I see the tea-party is making a comeback as a theme for protesting against increasing government power. But I suggest that we add a bit of 196os radicalism to this tempest. Burn your government draft card! That’s right. Burn your Social Security Card! Everyone, come, let’s burn this, the symbol of our indentured servitude, the number some Feds would like branded on our arms, let’s protest against the mild hand that enslaves not by chains and force but by turning us into domesticated sheep. Burn it. Burn it now.
Author Archives: The Timid Scholar
Robin Hanson has some thought-provoking posts up about storytelling. He points to some research involving an evolutionary explanation for why certain stories appeal to us, why we recoil from certain kinds of antagonists, and why certain heroes lift our spirits. Most of the research sees the function of storytelling as a form of coalition building. Like religion, it’s a kind of glue for the social order. Cooperators are rewarded. Defectors are punished. I’d have to agree with Hanson, though, that these explanations tend to overlook some of the benefits that accrue to individuals who use stories, and the media in which they’re told, to score status points for themselves. Like the antagonists mentioned in this wonderful paper on Victorian literature, storytellers and story-lovers may use literature as a tool to gain power, prestige, wealth, and even social dominance. (See Tyler Cowen).
The epjournal paper on Victorian literature announces some interesting conclusions:
Agonistic structure in these novels displays a systematic contrast between desirable and undesirable traits in characters. Protagonists exemplify traits that evoke admiration and liking in readers, and antagonists exemplify traits that evoke anger, fear, contempt, and disgust. Antagonists virtually personify Social Dominance—the self-interested pursuit of wealth, prestige, and power. In these novels, those ambitions are sharply segregated from prosocial and culturally acquisitive dispositions. Antagonists are not only selfish and unfriendly but also undisciplined, emotionally unstable, and intellectually dull. Protagonists, in contrast, display motive dispositions and personality traits that exemplify strong personal development and healthy social adjustment. Protagonists are agreeable, conscientious, emotionally stable, and open to experience. Protagonists clearly represent the apex of the positive values implicit in agonistic structure. Both male and female protagonists score high on the motive factor Constructive Effort, a factor that combines prosocial and culturally acquisitive dispositions.
I do not wish to dispute their findings. But I do have a bone to pick with the authors’ conclusions. They use a moral score card to evaluate characters according to what goals a character pursues. They construct a list of motives and goals, principally devised by consulting the biological imperatives discussed in evolutionary psychology. In pursuing these goals, the authors found morally repugnant characters tend to be obsessed by wealth, prestige and power, whereas heroes tend to strive for socially constructive goals like aiding others, obtaining education, and forming friendships. What I find suspicious is that these findings support Jonothan Haidt’s description of a liberal moral sensibility. A liberal morality, you’ll remember, has a very high sensitivity along two dimensions: avoiding harm to others and promoting fairness. So I take these findings less as evidence for the moral importance of biological imperatives (such as coalition building), but more as evidence to support Haidt’s description of the liberal sensibility. In other words, liberal readers tend to like characters who are both concerned with preventing harm and driven by a sense of fairness.
So what’s the problem? Well, it could be that these novels merely reinforce the liberal sensibility. Those readers attuned to the moral concerns of the Victorian novel–mainly to its repudiation of social dominance–will tend resonate with the moral tone of the characters represented in the story. But I want to hazard a guess that another set of novels, those novels tuned to a different moral frequency–perhaps those involving authority and sanctity–will have different effects on its readers. On another frequency: look how disgusting most left-wingers find Ayn Rand.
The smoke has cleared in most literature and philosophy departments. We are now returning to an age when intellectuals pontificate on the moral importance of literature. But their interest in literature as moral philosophy only betrays their own bias for the liberal sensibility. Exhibit A–James Wood in How Fiction Works:
Since Plato and Aristotle, fictional and dramatic narrative has provoked two large, recurring discussions: one is centered on the questions of mimesis and the real (what should fiction represent?), and the other on the question of sympathy, and how fictional narrative exercises it. Gradually these two discussions merge, and one finds that from, say Samuel Johnson on, it is commonplace that sympathetic identification is in some way dependent on fiction’s true mimesis: to see a world and its fictional people truthfully may expand our capacity for sympathy in the actual world.
This post has grown too long. But suffice it to say that only a liberal sensibility would cast the novel as tool for evoking the sense of sympathy. In fact, the novel has many other moral uses. I suspect more than helping project us into the suffering of others, it also helps us to respect certain authorities, feel a sense of the sacred, and provide us with a tradition.
