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Kamis, 29 Desember 2011

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Sabtu, 17 Desember 2011

Teaching Farmers to Be Men

It may be apocryphal, but Liberty Hyde Bailey (one of my heros) once explained that he did not teach "men to be farmers" in his horticulture courses at Michigan Agricultural College in the 1880s; he taught "farmers to be men."

That quote came to mind when I read over this profile of Benjamin Cohen's approach to teaching Engineering Studies at Lafayette: "Cohen sees a bright future for the engineering studies program. He and his colleagues are looking to enhance what he calls the 'hard skills' like political philosophy, historical context, cultural familiarity, communication, and environmental knowledge to help students become leaders of creative innovation and design. These skills can encourage a better awareness of what Byatt meant by a world 'full of life and light.'"

Cohen recently published Notes from the Ground, on early American ag science and is now at work on a book recounting the history of food adulteration and purity.

Looking at Science

I don't spend much time thinking about science and images, but I know I should spend more. Two pieces of evidence.

1) This collection of atlases: "Places and Spaces: Mapping Science" --- I suppose these are the sort of things that Daston and Galison analyzed in Objectivity, but with a bit more reflexivity (since many seem to be science studies-oriented; also, that rhymed). Unfortunately, the Web version doesn't allow for close up looks of intriguing maps like this and this.

2) A recent CFP from the University of Rochester for "Image, Truth, and Distortion," a grad conference:
"The term “image” is broadly construed: images from any time period and of every variety from political cartoons to frescoes to digital photography, as well as literary, biographical, metaphorical or mental images, are acceptable subjects of investigation.  Ideal submissions should explore the ways in which images have been used throughout history to reflect, refract, or even reinvent truth in regards to people, events, ideas, movements, cultures, or time periods, as well as how these images  have been embraced or contested."

Those of you who work more with images, maybe you can figure out something to do with these digitized exhibit guides from the gilded age. They seem useful, and yet...


Senin, 12 Desember 2011

Save the Date for the 47th Joint Atlantic Seminar for the History of Biology

The 47th Joint Atlantic Seminar for the History of Biology will be held at the University of Pennsylvania, beginning with an opening reception and plenary the evening of Friday April 20th, followed by the presentation of papers, a faculty panel, and a dinner on Saturday April 21st.

Events will primarily take place in Claudia Cohen Hall, located at 249 South 36th Street, between Spruce Street and Locust Walk, on the University of Pennsylvania campus in Philadelphia.

Abstracts (200 words) of papers submitted for presentation are due by Wednesday February 1st, 2012 at 5pm, and can be emailed to Andy Hogan at: ahog@sas.upenn.edu . Decisions on submitted abstracts will be made as soon as possible, and the chosen presenters will be informed on or about March 1st.

Some travel support is available for graduate student presenters.

Hope to see you there!

Minggu, 11 Desember 2011

Science and The New Inquiry




A few weeks ago, a piece in the NYT Style Section called "New York's Literary Cubs" was making the rounds. It profiled The New Inquiry ("a scrappy online journal and roving clubhouse that functions as an Intellectuals Anonymous of sorts"), whose founders were after "a kind of literary salon reminiscent of the Lost Generation of the 1920s."


The story went viral thanks in large part to Gawker, who used it as evidence for "Why You Should Never Be Profiled by The New York Times Style Section." Their argument? While "[f]or hundreds of years, unbearable young people have tried to hang out with other unbearable young people," these young people were capitalized upon by the Times.


I'll leave their (fun) "Two Audience" theory of the Style Section (hint: the writing is purposefully annoying) to them. Instead, I want to explore the gap between "literary salons" ("Moveable Feast-type stuff") and the earlier philosophical clubs I'd been reading about for a chapter on pragmatism and psychology.

Why do pretentious, well-educated young people ("Fueled by B.Y.O.B. bourbon, impressive degrees and the angst that comes with being young and unmoored") take up literature and literary theory ("Edmund Wilson and poststructuralism") so much more than philosophy or – and here's the real question – science?

A plausible answer lies somewhere between C.P. Snow's "The Two Cultures" and Mark Greif's "What Was the Hipster?" Snow's "literary intellectuals" became just "intellectuals"; at some point, the "literary" was redundant. It's hard to imagine the cubs reading classics from the history of science, much less recent research. Why?

Why, that is, would readings be limited to the literary, when Menand's "The Metaphysical Club" reveals a range from German poetry to British logic to Darwinian biology? One senses this latter landscape wasn't consciously rejected by today's literary cubs; it seems to have been beyond the pale. Again, why only literature?

We might credit Snow. Whether or not he was right (here's an overview), his essay did help catalyze the antipathy it purportedly described. John Brockman's "Third Culture" (which I discussed here) asks us to buy "scientific intellectuals" as a maverick sub-culture; with no science on the New Inquiry reading list, we just might.



This brings us, briefly, to the hipster. Greif hinges his analysis on hipsters' emphasis on "forms of knowledge that they possessed before anyone else," on "a priori knowledge as a means of social dominance." There's something about this element of performance that feels somehow distant from the philosophical clubs of the 1800s.

The New Inquiry meetings center on "a group reading in which each person selects a three-minute reading on the predetermined topic." The impression one gets from the story is of a disconnected series – a conversational commonplace – in which erudition is performed more through selection than exposition.

What is it, then? It's show and tell. Two attendees are embarrassed to have chosen the same author; there's a "predetermined topic," but there isn't an argument in sight. Don't get me wrong: the famous clashes of The Metaphysical Club don't explain their openness to scientific thought – the differences are more complex than that.

But there's something that puts Kanye and Camus in bounds and leaves Kant and combinatorics out. Is it fashion–or fear? As another article on cultural malaise put it, "people are comforted by a world that at least still looks the way it did in the past." Will intellectuals always pine for 1920s Paris? Will science ever be hip?

Kamis, 08 Desember 2011

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Mergers & Bailouts in American History

Elizabeth Warren

As some of you know, I am very interested in the various occupy movements that, until recently, were going on all over the country. (Occupy Boston remains in place, as does, by the way, Occupy Harvard.) I sympathize with the general feeling of frustration, and I think it's worth trying to figure out how to express some of those sentiments in a more rigorous way.

Elizabeth Warren, who is currently running for Senate in Massachusetts, must be one of the smartest people in politics. I recently watched a clip of an interview she did with Charlie Rose in which she makes a very compelling argument that's worth thinking about in historical perspective.

Warren basically says that although she agrees the 2008/09 bailout of several large banks, AIG, as well as GM and Chrysler were necessary, it was not executed the right way. The question she poses is this: was the bailout designed to preserve particular institutions, or to preserve the US Economy? "What we did when we rescued these banks," she says, "is that we left the shareholders in tact, we left the top management in tact, we paid their debt in full. We came in and supported the enterprise as it is." This is no way to encourage reform, because it carries serious risks of moral hazard. Bailouts of this kind encourage reckless behavior. Investment banks and others in the financial services industry have reason to believe they can profit if a risky investment pay off whereas they will be bailed out if it does not.

(I like to think of it in statistical terms. Risky decisions are ones with a high variance in payoffs. What bailouts like TARP do is to cut off the negative tail of that distribution, thus biasing the payoff matrix such that it becomes economically rational to take more risks.)

I think Warren is basically on point here. The question I want to ask is why no penalties were imposed on the shareholders of these banks, insurance companies, and auto manufacturers? In the video, Warren herself chalks it up to the "worldview" of those who engineered the bailout. I suspect this is probably true, at least in part. But I'd like to suggest another narrative, one with a more longue durée and structural emphasis.

In the mid to late 19th century, nearly all businesses in the United States were operated by people with a substantial ownership stake in their firm. The major exception here were the railroads, which was arguably 19th century's great speculative enterprise. (It is worth pointing out that the railroad bubble burst several times, and was largely sustained through Government intervention.) But in most other sectors of the economy, there was no great divide between ownership and management.

This all began to change during the great merger movement of the 1890s and early 1900s. As large sectors of the American economy coalesced into a very small number of huge corporate firms, the divide between ownership and management grew increasingly pronounced. The reasons for this are complex, but part of the story is that firms coming out of the merger movement were huge, multiunit, vertically integrated corporations. Their function was so complex that a whole army of salaried managers were needed to coordinate all of their diverse activities efficiently.

A second reason was that as many smaller firms merged into a few very large firms, the role of ownership was transferred from a few people to large corporate boards. Essentially, ownership had become diluted over a large enough group of people that none of them had a majority stake in the whole enterprise anymore. In addition, many major stockholders had interests in a number of different companies at one and the same time. This reduced the incentive for ownership to take the time needed to manage and oversee the day to day operation of its firms.

What's the upshot of all this?

I'm wondering if this growing separation between ownership and management might have something to do with the decision not to punish shareholders for the risks taken by management.

