February 28, 2019

Books to Read While the Algae Grow in Your Fur, February 2019

Attention conservation notice: I have no taste, and no qualifications to opine on Roman history, or even on demography.

Juha Alho and Bruce D. Spencer, Statistical Demography and Forecasting
A thorough introduction to the leading concepts, issues and methods of demography for an audience of statisticians, interested in what our cousins are up to, why they do it that way, and how they might make more use of conventional statistical notions about modeling, inference and uncertainty. (Alho has a particular interest in the financing of public pensions, which shows up in a bunch of the examples.) Statistical concepts are reviewed as needed, but the intended reader is plainly familiar with most of these to start, so I doubt it would work as well for the stats-curious demographer.
If I ever get to teach the space-and-time course again, I will mine this shamelessly for examples.
Brian Lee O'Malley, Snotgirl: Green Hair Don't Care and California Screaming
Mike Mignola, Hellboy in Hell: The Descent
Philippe Thirault et al., Miss: Better Living Through Crime, 1: Bloody Manhattan
Saladin Ahmed et al., Abbott
Comic-book mind-candy, assorted.
Dubravka Ugresic, Fox
Meta-fiction, cultural essay, tragedy, literary anecdote spun out into novelettes... This was my first Ugresic, but it won't be my last.
James H. Matis and Thomas R. Kiffe, Stochastic Population Models: A Compartmental Perspective
Most of this is actually given over to one-compartment birth-death, or birth-death-migration, processes, though when they do get around to multi-compartment processes, the treatment is good. There's no systematic account of statistical inference for these models, though I appreciated the ad hoc effort to connect them to empirical data.
Ellis Peters, One Corpse Too Many, Monk's Hood, St. Peter's Fair, The Devil's Novice
Mind candy: classic medieval mysteries. Having read these as a boy, I'm very relieved that they have not been visited by the Suck Fairy.
Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
I started this in August of last year, with no previous experience with Gibbon, but with a credit for an audio book* and the prospect of a lot driving back and forth between Pittsburgh and DC. I have now spent 100 hours on the Pennsylvania Turnpike being taken from the age of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius to the final fall of Constantinople in 1453, and the ruins of Rome in the age of the Renaissance Papacy. There are obviously a million ways in which it's been superseded as history, but it's still a magnificent achievement of scholarship, and an incredible work of literature.
Some obvious things: Gibbon was sexist, racist, and anti-Jewish (it'd be a bit anachronistic to call him anti-Semitic). He poses as an orthodox English Protestant who regards the inexplicable parts of Christianity (e.g., the Trinity and the Incarnation) as mysteries beyond reason --- but clearly he thinks those parts are really nonsense. (This explains, I think, his surprising-to-me sympathy for Islam.) But he is also a good enough historian to admit to facts which fly in the face of his prejudices, like courageous, just and manly "orientals" --- though not good enough to revise his views. (Likewise, the passages which contain gratuitous swipes at the intellectual capacities of "Negroes" are also the ones which call the slave trade of his time a moral disgrace.)
Related to this ambiguity, I think, is a certain inconsistency in his Eurocentrism and parochialism. Sometimes he talks about "the world" to mean western-Europe-and-the-Mediterranean basin; sometimes he knows fully well that Rome at its height was always balanced by Persia, and writes intelligently about how China's relations with its nomadic neighbors ultimately affected Rome. Sometimes "barbarian" is used in the Greek way, to include everyone who wasn't a Hellene, and sometimes he admits the Persians, Chinese, Indians, etc., to the company of civilized nations. He trembles on the verge of a properly global perspective, and I wish he'd made it there.
Rhetorically, his use of irony is clearly modeled on Tacitus. But where Tacitus is highly compressed, Gibbon is not so much prolix as leisurely and expansive. The result is a layering of irony, both within sentences and across paragraphs. Tacitus gives us lapidary expressions like "We make a desert and call it peace", or "conspicuous by their absence"; Gibbon gives us passages:
The policy of the emperors and the senate, as far as it concerned religion, was happily seconded by the reflections of the enlightened, and by the habits of the superstitious, part of their subjects. The various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the magistrate, as equally useful.
(This is succeeded by paragraphs on "The superstition of the people", the "philosphers ... deduc[ing] their morals from the nature of man", and the role of religion in "the Roman councils".) Or, again:
A victorious line of march had been prolonged above a thousand miles from the rock of Gibraltar to the banks of the Loire; the repetition of an equal space would have carried the Saracens to the confines of Poland and the Highlands of Scotland; the Rhine is not more impassable than the Nile or Euphrates, and the Arabian fleet might have sailed without a naval combat into the mouth of the Thames. Perhaps the interpretation of the Koran would now be taught in the schools of Oxford, and her pulpits might demonstrate to a circumcised people the sanctity and truth of the revelation of Mahomet.
(The latter clearly inspired Gellner.)
--- In George Steiner's In Bluebeard's Castle, he writes about how some novelists and historians, by their "many-branched coherence of design", "build a great house of language for memory and conjecture to inhabit". What strikes me about Gibbon is how he has two such houses. One of them is fourteen centuries which are his actual subject, depicted as an eon of decay and disaster, but also full of colorful, if generally appalling, incident. The other, constantly present by implication and contrast, is the classical Rome of the Republic, and classical Greece, especially Periclean Athens. He might put forth the age of the Antonines as the happiest and most prosperous period of humanity, but it's clear that his heart is with those earlier, and to him brighter, times. I half suspect that one of his aims was to narrate the fall of Rome, as though told by a Roman of an earlier time; certainly he carries out the affectation of using classical place-names long past the period of their relevance.
*: The reading by Charlton Griffin was, for the most part, quite good, but there was at least one place where a later editor's footnote accusing Gibbon of anti-Christian bias crept into the text and was narrated.

