It was always surprising to see on my college campus these young, intelligent University of Chicago scholars sitting in the quadrangle, handing out blithe tracts of Marxist propaganda. I could only describe the scene as tragicomic: amusing in its irony, depressing as a comment on the undergraduate life.

It is not that these students were "wrong," per se, but that their confusion of ideology and action was unsettling. When a person that young enters in upon such a creed, he perhaps believes that in time, his actions will bear out his present ideals even if they exist now only as hope. But that is too reliant on the onset of maturity: the wish that with experience will come the path to actually enacting or legislating Marxist philosophy. They chase a dream for which they cannot see the finish line, but they trust that there is one. To them, I think, Marxism is a beautful thing, and not a little of a victim of circumstance, capitalist oppression, and insufficient time.

But Communism did not fall solely because the time was not ripe, or because of the pressures of America, or because several decades were not long enough for the Socialist Experiment. Communism fell because of the disparity between its ideals and the harshness of reality. It is almost as if there is a natural opposition to the Socialist Utopia; there is necessarily a breakdown of commonality and equality because the dictates of humanity will not tolerate them for long. Perhaps in another thousand years, or ten thousand, when humankind no longer resembles homo sapiens, then the dream may be realized. But to willfully ignore a cynical perspective, and then to make a spectacle on campus: that indeed is tragicomic.  ¶ 11:10 PM

  My review for Stephen Jay Gould's The Mismeasure of Man on amazon.com:

The Mismeasure of Man is more than a historical account of the inaccuracies of intelligence testing; it is an epic illustration of the pitfalls of an uncritical scientific approach. The thrust of the recounting is that scientists must not delude themselves into believing that they are objective measurers of a well-defined world. Political and social biases are inherent parts of our humanity, and as such are unavoidable influences on how we interpret data. Gould thus suggests that the only way to compensate for our biases is to acknowledge them. Otherwise we are fated to repeat past errors: designing experiments to fit preconceived conclusions rather than setting forth disprovable hypotheses.

The history of intelligence testing is riddled with these mistakes. The most striking is the capacity for scientists to explain away data that does not fit their original notion. For example, when skull size failed to show a positive correlation with the traditional white-asian-black intellectual heirarchy, different measurement procedures were used, unrelated races were grouped together, and gender effects were ignored. All in an effort to (often subconsciously) restore the comfortable position of white superiority.

The most fulfilling aspect of the book is how far Gould has researched the environments and lives of those who played a role in this drama. Although some passages may be construed as ad hominem attacks, the vast majority of the information is necessary to understand -- and, in some cases, sympathize with -- otherwise seemingly cold, evil, or ignorant scientists. In the end, Gould redeems many of these figures while also castigating their behavior, so that we may learn from their mistakes. Indeed, this book gives a clear understanding of how statistics, prejudice, and self-delusion can alter the course of research.  ¶ 9:00 PM

  My review for Walter Lippmann's Drift and Mastery on amazon.com:

Walter Lippmann's vision of a cooperative America in 1914 has withstood the test of time as a paradigm for retaining our humanity during industrialization. His emphasis on science, communication, labor organization, and the women's movement has uncannily mirrored the intervening 90 years. Although a few of his sentiments and observations are outdated, the majority of his recommendations are still applicable to today's society.

The title is the clearest indication of the timeless pertinence of this work. In all eras of change, drift has been of the utmost importance. In today's world of exponentially progressing technology and corporate mechanization, we often feel helpless against the tides of nation-wide change. Mastery, then, is the ability to band together and set those changes on the course of prosperity without sacrificing our individuality.

Lippmann outlines the problems, solutions, and repercussions of mastery. Despite some aspects of the text being idealistic or anachronistic, much of what he predicted has come to pass. Although the average reader like myself may not be able to put Lippmann's ideas into direct action, his concepts still ought to help understand our responsibilities as citizens.  ¶ 5:33 PM

  On Cynicism and My Aspirations

I came upon a deeply cynical and somewhat unsettling realization yesterday, one that I readily admit may be wrong. I was considering why it was that I really wanted to be a professor. All the usual and automatic reasons surfaced first: that I have a deep care for fellow humans; that the children are our future; that I love to teach and help others. But I looked deeper, and none of those reasons seem true.

