Thursday, March 12, 2009

Julia Robinson Mathematics Festival: March 29 and May 2

If you're interested in math, puzzles, and encouraging middle and high school students to learn more about math, I recommend taking some time to help out at the Julia Robinson Mathematics Festival on March 29th in Emeryville. I heard about the festival at a talk last year. I actually helped out as a puzzle mentor for the geeky (adult) audience of this talk, and had a great time talking people through one of the puzzle sets.

The JRMF presents great puzzles--graduated challenges, interesting applications--in a context that encourages kids to work together on solving them. This both encourages the ones who don't get the solution right away and cements the mastery of those who caught on more quickly. Everyone has fun, and many youngsters are exposed to the notion that math is relevant and applies in many everyday situations.

They currently have an event scheduled at Pixar in Emeryville on Sunday March 29, and are planning another for May 2, but don't have a firm location for the latter yet. They're looking for adult volunteers to staff math tables. Here's the announcement I got via email.

General information:
The Julia Robinson Math Festival
The festival, for students in grades 6-12, will consist of morning mathematical activities lunch, an accessible (to middle school and high school students) math talk, and, of course, prizes. Julia Robinson is the Berkeley mathematician who, among other important discoveries, made significant contributions to the solution of Hilbert's Tenth Problem. Here's a bit of biography, and a bit about Hilbert Tenth.

The morning activities will cover a wide variety of mathematical topics, including abstract problem-solving techniques like symmetry and parity as well as content ranging from arithmetic and algebra through combinatorics and topology. Students will have time to visit at least five or six activities during the morning session. For a sample activity, see the Candy Conundrum (and Teacher's Guide). (There are downloadable links at http://msri.org/specials/festival) Each activity table will be staffed by an expert, and upon reaching certain milestones in their understanding of the mathematics behind the puzzle or game or activity, students will be rewarded with raffle tickets for the afternoon's prize drawings. Thanks to our sponsors, the desJardins/Blachman fund and Pixar, we have an impressive array of prizes!

For those who want to staff a math table:We need people who are comfortable with hard math problems, and who can patiently work with kids to guide them toward progress. We are looking for guides who will listen to what kids have worked on, ask some (perhaps leading) questions, and then let the kids continue to progress. If you're interested, contact Joshua Zucker (email: first.last at stanfordalumni dot org), and if you're not sure you're interested, contact him anyway and he can give more detailed information about the expectations of the table leaders.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Harry Turtledove, Opening Atlantis

Harry Turtledove's Opening Atlantis is a candidate for the Prometheus Award. I suspect it'll be chosen as a finalist since it's well written and interesting and has strong pro-freedom themes. Unfortunately for Turtledove (who was a co-winner last year for The Gladiator), some of my other favorites have more topical themes and are just as fun to read.

Opening Atlantis posits that an extra contintent has been inserted in the middle of the Atlantic, but otherwise history and geography are pretty much unchanged compared to our timeline. Not surprisingly, the new continent is noticed during the Age of Discovery, and since it's located in the Atlantic, it is named for the (realized to be mythological) Atlantis. The geography, flora, and fauna are surprising to the discoverers and eventual settlers. One recurring side note is the characters who recognize that the indigenous species are different in the old world, on Atlantis, and in Terranova (North America). They don't quite point to the possibility of evolution explicitly, but it's the kind of idle wonder that one imagines occurs many times before an explanation is found.

Turtledove's story is presented in three parts from successive eras, which are roughly Settlement and Independence, Battling the Pirates, and Dragged into the European War. Each of the segments has Edward Radcliffe or his descendants as central figures, and the first and last each features a different battle over freedom-related issues. In the first part, Atlantis is discovered and settled by English, French, and Spanish fishermen and their families. Lured by familiar climate, each group settles on a different section of the coast, and builds multiple towns that trade, but maintain separate cultures. The conflict in Part one comes when a nobleman sent away by the British Crown decides that British Atlantis is his new fiefdom. Since the settlers intentionally migrated in order to get away from kings and lords and their incessant war and taxation, it isn't long before they rise up and defeat the invaders. They are helped a lot by their familiarity with local conditions, and their willingness to fight as insurgents.

