Dispatch from PSA 2010: Symposium session on ClimateGate.

The Philosophy of Science Association Biennial Meeting included a symposium session on the release of hacked e-mails from the Climate Research Unit at the University of East Anglia. Given that we’ve had occasion to discuss ClimateGate here before, i thought I’d share my notes from this session.

Symposium: The CRU E-mails: Perspectives from Philosophy of Science.

Naomi Oreskes (UC San Diego), gave a talk called “Why We Resist the Results of Climate Science.”

She mentioned the attention brought to the discovery of errors in the IPCC report, noting that while mistakes are obviously to be avoided, it would be amazing for there to be a report that ran thousands of pages that did not have some mistakes. (Try to find a bound dissertation — generally only in the low hundreds of pages — without at least one typo.) The public’s assumption, though, was that these mistakes, once revealed, were smoking guns — a sign that something improper must have occurred.

Oreskes noted the boundary scientists of all sorts (including climate scientists) have tried to maintain between the policy-relevant and the policy-prescriptive. This is a difficult boundary to police, though, as climate science has an inescapable moral dimension. To the extent that climate change is driven by consumption (especially but not exclusively the burning of fossil fuels), we have a situation where the people reaping the benefits are not the ones who will be paying for that benefit (since people in the developed world will have the means to respond to the effects of climate change and those in the developing world will not). The situation seems to violate our expectations of intergenerational equity (since future generations will have to cope with the consequences of the consumption of past and current generations), as well as of inter-specific equity (since the species likely to go extinct in response to climate change are not the ones contributing the most to climate change).

The moral dimension of climate change, though, doesn’t make this a scientific issue about which the public feels a sense of clarity. Rather, the moral issues are such that Americans feel like their way of life is on trial. Those creating the harmful effects have done something wrong, even if it was accidental.

And this is where the collision occurs: Americans believe they are good; climate science seems to be telling them that they are bad. (To the extent that people strongly equate capitalism with democracy and the American way of life, that’s an issue too, given that consumption and growth are part of the problem.)

The big question Oreskes left us with, then, is how else to frame the need for changes in behavior, so that such a need would not make Americans so defensive that they would reflexively reject the science. I’m not sure the session ended with a clear answer to that question.

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Wendy S. Parker (Ohio University) gave a talk titled “The Context of Climate Science: Norms, Pressures, and Progress.” A particular issue she took up was the ideal of transparency and how it came up in the context of climate scientists interactions with each other and with the public.

Parker noted that there had been numerous requests for access to raw data by people climate scientists did not recognize as part of the climate science community. The CRU denied many such requests, and the ClimateGate emails made it clear that the scientists generally didn’t want to cooperate with these requests.

Here, Parker observed that while we tend to look favorably on transparency, we probably need to say more about what transparency should amount to. Are we talking about making something available and open to scrutiny (i.e., making “transparency” roughly the opposite of “secrecy”)? Are we talking about making something understandable or usable, perhaps by providing fully explained nontechnical accounts of scientific methods and findings for the media (i.e., making “transparency” roughly the opposite of “opacity”)?

What exactly do we imagine ought to be made available? Research methods? Raw and/or processed data? Computer code? Lab notebooks? E-mail correspondence?

To whom ought the materials to be made available? Other members of one’s scientific community seems like a good bet, but how about members of the public at large? (Or, for that matter, members of industry or of political lobbying groups?)

And, for that matter, why do we value transparency? What makes it important? Is it primarily a matter of ensuring the quality of the shared body of scientific knowledge, and of improving the rate of scientific progress? Or, do we care about transparency as a matter of democratic accountability? As Parker noted, these values might be in conflict. (As well, she mentioned, transparency might conflict with other social values, like the privacy of human subjects.)

Here, if the public imputed nefarious motives to the climate researchers, the scientists themselves viewed some of the requests for access to their raw data as attempts by people with political motivations to obstruct the progress (or acceptance) of their research. It was not that the scientists feared that bad science would be revealed if the data were shared, but rather that they worried that yahoos from outside the scientific community were going to waste their time, or worse to cherry pick the shared data to make allegations that the scientists to which would then have to respond, wasting even more time.

