Name: Timothy, aka "mcgett"
Email:
Bio: Tim McGettigan is a professor of sociology at Colorado State University – Pueblo. The Socjournal is an outstanding resource for all things sociological. Too often, the media examines social issues from a singularly economic perspective. If you really want to understand how the social world works, it's better to use a broader, clearer lens. In this column, I will discuss a variety of forces (technological, scientific, political, cultural, and, yeah okay, economic) that are currently reshaping the globe. Whether or not the world is changing for the better is an open question — and, thus, it's a question that I look forward to debating at length in this column.
Posts by mcgett:
- Issues of ownership would be replaced by obligations as manifested by stewardship.
- The composition classroom would then concern itself not with “taking the credit” but with celebrating the synthesis.
Redefining Reality: Seeing is Disbelieving
January 24th, 2012Redefining reality is a process through which individuals can challenge inadequate paradigms through a combination of astute observation and an ingenious capacity for innovative cognition (i.e., agency). The notion of redefinable reality posits, in agreement with Popper’s realist philosophy, that there is a universe “out there” that exists independently of human cognition (Popper, 1983). As such, I argue that universal Truth does exist, but such Truth is not (nor will it ever be) contained within extant scientific paradigms (McGettigan, 2011). Rather, The Truth extends infinitely into the unlocked mysteries of the expanding universe. In other words, reality is what it is: an asteroid is an asteroid is an asteroid, etc… Truth is an intrinsic, inseparable feature of phenomena as they exist independently of human perception. Lies and distortions come into existence via humanity’s vast capacity for ignorance: humans view the illimitable universe through awed and flawed psyches. Although admirable in many ways, the human grasp of infinite mysteries remains woefully incomplete. Nevertheless, the process of redefining reality permits limited human psyches to transcend the limitations of inadequate paradigms in pursuit of a grander vision of Truth.
Redefining reality generally begins when individuals notice a disjuncture between observable facts and established modes of explanation, e.g., a democratic system that is supposed to serve the people, but that instead caters to the whims of the powerful. Due to their devotion to established modes of thought, some observers might ignore anomalies, or contrive a convenient explanation that sustains their belief in what is already known, e.g., democracy in the United States may be imperfect, but it distributes power pluralistically through a convoluted representational system. Alternately, more independent thinkers might treat such a dilemma as an opportunity to transcend the socially-imposed barriers that constrain their understanding of observable reality.
The process of transcending socially imposed cognitive barriers often begins with a creative observation (e.g., “Hey! Why don’t politicians ever follow through on their campaign promises?”). In some cases, individuals who are determined to make sense of the anomaly in question might follow up their observations by developing an individual-level intellectual challenge to established modes of understanding (i.e., it appears as though the United States democratic system is primarily designed to serve the interests of power-brokers). Such acts of intellectual rebellion tend to further erode the foundations of conventional thinking (i.e., “Based upon what I have observed, I no longer believe democracy in the United States serves the will of the people.”). Finally, the culmination of the redefinition of reality process involves constructing an entirely new explanation that simultaneously explodes existing ideological boundaries while also advancing a more adequate description of the phenomena in question, i.e., the United States political system masquerades as a democracy, while functioning like an elite-centered oligarchy.
Thus, as the foregoing example illustrates, individuals occasionally demonstrate the requisite mental apparatus to make note of anomalies, develop creative new explanations for mysterious phenomena, and then overcome manifestations of social power that delimit their thought and action. Therefore, the thoughts and behaviors of individual social actors are not entirely determined by the invisible influences of social coercion. Instead, sometimes agents can creatively counteract the distorting influences of social coercion and, in so doing, generate moments of truth.
A moment of truth is an experience wherein individuals, via the process of redefining reality, are transported from an inadequate version of reality to a more satisfactory paradigm. These experiences may be considered relatively truthful in that they are generated through a process whereby agents systematically counteract the influences of invisible social power over their definitions of reality. Thus, Mills (1956) argues that people who confine their analysis of the US political system to the realm of the observable (i.e., the words and deeds of elected politicians), cannot help but fall prey to artfully calculated illusions. From Mills’ perspective, the observable activities of political actors in the United States are designed to provide a convincing impression that politics-as-usual lives up to the ideals of democracy. Yet, Mills argues that appearances are deceiving. While political representatives go through the motions of faithfully serving their constituents, shadowy operators work behind the scenes to ensure that politics-as-usual serves the interests not of the majority, but of a privileged minority of power elites. Consequently, the truth is not defined by facts alone, rather the truth can only emerge as a result of a deeper investigation into the manner in which perception is often cunningly distorted by the interventions of social power. Therefore, it is in the process of counteracting the distorting influences of social power that it becomes possible for agents to experience moments of truth.
References
McGettigan, Timothy, 2011. Good Science: The Pursuit of Truth and the Evolution of Reality. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.
Mills, C. Wright. The Power Elite. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956.
Popper, Karl, 1983. Realism and the Aim of Science. Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield.
Captain America, The All-American Drughead
November 11th, 2011So, how do we know that Captain America is a true, blue American? Well, for starters, Cap is wrapped in the flag from head to toe. There could hardly be a clearer message: this guy represents the USA. He’s strong, he’s fast, he’s fearless, and he is all of these things because he is…(drum roll, please)…a drughead!
Now, hold on a second. That’s not the answer we were looking for. Captain America is supposed to be strong, fast, and fearless because he represents all that is virtuous about America, right?
Wrong.