In the second part, two of Edward's descendants, Red Rodney Radcliffe (a pirate captain) and William Radcliff (a shipping magnate) battle over the fate of a pirate stronghold on the western edge of Atlantis. William allies with other major shipping owners to defeat the pirates and ensure that they'll be able to trade freely. I could say that the freedom-related themes have to do with free trade and cooperation among private enterprises to address a common problem, but truthfully this is just a setup for a series of naval battles. The good guys win.

The third part (my nickname was "Dragged into the European War") covers a period of strife between Britain and France. Early on, there was some discussion of which side Spain would take, and there are hints that other powers are engaged in other theaters, but we only see the battles that take place in Atlantis. Victor Radcliff leads the British-allied settlers, and his French-settler counterpart Roland Kersauzon is descended from the frenchman who first identified the new continent. Early on, the French settlers are reinforced by French troops, but for most of this war, the British navy controls the oceans but isn't concerned about the fate of Atlantis, so the armies on the ground are on their own. Tactics rule the day, and the settlers teach the regular armies several lessons about dealing with insurgents and familiarity with local terrain.

Victor Radcliff is joined by Blaise, an escaped slave who becomes a leader among the British irregulars. A lot of the conflict in this section is about how competent Blaise is and how he is able to win over British settlers who haven't had much previous contact with Blacks. The French and Spanish they run into (and the British regulars) are much less tolerant. Blaise finds several opportunities to point out the parallels between his situation and the freedom that the other settlers are fighting for.

Overall, it's quite a fun read and well up to Turtledove's normal high standards. The characters and their battles and strategic surprises are well-drawn and plausible.

Monday, March 02, 2009

Stephen Ziliak and Deirdre McCloskey: The Cult of Statistical Significance

Stephen Ziliak and Deirdre McCloskey's The Cult of Statistical Significance is a poorly argued rant about what appears to be an important topic on the pursuit of scientific knowledge. Ziliak and McCloskey argue that many of the statistical sciences have been using the wrong metric to determine whether the results of experiments are interesting and relevant. They report on a few detailed reviews of articles in top journals in economics, psychology, and other fields to show that the problem they describe is real and pervasive. Unfortunately, they are much more interested in casting aspersions on the work and influence of Ronald Fisher and building up his colleague William Gosset, and so they don't actually explain how to apply their preferred approach. In amongst the rant, they do manage to make the defects of Fisher's approach clear, though it's tedious reading.

The basic story is that Fisher argued that the main point of science is establishing what we know, and to that end, the important result of any scientific experiment is a clear statement of whether the results are statistically significant. According to Fisher, that tells you what confidence you should have that the results would be repeated if you ran the experiment again. Ziliak and McCloskey want you to understand that a result can be statistically significant but practically useless. And there are worse cases, where statistical significance and Fisher's approach leads scientists to hide more relevant results, or worse to conclude that a proposal was ineffective when the data show that a large effect might be present, but the experiment failed to show that it was certain. Ziliak and McCloskey want scientists to primarily report the size of the effects they find, and their confidence in the result. To Ziliak and McCloskey, a large effect discovered in noisy data is far more important than a small effect in very clear data. They point out that with a large enough sample, every effect will be statistically significant. (Though they don't explain this point in any detail, nor give any numbers on what "large enough" means. I have an intuitive feeling for why this might be true, but this was just one of many points that wasn't presented clearly.)

They describe a few stories in detail to show the consequences for public policy. Vioxx was approved, they claim, because the tests of statistical significance allowed the scientists to fudge their results sufficiently to hide the deleterious effects. (It's not clear why this should be blamed on statistical significance rather than corruption.) They also present a case that a study of unemployment insurance in Illinois found a large effect ($4.29 in benefit for every dollar spent), but gave the Fisherian conclusion, not just that the result wasn't statistically significant, but that there was no effect. It turned out that a careful review of the data showed that the program had a statistically significant benefit-cost ratio of $7.07 for white women, but the overall benefit-cost ratio was not statistically significant because the $4.29 was only statistically significant at the .12 level, while under .05 or less is required by Fisher's followers.

