From Scientific American:

A neurologist explains why you shouldn’t believe in political candidates that sound too sure of themselves.

LEHRER: What first got you interested in studying the mental state of certainty?

BURTON: A personal confession: I have always been puzzled by those who seem utterly confident in their knowledge. Perhaps this is a constitutional defect on my part, but I seldom have the sense of knowing unequivocally that I am right. Consequently I have looked upon those who ooze self-confidence and certainty with a combination of envy and suspicion. At a professional level, I have long wondered why so many physicians will recommend unproven, even risky therapies simply because they “know” that these treatments work. It is easy to be cynical and suspect the worst of motives, from greed to ignorance, but I have known many first-rate, highly concerned and seemingly well motivated physicians who, nevertheless, operate based upon gut feelings and personal beliefs even in the face of contrary scientific evidence. After years of rumination, it gradually dawned on me that there may be an underlying biological component to such behavior.

LEHRER: In your book, you compare the “feeling of certainty” that accompanies things such as religious fundamentalism to the feeling that occurs when we have a word on the-tip-of-our-tongue. Could you explain?

BURTON: There are two separate aspects of a thought, namely the actual thought, and an independent involuntary assessment of the accuracy of that thought.

To get a feeling for this separation, look at the Muller-Lyer optical illusion.

    

Even when we consciously know and can accurately determine that these two horizontal lines are the same length, we experience the simultaneous disquieting sensation that this thought—the lines are of equal length—is not correct. This isn’t a feeling that we can easily overcome through logic and reason; it simply happens to us.

This sensation is a manifestation of a separate category of mental activity—-unconscious calculations as to the accuracy of any given thought. On the positive side, such feelings can vary from a modest sense of being right, such as understanding that Christmas falls on December 25, to a profound a-ha, “Eureka” or sense of a spiritual epiphany. William James referred to the latter—the mystical experience—as “felt knowledge,” a mental sensation that isn’t a thought, but feels like a thought.

Once we realize that the brain has very powerful inbuilt involuntary mechanisms for assessing unconscious cognitive activity, it is easy to see how it can send into consciousness a message that we know something that we can’t presently recall—the modest tip-of-the-tongue feeling. At the other end of the spectrum would be the profound “feeling of knowing” that accompanies unconsciously held beliefs—a major component of the unshakeable attachment to fundamentalist beliefs—both religious and otherwise—such as belief in UFOs or false memories.

More here.

John Lanchester on the crash in the LRB:

Byron wrote that ‘I think it great affectation not to quote oneself.’ On that basis, I’d like to quote what I wrote in a piece about the City of London, in the aftermath of the Northern Rock fiasco: ‘If our laws are not extended to control the new kinds of super-powerful, super-complex and potentially super-risky investment vehicles, they will one day cause a financial disaster of global-systemic proportions.’

The prediction was right, but the tense was wrong. The disaster had already happened, it just hadn’t yet played itself out in the markets. It is doing so now, though. The recipe is starting to become well known, but perhaps it’s worth spelling it out one more time. Financial institutions in the US lent money to people with poor credit histories. This wasn’t a bad thing in itself, indeed it could be seen as an example of capitalism at its most beneficently creative – indigent housebuyers needing loans, financial institutions wanting high-interest-paying borrowers, and presto! a new class of homeowners coming into being. Unfortunately, a lot of the lending was reckless, verging on criminal; for a glimpse at how chaotic and wild-westish the process became, take a look at a book by a former Texas mortgage broker, Richard Bitner, called Confessions of a Sub-Prime Lender.

The invention which made it possible for the lending to become so reckless was securitisation: the process by which loans were added together and sold on to other institutions as packages of debt. This had the effect of making the initial lender indifferent to whether or not the loan could be repaid – he’d already sold the debt to someone else, so he didn’t need to care. These packages of debt were then sold on and resold in the form of horrendously complex and sophisticated financial instruments, and it is these which are the basis of the global jamming-up of capital markets. The interlinked and overlapping loans are so complicated that no one knows who owns what underlying debt, and furthermore, no one knows what these assets are worth.

