The garden has also acquired its very own cheeky, little robin. "Cheeky" insofar as its unafraid of both us and the cat. Given the latter's great age (18), this avian boldness is much less of a risky strategy than one might otherwise imagine.
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Action in the garden
Some photographic outputs from early autumn in our garden. Firstly, a late-arriving morning glory. I didn't quite set up the camera early enough to catch the flower completely closed, so I'll probably try again this coming weekend.
The garden has also acquired its very own cheeky, little robin. "Cheeky" insofar as its unafraid of both us and the cat. Given the latter's great age (18), this avian boldness is much less of a risky strategy than one might otherwise imagine.
The garden has also acquired its very own cheeky, little robin. "Cheeky" insofar as its unafraid of both us and the cat. Given the latter's great age (18), this avian boldness is much less of a risky strategy than one might otherwise imagine.
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
What I don't believe
Had another chat the other day with BS regarding the perennial topic of free will. BS thought that he'd worked out another way to tackle the problem and to get around my obstinate neo-dualism. Possibly since alcohol was involved at the same time, I couldn't get my head around how his argument moved things forward. Actually, the lack of traction possibly had more to do with simple intransigence on my part.
I was hoping to re-articulate his viewpoint here to clear things up for myself, but I’m drawing a blank. Instead, I’ll re-articulate my own interpretation of the conventional viewpoint, and see if that can intrigue him enough to repeat (and rephrase?) his point. One point of confusion seemed to be what we meant by deterministic, chaotic and stochastic processes, and what each meant for considerations of free will. My argument runs as follows …
If we assume that there are no stochastic processes (i.e. that quantum mechanical randomness, is really a manifestation the operation of chaotic hidden variables), then all that’s left are particles and fields that interact in completely deterministic ways. And if we know what the complete set of rules (= physical laws) are, then the resulting system is completely predictable.
Now, by “completely predictable” I mean that, were we to know the state of a system perfectly (which is obviously not possible for any reasonably interesting system), we’d be able to predict its time-evolution completely. And when I say “perfectly” here, I’m obviously assuming absolute perfection in measurement, such that chaotic effects can be ignored (and, as already noted, a system in which quantum systems aren’t what they appear to be).
Now, even if we can’t achieve perfection in measurement, I’d argue that such a system, while perhaps not being predictable, is still determined for any future point by its current state. Further, I’d argue that this is true even if the system includes machines such as ourselves which have a vast number of interacting internal elements that can convolute near-identical inputs into myriad diverse outputs.
If we replace this pure deterministic system with stochastic (say, quantum) elements, the result is something that is unpredictable both in principle and in practice. It might still be largely predictable if the stochastic elements are swamped by deterministic ones. The world in which we live is widely believed to be in this mould.
So what has any of this to do with free will? The point the other day seemed to be about whether the deterministic system described above engages in “decisions”. My argument is that it does not, since its future behaviour, however complex, is completely determined in advance by its current state. No matter how tortuous the path by which, say, a stimulus is connected to the behaviour of a human-shaped robot, it is preordained – as well as completely predictable if one is in the god-like position to know everything there is to know about the world.
While the situation is qualitatively different in the case of a system contains stochastic elements, there still aren’t any decisions being made. A particular outcome might only have a particular likelihood associated with it, but that’s not because of anything decision-flavoured.
I think BS’s point may have been that a human-shaped robot has neural pathways that process stimuli through a complex net of memories, instincts and heuristic algorithms into particular, decision-like outcomes. Which is, of course, true. But I’d suggest that said neural pathways got to where they are by earlier boring old deterministic (or deterministic + stochastic) processes.
In this view, “decisions” are simply the result of a complex chain of predictable deterministic algorithms that themselves are the result of an earlier-occurring and slightly simpler chain of predictable deterministic algorithms. And so on backwards till we get to the base neural pathways built by the decidedly non-decision-like interactions between genes and their serf-like protein products.
Anyway, all of the above serves just to paint “decisions” in the world of mainstream physics as something of far less interest than that which we normally attribute to them. Basically to make my faux neo-dualism more appealing!
I was hoping to re-articulate his viewpoint here to clear things up for myself, but I’m drawing a blank. Instead, I’ll re-articulate my own interpretation of the conventional viewpoint, and see if that can intrigue him enough to repeat (and rephrase?) his point. One point of confusion seemed to be what we meant by deterministic, chaotic and stochastic processes, and what each meant for considerations of free will. My argument runs as follows …
If we assume that there are no stochastic processes (i.e. that quantum mechanical randomness, is really a manifestation the operation of chaotic hidden variables), then all that’s left are particles and fields that interact in completely deterministic ways. And if we know what the complete set of rules (= physical laws) are, then the resulting system is completely predictable.
Now, by “completely predictable” I mean that, were we to know the state of a system perfectly (which is obviously not possible for any reasonably interesting system), we’d be able to predict its time-evolution completely. And when I say “perfectly” here, I’m obviously assuming absolute perfection in measurement, such that chaotic effects can be ignored (and, as already noted, a system in which quantum systems aren’t what they appear to be).
Now, even if we can’t achieve perfection in measurement, I’d argue that such a system, while perhaps not being predictable, is still determined for any future point by its current state. Further, I’d argue that this is true even if the system includes machines such as ourselves which have a vast number of interacting internal elements that can convolute near-identical inputs into myriad diverse outputs.
If we replace this pure deterministic system with stochastic (say, quantum) elements, the result is something that is unpredictable both in principle and in practice. It might still be largely predictable if the stochastic elements are swamped by deterministic ones. The world in which we live is widely believed to be in this mould.
So what has any of this to do with free will? The point the other day seemed to be about whether the deterministic system described above engages in “decisions”. My argument is that it does not, since its future behaviour, however complex, is completely determined in advance by its current state. No matter how tortuous the path by which, say, a stimulus is connected to the behaviour of a human-shaped robot, it is preordained – as well as completely predictable if one is in the god-like position to know everything there is to know about the world.
While the situation is qualitatively different in the case of a system contains stochastic elements, there still aren’t any decisions being made. A particular outcome might only have a particular likelihood associated with it, but that’s not because of anything decision-flavoured.
I think BS’s point may have been that a human-shaped robot has neural pathways that process stimuli through a complex net of memories, instincts and heuristic algorithms into particular, decision-like outcomes. Which is, of course, true. But I’d suggest that said neural pathways got to where they are by earlier boring old deterministic (or deterministic + stochastic) processes.
In this view, “decisions” are simply the result of a complex chain of predictable deterministic algorithms that themselves are the result of an earlier-occurring and slightly simpler chain of predictable deterministic algorithms. And so on backwards till we get to the base neural pathways built by the decidedly non-decision-like interactions between genes and their serf-like protein products.
Anyway, all of the above serves just to paint “decisions” in the world of mainstream physics as something of far less interest than that which we normally attribute to them. Basically to make my faux neo-dualism more appealing!