My sense is that in today's world, the historical trend I've been describing has only intensified. Now, rather than a growing number of capitalists having an ownership stake in big firms, a large proportion of the American people do. It's no longer just entrepreneurs who invest in the stock market. Nearly everyone does. If you have a 401K, for example, or belong to a mutual fund, you might well own shares of a company that had to be bailed out in 2008/09. Hence, one reason not to punish shareholders for the reckless behavior of management might be that doing so would essentially entail punishing ourselves.

Of course, as Elizabeth Warren points out, this is bad news for the economy as a whole. If shareholders are not punished when risky investments turn sour, risk-taking is incentivized. Management is rewarded with bonuses and higher salaries for generating high returns on investments. If risk-taking does not come at potential cost, the incentive is to make risky investments and hope for the best.

Of course, what's really ironic here is that in the end we ARE punishing ourselves either way. Ordinary Americans who own stock through their 401K are also the ones whose taxes paid for the bailouts. So the net gain for the vast majority of people who invest in the stock market must have been close to zero. Top management, who also did not have to pay a price for their reckless behavior, however, benefited a great deal. As did the proverbial 1 per cent.

Selasa, 06 Desember 2011

Pre-science/Prescience and the History of the Future

Just a quick post to direct our readers' attention to this week's themed issue of the New York Times "Science Times" on "The Future of Computing." There are some cool interactive features and a series of interesting profiles on computing visionaries. Given recent posts on scientists and cinema and science and literature, I wanted to highlight this interview with SF author Neal Stephenson. I must confess to not being a huge fan of his prose, but I have recently developed significant academic interest in how science fiction colonizes the future.

A big part of history of science as a discipline involves paying attention to how people have envisioned the future and how that vision was received. Why not start bringing more attention to science fiction into that endeavor? There's a reason that the word for having knowledge of things before they happen is "prescience."

Someone who is giving this a lot of attention is Patrick McCray. He'll be speaking on the subject of "Visioneering" at UPenn's Department of History and Sociology of Science colloquium this coming Monday.


Anyone out there got some thoughts on the history of the future?

Senin, 05 Desember 2011

Asbestos, and Pesticides, and Web-links, Oh My!

I've recently happened upon a couple different attempts to recreate the history of two sci-enviro-tech villains of the late twentieth century. Each, I think has its merits for passive amusement or even as a teaching tool---although I've yet to try either out with students.

First, consider the history of Asbestos, Quebec, as told through the eyes of the world's largest Asbestos mine, in graphical form. With pleasant drawings and nice-enough background theme, this graphic novel emphasizes the rise and fall of an industrial town, with plenty of pathos, and approaching the right sort of ambivalence about the fire-proofing material (I'm reminded of Don Worster's mantra from Rivers of Empire: "How in the remaking of nature, do we remake ourselves?"---How in the eradication of fire, do we poison ourselves?) There's also an affiliated documentary about the town of Asbestos from the Network in Canadian History and Environment.

DDT gets a similarly inventive treatment, but with much more science, thanks to the University of Minnesota's "SHIPS" resource center. Among the simulation modules (targeted at high school science students, but fun for all, if you ask me), is one focused on the 1963 Advisory Committee on Pesticides, a panel brought into the world by President Kennedy in response to Rachel Carson's Silent Spring. My favorite part: you can pick a person who testified to the committee to play act (I think I smell a new party game here). I'd go as George Wallace personally (not that George Wallace)---I long ago wrote an undergrad thesis about his DDT work at Michigan State. But LaMont Cole looks pretty good too (I'd never read his "Impending Emergence of Ecological Thought" essay from 1964. It's available on the site.)

Rabu, 30 November 2011

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Senin, 28 November 2011

Historians and their Index Numbers

John Steele Gordon argues---over on Bloomberg's recently revamped "echoes" blog---that historians of the US stock market in the mid-twentieth century has been misled by that market's most prominent index. The handiwork of a publisher (Dow) and a statistician (Jones), the Dow-Jones Industrials evolved from a series of focused indexes into a single number meant to represent the entire NY exchange, and by proxy the American economy.

But for all the power and influence this number has had, Gordon shows how dependent it is on basic assumptions. Swap out AT&T for IBM in the Depression years and the market recovery comes years before we have generally thought.

For our purposes, the Dow, its development, and public understandings of stock indexes strike me as topics awaiting a historian of science's analysis. I would read that book.

--
If you haven't seen the new "echoes" blog---edited by Stephen Mihm, the UGA historian of capitalism in the US, it's worth a peek.

Also, as long as we're talking about American science and index numbers, here's a shout-out to Tom Stapleford's recent history of the Consumer Price Index, which also happens to be a fascinating history of American statistics generally.

Selasa, 22 November 2011

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Do we still need harvest festivals?

Loyal AmericanScience reader Anna Zeide wonders about Thanksgiving in a post-can world over at the Food Studies section of Grist. Check it out.

For those of you who teach some environmental history or history of technology alongside history of science, I can vouch for "The Miracle of the Can" as a great tool to generate discussion right around Thanksgiving. Seasons be damned!

For more Thanksgiving scholarly fun, see Neil Prendergast's recent Environmental History article on "Raising the Thanksgiving Turkey."
Talking Turkey the Somewhat-Old-Fashioned Way...

And a final tid-bit, from the department of applied science: Butterball University!

Senin, 21 November 2011

Beyond Presentism vs. Historicism in the History of Anthropology

This weekend I participated in the Stocking Symposium at the American Anthropological Association (AAA) Annual Meeting in Montreal. Named to honor George Stocking – widely credited with legitimating anthropology as subfield of historical study – the Symposium was begun in 2006 to provide a forum for historical perspectives at the AAA.

The panel featured about a dozen papers, many of which focused on the contributions of individual theorists like Franz Boas, his student Zora Neale Hurston, and even Irving Goffman (long claimed by sociology). Discussant, Ira Bashkow, an anthropologist at University of Virginia, responded to the relatively favorable portrayal of these subjects with some pointed reflections on the state of the field. He revisited Stocking’s important 1965 essay, "On the limits of 'presentism' and 'historicism' in the historiography of the behavioral sciences." In that piece, Stocking was interested in importing more rigor into the methodology of the history of human science. Rather than taking sides, he critically evaluated both stances.

Bashkow noted that the reflexive turn in anthropology that took root in the decades after the publication of this essay has led to histories that have often tended to castigate the architects of the field. In view of the somewhat celebratory tone in which 2011 Stocking Symposium panelists depicted their subjects, Bashkow mused that this might mark a new phase in the history of anthropology. In a moment when the human sciences are under attack, what would it mean for historians of those fields to draw on the past to strengthen their claims to knowledge in the present? Stocking, he suggested, would want to see the history of anthropology push beyond the dyad of "presentism vs. historicism."

To be sure, Bashkow was not asking for hagiography, saying that the founders of the field are "Not idols to revere, but neither are they gods to smash." However, he argued, if anthropology is to persist as a viable field, it needs to attend more carefully to its own social reproduction. Anthropologists and their historians need to consider how to engage constructively with the past in ways that maintain a space for social sciences and humanities, both within and beyond the academy.

I'm not an anthropologist – nor a strict presentist – but as someone who cares about what the history of science can contribute to civic life, I think Bashkow's perspective is worth taking seriously.

AmericanScience in Literature: Pynchon

What's the place of science (specifically, American science) in literature (specifically, American literature)? While literary scholars have written more about this than have historians, I think more dialogue's in order between historians of science and New Historicists.
As a way in, I'll start where lots of others do – with Thomas Pynchon.
He's a special case for reasons of both content and style. First: it's a commonplace to note the omnipresence of references to (and meditations on) science, technology, and their aftermath in his work. Second: Pynchon's well-known obsession with dialectics (order vs. entropy, free will vs. determinism, technology vs. nature, &c.) bleeds into his prose in the form of endless appositions, yoyo-ing run-ons, and the interplay of colloquial dialogue and technical digressions.


Both points matter for understanding the place of science in Pynchon's novels because they help us see that it's more than just one side of a binary (science vs. art, science vs. nature) – a misprision that often results from equating science with technology (bombs!) in the discussion of either's place in literary works. For Pynchon, science is more capacious. As Louis Menand put it in a review of Against the Day: "Science is either a method of disenchantment and control or it is a window onto possible worlds: it all depends on the application."


Pynchon's science opens up an older, wild potential – for both good and evil – that somehow feels more muted today. Menand, further on, calls Against the Day “a kind of inventory of the possibilities inherent in a particular moment in the history of the imagination," and concludes by suggesting that we read it like "a work of science fiction written in 1900." Literature's of its own time, to be sure, but historians might profit from the way it reframes the time in which it's set: 1890s Chicago, or, in the case of Mason & Dixon, the eighteenth-century mid-Atlantic.


