Thursday 21 November 2013

Perishing publishing

The history of publishing is an important one, because the printed word has always held an important political place in society. After all, why else would dictatorial regimes have controlled and tracked the distribution of paper and typewriters in their day, or monitor blogs and Twitter now? Publication (literally, "making something public;" that sense gets lost as we use the word over and over again) has always played a central role in reflecting the state of public discourse but it also plays an important role in setting the terms of that discourse and structuring people's ideas moving forward.

As publishing technology has developed, we can see a double trend in the public discourse. First, we see that as publishing becomes more accessible and affordable, more voices are able to enter into the public discourse. The drivers of the Reformation could ever have suggested that individuals read the Bible and figure it out for themselves had each copy still been laboriously made by hand: the printing press was instrumental in that possibility. Second, we see a trend where, amid the growing number of voices and perspectives within the public sphere, the coherence of that discourse degrades. That's not terribly surprising, and not just an accidental connection either: as the number of people at any party grows, the likelihood that the whole party is talking about the same thing decreases (unless that thing is Rob Ford's inanity).

Looking at the present state of publishing technology, we see that anyone with even the most marginal technological savvy, the most basic of hardware, and the most intermittent of internet connections can broadcast their thoughts and emotions to the world with ease. The price of this is that public discourse is a cacophony of SHOUTING VOICES COMING FROM PEOPLE WITH CAPS LOCK PROBLEMS AND WE OFTEN HAVE VERY LITTLE OF SUBSTANCE TO SAY. Not only is there a lack of agreement about which topics are important enough to warrant discussion, but we also don't have any agreed upon rules of decorum that guide these discussions. One man's shameful fallacy is another's proud arrow protruding from the side of a slain enemy.

Again, touching back on the political power of the printed word, we've found ourselves in a paradoxical situation. Once upon a time, the people powerful enough to control the publishing industries of their day could control the public discourse. Voices, especially those in great need, were not heard; power structures were perpetuated, and the rich stayed rich. The opening up of the publishing world should have saved us from this fate, but it hasn't. Whereas the printed word could once serve as a rallying point for dissidents, there are so many venues and voices now that any semblance of rallying is impossible. How can we organize opposition to the party line if we can't reach fellow dissidents through the din? (The answer to that rhetorical question, by the way, is "quite infrequently".)

Suggesting topics that are "worthy" of public attention would be extremely difficult. The whole idea that having one person or group dictate the terms of discussion will allow for a comprehensive treatment of problems is wrong-headed. We all have our blind spots, and sadly what lies in those blind spots is sometimes the very thing that oppresses those around us. That's why it's so important to let a multiplicity of voices be heard.

But leaving the topics or content of public discourse aside for a moment, let's turn our attention to its form. It seems that anything goes, out there on the internet. It's the Wild West of argumentative strategies, and trolls lurk under every bridge and behind every status. Some have suggested that we need to step up our critical thinking game, especially in schools, to bring some semblance of order back to this shambles. But the rules of critical thinking are not God's gift to humankind: they're rules of discourse that have a very real history and a real connection to imperfect mankind (and that was meant to be gendered: if we're going to keep women out of intellectual history, it's surely unfair to saddle them equally with its faults). The rules of critical thinking are agreed upon conventions, but they aren't agreed upon by everyone. They aren't even known to everyone. And that's where the problem lies in suggesting a rigid return to yonder days of critical yore: these rules are known well by some, tenuously by others, and not at all by others still. This gradient of familiarity and facility with the rules once again allows a problematic power structure back into the discourse, where those in the know can marginalize the voices of the uninitiated. (I imagine that any other set of rules would suffer from the same intrinsic flaw.)

So do we need no rules at all? That doesn't get us anywhere because these rules are supposed to guide rational discourse. Lawlessness here (as we presently see) has arational, if not irrational, consequences. But if we can't go back to doggedly applying the rules and we can't go forward without them, then what do we do? I suggest that it's about attitude. These rules are meant to provide a medium for us, by which we can come to an understanding with one another, so that our ideas can copulate and make beautiful babies. If we took up the rules of critical thinking in that spirit, not as the weapons by which to smite our enemy and establish our rightful truth-y-ness, but rather as the tools to enrich both of our notions of what's what, I think that we would employ them very differently. Rather than starting out assuming that each of us is right, and need only convince others of our obvious enlightenment, perhaps we should dive off the block assuming that we're both wrong, but that we're more likely to approach the truth through discussion than through alienation.

Here's my practical suggestion: learn the rules of critical thinking, and learn them thoroughly. But apply them judiciously in order to maximize understanding rather than using them to shut down dialogue. And speaking of using things judiciously: remember that every bit of noise that each of us makes on the internet contributes to the background noise in which we lose discussions of freedom and equality. Does that next cat video really need another re-share? I suppose I ought to take a dose of my own medicine and end this post, post haste.

Saturday 9 November 2013

A Romantic co-operation of sciences and humanities

In an article from last winter, Peter Calamai tackles the very pressing contemporary problem of the relationship between science and society. Specifically, he claims that getting the public to reason on the basis of our cutting-edge science faces challenges on a number of fronts. First off, the general public has only a relatively tenuous grasp on the main tool of the sciences themselves: mathematics. Our problems with numeracy, as a nation (though there is no comparative data to show whether this national problem is particularly acute in Canada or rather whether we're part of a global mathematical deficiency), stand between us and the scientific results that might help us in our lot as decision-makers.