Jonathan Haidt’s research into moral psychology possesses many virtues. I recommend any of his papers on gut reactions and moral judgement for a mind-quake inducing aha. (Turns out Hume was closer to the truth than Kant.) But besides delineating five types of moral judgement–recoiling from harm to others, unfairness, disobedience, despoiling the sacred, and disloyalty–Haidt outlines a theory for political psychology. As he sees it, conservatives have different settings from liberals along these five moral dimensions. The liberal cares more about preventing harm to others and upholding fairness than he cares for authority and the sanctity of sacred spaces. Liberals also care less about in-group loyalties. On the other hand, the conservative amps up his authority, in-group bias and sanctity settings. So Haidt says. But I have to say Haidt’s taxonomy of political psychology lacks the power of his research into morality. Haidt writes:
morality is not just about how we treat each other (as most liberals think); it is also about binding groups together, supporting essential institutions, and living in a sanctified and noble way. When Republicans say that Democrats “just don’t get it,” this is the “it” to which they refer.
If Haidt thinks that left-wing ideologies are without any sense of the sacred, then I offer this video to refute him. One horse laugh is better than 10,000 syllogisms.
What is your philosophy?
1) You don’t get what you deserve; you get what you negotiate.
2) You deserve what you negotiate.
3) Desert is meaningless.
The English poet John Dryden, from the Dedication to Examen Poeticum, 1693:
No Government has ever been, or ever can be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost. The persons are only changed, but the same jugglings in State, the same hypocrisy in religion, the same self-interest and mismanagement, will remain forever. Blood and money will be lavished in all ages, only for the preferment of new faces, with old consciences.
“He is most aligned, spiritually, with canonical realism, so he spends his very rich attention lavishly in all the usual storefronts: Proust, Woolf, Tolstoy, Flaubert, Stendhal, Dostoyevsky, Dickens, Conrad, and above all Chekhov. (You could stir an industrial vat of molasses with James Wood’s Chekhov boner.)”
If there were such a thing–and undoubtedly there should be–the novel Netherland would have scored the equivalent of a 100% on Rotten Tomatoes for Books. In the New Yorker, James Wood said it was a “fictional achievement,” one of the most remarkable “post-colonial books” he has ever read. Comparing it to the Great Gatsby, Michiko Kakutani called it a “resonant meditation on the American Dream.” And in yet a second a review, the Times raised the stakes, calling it “”the wittiest, angriest, most exacting and most desolate work of fiction we’ve yet had” about post-9/11 life. Mark Sarvas at the Elegant Variation also praises it as “a Gatsby-like meditation on exclusion and otherness.” And that’s only a cursory summary of what’s out there…
Unfortunately, whatever its merits, the book is none of these things. (Which raises my suspicions about why these critics fell so hard…) To be sure, the author, Joseph O’Neill, is extremely talented at the art of vivid description. He has a painterly eye. Perhaps cinemaphotographic is better. Individual sentences describing city scenes or sunsets or cricket fields or the Hudson River recur in your mind long after you’ve put the book down. He excels at creating a pastoral lyricism amidst the throng of New York. Conde Naste Traveller ought to employ him. And the curious cast of exotic characters–immigrants from just about every corner of the globe–set the stage for a remarkable New York story.
But O’Neill is no dramatist. There’s no story to speak of other than a listless, but thoughtful protagonist learning not to bowl alone (on a cricket pitch). The inciting incident: Hans van den Broek, a Dutch banker working in London, receives a phone call from a New York Times reporter asking him about Khamraj “Chuck” Ramkissoon, a wily Trinidadian Hans befriended in New York when his wife, Rachel, estranged him a few years back. The reporter tells Hans that Chuck was recently found dead in the Gowanus Canal. Since he hasn’t thought about Chuck in a long time and since he’s now back together with his wife, the phone call returns Hans to his lonely post 9/11 years in New York. This whole framing sets up the story’s end: the tale will take us from separation to reunion, friendship to loss. The game of cricket in an unlikely place becomes a crucible for Hans’s transformation. But as I said, O’Neill doesn’t execute the story well. It’s a rite of passage about a mid-life sag…but there no rising tension whatsoever. Instead, the story arcs weakly, meandering from flashbacks to flash forwards at a constant rate. It’s easy to get lost, especially if you put book the down (the book has three chapters, but it’s not clear why those breaks are meaningful). And the climax–Hans’ reunion with Rachel–comes so softly and inexplicably, you’re left wondering why Hans would ever want her back other than out of self-pity. A story about how cosmopolitan New York is would have been desirable. A still life painting, however well done, just isn’t worth your attention for 256 pages.