The word blog is a conflation of two words: Web and log. It contains in its four letters a concise and accurate self-description: it is a log of thoughts and writing posted publicly on the World Wide Web. In the monosyllabic vernacular of the Internet, Web log soon became the word blog.

This form of instant and global self-publishing, made possible by technology widely available only for the past decade or so, allows for no retroactive editing (apart from fixing minor typos or small glitches) and removes from the act of writing any considered or lengthy review. It is the spontaneous expression of instant thought—impermanent beyond even the ephemera of daily journalism. It is accountable in immediate and unavoidable ways to readers and other bloggers, and linked via hypertext to continuously multiplying references and sources. Unlike any single piece of print journalism, its borders are extremely porous and its truth inherently transitory. The consequences of this for the act of writing are still sinking in.

more from The Atlantic Monthly here.

But the lists also suggest that texting has accelerated a tendency toward the Englishing of world languages. Under the constraints of the numeric-keypad technology, English has some advantages. The average English word has only five letters; the average Inuit word, for example, has fourteen. English has relatively few characters; Ethiopian has three hundred and forty-five symbols, which do not fit on most keypads. English rarely uses diacritical marks, and it is not heavily inflected. Languages with diacritical marks, such as Czech, almost always drop them in text messages. Portuguese texters often substitute “m” for the tilde. Some Chinese texters use Pinyin—that is, the practice of writing Chinese words using the Roman alphabet.

But English is also the language of much of the world’s popular culture. Sometimes it is more convenient to use the English term, but often it is the aesthetically preferred term—the cooler expression. Texters in all eleven languages that Crystal lists use “lol,” “u,” “brb,” and “gr8,” all English-based shorthands. The Dutch use “2m” to mean “tomorrow”; the French have been known to use “now,” which is a lot easier to type than “maintenant.” And there is what is known as “code-mixing,” in which two languages—one of them invariably English—are conflated in a single expression. Germans write “mbsseg” to mean “mail back so schnell es geht” (“as fast as you can”). So texting has probably done some damage to the planet’s cultural ecology, to lingo-diversity. People are better able to communicate across national borders, but at some cost to variation.

more from The New Yorker here.

John Martin portrayed the collapse of civilizations, or the onslaught of the Deluge, as vast panoramas with a slightly hysterical veracity bordering on kitsch. In his early nineteenth-century renditions of the dramatic past, cowering crowds quake with terror before tidal waves or massacring invaders, all lit by lurid lightning or dazzling sunbeams slicing through clouds. Thanks to their extensive reproduction as mezzotints, his images achieved great popularity. He was the perfect artist to illustrate the age of monsters.

Geology came of age in Europe in the 1800s. For several decades it enjoyed the kind of glamour status that nuclear physics occupies today. And small wonder, because the concept of geological time revolutionized the narrative of our planet, posed questions that challenged religious orthodoxy, and – not least – introduced a cast of “prehistoric monsters” to an avid public. The thrill that children still feel when they encounter Tyrannosaurus or Brachiosaurus proves that the showbusiness possibilities of the distant past survive undimmed.

more from the TLS here.

Glenn Loury reflects on the issue in the Boston Review (h/t: Pablo Policzer):

[A]s an American intellectual of African descent, making my living as a teacher and writer during a period of great transformation in our society, I have often experienced this dissonance between my self-concept and the socially imputed definition of who I am supposed to be. Many of us, I dare say most, in one way or another have to confront a similar dilemma. I have had to face the problem of balancing my desire not to disappoint the expectations of others with a conviction that one must strive to live authentically.

This does not make me a heroic figure; I eschew the libertarian ideologue’s rhetoric about some glorious individual who, though put-upon by society, blazes his path all alone. I acknowledge that the opposition I am presenting between individual and society is ambiguous: the self is inevitably shaped by the objective world and by other selves. I know that what one is being faithful to when resisting the temptation to conform to others’ expectations by “living authentically” is necessarily a socially determined, even if subjectively experienced, version of the self.

