Academics pretend to believe that their writings are meant to transfer information intact from one mind to another. This is particularly ironic since they are so adept at preventing any such transfer, using ingenious obfuscatory language. But the model itself is deeply flawed. Words are intrinsically ambiguous, largely by design. When we read or hear another person’s words, what we extract is mostly our own invention — just as most of our memories are reinvented every time we recall them, until eventually we remember exactly and only what we choose.

A better model of communication is that words act as temporary couplings between separate individuals’ internal universes. As for most couplings, the strength and specificity of the entanglement is largely due to the prior intent of the participants. Thus a particular horoscope or I Ching excerpt conveys incredibly apropos information if we expect it to. (This is obviously related to the placebo and nocebo effects.) A set of words chosen randomly by a computer from a list can be made to seem deeply meaningful if they are chosen with a bias toward “deep” connotations — which in turn can be easily identified by simply searching for their frequencies of occurrence in “deep” literature. We fill in the blanks and find meaning in the result. That’s what humans are really good at.

So if we think of “communication” as a temporary entanglement of separate realities, it’s not hard to see why poetry seems so much deeper than prose: (a) it’s expected to be, by both the poet and the reader [placebo effect]; (b) pointless details designed to reduce ambiguity [Ha!] are omitted.

It would be fun to do some “big data” analysis on selected literature to demonstrate this model’s validity more explicitly.   (Wait…)

Last night I went to a Green College/STS meeting in which four young academics described what they thought Science was or wasn’t.  The first was an Historian bent on insulting all who thought of themselves as Scientists; the second was another, more conciliatory Historian trying to educate Scientists as to what they actually do; the third was an STSer trying to explain what STS is or isn’t; and the last was a Mathematical Physicist who seemed completely unaware of his context or what the discussion was supposed to be about.  I stuck up my hand, of course, but was never called on.  So I came home and stewed overnight, and now I think I’m ready to express my thoughts.

To make bold statements, or even to think critically, about any subject requires a certain arrogance: you must believe that not only is it possible to understand the subject, it is possible for you to understand the subject.  To be correct in this assumption, however, requires a certain humility: you must acknowledge that other people may have thought about the subject too, and that their thoughts are worth listening to and absorbing before you shoot your mouth off.  I have too little of the latter to become a great thinker.  Dang.

I think it is necessary to stipulate that Science is both “what Scientists do” and “what Scientists are trying to do”.  These are clearly not the same thing.  Moreover, they both beg the question of, “Who is a Scientist?”  Lots of kooks go around calling themselves Scientists, and while some of them turn out eventually to be correct, this transition almost always depends upon their acceptance by other Scientists.  So Science really is a “club” of sorts.  We are stuck with some sort of Constructivist sociological model; but not necessarily the Strong Program, which states confidently that facts are determined only by politics.

Coming back to the (I think critical) question of “what are Scientists trying to do,” the obvious answer is, “All sorts of different, and frequently incompatible, things.”  But is there anything sufficiently universal to use as a sort of RFID for Scientists?  I think so.  It is that guardedly arrogant notion that every phenomenon has an explanation and is ultimately understandable — perhaps not by me, but definitely by a sufficiently intelligent entity.  Sociologists and STSers usually conflate this immediately with Realism, but that’s just their usual silliness; the Understandability Principle would apply equally well to a purely Solipsist universe where all phenomena were only in your head (whatever that is).  It would be a lot harder to understand such phenomena, since that gets into the realm of Psychology, but the same aesthetic would still apply.  It is, after all, an aesthetic commitment more than a rational belief, since it is patently unprovable and unrefutable.

There is more than a tautological truth to the statement, “Science is what Scientists do.”  It implies that, by definition, if you are not a Scientist you don’t know what you are talking about when you try to describe Science.  Of course, unless I can campaign successfully to persuade the Scientific Community to accept my definition of the common aesthetic commitment of all Scientists as the best way to determine who gets membership in the club, I got no clout.  Oh well, I can still use it to annoy STSers back.

A room full of STSers quoting from Bruno Latour about Science is like a bunch of couch potatoes quoting from Don Cherry about hockey during the Superbowl halftime show.  No, actually, it’s like a panel of TV sportscasters delving into their statistics to reach consensus that the only way Usain Bolt could run that fast is if he’s on steroids.  They have never run 100m or 200m at any speed; they have no personal experience of what they are talking about; and they really don’t have a right to their opinions, but of course they will have them anyway, and try to shove them down the sprinters’ throats.