Books to Read While the Algae Grow in Your Fur; Scientifiction and Fantastica; Pleasures of Detection, Portraits of Crime; Tales of Our Ancestors; Writing for Antiquity; Enigmas of Chance; The Natural Science of the Human Species; Commit a Social Science

Posted at February 28, 2019 23:59 | permanent link

February 05, 2019

"Causal inference in social networks: A new hope?" (Friday at the Ann Arbor Statistics Seminar)

Attention conservation notice: Self-promoting notice of a very academic talk, at a university far from you, on a very recondite topic, solving a problem that doesn't concern you under a set of assumptions you don't understand, and wouldn't believe if I explained to you.

I seem to be giving talks again:

"Causal inference in social networks: A new hope?"
Abstract: Latent homophily generally makes it impossible to identify contagion or influence effects from observations on social networks. Sometimes, however, homophily also makes it possible to accurately infer nodes' latent attributes from their position in the larger network. I will lay out some assumptions on the network-growth process under which such inferences are good enough that they enable consistent and asymptotically unbiased estimates of the strength of social influence. Time permitting, I will also discuss the prospects for tracing out the "identification possibility frontier" for social contagion.
Joint work with Edward McFowland III
Time and place: 11:30 am -- 12:30 pm on 8 February 2019, in 411 West Hall, Statistics Department, University of Michigan

--- The underlying paper grows out of an idea that was in my paper with Andrew Thomas on social contagion: latent homophily is the problem with causal inference in social networks, but latent homophily also leads to large-scale structure in networks, and allows us to infer latent attributes from the graph; we call this "community discovery". Some years later, my student Hannah Worrall, in her senior thesis, did an extensive series of simulations showing that controlling for estimated community membership lets us infer the strength of social inference, in regimes where community-discovery is consistent. Some years after that, Ed asked me what I was wanting to work on, but wasn't, so I explained about what seemed to me the difficulties in doing some proper theory about this. As I did so, the difficulties dissolved under Ed's questioning, and the paper followed very naturally. We're now revising in reply to referees (Ed, if you're reading this --- I really am working on it!), which is as pleasant as always. But I am very pleased to have finally made a positive contribution to a problem which has occupied me for many years.

Constant Conjunction Necessary Connexion; Enigmas of Chance; Networks; Self-Centered

Posted at February 05, 2019 21:04 | permanent link

February 03, 2019

On Godzilla and the Nature and Conditions of Cultural Success; or, Shedding the Skin

Attention conservation notice: 1100+ words of Deep Thoughts on a creature-feature monster and cultural selection, from someone with no qualifications to write on either subject. Expresses long-held semi-crank notions; composed while simultaneously reading Morin on diffusion chains and drinking sake; revived over a year after it was drafted because Henry was posting about similar themes, finally posted because I am procrasting finishing a grant proposal celebrating submitting a grant proposal on time.

Godzilla is an outstanding example of large-scale cultural success, and of how successful cultural items become detached from their original meanings.

Godzilla's origins are very much in a particular time and place, namely Japan, recently (if not quite immediately) post-WWII and the national trauma of the atomic bombings and their lingering effects. This is a very particular setting, on the world-historical scale. It is now seven decades in the past, and so increasingly gone from living memory, even for the very long-lived population of Japan.

Against this, Godzilla has been tremendously successful culturally all over the world, over basically the whole time since it appeared. I don't mean that it's made money (thought it has) --- I mean that it has been popular, that people have liked consuming stories (and images and toys and other representations) about it, that they have liked creating such representations, and that they have liked thinking about and with Godzilla.. (In contemporary America, for instance, Godzilla is so successful that the suffix "-zilla" is a morpheme, denoting something like "a destructive, mindlessly-enraged form of an entity".) Necessarily, the vast majority of this success and popularity has been distant in time, space, social structure and cultural context from 1950s Japan. How can these two observations --- the specificity of origins and the generality of success --- be reconciled?

To a disturbing extent, of course, any form of cultural success can be self-reinforcing (cf. Salganik et al.), but there is generally something to the representations which succeed (cf., again, Salganik et al.). But, again, Godzilla is endemic in many contexts remote in space, time and other cultural features from immediately-post-war Japan. So it would seem that whatever makes it successful in those contexts, including here and now as I write this, must be different from what made it successful at its point of origin.

