Jun 16

Remember that series of Left Behind books, the novelization of the book of Revelations? Did you know that they actually made it into a computer game? If you’re surprised by that, maybe you should sit down, because they have actually just released a sequel to the computer game. Apparently, the people are clamoring for more!

I’m not sure exactly who is clamoring or why, because the first game was not received well. And not just because of the premise. As this review on Gamestop said,”games are typically based on outlandish ideas, so it’s unfair to dismiss this one based on religious grounds.” The beginning paragraph of the review sums it up nicely, though:

Don’t mock Left Behind: Eternal Forces because it’s a Christian game. Mock it because it’s a very bad game. The real-time strategy/adventure game from Left Behind Games based on the best-selling series of novels from Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins will even let down born-again types who expect the Rapture to beam them up to heaven any day now. Nobody has enough faith to endure a game with such a hokey story, terrible mission design, serious problems with the interface and graphics, and loads of crippling bugs.

I don’t really have high hopes for Left Behind II, but something caught my eye in the press release. Left Behind Games, Inc. says, “Rather than the usual ‘winning’ by using weapons and killing the enemy, players are rewarded when their characters use the power of influence to bring about good rather than destruction.” That is the method of gameplay, as you may have already seen from the Gamestop review, and as described on the company’s website. (Warning: for some reason, a woman’s voice reads the first paragraph content aloud when you click.) It just seemed a little strange to me that the press release also described “skirmish battle multiplayer maps.” Skirmish? Battle?

The release also says that

[CEO Troy] Lyndon’s personal view is that the approach incorporated in all of Inspired Media games can help to counteract the violence affecting gamers, who have acted out aggressively in real-life.

I’m so tired of this. Yeah, yeah, maybe some kid who played Grand Theft Auto ran into a pedestrian in his parents’ car, and maybe some kid who loved to watch pay-per-view wrestling hit his brother in the head with a chair. But what if some kid who loved Superman jumped off his garage roof—so no more fictional flying? What if some kid who wanted to be just like the Little Mermaid and drowned in the backyard pool—no more fairy tales? We can hurl anecdotes at each other all day and never get anywhere. The fact is, the set of people who commit acts of violence does intersect with the set of people who play video games, because lots of people play video games. There are also many people who do violent things who do not play video games. One does not categorically cause the other.

I’m dismayed, but not surprised, by this idea that killing the enemy in a game set upon a fictional premise is very bad, but a brainwashing crusade is totally great. (From the Gamestop review: “your goal is not to wipe out the enemy as in a typical RTS game but to convert as many neutrals and baddies as possible by raising their spirit level. … [Units] steadily lose spirit unless they’re bolstered with regular prayer.”) I mean, sure, you’re not wielding a gun, but it’s still awfully aggressive! The fact that even they describe it as a “skirmish” and a “battle” betrays their knowledge of this. And if you start from Lyndon’s premise that people emulate what they do in video games… well, I’m glad hardly anyone will be playing this one.

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Jun 11

I have a guest post up at The Big Stick today, on Judge Sonia Sotomayor and her comments about making better decisions as a “wise Latina woman.” Check it out!

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Jun 10

I wanted to post a rant about the “cars for clunkers” legislation making its way through Congress, but that will have to wait for another day. In the meantime, I just have to tell you about this amazing essay called “Teach a Kid to Argue,” by Jay Heinrichs.

Heinrichs’ basic premise is that by raising his children to be good at arguing, he’s also taught them to be good thinkers and productive problem-solvers. I couldn’t agree more. A good argument isn’t combative, but rather constructive. Disagreement is inevitable between any two people, but even more so between a parent and a child. I think Heinrichs’ distinction between an argument and a fight is very apt:

And let’s face it: Our culture has lost the ability to usefully disagree. Most Americans seem to avoid argument. But this has produced passive aggression and groupthink in the office, red and blue states, and families unable to discuss things as simple as what to watch on television. Rhetoric doesn’t turn kids into back-sassers; it makes them think about other points of view.