In that novel (I won't even touch on the well-known cases in V, Gravity's Rainbow, or The Crying of Lot 49), we get a different science for a different age, though the same sense that it's wider than can be captured in the binary of The Two Cultures. Pynchon's project is the same as his surveyors': a path through chaos requires both saw and sextant, art and science, body and brain. As in Against the Day, science here is more than a referent. When L.E. Sissman called him "a mathematician of prose," he did justice to Pynchon's science as both a method and its results.

Understanding the place of science in literature means tracing its historical dimensions – what it meant for both author and characters. But it also means attending to literary matters – to style and composition – and it's this, I think, that's scared off many historians. Literary scholars note historians' flat-footedness on this turf – "Wider culture? Let's look at a novel!" – and they're right that, even though cultural history (of science) has a lot in common with literary scholarship (in the form of New Historicism), there's a lot of work left to be done at their boundary.

Minggu, 20 November 2011

American science and the budget crisis

Last week's issue of Science included a number of short articles on the effects of the budget crisis on science funding in the United States. Most emphasized the challenges that budget cuts present for administrators at NSF, NASA, NIH, and other science agencies who must determine the priorities for research funding. As I read the essays, I wondered about the contributions that taking a longer perspective on American science funding or the agencies involved might provide to these debates.

For example, Yudhijit Bhattacharjee writes about a dilemma facing NASA administrators, in particular those who manage the agency's astronomy and planetary science initiatives. They reportedly must choose between supporting big-budget, high profile programs and the many smaller programs that gather little media attention. Bhattacharjee quotes one administrator who sees smaller programs as more important, in that they "maintain and train our next generation of scientists," while another argues that the flagship programs and other high-profile projects are essential because they not only fund many researchers but sustain interest and momentum in aerospace research as a whole.

I suspect that this is a debate that has been ongoing for a long time (those out there who are more familiar with NASA history can tell me), visible not only now but also at other points in the agency's past when funding dollars have seemed short. What would a look back at tradeoffs made in previous decades tell us about the effects of supporting flagships over small programs -- or even about the rhetorical power of claims to maintaining and training scientists versus inspiring interest in aerospace science, both within the agency and among a broader public?

Or, to take another example, a piece by David Malakoff pointed out that the association of oceans and atmosphere in the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) is causing problems for ocean scientists, whose research budgets are pinched by the expensive satellite-based research programs associated with weather and climate monitoring. 

NOAA was formed in 1970 by bringing together a number of existing environment-related agencies. This makes me wonder whether the current division of interests was not always a problem in an agency, which though formed to foster "a better understanding of the total environment," was cobbled together from organizations that had studied narrow aspects of that total environment.  If so, it might make sense to locate the problems faced by oceanographers not in the ever-more-sophisticated and ever-more expensive satellite technologies but in the organization of the agency itself, a conclusion that points towards a more radical intervention that mere budgetary juggling.

Jumat, 18 November 2011

What Science Does to the Environment

I noticed a fascinating Call For Papers this morning on h-net for a conference on "Science, Space, and the Environment," sponsored by the Rachel Carson Center in Munich and scheduled for thus July 17-18 at London's Science Museum.

Here's the pitch: "Although the sciences have provided critical resources in environmental debates, their own role in environmental change has been little studied. This conference will explore how the sciences have affected the physical environment."

The organizers seem to have negative impacts on the environment foremost in their minds, but there are clearly other directions one could take such an inquiry. Don Worster's Nature's Economy imagined science to have split personalities when it came to nature: the "Arcadian" strain of science produced knowledge that helped humans understand, love, and live with nature; the "imperial" strain led to domination and abuse. Forgive me a pun, but I imagine that the history of scientific agriculture would provide particularly fertile ground for thinking about the positive and negative impacts of science on our environments.

I'll post the full CFP after the break. Perhaps it will inspire one of our readers.


****
Call For Papers: Conference: Science, Space, and the Environment

Location: Smith Centre, Science Museum, London
Date: Tuesday/Wednesday July 17-18, 2012

Sponsor: Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society, Munich

Organizers: Helmuth Trischler, Rachel Carson Center for Environment and
Society, Munich; Ludmilla Jordanova, King’s College London Department of
History; Simon Werrett, University of Washington Department of History/
Science Studies Network, Seattle; Science Museum, London.

Although the sciences have provided critical resources in environmental
debates, their own role in environmental change has been little studied.
This conference will explore how the sciences have affected the physical
environment. How have scientific practices and ideas impacted on nature
– for example do practices such as voyages of exploration or natural
history collecting exploit plants and animals and their environments?
Does scientific activity cause pollution, depletion of resources, or
other forms of damage to ecosystems? How are such practices to be
evaluated, and how are they related to scientific and other ideas of
nature and the environment, e.g. notions of conquest, mastery, or
interrogation. How should scientific ideas about the environment be
related to the impacts of scientific research on it? In particular
papers should address scientific activities involving the circulation of
knowledge and materials. A growing body of work in the history of
science has explored the issue of circulation, examining how physical
specimens, books, people, and materials related to science have been
made to move around the globe in the service of producing or
disseminating scientific knowledge. What has been the environmental
significance of such circulations? How has the movement of people,
plants, animals, and scientific instruments, books and personnel
affected environments, e.g. on voyages of exploration, in processes of
establishing colonial scientific institutions, or in undertaking
imperial cartography or surveying? Papers which aim at fostering current
theoretical debates on how to link the conceptual approaches of history
of science, environmental history, and spatial history are particularly
welcome.

Please send a detailed abstract of 500 words and a short CV, no later
than December 31, 2011, to Simon Werrett werrett@u.washington.edu.
Successful applicants will be notified by January 31, 2012. Applications
and papers must be written in English. Travel and accommodation costs
will be reimbursed by the organizers. The conference will be based on
discussion of pre-circulated contributions. These should be between
6,000 and 8,000 words including footnotes, and must be submitted by May
10, 2012. Selected contributions will be considered for a publication
following the meeting.

For further information on organizational issues please contact Simon
Werrett (werrett@u.washington.edu)

The Rachel Carson Center is a joint initiative of LMU Munich and the
Deutsches Museum and is generously supported by the German Federal
Ministry for Education and Research.

Rabu, 16 November 2011

4S/HSS/SHOT Recap #2


I very much agreed with Hank's recent post about this year's HSS, so I thought I'd add my two cents.  In particular, I wanted to say something about the "Making Mathematics: Models, Machines, and Materialities" panel.  It was excellent; indeed, one of the best at this year's HSS!

Although the presentations were quite diverse, the panel had a remarkably tight and coherent theme. Chris Phillips delved into the history of the chalkboard as a ubiquitous tool in American mathematical pedagogy. David Roberts talked about the late 19th century enthusiasm for "linkages," that is, mechanical instruments that transformed circular motion into a perfectly straight line.  Stephanie Dick explored the architecture of a mid 20th century geometry theorem proving machine developed at IBM.  And Alma Steingart discussed the role of visualization in topology. 

In her talk, Steingart argued that although Stephen Smale had conclusively shown that a sphere can be turned inside out in the 1950s, a large contingent of the mathematical community was not satisfied until a coherent visual account of the transformation had been supplied. This lead to a number of attempts to model the process using everything from chicken wire to advanced computer graphics imaging techniques.

Beyond its coherence, what made this panel so good was the fact that it explicitly engaged in an ongoing conversation about the importance of inscription techniques in mathematical theorizing. In some way or another, all of the talks helped cement the claim that diagrams, three dimensional models, and images are far from mere heuristics. Rather, they are often a constitutive element of theorizing as mathematical practice.

In this regard, I was especially intrigued by Stephenie Dick's paper, which centered on a geometry theorem proving machine developed at IBM in the 1960s. What made it so exciting is that she added an ontological component to the usual epistemic claims about the role of diagrams in mathematical theorizing.

The program that Herbert Gelernter and his colleagues at IBM developed to generate geometric proofs was modeled on human cognition.  In particular, Galertner explicitly tried to make the program mimic the geometric intuitions and proof generating strategies of a high school student. (Indeed, he seems to have had students at the Brooklyn Technical Hight School in Fort Greene in mind.) Among other things this included working backwards from a desired conclusion to the assumptions, rather than the other way around.  Most interesting, though, is that it also involved drawing figures, shapes, and diagrams.  

For each proof, Gelertner and his colleagues  supplied the computer  with a visual diagram. This was in addition to a modest set of commonly known results in Euclidean geometry and the usual logical transformation rules that allow you to transform one syntactic expression into another.  One way I understood the role of the diagram in Stephanie's talk is to think of it as a model -- as something for a syntactic expressions to be true of.  Working backwards from the conclusion, the computer was thus able to eliminate certain fruitless paths to the assumptions by ascertaining whether they violated the supplied diagram.

What's so interesting about this? To my (admittedly limited) understanding, Stephanie was trying to go  beyond just pointing out that here again diagrams and inscriptions played an important role in doing theoretical work.  She also raised another, perhaps deeper question: what is it to be a diagram for a computer?

