Showing posts with label Berlinski. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Berlinski. Show all posts

Contrapositing Berlinski

Derbyshire gets it right

The columnists who hang out at National Review Online are a peculiar assemblage of right-wing flacks who can be relied upon to distinguish themselves from the reality-based community. John Derbyshire, however, occasionally breaks ranks. In addition to being a conservative columnist, The Derb is also a mathematician. I have read and enjoyed Prime Obsession, a history of the Riemann hypothesis, and Unknown Quantity, a history of algebra and the iconic “x the unknown.” Mathematicians tend to respect the formal aspects of argument and proof. This may be why Derbyshire recoiled in horror from Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.

He must pay for this apostasy.

And today here comes David Berlinski to take Derbyshire to the woodshed. While Berlinski is also a popularizer of mathematics (of the snob-appealing obscurantist school of overwriting), he has also aligned himself with the Discovery Institute and serves as one of Ben Stein's shills in Expelled. What better nemesis could intelligent design creationists hope to sic on Derbyshire than Berlinski? It is a grudge match made in heaven (although both combatants decline to affirm belief in heaven's existence).

Topping off the bile reservoir on his word processor, Berlinski gets right to work in his rebuke of Derbyshire:

John Derbyshire has declared that the documentary Expelled contains a blood libel against Western Civilization. His is an exercise of striking vulgarity, the more so since, as he insouciantly admits, he has not “seen the dang thing.” A blood libel, one might recall, refers to the charge that the Jewish people are irredeemably stained by their occasional, if modest, need for Christian blood. Some terms have acquired through their historical associations a degree of repugnance that persuades sensitive men and women not to use them. If Derbyshire has been repelled by the smell of blood, it is a revulsion that he has successfully overcome.
For the uninitiated, permit me to point out that Berlinski has unleashed here the powerful reflexive-rebuttal rhetorical device, also known in less sophisticated circles as the “I know you are, but what am I?” argument.

Expelled's audience has been less than its producers might have hoped for, box office receipts indicating an outside chance of earning back the costs of production and promotion. Nevertheless, no interested party can be unaware of the specific points being made by Ben Stein's propaganda piece. In a nutshell, Expelled asserts that (a) intelligent design is a worthwhile scientific hypothesis that the research establishment is successfully suppressing, (b) evolutionists are epitomized by atheism and hostility to religion, and (c) evolutionary thinking set the stage for the Nazi atrocities of the 20th century. The movie trailers, reviews, and interviews with Expelled's principals make all of that clear, whether or not one has endured the entire movie itself.

Berlinski does not accept this, and mocks Derbyshire for not going to see Expelled:
Having not seen the documentary that he proposes to criticize, Derbyshire is nonetheless quite certain that he knows what it conveys. “It is pretty plain,” he asserts, “that it is a piece of creationist porn.” Perhaps I will be forgiven for suggesting that John Derbyshire’s late-night scrutiny of the Internet may have corrupted his habitual search for le mot juste. Expelled has nothing to do with creationism, and if it is pornographic, the details have not become widely known.
See how Berlinski pokes gentle fun at Derbyshire for the latter's choice of words and amusingly implies that The Derb has looked at too many naughty pictures on the Internet? Naughty, naughty Derb! Funny, funny Berlinski!
Expelled makes a point far plainer than pornography and points to a phenomenon just as widespread.
Hey! Wait a minute! How does Berlinski know so much about the pervasiveness of porn? By his own reasoning in twitting Derbyshire, Berlinski is admitting to a certain expertise, n'est-ce pas? Let's be charitable and put that down to an inadvertent slip.
After first considering the possibility that Ben Stein was financed by secret Saudi funds—Je m’imagine cela—Derbyshire at once reprises two errors. The first is that the animations in Expelled were copied.

They were not.

And the second is that the brief segment of a John Lennon song used in the film required Yoko Ono’s permission before it could be aired.

It did not.