According to the storyline for Captain America: The First Avenger, Steve Rogers starts off being a skinny little dweeb who can’t get a break. Steve’s fortunes finally take a turn for the better when he catches the attention of Dr. Abraham Erskine. The good doctor is impressed by Steve’s stick-tuitiveness as well as an indefinable quality of “goodness” that is integral to Steve’s character—and that also makes Steve a perfect guinea pig for Dr. Erskine’s medical experiments. Dr. Erskine has developed a potion that can transform people into super-beings. However, that’s just a theory because the first person to undergo the treatment (aka, the Red Skull) transforms into a monster so vile that he makes Hitler appear tame by comparison. Nevertheless, Erskine is convinced that just as his elixir amplified the Red Skull’s evil qualities, it will also exaggerate Roger’s admirable traits.
In a scene straight out of the Son of Frankenstein, Erskine escorts Rogers into an art deco iron maiden, shoots him up with dozens of over-sized vials of fluorescent super-soldier elixir and then zaps him with a zillion volts of electricity. In the midst of this sequence, when Erskine is momentarily seized with anxiety that he may have charred his poor patient to cinders, we suddenly hear Rodgers’ voice rise above the electrical firestorm to demand that the treatment be carried through to completion. At that point, I half expected Erskine to burst out exultantly, “It’s alive, it’s alive!!”
In spite of all the fun, this is the juncture where the film’s moral narrative gets seriously derailed. In 1942, when Hitler remained a clear and present threat to global security, and before we knew anything about the evils of performance enhancing drugs, it would have been easier to view Steve Rogers’ transformation as a triumph of virtue. That is, with the help of Erskein, a refugee driven from Europe by Hitler’s malice, the American military had cooked-up a potion designed to transform men into the kind of super-soldiers that were required to defeat the Axis of Evil. However, from a 21st century perspective, it’s a bit tougher to cheer lustily for Captain America when we simultaneously cry foul at the likes of Barry Bonds, Floyd Landis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Alex Rodriguez, Marion Jones, and others. Although the producers of Captain America seem to have lost touch with such Kindergarten morality, thanks to Nancy Reagan, every kid in America has been conditioned to say no to drugs.
Certainly, the most poignant moral message that Captain America endeavors to impart is, “Nice guys can and should finish first.” A praiseworthy narrative, indeed. However, an equally resounding and vastly more troubling message that Captain America forcefully delivers is, “What you lack in natural ability, you can compensate for with performance enhancing drugs.” Further, if your opponents have taken drugs to enhance their performance, then it is your responsibility to consume even more efficacious drugs in order to out compete your foes. Precisely what it means to be human—not to mention the moral laudability associated with aspiring toward unsynthesized excellence—get dumped by the wayside. In Captain America, the virtues of drug-free humanity get flushed unceremoniously into the gutter of history. Alas.
Americans love moral merit and Americans also love winners. In fact, Americans love each so much that they often fail to see the essential contradictions that make it impossible to achieve both simultaneously. In Captain America, we try to have our cake and eat it too. In the end, Captain America is an entertaining but exceedingly superficial film. Nor, if the moral road map in Captain America is any indication, is it any wonder that America tends to get bogged down in endless wars. How can Americans ever expect to win the wars if, like their hero Steve Rogers, every time they strike a blow for their principles they also strike an equally forceful blow against them?
Holy Megabucks, Batman! The Astounding Popularity of Superhero Films
September 22nd, 2011The first person to live to 1,000 is already 60 years old—
Aubrey de Grey, Chief Science Officer of the SENS Foundation
Has anyone noticed a pattern in recent summer film seasons? Maybe it’s just me, but lately it seems like one out of every three Hollywood blockbusters is a superhero movie. Spiderman, Batman, Iron Man, the Hulk, Wolverine, Captain America…need I go on? A review of any one of these films would be very brief: mind-numbing eye candy. If you like big muscles and even bigger explosions, then superhero films are for you. If, on the other hand, you prefer films that are slightly more sophisticated than WWF throw-downs, then you might find the burgeoning popularity of superdude sagas a wee bit puzzling.
Apart from costume changes – for example, the star of Captain America also played the role of the Human Torch in the Fantastic Four – most superhero films are pretty much identical. The stories revolve around a central character, who is often a loser, and who experiences some sort of tragedy. The plot thickens when the luckless everyman gets juiced up with some sort of superpower. The story builds to a climax when the super-charged hero dashes off to vanquish a bad guy who really has it coming. OK, so if that about sums it up, then why do superhero movies set box office records year after year?
Hollywood producers have long known that a film’s success depends on forging a powerful personal connection with its audience. But what connection could there possibly be between real people and comic book fantasies?
Ever since people invented anthropomorphic gods—such as Thor, the star of a recent superhero blockbuster—it’s fair to say that humans have been fascinated with superhumans. The coolest thing about superhumans is that they are sublimely untroubled by the mundane problems that plague mere mortals. Compared to the gods, humans are puny, weak, and insignificant. However, humans are also similar enough to the gods that, if we permit our imaginations to run wild, we can privately entertain fantasies about wielding their superpowers: “There, but for a thunderbolt from heaven, go I.”
This leads us back to Aubrey de Grey. What would inspire a level-headed scientist to claim that humans might be on the verge of achieving immortality? Such an outlandish fantasy falls well outside the pale of serious science; however, it still falls well within the bounds of human aspirations. Keep in mind that Albert Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”
In other words, fantasies often lead where science fears to tread. Crazy as it may seem, today’s fantasies are often tomorrow’s realities. If you want a glimpse of what the future might hold, then I recommend that you catch the inevitable sequel to Thor or Captain America. And don’t be surprised if you spot Aubrey de Grey in the front row of the theater.
Tim McGettigan is a professor of sociology at CSU-Pueblo and he is also the author of Good Science: The Pursuit of Truth and the Evolution of Reality.
Coming to (Digital) Terms: The Work of Art in the Age of Non-Mechanical Reproduction
August 16th, 2011Posted by: Timothy McGettigan
Author: Robert S. Dornsife, PhD
Creighton University
ROBERTDORNSIFE@creighton.edu
Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.