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Sunrise cycling
Up and out uncharacteristically early yesterday morning to catch sunrise on my new bicycle. I've worked out a nice easy route out east to Netley that takes me along the shore of Southampton Water, through Royal Victoria Country Park's war cemetery, and then back a slightly different way that tries to avoid overlap.
It's about 11 miles in length, and should only take an hour if I'm dawdling. Or two if, as happened yesterday, I take our camera with me. Cue lots of shots with nice morning skies, plus a few panoramas. Having had trouble stitching some of the latter together, I need to revisit how best to take them.
Anyway, it's a nice, largely quiet route, especially at 7 AM. If somewhat colder yesterday than I anticipated - I was lulled into a false sense of security by the first warming rays of the sun as I was getting ready to set off. Gloves next time for sure.
More photographs over at Flickr.
It's about 11 miles in length, and should only take an hour if I'm dawdling. Or two if, as happened yesterday, I take our camera with me. Cue lots of shots with nice morning skies, plus a few panoramas. Having had trouble stitching some of the latter together, I need to revisit how best to take them.
Anyway, it's a nice, largely quiet route, especially at 7 AM. If somewhat colder yesterday than I anticipated - I was lulled into a false sense of security by the first warming rays of the sun as I was getting ready to set off. Gloves next time for sure.
More photographs over at Flickr.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Theocracy
Like a certain Scottish novelist, the Canadian writer Margaret Atwood has a foot in both literary- and science-fiction camps. She labels her forays into the latter as "speculative fiction", but regular readers of science fiction may have trouble spotting the difference. Actually, since Atwood's writing is at a standard much greater than the rest of the genre, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult. Anyway, after detours with her more recent "speculative" novels, I finally got around to reading probably her best known work, the 1985 dystopian fable The Handmaid's Tale.
Set at an unspecified date in the near-future, the novel is narrated by Offred, a woman living in a secure compound in the household of the Commander, a senior figure in the Republic of Gilead. As she goes through the details of her daily life, Offred's gradually sketches out the nature of Gilead and, most significantly, her role within it. Through this narration it becomes clear that this new republic is the result of a secretive coup d'état by Christian extremists that eliminated the United States government, blamed it on Muslim terrorists and stealthily took power to "restore order". Exploiting the nation's fears, and leveraging itself into power using the media and control over electronic banking, the coup's leaders created Gilead as a new theocracy which (re-)installs a militaristic, and chauvinistic, Christianity at the heart of society.
However, all is not well within this New Jerusalem. Because of pervasive environmental pollution, fertility has declined, and seemingly fertile women like Offred are highly valued, particularly by the ruling elite keen to father the next generation. But since this is a Christian nation where the sanctity of marriage is paramount and the divorce of infertile wives cannot be permitted, the leaders of Gilead have devised a suitably Biblical workaround that draws from the story of Rachel, Jacob and Bilhah. Offred's role in Gilead is to bear children for the Commander and his wife, a prominent televangelist prior to the coup, and to do so in a bizarre, literalist take on the text from Genesis, in which all three are present at conception.
But Offred is not conceiving, and Handmaids who do not produce children are dispatched to an uncertain future. The Commander is also showing an interest in Offred that extends beyond her formal role as an indentured surrogate mother, and exploiting his position and influence to gently woo her with contraband items such as books and makeup. Furthermore, Offred's fellow Handmaid and neighbour, Ofglen, whom she first suspects as a spy, instead reveals herself as a member of the resistance against Gilead. While their closeness offers Offred a route to escape from the Commander using an "underground railroad", it also has the potential to lead to both of their deaths at the hands of a regime quick to publicly execute all those who refuse to conform. The collision of these factors, and the rediscovery of Offred's pre-Gilead friend Moira, who escaped while Offred passively resigned herself to her Handmaid fate, brings events to a climax.
While reading The Handmaid's Tale, it's easy to forget that it was written a quarter of a century ago. With Dubya and post-9/11 fallout still fresh in the mind, it's almost worrying how fresh this novel seems to a contemporary reader (well, this contemporary reader at any rate). While Atwood was almost certainly moved by (or reacting to) the revival of political Christianity in the United States during the 1970s and 1980s, and especially its conflict with feminism, the themes of The Handmaid's Tale are at least as relevant today. If anything, the stranglehold that it has over civic discourse gives right-wing Christianity an even more significant (and divisive) role in the US now than it did when Atwood was originally writing. Who says there's no such thing as progress?
Leaving aside the novel's continued relevance, is it any good? Well, yes. As well as creating another plausible future based on the projection of a (then and now) present phenomenon, Atwood does so in an enjoyably elegant and economic style. The reader uncovers the history of Gilead, as well as that of Offred, piece by piece, at a pace that holds attention but which completely avoids the exposition-overload characteristic of much science fiction. While it does include a somewhat tangential coda, the narrative isn't burdened by any last act revelations of the sort frequently used in science fiction to reframe and add (frequently pompous) weight to dystopias.
In reading the Wikipedia article on this novel, I looked up a couple of other novels that were listed as having similar themes. A quick glance through their plot summaries, especially that of Heinlein's If This Goes On-, shows just how well Atwood balances the various elements of setting, plot and character. The Handmaid's Tale narrows its focus to the perspective of a single character, and the essentially small-scale events that occur in her life, to flesh out a portrait of a whole society with occasional, almost impressionistic, observations. There are no (well, almost no) fast-paced adventures, no grand plots to overthrow Gilead, and no climatic table-turnings for the "bad guys". Instead, Atwood lets Offred tell her small story naturally, mixing in her memories with the day's events, and letting her reflect on her increasingly precarious situation. Were Heinlein re-writing the novel (or, frankly, any regular SF author), Offred would doubtless progress through a long series of violent scrapes and come to head up a full-scale rebellion that would ultimately leave the Commander's head on a pole!
Though I've focused on the religious themes above, the novel is most interested in how the theocracy of Gilead consciously and systematically diminishes the role of women in society. Atwood imagines a world in which the role of women is once more curtailed to reproduction, and in which they are thoroughly objectified by a ruling (and hypocritical) patriarchy. While Offred is treated humanely while she is compliant, it's abundantly clear that she cannot stray from the "norms" reinstated by Gilead. Of which, Atwood has almost created a mirror-image version of the Islamic Taliban, but projected into a modern, Christian nation. Viewed this way, the plausibility of the transition that Atwood describes makes the novel read as a warning of what could happen to secular, western states if they cede ground to sexist ideologies from our past. A quick glance around discussions of the novel on the web reveals many related nuances and details that completely passed me by, but it's fair to say that I'm not a big reader of feminist theory (though I like to think I'm a supporter of those portions I'm aware of). But it's refreshing to read a novel that is both deftly written and which weaves in such important themes (even when I don't spot all of them). Worthy themes, clunkily bashed across the head of the reader, is much more the norm for science fiction.