I believe the real reason I want to be a professor is to satisfy my immense ego. To be able to impart my knowledge and wisdom to students, and to see them become knowledgeable and wise: that is the greatest stroke of ego I can imagine. Learning and the betterment of humanity are only a useful side-effect of my selfishness. I have no other way to explain my almost consuming desire to teach others, to answer their questions, and to feel pride at their education. What else is in it for me? Paradoxically, selflessness seems fundamentally a function of selfishness: the reward for teaching well is an almost smug sense of self-satisfaction at the propagation of my own ideas.

But it's easy to damn myself, since doing so is essentialy victimless. I further believe that most other people who aspire to professorship do so for the same reason. The majority of those people, however, unconsciously lie to themselves to meet the standards of a society that values selflessness. Of course, I have no proof of this. Yet I see no reason to believe we are evolved enough to have rid ourselves of the instinct of selfishness, at least not beyond the cares of family. Altruism is something we learn to adapt to society, but where do our basic motivations come from?

I believe that man is inherently evil. This is not, as it may seem, a statement of pessimism or bitterness. Rather, it is a question of how we have come define things as being evil. The urge to kill, the sin of lust, the desire to covet and steal: these things are some of the instincts of our ancestors. Civilization and instinct are in conflict with each other, during early social history as well as now. An efficient way to neutralize instinct and to provide for the common good is to label the products of our instincts as "evil." I'm certainly glad we do. I much prefer a civilized society to an anarchic one. But our basic motivations still arise from sources we call "evil," such as ego; it is only that these motivations are corralled and funnelled into public serivces. We realize now that often the best way to provide for ourselves is to cooperate and improve our society. Yet this means that cooperation and selflessness are only a means to an end: that of self-satisfaction.

Are there true altruists out there, who conceive only of the mass conciousness and not the self? Of course. I'm certainly not prepared to villify Mother Teresa. My argument is only that the vast majority of people are not altruists. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. We are imperfect animals, as I am with my ego; but it is our imperfections that propel us along progress and cultural evolution.  ¶ 11:53 PM

  On the Present

"Only those who are really at home in their world find life more interesting as they mature. Experience for them is not an awful chance, but a prize they can win and embrace. They need no romance to make life tolerable. But people who are forever dreaming of a mythical past are merely saying that they are afraid of the future. They will falter before their problems, will deal with them half-heartedly and with diffidence. Their allegiance is not to the world." - Walter Lippmann, 1914

There is, naturally, a certain romance in period art: paintings or pictures of a Golden Age, simple, and with a metaphor of some kindled emotion. Perhaps it is light or youth or love. I've often gazed at such works. In one, a painting of a 50's diner shows an old man bowed in thought over the counter; a solitary waitress; and the comfort of the diner's light sweeping out a section of the downtown evening. In others -- pictures along the Northwestern University cafeteria -- typical 50's clean-cut kids laugh and drink malts, seeming to share some brand of happiness lost to our modern world. And some deep-cut sentimentality hits me, like nostalgia for a time I never knew; and I wonder about how it was to live then. I want to feel what deep emotions ran through those people, be it happiness or a revelling in the simplicity of its time.

But that kind of thinking is blind. At the same time I stood admiring the enigma of crew cuts and bobbed hair, a swirl of activity and emotion was taking place around me. I had been thinking "what was it like to live then?" but it is better to ask, "what is it like to live now?" In the routine and professionalism of our adult lives, we tend to see surrounding activity as clamorous and noisome, impersonal and mechanized. Yet there is as much excitement and wonder in those around us as in the pictures of past glory. If we look at the present the way we romanticize the past, we can find those things in reality which we thought would only be found in fantasy: things we hope can make us happy. It is so much more than not taking things for granted. It is believing in the necessity of evil, of suffering, of the troughs in our lives; and it is finding the crevices between them.