–Walter Benjamin
I wish I could say that this paper results from the scholarship I have read since I first entered the fully computerized composition classroom 17 years ago. And that influence is certainly present here. But the real impetus occurred in the less lofty confines of my parents’ garage. There I found a copy of my dad’s Master’s thesis, from 1959, and it looked just like the thesis I had signed off on in 2005. That the means have changed so much and the ends so little struck me as indicative of a crisis.
I contend that nowhere is the manifestation of this crisis more pressing than regarding authorship and its relations to digitalness. And to explicate this relationship, I rely on the material conditions themselves that give rise to their own implications and metaphors.
Of greatest import regarding analog and digital technologies, both as technologies and as resulting metaphors, is the analog concept of “generation.” Imagine a series of analogue cassette recorders. The tape in the first machine is recorded by the second machine, the tape recorded by the second machine is then re-recorded by the third machine, and so forth. Even by the second generation recording, the status of “copy” is marked by a degradation in quality. By, say, the millionth such generation, the analog copy would contain none of the text of the first, offering either silence or generic static instead.
The implications of this analog degradation of quality with each generation are as large as any such implication. Past generations of concert bootleggers offer us, among other resources, a telling account of the foundations of such implication. Analog recordings were valued according to their generational status. Although seldom were the original masters ever offered for sale, the first generation renditions—that is, those renditions that were recorded directly from the masters, always commanded the highest price. Indeed, the generational status was as large a determinant of value as any: every tape was labeled both in terms of the quality of the performance per se and the sonic quality of the reproduction. “Great concert—fifth generation—die hards only” would be valued less than “great concert—second generation.” Although the fifth generation of the “great show” might be worth as much as the fourth generation of the “good show,” generation was always present, asserting itself inseparably into the value of the art.
Within an analog world, the copy was marked by a degradation when compared to the original, a comparison itself made possible by this very marking. Thus, the copy was as a result of its relation to an original, just as the original was as a result of its relation to a copy. Further, such potential was as much at play as any actual manifestation of original to copy. The original need not have been copied to achieve its status as original. The very possibility that the original might be copied, and if it were to be copied, that the copy would be marked by a degradation of quality, marked each accordingly.
If we replace the series of audio cassette machines, above, with a series of digital recorders, the results are not the same. Assuming that the digital data remains in the digital domain, just as the analog text had remained in the analog domain in the earlier example, and again assuming that text four had been recorded from text three which itself had been recorded from text two, and so forth, the difference that analog technologies had conditioned us to expect, or even require, is gone. In this digital series of text, “generation” becomes imperceptible, immeasurable. Generation, in the analog sense—which is the sense that defined the term–ceases to be, as must any sense of “reproduction.” Indeed, in the absence of generation, all terms that depended on generation itself at the very least are fundamentally reconfigured, or they die.
In the absence of a successive, generational loss of quality, the term “copy” within a digital metaphor can only exist in way that was relatively, and qualitatively, insignificant in analog terms, which is by way of what might called the passing of time, that is, history, or chronology.
Our series of digital recorders does allow for one difference between the second recording that took place in sequence and the millionth that took place in the same sequence. As a result of the necessary logistics of the example, the millionth was created at a later time than was the second. This difference is a real difference. Because in analog terms such time was all the proof we needed of the resulting qualitative degradation, this very presence of chronological difference works to indict itself. At the same time, the implications of this presence perhaps gave rise to the “aura” from which an “original” acquired its “authenticity” (Benjamin 222-3). We need not be surprised that the reality of this difference is not a neutral one, technologically, critically, or otherwise.
In order to save time, we need only appeal to the otherwise identicalness of the digital texts. Just as the successive degradation of the text in the analog domain had marked time as destructive, so might we rely on the qualitative identicalness of our series of digital texts to recover time as marking no analogous degradation. Eventually, as time allows us to ignore time, the identicalness of the digital texts at play would manifest itself unencumbered. Although at this point, I can still borrow enough from the analog paradigm to refer to a second or a millionth in a digital paradigm, eventually any such distinction will be so unnoticeable as to be impossible, and we will, as we encounter text, ignore changes in “time and space” the same way that we ignore other inconsequential changes, such as changes in humidity.
Once the role of time is revised as a result of its having no bearing on successive digital quality, other concepts will follow. Simultaneously, the terms “original” and “copy” will either need to be reconsidered or, it seems more probably to me, left for dead. If, again borrowing from the analog lexicon, the digital millionth is identical to the digital first, the binary pair “copy/original” is no longer in opposition. The qualitative contrast is no more. Without a copy, there is no original, and vice-versa. The copy is not only no longer subordinated to and by its master, but is free to rename itself in a way that does not even take into account any degradation in quality. It is free, as copy per se, to become extinct. The would-be original will no doubt have a harder time surrendering its privilege.
However, given the ease with which “copy” will surrender its subordinate status, “original” may have no choice to surrender. In the absence of its opposite, it may find itself of use only to a cult of the nostalgic. Such a cult has already been too easy to find, and in composition pedagogy.
A, perhaps the, primary banner under which this cult gathers is one that engages in analog terms the concept of “plagiarism.” Such a banner is raised with such urgency exactly because it marks the center of the transition between analog and digital. It is not only the front line of such change, but is at once the majority, or the entirety, of the disputed property. Because plagiarism is overtly concerned with the original and with the copy, its pressure to assert itself in the midst of the transition from analog to digital is an urgent pressure. (Outside of academia, one might be tempted to ignore or dismiss an outdated fear or urgency due to “inevitability.” But the example of the paper from 1959 and the paper from 2005 suggests that we should not underestimate the conservative stubbornness of the academy generally and of composition specifically.)