One aspect of the novel that is somewhat incongruous, and may well put off some readers, is the coda already mentioned. This is set some time after the main narrative and takes a completely different literary form to the rest of the novel. Essentially it is a transcript of an academic seminar, and reveals Offred's narrative as a series of tape recordings that she made to tell her story. The seminar partly attempts to investigate the fates of the characters Offred describes, but is focused more on using her words to build up a picture of Gilead, and to analyse its society. As a quasi-academic myself, I really quite enjoyed this portion, though that's partly because I recognise the portrait it paints of academic inquiry. The seminar does also somewhat settle the preceding ambiguous ending, which is exactly the sort of thing that an investigating researcher would try to do, but it is unnecessary and I'm sure detracts from the novel for most readers (Atwood's later deflation of Oryx and Crake's ending in The Year of the Flood marks her as a repeat offender).
Anyway, The Handmaid's Tale gets a doubleplusgood dystopian recommendation from me. I strongly suspect that I'll be returning to Atwood's back-catalogue before too long.
However, all is not well within this New Jerusalem. Because of pervasive environmental pollution, fertility has declined, and seemingly fertile women like Offred are highly valued, particularly by the ruling elite keen to father the next generation. But since this is a Christian nation where the sanctity of marriage is paramount and the divorce of infertile wives cannot be permitted, the leaders of Gilead have devised a suitably Biblical workaround that draws from the story of Rachel, Jacob and Bilhah. Offred's role in Gilead is to bear children for the Commander and his wife, a prominent televangelist prior to the coup, and to do so in a bizarre, literalist take on the text from Genesis, in which all three are present at conception.
But Offred is not conceiving, and Handmaids who do not produce children are dispatched to an uncertain future. The Commander is also showing an interest in Offred that extends beyond her formal role as an indentured surrogate mother, and exploiting his position and influence to gently woo her with contraband items such as books and makeup. Furthermore, Offred's fellow Handmaid and neighbour, Ofglen, whom she first suspects as a spy, instead reveals herself as a member of the resistance against Gilead. While their closeness offers Offred a route to escape from the Commander using an "underground railroad", it also has the potential to lead to both of their deaths at the hands of a regime quick to publicly execute all those who refuse to conform. The collision of these factors, and the rediscovery of Offred's pre-Gilead friend Moira, who escaped while Offred passively resigned herself to her Handmaid fate, brings events to a climax.
While reading The Handmaid's Tale, it's easy to forget that it was written a quarter of a century ago. With Dubya and post-9/11 fallout still fresh in the mind, it's almost worrying how fresh this novel seems to a contemporary reader (well, this contemporary reader at any rate). While Atwood was almost certainly moved by (or reacting to) the revival of political Christianity in the United States during the 1970s and 1980s, and especially its conflict with feminism, the themes of The Handmaid's Tale are at least as relevant today. If anything, the stranglehold that it has over civic discourse gives right-wing Christianity an even more significant (and divisive) role in the US now than it did when Atwood was originally writing. Who says there's no such thing as progress?
Leaving aside the novel's continued relevance, is it any good? Well, yes. As well as creating another plausible future based on the projection of a (then and now) present phenomenon, Atwood does so in an enjoyably elegant and economic style. The reader uncovers the history of Gilead, as well as that of Offred, piece by piece, at a pace that holds attention but which completely avoids the exposition-overload characteristic of much science fiction. While it does include a somewhat tangential coda, the narrative isn't burdened by any last act revelations of the sort frequently used in science fiction to reframe and add (frequently pompous) weight to dystopias.
In reading the Wikipedia article on this novel, I looked up a couple of other novels that were listed as having similar themes. A quick glance through their plot summaries, especially that of Heinlein's If This Goes On-, shows just how well Atwood balances the various elements of setting, plot and character. The Handmaid's Tale narrows its focus to the perspective of a single character, and the essentially small-scale events that occur in her life, to flesh out a portrait of a whole society with occasional, almost impressionistic, observations. There are no (well, almost no) fast-paced adventures, no grand plots to overthrow Gilead, and no climatic table-turnings for the "bad guys". Instead, Atwood lets Offred tell her small story naturally, mixing in her memories with the day's events, and letting her reflect on her increasingly precarious situation. Were Heinlein re-writing the novel (or, frankly, any regular SF author), Offred would doubtless progress through a long series of violent scrapes and come to head up a full-scale rebellion that would ultimately leave the Commander's head on a pole!
Though I've focused on the religious themes above, the novel is most interested in how the theocracy of Gilead consciously and systematically diminishes the role of women in society. Atwood imagines a world in which the role of women is once more curtailed to reproduction, and in which they are thoroughly objectified by a ruling (and hypocritical) patriarchy. While Offred is treated humanely while she is compliant, it's abundantly clear that she cannot stray from the "norms" reinstated by Gilead. Of which, Atwood has almost created a mirror-image version of the Islamic Taliban, but projected into a modern, Christian nation. Viewed this way, the plausibility of the transition that Atwood describes makes the novel read as a warning of what could happen to secular, western states if they cede ground to sexist ideologies from our past. A quick glance around discussions of the novel on the web reveals many related nuances and details that completely passed me by, but it's fair to say that I'm not a big reader of feminist theory (though I like to think I'm a supporter of those portions I'm aware of). But it's refreshing to read a novel that is both deftly written and which weaves in such important themes (even when I don't spot all of them). Worthy themes, clunkily bashed across the head of the reader, is much more the norm for science fiction.
One aspect of the novel that is somewhat incongruous, and may well put off some readers, is the coda already mentioned. This is set some time after the main narrative and takes a completely different literary form to the rest of the novel. Essentially it is a transcript of an academic seminar, and reveals Offred's narrative as a series of tape recordings that she made to tell her story. The seminar partly attempts to investigate the fates of the characters Offred describes, but is focused more on using her words to build up a picture of Gilead, and to analyse its society. As a quasi-academic myself, I really quite enjoyed this portion, though that's partly because I recognise the portrait it paints of academic inquiry. The seminar does also somewhat settle the preceding ambiguous ending, which is exactly the sort of thing that an investigating researcher would try to do, but it is unnecessary and I'm sure detracts from the novel for most readers (Atwood's later deflation of Oryx and Crake's ending in The Year of the Flood marks her as a repeat offender).
Anyway, The Handmaid's Tale gets a doubleplusgood dystopian recommendation from me. I strongly suspect that I'll be returning to Atwood's back-catalogue before too long.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
Out with the old
One of the more useful things that I did on my post-Challenger 2010 day-off last week was to pop to my not-as-local-as-I'd-like bicycle shop to put my trusty, if much put-upon, pair of wheels in for a servicing (pictured, in happier times, below). However, after more than 5 years of sustained abuse at my hands (or is it feet?), my faithful steed was far passed the point at which repair was more cost-effective than replacement. My policy of only fixing punctures and oiling the chain is not, it transpires, one to ensure bicycle survival for the ages.