It could be that Godzilla is successful in 1950s Japan and in 2010s USA because it happened to fit two very different but very specific cultural niches --- the trauma of defeat culminating in nuclear war, on the one hand; and (to make something up) a compulsive desire for re-enactments of 9/11 on the other hand. But explaining wide-spread success by a series of particular fits falters as we consider all the many other social contexts in which Godzilla has been popular. Maybe it happened, by chance, to appeal narrowly to one new context, but two? three? ten?

An alternative is that Godzilla has managed to spread because it appeals to tastes which are not very context-specific, but on the contrary very widely distributed, if not necessarily constant and universal. In the case of Godzilla, we have a monster who breaks big things and breathes fire: an object of thought, in other words, enduringly relevant to crude interests in predators, in destruction, and in fire. Since those interests are very common across all social contexts, something which appeals to them has a very good source of "pull".

This is not to say that Godzilla wasn't, originally, all about being the only country ever atom-bombed into submission. But it is to say that we can draw a useful distinction between the meanings successful cultural products had originally and those attached to them as they diffuse. It is analogous to the distinction the old philosophy of science used to draw between an idea's "context of discovery" and its "context of justification", though that had a normative force I am not aiming at. (For the record, I think that many of the criticisms of the discovery-justification distinction are weak, mis-conceived or just flat wrong, and that it's actually a pretty useful distinction. But that's another story for another time.)

For Godzilla, like many other successful cultural products, the "context of invention" was a very historically-specific confluence of issues, concerns and predecessors. But the "context of diffusion" was that it could appeal to vastly more generic tastes, and make use of vastly more generic opportunities. These are still somewhat historically-specific (e.g., no motion-picture technology, no Godzilla), but much less so. I am even tempted to formulate a generalization: the more diffused a cultural product is, in space or time or social position, the less its appeal owes to historically-specific contexts, and the more it owes to forces which are nearly a-historical and constant.

What holds me back from declaring cultural diffusion to be a low-pass filter is that it is, in fact, logically possible for a cultural product to succeed in many contexts because it seems to be narrowly tailored to them all. What's needed, as a kind of meta-ingredient, is for the cultural product to be suggestively ambiguous. It is ambiguity which allows very different people to find in the same artifact the divergent but specific meanings they seek; but it also has to somehow suggest to many people that there is a specific, compelling meaning to be found in it. When we consider cultural items which have endured for a very long time, like some sacred texts or other works of literature, then I suspect we are seeing representations which have been strongly selected for suggestive ambiguity.

It is a cliche of literary criticism that each generation gives its own interpretation of these great works. It is somewhat less of a cliche, though equally true, that every generation finds a reason to interpret them. Pace Derrida and his kin, I don't think that every text or artifact is equally amenable to this sort of re-interpretation and re-working. (Though that notion may have seemed more plausible to literary scholars who were most familiar with a canon of books inadvertently selected, in part, for just such ambiguity.) There are levels of ambiguity, and some things are just too straightforward to succeed this way1. It is also plainly not enough just to be ambiguous, since ambiguous representations are very common, and usually dismal failures at propagating themselves. The text or artifact must also possess features which suggest that there is an important meaning to be found in it2. What those features are, in terms of rhetorical or other sorts of design, is a nice question, though perhaps not beyond all conjecture. (I strongly suspect Gene Wolfe of deliberately aiming for such effects.) Something keeps the great works alive over time and space, saving them from being as dead as Gilgamesh, of merely historical interest. Because they are interpreted so variously, they can't be surviving because any one of their interpretations is the right one, conveying a compelling message that assures human interest. Rather, works outlast ages precisely because they simultaneously promise and lack such messages. This quality of suggestive ambiguity could, of course, also contribute to academic and intellectual success --- making it seem like you have something important to say, while leaving what that thing is open to debate, is one route to keeping people talking about you for a long time.

... or so I think in my more extreme moments. In another mood, I might try to poke holes in my own arguments. As for Godzilla, I suspect it's too early to tell whether it possesses this quality of suggestive ambiguity, but my hunch is that this dragon is not a shape-shifter.


  1. I seem to recall that Umberto Eco once, to make this point, had a parable about employing a screw-driver to clean out your ears. But if my memory has not invented this, I cannot now find the passage. — Edited to add, November 2021: A reader helpfully points that Eco makes this point on pp. 145--146 of Interpretation and Over-Interpretation (Cambridge U.P., 1992), riffing on something Richard Rorty wrote on p. 102 of the same volume. I am relieved that this is not one of those instances where my memory twisted the story almost out of recognition.^

  2. Though, again, we should be aware of the self-reinforcing nature of cultural success, the way that something might seem important to re-interpret or re-work in part because it is already widely known.^

The Collective Use and Evolution of Concepts; Scientifiction and Fantastica; Modest Proposals

Posted at February 03, 2019 15:08 | permanent link

Three-Toed Sloth