One way to understand the importance of diagrams for humans is that they offer us another way of thinking.  Whereas equations help us think analytically, diagrams help us to think synthetically (or perhaps spatially, which may amount to much of the same thing).  But computers are only capable of analysis.  They are syntactic manipulation engines -- transforming one string of digits into another. A provocative way to read Stephanie's talk is thus to ask whether Gelertner was trying to give the computer a way to do something beyond merely manipulating strings of digits by supplying it with a diagram. The question of course is what this was.  If the traditional syntactic symbol shuffling that computers engage in can be said to correspond to analytical thinking, then what does the computer do with a diagram? What is it to be a diagram for a computer?

Selasa, 15 November 2011

Because Raccoon Intelligence Really Is a Problem

...for science!

At the recent meeting of the Forum for the History of Science in America at HSS, David Spanagel awarded Michael Pettit of York University with the Forum's article prize for this year.

Pettit's article, "The Problem of Raccoon Intelligence in Behaviorist America" appeared in the British Journal for the History of Science in September 2010. You can read the article here.

We'll publish the award citation and feature a conversation with Pettit. But for now: enjoy the article!

Rabu, 09 November 2011

4S/HSS/SHOT Recap #1

As announced in a recent post, the whole sick crew spent last weekend in Cleveland at the jointly-located 4S, HSS, and SHOT meetings. Dividing our time differently between the three hotels (and various local watering holes), we each got our own snapshot of the state of the field(-s) today.

To my mind, two themes characterized some of the best panels: (1) the material culture of theories and (2) the structural power of metaphors. I hope a co-blogger will touch on the former as featured at "Making Mathematics," a panel widely lauded as one of the weekend's best.

For my part, I'll describe the latter theme as it emerged in a Sunday panel on "Bodies, Colonies, and Stem Cells." Each of the three papers – by Ben Hurlbut, Hallam Stevens (the organizer), and our very own Lukas Rieppel – dealt with the link between social and scientific categories.

That's a sloppy way to label a subtle conversation, but I think the panelists (along with their commentator, Andy Yang) would agree that the slipperiness of distinctions between science and society was at play in many of the examples they raised, ranging from cell theory to South Park).

Take, as an example, George Bush's famous 2001 allusion to Aldous Huxley's Brave New World in describing the production of human embryonic stem cells for research research, which Hallam quoted in his talk. Once raised, the image of the "human hatchery" is hard to kill.

Ditto, in a different way, the cell-state metaphor Lukas discussed. August Wiesmann tacitly imported that intercellular framing for his intracellular theory – with the result that, though seemingly unintentional, his language was as political as that of his rival, Herbert Spencer.

Here's proof of the power of metaphor and allusion – of language – in scientific thought. This should come as no surprise, but the smart ways these papers elucidated this familiar theme suggests its renewed vitality at the heart of a paradigm aimed at practice and material culture.

Minggu, 06 November 2011

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Rabu, 02 November 2011

Dr. Cynthia Beall and the Science of Human Adaptability


This Friday, Nov. 4 at 12pm, those attending the FHSA distinguished scientist lecture will have the privilege of hearing from and talking with Case Western's Dr. Cynthia Beall. Gina Rumore, an FHSA stalwart, got in touch with Beall and offers the following introduction to her work. Enjoy:

Cynthia Beall and nomad friends: Phala, Tibet, altitude 4500m, 2005, 
copyright Cynthia Beall and Melvyn Goldstein
Dr. Cynthia Beall of Case Western University will deliver this year’s FHSA Distinguished Scientist Lecture at the History of Science Society’s annual meeting in Cleveland, Ohio. Beall, a physical anthropologist, studies how humans adapt, physiologically, to living at high altitudes. She conducts her research on populations in the South American Andes, the Tibetan Plateau in the Himalayas, and the Simien Plateau of Ethiopia. She is a member of the United States National Academy of Sciences and the American Philosophical Society. Over the past forty years, Beall’s research has challenged some of the most fundamental ideas about human adaptation—including her breakthrough discovery that Tibetan and Andean highlanders have adapted physiologically quite differently to living at high altitude. She is, indeed, a distinguished American scientist, and her talk on the history of high altitude studies and physical anthropology promises to be of interest to a diverse audience of historians of science. There is truly a little something for everyone in her story.

In 1970, Beall began her graduate education at Pennsylvania State under Dr. Paul Baker, who is credited as the founder of human adaptability studies. Focused on addressing questions of how natural selection acts on humans, Beall never really considered the challenges of being a female graduate student in an all-male program. “My dissertation advisor, and I didn’t know this until I got there,” Beall recalls, “it turns out was famous for not liking to take female graduate students. Or infamous I should say. And I remember someone telling me this and asking, ‘why?’ I was so out of it, right, that it never occurred to me that of all of the things someone would worry about they would worry about that. After my first field experience I found out that the male graduate students had had a betting pool as to whether or not I would survive the season. I don’t know who won it. I hope they all lost their shirts. It never occurred to me that it would be a problem.” Beall not only survived that first field season in Peru, but she would go on to become the most successful of Baker’s students, revolutionizing the field of high altitude population studies along the way.

Beall completed her doctorate in 1976 and immediately began to study, with her partner and colleague Melvyn Goldstein, the adaptations of populations living on the Tibetan Plateau of Nepal and, beginning in the early 1980s, of Tibet as well. “[T]here was no possibility of working [in Tibet] until the open door policy of the early 80s,” Beall explains, “and that, I should also say, was a policy of the Dalai Lama too. They used to either turn people away or kill them.” Access to these populations fundamentally altered the views of anthropologists and physiologists on how humans have adapted to live at high altitude. “Well the first change occurred in studying Tibetans in Nepal and finding that they didn’t have the same biological patterns as Andean highlanders,” according to Beall. “However, in Nepal, the people who we had access to at the time lived, what you might call, at the edge of the Tibetan Plateau, and so it was possible for them in the course of an annual cycle or even in the course of a day to move up and down a lot in altitude. So there was always in the back of people’s minds the idea that the reason for the apparent Tibetan Indian difference was a pattern in the difference of exposure to high altitude. So in going to Tibet, where it’s a huge plateau, and you are talking about people living in the midst of the plateau, they never go to low altitude. So that was a very nice study design to address that one particular concern.” The natives of the Tibetan Plateau had adapted, physiologically, quite differently to living at high altitude than the Andean natives of Bolivia and Peru.

Humans living at high altitude face the deadly threat of high-altitude hypoxia, or oxygen deprivation, resulting from the lower air pressure at high altitudes making it harder for sufficient oxygen molecules to enter the blood stream. Earlier studies of the Andean populations living at high altitudes revealed that individuals in these populations generally had elevated hemoglobin concentrations, and this came to be the accepted means of high-altitude adaptation. But when anthropologists began studying the populations of the Tibetan Plateau in the 1970s and 1980s, they discovered that these populations did not adapt in the same way. Beall’s work over the past four decades has addressed this question of how these two populations, as well as a third, Ethiopian highlanders, have evolved different physiological mechanisms to solve the same biological problem – the need to draw sufficient oxygen into the blood stream from thin air.

Just as access to new populations has shifted anthropologists’ perspectives on how humans adapt to high altitude, changes in science and technology over the past four decades have also radically reshaped the questions physical anthropologists can ask and what data they collect and how. “[When we first started out in the field,” Beall recalls, “it was things like height and weight, chest depth, everything super low tech … and then it became possible slowly to have portable generators, so you could have some electricity. So then you could expand a little bit what you could measure. My favorite device was invented in the early-to-mid 80s, called the pulse oximeter that measures the amount of oxygen that hemoglobin is carrying. And that’s a little portable box that changed the field radically, because before to get that measurement you had to take an arterial blood sample. And that’s quite invasive. Sometimes you can’t even get permission to that here in the U.S. Then blood samples became smaller, people developed new techniques for measuring things in saliva and in urine, and in exhaled breath ... So all of that has changed what we can measure. Now in the more rural areas people are starting to put in micro-hydro and they have their own electricity or they have solar panels and they have their own electricity. And then we moved to genetics, and again there have been changes: at first you needed blood, and now you only need saliva. People are happy to spit.” Technological changes have also allowed anthropologists to begin to tackle a tough question with genetic data: what genes are responsible for adaptability to living at high altitude (meaning what allows humans from low altitude to acclimate) and what specific genes show adaptation driven by natural selection?

Despite the many changes in science and technology over the past forty years, Beall is careful to point out that much of the basic work of physical anthropology remains the same: “You need pedigrees. So you need to know who is related to whom. You need to know what people do for a living. You need to know what they eat. What their exercise patterns are… a lot of the social context, and you still have to get that by sitting down and talking with people and living in the village. And that has absolutely not changed and that is crucial. There are some classic examples where basically we were misled by data being collected from the wrong people or without thinking about important confounding social factors. So the things that I have been talking about have been technical changes that have allowed us to be able to measure human biology better. The things that have remained the same are old-fashioned techniques. We are doing ethnography and observing people and talking with them.” As a physical anthropologist, Beall spends months at a time living among the high-altitude populations with whom she works. And, fortunately, she has a knack both for learning languages—she is fluent in Spanish and speaks conversational Tibetan (she did note that she does not yet speak Amharic, the official language of Ethiopia)—and she seems to be immune to altitude sickness.