Ziliak and McCloskey demonstrate that they're on the right side of the epistemological debate by supporting the use of Bayes' Law in describing scientific results, but beyond one example, they don't explain how a scientific paper should use it in presenting results. The use of Fisher's approach gives a clear guide: describe some hypotheses, perform some tests, finally analyze the results to show which relationships are significant. With Bayes, the reasoning, approach and explanation are more complicated; but Ziliak and McCloskey don't tell how to do it. Of the 29 references to Bayesian Theory in the index, 24 of them have descriptions like "Feynman advocates ...", or "Orthodox Fisherians oppose ...". There aren't any examples of how one might write a conclusion to a paper and show Bayesian reasoning, even though they pervasively give examples of analogous Fisherian reasoning that they find unacceptable.

Another significance question that Ziliak and McCloskey argue is important (but that they don't explain adequately) and that statistical significance hides is how much various treatments or alternate policy approaches might cost. Fisher's approach allows authors to publish that some proposal would have a statistically significant effect on a societal problem or the course of a disease and not mention that the cost is exorbitant and the effect small (though likely). Ziliak and McCloskey argue that journal editors should require authors to publish the magnitude of any effects and a comparison of costs and benefits. According to the reviews they've done and others they cite, it's common in top journals to omit this level of detail and to focus on whether experimental results are significantly different from zero.

Another of the authors' pet peeves is "testing for difference from zero". They claim that it's common for papers to report results as "statistically different from zero", when they're barely so. They use the epithet "sign testing" for this case. The lack of attention to the size of an effect that significance testing allows means that papers get published showing that some effects have a positive effect on a problem, even when the effect is barely different from a placebo. And there are enough scientists performing enough experiments today that many treatments with no real effect will reach this level of significance purely by chance.

Overall, the book spends far too much time on personalities and politics. Even when the discussion is substantive, too much effort goes into why the standard approach is mistaken and far too little on how to do science right, or why their preferred approaches would actually lead to better science.

For the layperson trying to follow the progress of science, and occasionally to dip into the literature to make a decision about what treatment to recommend to a family member or what supplements would best enhance longevity or health, the point is that scientific papers have to be read more carefully. Ziliak and McCloskey argue that editors, even of prestigious journals, are using the wrong metrics in choosing what papers to accept, and often pressure authors to present their results in formats that aren't useful for this purpose.

When reading papers, concentrate on the size and the costs of the effects being described. Significance can be relevant, but the fact that a paper appeared in a major publication doesn't mean that the effects being described are important or useful. Don't be surprised if the most-cited papers in some area don't actually present the circumstances in which an intervention would be useful. Don't assume that all "significant" effects are relevant or strong.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Financial Crisis: Regulatory Arbitrage

I've been following the financial debacle pretty closely. I can explain a fair part of it, describing all the moving parts and how they interacted and why regulators and participants had a hard time seeing that their individual parts in it would lead to a calamity given what everyone else was doing. The main message is that it didn't start and end with the housing bubble and crash. The bubble had causes, (and the legislators behind it aren't backing off; they continue to think that more people should own houses whether they can afford them or not) and so did the crash.

But I've had a hard time summarizing the whole thing and naming a single root cause (other than vague "government interference in the markets") or a suggestion for what should be done differently that would lead to different outcomes next time. The whole thing seems so complex, and everyone in it merely responds to local incentives so it's hard to see what different incentives would lead to a a more stable outcome.

But I recently followed a pointer to an article by a group at NYU who gave a good summary and pointed to one of the parts of my story as the root cause, and I now think they're right. The root cause was regulatory arbitrage at the banks. Regulatory arbitrage describes actions someone takes in order to avoid the affects of some set of regulations that might apply to them if they ran their business differently. Rather than buying some asset in a jurisdiction where it is taxed, you have a subsidiary buy it, or you buy an option, or you buy a company that already owns it. If one kind of institution can't engage in a certain practice that looks like it'll make money, then people will invent a new kind of institution that's subject to different regulators which isn't so prohibited.

Part of my long riff on the crash has been that practically every financial institution that exists now is the result of regulatory arbitrage of some kind. Consumer banks accept deposits, but their activities are tightly regulated in order to qualify for deposit insurance, so commercial banks don't take deposits from consumers. Credit Unions have a different set of restrictions on their activities. Savings and Loans were restricted in the interest they could charge on loans, so when they had to compete on the interest they paid on deposits, they took excessive risks leading to the S&L crisis. Commercial bank investments are regulated and limited, so there are investment banks. Those have their own regulations, so we saw the rise of hedge funds which didn't have to report to anyone except their investors.