Patricia Fara reviews the book by Richard Holmes, in the Literary Review:

Whatever C P Snow may have decreed about an unbridgeable divide between the Two Cultures, Romantic writers were fully aware of recent scientific discoveries. As a twenty-year-old medical student, John Keats spent a drink-fuelled night enthusing over a newly purchased verse translation of Homer’s Iliad. Early the next morning, he took less than four hours to set down his own famous poem, in which he compared his feelings with those of ‘some watcher of the skies/When a new planet swims into his ken’. Keats was referring to William Herschel, the astronomer who had effectively enlarged the solar system at the end of the eighteenth century by detecting a sixth planet, now known as Uranus, but initially named after George III. At school, Keats and his class mates had learnt about gravity through role play out in the yard: while one pupil remained stationary to act as the sun, the other child-planets circled round at different speeds and distances to form a living orrery, the human equivalent of the moving mechanical model so dramatically painted by the Enlightenment’s great artist of science and industry, Joseph Wright of Derby.

Wright’s famous picture of this astronomical instrument adorns the cover of Richard Holmes’s stellar collective biography, The Age of Wonder. Justly renowned as Britain’s greatest literary historian of the Romantic period, Holmes, in his latest book, gives a gripping account of the scientific research that inspired a sense of wonder in poets and experimenters alike. He calls for, and also delivers, a new approach to science’s history, one that focuses on scientists as individuals rather than as impersonal agents of discovery, and that rejects rigid distinctions between science and the arts, or between science and religion.

More here.

Part 2:

From The New York Times:

Sound Off | John M. Broder

The images and body language of Senator Barack Obama and Senator John McCain spoke volumes tonight, even with the television muted. I watched a good portion of the debate with the sound off because I was writing on deadline. C-Span showed the entire debate in split screen and whenever I looked up I saw Mr. McCain looking across at Mr. Obama with a strained look of incredulity, or the pained smile of an indulgent teacher listening to a recitation from a particularly dim-witted student.

There were obvious flashes of anger and aggression, when it looked as if Mr. McCain might actually cross the vertical split-screen line separating the combatants and wring Mr. Obama’s neck. (I may have been watching too much “Saturday Night Live.”) Toward the end of the debate, I saw Mr. McCain use the universal “air quotes” gesture, a clear sign he was mocking something Mr. Obama had said. It almost didn’t matter what. Mr. Obama, for his part, either listened stolidly, scribbled notes or smiled at his opponent with that Ronald Reagan “There you go again” smile.

For much of the time Mr. McCain was on the attack, Mr. Obama just sat there absorbing the blows as if wearing body armor. Which, in a sense, he was, in the form of a double-digit lead in national polls.

More here.

From MSNBC:

Remember the good old days, way back in 2000, when NBC’s Tim Russert showed how important “Florida! Florida! Florida!” was by scribbling on a whiteboard with a marker pen? That whiteboard is now sitting in a museum – the Smithsonian, in fact – and computer wizards are serving up a whole new set of tools for visualizing politics. Visualizations can cut through the myriad opinion polls to show you where Republican presidential candidate John McCain and Democratic rival Barack Obama stand int the only polls that matters – and which states could be as important this year as Florida was in 2000.

For online users who aren’t content with one source for their political prognostication, “The Takeaway” radio show offers an electoral-vote tracker that combines predictions from 15 media organizations, ranging from Fox News to the FiveThirtyEight blog. The squares for each state are proportional to the vote count, and the placement of states in the toss-up section could lead you to conclude this is the year of “Virginia! Colorado! Florida!”

More here.

The debate is heating up on the role of CRA (and its, ahem, “neo-Marxist” supporters like ACORN) vs. the role of Phil Gramm’s Commodities Future Modernization Act, which helped grow the market in credit default swap from $900 billion in 2000 to $62 trillion market today.  (The chat over at Business Week is interesting, as is this exchange between Matt Taibbi of Rolling Stone and Byron York of National Review in NY Magazine.) [H/t: Mark Blyth and James Leighton, respectively.]  Ellen Seidman over at The New America Foundation:

The sub-prime debacle has many causes, including greed, lack of and ineffective regulation, failures of risk assessment and management, and misplaced optimism. But CRA is not to blame.

