questioning the value of this "insight" gained in the dream. This is unfortunate, not because I felt like making a contribution to observational astronomy and extrasolar planet research, but because it was going to be the first problem I had solved in a dream. (During my first semester in college, I occasionally had dreams about programming and math, but I never actually solved anything this way. Also, in dreams where I'm being chased by bad guys, my gun never works. I wonder if my subconscious is trying to suggest I'm sterile or impotent. In that case, fuck you subconscious!)
Poo. This wasn't worth waking up and breaking Facebook fast.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Part 1: The Expert is Dead!
Nowhere is it more clear that the expert is dead than in political discourse over climate change in America.
More evidence won't help the case of global warming/climate change environmentalists. More evidence would only help if there was a consensus on the legitimacy of the evidence, as well as a better sense of the baseline levels of crackpots in the scientific process. (The latter is necessary to judge roughly whether the current levels of dissent about anthropogenic global warming are actually indicative of a real "debate" or "open question".)
Scientists can't defend the models and implications of climate change if scientists themselves, and perhaps the scientific process in general, is regarded as illegitimate. Consequently, I am pessimistic about the prospects of "education" or "more, better evidence" changing the politics of climate change. More research, of course, will help refine models and provide, hopefully, better predictive power for mitigation efforts.
In case what I've said is completely beyond comprehension of those reading this for whom science in general, and scientists in particular, take that they are legitimate as a given, let me use what I believe to be an accessible example.
Many (but not all) scientists are somewhere between agnostic and atheist. For them, Biblical literalism is seen as ridiculous because the Holy Bible itself lacks legitimacy, either as absolute historical truth, or a legal/moral authority. Quoting scripture to justify an interpretation of God's will won't convince an atheist for pretty obvious reasons - the entire line of argument is seen as starting from a bad foundation.
Now, there will be people who argue that this is an unfair comparison. Science, they might say, is based on observable, testable results, while religion in general, and fundamentalist Christianity in particular, is not.
That's not the point.
The point is that it is often a waste of time to argue with someone using what you perceive as gold but the other person perceives as crap. All it does is reinforce your own prejudices and piss everyone the hell off.
I think that the grumbling I hear/read from economic conservatives, moderates, and intellectuals about the ridiculousness of present-day politics comes from the decline of the legitimacy of experts. Americans, historically, have distrusted central authority. But during certain periods (the Cold War being a particularly good example), experts in general, and scientists in particular, were held in particularly high esteem. They were seen as highly trusted, dependable, and patriotic.
So what happened?
I'm speculating that it could be traced to three reasons.
1. The gulf between promises and reality
Remember when we were supposed to have floating cars by the 1970s? Or travel to Europa in phallic spacecraft by 2001? These didn't happen. And while we do have things that, upon further contemplation, may be even more amazing (and useful) , it still remains that the nature of both funding and human behavior causes advocates of long-term projects, however necessary, to often overpromise and underdeliver. If one manages expectations appropriately, it is possible that one will lose funding to those that are willing to promise the Moon (sometimes literally). Consensus projects like National Science Foundation Decadal Surveys are supposed to counteract this possibility, but this process is not immune to abuse, or more probably, managerial incompetence.
2. The abuse of public trust and scientific research by a few bad apples
Many scientists were, and remain, exemplary models not only of professionalism, but also of citizenship. The bad apples are rare - but they do damage far out of proportion of their numbers. Every scandal, every instance of academic fraud, or even the suggestion of fraud, damages the public trust in the scientific process, and those engaged in research.
During the Cold War, science had it pretty good, physicists in particular. Masters of the atomic bomb, they had unparalleled access to policymaking and funding priorities. Some departed company from real science and became engaged in influence peddling. There are probably many examples of this, but the example talked about in my field was Edward Teller. In addition to leading the development of the thermonuclear bomb (the H-bomb), he ruined Oppenheimer by leveling McCarthyist charges against him, advocated creation of harbors using nuclear weapons, and promoted the Strategic Defense Initiative (a missile shield), a program that, then as well as more recently, has been a huge drain on resources and promising very little in terms of practical ICBM defense.