The regulatory arbitrage at the root of this crisis was that the consumer banks were restricted in what assets they can hold and what assets they can sell. So the mortgage-backed securities (MBS) they were selling stripped out the lucrative part of the loan repayment income stream and sold that for cash they could use to make more loans, while they ended up keeping the riskiest part on their books. Most of them found tools that appeared to insure against the remaining risks, but those were systemically flawed--all the banks relied on the same few institutions, and their back-up plans would only have worked if problems were isolated. When the crunch came it was general, and so all the back-up plans failed together.

As the NYU group said, "They were in effect equivalent to writing out-of-the-money put options on aggregate crises." In plain English, that means the insurers were selling assets that allowed their counter-parties to demand money from them if certain events took place. Initially, those seemed unlikely. Unfortunately, the events that would trigger the payout were defined so that when enough policies were written, only a general failure would suffice to pull the trigger. What wasn't obvious until later was that the combination of bank loan practices (required by regulators) and hedging strategies made that general failure more likely. An important thing to realize is that neither the regulators nor the banks realized when they introduced the instruments that this would be the outcome. They weren't knowingly making a heads-I-win,-tails-you-lose bet in the beginning. When you've only written the first few policies, the systemic risk is small. The risk grew as an ever-increasing number of institutions bought insurance against the same contingencies from the same counterparty. Normally, insurance companies reinsure to spread the risk to other companies, but AIG held all the credit default swaps itself.

Most of the recommendations from the NYU group make sense. More regulation, better regulation, or smarter regulators wouldn't have made anything better, and won't solve the problem next time either. Part of the dynamic with regulatory arbitrage includes regulatory capture: we have to assume that the regulations and the regulators will eventually be in the pockets of the regulated industry. The experienced people in any industry have the most information and interest in the details, so they're the natural experts to address any problems and to oversee any restrictions. The approach that can work is a set of regulations that requires visibility so that customers, clients, competitors, and counter-parties can see what their exposure is. These are the parties with a stake in the outcome who were stymied in the run-up to the debacle. Another principal is to change the nature of the compensation traders and bankers receive so that their incentives favor the long term stability of their institutions rather than short-term results. This is hard to set up, but possible: one idea is to pay bonuses in a long-term asset that vests slowly.

It's still a complex vexing subject, but understanding how regulatory arbitrage was an underlying cause at least provides a guideline to evaluating proposals to address the problem as we go forward. Bad solutions attempt to forbid certain kinds of actions or investments, since they provide an incentive to find a new kind of institution that can exploit the abandoned opportunity. It's better, when we detect a kind of transaction that is destabilizing in one way or another to find a way to allow it that makes its impact and extent visible and provides incentives to moderate the impact. That's not easy, and it's probably not the direction that regulators and legislators will want to go, but forbidding lucrative practices doesn't prevent them, it drives them underground and out of sight.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Iain Banks: Matter

Iain Banks' Matter is set in his Culture universe, and it's nearly as interesting as the best of the Culture novels. The high point of Matter is seeing people (and entities) at different technological levels interacting and moving back and forth between societies. The main focus is the Sarl, an industrializing society living on level 8 of Sursamen, an immense shellworld, and their war of conquest with one of their neighbors. The Sarl are getting help from a more advanced species, and being led to believe their own abilities are behind their successes. The royal family has a daughter Djan who was taken away and adopted by Special Circumstances, which gives a reason for them to have someone on the scene, even though Sursamen is outside their sphere of influence.

I think this is the first time we have directly seen that Banks' Culture universe includes competing civilizations at the level of the Culture. Previously we'd been led to believe that the Culture was an over-arching universal civilization that enforced a live-and-let-live stable peace among all species. Now we see that there are others at the level of the Culture, and the Morthenveld are powerful enough that the Culture mostly leaves their sectors and galaxies alone. When a Special Circumstances agent wants to visit a region under Morthenveld control she has to give up most of her powerful built-in weapons, skills, and communications devices.