The facts are easily available from the Expelled website.
It's good of Berlinski to cite such an unimpeachable source as documentation for his statements. It's a good choice, too, because Berlinski would not have found support for his categorical statements had he gone elsewhere. For example, David Bolinsky is the medical illustrator who led the team that created The Inner Life of the Cell for Harvard University and he argues strongly that Expelled's version of his team's original creation is a point-by-point rip-off. (Perhaps, unlike Berlinski, Derbyshire did not limit his reading to the special pleadings on the Expelled website.) And, of course, the United States has a draconian copyright law that severely inhibits “fair-use” claims, so it's not at all clear that Yoko Ono's lawsuit is an inherently frivolous nuisance action.
Derbyshire’s generous conviction that Expelled is an exercise in dishonesty owes much to the charge that those participating in the film were duped. It is an accusation made by both P. Z. Myers and Richard Dawkins. I appear in the film, and I read and signed the same release that Myers and Dawkins did. I knew precisely what the film proposed to do. So did they.
In reality, in case Berlinski still cares about such things, neither Myers nor Dawkins knew the intent of the proposed documentary. Both Myers and Dawkins have provided accounts of the dishonest way they were approached.
Myers and Dawkins now regret their appearance. This is because they seriously overestimated their own ability to think nimbly before a camera. They are as result appalled either by how they look or by what they said. A veritable Internet scourge, Myers sits before the camera in solemn stupefaction. He has nothing to say and says nothing. Dawkins goes much further. Without ever once realizing that he is about to topple into the badlands of absurdity, he allows Ben Stein to force him into the acknowledgment that life as it appears on earth may well have been designed by space aliens.
Being mild-mannered is the same as “solemn stupefaction” to Berlinski. (Perhaps P.Z. disappointed by breathing no fire.) I wonder how Berlinski would characterize his own appearance in Expelled, sitting on the back of his neck with his knees up in the air, nonchalantly declaring that Darwin was a necessary (though not sufficient) condition for the rise of the Nazis and the implementation of their program of mass-murder. Not stupefaction, surely, but stupefying, certainly.

Berlinski also mischaracterizes the response of Dawkins to Stein's badgering him over how intelligent design could be true. Despite having his remarks edited to his maximum disadvantage, Dawkins still manifests his underlying exasperation in conceding to Stein that it is, of course, conceivable that a highly advanced alien race could foster life on a barren planet. (Nothing Dawkins says justifies Berlinski's phrasing: “life as it appears on earth may well have been designed by space aliens.” He spun that version out of whole cloth.) For some unaccountable reason, the editors of Expelled let stand Dawkins's statement that such a science-fiction scenario was scarcely a triumph for ID. It would merely push off the question of origins to a different world—the world where the aliens evolved by natural means. Since there is ample fossil evidence to document humanity's development on this planet, the scenario prompted by Stein is not even a live proposition. Like intelligent design itself, it's a crank hypothesis without substance. Dawkins looked embarrassed while he outlined it in response to Stein's insistence.

Berlinski cranks up the engines of his rhetoric for the home stretch of his essay, confident that he will leave Derbyshire in shreds:
Having found in Expelled an occasion to exercise his organs of indignation, Derbyshire proceeds in his essay to squeeze them until they squeal. The Discovery Institute is a special target. He regards its very existence as an affliction. His indignation has prompted him to impertinence. Knowing nothing of my life, he has nonetheless concluded that I am one of a number of “eccentric non-Christian cranks keen for a well-funded vehicle to help them push their own flat-earth theories.”

Non-Christian? There is no need for euphemism. I am a secular Jew, reason enough apparently for Derbyshire carelessly to suggest that I am in it for the money.

Ah, that old familiar smell—blood, I mean.
Observe Berlinski in full martyr mode. It is a deeply affecting spectacle.
As for my eagerness to affirm that the world is flat, I believe it round, and have said so many times.
Berlinski seems to believe that Derbyshire was being literal in his criticisms, or—could it be?—he is cleverly pretending to take them literally.

Berlinski moves deftly from his pose of martyrdom to his pose of agnosticism on the question of ID itself:
Beyond this settled conviction, I have no theories to offer—not even theories of intelligent design, which I have rejected in the pages of Commentary.
Berlinski, you see, is the bad boy of intelligent design creationism. He merely—almost reluctantly—points out over and over again that “Darwinism” is fatally flawed and doomed to reside on the ash-heap of history. What will replace it? Oh, dear, he really couldn't say. And then the Discovery Institute, having discovered an opportunity to demonstrate its own universal tolerance of divergent points of view, snatches Berlinski up and makes him a Senior Fellow (as in “he's a jolly good”).
All this would be trivial, if tawdry, were it not for the single serious charge that Derbyshire makes: That Intelligent Design is a disguised form of creationism.