In the numerous investigations that followed on the heels of the leak of stolen CRU e-mails, about the strongest charge against the involved climate scientists that stood was that they failed to display “the proper degree of openness”, and that they seemed to have a ethos of minimal compliance (or occasionally non-compliance) with regard to Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests. They were chided that the requirements of FOIA must not be seen as impositions, but as part of their social contract with the public (and something likely to make their scientific knowledge better).

Compliance, of course, takes resources (one of the most important of these being time), so it’s not free. Indeed, it’s hard not to imagine that at least some FOIA requests to climate scientists had “unintended consequences” (in terms of the expenditure of tim and other resources) on climate scientists that were precisely what the requesters intended.

However, as Parker noted, FOIA originated with the intent of giving citizens access to the workings of their government — imposing it on science and scientists is a relatively new move. It is true that many scientists (although not all) conduct publicly funded research, and thereby incur some obligations to the public. But there’s a question of how far this should go — ought every bit of data generated with the aid of any government grant to be FOIA-able?

Parker discussed the ways that FOIA seems to demand an openness that doesn’t quite fit with the career reward structures currently operating within science. Yet ClimateGate and its aftermath, and the heightened public scrutiny of, and demands for openness from, climate scientists in particular, seem to be driving (or at least putting significant pressure upon) the standards for data and code sharing in climate science.

I got to ask one of the questions right after Parker’s talk. I wondered whether the level of public scrutiny on climate scientists might be enough to drive them into the arms of the “open science” camp — which would, of course, require some serious rethinking of the scientific reward structures and the valorization of competition over cooperation. As we’ve discussed on this blog on many occasions, institutional and cultural change is hard. If openness from climate scientists is important enough to the public, though, could the public decide that it’s worthwhile to put up the resources necessary to support this kind of change in climate science?

I guess it would require a public willing to pay for the goodies it demands.

* * * * *

The next talk, by Kristin Shrader-Frechette (University of Notre Dame), was titled “Scientifically Legitimate Ways to Cook and Trim Data: The Hacked and Leaked Climate Emails.”

Shrader-Frechette discussed what statisticians (among others) have to say about conditions in which it is acceptable to leave out some of your data (and indeed, arguably misleading to leave it in rather than omitting it). There was maybe not as much unanimity here as one might like.

There’s general agreement that data trimming in order to make your results fit some predetermined theory is unacceptable. There’s less agreement about how to deal with outliers. Some say that deleting them is probably OK (although you’d want to be open that you have done so). On the other hand, many of the low probability/high consequence events that science would like to get a handle on are themselves outliers.

So when and how to trim data is one of those topics where it looks like scientists are well advised to keep talking to their scientific peers, the better not to mess it up.

Of the details in the leaked CRU e-mails, one that was frequently identified as a smoking gun indicating scientific shenanigans was the discussion of the “trick” to “hide the decline” in the reconstruction of climatic temperatures using proxy data from tree-rings. Shrader-Frechette noted that what was being “hidden” was not a decline in temperatures (as measured instrumentally) but rather in the temperatures reconstructed from one particular proxy — and that other proxies the climate scientists were using didn’t show this decline.

The particular incident raises a more general methodological question: scientifically speaking, is it better to include the data from proxies (once you have reason to believe it’s bad data) in your graphs? Is including it (or leaving it out) best seen as scrupulous honesty or as dishonesty?

And, does the answer differ if the graph is intended for use in an academic, bench-science presentation or a policy presentation (where it would be a very bad thing to confuse your non-expert audience)?

As she closed her talk, Shrader-Frechette noted that welfare-affecting science cannot be treated merely as pure science. She also mentioned that while FOIA applies to government-funded science, it does not apply to industry-funded science — which means that the “transparency” available to the public is pretty asymmetrical (and that industry scientists are unlikely to have to devote their time to responding to requests from yahoos for their raw data).

* * * * *

Finally, James McAllister (University of Leiden) gave a talk titled “Errors, Blunders, and the Construction of Climate Change Facts.” He spoke of four epistemic gaps climate scientists have to bridge: between distinct proxy data sources, between proxy and instrumental data, between historical time series (constructed of instrumental and proxy data) and predictive scenarios, and between predictive scenarios and reality. These epistemic gaps can be understood in the context of the two broad projects climate science undertakes: the reconstruction of past climate variation, and the forecast of the future.