Amid the local politics, and while following Djan's perigrinations as she attempts to return to Sursamen to find out what happened in the wake of her father's death, we discover that a deeper plot is afoot. Vast forces gather in darkness and secrecy, and Djan has to figure out what their goal is decide whether their plans are aligned with or opposed to those of the Culture before deciding what action to take.

The story has great descriptions of vast stellar constructions, many interacting civilizations, species and people. One of the things I like about the Culture novels is that even though we get to see grand conflicts in the foreground of the stories, it's clear that they are just the front page news of far bigger civilizations with vast abilities and gazillions of citizens, who mostly interact through peaceful commerce. We see a bit of that in a visit to a Morthenveld nestworld, which is huge beyond the scale of the entire Culture civilization.

While the book was nominated for this year's Prometheus award, I don't think it'll be a strong contender. It's perfectly sympathetic to libertarian goals and tastes, but the big conflicts don't directly apply to any hot-button issues. The book is very well written and a lot of fun to read, but this year there are books with a much tighter focus on out-of-control totalitarian governments to contend with, and Banks' Matter doesn't play in that arena.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Scott McCloud at TED

Scott McCloud, who understands comics better than anyone, gave a recent TED talk in which he explained comics while demonstrating how they work. It's a lot of fun.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Cory Doctorow: Little Brother

Cory Doctorow's Little Brother is a fun, modern, flashy, but stark warning in the vein of Lewis' classic It Can't Happen Here. Like MacLeod's The Execution Channel from last year, it takes place in the current anti-terror climate, but Doctorow focuses more on the consequences and costs of the resulting repression and shows how we (or at least those with a connection to technology and time on their hands, meaning smart high school kids) might fight back.

Doctorow even has an afterword from Bruce Schneier and a bibliography to underline the fact that technologies for privacy are available and urging people to do more to prepare for the resistance now. Since I can attest that all the technology in the book is either available or easily developed, the book has to be placed in the future history category to qualify as science fiction. It has been nominated for this year's Prometheus and I'd have to say it's the best candidate I've read so far.

The story is told from the point of view of a small group of teenagers in San Francisco who are imprisoned by DHS in a general sweep after a terrorist attack on the Bay Bridge and BART tunnel. Once they are released, they (principally Marcus Yallow, a hacker and LARP player) work to undermine the terrorist state and build tools that their friends can use to communicate privately and organize out of the government's sight. There are enough details about what tools they build and what systems they compromise to serve as an outline for budding hackers who aren't sure how to fight back. These details occasionally intrude into the story in the form of Marcus explaining things to his audience, but I think readers for whom they aren't obvious will take it as necessary background.

The story also shows clearly how torture can come about, and without taking their viewpoint makes the actions and motivations of the guards and torturers believable. Marcus and his friends react to their harsh imprisonment in a variety of ways, just as the people on the outside react to the increasing repression differently. It's not surprising that kids in school (who are used to hiding some of their activities from their parents and teachers) adapt readily to using surreptitious means to hide from DHS as well.

The story doesn't have a young-adult feel; even though the protagonists are mainly teenagers, the story is told with an adult sensibility. Being youngsters, Doctorow has plenty of opportunity to show them growing intellectually and emotionally. The characters are well filled out, and have appropriate conflicts that drive the story. The story is exciting and well motivated. Marcus starts working with a journalist early enough in the story that her role in the denouement isn't a surprise. And compared to the Queen's similar role in Walton's Half a Crown, it seems completely plausible.

I really enjoyed this book. It had some of the flavor of Vinge's Fast Times at Fairmont High, without being as far ahead of the curve, and gave an exciting depiction of the fight against an enveloping tyranny (harking back to The Moon is a Harsh Mistress) along with a concrete vision of how and why we'd fight back set in an all-too-plausible near future.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Jo Walton: Half a Crown

Jo Walton's Half a Crown completes her "Small Change" series with a distinctly different ending. The second novel in the trilogy, Ha'Penny, was a co-winner of last year's Prometheus Award.

