There's knowing something and there's believing in something.

Fascinating. When engineering, science, and experience intersect with reality.


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Grow the economy - drink a beer with a colleague.

From Bar Talk: Informal Social Interactions, Alcohol Prohibition, and Invention by Michael Andrews. From the Abstract.

To understand the importance of informal social interactions for invention, I examine a massive and involuntary disruption of informal social networks from U.S. history: alcohol prohibition. The enactment of state-level prohibition laws differentially treated counties depending on whether those counties were wet or dry prior to prohibition. After the imposition of state-level prohibition, previously wet counties had 8-18% fewer patents per year relative to consistently dry counties. The effect was largest in the first three years after the imposition of prohibition and rebounds thereafter. The effect was smaller for groups that were less likely to frequent saloons, namely women and particular ethnic groups. Next, I use the imposition of prohibition to show that the social network exhibited path dependence in the sense that as individuals rebuilt their networks following prohibition, they connected with new individuals and patented in new technology classes. Thus, while prohibition had only a temporary effect on the rate of invention, it had a lasting effect on the direction of inventive activity. Additionally, I exploit the imposition of prohibition to show that networks increase invention by exposing individuals to others’ ideas in addition to simply facilitating collaboration and that informal and formal interactions are complements in the invention production function.

It is certainly a conceivable hypothesis that more forums for social exchange of knowledge and best cultural practice might increase innovation and productivity, both locally and nationally. I have always been struck by the correlation between the proliferation of taverns and coffee shops and the emergence of the Industrial Revolution in England in general and London in particular. At this remove, it is hard to prove causal flow but there seems merit in the argument that increased convivial exchange of knowledge and information might lead to improved rates of innovation and economic growth.

Rather than trying to prove the earlier, coffee house, hypothesis, Andrews is using a much more recent and better documented natural experiment - prohibition.

Andrews' new evidence does not move the conceivable process to the proven hypothesis column. But it certainly moves it to plausible, if not even probable.

A Narrow Fellow in the Grass by Emily Dickinson

A Narrow Fellow in the Grass
by Emily Dickinson

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides -
You may have met him? Did you not
His notice instant is -

The Grass divides as with a Comb,
A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
And opens further on -

He likes a Boggy Acre -
A Floor too cool for Corn -
But when a Boy and Barefoot
I more than once at Noon

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled And was gone -

Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow
Attended or alone
Without a tighter Breathing
And Zero at the Bone.

Off Beat Humor

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Flowers on the Windowsill, 1894 by Carl Larsson

Flowers on the Windowsill, 1894 by Carl Larsson

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Best of the Bee

American Heart Association Sued For Discrimination Against Trans Fatshttps://t.co/HIx4oipbJC

— The Babylon Bee (@TheBabylonBee) October 12, 2019

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Gunga Din
by Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,
He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
‘You put some juldee in it
‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was 'Din! Din! Din!
‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

When the children were young we read them a lot of poetry. Just as we were read when we were young. And of course they picked up much of it and it became woven into family conversation just as are quotes from movies and songs.

My wife, though, had been taught in her South Carolina youth, and for some unknown reason, a particular version. Instead of

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?

She learned

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘Where the bloody hell you been?

So that was the version our kids learned.

One day in middle school or junior high, somehow Gunga Din came up in my oldest son's class and he recited the passage including

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘Where the bloody hell you been?

His English teacher was an end-of-career, jaded-to-the-point-of-bitter, crone who greatly under-appreciated my son's energy, wit and repartee.

She dressed him down for misrepresenting the poem.

This wasn't the first run in by any means. Earlier in the year, she had been reading a book Remember the Year by Mary Kinard and Frances Jackson. My son noticed and casually mentioned that it was written by his grandmother. The teacher thought he was yanking her chain and read him the riot act with a bit of an homily on truth telling.

Son came home mildly peeved and wife ended up having to call the teacher to confirm that Mary Kinard was indeed my son's grandmother. So the teacher/son relationship was already rocky.

Then there was the Gunga Din incident. Again, wife had to call teacher, this time to do a mea culpa. Son was not being edgy or sassy. He was just repeating the version of the poem he had learned. Which was the version his mother had learned. In the educational hot house of South Carolina and/or quirky anglophilia of the Old South family.

Alexander Vindman received a Purple Heart after being wounded by an IED, or improvised explosive device, not an IUD

Media corrections you think must really be fake but really want to have been true.

A+ correction pic.twitter.com/LveoknpEkG

— Jake Maccoby (@jdmaccoby) November 22, 2019

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Oh Good Lord. It is real. From Alexander Vindman and a Brief History of the GOP Smearing Veterans As of Friday November 22, 2019, the wording is as represented in the tweet.

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The principal reason for secession in 1861 was because they had lost control of the United States government for the first time ever

You can find the most interesting things in the strangest places. From An interview with historian James McPherson on the New York Times’ 1619 Project by Tom Mackaman on the World Socialist Web Site. The provenance of the publication raises all sorts of alarm bells but the substance of the article is good and interesting.

Mackaman starts out critiquing the New York Times' racist screed, The 1619 Project.