Among other gems of bicycle maintenance that I picked up on all too late is that, apparently, one is supposed to regularly replace the chain of a bicycle (biannually according to the chap I spoke to). By virtue of slightly changing the spacing between links, stretching, it appears, causes an aging chain to slowly wear down the teeth on chainset cogs. This is worse where a cyclist sticks religiously to the same few gears day-in, day-out. Needless to say, my fixed daily route (plus inherent laziness) drops me nicely into this particular offender category. Anyway, the upshot of this consultation was the "retirement" of my formerly stalwart, but now unsafe-to-ride, pair of wheels.
Out with the old, in with the new, as they say. After being slightly underwhelmed by the selection at my not-so-local purveyor of fine cycles, I visited the slightly closer vendor who'd supplied me with C's birthday bicycle a couple of years back. After a few tries out on a number of sale-price models, I finally plumped for a new hybrid apparently freshly released for this season (i.e. at full price) ...
I've been using it the past few days and, thusfar, it's been great. That's largely down to the aesthetic shift from a clanking, maltreated rustbucket to a smooth, purring youngster, but my new bicycle also seems to be tempting me out of my comfort zone in the gears department. So, though I've already promised myself that I'll take better care of my new ride (not least because it was £100 more than my last one), the changes it's making to my cycling might additionally help to prolong its lifespan.
For reference, it's a Giant ...
A new brand to me, but I'm hardly a regular sampler of two-wheeled fashion. Anyway, does anyone have any idea what one does with a knackered old bicycle that still has a good frame? Repair, reuse, recycle?
Among other gems of bicycle maintenance that I picked up on all too late is that, apparently, one is supposed to regularly replace the chain of a bicycle (biannually according to the chap I spoke to). By virtue of slightly changing the spacing between links, stretching, it appears, causes an aging chain to slowly wear down the teeth on chainset cogs. This is worse where a cyclist sticks religiously to the same few gears day-in, day-out. Needless to say, my fixed daily route (plus inherent laziness) drops me nicely into this particular offender category. Anyway, the upshot of this consultation was the "retirement" of my formerly stalwart, but now unsafe-to-ride, pair of wheels.
Out with the old, in with the new, as they say. After being slightly underwhelmed by the selection at my not-so-local purveyor of fine cycles, I visited the slightly closer vendor who'd supplied me with C's birthday bicycle a couple of years back. After a few tries out on a number of sale-price models, I finally plumped for a new hybrid apparently freshly released for this season (i.e. at full price) ...
I've been using it the past few days and, thusfar, it's been great. That's largely down to the aesthetic shift from a clanking, maltreated rustbucket to a smooth, purring youngster, but my new bicycle also seems to be tempting me out of my comfort zone in the gears department. So, though I've already promised myself that I'll take better care of my new ride (not least because it was £100 more than my last one), the changes it's making to my cycling might additionally help to prolong its lifespan.
For reference, it's a Giant ...
A new brand to me, but I'm hardly a regular sampler of two-wheeled fashion. Anyway, does anyone have any idea what one does with a knackered old bicycle that still has a good frame? Repair, reuse, recycle?
Monday, 13 September 2010
Detective work
Since he's long overdue an entry at Wikipedia, I've started writing one for Mike Fasham. As part of this, I wanted to say something about his doctoral thesis, but having been written in the pre-web world of 1968, online information about it has been difficult to come by (= not a sausage). However, the University of Birmingham's library service has come up trumps, and just a couple of days after asking, they've furnished me with the following scan of the index card describing Mike's thesis ...
I suspect that actually seeing Mike's thesis would require a trip to the West Midlands (or possibly to the British Library if theses were routinely microfiched there in 1968; as mine was in 1998), but I've got enough to be getting on with for now. Anyway, it's reassuring to know that even pre-Internetocene information has a presence in our current electronic aether.
I suspect that actually seeing Mike's thesis would require a trip to the West Midlands (or possibly to the British Library if theses were routinely microfiched there in 1968; as mine was in 1998), but I've got enough to be getting on with for now. Anyway, it's reassuring to know that even pre-Internetocene information has a presence in our current electronic aether.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Framing
This week is Challenger 2010 week at NOC, so I've been in local-organising-committee mode doing all sorts of little jobs for BAG-who-shall-be-obeyed. It's been fun, but pretty hectic. I can't imagine how much of a stressathon it's been for BAG - it's enough of a trial getting the little things sorted out without having the whole conference on your back.
One of the highlights that I've found time to see was a lecture last night from Mike Hulme, a climate scientist from UEA. Not someone I knew a lot about going into his plenary seminar, but someone whose name I was familiar with. Anyway, he gave an interesting talk based around one of the key messages of a book he published a couple of years back, Why We Disagree About Climate Change.
The main narrative of his seminar focused around how different people frame climate change, and how this framing colours how they interpret and respond to evidence or discussion concerning it. Framing is one of those things I'm faintly aware of but never give any thought to, preferring instead to stick to more tangible topics. So it was nice to have someone else do the heavy lifting and present a summary of what the major frames that people use in the context of climate change. Little came as a surprise, but it was good to see a rather over-familiar subject viewed askew from a social sciences perspective.
I suspect that some people might have thought the seminar was a bit too artsy or airy-fairy sociological for an ostensibly scientific subject but, in a way, that kind of view was really the meat of the seminar. That is, the way people frame a subject dictates how they perceive, among other things, other frames, and that those viewing things from a high-minded scientific frame (I mean, who does this???) need to realise that what's compelling to us isn't convincing to others. One of the upshots of which is, Hulme argued, scientists need to tailor their messages in different ways when dealing with different communities.
In principle, this sounds almost totally obvious, but Hulme meant more than simply altering our language, or shifting the emphasis of our presentation onto aspects more easily understandable. He meant that we should imagine climate change through the frames of others, and determine what sorts of things are likely to be interesting or persuasive. And, also, what sorts of things just won't work with a particular audience. In the context of so-called climate scepticism, this might mean avoiding any attempt to persuade that climate change has an anthropogenic component, and focusing instead on subjects that one might get agreement on, for instance climate adaptation.
In questions afterwards, Hulme made this re-framing sound almost a little sinister, suggesting that it should be used as a tactic to gain entrance and credibility within (so-called) skeptical communities. I know he didn't mean it like that at all, but his phrasing might have excited the more conspiratorial fringes. Anyway, overall it was a well-paced introduction to his book and to the role that the social sciences might play in making progress in minimising climate change. Certainly, it's been clear for a long time that the sciences, for all of their direct and detailed knowledge, have very little to offer society when it comes to getting action on climate change. We already know more than enough to tackle the first-order part of climate change, but our civilisation seems reluctant to act on even this information - more nuanced detail isn't going to change this. Approaches that try to engage with people at philosophical, ethical, moral and spiritual (yikes) levels seem much more likely to succeed.