More recently, the scandal involving Andrew Wakefield and the relationship between the MMR vaccine and autism proved tremendously destructive to science. It caused tremendous fallout, both within the medical community and outside of it, and its impact is still being felt, whether in misinformation spread by a prominent (former) presidential candidate , or the creation of a public health hazard due to declining vaccination rates or the mailing of infected lollipops.
3. Lack of contact between professional researchers and the public
By its nature, scientific research is challenging and demanding. It takes a very specific type of person, with very specific priorities, to be successful in research science as it is currently constructed. Research is also conducted by a relatively small percentage of people. It is also true that these people don't always fit into mainstream patterns. For example, a former professor once told me that 94% of AAAS members are atheists. Even if he was off by a factor of two, that would still indicate a divergence in cultural values from mainstream America.
Interestingly enough, there are parallels to the cultural effects of having a professional military in which service is limited to about 1% of the US population, and generally more prevalent in the South than in other parts of the country. The experiences are widely divergent, obviously. But the fact remains - when you have a small minority of the population engaged in specialized work, or with very distinct experiences, integration with and understanding by the rest of society is often lacking.
One great counterexample I have for this: the liberal churches I have attended in my life. In both the church I grew up in, Montebello Plymouth United Church of Christ, and the church I attended in graduate school, St. Paul's United Methodist Church, there was a sizable scientific population, and also a majority of non-scientists. We got along well. It may have helped that the churches were liberal, and that, whatever doctrinal differences individuals may have had, generally we adhered to that key principle of Jesus:"Don't be an asshole."
4. Neo-Ludditism
Americans love technology; NSF surveys indicate that we are one of the most techno-friendly cultures of the OECD. But I don't think we love science. Especially recently, I think we see technology and science in terms of a divergence between opportunities afforded the technical elite and the rest of us. When the narrative shifts away from "working on the arsenal of freedom" to "20-year old college dropout Internet millionaire", look out!
There might be other cultural effects here - anti-nerd tendencies, jealousy/anger toward academically successful kids, etc. They all feed into this odd combination of a love of gadgetry but a distaste for science, especially if science is somehow tied to the obsolescence of your job.
5. The dilution of the definition of "expert".
"Expert" used to mean something pretty specific. It meant that someone was well-respected by his or her peers, had made critical contributions to the field, etc. Now that news has become more entertainment-based, anyone can be an expert, a "talking head". This has debased the value of the title "expert". There's a lot I could write about this, especially in its relationship to the proliferation of "think tanks" that are, functionally, lobbying and advocacy groups. But time grows short, and this post is long enough already. But don't confuse brevity with unimportance - this is a critical aspect of the modern American story of expertise. I just don't know if it is a symptom or a cause (likely both).
Next post: The expert is dead! Long live the expert?
More evidence won't help the case of global warming/climate change environmentalists. More evidence would only help if there was a consensus on the legitimacy of the evidence, as well as a better sense of the baseline levels of crackpots in the scientific process. (The latter is necessary to judge roughly whether the current levels of dissent about anthropogenic global warming are actually indicative of a real "debate" or "open question".)
Scientists can't defend the models and implications of climate change if scientists themselves, and perhaps the scientific process in general, is regarded as illegitimate. Consequently, I am pessimistic about the prospects of "education" or "more, better evidence" changing the politics of climate change. More research, of course, will help refine models and provide, hopefully, better predictive power for mitigation efforts.
In case what I've said is completely beyond comprehension of those reading this for whom science in general, and scientists in particular, take that they are legitimate as a given, let me use what I believe to be an accessible example.
Many (but not all) scientists are somewhere between agnostic and atheist. For them, Biblical literalism is seen as ridiculous because the Holy Bible itself lacks legitimacy, either as absolute historical truth, or a legal/moral authority. Quoting scripture to justify an interpretation of God's will won't convince an atheist for pretty obvious reasons - the entire line of argument is seen as starting from a bad foundation.
Now, there will be people who argue that this is an unfair comparison. Science, they might say, is based on observable, testable results, while religion in general, and fundamentalist Christianity in particular, is not.
That's not the point.
The point is that it is often a waste of time to argue with someone using what you perceive as gold but the other person perceives as crap. All it does is reinforce your own prejudices and piss everyone the hell off.