Beyond, or perhaps in conjunction with, their research, Beall and Goldstein (a social anthropologist) have also worked hard to give back to the communities in which they conduct their research. One of their largest efforts has been establishing a sheep bank in the nomadic area of the Tibetan Plateau. “[W]e thought, what is it that nomads can do to get rich?” Beall recalls. “Everyone else in China is starting businesses and things like that, and what can the nomads do? Well, the only thing they can do is raise more animals, and so what we did is we got funding so that we could buy 250 fertile female sheep of the highest quality one year. And we talked to the community and the community helped decide which five families should get this loan of animals, and the idea was that they would be able to keep any babies that were born in subsequent years, keep the milk, the meat, the wool. Well, we hoped that they wouldn’t keep the meat. We did not want them to kill any animals. So remove the meat from that list. Then in the fourth year they were to pay back half of the animals and in the fifth year pay back the second half. Then we did the same thing in year two; we got another 250 animals, and in year three we got another 250 and now its been working for about seven years and the idea is that as they pay back their animals, then the community has a bank. It has these animals to loan out to other families. And it’s been working beautifully. They took 100% seriously control. They watch, they monitor. If Joe Schmoe looks like he has a gambling problem, and he’s about to sell his animals and eat them, they go and take them back.”

Listening to Beall tell of her work in Tibet, it is hard to miss the passion for the people, the environment and the science that motivates her research. Beall’s career touches on and highlights so many issues in the history of science in America: really cool, cutting-edge science; the role of gender in science; the challenges of working in the field and working on human subjects—a natural experiment, as she calls it; and technology and how it has changed and been changed by scientists and their research questions. She will, without a doubt, add immeasurably to the History of Science Society program this November. Her talk will take place on Friday, November 4, following the noon business meeting for the Forum for the History of Science in America.



Gina Rumore is a lecturer in the Program in the History of Science, Technology, and Medicine at the University of Minnesota. Her dissertation, titled “A Natural Laboratory, A National Monument: Carving out a Place for Science in Glacier Bay, Alaska, 1879-1959,” won the 2010 Rachel Carson Prize for the Best Dissertation in Environmental History. Rumore has served as Secretary-Treasurer of FHSA since 2006.






Senin, 31 Oktober 2011

"Science Conservatively Defined"

Reflecting on how we came to name ourselves "AmericanScience" as HSS approaches, I noticed an interesting thing under our "About the FHSA" tab. The submission criteria for the Forum's Publication Prize are that the work be "on a topic in American Science ('American' loosely defined to include the western hemisphere, 'science' conservatively defined to exclude articles focusing on either the 'clinical and social history of medicine' or the 'history of technology')."

"American loosely defined," "science conservatively defined." On the one hand, these criteria are easy to understand (and justify). The looseness of the former accommodates work on Central and South America that has no other group identity in HSS; the rigidness of the latter prevents encroachment from those working on topics (medicine, technology) with their own associations, annual meetings, and opportunities for prizes elsewhere. Definitions reflect their institutions.

On the other hand, though, there's a sense in which this balance of loose and conservative definitions mirrors a wider phenomenon in the field. In the wake of the most dogmatic years of the "transnational turn" – during which one could pick a project for the very sake of its being transnational – there's still a strong emphasis (at least at Princeton) on dissolving national boundaries as one tracks ideas and practices across them. "Why only in X?" is a common query.

Not so for defining the ideas and practices themselves. In many respects, there is still a pressure to focus on figures and texts that are either part of an ill-defined canon or – more commonly – represent the origins, past lives, or paths-not-taken of acknowledged fields of scientific inquiry today. You can write about mesmerism or pseudo-science precisely because of their relationship to "science." Often, it's this relationship that constitutes the elevator pitch for one's project.

What does that leave out, for American science? It can be complicated to identify as a historian of science (as opposed to a US cultural/intellectual historian) if one's topic is the extra-scientific lives of scientific ideas – their origin in, and influence upon, wider American culture. When I proposed to write a dissertation on methodological debates amongst psychologist, philosophers, and scientists, an elder statesman of the field asked a telling question: "Where's the science?"

That perspective seems to be on the decline, but the other structuring factor here is ... the job market. Programs in the history of science still tend to imagine needs in – and conduct job searches for – the "life" and "physical sciences." This fact shapes how new graduate students conceive dissertation topics. Science, defined "conservatively" according to the need to get a job, thus helps maintain an identity barrier between American history and the history of science.

Sabtu, 29 Oktober 2011

AmericanScience Goes to Cleveland

AmericanScience will be all over the place at the jointly-held annual meetings of HSS/SHOT/4S in Cleveland next week. We're looking forward to meeting and talking with our readers! Let us know your ideas for topics, guest posts, interview suggestions, and general feedback. Here's where to find us:

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 4

HSS: 9:00 – 11:45 AM

Blossom (4th Floor)

"Costs and Benefits: Life Scientists and the Assessment of Wartime Technologies, from 1945 to the Vietnam War"

Chair and Commentator: Karen Rader, Virginia Commonwealth University

1. Environmental Consciousness in the Cold War: Radioecologists, Nuclear Technology, and the Atomic Age, *Rachel Rothschild, Yale University
2. Quickening Nature’s Pulse: Mutation Plant Breeding at the International Atomic Energy Agency, Jacob Darwin Hamblin, Oregon State University
3. The Atomic Farmer in his Gamma Garden: Agricultural Research at the Brookhaven National Laboratory, 1948-1955, Helen Curry, Yale University
4. The Area Should Be Treated as a Laboratory: Scientists, Controversy, and the Vietnam War, Sarah Bridger, California Polytechnic State University

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5

4S: 8:30am - 10:00am

Crowne Plaza, Grand Ballroom - West

"Science and Commercial Culture: Competition, Cooperation and Assimilation"

Chair: Lukas Rieppel (Harvard University)

1. Publish When You Cannot Patent: Counterintuitive Relations Between
Early Modern Science and Commerce. Mario Biagioli (University of California, Davis)
2. Academies in the Press: The Structural Transformation of the Scientific Public. Alex Csiszar (Harvard University)
3. Vertical Integration and the Market for Vertebrate Fossils, 1890-1910. Lukas Rieppel (Harvard University)
4. Purity vs. Property? Entrepreneurship, War and Technoscience's Changing Identity. Graeme Gooday (University of Leeds), Stathis Arapostathis (University of Leeds)

Discussant: Bruno Strasser (Yale University)

HSS: 9:00-11:45 am

Holden (4th Floor)

"Floating Labs: Mobile Scientific Spaces and the Reconfiguration of Practice "

Chair and Commentator: Helen Rozwadowski, University of Connecticut, Avery Point

1. Scientists Under Pressure: The Scientific Practices of a Cold War Underwater Laboratory, Nellwyn Thomas, University of Pennsylvania
2. Ship as Instrument: The R/V Alpha Helix and Human Biological Research, 1966-1977, Joanna Radin, University of Pennsylvania
3. The Tale of Bathybius: Of Sea, Ships, and Urschleim, *Emma Zuroski, Cornell University
4. The Oceanic Feeling in Human Biology: The Voyage of the Zaca, 1934-35, Warwick Anderson, University of Sydney

HSS: 1:30-3:30 pm

Severance (4th Floor)

"Knowing Society"

Chair: Dan Bouk, Colgate University

1. Early Modern Social Analysis: Nicolas de Nicolay on the Ottoman Empire, Chandra Mukerji, University of California, San Diego
2. Lamarckism and the Constitution of Sociology, Snait B. Gissis, Tel-Aviv University
3. Observation in the Social Field in Mid-20th Century America, Mary S. Morgan, London School of Economics and University of Amsterdam
4. Habitats of Organized Science: Louis Guttman and the Israel Institute of Applied Social Research, Tal Arbel, Harvard University

SHOT: 2:00-3:30 pm

Marriott Salon C

"Hot & Cold: Manipulating & Disciplining Bodies with Technologies of Temperature"

Chair and Commentator: Jonathan Rees, Colorado State University

1. Joanna Radin*, "Shock of the Cold: Freezers and the Preservation of Bodily Extracts", University of Pennsylvania
2. Lisa Onaga, "A Silkworm for All Seasons," Cornell University
3. Deanna Day, "The 'Heart's Knowledge' of 'Walking Biological Computers:' How Domestic Thermometry Created a New Hybrid Subjectivity," University of Pennsylvania

HSS: 4:00-6:00 pm

Halle (4th Floor)

"Pragmatism and the History of Science: James, Dewey, and Mead"

Chair and Commentator: Francesca Bordogna, University of Notre Dame

1. The Wealth of Notions: The Evolutionary Epistemology of William James, *Henry M. Cowles, Princeton University
2. Dewey before James: Evolution and the Organic, 1875-1889, Trevor Pearce, University of Wisconsin, Madison
3. Reading What Was Spoken: Classroom Notes in our Understanding of George Herbert Mead, Daniel R. Huebner, University of Chicago


SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6

HSS: 10am - noon

Van Aken (4th Floor)

"Bodies, Colonies, and Stem Cells"

Chair: *Hallam Stevens, Harvard University
Commentator: Andrew Yang, School of the Art Institute of Chicago

1. Weismann's Authoritarian Cell State, Lukas Rieppel, Harvard University
2. Stem Cells and the Colonial Metaphor,*Hallam Stevens, Harvard University
3. Biological Kinds and Moral Categories in American Regulation of Human Embryo Research, Ben Hurlbut, Arizona State University

Rabu, 26 Oktober 2011

Race and Violence in Occupied Oakland


Oakland Police Arresting a Protestor, from the NY Times website.