In the United States, at least, creationism is a doctrine of Biblical inerrancy. Intelligent Design is otherwise. It is the thesis that living creatures appear designed because they are designed. It is said to be Darwin’s great merit that he successfully dissolved the appearance of design in life. Those who believe that the design of living systems is real believe correspondingly that Darwin’s theory is false, or, at best, incomplete.
Here Berlinski conveniently forgets that Expelled vigorously seeks to link evolution with atheism. That's exactly why the producers insisted on nonbelieving scientists to represent the scientific side of the evolution mini-controversy. While many ID exponents are careful to declare with some frequency that the identity of the intelligent designer is not addressed in ID, others (like Dembski) are quick to acknowledge it's the G-o-d of Genesis. That's creationism, folks, and it pervades the ID movement.
Like so many men who have reached late middle age, John Derbyshire suffers the impression that the “the barbarians are at the gate.” Women no longer topple blood-ripe into his lap. A “gaggle of fools and fraudsters” is everywhere disturbing his tranquility. Things that he treasures are under ceaseless attack.
Berlinski unkindly forgets to mention he is three years older than Derbyshire.
And where awe is merited, none is forthcoming. “And now here is Ben Stein,” Derbyshire objects, “sneering and scoffing at Darwin.”

Stein is, in fact, doing no such thing, and I have seen the documentary in which he appears. He is asking that certain possibilities in thought not be struck from the table prematurely. In so doing, he is offering Darwin the homage that a serious thinker deserves. It is the only homage to which he is entitled.

As for the rest of John Derbyshire’s agitated geschrei, what can one say? A talented writer is entitled to make a fool of himself at least once.

Why not Derbyshire?
And that is why you have to love David Berlinski! Who else could so casually write that a “talented writer is entitled to make a fool of himself at least once”? I suspect he thinks this does not apply to him. Could it be because of the adjective in front of “writer”?

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Expulsion revulsion

Ben Stein ist nicht Einstein

Oy veh. I have been to see Expelled. Verily, I say unto you: intelligence was not allowed. This movie may be effective with certain audiences, but it relies heavily on the ignorance of its viewers. As the Expelled Exposed website amply documents, the movie's cavalcade of martyrs is actually a parade of pretenders. As a work of cinematic art, Expelled is a pretense impasto.

The movie gets off to a quick start in its framing of the alleged controversy, showing black-and-white clips of the erection of the Berlin Wall. This is Expelled's particular leitmotif, the intercutting of portentous commentary by Ben Stein with historical clips of communists, Nazis, and (of all things!) school training videos (“Now, children, do we know when to be quiet?”). The much-sinned-against martyrs tell their poignant tales of woe and repression, Ben Stein exudes astonishment and empathy, and then Joe Stalin, Nikita Khruschev, or Adolf Hitler take their little turn on the catwalk. It happens over and over again.

But let's be fair. If it wasn't mind-numbingly repetitive, how would we know it's a propaganda video?

Almost the first words out of Ben Stein's mouth are a falsehood. His opening scene occurs in a lecture hall at Pepperdine University. He greets his attentive audience, calling them “students.” As Michael Shermer informs us, hardly any of them are. They're extras, hired by the production company to fill the hall and react appropriately on cue. The script must have said that Stein's address was brilliantly successful, because the “students” applaud like loons at its conclusion.

Each supposed martyr at the hands of Darwin's Gestapo is introduced with a document flashed on the screen. Certain words are highlighted in yellow as they occur in Stein's voice-over, while others are selectively blacked out. What are these documents and why are they censored? In keeping with the general tenor of the movie, I suspect they are just props, cooked up by Expelled's producers to make it appear that they are exposing the secretive machinations of the Darwinian elite. It's just cardboard stage scenery. Actually, less than cardboard.

You have to listen attentively to catch some of the more interesting details in the testimony of those who claim to have been victimized by the Darwinian establishment. One peculiar inadvertent admission came from Robert Marks, a Baylor University professor whose ID-friendly website was suspended from the school's servers. The university was concerned that hosting the site would imply to others that the views expressed by Professor Marks were endorsed by the institution. Marks called his site the “Evolutionary Informatics Laboratory,” although there was actually no lab and no publishable work was produced. In talking with Stein about his ordeal, Marks said that it was important to promote oneself in the quest to obtain research grants, which was one of the reasons he did things like “put up labs.” I'm not a research scientist, but I'm fairly certain that putting up a website with a laboratory title is not the same thing as doing any actual science. If it is, then this is a remarkably efficient way of creating labs ex nihilo.