I think that the grumbling I hear/read from economic conservatives, moderates, and intellectuals about the ridiculousness of present-day politics comes from the decline of the legitimacy of experts. Americans, historically, have distrusted central authority. But during certain periods (the Cold War being a particularly good example), experts in general, and scientists in particular, were held in particularly high esteem. They were seen as highly trusted, dependable, and patriotic.
So what happened?
I'm speculating that it could be traced to three reasons.
1. The gulf between promises and reality
Remember when we were supposed to have floating cars by the 1970s? Or travel to Europa in phallic spacecraft by 2001? These didn't happen. And while we do have things that, upon further contemplation, may be even more amazing (and useful) , it still remains that the nature of both funding and human behavior causes advocates of long-term projects, however necessary, to often overpromise and underdeliver. If one manages expectations appropriately, it is possible that one will lose funding to those that are willing to promise the Moon (sometimes literally). Consensus projects like National Science Foundation Decadal Surveys are supposed to counteract this possibility, but this process is not immune to abuse, or more probably, managerial incompetence.
2. The abuse of public trust and scientific research by a few bad apples
Many scientists were, and remain, exemplary models not only of professionalism, but also of citizenship. The bad apples are rare - but they do damage far out of proportion of their numbers. Every scandal, every instance of academic fraud, or even the suggestion of fraud, damages the public trust in the scientific process, and those engaged in research.
During the Cold War, science had it pretty good, physicists in particular. Masters of the atomic bomb, they had unparalleled access to policymaking and funding priorities. Some departed company from real science and became engaged in influence peddling. There are probably many examples of this, but the example talked about in my field was Edward Teller. In addition to leading the development of the thermonuclear bomb (the H-bomb), he ruined Oppenheimer by leveling McCarthyist charges against him, advocated creation of harbors using nuclear weapons, and promoted the Strategic Defense Initiative (a missile shield), a program that, then as well as more recently, has been a huge drain on resources and promising very little in terms of practical ICBM defense.
More recently, the scandal involving Andrew Wakefield and the relationship between the MMR vaccine and autism proved tremendously destructive to science. It caused tremendous fallout, both within the medical community and outside of it, and its impact is still being felt, whether in misinformation spread by a prominent (former) presidential candidate , or the creation of a public health hazard due to declining vaccination rates or the mailing of infected lollipops.
3. Lack of contact between professional researchers and the public
By its nature, scientific research is challenging and demanding. It takes a very specific type of person, with very specific priorities, to be successful in research science as it is currently constructed. Research is also conducted by a relatively small percentage of people. It is also true that these people don't always fit into mainstream patterns. For example, a former professor once told me that 94% of AAAS members are atheists. Even if he was off by a factor of two, that would still indicate a divergence in cultural values from mainstream America.
Interestingly enough, there are parallels to the cultural effects of having a professional military in which service is limited to about 1% of the US population, and generally more prevalent in the South than in other parts of the country. The experiences are widely divergent, obviously. But the fact remains - when you have a small minority of the population engaged in specialized work, or with very distinct experiences, integration with and understanding by the rest of society is often lacking.
One great counterexample I have for this: the liberal churches I have attended in my life. In both the church I grew up in, Montebello Plymouth United Church of Christ, and the church I attended in graduate school, St. Paul's United Methodist Church, there was a sizable scientific population, and also a majority of non-scientists. We got along well. It may have helped that the churches were liberal, and that, whatever doctrinal differences individuals may have had, generally we adhered to that key principle of Jesus:"Don't be an asshole."
4. Neo-Ludditism
Americans love technology; NSF surveys indicate that we are one of the most techno-friendly cultures of the OECD. But I don't think we love science. Especially recently, I think we see technology and science in terms of a divergence between opportunities afforded the technical elite and the rest of us. When the narrative shifts away from "working on the arsenal of freedom" to "20-year old college dropout Internet millionaire", look out!
There might be other cultural effects here - anti-nerd tendencies, jealousy/anger toward academically successful kids, etc. They all feed into this odd combination of a love of gadgetry but a distaste for science, especially if science is somehow tied to the obsolescence of your job.