Small Change is an alternate history in which Britain made peace with Hitler and itself moved toward fascism. The story follows Peter Carmichael, a police inspector in the first novel, now head of Britain's Secret Police, The Watch. Carmichael is gay, and this fact is being used by his superiors to keep him in line. But they don't seem to know that Carmichael has been secretly operating an underground railroad from inside The Watch. In Half a Crown, Carmichael additionally struggles to deal with the troubles of his protege Elvira Royston, a debutante planning for her presentation to the Queen. Elvira accompanies a friend to a political rally to watch the parades, and is rounded up along with the provocateurs after a riot erupts. The government decides to make an example of the provocateurs and Carmichael has to scramble to extract Elvira from the mess at great cost to himself and his friends.

The books provide a clear depiction of innocent well-meaning people getting caught up in a totalitarian struggle, and having to choose which of the things they value they will work to preserve and at what cost to their other values and to the rest of society. The first two books had downbeat endings, as Carmichael and others gave in on major issues that allowed the totalitarian government to take power in order to preserve a small amount of personal autonomy. This third book has the same feeling most of the way, but in the end Elvira finds a way to turn the tables and expose the machinations that led to the government takeover. I don't know if Britain's government really would work the way Walton portrays it, but as an American, it felt like deus ex machina.

The characterization is interesting. We've come to know Carmichael from the previous books, and his motivations (protecting both his lover Jack and Elvira, furthering the secret projects that allow some people to escape) are clear and well established. Elvira is a newcomer to the story, and Walton demonstrates her thinking and motivations clearly in alternating chapters that Elvira tells in the first person. The others, which mostly follow Carmichael, are given in third person, which allows Walton to follow other characters when necessary.

Half a Crown has been nominated for this year's Prometheus, and it's a strong candidate. The application to libertarianism is clear, but I think there are other books which will do better. Cory Doctorow's Little Brother seems a more powerful cautionary tale along the lines of It Can't Happen Here, though I'm not quite finished with it yet. The book is well written, and my only complaint is that the happy ending seemed forced. I don't think dystopias have to end in a downbeat to be effective, but the total collapse of Britain's fascist government seemed to run against a lot of previous description showing how that the government had co-opted most of the country's leaders and that the institutionalized prejudices were in harmony with those of the populace who were learning to get along with the other consequences of institutionalized repression. The quick turnaround in response to a single speech was a surprise. This is, after all, still an alternate history in which the Germans and the Japanese have taken over two thirds of the globe. Britain will have to figure out how to co-exist with an external world dominated by fascism.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Diane Coyle, The Soulful Science

Diane Coyle's goal in writing The Soulful Science was to explain why economics is relevant and to convince readers that the bad rap that economics seems to carry is undeserved. She argues that modern economics studies important topics like the causes of growth and of happiness, and thereby provides important clues as to how we can relieve poverty and increase personal well-being. I think the book is a good introduction to the economic way of thinking that might draw a more humanistic audience into the field.

Coyle's approach is non-technical and engaging. The book has only a few graphs and charts, and I don't remember seeing any equations. Coyle tells the story of the people who made the advances that interest her and what their results imply about how we should organize society, what society can and cannot accomplish, and how these advances in knowledge affect our lives.

The first two-thirds of the book contains most of the meat. Part one talks about what economists have learned over the last several decades about what makes economies grow, and by implication, what we can do to reduce poverty where growth is still sparse. She starts out this section with a chapter extolling the virtues of the economic historians who have dug into obscure archives and surprising sources to collect detailed data about how people lived before record keeping was as persistent and consistent as it has become. This work required a fair bit of inference and a lot of perseverance, but in the end, we have a good view of how well people got on in different times and places. This data can tell us a lot about how quickly growth occurred in different circumstances. From this we can deduce a fair bit about when and where progress flowered, which shows some facts that seem to nearly always be true beforehand. (Protection of property rights, respect for education) But the inconsistencies; other societies that seem to have all the prerequisites, but don't enjoy the growth that occurred elsewhere show that it's an incomplete model.

In her chapter on alleviating poverty, Coyle admits that we don't have a formula that works reliably, but argues that we have identified some policies that are worth encouraging and we have learned about some approaches that don't work. If developmental economists and leaders of underdeveloped countries pay attention to these lessons they'll be able to lay some groundwork that will put them in a better position to take action as we continue to learn more. It'll also stop people from hoping for quick results from ideas that we now know don't work (natural resource discovery and exploitation seldom leads to improved living conditions for the populace.)