As you might expect, various climate scientists have had different views about which kinds of proxy data are most reliable, and about how the different sorts of proxies ought to be used in reconstructions of past climate variation. The leaked CRU e-mails include discussions where climate scientists dedicate themselves to finding the “common denominator” in this diversity of expert opinion — not just because such a common denominator might be expected to be closer to the objective reality of things, but also because finding common ground in the diversity of opinion could be expected to enhance the core group’s credibility. Another effect, of course, is that the common denominator is also denied to outsiders, undermining their credibility (and effectively excluding them as outliers).

McAllister noted that the emails simultaneously revealed signs of internal disagreement, and of a reaching for balance. Some of the scientists argued for “wise use” of proxies and voiced judgments about how to use various types of data.

The data, of course, cannot actually speak for themselves.

As the climate scientists worked to formulate scenario-based forecasts that public policy makers would be able to use, they needed to grapple with the problems of how to handle the link between their reconstructions of past climate trends and their forecasts. They also had to figure out how to handle the link between their forecasts and reality. The e-mails indicate that some of the scientists were pretty resistant to this latter linkage — one asserted that they were “NOT supposed to be working with the assumption that these scenarios are realistic,” rather using them as internally consistent “what if?” storylines.

One thing the e-mails don’t seem to contain is any explicit discussion of what would count as an ad hoc hypothesis and why avoiding ad hoc hypotheses would be a good thing. This doesn’t mean that the climate scientists didn’t avoid them, just that it was not a methodological issue they felt they needed to be discussing with each other.

This was a really interesting set of talks, and I’m still mulling over some of the issues they raised for me. When those ideas are more than half-baked, I’ll probably write something about them here.

Friday Sprog Blogging: Dinosaurs Life Size.

Dinosaurs Life Size

This week, the sprogs had a look at Dinosaurs Life Size by Darren Naish.

The Free-Ride offspring are, at eleven and nine, some years past maximum dinosaur enthusiasm.

Still, they have an appreciation for arresting pictures, interesting facts, and the scientific detective work that goes into reconstructing the details of dinosaurs’ anatomies and ways of life from the clues lurking in fossil remains.

The younger Free-Ride offspring says:

There are a lot of fossils in this book. How do you get those life size photos of dinosaurs?

I think it’s really cool how Liopleurodons left bite marks in fossils.

Dino Eye

Sauroposeidon has huge eyes because of a huge face. And its name means “earthquake god lizard.”

My four-year-old cousin would enjoy a lot of these dinosaurs. He’d like how huge they are. And, he’d learn lots of facts about them. He’d learn where they were found in the world and how big they were.

The elder Free-Ride offspring says:

I found this book a bit monotonous and repetitive, mostly because I think it was written for a much younger audience. I think a 6-year-old or 7-year-old would really enjoy this book.

Dino Fold Out Flap

They would like the fold out flaps.

The book doesn’t really show skeletons, maybe because little kids would find them “scary”.

Dino with Kid for Scale

The book has nice computer generated pictures of dinosaurs. There are also photos of little kids making faces placed with the dinosaur pictures, creating the illusion of dinosaurs still being alive today.

The book has an interesting way of demonstrating the size of the dinosaurs, picking a body part to show “life size”.

There are lots of cool facts (like the fact that Iguanodon’s thumb was a remarkable weapon).

There’s also a dinosaur quiz in the back of the book (but it’s WAY to easy for a sixth grader).

Blogrolling: Reaction Crate.

Longtime readers of this blog will know that one of my professional interests (which I even talk about occasionally here) is the philosophy of chemistry, a subset of the philosophy of science with a fairly small number of practitioners.

Well, I’ve recently found a new blog, Reaction Crate, whose tagline promises “Philosophy, Chemistry, and Other Reactive Things.”

So far, there’s a cool post on chemical classification by microstructure. And, there’s an extremely helpful post about how to get into grad school in philosophy or history and philosophy of science. The blog’s author, Julia Bursten, is a third year grad student in the HPS department at the University of Pittsburgh, so she knows of what she speaks — and she’s writing about it very engagingly.

Check it out!.

Students who can rock a midterm and make me laugh.

I may have mentioned once or twice before that I really dig my student. Not only are they really committed to learning the stuff I’m trying to teach them (while working many hours, commuting long distances, taking care of families, etc.), but a bunch of them are also really funny.

That they can maintain a sense of humor while taking a midterm is already impressive. That they can produce really good answers that make me laugh is even better — especially since it makes my experience of grading 110 midterms in a sitting a bit more enjoyable.