If this were my own Rotten Tomatoes for Books: 60%.
Malcom Gladwell has a thought-provoking video up, this time on something he calls the mismatch problem. In a nutshell, we think we know how to measure talent. The problem is that we have no idea what we’re doing. Our measurements appear to bear no relation to future performance. In Gladwell’s words, it’s a misjudgment that occurs when the criteria we use to assess someone’s ability to do a job is radically out of step with the demands of the job itself.
Since S. recently heard about a consulting firm that gives a battery of tests to help you find a career that matches your strengths and weaknesses, and since I’ve taken an interest in something called the Signaling Theory of Education, it’s worth rehearsing some of Gladwell’s points.
Every year, for a week or weekend, before professional sports teams draft the incoming rookie class, they hold what are called combines, a sort of mini-camp where prospective draftees go through a dog and pony show for all the scouts. The combine’s purpose is let scouts collect objective data about who these kids are and what they can do. Millions and millions of dollars are at stake after all, so naturally teams want some reliable way to predict how good of an investment they’re making in whomever they draft. Will this guy help us win? Is he worth it? In the NBA combine, these kids jump, they run, they lift weights, they take IQ tests, run drills–anything and everything to predict how well these kids will play.
But do you know who D.J Strawberry is? I certainly don’t. But last year his scores at the NBA combine were the highest of any incoming rookie. And yet he was awful. Strawberry averaged just two points a game during the entire year for the Phoenix Suns. All the top scorers at the combine turned out to be awful. Some didn’t even play in the NBA. But what about Kevin Durant, who won the rookie of the year award? He ranked 78th at the combine. In fact, the top five draft picks all performed poorly at the combine. It’s a remarkable waste of time–the combine and all of its tests are poor predictors for how well anyone plays basketball.
Or consider the Wonderlic test, an intelligence test given to NFL rookies in their combine. Being a quarterback in the NFL requires great cognitive demands and sophisticated decision making. Thousands of plays have to be memorized. Quarterbacks watch 100 hours of video every week to study the offense they plan to run and how the defense of the opposing team will react. So again, you might think that measuring intelligence with the Wonderlic might be important. But it turns out that among the 7 worst Wonderlic scorers in history are two of the best to ever play the game–Terry Bradshaw and Dan Marino. On the other hand, none of the seven best come close–Drew Henson, Eli Manning, Tony Romo…the list is laughable. So if in an industry where millions of dollars are at stake, where scouts are paid hundreds of thousands to measure talent in any quantifiable way, if in these multi-billion dollar industries our methods to predict productivity fail, then how about in other areas of work where measurements of productivity are even more vague and elusive?
When everything we use to assess talent has no correlation, or worse, a negative correlation with our actual performance on the job, it’s time we start rethinking some of these institutions. Consider more from Gladwell:
How do we ensure which teachers we hire are the best? Currenlty teachers are required to have a BA, teaching training, license from the state, academic work associated with your specialty. Does this ensure a high quality teacher? Not at all. Do any of these requirements correlate with increasing student performance? Not at all. So it’s the Combine all over again.
What about lawyers? Surely lawyers would know what correlates with what makes a good lawyer. But of course they don’t. The University of Michigan has an extremely generous affirmative action program, meaning minority applicants with lower GPAs, test scores and so on are accepted more frequently than white candidates with those same scores. This program then set up a natural experiment: measure the success across time of all UM Law graduates–30 years worth–and compare the success of those graduates who tested well with those minority graduates who did not. As it happens, on any measure of success, Gladwell claims there was no correlation (according to UM’s research). So, yet again, we have a mismatch problem. The criteria, which we think are associated with being a good lawyer–high LSATs, high GPA–have no bearing on how good of a lawyer you end up becoming.
So why do mismatch problems occur? Gladwell says it’s a madness for imposing certainty. A deep-seated need for clear and reliable statics, a hard-wired impulse for rational plan making. Also, he says, the complexity of jobs has increased. The cognitive demands required to succeed have multiplied and we can’t track them. So the world has changed, but the way we hire people hasn’t.
But there’s only one reliable way to measure productivity: to wait until someone’s on the job.