In sum and in short, in a digital world, plagiarism can not exist except as an argument that at least is preoccupied with, and probably is wholly concerned with, the past. But unlike any historical period in literature, composition does not, as part of its engagement as a contemporary act, require or even suggest any obligation toward a “past.” The study of “Early American Literature,” for example, suggests in most cases at least consideration of itself in historical terms, even when these historical terms are read in the most contemporary way. The student concerned with the history of composition will find a rich and valuable and telling such history. But the student concerned with “composition” as an act has no such obligations. Unlike most literary areas, “composition” does not insist on the studied presence of any past. But as its concerns with plagiarism make clear, it does so anyway, rather than taking advantage of any opportunity to do otherwise; or rather than taking responsibility for the fact that it is obliged to do otherwise.
The reasons for this are many, and most of them, for example any prevalence of composition teachers who opt for readily-quantified evaluative mechanisms even when such mechanisms are artistically misguided or destructive, can not be addressed by any explication of digitalness. Many of these sorts of concerns may be addressed by time, and even perhaps by what our students bring to us. (Many of our current students can remember when the first computer entered their houses, although they were quite young. Soon there will be no such history.)
But to wait for time to exert whatever pressure it may exert would be to not fully take advantage of the contemporaneity that composition affords. Instead, we might do well to at least begin to further come to terms with digitalness sooner. And because plagiarism is a keystone of the transition from analog to digital, although mostly thus far in a conservative way, it is also a resource for exploring opportunities for such progress.
Rather than starting from a position that too much privileges the historical forces at play, I will begin to end by returning to my claim that in a digital world, “copy” and “original” are left for dead. Were my claim enough, some of the following would happen, even anyway.
All work, then, would be seen as work in progress, along an endless continuum of “borrowed from” then “borrowed by.”
Collaboration, then, would be seamless. It would no longer be optional, but would be inherent in our understanding of composition itself—collaborating at once with those who began a discussion earlier or elsewhere and at once with those who will join later.
But that “plagiarism” continues to exist suggests that these phenomena will not simply “come to pass.” Instead, I conclude by suggesting a few transitional steps, suggestions that are made “off balance” by the vocabulary at play as it is during transition: To use analog terms to describe events that have no digital equivalent is necessary because of this transition. At the same time, doing so only preserves concepts that may be better left to their own (analog) devices.
First, I suggest pushing on the implications of the fact that it is already OK to engage the work of others in our texts. Though we now need “the cite” to make this move officially acceptable, there is, even at it stands, room for the content of others in our own content. Removing the cite is not the same as removing the content, even under analog terms. We have, then, the beginnings of a collage, and need only remove the analog claim toward “separateness” as we strive to see a mosaic as one work rather than as some sort of ill-conceived bastard. We already look toward others. “Their” paragraphs are woven into “our” paragraphs. Their voices are always already in our heads. I suggest we now consider ways to show our respect and appreciation that don’t involve citation.
Second and finally, I suggest we explore the implications of the digital sample, particularly in terms of its having no analog counterpart. That the digital sample is “of a piece with” that from which it is “sampled” may suggest that it is not a “sample” in the diminutive sense at all, but is instead its own text, free to be engaged as such.
And how do we deal with such samples?
We accept them as texts that represent something other than plagiarism; as texts that are neither “originals” nor “copies;” as texts that are not depreciated, as texts that are marked as transitional by our discomfort. And from this discomfort we fashion our new “fabric of tradition” regarding digital composition (Benjamin 225).
Works Cited
Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations. Ed. Hannah Arendt. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968.
AI and IQ: The Right Answer to the Wrong Question
July 14th, 2011In the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a group of truth-seekers entreats Deep Thought, an artificially-intelligent supercomputer, to reveal the answer to the most elusive question in existence, “What is the meaning of life, the universe and everything?”
Deep Thought takes up the challenge, but warns that it will require no less than seven and a half million years to produce the answer. Given the scope of the challenge, Deep Thought’s petitioners accept the computer’s terms and leave it to their descendants to benefit from Deep Thought’s protracted ruminations. Finally, following eons of cogitation, Deep Thought stirs and announces, ominously, that the long-awaited answer is ready–but Deep Thought adds that the answer is unlikely to be a crowd-pleaser. Their patience at an end, Deep Thought’s supplicants insist that the computer unveil the monumental secret that they have waited so long and faithfully to hear. At that, Deep Thought heaves an electronic sigh and pronounces that the answer to the question of life, the universe and everything is…
…forty-two.
As Deep Thought predicted, the assemblage reacts unfavorably to such a meaningless answer. Deep Thought fires back that the answer is perfect, rather the fault lies with the question: the answer, forty-two, is unintelligible only because his patrons never really understood their original question.
Aha!
So, what does this have to do with artificial intelligence research? A lot, actually.
At this point, I should emphasize that I am a huge supporter of information technology and AI. The smarter that our technologies become, the more likely it is that we’ll be able to solve the many problems (e.g., war, famine, disease, natural disaster, pollution, energy shortages, etc.) that humanity faces.
That said, the conundrum that Deep Thought reveals (i.e., it is difficult to find the right answers if we don’t really understand our questions) is reminiscent of the challenges that AI researchers confront with regard to the definition of intelligence. AI researchers have a crystal clear vision of their ultimate goal: creating intelligent machines–just like that smart-aleck Deep Thought. The problem is that, AI researchers have at best a weak understanding the question, “What is intelligence?” For example, at present, one of the most widespread misperceptions about intelligence is that–get this!–intelligence can be represented as a number. Whereas Deep Thought contends that the answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two, many intelligence experts are convinced that intelligence can be characterized as a single number; a.k.a., an IQ score. If I didn’t know better, I’d be sure that this was another one of Douglas Adams’ jokes.