The voices in favor of evolution are carefully selected by the producers of Expelled. When Eugenie Scott of the National Center for Science Education is permitted to point out that most Catholics and mainstream Protestants have no problem accepting evolution, we quickly discover it's only so that Stein can curl his lip and intone, “Oh, really?” He then trots out a string of nonbelievers like Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, and P.Z. Myers to imply that evolution is really just another word for atheism. Declining to be as deferential toward religion as Eugenie Scott, Dawkins explains that learning science was his route to freedom from superstition. Stein is horrified, of course, that Dawkins dismisses religion so callously. (Time for more atheistic monsters of history to be paraded across the screen in black and white.)

From the celebratory comments on blogs and other sites friendly to intelligent design creationism, one might think that Stein baits Dawkins into self-revelatory comments that leave him looking a fool. To the contrary, Dawkins acquits himself rather well. He tends to speak in complete, well-modulated sentences that are difficult to edit into sound-bites more appropriate for a baby-munching antichrist. Stein tries to recoil in consternation at frank admissions of nonbelief, but Stein is not a very persuasive actor. (He runs the gamut, as Dorothy Parker once said of Hepburn, from A to B.) Dawkins seems quite bemused when Stein insists on quizzing him concerning his disbelief in the gods of other religions (not just the God of the Bible), as if a declaration of atheism requires an individual abjuration of each and every deity. (Let us give thanks that Stein did not know the nine billion names of god.)

Stein finds a boon companion in David Berlinski, whom he tracks down in Paris. Berlinski lounges languidly in a low-slung chair in his apartment while Stein bandies words with him. From most camera angles we see Berlinski peering over one of his knees as he pontificates. He's too cool to sit up straight. Sometimes you can glimpse what is probably his Princeton diploma (Ph.D. in philosophy) hanging on the wall over his head. Berlinski explains to Stein that Dawkins is philosophically incompetent, lacking the basic knowledge necessary to address even the most elementary of the questions he raises in The God Delusion. (Contrariwise, it's all right for philosopher Berlinski to offer sententious pronouncements on biology.) When Stein damns Dawkins with faint praise by saying that Berlinski has to admit Dawkins is quite smart, Berlinski grudgingly agrees: “Oh, yes. But he is a bit of a reptile.”

Coming from Berlinski, this charge struck me as particularly amusing. If the lounging lizard had deigned to dart his tongue from between his lips a few times, the image would have been complete.

With suitable hand-wringing, Berlinski notes that it's difficult to connect Darwin with Hitler because of the decades separating them (and, he admits, in a chuckle-inducing comment, “one was English and the other was German”). Nevertheless, he'll give it a try. He opines that Darwinism was not a sufficient condition to give rise to the Nazis; it was, however, a necessary condition. No Darwin, no Hitler. If you read Mein Kampf, claims Berlinski—especially, he adds superciliously, if you can read it in the original German—you'll discover that it's pure Darwinism. More black-and-white video. Then, in case he hasn't rubbed our noses in it enough, Stein tours a site of Nazi atrocities and bemoans man's inhumanity to man. I don't doubt Stein's visceral horror at the treatment of his people, but I have great contempt for his manipulative exploitation of it.

A lot of screen time was also given to William Dembski, who waxed indignant at the blindness of those who would deny a fair hearing to intelligent design. For some reason, however, he failed to seize the opportunity to describe his body of work in establishing the theoretical underpinnings of ID. Perhaps it was modesty. Perhaps he did describe his role as “the Isaac Newton of information theory,” but the producers wisely left it on the cutting-room floor during editing. I suspect it's more likely that Dembski has learned to shy away from opening himself to further questions on when he would finally deliver the long-promised rigorous formalization of his explanatory filter for the detection of design. Since the book he published last year failed to do it, this particular task remains to be accomplished.

Any day now.

Near the end of the movie, Stein tells his Pepperdine audience that “There are people out there who want to keep science in a little box, where it can't possibly touch a higher power, cannot possibly touch God.” Perhaps Stein has it backward. It is God that is in a little box, and the box gets smaller all the time. His god-of-the-gaps used to be required to push the planets about in their orbits, to make the rain fall, and the sun shine, but that was all once upon a time. Science has deprived this god of most of his once-vital functions. Science cannot possibly touch God? Sorry, Ben. There's been a lot of touching going on. God has the bruises and the gap-toothed smile to show for it, too.