5. The dilution of the definition of "expert".
"Expert" used to mean something pretty specific. It meant that someone was well-respected by his or her peers, had made critical contributions to the field, etc. Now that news has become more entertainment-based, anyone can be an expert, a "talking head". This has debased the value of the title "expert". There's a lot I could write about this, especially in its relationship to the proliferation of "think tanks" that are, functionally, lobbying and advocacy groups. But time grows short, and this post is long enough already. But don't confuse brevity with unimportance - this is a critical aspect of the modern American story of expertise. I just don't know if it is a symptom or a cause (likely both).
Next post: The expert is dead! Long live the expert?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Inspiration
There are moments that bring you out of contemplation of the past or future to the present - urgently, violently, beautifully.
When it happens, it is as if one is waking from a dream, and brought into a reality filled with deeper colors and sounds of exquisite complexity.
In my life, there have been perhaps three times this has happened. Each time, it was due to a particularly special someone.
Though the conversation or relationship be brief or limited, the moment of realization endures , even though time may do its best to rob us of the specifics of the memory.
I have had such an experience just now. It is the emotional/spiritual equivalent of being struck by lightning without a cloud in the sky. Unexpected, unhoped for, and uncertain about its impact or longevity, it may defy articulation.
But the fact remains - I know when I've been hit with a damn bolt. And I am grateful for it, even if I never see nor hear from the person again. For the experience has forced me to become more interesting, more present, more alive.
I do not feel like I can do anything. But I do feel like I can do everything I need to do in my life. And that is an amazing feeling indeed.
More passionate about sending out my own bolts of lightning, to enrich the lives of my family, my friends, my world.
May I never doubt the power of distant strangers again.
When it happens, it is as if one is waking from a dream, and brought into a reality filled with deeper colors and sounds of exquisite complexity.
In my life, there have been perhaps three times this has happened. Each time, it was due to a particularly special someone.
Though the conversation or relationship be brief or limited, the moment of realization endures , even though time may do its best to rob us of the specifics of the memory.
I have had such an experience just now. It is the emotional/spiritual equivalent of being struck by lightning without a cloud in the sky. Unexpected, unhoped for, and uncertain about its impact or longevity, it may defy articulation.
But the fact remains - I know when I've been hit with a damn bolt. And I am grateful for it, even if I never see nor hear from the person again. For the experience has forced me to become more interesting, more present, more alive.
I do not feel like I can do anything. But I do feel like I can do everything I need to do in my life. And that is an amazing feeling indeed.
More passionate about sending out my own bolts of lightning, to enrich the lives of my family, my friends, my world.
May I never doubt the power of distant strangers again.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Giving up Facebook, at least for Lent
Although it's unclear how religious I am nowadays, Lent has always been a good opportunity to give up something that has two properties: (1) I like a lot, and (2) may not be contributing to my long-term well-being.
I depend on Facebook, perhaps far more than most of my friends (real and virtual). That's because I work from home, and, quite frankly, I don't get out much. In fact, I've recently been diagnosed with social anxiety. I never thought of myself this way - more awkward and self-conscious than full-blown DSM IV - but it fits. Those who know me well know that I love public speaking, but find it difficult to pick up the phone and call a friend for a favor, to schedule a dinner, for emotional support, or for nothing in particular. in conversation with my therapist, I've decided I need to call people less. Messaging online, or posting something and waiting for likes (pathetic, I know) just isn't cutting it.
I don't know what will happen. Like I said, I'm pretty heavily dependent upon Facebook for most of my social interaction. I am worried that I might conclude that a stunted social life is better than none at all - but I'm also supposed to work on catastrophizing (as in avoiding the thought process).
Not funny, I know. Probably oversharing. But it's a step. I'm sorry I will miss some important life events. I'm sorry I will lose touch with some people who, whether they know it or not, I appreciate for their shares, their insight, and their humor.
If this seems overly dramatic, and even a bit odd - I am posting this, after all, on Facebook - it's because you don't know how critical it is for me to feel connected, some how, some way, to the people I appreciate from my past. It's not like losing a friend - it's like losing several. It feels as if I am voluntarily stepping across the boundary between dying and dead relationships. Again, as absurd as it may seem, it is a genuine feeling.