It makes about as much sense to say that intelligence is equivalent to a score of 81, 97, 112, or 250 as it does to claim that the meaning of life, the universe and everything is 42. The difference between these assertions is that Douglas Adams was joking, whereas psychometricians are serious. Aww, c’mon, there’s got to be a camera hidden somewhere.
But, here’s the best part. In the Hitchhiker’s Guide, Deep Thought hatches a bold plan to solve the problem of “how to understand the question”; it’s another joke, but it contains a marvelous kernel of truth. Deep Thought creates the most sophisticated computer in the universe (i.e., the earth) and runs a multi-billion year program (i.e., the evolution of life on earth) through which to create organisms (i.e., humans) who develop the necessary mental faculties to understand the meaning of existence. Thus, the moral of the story is that the answer lies within. It simply takes the necessary wisdom to understand the question.
Poetry.
The only snag is that, at the very moment that humans finally achieve enlightenment, a bunch of Vogons blast the earth into cosmic dust. There’s a lesson in that, too. Humans have always relied on their brains for survival. So, now and forever, humanity has got to continue getting smarter or we’ll end up being obliterated by our problems.
The point of all this is that, if we try hard enough, humans will surely be able to figure out the meaning of life, the universe and everything–and also the key to artificial intelligence. The trick is to seek the real, hidden knowledge that lies behind otherwise meaningless numbers.
There Be Dragons: Science as the Realization of Fantasy
June 26th, 2011Currently, scientists argue that more than 90% of the universe is made up of dark substances. Dark matter and energy are phenomena that remain persistently inaccessible to direct observation. Substantial and pervasive as they are theorized to be, scientists have not been able to design any means through which to verify the existence of exotic particles, such as WIMPs (“Weakly Interacting Massive Particles”), or dark energy. Yet, though they remain undetectable, scientists are convinced that dark matter and energy do exist. In large part, this is because, at present, there is simply no other way to account for the anomalous behavior of the cosmos: if not for dark energy, then how can one make sense of the accelerating expansion of the universe? Nevertheless, the problem with such fanciful speculations is that they threaten to transgress the boundary between fantasy and reality.
By way of comparison, let’s say that I am convinced that fire-breathing dragons exist. Although most rational thinkers would dismiss such a claim as the product of an overworked imagination, I might insist that my belief is at least as legitimate as the scientific faith in dark matter and energy. While it is true that I cannot produce direct evidence of fire-breathing dragons, a similar lack of direct evidence has not dissuaded scientists from embracing the concepts of dark matter and energy. In addition, as is the case with dark physical phenomena, there is an abundance of indirect evidence which supports the contention that fire-breathing dragons actually walk the earth. Indeed, if anything, mythical dragon spoor is substantially more tangible than the residues of dark matter and energy.
For centuries, dragons have animated the folklore of many cultures. Indeed, their images are so pervasive that practically every consumer of popular culture has a clear conceptual grasp of the fearsome visage of a fire-breathing dragon. Whereas, on the other hand, dark matter and energy remain conceptual constructs that are intelligible to only a small number of ivory tower scientists. As such, of the two fantasies, one could argue that fire-breathing dragons have a substantially stronger footing in reality.
Generally speaking, in scientific endeavors, empirical observation serves as a means to generate and evaluate knowledge claims, e.g., zoologists observe lions and zebras on the African savanna and, as a result, establish (among other things) the truth of their predator-prey relationship. Thus, the relative truthfulness of various knowledge claims is usually equated with the degree to which the phenomena in question are observable. Relying upon observation as a means to evaluate knowledge claims has a strong intuitive appeal. Human judgment is profoundly influenced by sensory observations: we tend to have faith in those things that we can see, smell, hear, taste, or touch, whereas phenomena that defy observation (e.g., the Abominable Snowman, fire-breathing dragons, dark matter and energy, etc.) tend to tax credulity.
Although scientists often insist that science is a purely fact-driven endeavor, in reality, scientific progress is often generated more by the pursuit of fantasy than facts. Take, for example, the space race during the 1960s. In 1961, when President John F. Kennedy announced that the US would land astronauts on the moon by no later than 1970, JFK’s prognostications were based more upon fantasy than good science. As of 1961, the US lacked the necessary technology–much less, a workable plan–to achieve such a remarkable goal. In spite of those shortcomings, Kennedy’s lunar landing problematic created an unprecedented opportunity for NASA’s super-adaptable community of scientists to redefine the future: Kennedy’s problematic stimulated the US to reinvent itself as the world’s unparalleled leader in space science—which then created additional, unforeseen opportunities to become the leader of the information society.
Rational thinkers who insist that truth must be based upon facts would certainly have had grounds to object. If truth must be supported by facts, then NASA’s race to the moon throughout the 1960s was one of the most highly-publicized fantasies ever invented. Yet, for super-adaptable humans, it turns out that truth is not a product of facts alone; what determines the truth in the synthetic landscape of human experience is the combination of imaginative thinking and practical application. Truth is indeed founded upon facts, but not necessarily by the facts that exist at any one point in time. For super-adaptable humans, truth is often redefined by the facts that, via the magic of problematics, they are inspired to invent.
Of course, some flights of imagination serve no purpose beyond providing a convenient creative outlet, e.g., daydreaming about wonderlands (Carroll, 1897). This is a point that Jean Baudrillard dwelt upon at length. That is, Baudrillard argued that, in a mass-mediated society, Americans had become particularly adept at concocting elaborate fantasies, or simulations (Baudrillard, 1989). Baudrillard contended that post-industrial Americans vastly prefer consuming—and being consumed by—simulations than living within the dull confines of the unanimated real world. For Baudrillard, the American obsession with simulations was an indicator of the futility of the postmodern era: when people care more about illusions than reality, the significance of human endeavors dwindles to vaporous insignificance.