First, the timing is all wrong. CRA was enacted in 1977, its companion disclosure statute, the Home Mortgage Disclosure Act (HMDA) in 1975. While many of us warned against bad subprime lending before the turn of the millennium, the massive breakdown of underwriting and extension of risky products far down the income scale-without bothering to even check on income-was primarily a post-2003 phenomenon. To blame a statute enacted in 1977 for something that happened 25 years later takes a fair amount of chutzpah.

It’s even more outrageous because of the good CRA clearly did in between. The 1990s were the heyday of CRA enforcement-for a variety of reasons including the raft of mergers and acquisitions that followed the 1994 Riegle-Neal Interstate Banking and Branching Act, increased scrutiny of lending practices by the media and activism by housing advocacy groups and tougher enforcement by the Clinton Administration.That period saw increased home mortgage lending to lower income households and in lower income communities by the banks and thrifts covered by CRA, and a steady increase in the homeownership rate, especially for lower income and minority families. (See The Joint Center for Housing Studies). In addition, there was significant investment in affordable rental housing, community facilities and broader community economic development, directly by banks and thrifts earning investment credit under CRA or indirectly through bank investment in Community Development Financial Institutions and other community-based organizations.

Christopher Buckley in The Daily Beast:

I had gone out of my way in my Beast endorsement to say that I was not doing it in the pages of National Review, where I write the back-page column, because of the experience of my colleague, the lovely Kathleen Parker. Kathleen had written in NRO that she felt Sarah Palin was an embarrassment. (Hardly an alarmist view.) This brought 12,000 livid emails, among them a real charmer suggesting that Kathleen’s mother ought to have aborted her and tossed the fetus into a dumpster. I didn’t want to put NR in an awkward position.

Since my Obama endorsement, Kathleen and I have become BFFs and now trade incoming hate-mails. No one has yet suggested my dear old Mum should have aborted me, but it’s pretty darned angry out there in Right Wing Land. One editor at National Review—a friend of 30 years—emailed me that he thought my opinions “cretinous.” One thoughtful correspondent, who feels that I have “betrayed”—the b-word has been much used in all this—my father and the conservative movement generally, said he plans to devote the rest of his life to getting people to cancel their subscriptions to National Review. But there was one bright spot: To those who wrote me to demand, “Cancel my subscription,” I was able to quote the title of my father’s last book, a delicious compendium of his NR “Notes and Asides”: Cancel Your Own Goddam Subscription.

Within hours of my endorsement appearing in The Daily Beast it became clear that National Review had a serious problem on its hands. So the next morning, I thought the only decent thing to do would be to offer to resign my column there. This offer was accepted—rather briskly!—by Rich Lowry, NR’s editor, and its publisher, the superb and able and fine Jack Fowler. I retain the fondest feelings for the magazine that my father founded, but I will admit to a certain sadness that an act of publishing a reasoned argument for the opposition should result in acrimony and disavowal.

I’ve wondered about for a while whether the mathematical techniques for assessing risk alter the structure of risk and risk taking behavior itself, i.e, whether the act of measurement itself is not exogenous to what is being measured.  Taleb suggests that this may be the case in this wider discussion of the origins of the suprime crisis with Bloomberg.

Elizabeth Kolbert in The New Yorker:

“Etiquette,” revised and edited by her great-granddaughter-in-law, a former flight attendant, is now in its seventeenth edition. (Thumb tabs have been added for ease of reference.) Various Post relations write deportment columns for, among other publications, Good Housekeeping, Parents, and the Boston Globe. On its Web site, the Emily Post Institute provides guidance on subjects ranging from holiday tipping (for a pet groomer, one session’s fee is appropriate) to exercising at the gym (“Wipe up your sweat, please!”). There is even a feature called “What Would Emily Do?,” which each week takes up a new, post-Post question, such as whether it’s permissible to text-message from a luncheon party and “How do you tell a co-worker that she has an odor?”

“Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of American Manners” (Random House; $30), by Laura Claridge, is the first full-length biography of the author to appear. (Post’s son, Ned, published an affectionate, ghostwritten memoir, “Truly Emily Post,” back in 1961.) Claridge, a former English professor at the U.S. Naval Academy, has written previous biographies of Norman Rockwell and the Art Deco painter Tamara de Lempicka. In turning her attention to Post, she takes up two mysteries. One has to do with etiquette: why, in a supposedly classless society like America, do so many people fret about table manners? And the other has to do with “Etiquette”: how did Post convert social disgrace into such a triumph?