According to the NY Times and the Oakland Tribune, about 1,000 protesters clashed with Oakland police on Tuesday night.  The catalyst appears to have been a decision to clear members of “Occupy Oakland” from Frank Ogawa Plaza, where they had been camped out for some time.  What’s remarkable about this story is the level of violence that appears to have been involved.  The NY Times piece includes a number of graphic videos and photos of injuries that protestors sustained at the hands of riot police.  

This post is not about science, but there is a historical component to the story.  I was immediately struck watching these videos by how differently things played out in Oakland (and, also, Atlanta) than they have in New York, where the city has allowed members of “Occupy Wall Street” to remain in Zuccotti Park.  The New York Times makes an interesting point, which I’ll quote here: 

“At a late-night news conference, the city’s acting police chief, Howard Jordan, said officers needed to use tear gas after protesters threw rocks and bottles at them. The city has seen multiple clashes between protesters and the police in recent years, particularly in the aftermath of the 2009 shooting of Oscar Grant III, a young, unarmed young black man, by a white transit officer.”

This suggests that one reason the police in Oakland have reacted so much more aggressively to protestors than those in New York is that Oakland is plagued by a higher level of racial tension.  This is very much in accordance with my own experience.  

I’ve spent time living in Brooklyn on several occasions over the past few years, as I was doing research for my dissertation at the American Museum of Natural History.  Last summer, I lived in the Bedford-Stuyvesant Neighborhood, near the border with Fort Greene and Clinton Hill.  These are historically African American neighborhoods that are currently undergoing gentrification.  I was really amazed at how remarkably little racial tension I experienced there.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever lived in a place that is so diverse and meaningfully integrated (which isn’t to say that none of the residents are angry about gentrification).  According to my brother, who lives in Oakland, my experience in New York represents a pretty stark contrast to the Bay Area.

I grew up just south of Chicago, and attended public school there.  During my senior year, I wrote a research paper on the 1968 Democratic National Convention riots, which exploded into extreme violence when riot police attempted to flush protesters out of their camps in Grant Park every evening.  Doing this research, I learned that other cities across America also had large groups of protest take over city parks.  However, Chicago experienced by far the worst violence.  As far as I could tell, the reason was that Chicago police were incredibly aggressive in the way they confronted protestors, using tear gas, clubs, and mace.  In contrast, other cities, including New York, responded to similar occupations by providing protestors with public washrooms, a source of running water, etc.   

Going through newspaper accounts from the late 1960s, the racial dimension of these events immediately became clear.  Chicago experienced a high level of racial tension during the 1960s, which often manifested itself as street violence.  After the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., in Memphis on April 4, 1968, a significant portion of city’s African American population took to the streets.  In response to unrest emanating from the city’s black neighborhoods, Mayor Richard M. Daley called in the Illinois National Guard, instituted a curfew, and reportedly gave orders "to shoot to kill any arsonist or anyone with a Molotov cocktail in his hand . . . and . . . to shoot to maim or cripple anyone looting any stores in our city.”  When large numbers of people descended upon the city to protest the Democratic National Convention later that summer, Daley insisted on enforcing the curfew in city parks and, predictably, violence exploded.

History, we are learning once again, always seems doomed to repeat itself.

Sabtu, 22 Oktober 2011

The Buzz on Google NGram Viewer

'Tis the season for conference presentations. A time when people are compelled to make grand statements and mobilize snappy visuals to back them up. In this short post I'm hoping to spark some conversation about one such resource: the Google Ngram Viewer.

For the uninitiated, the Ngram Viewer works like this: through a relatively simple user interface, you plug in one or more terms. With the click of a button, a graph pops up that tracks the frequency with which they appear in a wide range of books since 1800. C'mon, try it -- everyone's doing it. I mean, who doesn't crave quick answers to the question of 'zombies' versus 'vampires?':









But like sugar and caffeine -- two of my addictions -- the buzz wears off quickly, often leaving me more disoriented than before I imbibed.








In all seriousness, this is a tool that invites as many questions as it answers, especially when tracking concepts across different languages and cultures (although you can search in a range of other modern languages). I won't even get into the bigger issues of sampling and statistical modelling, but welcome comments on these aspects, as well.

Take an example from a recent workshop I attended on "Endangerment and it Consequences." It was exciting to be in a room with scholars from around the world, working in different cultural contexts across several centuries. However, this raised the inevitable question of terminology. In the final wrap-up, the Ngram viewer provided a provocative means of reinforcing our shared sense that "endangerment" was a timely topic; that the two days of attention had been worthwhile:







But, of course, this graphic could not tell us what the word meant or even how it has come to assume such currency. And it made it easy to forget that the ideas expressed by the English word "endangerment" might be expressed differently in other languages (or even within English, itself).

You get the point. For me, the initial buzz of "wow!" quickly gave way to a lull of "so what?" But a week later, I'm coming around to realizing that instruments like the Ngram Viewer present problems of knowledge as worthy of inquiry as concepts like "endangerment." This, I imagine, is an issue that those of you in the digital humanities are particularly well-situated to consider.

So, what I really want to know is: Have you used the Ngram Viewer in conjunction with your scholarly activities, teaching included? How? What do they tell you? What are the risks?

Jumat, 21 Oktober 2011

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Senin, 10 Oktober 2011

Moon Trees

A few weeks ago, Joanna joked that I should write a guest post on a subject she and I both find intriguing: moon trees. Even though I find myself joining AmericanScience as a regular contributor instead of a guest, and should probably begin a little more seriously, I find the topic too fun to pass on a chance to talk about it.

“Moon tree” usually refers to a tree grown from one of several hundred seeds that orbited the moon during the Apollo 14 mission in 1971. These were subsequently cultivated by the Forest Service and distributed across the country as seedlings. Many were planted in public spaces in celebration of the country’s bicentennial in 1976.

In one attempt to ascribe some meaning to these ceremonial "Bicentennial Moon Tree" plantings, President Ford connected them to American achievements, past and present: “This tree … is a living symbol of our spectacular human and scientific achievements. It is a fitting tribute to our national space program… May this young tree renew our deep-rooted faith in the ideals of our Founding Fathers."

Sponsored in part by the Forest Service, the tree plantings were also meant to “mark the contributions forests have made to our way of life.” So when the first planting of a bicentennial moon tree took place in Philadelphia’s Washington Square Park, both Apollo 14 astronaut Stuart Roosa and Woodsy the Owl presided.

Space flight. Founding ideals. Forest stewardship. That's a lot to ask of just one tree.

Having just heard a talk by Neil Maher of Rutgers/NJIT, whose work on the environmental history of the space race connects this history to many currents of American culture and politics in the 1960s and 70s, I know not to be too surprised by the mishmash of ideas represented in the bicentennial moon trees. Most obvious here is the entanglement of space exploration and environmentalism, i.e., the idea of “Honoring Earth’s Green World of Trees” with a plant that had come so near the barren, lifeless surface of the moon.

As I see it, the interesting aspect is less the potentially confusing symbolism and more that individual trees are rather transient tributes to these weighty subjects. As living symbols, they will by their very nature someday be dying symbols. The moon tree in Washington Square was taken down just a couple of weeks ago, apparently after nearly three years of being pretty much just a barren, lifeless trunk. Honoring Earth’s Green World of Trees, indeed.

So it seems like this idea went awry somewhere, right? Wrong. Wrong because “moon tree” now increasing applies to clones of the trees, or trees grown from seeds of the original trees. In 2009 NASA celebrated Earth Day by planting a second-generation moon tree at the National Arboretum. The Philadelphia tree has just been replaced with its own clone, a sapling sycamore. Apparently a few years ago you could even buy your own moon tree, derived from one of the original moon sycamores, direct from the American Forest’s Historic Trees program.