I had long equated arguing with fighting, but in rhetoric they are very different things. An argument is good; a fight is not. Whereas the goal of a fight is to dominate your opponent, in an argument you succeed when you bring your audience over to your side. A dispute over territory in the backseat of a car qualifies as an argument, for example, in the unlikely event that one child attempts to persuade his audience rather than slug it.

Go read the rest of the essay; I think it’s outstanding advice, particularly the five tips at the end. (I’m not a parent yet, but I do remember being parented, so I think I have some grounds to judge.)

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Jun 9

A startling sight on my way in to lab this morning. I drove past a guy in athletic gear who was swerving around on his bike, and I thought that was just because he was biking through a busy intersection. As I turned the corner around him, I realized he was teetering a bit because he was only steering with one hand, in order to hold his cigarette with the other. Sigh.

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Jun 8

Every so often in my life, particularly around major milestone events or holidays, I get kind of wistful and reflective. I’m not personally religious, and I was raised in a mostly secular household. On top of that, my personal heritage is a mixed bag, with many European countries represented, so I’m sort of generically white. (I’ve heard it referred to as “European mutt.”) All this adds up to mean that I don’t feel like I have many traditions or customs, nor do I feel like I have much of a cultural heritage.

A friend commented to me that this was “a typically American problem,” and I think he’s right. I love my country, I love what it stands for, and I love the life I have here. But I think there’s something about the nature of the United States that leaves me and others like me feeling this way. What do we think of when we talk about American culture? Fast food, Hollywood, clothing brands. When we talk about having or experiencing “culture,” we mean French or Italian opera, or Japanese theater. We mean the clothing and music and food traditional for peoples that are hundreds or even thousands of years old. Culture is something they have and we observe.

I think there’s a natural human instinct to characterize the world and one’s own perspective on it in terms of “people like us.” It allows simultaneously for the freedom of individuality (we are not like them, we are different) and for security in the collective (we are all together, living in our way). Obviously, this has had some extremely negative outcomes—hatred, oppression, genocide—but it also has some positive outcomes, such as personal pride and a sense of continuity, of belonging, of togetherness. It’s nice to be able to look back at history and say, “Look what great things my people have done! I come from that greatness!” and also say, “Look what I am doing, to bring honor to my people, and to improve the world our children will live in!”

To some extent, it’s possible to say such things about the United States, just as it’s possible to say some of this about humanity as a whole. But we don’t all look the same, or speak the same language, or believe the same things, or eat the same food, or listen to the same music, or have the same values and aspirations. In fact, this is what we have in common: we are all different. I am proud of that, of coming from a “melting pot” (or, if you will, a patchwork quilt or a beautiful mosaic). I’m glad that we can celebrate and learn from our differences. I’m glad our system of government enshrines rights which allow us to think and act differently from each other. However, that means that when I say, “I am an American,” I don’t feel that sense of “people like us” which I described above.

Part of the problem, I think, is that the customs I do have somehow seem less than adequate, as though they’re not good enough to “count.” I have traditional food and traditional dress! It’s things like turkey sandwiches and T-shirts, but why can’t that be my culture? Even as I protest this, I still have the sense that it’s true.

And maybe this is an inevitable consequence of living in the modern world, of faster and faster technology, of the nuclear family, of the age of reason. Many of the traditions that do “count” actually seem like mystical, ritual performance—hard to believe that anyone actually put (or puts) much stake in them. Still, probably for the same reason I like old typewriters and fountain pens, I find them beautiful.

So, every time I feel wistful for some tradition, I research some nationality or cultural group that makes up a statistically significant part of that long, hyphenated list I call my heritage. It’s always not really me, but just a piece of me… though maybe someday I’ll pick some parts of it to wear as my own.

What do you think? Have you experienced this? Or is this completely foreign to you?

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Jun 6

No, not the Beatles’ song, the advice column on Slate.com! I love Emily Yoffe’s advice, and the sense of humor in her columns and videos, but I have to say I found something lacking in the answers she gave regarding this math grad student who wrote to her during a Washington Post chat a few days ago. Here’s the student’s original question and her reply.