I might not come back. I have mixed feelings about virtual friendships in general, and Facebook in particular. Perhaps I'll be content to let the chips fall where they may, work on the relationships I can, and accept those that fade away.
So here's to the future, and to greater productivity and deeper relationships. If I call you during this time - and there's no guarantee that my social phobia will improve in this regard - it's not because I'm desperate, or in great distress. It's because I'm making a small step toward being a better person, and hopefully a better friend. If I don't, then I encourage you to call me, should you feel neglected or curious. And if you get married, divorced, fall into or out of love or a job, or just want to chat for a bit, I'll be here. Just not "here".
Goodbye, for now.
I depend on Facebook, perhaps far more than most of my friends (real and virtual). That's because I work from home, and, quite frankly, I don't get out much. In fact, I've recently been diagnosed with social anxiety. I never thought of myself this way - more awkward and self-conscious than full-blown DSM IV - but it fits. Those who know me well know that I love public speaking, but find it difficult to pick up the phone and call a friend for a favor, to schedule a dinner, for emotional support, or for nothing in particular. in conversation with my therapist, I've decided I need to call people less. Messaging online, or posting something and waiting for likes (pathetic, I know) just isn't cutting it.
I don't know what will happen. Like I said, I'm pretty heavily dependent upon Facebook for most of my social interaction. I am worried that I might conclude that a stunted social life is better than none at all - but I'm also supposed to work on catastrophizing (as in avoiding the thought process).
Not funny, I know. Probably oversharing. But it's a step. I'm sorry I will miss some important life events. I'm sorry I will lose touch with some people who, whether they know it or not, I appreciate for their shares, their insight, and their humor.
If this seems overly dramatic, and even a bit odd - I am posting this, after all, on Facebook - it's because you don't know how critical it is for me to feel connected, some how, some way, to the people I appreciate from my past. It's not like losing a friend - it's like losing several. It feels as if I am voluntarily stepping across the boundary between dying and dead relationships. Again, as absurd as it may seem, it is a genuine feeling.
I might not come back. I have mixed feelings about virtual friendships in general, and Facebook in particular. Perhaps I'll be content to let the chips fall where they may, work on the relationships I can, and accept those that fade away.
So here's to the future, and to greater productivity and deeper relationships. If I call you during this time - and there's no guarantee that my social phobia will improve in this regard - it's not because I'm desperate, or in great distress. It's because I'm making a small step toward being a better person, and hopefully a better friend. If I don't, then I encourage you to call me, should you feel neglected or curious. And if you get married, divorced, fall into or out of love or a job, or just want to chat for a bit, I'll be here. Just not "here".
Goodbye, for now.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
I have an unusually long hair on my arm
As the title suggests, this is about an arm hair that is significantly longer than the others.
I seriously considered posting a picture of it, but upon further consideration, I concluded that it would creep a lot of people out. Consequently, I'm reduced to describing it.
It is located on the outside of my arm only a couple inches from my shoulder. I also estimate it to be about four and a half times the length of a typical hair on my upper arm.
I have trimmed it in the past, but it always regrew to its former length. Anyone who remembers their basic biology or anatomy would know why - hair growth is controlled by the follicle, located inside the skin. Somehow, this one is getting buggy signals.
The shower is a good place to think. I was in the shower one day, contemplating this strand of rogue keratin, when an (allegedly) old Japanese metaphor came to me. "The nail that stands out will be hit by the hammer." It's a horrible lesson, emphasizing conformity and punishing individualism or ambition.
Such is the internal monlogue of the insecure:
Simplicio: Cut that hair! It's long and unusual, and therefore gross. Besides, who knows who might check you out, chat you up, invite you back to her place, and, right before the good stuff, get turned off by this freakish follicular flap? And ohmigod, what if it's cancerous?
Then, I thought, instead of cutting this hair, or ignoring it, I should celebrate this quirk of physiology. I will keep it as a reminder that uniformity is not the ideal - that we need to have something about us that makes us stand out from the crowd. Also, what is noteworthy is such, not necessarily because it is unusual in an absolute sense, but because it is remarkable within its specific environment. My gifts in math and science were not at all evident to me while I was in graduate school - but when I emerged from that rarefied environment to the wider world, I realized that I had something to offer the world.