Changing the subject slightly, another interesting "spiritual" revelation came out of a debate on geoengineering between an advocate and a scientist from Greenpeace. Normally I find myself in the sceptical camp when it comes to geoengineering, but the empty platitudes and scare-mongering from Greenpeace pushed me decidedly towards it. Time and time again the Greenpeace spokesman just played up the uncertainly and dismissed geoengineering out of hand. He was firmly of the opinion that we should do nothing that could be deleterious to the world, and just plain refused to answer the question "what should we do in the face of a sudden, unexpected climate calamity?" (or, rather, words came out of his mouth, but they did not engage with the question). Greenpeace have almost a theological devotion to environmental issues that sees everything in black-and-white, and which won't even countenance research that might give us a Plan B at a minuscule cost to the Earth. It's a holier-than-thou mindset that is so far from persuading anyone that it's not even funny. As the great ecologist Garrett Hardin said many years ago, "With friends like these the environment needs no enemies".
Anyway, the conference has one more day to run and, despite the science, I'm quite looking forwards seeing the back of it tomorrow. I think I'll stick to attending conferences in the future. Even small-scale organising like that I've been involved in doesn't seem to suit me!
One of the highlights that I've found time to see was a lecture last night from Mike Hulme, a climate scientist from UEA. Not someone I knew a lot about going into his plenary seminar, but someone whose name I was familiar with. Anyway, he gave an interesting talk based around one of the key messages of a book he published a couple of years back, Why We Disagree About Climate Change.
The main narrative of his seminar focused around how different people frame climate change, and how this framing colours how they interpret and respond to evidence or discussion concerning it. Framing is one of those things I'm faintly aware of but never give any thought to, preferring instead to stick to more tangible topics. So it was nice to have someone else do the heavy lifting and present a summary of what the major frames that people use in the context of climate change. Little came as a surprise, but it was good to see a rather over-familiar subject viewed askew from a social sciences perspective.
I suspect that some people might have thought the seminar was a bit too artsy or airy-fairy sociological for an ostensibly scientific subject but, in a way, that kind of view was really the meat of the seminar. That is, the way people frame a subject dictates how they perceive, among other things, other frames, and that those viewing things from a high-minded scientific frame (I mean, who does this???) need to realise that what's compelling to us isn't convincing to others. One of the upshots of which is, Hulme argued, scientists need to tailor their messages in different ways when dealing with different communities.
In principle, this sounds almost totally obvious, but Hulme meant more than simply altering our language, or shifting the emphasis of our presentation onto aspects more easily understandable. He meant that we should imagine climate change through the frames of others, and determine what sorts of things are likely to be interesting or persuasive. And, also, what sorts of things just won't work with a particular audience. In the context of so-called climate scepticism, this might mean avoiding any attempt to persuade that climate change has an anthropogenic component, and focusing instead on subjects that one might get agreement on, for instance climate adaptation.
In questions afterwards, Hulme made this re-framing sound almost a little sinister, suggesting that it should be used as a tactic to gain entrance and credibility within (so-called) skeptical communities. I know he didn't mean it like that at all, but his phrasing might have excited the more conspiratorial fringes. Anyway, overall it was a well-paced introduction to his book and to the role that the social sciences might play in making progress in minimising climate change. Certainly, it's been clear for a long time that the sciences, for all of their direct and detailed knowledge, have very little to offer society when it comes to getting action on climate change. We already know more than enough to tackle the first-order part of climate change, but our civilisation seems reluctant to act on even this information - more nuanced detail isn't going to change this. Approaches that try to engage with people at philosophical, ethical, moral and spiritual (yikes) levels seem much more likely to succeed.
Changing the subject slightly, another interesting "spiritual" revelation came out of a debate on geoengineering between an advocate and a scientist from Greenpeace. Normally I find myself in the sceptical camp when it comes to geoengineering, but the empty platitudes and scare-mongering from Greenpeace pushed me decidedly towards it. Time and time again the Greenpeace spokesman just played up the uncertainly and dismissed geoengineering out of hand. He was firmly of the opinion that we should do nothing that could be deleterious to the world, and just plain refused to answer the question "what should we do in the face of a sudden, unexpected climate calamity?" (or, rather, words came out of his mouth, but they did not engage with the question). Greenpeace have almost a theological devotion to environmental issues that sees everything in black-and-white, and which won't even countenance research that might give us a Plan B at a minuscule cost to the Earth. It's a holier-than-thou mindset that is so far from persuading anyone that it's not even funny. As the great ecologist Garrett Hardin said many years ago, "With friends like these the environment needs no enemies".
Anyway, the conference has one more day to run and, despite the science, I'm quite looking forwards seeing the back of it tomorrow. I think I'll stick to attending conferences in the future. Even small-scale organising like that I've been involved in doesn't seem to suit me!
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Martin + Morris + meatballs
Up to London yesterday for a visit from Martin, Kristin and (the hitherto un-met) Hannah. Idle chit-chat, gadget-envy and fine-dining resulted, as per usual. Here's a picture of the star attraction ...
Lots more photographs over at Flickr.
Anyway, it apparently wasn't all fun and games - I seem to have managed to bugger up my neck by sitting funny on the drive back last night. Duh.
Lots more photographs over at Flickr.
Anyway, it apparently wasn't all fun and games - I seem to have managed to bugger up my neck by sitting funny on the drive back last night. Duh.
Friday, 3 September 2010
Past life
While poking around Google on unrelated business, I caught a glimpse of Usenet and had a flashback to a youth misspent using it. A few clicks later, and I found my whole record of activity on Usenet stretching back to early forays in 1994, and ending in 1998 when I had better things to do (i.e. when access became tiresome to organise).
Anyway, considering that I was desperately trying to write up my magnum opus, I still seem to have found a lot of time for goofing off in 1996.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
On yer bike
Taking advantage of usually nice weather for a Bank Holiday, we headed over to just outside of Beaulieu (Hatchet Pond to be exact) for a 16 km cycle around the forest.
Though clear and sunny, it was a pretty cold ride at first while we were cycling through a more heath-covered portion of the New Forest. Bizarrely, we passed by a mini-runway set up for the exclusive use of miniature airplane enthusiasts. We were even buzzed by something that looked like a Messerschmitt at one point (it had the black Luftwaffe cross on the underside of its wings). But once we got into the trees in the more northerly part of the ride, things warmed up nicely, although there (modest) hills sapped energy levels ...
While C was recovering her strength, I took the time to try out a panorama of that portion of the New Forest (the photograph has a linked map) ...
There are a couple more photos over at Flickr.
Though clear and sunny, it was a pretty cold ride at first while we were cycling through a more heath-covered portion of the New Forest. Bizarrely, we passed by a mini-runway set up for the exclusive use of miniature airplane enthusiasts. We were even buzzed by something that looked like a Messerschmitt at one point (it had the black Luftwaffe cross on the underside of its wings). But once we got into the trees in the more northerly part of the ride, things warmed up nicely, although there (modest) hills sapped energy levels ...
While C was recovering her strength, I took the time to try out a panorama of that portion of the New Forest (the photograph has a linked map) ...
There are a couple more photos over at Flickr.
3 films, 3 paragraphs
The briefest of brief run-downs of recent cinematic highlights (precluding TS3, of course).