Philadelphia, Penn.: I’m a graduate student in mathematics, and my particular area is very abstract. When people ask me what I do, or see me with a textbook and ask what I’m reading, no matter how simplified an explanation I give them, inevitably the person remarks that my area is “way beyond” them or that they’d “never be able to grasp that”. I always want to tell them, “You definitely won’t with that attitude.” To me, all of these concepts are perfectly intuitive, and while I’m certainly aware that not everyone has my capacity for, or interest in, mathematics, I am still annoyed by all of these people putting themselves down to me—did they ever try to understand the subject? At least some of them might find it easier and more interesting than they expected! For some reason, they all seem to take pride in how poor their math ability is, or at the very least they aren’t troubled by it. Should I be harsher and just say “Yes indeed, this is much too hard for you”? How do you suggest I respond to these kind of comments?

Emily Yoffe: A few years ago, in an attempt to help my daughter with her math homework, I enrolled in the elementary school math prep program, Kumon. I scored at the first grade level. Even if I tried, I probably couldn’t truly understand what you’re doing. But I would be interested if you could explain what this math is used for—modeling subprime mortgages? Global warming? Then we’d have something to talk about. So ignore the self-put downs, and don’t add any of your own. Instead think of it as an opportunity to show that what you do is interesting and can—on some level—be grasped.

Later in the chat, someone else wrote in to say exactly what I’d been thinking. If I didn’t know better (I didn’t even know about this chat thing until yesterday), I’d have sworn it was actually me.

“Math? That’s over my head”: I think this writer deserves more of an answer. I’m a woman in physics, and nearly everyone makes a self-deprecating comment when I say so. The point really is this: there is a cultural pride in innumeracy that doesn’t exist for illiteracy—no one will brag about not being able to read, yet feel free to essentially brag about not being good at math. This is not people being candid about their abilities. It actually is a way of dismissing the importance of the field of study by implying that it has no cultural necessity or meaning. There has to be a way of responding to this, but subtly encouraging people to believe that it can be understood (with perhaps some effort—but what doesn’t take effort?). Most people can do math to at least the calculus level with time and effort, not talent. And most people can understand even high mathematical concepts, if not perform them, if they’d get past the mental block. This hurts everybody!

Emily Yoffe: I’m sure most people could change their carburetor with some time and effort, too. Instead of lecturing people about how their innumeracy hurts everyone, understand that people are complimenting you on your impressive skills. So come up with some things to say about your field that can engage even the innumerate, like me, in conversation.

I get what she’s saying here. In terms of polite conversation, certainly it’s inappropriate to lecture and berate someone who was just trying to make small talk with you. And people in math/science fields should certainly work on a simplified, clear description of their job so that they can explain it to people without four hours and a chalkboard. That part, I buy.

What I think Emily doesn’t understand, though, is that it’s quite possible (really, extremely probable) that this math grad student is not doing anything that is useful for anything, in a way that could be explained without four hours and a chalkboard. There’s a whole lot more to math than calculus and statistics.  She asks, “But I would be interested if you could explain what this math is used for—modeling subprime mortgages? Global warming?” I can easily imagine the answer is, “Nothing.” Nothing like that, at least. Maybe it’s just used for solving other problems that pretty much only exist in the world of mathematics.

That’s not to say that it will never be used for anything else. There are plenty of theorems proved long ago by mathematicians that were only recently discovered to be useful for describing physical systems. The thing is, that’s not the point. We don’t expect all occupations or fields of study to be “useful” in some way that drastically betters the course of human history. Sometimes, they’re just interesting or enjoyable. Sometimes, it’s not useful in the sense of building a better mousetrap or curing the common cold, but useful in the sense of adding to our understanding of what we are made of and how the universe works. Even if we can’t build tiny computers out of that understanding, it’s good that people are developing it.

My advice to the math grad student would be: tell people how interested you are in your research. Tell them how much you love solving puzzles, and how satisfying it is to complete a proof. Then ask them about their job, and move the conversation along elsewhere.

