Monday, January 16, 2012


There are no such things as scientists. There are only astronomers, physicists, chemists, biologists, and, arguably, historians. As well as their hyphenated progeny, such as biochemistry and astrophysics. Maybe even, and more arguably, economists and climatologists.

A compelling case for this statement has been made by Steven Shapin, a professor of the history of science at Harvard. “There is no such thing as the Scientific Revolution, and this is a book about it,” he writes at the outset of his aptly-named The Scientific Revolution (1996). If you were taken aback by this statement, you might say something like this: But all these sciences operate according to the scientific method! To which Shapin has replied, “We are now much more dubious of claims that there is anything like ‘a scientific method’—a coherent, universal, and efficacious set of procedures for making scientific knowledge. . . .”

A compelling case for this reply was already set forth by the late Paul Feyerabend—a philosopher of science—in his collection of thoughts in Against Method (1975). But that is another matter.

My reason for riding this pair of horses, a grudge against using the “generic” word scientists and a fillipic against the appeal to something called the scientific method, is that they are not only wrong but also treacherous. Specifically: they dupe the unwary who wander among the arguments over global warming.

About which, see my next post.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Begging the Question

One thing all real writers are committed to is grammar. I mean good grammar, as opposed to the bad kind that your typical old-school English teacher was once wont to point out.

Of all the things that peeve me, bad grammar is near the top of the list. It gets beat out only by bad logic, which is another topic.

Writers have published books about all the major grammatical mistakes that seem to besmirch our number three means of ordinary communication, which is beaten out only by number two, the spoken word, and the new number one, the twittered word. (Ordinarily, we talk and twitter more than we write, with exceptions such as Emily Dickinson and her fellow agoraphobics.)

Of all the grammatical errors to which flesh is heir, the worst, in my studied opinion, is the misuse of the phrase, “begs the question.”

My first notice of this error goes all the way back to the days when onetime NBA great Bill Walton used to announce television games. His colleague in crime, whose name escapes memory, would say something like, “Harris’s down. He’s holding his thigh. Writhing on the floor. Seems to be groaning. He’s in real pain.” To which expert analyst and former UCLA student-athlete and scholar-gentleman Mr. Walton would reply, ex cathedra, “Which begs the question, who hit him?” etc. etc.

I don’t know if Mr. Walton was the first to misuse this phrase, and to misuse it ad nauseam. Maybe he just popularized it. All I know is that I kept hearing it on the airwaves Then I started to see it in print—first in the local rag, then in some of the finer newspapers.

The tipping point came when I saw it in a headline on the op-ed page of the Washington Post. At which point I dashed off an email to that paper’s ombudswoman, who replied, “I asked the chief of the editorial copy desk about this because op-ed headlines go through that desk. He agrees with you.” He went on, she wrote, to quote the appropriate definition, from Wikipedia: “In logic, begging the question has traditionally described a type of logical fallacy (also called petitio principii) in which the proposition to be proved is assumed implicitly or explicitly in one of the premises. . . . In popular usage, ‘begging the question’ is often used to mean that a statement invites another obvious question. This usage is disparaged.”

This popular but false usage has grown apace. I’m left wondering whether the bleeding could have been stanched by a timely editorial from the Post.

Note: I said earlier that this grammatical error was the most grievous in my studied opinion. I added that qualifier because the error is one of those mistakes that erases the original, and true, meaning of the phrase. What’s a poor reader to do when faced with the Latin phrase, petitio principii? To say nothing of the poor writer who wishes to translate it into plain English.

Monday, April 25, 2011

The Writing Life

I’m like these women in the cage.  I’m trapped. I can’t not write.

But sometimes I cannot write. Like the times I’m on vacation, or I’m down with a bad cold. I also can’t write when I’m bone dry and need to refresh myself, not only with a nice trip, but with a long stretch of reading.

As Dr. Samuel Johnson, he of dictionary fame, nicely put it, “The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one book.”

Of course there’s a difference between writing books with footnotes, actual or implied, and writing fiction. The good doctor must have been thinking of the former when he told Mr. James Boswell, his human voice recorder and toady, that the greatest part of a writer’s time is spent checking out the competition. I’ve written five novels without having to read two and a half libraries. One does this, I think, not by reading books, but by reading people.

The novels are published by Komos Books. For those new to my literary production, or even to my existence, I’ll just say that I’ve spent something like twenty-five years writing them. When I started out on this road to literary ignominy, I sent stories from what has become Christian Bride, Muslim Mosque to The New Yorker. They appreciated them and asked to see more. And more. And more. Then they forgot about me. I sent the whole manuscript to the top-flight publisher Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. It survived multiple readings, but when it came time to do business, they chickened out. Ditto with other publishers, as well as agents, some of whom have acted in behalf of well-known literary lights, including Frank McCourt. So I settled on Komos Books. Which, incidentally, I run.

Even now, however, I can’t not write. Put differently, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. Or, put even more differently and more honestly, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do and can still do well.

About my long dry spell on the writing front. It’s not that I’ve had writer’s block—I’ve never been prey to that ailment; put me in front of a keyboard and I’ve always been able to peck out a decent sentence, even the occasional fine paragraph. It’s that I’m working on a long-term project dedicated to wrapping up my opinions on religion. This requires lots of reading, filling in the gaps in my store of knowledge, getting up-to-date on such subjects as early Christianity, theory of religion, and evolutionary theory.