While I concur with a number of Baudrillard’s observations, I differ regarding the utility of simulations. Certainly, many simulations are largely devoid of worthwhile content; television is, in many respects, a vast wasteland. Nevertheless, some simulations have helped to inspire the most remarkable feats ever achieved by humankind. Thus, it is a fact that on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. However, Armstrong could never have left his boot prints on the lunar surface if Kennedy had not dared to propose his future-building fantasy.
Therefore, crazy as it may seem, fantasies represent the most productive means through which to generate scientific progress. Whereas Karl Popper (1959) and others have defined truth as knowledge that is supported by the facts, time and again, humans have concocted problematics that are, at least in their initial stages, utterly unsupported by the facts (e.g., a passion for heavier-than-air flight, conjectures about atomic weaponry, or dreams of traveling through the lifeless void of space, etc.). After concocting fantastic visions of alternate realities, knowledge-seekers have often, by sheer dint of will, generated the facts that have transformed those flights of imagination into hard and fast truths. Strange as it may seem, imagination is often more important than facts in the process of establishing new truths and transforming reality. The more far-fetched the fantasy (à la Jules Verne), the more scientifically-productive the process of realizing the fantasy will be. For example, Martin Cooper has claimed that he was inspired to invent the cell phone after watching Captain Kirk use his wireless communicator on Star Trek.
So, dream big. The future is a fantasy, and science is a mechanism through which we transform fantasies into reality. Sure as there be dark matter, so there be dragons.
References
Baudrillard, Jean. America. New York: Verso, 1989.
Carroll, Lewis. Alice in Wonderland. Boston, MA: Barta Press, 1897.
Popper, Karl. The Logic of Scientific Discovery. New York: Basic Books, 1959.
Conquering the Beast Within
June 17th, 2011
The beast within?
Long ago, Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) argued that, in the absence of strict civilizing influences, humans tended to lead lives that were “nasty, brutish, and short.” For Hobbes, human nature was brutal largely because nature is brutal. The law of the jungle is harrowing and, in a state of nature, social niceties generally take a back seat to the grim realities of no-holds-barred struggles for survival.
That humans could flourish in natural environments that were predicated on lethal competition is a complement to the unique array of evolutionary adaptations that comprise modern Homo sapiens. Lacking formidable claws, teeth and body mass, humans have overcome their physiological shortcomings by evolving a matchless intellect. Humans have succeeded in exerting unparalleled dominance over the earth by repeatedly making the point that brawn can always be subjugated by intellect.
For his part, Hobbes was convinced that social control was the key to human progress. No matter how refined any individual may appear, Hobbes was convinced that a primitive beast lurked within. Intellects that have been honed in the pitiless crucible of survival competitions remain indelibly a product of those struggles. Yet, though Hobbes believed that a savage resided within every human heart, he also believed that it was possible to tame those internal beasts. This could be accomplished via the application of social control. In a well-regulated environment where ne’er-do-wells are disciplined swiftly and certainly, Hobbes asserted that individuals can be effectively dissuaded from pursuing purely self-interested, and thus, anti-social activities. The key to civilizing the human animal is to ensure that individuals remain more fearful of disobeying the instruments of centralized authority (i.e., Big Brother) than they are tantalized by the potential benefits of pursuing brazen self-interest. Under such circumstances, “civilized behavior” results from a straightforward cost-benefit calculation: if defying authority bears greater costs than the perceived benefits of seeking self gain, then individuals will elect to pursue loftier, more socially-productive goals.
Though it’s an unflattering view of human nature, nevertheless, Hobbes’ principles still remain the foundational insights upon which many modern criminal justice systems operate. Humans can accomplish great things, but only if we imprison our baser human natures–whether we reside in penitentiaries or not–in rigidly enforced systems of social correction.
Indeed, this was also Michel Foucault’s key insight in Discipline and Punish (1975). Foucault argued that, as societies have become increasingly complex, forms of social control have also evolved to new levels of sophistication. For example, as fast as information technologies evolve, surveillance technologies that are designed to monitor the thoughts and movements of global netizens proliferate. Though IT users understandably chafe under the often onerous intrusiveness of evolving surveillance technologies–and the policies that authorize their use (e.g., USA Patriot Act)–failure to maintain aggressive data-monitoring initiatives invites 9/11-style abuses. Thus, humans being what they are, the more that IT enhances our intellectual capabilities, the more necessary it will be to impose increasingly draconian forms of electronic surveillance.
But that’s not a very pleasant thought, is it? Who the heck wants to believe that Big Brother will (or, worse yet, ought to) inevitably win in the end? Not me. No way.
Still, for every new use that we discover for information technologies, it seems as if digital scallywags invent at least one, if not a thousand, more abuses. Which of the visionary inventors of the Internet imagined that cyberspace would open up boundless opportunities to hawk pornography, sidestep gambling restrictions, pilfer electronic identities, manage shadow banking systems, or coordinate global terror networks?
Self-regulation has a tendency to be ineffectual simply because, as Hobbes argued, it is folly to rely upon the better angels of human nature. Left to itself, human nature tends to be dominated more by demons than angels. For example, Alan Greenspan, the former Chair of the Federal Reserve, subscribed to the fanciful conviction that deregulation would inspire a market-based solution to financial fraud. Instead, as one might expect, Greenspan’s philosophy of unchecked deregulation only amplified the scope of financial abuse (a la Bernie Madoff and OTC derivatives) during his term as Fed Chair. The 2008 financial meltdown was largely a consequence of Greenspan’s pollyannaish faith in the magic of deregulation.