I was saddened to see that our Dear Prudence doesn’t give any advice to the people approaching math grad students everywhere and saying things like, “Pshew, math! That stuff is way over my head.” My guess is, from the way she answers, that she has on occasion been that person. I would hope that people who make those kind of comments learn two things. First, it’s incredibly other-izing; second, it kills the conversation and puts the burden of recovery on the person you’re speaking to. Those two things make it rude, so you should find some other way to respond.

Let’s deal with the first issue. Comments like “Oh, I could never do that” and the like make it sound as though the mathematician (or scientist) is some kind of alien being imbued with freakish abilities. You may think it sounds like a compliment, but it doesn’t feel like one. It’s usually said with a tone of surprised disdain—it’s not just that you don’t know the math, but also that you would never, ever want to—so it sounds like you’re saying, “You could never be a normal person like me.”

Secondly, when people say things like, “I could never do that”… we already know. We operate under the assumption that most of the people we interact with outside the university do not have graduate degrees in math or science. You are saying something as obvious as, “Occasionally, it is cloudy outside.” Additionally, the natural responses to a statement such as this are either self-aggrandizing, insulting, or patronizing, and that is an awkward position to be put in. We struggle to find a way to respond to your remarks—hence the letter to an advice columnist. Good small talk doesn’t just mean saying the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how inane or impossible it is to answer. If you’re going to kill the conversation, do it in such a way that places the burden on yourself, and transition to a new thing to talk about.

There are bigger issues here—as we’ve said before, they encourage the already-widespread belief that it’s fine to be bad at math—but I thought it was worth pointing out that, in addition, they make for really unpleasant conversation.

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Jun 5

Like many, many others, I’m a big fan of the website F My Life (yes, the F stands for what you think it does, and no, it is not in general safe for work). In case you haven’t seen it: it’s a collection of short anecdotes describing humiliation, awkwardness, sadness, and other life unpleasantries. Sometimes, they’re hilarious, in a dark, “I’m glad that’s not me” sort of way. Sometimes, they help remind you that things in your life aren’t really so bad. Posts end with the letters “FML,” a kind of ritual exclamation, almost like an “Amen.”

Here’s one from today:

Today, my girlfriend of 3 years broke up with me because the love advice that she gets on her cellphone every week says that I’m cheating on her. I’ve never cheated on her and I was planning to propose next week. FML

A lot of the comments on that post express my basic sentiment to the poor guy: you’re better off without her, if she was dumb enough to believe those things. It doesn’t sound like it was generic love advice (like, “Communication is important!” kind of stuff) but instead that it claimed to be in some way tailored specifically to her. Maybe it was based on horoscopes, or it was from a psychic hotline type of service. Either way, the message is clear. What was seemingly an innocuous source of amusement for this woman drastically changed her life and the life of her boyfriend for the worse. He lost someone he loved, and she pushed away someone who genuinely loved her.

All too often, we see people using unproven, unscientific treatments or sources for life guidance and we think, “What’s the harm? If it makes them happy, isn’t that good enough?” As though consulting a psychic or getting acupuncture or taking homeopathic “medicine,” actions which are ineffective at achieving their stated goals, actually have no effect whatsoever. Of course that’s not true. Even sugar pills affect your health, even if it’s only by way of displacing the real medicine you should have been taking instead… to say nothing of the grave and direct consequences of many other “woo”-based practices.

Unconvinced? Take a look at What’s the Harm?, a website that catalogues the consequences of not exercising critical thinking skills. Sadly, but unsurprisingly, there are lots and lots of examples.

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Jun 5

Marketing guru Seth Godin wrote today about what to do when smart people are hard to understand. His first suggestion—a great one—is to ask for a definition or an explanation right away. “You’ll be amazed,” he writes, “at how smart and engaging this makes you seem if you say it at the right time.”

As a student and a sometimes-teacher of science and math, I cringed a little. I think Seth is right in general, but I think that statements such as this one perpetuate people’s fear of asking questions, which runs rampant in my classes and seminars. Sure, I could look brilliant if I ask at the right time, but … what if it’s not the right time? I could look like an idiot! Then the expected value calculation is something like, (big reward [positive payout] x small probability) + (big embarrassment [negative payout] x big probability), which probably comes out to zero at best.