Some day, a young, impressionable man will stand at a portrait of early twenty-first life and marvel at our simplicity and capacity for enjoying life. Perhaps he will continue to live blind, seeing only the horrors of his time and despairing for the future. Or perhaps he will realize that there is no destiny: there is no inevitable dystopian society, no fateful social-Darwinian march of progress and dehumanization. Life is what we make of it; and though humanity may rise or fall, it is contigent always on the present and on our actions, not on our sentiments.  ¶ 10:46 PM

  On Popular Misconceptions About Relativity:

I read the other day an article arguing that speeds faster than light are possible. It's simple, it said. First you start off with what "everybody knows" about relativity: that only the relative motion of two objects matters; that me moving away from you at 20mph is the same as you moving away from me at 20mph. So, two particles travelling at the speed of light in opposite directions is the same as one particle standing still and the other moving at a rate of twice the speed of light. Voila! Superluminal speeds.

So where's the flaw in this reasoning? The flaw comes from a misunderstanding about what it means when we say that "only relative motion matters." It's a correct statement... within a narrowly defined system. Let me illustrate what this means.

If I'm running at 10mph due north, and you run away from me at 10mph due south, the distance between us increases at a rate of 20mph. The misconception of relativity would lead us to think that our absolute speeds don't matter; that only our relative motion of 20mph matters. But does that really mean that it's the same as you standing still and me running at 20mph? Would I exert the same amount of energy? Would I get tired faster? Obviously, it's not the same thing. The problem lies in that we have not defined exactly what it is that relative motion matters to. If we define it as how tired I get, then absolute motion matters, not relative motion. If we define it as the rate at which the distance between us increases, then relative motion matters, not absolute motion. Does this mean that Einstein was wrong? No, it just means that the popular interpretation of his theory is wrong.

Einstein's paper on the theory of relativity starts off with the well known principle of induction of an electromagnetic field by the relative motion of either an electric current or a magnet. He states that absolute motion does not matter, since equally relative motion of either the current or the magnet produces the same field. But notice that Einstein has defined exactly what relative motion matters to: the induction of an electromagnetic field. This is analogous to our rate of increase in distance. If instead Einstein had asked, "will my hand get more tired by cranking the magnet or letting a machine run an electric current?" then only the absolute motion would matter. We must narrowly define the system before we can equate two scenarios.

Thus, two particles moving at the speed of light in opposite directions is not "the same" as one particle standing still and the other moving at twice the speed of light. It is only the same when we have defined what we are looking for as "the rate of increase in distance between the two particles" -- which has no impact on how fast either particle is actually moving.  ¶ 1:02 AM

  On the misuse of the word "novel" in scientific literature

In the increasingly competitive world of scientific publishing, a premium has been placed on revolutionary or groundbreaking ideas. As journals compete with each other for the best articles, and as the total number of submissions increases, quick, sexy titles are often used to try and catch an editor's eye. Consequently, the word "novel" has seen more and more misuses as authors attempt to make their work stand out as exciting and newsworthy.

The definition of "novel" as given by the Webster-Merriam Dictionary is "new and not resembling something formerly known or used; original or striking especially in conception or style." Unfortunately, many authors try to pass off simply "new" models and methods as "novel," when their work is clearly derivative. Although modifications and improvements may make the work uniquely the authors', there is no novel aspect unless it reveals something previously unnoticed or unimagined. Even then, it ought to have an impact or at least an implication that improvements are far-reaching and potentially revolutionary.

For example, a model of cell movement that shows the cytoskeleton to be more flexible than previously thought is not really novel. A model that posits a completely different mechanism of movement (as was hypothesized in the continuing "fillament treadmilling" vs "array treadmilling" debate) is, on the other hand, a novel discovery. The contribution of new data and ideas do not make them novel; the application of them in intellectually stimulating ways does.

Unfortunately, this misuse of "novel" has almost made it a dirty word in some circles. It's sometimes seen as a cheap gimmick, or as the last refuge of a desperate author. Of course, some instances are more than appropriate, but they are a decreasing minority. If any attempt is to be made at reappropriating this word for its intended usage, it must come from both the authors and the editors. Scientific integrity has come again into conflict with sensationalism, and this time the resolution rests solely on the shoulders of scientists.  ¶ 8:44 PM