More here.

The son of William F. Buckley has decided—shock!—to vote for a Democrat. Having a first-class temperament and a first-class intellect, President Obama will (I pray, secularly) surely understand that traditional left-politics aren’t going to get us out of this pit we’ve dug for ourselves. If he raises taxes and throws up tariff walls and opens the coffers of the DNC to bribe-money from the special interest groups against whom he has (somewhat disingenuously) railed during the campaign trail, then he will almost certainly reap a whirlwind that will make Katrina look like a balmy summer zephyr.

Obama has in him—I think, despite his sometimes airy-fairy “We are the people we have been waiting for” silly rhetoric—the potential to be a good, perhaps even great leader. He is, it seems clear enough, what the historical moment seems to be calling for.

So, I wish him all the best. We are all in this together. Necessity is the mother of bipartisanship. And so, for the first time in my life, I’ll be pulling the Democratic lever in November. As the saying goes, God save the United States of America.

more from The Daily Beast here (h/t Andrew Sullivan).

It’s certainly not morning in America.

Yet it doesn’t have to be twilight either. America can pull through the current economic crisis with a dose of political maturity and a bit of luck. Success will mean the end of the Reagan era, of an ideology that has brought the country to its knees.

Ronald Reagan told us that government was the problem, and that low taxes and deregulation were the solutions. The result, even more than Americans recognize, is a government so shrunken in skill and mandate that our gravest problems – financial collapse, natural hazards like Hurricane Katrina, broken health care and education, unsustainable energy systems, and growing global instability – are left without a serious response.

Either we once again invest in our future, notably through an expanded public sector, or we will lose our future.

I presume that John McCain and Sarah Palin will lose the election. Never has a national ticket been less equipped intellectually, temperamentally, and practically to confront America’s problems than this one. I also presume that Palin’s winks to America will prove to be the equivalent of the Cheshire Cat’s grin: the last expressions of an ideology disappearing from the scene.

more from Fortune here.

Perhaps the most amazing of the many remarkable aspects of Louise Bourgeois is that if she had died in her middle seventies we would not have known how daring, strange, ambitious, or disturbing an artist she could be. We would not have known how lively a colorist this ninety-six-year-old sculptor is capable of being; and we would have been deprived of the full measure of one of the loveliest aspects of her art, her feeling for a range of weathered, frayed, and matte textures. Bourgeois of course is not especially renowned for the sensuous qualities of her work, let alone qualities connected with the word “lovely.” The artist, who was born in France in 1911 and has lived in New York since 1938 (when she arrived here to be the wife of the American art historian Robert Goldwater, whom she had met in Paris), has long been recognized for her adventurousness with diverse sculptural materials. She is probably best known, though, for the way her pieces, which for most of her career have blended abstract and representational elements, exude a note of something ambiguous and hidden—and frequently sexual and sinister.

more from the NYRB here.

As he said about the Maker of All Things in the song he called “God,” which was really about himself, John Lennon is a concept by which we measure our pain. Lennon made a great many things both miraculous and ungodly during his foreshortened and intensely public life, and much of what he did brought us grief, in the multiple meanings of the word, or granted us the effect of grief’s denial: ecstasy. Lennon and the three mates for whom he served as semi- official leader came to America just in time to provide gleeful relief from our famous post-Kennedy malaise. He proceeded to outrage conservative Christians who were protective of the bigness of Jesus; he vexed aesthetic fundamentalists who were reluctant to accept rock and roll as art; he infuriated rock traditionalists who were even more reluctant to accept the conceptual avant- garde; he irritated Paul fans; he conferred upon us the irrepressibly unpleasant Yoko and released “Whatever Gets You Through the Night”; and then he abandoned us, withdrawing from public life for nearly five years. Finally, through his death at the hands of a crazed fan in 1980, he made us face the darkest potential of the mixed-up, out-of-control feelings of love and fury that he had stirred and refracted with a smirk.

more from TNR here.