I attended an afternoon showing of Expelled at a local multiplex. At first I was the only person in the theater, but people trickled in and there were eventually two or three dozen of us in the house. If the producers of Expelled were hoping for a boffo opening day box office, we certainly did not do our part. Besides, the ticket stub in my pocket was for Kevin Spacey's 21, the movie that was playing in the adjacent theater.

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Ma vie en prose

Many, and over-ripe!

If this young man expresses himself
in terms too deep for me,
Why, what a very singularly deep young man
this deep young man must be!
Life has been kind to faux mathematician David Berlinski. Reviewers praised the turgid but high-flown prose of A Tour of the Calculus to the skies, fooled by the author's ruffles and flourishes into thinking they were learning something about mathematics. I'm jealous, of course. Perhaps I should learn a lesson from him and tart up my writing.

But no. I have too much self-respect.

On the other hand, no one else seems to have as much respect for David Berlinski as David Berlinski himself. I inadvertently discovered more evidence of this while innocently browsing the offerings of a local bookstore. There on the table was a paperback edition of Infinite Ascent, Berlinski's venture into the world of math history. Struggling through Tour was all the exposure I felt I needed to his ham-handed treatment of mathematical topics, but I didn't resist the impulse to pick up the book and page through it. On page 106, I encountered a gemlike example of Berlinski's lapidary skill (note particularly the sentence which I render in bold):
Like a Parisian jeweler setting out the rarest of stones, he published only those of his papers that he believed had reached a state of formal perfection and lucidity.

It is a policy that I myself follow.
Berlinski is talking about Gauss (and himself!) here. Carl Friedrich Gauss is a towering figure in mathematics—the Prince of Mathematicians—who took seriously his motto of “Few, but ripe” in his approach to publishing his discoveries.

Berlinski fancies himself cut from the same cloth. He hasn't even the mild grace to say “It is a policy that I myself strive to follow.” Oh, no! Gauss's policy is his own. (Please to overlook the fact that he precedes this claim with a sentence that eloquently testifies to the contrary.)

I laughed aloud in the midst of the bookstore, fished a scrap of paper out of my pocket, and jotted down Berlinski's deadly example of deathless prose for the uncharitable purpose of making fun of it. And now I have done so.

But let us not stop there. Perhaps the passage in Infinite Descent is a fluke, an exception to the author's Gaussian standard. Let's peek into A Tour of the Calculus, shall we?

My copy has 314 pages. The random number generator on my HP calculator suggests I look at page 280. Can I find a silly sentence on this randomly selected page? How about this one?
This simple and dramatic appeal to the area underneath a curve succeeds not only in creating a new function—that was guaranteed by the very definition of the indefinite integral—but in creating a new function with precisely the properties required by the natural logarithm, so that the appeal to the function 1/t and the indefinite integral suggests more than anything else an actor slapping on grease paint in what seems a slap-dash way only to emerge moments later as precisely the character in a Shakespearean play whose vivid features figure in the program notes.
Bravo! Author! Author! Gauss has met his match! [Snicker]

I swear I am not cherry-picking. I really let my calculator select that page. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. My calculator chooses page 227. What ripeness do we find thereon? This ripeness:
“Antidifferentiation is an operation that involves a reversal of form,” I say, “and if a pictorial image is wanted it should be drawn from the world of fencing, as when the fencing master thrusts—differentiation—and with an enigmatic smile playing on his features after his opponent murmurs touché, backs up and retracts his elegant foil—antidifferentiation.”
That's quite a heaping helping of pellucid prose, ain't it? This is what prompted the San Francisco Chronicle to claim that Berlinski's “writing is so clean and powerful.” Touché! (Perhaps in la tête.)

Words fail me, although not in quite the way that they fail Berlinski. People fall all over themselves to declare him an expository genius. We can expect similar paroxysms of delight over his latest book, an attack on nonbelievers: The Devil's Delusion: Atheism and its Scientific Pretensions. I do not have this new volume (which carries the delightful publication date of April Fool's Day), but it's further evidence of Berlinski's utter inability to catch himself at self-parody. He has been most notable in recent years for his scientific pretensions as a senior fellow of the Discovery Institute's Center for Science and Culture. Despite being a self-professed agnostic, Berlinski specializes in giving aid and comfort to the Discovery Institute's theistic creationists, lending his supposed scientific credentials (degrees in math and philosophy) to their cause. Hence the new book. No doubt The Devil's Delusion is one of his greatest works.

And I mean that entirely sincerely.

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