Sagredo: Cut that hair and you move one step closer to conformity, to a standard of body image externally driven, to a perfectionism that rejects our basic human property of imperfection, all for vanity. What folly, that a man cannot find the personal courage to embrace his unique traits as anything other than imperfections, or place undue emphasis on the physical at the cost of spiritual and intellectual growth.
But then what about the double standard I set regarding nose hairs? Are some not unusually long? Didn't someone go from unusually long nose hairs to become the junior senator of Minnesota? Isn't the quest for universality in morality and philosophy one of the greatest sources of destruction and despair, in the 20th century as well as all the others?
Salviati: Ah, wise words, Sagredo. But I detect hints at forming a universally applicable principle. While embracing the physical imperfections, take care that you make allowances for the limits of personal inconsistency. They need not reflect an illogical mind, or an immature philosophy - rather, the principle of consistency and universality should be subordinate to the superordinate goods of practicality, societal norms, and personal preferences. For we exist in the real, material world, not merely an abstraction where the individual is an island, and therefore, completely free.
Then, I considered the psychological implications of attempting to establish a philosophy of principle upon a body hair.
Me: You're talking about a fucking hair. Now finish the damn shower before you drive up the water bill, you self-indulgent ass!
The hair remains, a reminder of both the beauty of the unusual, the perils of universalism, and the fragility of mental health.
I seriously considered posting a picture of it, but upon further consideration, I concluded that it would creep a lot of people out. Consequently, I'm reduced to describing it.
It is located on the outside of my arm only a couple inches from my shoulder. I also estimate it to be about four and a half times the length of a typical hair on my upper arm.
I have trimmed it in the past, but it always regrew to its former length. Anyone who remembers their basic biology or anatomy would know why - hair growth is controlled by the follicle, located inside the skin. Somehow, this one is getting buggy signals.
The shower is a good place to think. I was in the shower one day, contemplating this strand of rogue keratin, when an (allegedly) old Japanese metaphor came to me. "The nail that stands out will be hit by the hammer." It's a horrible lesson, emphasizing conformity and punishing individualism or ambition.
Such is the internal monlogue of the insecure:
Simplicio: Cut that hair! It's long and unusual, and therefore gross. Besides, who knows who might check you out, chat you up, invite you back to her place, and, right before the good stuff, get turned off by this freakish follicular flap? And ohmigod, what if it's cancerous?
Then, I thought, instead of cutting this hair, or ignoring it, I should celebrate this quirk of physiology. I will keep it as a reminder that uniformity is not the ideal - that we need to have something about us that makes us stand out from the crowd. Also, what is noteworthy is such, not necessarily because it is unusual in an absolute sense, but because it is remarkable within its specific environment. My gifts in math and science were not at all evident to me while I was in graduate school - but when I emerged from that rarefied environment to the wider world, I realized that I had something to offer the world.
Sagredo: Cut that hair and you move one step closer to conformity, to a standard of body image externally driven, to a perfectionism that rejects our basic human property of imperfection, all for vanity. What folly, that a man cannot find the personal courage to embrace his unique traits as anything other than imperfections, or place undue emphasis on the physical at the cost of spiritual and intellectual growth.
But then what about the double standard I set regarding nose hairs? Are some not unusually long? Didn't someone go from unusually long nose hairs to become the junior senator of Minnesota? Isn't the quest for universality in morality and philosophy one of the greatest sources of destruction and despair, in the 20th century as well as all the others?
Salviati: Ah, wise words, Sagredo. But I detect hints at forming a universally applicable principle. While embracing the physical imperfections, take care that you make allowances for the limits of personal inconsistency. They need not reflect an illogical mind, or an immature philosophy - rather, the principle of consistency and universality should be subordinate to the superordinate goods of practicality, societal norms, and personal preferences. For we exist in the real, material world, not merely an abstraction where the individual is an island, and therefore, completely free.
Then, I considered the psychological implications of attempting to establish a philosophy of principle upon a body hair.
Me: You're talking about a fucking hair. Now finish the damn shower before you drive up the water bill, you self-indulgent ass!
The hair remains, a reminder of both the beauty of the unusual, the perils of universalism, and the fragility of mental health.
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