Adventureland is little gem of a film, a paean to crummy summer jobs, doomed workplace romance and the growing awareness in post-adolescence that the adult world is more complex than the caricature that one grows up with. But it leavens these heavier themes with a lot of great gags and more Lou Reed than I thought possible to enjoy. It also features the currently ubiquitous Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg, both of whom sometimes seem like they're in every second or third film we see at the moment.
The Proposal, by contrast, is much more of your Hollywood money-printing machine, dangling, as it does, Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds (in less sleazy form than in Adventureland) in front of pretty Alaskan scenery (or perhaps, Northern Exposure-style, somewhere that just looks like AK). Wise heads less in thrall to the charms of Ms. Bullock might justifiably deride it on any number of counts, but I found it perfectly tolerable if overly derivative of her finest hour. I am such a sucker.
Unlike all videogame tie-in films, which essentially provide confirmation for the view that games are derivative and violent nonsense, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World actually takes this much-maligned medium seriously (after a fashion), and uses it positively to create a narrative and an aesthetic that's pretty unique (the excellent Run Lola Run got some of the way there first). The film is chock-full of neat references and dynamics that parallel those of action games, even structuring itself around infamous boss battles. While the "real world" romance at the centre of the film is sketched out a little too perfunctorily to be convincing (Michael Cera's generic slacker performance is wearing thin), its co-opting of so many tricks from gaming make it an infectious blast. More so for those in the know, but I reckon it'd be fresh and fun enough for most jaded cinema-goers.
Friday, 20 August 2010
A MP replies ...
Well raise my rent! I got a (super-prompt) reply through the post from my MP. Or his private secretary at any rate. However, as a Shadow Minister (which is disappointing less sinister than it sounds) my MP is "unable" to sign either of the Early Day Motions (numbers 243 and 185). However, my letter has "prompted [my MP] to carefully consider the issues [I] raised", and the Minister of State for Schools, one Nick Gibb, has been advised of my concerns. Apparently I am to be informed of the outcome of this.
I'm actually rather impressed. I guess that MPs are pretty well set up for this sort of correspondence, but it's still rather pleasing to hear back so quickly. Especially given that Early Day Motions seem generally to get a pretty short shrift in parliament. Anyway, I await the next response with trepidation.
In passing, while checking up on them in Wikipedia, I came across mention of this delightfully misanthropic corker of an EDM.
I'm actually rather impressed. I guess that MPs are pretty well set up for this sort of correspondence, but it's still rather pleasing to hear back so quickly. Especially given that Early Day Motions seem generally to get a pretty short shrift in parliament. Anyway, I await the next response with trepidation.
In passing, while checking up on them in Wikipedia, I came across mention of this delightfully misanthropic corker of an EDM.
Thursday, 19 August 2010
A constituent writes ...
One of the many worrisome things that The Coalition is rushing through parliament is a change to how schools can be managed, and how closely they need to follow some nationally-set curriculum. Basically, schools can, in principle, be set up from scratch by interested third parties, and appear set to have a lot more freedom in tailoring what they teach to students. In principle (again), this sounds like it might just clear the first hurdle of plausibility. For instance, like existing academies a school might decide to specialise in some particular way (e.g. business, science, arts), and might like to tweak their curriculum appropriately.
Needless to say, that last sentence was not my first thought. Instead, internet-hardened creationist-hater that I am, it occurred to me that this might provide a new route by which faith schools might bring down The Enlightenment. Ordinarily, this thought would then be followed up by seething rage, a bit of a sulk, and then complete inaction. Fortunately, an e-mail from the BHA spurred me into action. Well, spurred me into following a link to a website that, after a few clicks, automatically drafted me a letter to my MP. Slightly embarrassed that my name would be tied to some generic message, I duly edited this down to that below, then fired it off.
Needless to say, I could rant on all day about the evils of creationism. However, I won't on this occasion, except to just harp back to one of the most annoying aspects of the modus operandi of creationists.
Basically, rather than engage with scientists whose ideas oppose their own through the conventional approach of actually sitting down and doing science, they skip this bit and head straight for the public and politicians. There, in front of an audience with limited time to play with and non-expert knowledge of the subject, they make their case, knowing that it need only sound superficially plausible, and that their main goal, publicity, is already accomplished. Then, with a metaphorical foot in the door, they can then argue, ridiculously, that their ideas be taught to school children alongside "conventional" / "mainstream" / "naturalistic" science. To give them credit, they've long since realised that displacing real science from classrooms is a non-starter, and have rather cleverly latched onto playing the "fairness" / "balance" card. "Teach the controversy" they say, knowing full well how effective sowing baseless doubt can be with an audience of inexperienced and receptive children.
Anyway, enough seething for now. Not least because it's (similarly) baseless until the result of this new Coalition legislation becomes clear. I've already received an electronic reply from my MP's PA, saying that my note "will receive attention", but it'll be a while before the full fallout of these plans makes itself known.
Needless to say, that last sentence was not my first thought. Instead, internet-hardened creationist-hater that I am, it occurred to me that this might provide a new route by which faith schools might bring down The Enlightenment. Ordinarily, this thought would then be followed up by seething rage, a bit of a sulk, and then complete inaction. Fortunately, an e-mail from the BHA spurred me into action. Well, spurred me into following a link to a website that, after a few clicks, automatically drafted me a letter to my MP. Slightly embarrassed that my name would be tied to some generic message, I duly edited this down to that below, then fired it off.
Dear Mr Denham
I am writing as both one of your constituents and as a professional scientist (oceanographer) to bring to your attention two Early Day Motions which I am asking you to support. EDM number 243 reads,
"That this House notes the value and importance of science in the schools' curriculum; further notes the importance of the specific inclusion of evolution and natural selection in the schools' curriculum; regrets that evolution has been dropped from reforms to the primary school curriculum, along with other reforms proposed; further regrets the inclusion of creationist and other pseudo-scientific theories in the teaching of science in some schools; and urges the Government to ensure that all schools teach and promote science and the scientific method and to include the theory of evolution in the science curriculum at both primary and secondary levels."
And EDM 185 reads,
"That this House congratulates the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland on the re-opening of the Ulster Museum; regrets that there is pressure to include creationism in the proposed exhibition of evolution and diversity; and believes that the teaching or promotion of religious beliefs should be separate from the teaching or promotion of science."
Both relate to potential and actual attempts by creationist organisations to pollute science education by introducing their evidence-free literal interpretation of religious texts. While greater freedom over the curriculum may afford certain advantages to students, it is fundamental that deliberate misinformation is excluded from science curricula. Put simply, there is *no support* for any creationist ideas within the scientific community, and to permit the teaching of the contrary is damaging both to students and to our wider technological society. Further, the focus they place on particular interpretations of certain religious texts is liable to needlessly foster disharmony between faith groups.
Evolution is the most important concept underlying the life sciences, it is of paramount importance that it is included in the science education of children. Undermining it by failing to exclude the pernicious nonsense of creationists is in direct opposition to the best information that our science provides, and it will have repercussions far beyond the classrooms.