Which is why the moon trees are actually pretty brilliant: as living entities reproducible at minimal cost there is, theoretically, an infinite supply. Not only can the living symbol of the moon tree be made immortal, in a way, but it can also be widely distributed. We don't even have to go back to the moon!

NASA made a call for information about the location and condition of the bicentennial moon trees, old and new, just this year. The amount of publicity it has generated demonstrates that people are still pretty interested in these space-age artifacts. And, unlike moon rocks (which can get you into big trouble) or pieces of spacecraft (except when they fall from the sky), I bet it’s pretty easy to gather your own space-race memento from some of the moon trees.

In short, these organic monuments are a successful if unconventional reminder of an intensely technological accomplishment, and perhaps also of the Founding Fathers and the need to prevent forest fires. But it's not really because they call to mind a specific event in the history of spaceflight. It's because they feed on – and quite literally multiply through – the imaginative appeal of space exploration and popular interest in its material artifacts.

It kind of makes you rethink plaques and concrete slabs, doesn't it?

Selasa, 04 Oktober 2011

Carlo Ginzburg on the Historian's Craft

This week, the father of the modern microhistory and one of the godparents of modern cultural history in general spoke at the Institute for Advanced Study on the relationship between observers, actors, and language in the historian's craft.

Carlo Ginzburg will be familiar to most for his epoch-making 1976 study The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth-Century Miller, which explains just what its title promises and is required reading in most history methods courses.

Connections to AmericanScience aren't immediately obvious, but the talk (a) dealt with some of the theoretical issues we've touched on before and (b) cast new light on how history borrowed from (sacked?) its cousin anthropology a half-century ago.

The title of his talk was "Our Words, and Theirs: A Reflection on the Historian’s Craft Today," and it began by noting what is both a blessing and a curse for history: that it is conducted in everyday language, in a vocabulary often shared with its actors.

Proceeding, as so many talks on the topic do, from Marc Bloch's posthumous Méthodologie Historique, Ginzburg highlighted Bloch's well-known debt to Durkheim's notion of conscience collective and its conscious correlate, "collective representation."

The conscience collective – the social psychology underlying society – determines both social and individual action, and is expressed everywhere – in language, in rituals, in institutions – as "collective representations," to which historians have access.

Enter anthropology. Actually, enter linguistics. Ginzburg reached back to Kenneth Pike and his midcentury coining of the terms "etic" and "emic," which map onto the issue of recovering the conscience collective in ways that should interest historians.

Both terms refer to observers' accounts: as Ginzburg put it, an "etic" account is a comparative one, the language of which isn't specific to any one culture, while an "emic" account either comes from or is familiar to (he was a bit unclear) a specific culture.

So far, this was familiar to many in the audience. What Ginzburg did that was new – at least to me – was to recast this dichotomy in terms of the questions historians ask of the past, and the answers they derive from texts as they pursue those questions.

Basically, historians can't escape their own times – they think in their own language and their perspective is always that of the "outsider." Anachronism is built into their pursuits. In this sense, our questions will always be "etic," at least to some extent.

Ginzburg didn't bemoan this – in fact, he insisted that we embrace it. What he suggested was that, if our questions are "etic," we should try for "emic" responses, always derived from the specificity of whatever culture it is to which we address those questions.

In part, this is an aspect of history's (or anthropology's) confused identity vis-a-vis objectivity and the scientific method. Ginzburg cited Bloch's reading of Claude Bernard, suggesting comparative history as a social-scientific offshoot of the experimental ideal.

It was a brilliant lecture. It provided a way to parse (and then parry) the charge of "anachronism" in history. It wasn't airtight – what is? – but Ginzburg's recasting of "etic" and "emic" as question and answer was lively take on the methods of cultural history.

There's a tension here – too anachronistic a question will be impossible to answer – but it can be a productive one. Accepting and posing "etic" questions, combined with a call for "emic" answers, is, for Ginzburg, the hermeneutic heart of the historian's craft.

Minggu, 02 Oktober 2011

Gould's fundamental miscalculation

[[Updated on 6 July 2012, to fix a few errors or poor phrasings in my original summary of Lewis et. al.'s paper, following on a productive and private discussion I had with one of the authors. My fixes are in brackets or indicated by strike-throughs.

I encourage historians of science to read this paper. As I wrote in my personal notes on it: “This is a fascinating paper—it makes Gould’s 'summer of 1977' look rather half-hearted and inexact.” And it turns out it was even more interesting than I thought: the authors find that the Morton did in fact mismeasure some of his skulls using his shot method (which Gould, and I, and many others) generally assumed to be accurate, but even those mismeasurements do not appear rooted in bias. I misread this conclusion and misrepresented it in my post.

But my post was never supposed to be a full review of Lewis et. al. --- I intended to talk about the state of the field in science studies and I continue to argue that while Lewis et. al. show here that proper measures can limit experimenter bias in measurement (which is important, and they do it well), the most interesting work in HOS and STS today is looking at the influence of culture on science in other places. Thus I still cannot agree with Lewis et. al.'s most sweeping conclusion at the end of their article.

For a shorter summary of their article, see this, from the New Scientist. It is a good summary and the authors lay out their points well. The last couple lines of the piece are the only place where they lose me: "Truth is hard, but it is sometimes obtainable despite even our strongest biases. What a marvellous thing, this science." That's a leap too far for a discussion of the Morton case. But the rest is well worth reading.

The original post, with corrections, follows:]]

I missed the boat with this post. It should have come in June. If normal blogosphere time standards prevailed, I would remain silent. But I have faith that we in the scholarly blogging community are perfectly happy to contemplate even that which is months old. So what happened last June?
Alas, poor Yorick!

Jason E. Lewis of Stanford's Anthropology Department (now Rutgers) and 5 colleagues from prominent institutions around the country published a refutation in PLoS Biology of Steven Jay Gould's famed Samuel George Morton indictment. The paper takes aim most directly at Gould's 1978 Science article (full text available, behind pay-wall), which made the case that "unconscious finagling" was the norm in science, in even such apparently objective activities as counting and measuring. It saves some space to refute Gould's broader version of this story as it appears in The Mismeasure of Man, a book I know much better and unabashedly love. Lewis et. al.'s cogent and convincing reassessment of Gould's study demands our attention, not only because it focuses on Gould (a FHSA fellow traveler, if not a member---I don't know if he ever belonged) and touches on a prominent figure in the history of science in America, but also for what it can tell us about the landscape of "science studies."

In the summer of 1977, Steven Jay Gould began working through Samuel George Morton's two monumental works of physical anthropology: Crania Americana and Crania Aegyptiaca. Both volumes teemed with measurements of skulls accumulated by Morton and his world-wide network of collectors and were illustrated in a truly lavish form with beautiful cranial illustrations (see an example above). Morton included in his works an extensive accounting of his measurements, alongside his conclusions, which used cranial capacity to lend greater weight to a five-part racial taxonomy and hierarchy. Morton adopted the racial categories of the German naturalist Johann Friedrich Blumenbach, breaking his skulls into the broad categories of American, Caucasian, Ethiopian, Malay, and Mongolian. Measuring the skulls in his collection (which reached unprecedented proportions, especially in the vastness of its "American" contents), Morton demonstrated a different average cranial capacity for each class of skulls measured and concluded that "race" rather than climate or circumstance led to these physical differences. His findings further supported a racial ordering that placed Caucasians on top, Americans in the middle, and Ethiopians on the bottom.

Gould took advantage of Morton's commitment to objective principles and took a second look at all the data that Morton so assiduously collected and then published. Gould argued, in the end, that not only Morton's conclusions were faulty, but that his measurements and analysis were as well. Morton, according to Gould's recalculations, came to his averages by choosing (unconciously) subsamples to include or exclude in a manner that supported his case and by ignoring variables (like the sex or stature of a skull's original owner) that might otherwise explain differences in cranial capacity. Gould also took advantage of a sort of natural experiment in Morton's data to look at the place of bias in measurement. Morton measured one set of skulls twice: first with mustard seeds and later with lead shot. Seeds, as Morton himself realized, produced less reliable numbers---varying from measure to measure---than did shot. Morton, who cared about his methods, settled on shot for his final measures. When Gould looked at the seed measures and the shot measures, he found that the average seed measures were lower than the average shot measures for those who Morton considered lower in the hierarchy. Gould saw here evidence of how bias could work if scientists were not so careful as Morton to choose the best methods of measuring.

Gould also went a step further and played with Morton's data a bit. By thinking about the variables that Morton ignored (like sex) and adopting a different stance toward subsamples, Gould found that Morton's hierarchy dissolved into essential equality. (Well, it persisted, but the gaps became vanishingly small.)