The second part of the book focuses on people, usually the province of microeconomics. But Coyle focuses instead on recent advance in personal happiness and work on rationality and biases. She does a thorough job of presenting an overview of the implications of recent research for how to live your life, and on what interventions actually make people happier. She also talks about how people behave in markets, and what the economists have figured out about our behavior based on theory and experiment. Theory has filled in the consequences of asymmetrical information: how it affects negotiations and outcomes, and how people gain an advantage in business or politics by controlling access to information. Experimental economics has taught us a lot both about how people actually act in market environments as well as what kinds of institutions and frameworks make markets more effective at allocating goods and how to reduce undesired outcomes like pollution.

The final section addresses larger topics that have been attracting economists' attention recently: how evolutionary and chaos theory can be used to enhance classical economics' approach to the emergence of behavior from collections of interacting agents, and public choice theory's observations about how incentives on bureaucrats as individuals reduce the effectiveness of government as a tool for effecting change. This section is interesting, but doesn't get into a lot of detail.

Overall, The Soulful Science is a well-written non-technical introduction to the most interesting fields in modern economics. Coyle is an insider and quite familiar with the personalities in the field and she presents recent findings well while giving a sense of how economists work together to develop and explore these ideas.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Charles Murray: Human Accomplishment

Human Accomplishment is Charles Murray's attempt to catalog and explain the highest achievements in the arts and sciences that people have produced. He says his yardstick is the things that humanity would be able to brag about if we were putting together a resume, but he includes scientific discoveries which any advanced species would have made along with the heights of poetry, composition, and painting.

The book quantifies and compares the contributions of individuals, fields of endeavor, countries, and regions, and points out some consistent features of the data like the prominence of men and the paucity of identifiable contributions from Asia. At the end of the book he makes some generalizations about what kinds of environments led to increases and decreases in the amount of great work that was done.

While the book is nearly 700 pages, more than 200 pages of it is contributed by the appendices, notes, index, and front-matter. At least another 75 pages are made up by tables and itemized listings of major contributions by field. In addition, the prose is scattered with frequent tables, graphs and asides (in white text on dark blue so you can't miss the fact that you are welcome to skip them.) So it's not as long a read as it appears, but it's still substantial.

Murray's methodology in identifying the accomplishments that stand out was to survey many encyclopedic works. For the most part, he found in nearly all fields which were covered by a substantial number of such books that there was a lot of overlap and consistency among them. This allowed him to declare that he would only include in his survey achievements that were recognized widely, that he would exclude compendiums that didn't overlap substantially with other works purporting to be in the same field, and that fields that weren't covered by at least a handful of broad overlapping surveys would be omitted from the results.

He ends up with substantial reviews of 8 fields in science and technology; separate inventories for philosophy from China, India, and the West; for the visual arts from China, Japan, and the West, and for Literature from the Arab world in addition to the four regions mentioned previously. The arts are divided regionally because otherwise the contributions from the Arabs or the East would be swamped by those of the West. In each of the regional breakdowns, the West contributed substantially more (4x-10x) than any other region. Murray spends some time showing that this probably isn't due to his lack of familiarity with these regions or the languages in which the histories are written. (Part of the justification is that the disparity holds similarly in the scientific inventory for which there are firmer criteria for inclusion and a general agreement about which accomplishments count, even among those who want to claim minorities are under-represented in the listings.) Murray also spends some time speculating about why there's such a disparity in contributions.

There were few surprises for me in the actual lists. There were only a couple of cases where I didn't recognize one of the top few contributors in a scientific field, even though there were many cases where I wouldn't have been able to name their contribution. There have been a couple of occasions to cross-reference names I've come across in recent reading. For instance, Lope de Vega was a prominent character in Harry Turtledove's Rule Brittania, which I reviewed recently. I didn't realize until I was reading Murray's 1-page summary of the heights of Western literature that de Vega was based on a real author from that period (though not quite significant enough to make the list of Significant Figures in Western literature in Appendix 5.) I also referred to the lists of Chinese notables while reading The Early Chinese Empires.