Beyond this general weakness in mathematics, Calamai also mentions a general misunderstanding of the scientific process itself. Specifically cited as a culprit here, or at least an accomplice, is the way that scientists are portrayed in the media as very confident in their conclusions. Of course, to portray science more humbly, as the house of uncertainty that it really is, must be carried out carefully. Scientists are not simply bumbling about in the dark: there is always a degree of uncertainty, but along with that goes that very important correlate that evaluating confidence in conclusions is an immense part of the scientific enterprise itself. In short, while portraying scientists as forever unsure of outcomes would open up an easy target for skeptics, portraying them as very sure of the probabilities of outcomes would have quite a different effect. It's a bit of a trade off, of course: is it better to be someone certain about probabilities, or probable about certainties? The jury's out. But either way, it seems that the media's misrepresentation of scientists as always sure of a definite outcome does real scientists a disservice, because they (and present science) do not live up to that image.

So the general public is not only deficient in the language of science, but also in what kinds of results we can expect from scientific predictions. And whether to attack this problem in society through better schooling early in life, or through other public education later in life, is an open-ended problem. For what it's worth, I think that neither of those options alone is a viable solution. Humanistic scholars speak of a lifestyle of critical engagement; to assume that scientific education at one or another point in life is sufficient I think sells short the analogous point that science is not just a practice, it's a way of looking at the world, and one that needs to be fostered throughout one's life if one is going to use it effectively.

But are things so dire as all that? Are we really in such a bad way? Calamai cites Frank Graves, who says that while we might hope for scientific literacy to be better in Canada than it presently is, we shouldn't neglect the fact that we're trending upwards in scientific literacy. The public of course lags behind the cutting edge (and even specialists lag behind that cutting edge in other specialties, by the way), but we're still gaining ground, and that's a sign of improvement.

However, Graves also discusses the fact that the anti-science crowd (that's to say, the anti-vaccine movement, Young Earth Creationists, and the like) is gaining traction in the general public. This is anathema to science establishing itself as the thoroughbred in our decision-making stable. Graves points out that the reason these anti-science movements manage to win people over is that they appeal more directly to their practical concerns (and often their fears, which psychology teaches us is an easy and reliable motivator). They understand the target audience better, and therefore market their product more effectively, whether that product is in fact better or not. Graves very sagely points out that what we need here is not just a clearer restatement of scientific theories or predictions; what we need is a clearer connection to people's preexisting interests.

Malcolm Butler worries that the long-term outcome of this trend towards anti-science is that we risk "having the development of public policy drive not by fact but by hysteria." I believe that the root of the problem we face lies lies in the very opposition that Butler sets up here. If Graves is right that we need to better connect to people's values in order to reach them, and if anything beyond science (including those values) is treated as hysteria, with all of the dismissive judgment that a word like "hysteria" entails, then the scientific community has already foreclosed the possibility of reaching out. Simply put, a scientist is unlikely to connect with someone's values if they dismiss those values as hysteria. Scientists don't like having their ideas being dismissed by the broader public; it should come as no shock whatsoever that the inverse is also true.

Of course, not all scientists are dismissive in this way, but given that the generalization is already prevalent, scientists will need to work even harder to overcome it. But what work is that, exactly? Well, if you want to connect your theories to someone else's values, then you'll have to learn about those values. Scientists need a better understanding of their target audience if they wish to market they product more effectively, and that understanding requires a better grasp of humanistic inquiry, which seeks to understand the human animal in its cultural domain.

And to all those scientists who may have just read that last sentence about the importance of humanistic inquiry, and subsequently rolled their eyes, consider the relationship between scientists and politicians. Calamai himself notes somewhat disparagingly that the ears of politicians only perk up when the scientists start speaking their language, giving them insights into how to better disguise their politically motivated decisions as "science-based". Scientists disparage having their work taken up for purely instrumental reasons; I would press them to be consistent in applying that rule, and realize that for scientists to engage in humanistic inquiry for purely instrumental reasons, to be better equipped to convince people to use science in making decisions, is equally unacceptable. If scientists worry that the full benefit of their message gets lost on politicians because of merely instrumental interest, then they should recognize that the need for humanistic inquiry requires a full-blooded commitment on their part as well, lest something important be lost.

So what's the bottom line, here? What's the take-home message? The Canadian fluency in the language and process of scientific discovery is weak, which leads our citizenry to misuse an essential tool in decision-making. If we want to do a better job selling the importance of that tool, then we need to address people on their own terms and do a better job of connecting science to their own values. To do so, I argue that there needs to be a stronger bridge between the sciences and the humanities, one that exists not for the sole and instrumental purpose of convincing more people to be scientific in coming to decisions. This bridge, by the way, is not one-way, as ideas need to travel back and forth across it without being dismissed out of hand.

There are definitely institutional barriers to this discussion, and further barriers to making that discussion part of the public discourse. I won't address those here, but would love to hear some of your ideas in the comments section, for further discussion.