I urge you to add your support to EDMs 243 and 185.
Yours sincerely,
...
Needless to say, I could rant on all day about the evils of creationism. However, I won't on this occasion, except to just harp back to one of the most annoying aspects of the modus operandi of creationists.
Basically, rather than engage with scientists whose ideas oppose their own through the conventional approach of actually sitting down and doing science, they skip this bit and head straight for the public and politicians. There, in front of an audience with limited time to play with and non-expert knowledge of the subject, they make their case, knowing that it need only sound superficially plausible, and that their main goal, publicity, is already accomplished. Then, with a metaphorical foot in the door, they can then argue, ridiculously, that their ideas be taught to school children alongside "conventional" / "mainstream" / "naturalistic" science. To give them credit, they've long since realised that displacing real science from classrooms is a non-starter, and have rather cleverly latched onto playing the "fairness" / "balance" card. "Teach the controversy" they say, knowing full well how effective sowing baseless doubt can be with an audience of inexperienced and receptive children.
Anyway, enough seething for now. Not least because it's (similarly) baseless until the result of this new Coalition legislation becomes clear. I've already received an electronic reply from my MP's PA, saying that my note "will receive attention", but it'll be a while before the full fallout of these plans makes itself known.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
20K
It's taken me 9 months (since November 2009) to clock up a further 10K ...
Playing up view-envy to the hilt, this picture has 10K hits alone! Grrrr ...
Playing up view-envy to the hilt, this picture has 10K hits alone! Grrrr ...
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Threequel
I am such a sentimental sap.
Way back in the dying days of my PhD, an evening spent cruising the drinking dens of Leamington Spa finished up in the house of a friend-of-a-friend, with us all raptly watching the original Toy Story. I fell in love. Not, as might be expected for me, with the whole computer animation aspect, but instead with the emotional / sentimental pull the film exerted on heart-strings I never knew existed.
Several years later, my heart beat a little faster with the news that a sequel was to appear but, knowing sequels, it was a guarded tachycardial rise. Oh ye of little faith. Said heart strings were pulled once more by Toy Story 2, a follow-up that more than matches its ancestor in cleverness and its wholesome brand of sentimentality. To the degree that it's now a touchstone in film criticism (at least when I'm around) as the best example of a violation of the law of diminishing returns (though there is competition).
Imagine, reader, my excitement in hearing the news that a sequel2, a threequel, was in the works. This time around fears of failure were (largely) cast to the wind, and cardiac muscle was much exercised. All justifiably as it now turns out. Toy Story 3 cements the good work of both previous generations, and completes[*] the life-cycle of the child-toy relationship. While, unsurprisingly, things get all emotional at the end (diffused pleasurably by the end-credits sequences), I was much more stretched and strained by the near-death experience faced down by Woody et al. that was immediately preceding.[**] Pixar truly know their onions if they can play an old cynic like me as if I was some finely-tuned sentimentality instrument.
[*] Technically, a sequel is not out of the question, and could pop up in the future if Pixar need a sure-fire financial hit. But it's unnecessary, and would be a mistake given that TS3 essentially closes the "circle of life" for toys. Still, one should not underestimate the power of money.
[**] Again, more excellent diffusion here, with one of the best running gags ("the claw").
Way back in the dying days of my PhD, an evening spent cruising the drinking dens of Leamington Spa finished up in the house of a friend-of-a-friend, with us all raptly watching the original Toy Story. I fell in love. Not, as might be expected for me, with the whole computer animation aspect, but instead with the emotional / sentimental pull the film exerted on heart-strings I never knew existed.
Several years later, my heart beat a little faster with the news that a sequel was to appear but, knowing sequels, it was a guarded tachycardial rise. Oh ye of little faith. Said heart strings were pulled once more by Toy Story 2, a follow-up that more than matches its ancestor in cleverness and its wholesome brand of sentimentality. To the degree that it's now a touchstone in film criticism (at least when I'm around) as the best example of a violation of the law of diminishing returns (though there is competition).
[*] Technically, a sequel is not out of the question, and could pop up in the future if Pixar need a sure-fire financial hit. But it's unnecessary, and would be a mistake given that TS3 essentially closes the "circle of life" for toys. Still, one should not underestimate the power of money.
[**] Again, more excellent diffusion here, with one of the best running gags ("the claw").
Friday, 6 August 2010
All good things ...
It seems like no time ago at all that I was singing the praises of the magnificent Fallout 3 to the rafters and looking forwards to playing its seemingly vast expanse of extra add-on content. But I've played my way through the lot now, and am facing down the barrel of a Fallout-less future ... well, at least until the fortuitous autumn release of Fallout: New Vegas!
Anyway, so what were these mini-adventures in the Capital Wasteland like? Well, in the order that I played them ...
Broken Steel
Although not the first released, Broken Steel is an obvious first port-of-call since it affords the player character a less self-sacrificing climax to Fallout 3 and the chance to continue their adventures in the Wasteland. Perhaps more importantly, it ups the cap placed on the experience level of the player character, allowing them to acquire even more refined huntin', shootin' and, well, nukin' skills. Also, unlike the other expansions, it is a straight continuation of the main Fallout 3 storyline, and deals largely with the continued pursuit of the dastardly Enclave by the saintly Brotherhood, partly through the Wasteland, but also in new areas just outside of it (most significantly Andrews Air Force Base).
This is a pretty fun add-on. Playing it, as I did, straight after the main Fallout 3 storyline, made it a fairly seamless experience that slotted nicely into the events that took place then. It makes good use of a couple of peripheral locations in the Wasteland, and tacks on a nice, if somewhat sparsely populated, rendition of Andrew AFB for the finale. Which includes, needless to say, a bit of spectacular nuking (or back-stabbing betrayal if I'd chosen the Dark Side). However, picking up on the success of Project Purity, it also involves a few enjoyable side missions that take in the economics and politics of the sudden availability of fresh and safe water in the Wasteland. I almost enjoyed these more than the more straightforwardly militaristic main storyline.
Operation: Anchorage
Eschewing the subtlety and role-playing elements of the main Fallout 3 storyline, Operation: Anchorage heads off in a more traditional first-person shooter direction. It begins (and, in a sense, remains) at an Outcast bunker in the Wasteland, where the player is inducted into a virtual reality simulation of the Alaskan conflict that led up to the Great War of 2077. Solo or as part of a hand-picked squad, the player must negotiate a series of frosty hurdles to liberate Anchorage from the Red Chinese. Defeating the simulated Reds will unlock a strong room back in the Wasteland bunker, making available some valuable technology to both the Outcasts and to the player. The missions in the Alaskan simulation involve disabling the heavy guns that are shelling Anchorage, destroying a series of strategic targets in the town, and facing down the Chinese commander one-on-one.