Q. What was your initial reaction to the 1619 Project?

A. Well, I didn’t know anything about it until I got my Sunday paper, with the magazine section entirely devoted to the 1619 Project. Because this is a subject I’ve long been interested in I sat down and started to read some of the essays. I’d say that, almost from the outset, I was disturbed by what seemed like a very unbalanced, one-sided account, which lacked context and perspective on the complexity of slavery, which was clearly, obviously, not an exclusively American institution, but existed throughout history. And slavery in the United States was only a small part of a larger world process that unfolded over many centuries. And in the United States, too, there was not only slavery but also an antislavery movement. So I thought the account, which emphasized American racism—which is obviously a major part of the history, no question about it—but it focused so narrowly on that part of the story that it left most of the history out.

So I read a few of the essays and skimmed the rest, but didn’t pursue much more about it because it seemed to me that I wasn’t learning very much new. And I was a little bit unhappy with the idea that people who did not have a good knowledge of the subject would be influenced by this and would then have a biased or narrow view.

The New York Times publishing false or skewed information is nothing new and Mackaman soon moves beyond 1619.

The breadth and depth of McPherson's knowledge is impressive. All of it is interesting. Here is one detail. I have been fascinated by the four models of slavery abolition. Earliest was the British model where Parliament elected to compensate slave owners by purchasing their slaves, the cost going onto the newly established national debt. The Fench did it by fiat after their Revolution and then later reinstated slavery. The Haitians abolished slavery by overthrow followed by genocide. The US did it through Civil War.

Q. Yet another argument that’s made is that the Civil War, and emancipation in the United States, came late, compared to Great Britain which did in 1833, and it’s argued, “Look, the British did it voluntarily without a great civil war.”

A. Well antislavery in Great Britain emerged in the late 18th century, with Wilberforce and Buxton and so on, and became focused early on the abolition of slavery everywhere. In the British constitution Parliament is all-powerful. And there’s nothing like the protections for the institution of slavery that exist in the American Constitution in the British political order. If you gain a majority in Parliament, which the antislavery forces in Britain did in the early 1830s, you can pass legislation banning slavery, which is exactly what happened. And the slaveholders in the Caribbean, who obviously opposed this, had very little power in Parliament.

Meanwhile, the slaveholders in the United States actually controlled the government through their domination of the Democratic Party, right through the 1850s. In fact, the principal reason for secession in 1861 was because they had lost control of the United States government for the first time ever.

That's an interesting insight. I have previously focused on the fact that Britain abolished slavery because they had newly established the mechanisms for a national debt. This allowed them to fund the extravagant costs of the Napoleonic wars. It also allowed them to pay off slave owners.

In that period, the US was still struggling with even the idea of a National Bank, much less a federal debt.

McPherson's observation about the difference in authority between a representative federal democracy and a British parliament are a good point. Any parliamentary system is much more capable of making radical policy changes than a representative federal democracy.

On a separate topic, I have long been dismissive of concerns that we are so polarized as to make a civil war possible. I think that is simply motivated hysteria. The chattering class who makes these prognostications are unrepresentative of working Americans and are a tiny, tiny minority.

McPerhson's comment does not change my mind but does force me to check my confidence.

The principal reason for secession in 1861 was because they (Democrats) had lost control of the United States government for the first time ever.

Well, yes. I don't think history repeats itself, but the observation is a none-the-less sobering echo of today.

Criticism, for a book, is a truthful, unfaked badge of attention, signaling that it is not boring

From Antifragile: Things That Gain from Disorder by Nassim Nicholas Taleb.

We all learn early on in life that books and ideas are antifragile and get nourishment from attacks—to borrow from the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius (one of the doer-Stoic authors), “fire feeds on obstacles.” There is the attraction of banned books, their antifragility to interdicts. The first book I read, during my childhood, of Graham Greene’s was The Power and the Glory, selected for no other reason than its having been put on the Index (that is, banned) by the Vatican. Likewise, as a teenager, I gorged on the books of the American expatriate Henry Miller—his major book sold a million copies in one year thanks to having been banned in twenty-three states. The same with Madame Bovary or Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

Criticism, for a book, is a truthful, unfaked badge of attention, signaling that it is not boring; and boring is the only very bad thing for a book. Consider the Ayn Rand phenomenon: her books Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead have been read for more than half a century by millions of people, in spite of, or most likely thanks to, brutally nasty reviews and attempts to discredit her. The first-order information is the intensity: what matters is the effort the critic puts into trying to prevent others from reading the book, or, more generally in life, it is the effort in badmouthing someone that matters, not so much what is said. So if you really want people to read a book, tell them it is “overrated,” with a sense of outrage (and use the attribute “underrated” for the opposite effect).

Balzac recounts how actresses paid journalists (often in kind) to write favorable accounts—but the wiliest got them to write unfavorable comments, knowing that it made them more interesting.

I have just bought Tom Holland’s book on the rise of Islam for the sole reason that he was attacked by Glen Bowersock, considered to be the most prominent living scholar on the Roman Levant. Until then I had thought that Tom Holland was just a popularizer, and I would not have taken him seriously otherwise. I didn’t even attempt to read Bowersock’s review.