Lewis et. al. set out to remeasure Morton's skulls (thereby going a step further than Gould) and again reconstruct Morton's numbers. They conclude: 1) Morton's skull measurements were quite accurate [but that even Morton's gold-standard shot measurements had errors which did not suggest bias, see my introductory note]; 2) his subsampling had fewer problems than the new methods that Gould introduced; and 3) his seed vs. shot measures only demonstrated bias on the levels of the mean, but were far more variable from skull to skull. The first conclusion ought not be surprising [although the finding of actual shot mismeasuring is surprising, see my introductory note]. Even Gould accepted Morton's shot measurements as essentially reliable [which it turns out was a reasonable assumption, but not a perfectly correct one, see my introductory note]. The second and third are surprising and important. You can judge for yourselves, but I am convinced by the authors' arguments and their data. Gould made some crucial errors in his subsampling analysis and, as the authors show, the charges of finagling he leveled against Morton did not always make sense. I am particularly sad to see the death of the seed-to-shot natural experiment, but I accept the authors' claims that the sort of bias Gould proposed should show itself more consistently from skull to skull--not just at the level of the mean. If Morton patted the seed a bit tighter in his Caucasian skulls and looser in American skulls, he would have done that to some degree for all (or even most) Caucasian and American skulls.

The authors seem most concerned with refuting Gould's conclusion that scientists inevitably finagle. They pay little attention to the bigger picture that Gould presents in Mismeasure, beyond a sentence wherein they admit that they themselves no longer believe scientific evidence supports the idea that racial categories explain much of anything  [explain that modern biological anthropology shows no connection between "race" and skull size, see my introductory note. Lewis and DeGusta put it better in the New Scientist: "Furthermore, the generally small cranial capacity differences within humans do not correlate with intelligence or much else other than hat size." ]. They adopt a strict stance toward their data and criticize Gould for making so many suppositions. They refuse, for instance, to consider the idea that sex might have played a role in Morton's skull averages, because they have no objective way of sexing Morton's skulls.  In the end, they reject Gould's revised and equalized cranial capacities as barely founded speculation. I think their objective purity might be getting the better of them here. They don't prove Gould['s revisions to be necessarily wrong, although they poke plenty of serious holes in them, see my introductory note. (It's important to note that poking holes in this line of reasoning from Gould in no way lends support to the idea that skull size supports claims of racial difference in reality, as the authors would surely agree.)]. They prove we cannot prove Gould right, and therefore reject the entire enterprise.

Lewis et. al. want us to reconsider Morton as a hero of objective science ["find that Morton's initial reputation as the objectivist of his era was well-deserved"]. They laud his methods and his commitment to publishing all his data. In fairness, Gould offered similar praise. In his Science piece, he called on his colleagues to "cultivate, as Morton did, the habit of presenting candidly all our information and procedure, so that others can assess what we, in our blindness, cannot." (505) But Lewis et. al. go a step farther. Morton, it seems, did no (or very little) wrong. [As stated in my introduction: the authors do not claim that Morton was perfect. They in fact show that Morton mismeasured some skulls. I regret the original error on my part.] When measurement errors appear [otherwise], they belong [authors leave it to Morton to blame] to his untrustworthy assistant---although the authors have no way of knowing this to be true, beyond Morton's claim that he had a bad assistant. (I can't believe they would let Gould get away with a similar assumption.) In contrast, Gould, they argue, offers a "stronger example of bias influencing results."(5) I am not quite sure what to make of the clear moral distinctions being drawn between Morton and Gould. The paper is clearly dedicated to proving that bias can be limited by proper scientific methods. Such a claim would seem to make the scientist behind the measurements less important. Yet Lewis et. al. behave as if proving Morton to have the right values and to be a particularly competent measurer is very important. The proper scientific method, it seems, requires a certain kind of scientific self. The man and his values still matter. And yet...

The authors clearly relish refuting Gould's critique. The Morton case study, they write "has served for 30 years as a textbook example of scientific misconduct" and lent credibility to the idea that scientists are inevitably affected in all aspects of their work by their "cultural contexts." The authors note, with what reads to me like a sneer, that the cultural groundedness of science has "achieved substantial popularity in 'science studies.'"(5) Their article ends with a ringing confirmation of the scientific method: "The Morton case, rather than illustrating the ubiquity of bias, instead shows the ability of science to escape the bounds and blinders of cultural contexts."(6)

Here I part paths with Lewis et. al.

They convinced me that Gould made two kinds of miscalculations. The first set of miscalculations involved his analysis of Morton's data--this was what Lewis et. al. wanted me to notice. The second miscalculation was more fundamental: Gould used Morton to speak to the ways that scientists' humanity and cultural bounds can interfere with their measurements. That was never the best case to make. As these authors show and Gould suggested, appropriate methods can limit the ways in which the observer can interfere in a measurement. Objectivity can be approached asymptotically if you design the investigation right.

But what is the cost of objectivity? In Lewis et. al.'s case, giving priority to objectivity meant discounting the plausible assumptions that Gould used to refute racial orderings. It also meant privileging Morton's accurate measurements of cranial capacity, without any justification for why anyone should care to measure such a thing. Lewis et. al. defended Morton's measurements, but in doing so they end up overlooking a much more important set of "bounds and blinders of cultural contexts." Gould made a version of the same error. By focusing on the scientist measuring, we miss all of the intellectual baggage carried by the choice of measurements in the first place.

Two historians of science--operating near to "science studies," if not in it--point us in a better direction for thinking about Morton (and objectivity) than either Gould or Lewis. These studies point in the direction where "science studies" has been going and they make clear that culture still matters.

First, consider John Carson's "Minding Matter/Mattering Mind: Knowledge and the Subject in Nineteenth-Century Psychology." (1999) For Carson, what matters about Morton is the assumption that measuring cranial capacities mattered--that it could speak to questions of racial or species difference and ultimately allow for assessing minds. As Carson puts it, "Morton's research helped to codify a pattern of investigation that would flourish until the end of the century....the analyzing and ordering of races or groups, achieved through an investigative strategy centered around the fashioning of anonymity and its translation into numerical quantities that could be easily arrayed into linear hierarchies and aligned with mental attributes."(358) By stripping away the particularity of the skulls and defining them only by their internal capacity, Morton made it possible to group, average, and rank skulls and thereby tied those skulls to racial distinctions and orderings.

Ann Fabian, in her wonderful new book The Skull Collectors, pays even more attention to what gets lost when skulls become numbers in a table. In a few fascinating cases where the evidence allows her to do so, Fabian painstakingly traces Morton's skulls (and those held by his successors) back to their original possessors. In one such case, she considers a skull collected by the US Exploring Expedition. In fact, the Ex. Ex. collected a person: Veidovi, a Fijian elite taken captive in retaliation for an earlier assault on American traders. I cannot do Fabian's story justice here. But she concludes the chapter on his skull with a characteristic worry. If we take Veidovi only as a skull that fits into Morton's taxonomic scheme, he comes across in black and white as a racially pure Fijian. Yet the rest of Fabian's story suggests that racial purity had little to do with early nineteenth century Fiji: a cosmopolitan place caught up in an earlier globalized era. Throughout her book, Fabian rejects simple characterizations of Morton as a racist. She fears rightly that such characterizations have prevented scholars from interrogating Morton's collections and collecting practices more carefully and thus ignored the wealth of fascinating cultural assumptions underlying Morton's entire enterprise. Lewis et. al. assure us that they no longer [reject] accept scientific racism and then feel free to move on to vindicating Morton's measurements as culture-free. But Fabian demonstrates that Morton's skulls, his questions, and his methods cannot be extricated from their historical time and place.

[Note: At least one of Lewis' gang found Fabian's book and was not pleased. See the review-of-sorts by David DeGusta (apparently Lewis' former mentor; also it seems that Lewis and Fabian are neighbors at Rutgers). I have to remain uncommitted on DeGusta's biggest contention--that Morton never really cared about establishing a hierarchy and did not think bigger brains were better in general--until I can re-read Morton more carefully.[[I now disagree with him on this, after further reading.]] But I don't buy DeGusta's contention that Crania Americana posed no aid to slavery's proponents or that Morton's idea of replacing Blumenbach's "races" with "families" evidenced a concern for "diversity." In both cases, DeGusta undervalues the power of a polygenist position. Morton's families would have increased the number of separately created human races/species. But any evidence that some humans were created apart from other humans gave slavery's proponents all they wanted: proof of a fundamental difference that could justify fundamentally different treatment.
Clearly, DeGusta is concerned that Fabian wants to destroy the basis for his discipline (physical anthropology), which explains why he wants historians to think more critically about the invasions of privacy they regularly practice. I accept that physical anthropology has value. A few historians have joined forces with anthropologists to give historical voice to people who have no historical records (for instance). The medical analysis of old bones offers particularly valuable opportunities here. I also accept DeGusta's call for historical self-critique.
Yet I don't think Fabian is so dangerous to DeGusta as he fears. And I also think Fabian has much more to offer the anthropologists than they currently accept.]