I’ve been in those situations where the question I thought was stupid turns out to be really crucial. And (I think) I’ve impressed a professor or two at those times. But I’ve also been in plenty of situations where I didn’t know something everyone expected me to know, or my question betrayed a fundamental lack of understanding of what we were talking about in the first place. That made me feel pretty stupid.

The fact is, it’s always important to ask. Not knowing doesn’t mean you’re not smart—intelligence is different from knowledge. That means that asking the question can only make you look as though you don’t have the knowledge required to answer the question (which is true); it does not reflect on your personal intelligence. That’s why we like to say that there are no stupid questions. In order to help people feel comfortable asking when they need or want to know, it’s important to separate these concepts as much as possible. I think that the seemingly-reassuring “It might make you look smart!” just reinforces the connection and reminds you that you might not.

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Jun 3

I’ve had this draft sitting around for a few weeks now (end of the semester was hectic, what can I say) so bear with me while I beat a horse that’s been long-dead in the political blogosphere. It may be old news, but it’s a good example of game theory in a political context and, I think, still interesting to think about.

The basic issue is this: Specter doesn’t want to run as a Republican, because he doesn’t think he could win as a Republican but does think he could win as a Democrat. Most of what I’ve heard is either criticism of this sort of selfish motivation, or resigned praise that he’s at least being honest about having a selfish motivation. But isn’t this* exactly the right way for a politician to behave?

We expect companies to pursue profit, not because profit has a moral quality on its own, but because it acts as a measure of real worth. If people like what you’re selling, they’ll buy it, and you’ll make money. A company that relentlessly pursues profit will (most of the time) be trying relentlessly to make as many people happy as possible.

Similarly, we expect politicians to try to get themselves elected and reelected. “He’s already campaigning for reelection” is often said with derision, but there’s really nothing wrong with it. Trying to get elected means trying to make your constituents like you and want you in office. True, there are some limits on this with respect to corruption and voter superficiality, but in general, we respect elections as a mechanism of choosing who deserves to hold political office. If you’re a politician and you don’t think that doing what you’re doing will get you reelected by the people you represent, we expect you to change what you’re doing.

However, if you really think that what you’re already doing is the best way to be a politician, it’s reasonable to have a bit of integrity and resist changing it. Maybe you should try to make the case to the public that your ideas and actions are worth valuing, worth electing. But let’s suppose for a moment, just hypothetically, that that isn’t working. That perhaps you really believe in strict measures for national security and in the right of women to choose abortion, and the majority of voters who elected you don’t understand how those ideas could go together.

What would we expect a company to do, if in the same situation? What if they can’t convince anyone to buy the high-quality aprons they sell, except for those couple people they heard of one time who tied them up into some really nifty handbags for themselves? Should they close up the apron shop and look for other careers? Or should they make the most of the fact that with a slight repackaging of the product they already make, they could reach a brand new and much larger market for their goods?

Arlen Specter knows he’s providing valuable services to his nation and his constituents, but he can’t convince enough PA Republican voters of that. He paid attention to polling and noticed that PA Democrats really like the job he’s doing, and also noticed that that had something to do with the fact that his ideology and actions would be at home in the Democratic party. So Specter had three choices. He could keep doing the governing he thinks is best, and get voted out of office by Republicans who don’t appreciate him and Democrats who’d rather vote for someone with a D by his name. He could compromise his ideals and vote the way that the Republicans want him to vote, just to keep his job and the R by his name. Or, he could agree to write a D by his name and get the chance to continue his work using the ideology he believes in.

Sure, I suppose it’s selfish, but we’ve constructed the system in such a way as to make personal interests and public interests motivate each other, so acting selfishly is not immoral. Specter isn’t somehow rigging the system in order to trick the American public into voting for him. He’s trying to make himself into the sort of politician the American public actually wants to elect. What more could we ask for?

* I realize some other political games were played after the initial announcement of Specter’s party switch. I’m not talking about those, mostly because when I wrote this, they hadn’t happened yet. At any rate, I want to talk about the initial incident and people’s reactions as a case study.

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Jun 2

I hope to be returning to blogging within the next few days. See you soon!

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