Two examples from the most recent midterm that are too good not to share:

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Scary repost: Neighbor kids, ergot, and zombies.

A conversation that happened just over two years ago as my better half was clearing plates from the kitchen table and I was cooking something.

Dr. Free-Ride’s better half: Hey, I thought our kids like zucchini bread.

Dr. Free-Ride: They do. That piece was [the kid across the street’s] — always gladly accepts a snack, never has more than a few bites.

Dr. Free-Ride’s better half: Huh.

Dr. Free-Ride: I think that’s why when our kids are over there, there are so many snacks. If you have a kid who only eats a little at a time, you have to feed continuously.

Dr. Free-Ride’s better half: Why don’t our kids eat like birds?

Dr. Free-Ride: I’m going to guess that genetics have something to do with it. But their metabolic reserves will carry them through when zombies have disrupted Trader Joe’s supply chain.

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Friday Sprog Blogging scary repost: bloody minded.

There are plenty of thrills and chills around Casa Free-Ride these days. Sadly, most of them involve stacks of exams and the horrifying spectacle of a wordy nine-year-old trying to write a concise summary of a 28 chapter book. While we get our diabolical workloads under control, here’s a post from the archives appropriate to the spooky season:

Elder offspring: Blood is cool.

Younger offspring: (Covering head with blanket) I hate blood, because I hate owies!

Dr. Free-Ride: But your blood does all sorts of good things for your body. You know that you’re filled with blood, right?

Elder offspring: Actually, your body is two-thirds water.

Dr. Free-Ride: And what do you think there’s lots of in blood?

Elder offspring: Oh yeah, water.

Younger offspring: I hate blood. I wish I didn’t have any.

Dr. Free-Ride: You need it to get oxygen to all the parts of the body.

Younger offspring: No I don’t, I’ll just breathe harder.

* * * * *
The sprogs recommend:

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Kids and drugs: difficulty with definitions.

I’ve become aware that discussions, both heated and measured, are raging in other parts of the blogosphere about the collisions between drug law, educational initiatives, and governmental agencies responsible for looking out for the welfare of children (e.g., see here, here, and here.) At the moment, looking at hundreds of papers to grade, a soccer game to coach, and a bunch of other tasks that will be significantly harder to complete (but that must be completed within the next few days), I am not jumping into that fray.

However, it did put me in mind of some of the ways our parenting has interacted with the elementary school’s programing, including Red Ribbon Week, an anti-drug educational initiative that generally falls shortly before Halloween (and, coincidentally, that often coincides with National Chemistry Week. Four years ago, when both Free-Ride offspring were in the lower grades, celebrating Red Ribbon Week mostly amounted to wearing sunglasses or crazy socks or whatever that day’s Red Ribbon “theme” called for. But there was also a wee bit of discussion in the classroom about drugs. As originally reported in this post, the Free-Ride parents decided to see what the sprogs had learned:

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Social Studies: The Pressure to Procreate.

The following guest post was submitted by a reader who is struggling with balancing social and familial expectations as she tries to pursue a career and delays having children. She submitted this post seeking reader feedback from others who may have experienced this situation. She has requested to remain anonymous to maintain family peace, which is at a fragile state at the moment.

I adore children. I have a very sweet goddaughter who will be a year old next month, and I love her dearly. I also have an older goddaughter about to enter those dreaded teen years, and it’s exciting to watch her navigate this portion of her life. My husband’s best friend, whom we both consider a sister, just had a bouncing baby boy and I’m looking forward to hearing him call me “Aunty.” And there are two beautifully pregnant women in the family currently—both cousins, one with her first child, the other with her second. So I am surrounded by babies. That said, I personally do not have any children of my own. This has largely been the result of careful planning on the part of myself and my husband. We have our own time line, but for many of our relatives the delay represents a huge social breach, and they are starting to bear down somewhat harshly.