The most important conclusion to draw from the book is that accomplishment is unevenly spread. Most people who have given even cursory thought to the subject have noticed that there's an exponential distribution of achievements across fields and across time. Practically no matter what criteria you come up with to measure achievement, you'll find there's a high peak and a consistent, rapid drop-off in people's abilities. The best athletes are as much above their competitors as the best scientists and the best writers.

Murray's book gives us the opportunity to savor the best and the brightest.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Allen Steele: Coyote

Allen Steele's Coyote was nominated for the Prometheus award when it appeared in 2002, but somehow I missed reading it at the time. This year, it was nominated for the Hall of Fame award, which gave me a second chance to read it. Since I had read the follow-up novel Coyote Rising when it came out in 2004, I already knew something about how things turn out, but Coyote Rising takes place long enough afterward that only a couple of characters carry over, and they have a lifetime of hardship between their two appearances. The story appeared as a series of short stories before publication as a novel, but for the most part this isn't very noticeable since the story proceeds reasonably through quite different venues, and the character continuity is unbroken.

In Coyote, the US has become the totalitarian United Republic of America, and a race is on to colonize the planets circling a nearby star. When the URS Alabama is ready for launch, the captain and most of the crew conspire to hijack the ship. They don't change the destination, so the hijacking consists of replacing loyal intended crew-members with families and other folks that the URS regime had considered to be subversives.

The first story covers the theft of the Alabama, and most of the political content appears here in the presentation of the regime's repressive tactics. Most of what we see directly concerns people whose friends or acquaintances have been taken off to the camps, and Steele gives the impression, without saying anything very explicit that minor transgressions against local authority explain most of the incidents rather than anything that would look like true rebellion or protest. The only other time politics comes up is when the crew of the Plymouth (Alabama was renamed upon landing) decides how to arrange their colony. The results are quite pedestrian, and we see the process through the official records of the colony's Secretary. The Ship's captain is elected chair of the Town Council, with a little dissent by people who were hoping for a continuation of military formality.

The rest of the story is pretty standard colonizing-a-new-planet material. The characterization, conflicts, and scenery is reasonably interesting and well-written, but there's nothing of deeper significance to recommend it. The coming of age sub-plots are well-developed, and the conflicts are real; colonists die when they're careless while exploring the new environment. The native flora and fauna have plenty of surprises in store. As I recall, some of them continued to be crucial plot elements in Coyote Rising.

Overall, I'd summarize it as a decent read, but I don't disagree with the decision to not give an award when it first appeared. I can think of several perennial nominees for the Hall of Fame that are more deserving, as well as a few that have recently been nominated for the first time.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

Harry Turtledove: Noninterference

Harry Turtledove's Noninterference explores the consequences of violating the noninterference principal when exploring a world that hasn't achieved contact with other societies. Turtledove takes the best possible example of a minor intervention that goes awry with beneficial consequences that persist through the ages on a developing planet and extrapolates the possibilities. As articulated in Star Trek's Prime Directive, there is something sacrosanct about allowing each civilization to find its own way. In this case, the actual effects on the subject planet appear benign, though extensive. But benevolent consequences are no defense against violations of the Prime Directive. In any case, Turtledove focuses on the effects in the exploring (and interfering) civilization.

The Federacy's Survey Service is responsible for exploring newly discovered planets and making occasional visits to developing worlds. They're in a constant battle with the private Noninterference Foundation, whose Purists argue that it should be disbanded and no contact should be allowed with pre-technological civilizations. In this environment, when news comes back of the effects of the prior interference, the head of the service tries to cover up all the evidence, even stooping to violence when necessary. She convinces herself that it's for the protection of the important work the Survey Service, and therefore justified.

Given all this context, we get to see chase scenes, violence, narrow escapes, bureaucratic bungling, the power of the press, and the importance of independent parties monitoring everything the government does. Turtledove (co-)won the Prometheus award this year for The Gladiator, and his libertarian tendencies show clearly here. He isn't actually very concerned about the Prime Directive—If he were, he could have easily manufactured a simple intervention with disastrous consequences, rather than one with pervasive, long-term, apparently favorable effects. His focus is really on exposing the incentives of bureaucrats to cover up their mistakes, and the unlimited power they draw on because they have access to the public purse.