What an awesome photo from 2015. I hadn't seen this image until today: From NASA (and this article also includes an animation of there moon crossing): EPIC maintains a constant view of the fully illuminated Earth as it rotates, providing scientific observations of ozone, vegetation, cloud height and aerosols in…
Cleaning up false claims is a lot more work than making false claims. That fact puts an immense burden on those of us who strive to correct the record. From "The Unbearable Asymmetry of Bullshit," by Brian D Earp.
As the programmer Alberto Brandolini is reputed to have said: “The amount of energy necessary to refute bullshit is an order of magnitude bigger than to produce it.” This is the unbearable asymmetry of bullshit I mentioned in my title, and it poses a serious problem for research integrity. Developing a strategy for overcoming it, I suggest, should be a top priority for publication ethics.
Earp urges that we (and especially, journalists) need to stay vigilant about the possibility that impressive looking scientific findings are severely flawed. In his article, he identifies some of the telltale signs of science badly done, for instance, the Gish Gallop, the technique by which one spews forth torrents of error cannot be easily refuted in the format of a debate short form debate. That said, Earp succinctly explains that attacking flawed scientific claims is a completely different thing than honoring the scientific method. In fact, attacking science badly-done is an excellent way to honor the scientific method:
[S]cience is flawed. And scientists are people too. While it is true that most scientists — at least the ones I know and work with — are hell-bent on getting things right, they are not therefore immune from human foibles. If they want to keep their jobs, at least, they must contend with a perverse “publish or perish” incentive structure that tends to reward flashy findings and high-volume “productivity” over painstaking, reliable research. On top of that, they have reputations to defend, egos to protect, and grants to pursue. They get tired. They get overwhelmed. They don’t always check their references, or even read what they cite. They have cognitive and emotional limitations, not to mention biases, like everyone else.At the same time, as the psychologist Gary Marcus has recently put it, “it is facile to dismiss science itself. The most careful scientists, and the best science journalists, realize that all science is provisional. There will always be things that we haven’t figured out yet, and even some that we get wrong.” But science is not just about conclusions, he argues, which are occasionally (or even frequently) incorrect. Instead, “It’s about a methodology for investigation, which includes, at its core, a relentless drive towards questioning that which came before.” You can both “love science,” he concludes, “and question it.”
I agree with Marcus. In fact, I agree with him so much that I would like to go a step further: if you love science, you had better question it, and question it well, so it can live up to its potential.
I'm subscribed to Greenwald and Taibbi. I haven't felt this good about being a liberal in more than a decade.
I have serious difficulty dealing with people dying from Trump Derangement Syndrome, all convinced that I am a committed Trump supporter. I'm opposed to the Far Left which styles itself Progressive, and claims it's the same thing as liberal. It is fundamentally illiberal.
A friend is a committed Christian and committed Trump supporter. He sent me a message asking if I knew what 2020 divided by 666 was. I did the math in my head, knew the answer instantly. It's 3.0330. I replied that I had no idea that God was limited to Base 10. He's furious. Just assume for a second that there is a God. Why would he ever use Base 10? Binary or Base Eight is infinitely more sensible.
As you know, there are 10 kinds of people: Those who understand binary, and those who don't.
I'm reading Intuition Pumps and Other Tools for Thinking, by Daniel Dennett (2013). This approach for criticizing a claim caught my eye:
How to compose a successful critical commentary:1. You should attempt to re-express your target’s position so clearly, vividly, and fairly that your target says, “Thanks, I wish I’d thought of putting it that way.” 2. You should list any points of agreement (especially if they are not matters of general or widespread agreement). 3. You should mention anything you have learned from your target. 4. Only then are you permitted to say so much as a word of rebuttal or criticism.
One immediate effect of following these rules is that your targets will be a receptive audience for your criticism: you have already shown that you understand their positions as well as they do, and have demonstrated good judgment (you agree with them on some important matters and have even been persuaded by something they said).
This passage is at page 33.
I just finished reading Michael Crichton's Complexity, & Environmental Management in the 21st Century. It's a long read, but well worth it. Crichton was a true Renaissance Man.
I first learned of the existence of complex systems in about 1975, when I observed that the world did not operate in a linear manner. The next thing I learned was that, while many people considered themselves clever by defining crazy as "Doing the same thing and expecting different results," that was more cleverness than truth. Anyone who is married will understand this. It is possible to do exactly what you did earlier, and your spouse will react in a completely different manner. With teenagers, it's more probable than possible.
Everywhere I looked I found complex systems, and began to do some self-study. The first thing I learned is that complex systems are highly sensitive to initial conditions, and we are foolish to believe we know all of them. In the "spouse" example, above, the second interaction is not a precise duplicate of the first. Your spouse weighs 2.4 grams less than yesterday, talked with your mother-in-law in the intervening period, and got a massage. All of these things affected your spouse and you're interacting with a different person.
The lecture is about fear, complexity and environmental management. Crichton set out to write a book about a global catastrophe in the late 1990s, so he looked at the Chernobyl meltdown. He read the predictions of up to 3.5M or more eventual deaths and the destruction of ecosystems. Articles about the event were heavily sprinkled with fear-inducing words such as cancer and catastrophe, and there were calls for urgent immediate action to save the planet. Then he looked at reality: 56 people died. The health issues with residents near Chernobyl were largely a reaction to bad information about direness, certainty of destruction, urgency, cancer, catastrophe, etc.
He winds his way through a series of predicted civilization-ending imminent catastrophes with calls to set aside all normal rules and turn over resources to "experts'" control, none of which actually came to pass. He concluded that the planet is far more resilient than doomsayers understand. And the pattern is too obvious to ignore. We are controlled through fear, created by bad information from authorities. Today's existential crisis is decarbonization, but Crichton notes that is already underway without surrendering control to authority. That appears typical of the successes claimed by authorities due to their actions. They urged action that was already underway, and he uses Y2K as an example. Governments' contribution to solving the real problem was negligible, not to mention unnecessary, since banks, heavily dependent on old mainframe systems, had already identified the problem and were working to fix it.
We're told many things by authorities, who are rarely held accountable for prior bad information, to maintain a State of Fear, the title of one of one of his last books. About global warming, we're assured that the earth will end in 12 or 50 or 100 years, and this time we're smarter because we've got all the information. That is exactly what we were told about Global Cooling in the 1970s. "But, this time is different." Right.