I am a 28-year-old West Indian woman who married her childhood sweetheart, voluntarily, at the age of 18. He is Bengali. As a West Indian marrying into a Bengali family, you would think the transition would be easy to manage—we are from similar backgrounds after all. But it’s been surprisingly difficult. I’m not sure how much of it is a cultural difference though and how much is a generational difference. It seems to be a fair mix though there are a fair number of young women who seem to be going the traditional route (i.e., getting married, having teh babiez, staying home, etc.) Now, you may also think to yourself, well, if you were childhood sweethearts, don’t you know what you were getting into? Well, no. When I say childhood sweethearts, I mean real childhood sweethearts. He had a crush on me in the sixth grade! He brought me apple juice. We went to different high schools and reconnected in college, when we decided we wanted to get married. And we eloped, partly because we didn’t want a a huge fuss made, and partly because we knew neither set of parents would agree to letting a pair of 18-year-olds get married.

Flash forward ten years later to a recent baby shower, where the aunts were clucking as per normal when they spotted me. “When are you having babies?” I was asked. “Why don’t you want children?” “Don’t you like children?” “Your mother-in-law wants a grandbaby!” I managed to deflect all of this with good cheer as I normally do (e.g., “[The MIL] has [the family dog] to spoil!”) and for the most part my responses were met with jovial laughter. I’m a pro at this discussion, I thought. And I should be—I’m used to it.

And then one of them dropped a bomb on me: “What? Can’t you have children? You’re going to need a test tube baby!” she taunted. This declaration/announcement was made at the top of her lungs in front of a room of family and strangers, and I admit it stopped me in my tracks. It stopped most of the room too as a moment of somewhat uneasy silence unfolded. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I know I was embarrassed and angry all at once. For the record, I have nothing against IVF. I think that if it can help a couple have a baby when they’re having trouble conceiving, then they should go for it. Kate Clancy, who went through this process was actually featured on CNN a few weeks ago. Her story is amazing. However, from this aunt’s tone, you could tell that you would be less of a woman if you needed a “test tube” baby. But that’s not the point. What I was reacting to was the assumption that there was something wrong with me because I hadn’t produced a brood of children yet at the ancient age of 28.

This is just the latest jab in the mounting pressure from all sides that feel I should have borne a child by now. My waistline is closely scrutinized, and the slightest bump is reason to be questioned. And since I’m not pregnant, I have no reason to carry any extra weight, so any extra bulges are evidence that I am just fat, and just don’t care. It’s become exhausting. This shouldn’t bother me, and it hasn’t for a long time, but what is starting to bother me is the derision that accompanies their statements. “We know you’re focused on your studies,” they say as a lead in to the conversation. Studies?? What studies? I’ve been out of school for two years. I’ve been working—trying to establish a career. Do any of you actually know me? Actually know what I do?

I’m a successful blogger and published writer. I have an advanced degree. I’ve won numerous awards for academic accomplishments, been in countless science competitions, and I’m a successful professional. I help build leading websites and web tools. But none of that matters. Children to this group are a sort of cultural currency. I’ve been measured in public based on the bag I carry and the clothes I wear, and I am measured in private by the family by my apparent (lack of) fertility. And until I produce a child, I know I won’t measure up to their expectations—hell, even when I produce the child I won’t measure up. Partly because I am an outsider to their cultural background (and what will I know about raising children properly?) and partly because I plan to continue working instead of staying home and raising him or her, which is also somewhat unacceptable. (The hubby was once told that marrying a smart woman is fine, but it means the house will never be clean, that there will never be food on the table, and the children will run wild.) I feel these are personal decisions. Am I crazy?

The constant questioning adds another layer of annoyance. Will it detract from the joy when we do announce we’re expecting? Will there be a sense that we got pregnant because we were told to do so? Instead of “That’s wonderful!” will we get “It’s about time!”? Will they take credit for the fact that we’ve conceived? Again, I’m trying to see this from their perspective. This is a culture where women traditionally maintain the hearth of the home by remaining in it. I realize that I am somewhat of a puzzle to them and this may be their way of fitting me into their norms and expectations. But in trying to fit me in—if that’s what they’re doing—they’ve managed to minimize everything else that I’ve done. And I just don’t think that’s cool, man.

The hubby does not buy into the traditional view. He’s proud of me and my accomplishments and he deflects the baby question as often as I do. He does not think this should bother me, because at this point we both know that the family will not rest until we “prove” ourselves with a child. But I am exhausted from fielding comments and questions about my fertility. It’s not anyone’s business, but since it seems to be everyone’s business, I’m doing an impromptu cultural/gender study: ladies are you experiencing the same thing? Is this a cultural issue? Or a gender issue? Have you been through the same? How did you survive and when did it stop?