Civility is a product of social control, whereas crooks flourish in an environment of deregulation. Further, it is naive to insist otherwise–unless we’re intent upon aiding and abetting crooks. That said, creativity is inspired by unfettered individual inquiry. From Galileo to Julian Assange, the best ideas often transgress the most sacred social boundaries. This is a point that I have made repeatedly in other discussions.* Truth is an outcome of conflict and dissent rather than consensus.
Can we have it both ways? In other words, can information technology be both an instrument of repression as well as a vehicle with which to creatively contravene established rules and regulations? Like it or not, it is both already and must remain so. If we are going to outmaneuver mischief in the rapidly evolving landscape of the information society, then we will need to employ a big, strong, technically-savvy Big Brother to put the kibosh on fast-adapting cyber-deviants. However, the more adept that Big Brother becomes, the greater the chances that he’ll become an overzealous bully.
Family relationships are never ideal. We may need a Big Brother, but we don’t have to like him. In fact, if we are going to derive any real benefits from this sibling relationship, then it will have to remain a rivalry. We can empower Big Brother to be a protector, but only if, simultaneously, we apply ourselves unremittingly to dissuading Big Brother from being a bully. In practice, this means trying to put one over on Big Brother every chance we get. Big Brother may not agree, but hackers and crackers are his best friends. It might sound counterintuitive, but there is no better way to keep Big Brother alert and in line–and also to inspire the individual intellectual bravado that will ensure an enlightened and progressive civilization–than an incessant and ferocious sibling rivalry.
*See Utopia on Wheels (1999) and Good Science (2011).
iPad Delusions: The Curious Appeal of Workaround Computing
May 11th, 2011
IPAD workers kill themselves
Foxconn Suicide Cluster | Run to your Death
It’s slim, it’s light, it’s revolutionary, and it’s…annoying.
The iPad’s popularity is nothing short of astounding. Apple’s tablet computer has been setting sales records ever since it was introduced. At first glance, this makes sense. Apple has, once again, created a computer that is way cooler than its competition. Also, having once been burned by Microsoft’s underselling tactics (nigh unto oblivion), Apple has learned the lesson of competitive pricing. Thus, not only has Apple introduced the slickest tablet on the market, but Apple has also managed to tickle customers’ fancy by selling the iPad for considerably less than any other competing device. Very impressive.
Last fall, my netbook imploded so, over the Christmas holidays, I caved to the hype and purchased an iPad. Given all the rave reviews, I figured my new iPad was going to instantly catapult me into a new and more wondrous computing realm. Yeah, right. As P.T. Barnum once put it, “There’s a sucker born every minute.”
Contrary to all of the hoopla, my first impression of the iPad was chagrin at how much it couldn’t–and I was soon to discover, wouldn’t–do. For starters, after unpackaging the iPad, I was disappointed to discover that it was not a standalone computer. In other words, you can’t just turn the damned thing on and use it. Instead, first-time users must plug their revolutionary Apple tablet into some other computer that has been preloaded with iTunes–and to which the iPad must remain spiritually harnessed in perpetuity.
WHY!?
Even more annoying, users cannot successfully breathe life into their iPads unless they provide the iTunes store with a credit card number with which to make “convenient” (Read: excessive, unnecessary impulse) purchases. Although this might be great for Apple’s bottom line, it also conveys the impression that Apple views its customers as easy marks from whom it can exact never-ending tribute. Not much of a first impression.
Now, on to using the iPad. Apple likes to brag that there’s an app for just about everything. Yeah, right. I’m channeling P.T. Barnum on this one again. Suffice it to say that most iPad apps remain in development, which is another way of saying that they don’t work very well. I could create a long list of the shortcomings of specific iPad apps, but, since I’m trying to keep this article brief, I will simply say that, when it comes to the App Store, caveat emptor!
Yet, more aggravating than the functions that iPad apps can’t accomplish are the myriad operations that the iPad refuses to accomplish. Yes, you read that correctly. There are a wide variety of straightforward computing operations, which most computer users have come to take for granted, that the iPad simply won’t allow. Once such activity is attaching documents to email.
Again, WHY?!
Of course, it is possible to send email attachments with the iPad, but apparently because Steve Jobs is opposed to traditional, straightforward file management, it requires a circuitous workaround: exiting the email program (…WHY!?) and sending files one–but not two, three, four or more–at a time.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Steve Jobs: he’s a visionary who’s done more to spearhead the personal computing revolution than anyone in history, and I hope he lives to be at least two hundred years old. Three cheers for Steve! But, that said, he’s got this one wrong.
Steve Jobs doesn’t like file management (or USB drives, or Chrome, or Flash, etc., etc.,) but his customers do–particularly this one. But that’s just too darn bad. The iPad is Steve’s baby and Steve wants iPad users to compute his way, not their way. So, when it comes to the iPad, it’s Steve’s way, or the highway.
Well, I’ve tried the iPad, and I’m pleased to report that, no matter how busy that particular technology super-highway may be, there are plenty of exits–and I’m taking the very next exit to Linuxville.
Osama is Dead, but What Have We Learned?
May 10th, 2011
Despite all the euphoria, I am not going to celebrate Osama’s death. Sure, Osama was a thorn in America’s side for a long time, but, like we all learned in kindergarten, two wrongs don’t make a right.
Certainly, Osama was a mean-spirited son of a gun. He killed a lot of people out of pure malice. What’s more, if he’d had the opportunity, he probably would have slaughtered lots more people. Worst of all, Osama claimed that he had the right to kill people based upon a distorted interpretation of Islam. As a result, gentle, peace-loving Muslims the world over have unfairly become the objects of misplaced scorn, abuse and discrimination.
I concede that “something had to be done” about Osama, however, rather than viewing Osama’s execution as a cause for celebration, I think it would be better to treat this event as an opportunity for reflection. Who was Osama? Why did he become public enemy number one? And, how can we make the world a better, safer place in the post-Osama era?
As everyone knows, Osama became a household name when we was infamously identified as the mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks. However, 9/11 was not Osama’s first atrocity. Not by a long shot. In the 1990s, Osama orchestrated a sequence of bombings at US embassies in Africa. At the time, Bill Clinton’s many detractors insisted that the President was wagging the dog when, in the midst the Lewinsky scandal, he mounted military operations targeting Osama and his terror network. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Osama seemed to come out of nowhere in the 1990s and, in a sense, he did. As early as the 1980s, Osama’s base of operations lay in Afghanistan. For most Americans, Afghanistan was completely off the radar screen. However, in 1979, way back before the cold war was over, the Soviets decided to invade Afghanistan. Naturally, the US opposed this exercise in Soviet expansionism and made a covert, but concerted effort to undermine the Soviet invasion. Thus, it is important to emphasize that, during the 1980s, the US and Afghan rebel groups were allies: we were both fighting for a common cause against a common enemy. Even more significantly, in prosecuting that cause, the US also allied itself with none other than…Osama bin Laden.
The degree to which the US officially trained and supported Osama remains a matter of dispute. Nevertheless, there is no question that, during the 1980s, the US and Osama both had friends and enemies in common. So, what happened? How did Osama go from being a strategic ally in the 1980s to public enemy number one?
Although very few people in the US are willing to own up to it, the truth is: the US blew it. As the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan began falling apart, the US withdrew its support and left its former allies flapping in the breeze. From the US perspective, Afghanistan was just one small pawn in a much larger global struggle against socialism. When Afghanistan was deemed to be of no further use in that monumental struggle, the US turned its back on its former brothers in arms.
Big mistake.
Rather than tying up loose ends in Afghanistan and civilianizing a pro-American ally—at the cost of a few schools, roads, and injections of economic aid*—the US decided to cut and run. To put it mildly, this really pissed the Afghans and their sympathizers off. No one likes to be treated like cannon fodder. Thus, Afghanistan rapidly transformed from a steadfast ally into a simmering cauldron of anti-Americanism. The rest is, as they say, history.
In Osama’s twisted mind, US treachery in Afghanistan justified his misguided jihad. That being the case, Osama has no one to blame but himself for his demise. There is no justification for murdering thousands of innocents just because you feel slighted by a former ally.
That said, the US is far from blameless in this fiasco. Just imagine! Had we not been so short-sighted and self-serving, the US could have transformed its support for Afghanistan’s anti-Soviet rebellion into an enduring strategic partnership. Had we taken time to consider the potential consequences, the US could easily have chosen the other fork in the road: today we could be bosom buddies with Afghanistan. Oh, the humanity.
Osama is dead, but I am not going to celebrate, because you don’t buy peace with murder—no matter which side of a war you may be on. If we’re going to win the war on terror, the US will never do it with bullets. Wars only end when enemies find a way to become allies. We had that opportunity in the 1980s, but we squandered it. Can we repair the damage? I’d like to think so, but it won’t happen until we quit foisting all the blame on Osama, and take a long hard look in the mirror.
*If that sounds expensive, then compare it to the cost of an endless war.
Nuclear Nightmares: Damned Lies about the World’s “Safest” Energy Source
April 7th, 2011Implausible as it may seem, as the Fukushima Daiichi disaster has grown ever more cataclysmic, nuclear energy advocates have come out of the woodwork to tout the virtues of nuclear as a “safe” form of energy. Safe? Are you kidding me? Last night, rain containing measurable levels of radiation from Fukushima Daiichi fell on the east coast of North America. We will surely be on the wrong side of the looking glass when we start believing that an energy source which has contaminated huge swaths of the globe with hazardous waste is “safe.” If nuclear energy is safe, then Hitler was a charter member of the Anti-Defamation League.
Still, the pro-nuke crowd argues that, compared to fossil fuels, nuclear is an emissions free energy source that merits a much cleaner, greener image than its dirty cousin, coal. That’s sort of like saying, nuclear energy is safe because it isn’t as lethal as cyanide tablets. First of all, nuclear vs. coal is a false dichotomy; that is, if we deplore the hazards of coal, then our only option must be a wholesale embrace of nuclear. Baloney. There are lots of other, better energy-production options (such as, solar, wind, geothermal, heliostat, fusion, etc.) that, if we only invest in them sufficiently, will light the way to a safer, more secure, renewable energy future.
Certainly, it is true that coal is a dreadfully polluting form of energy and, if the human race has a modicum of sense, we will need to stop mining and burning so much of it. However, the idea that we can only rescue ourselves from a dirty, anachronistic fossil fuel by heating our homes with a WWII-era bomb-making technology makes about as much sense as using a gun to cure a migraine.
Also, I think it is high time to put the nuclear energy industry’s safety record on trial. Since 1951, about 450 nuclear power plants have come online all over the world. Of that total, three facilities have experienced major and “improbable” failures that have, nonetheless, threatened the health and well-being of millions of people. Thus, as things currently stand, there is approximately a 1/150 chance that any particular nuclear power plant will have a major accident. In case you were wondering, those are not very long odds. Just imagine having a major accident every 150th time that you climb behind the wheel of your car. What’s even more scary is that, as the years go by, aging nuke plants will become more technologically out-of-date and more susceptible to accidents.
No matter how shrill the pro-nuke rhetoric becomes, the facts won’t change. Disasters are a routine part nuclear power production. The more nuclear power plants that we construct, the more disasters that we will inevitably witness.
Enough is enough.
It takes genius to split atoms, but it takes an even higher order of genius to split atoms safely. Unfortunately, we aren’t that smart yet. Hopefully, we’ll wise up before it’s too late.