I have to say that this add-on was something of a disappointment. After the complexity of Fallout 3, this really is just harking back to more conventional "shooters" of bygone days. Interactions with NPCs are bare-bones affairs at best, and the purported squad-based combat seemed to serve only as another impediment to clear. I struggled to put a squad together, but once I saw their battlefield performance, I made sure to ditch them the first chance that I got. In its defense, this add-on is set in an extremely attractive polar setting, especially in the early sections that take place in the mountains that surround Anchorage (though it doesn't take much to be more attractive than the Wasteland!). But this scene-setting prettiness is let down by the linear plotting and utterly conventional combat.
The Pitt
Alluded to several times in Fallout 3, the backstory of the Brotherhood of Steel includes an episode on their journey from California to Washington DC in The Pitt, formerly Pittsburgh. Here, they found, then wiped out, a large Raider encampment, but left behind one of their number, Ashur, for dead. 30 years later, Ashur has resurrected The Pitt's industry and runs a massive foundry there. However, he has done so on the backs of slaves, and the player is drawn to The Pitt by an escaped slave, Wernher, who is ostensibly looking to free all those indentured there. Posing as a returning runaway slave, the player must infiltrate the foundry, then work up the ranks to reach a position where a slave rebellion can be instigated. This career progression is hampered by the conditions in the foundry, and by its infestation with Raiders and sub-human "trogs", victims of The Pitt's extreme radiation. However, the prize of freedom for the slaves, and the hint of a cure for the radiation sickness, are strong motivating factors. Or are they? Things are not are as morally black-and-white as they first appear in The Pitt.
A much better expansion this time around. The Pitt is far more in keeping with the balance between role-playing and combat that was established in Fallout 3. Along with the new, industrial setting, there are a large number of characters to meet, help or betray. What's more is that they're worked into a nice plot in which "doing the right thing" is not as straightforward as it first seems. Having single-handedly wiped out Paradise Falls in the original game, I blazed into The Pitt thinking I'd found a whole new set of slaves to liberate, only to belatedly uncover circumstances that were a lot less clear-cut. If I could be a little critical, The Pitt is somewhat on the small size, consisting more or less solely of a central quest with no substantial side quests. Also, though it again introduces a whole new map, exploration is not a big part of it, and it doesn't take very long to get the measure of the foundry and its surrounds. But leaving these quibbles aside, it's a more fully realised expansion than the previous two, and one that's both truer to Fallout 3 and a lot of fun to boot.
Mothership Zeta
Drawing from the rich repertoire of B-movie science fiction, Mothership Zeta takes the player out of the Wasteland, in fact right off of the Earth. After being drawn by a mysterious beacon to the crash site of a downed UFO, the player is teleported aboard the eponymous spaceship. While some scientists have speculated that only peaceful and friendly civilizations are likely to survive long enough to develop interstellar travel, the aliens of Fallout 3 obviously haven't read this research, and favour electrocution and disintegration over pan-galactic harmony. Thrown in with a number of fellow abductees, some of whom have been in cryofreeze for centuries, the player must escape from their alien captors, then work slowly through various levels to ultimately hijack Mothership Zeta.
Upfront, I was convinced this would be a great add-on.[*] The retro-futurism of Fallout 3 should have gelled perfectly with the raygun aesthetic of 1950s science fiction that the aliens are drawn from. Certainly, a lot of effort has clearly been ploughed into the visual (and accoustic) appearance of the add-on, what with its classically Grey-like aliens, tail-finned rayguns and a beautifully-realised spaceship. But all this promise is lost in an add-on that, while admittedly sizeable, boils down to little more than conventional shootin'-and-key-findin'. In this regard, Mothership Zeta has a lot in common with Operation: Anchorage, being both rather beautiful but also rather shallow. There is a bit more NPC interaction in this add-on, but it serves as little more than a route for plot exposition, since there's nothing sophisticated or clever about what the player has to achieve (namely: seize control of mothership; escape from mothership). In fact, since Operation: Anchorage is shorter, its lack of complexity is less tiresome than that of Mothership Zeta. I was more than a little pleased to finally take charge of the mothership, but only so I could get straight back down to the Wasteland.
Point Lookout
Last, but about as far from least as is possible to be, comes Point Lookout, set in the swamplands of the eponymous State Park to the south of Washington DC. The player is directed there from the Wasteland by Catherine, a mother fretting about her runaway daughter, Nadine, who has headed there to find her fortune. One paddle steamer voyage later, and the player disembarks in a landscape that, while spared from the bombs, is still dangerously radioactive. Once Point Lookout was a tourist destination, with a seafront carnival, a big wheel, and a rich heritage. Now, alongside its handful of ragtag survivors, it plays host to smugglers, moonshiners, a religious cult and rancorous, mutant hill-billies. Furthermore, the swamps are also full of much older dangers and secrets, some from the Great War, some dating centuries further back to the Civil War. As gradually becomes apparent, some of these secrets need investigating, while some need laying -permanently- to rest.
By complete chance I saved the best of Fallout 3's expansion packs for last. Point Lookout stands head and shoulders above the other add-ons, and deftly balances a diverse range of "missions" with a large map ripe for exploration, all wreathed in a rich, Southern Gothic atmosphere. It was very pleasing to be freed up to explore again, and to gradually uncover all of the swampland's secrets for myself, rather than just following some A → B → C trail rigidly dictated by geography or single-purpose NPCs. Best of all, it was nice to be enveloped in a story (well, a series of interlocking stories) in which that rare commodity, imagination, had been used. As well as tracking down Nadine, I also found myself following in the footsteps of a long-dead Chinese spy, brewing up moonshine, investigating the murder of a natural gas-prospecting geologist, joining a cult that reveres a hallucinogenic plant, and settling a centuries-long battle of wits between two arch-rivals. All (and more) of which were both carefully plotted and populated by interesting NPCs. I particularly liked the little ancillary missions that had me digging for buried treasure in a flooded delta, and getting Point Lookout's lighthouse back into working order. There's also a fantastic hallucination section in which the player character's fears and disappointments are vividly brought to life. Finally, while it does pander to stereotypes somewhat, it's difficult not to be amused by Point Lookout's southern references, especially the introduction of hillbilly mutants. Very Deliverance.
By way of summary, and in case it's not obvious already, I'd rank Fallout 3's expansions as follows ...
For my money (not that I spent any; this was a birthday present), Point Lookout clearly deserves top billing among the various expansions. Its gameplay could be criticised as being too similar to Fallout 3, but that's a bonus in my book, especially when deviating from the Fallout 3 formula appears to produce such limp results. I'd place The Pitt next, followed by Broken Steel, although this is a bit more of a toss-up because the former is a little on the short side, and the latter does raise the level-cap (though still not enough for my liking). Operation: Anchorage and Mothership Zeta bring up the rear, but distantly. In spite of looking lovely, both are just too straightforward and linear to hold a candle up to the other add-ons. Given all the fun that's to be had with Fallout 3, it's rather damning to say that Mothership Zeta is too lengthy. This drags it firmly into last place, though it's still well worth a look, with the emphasis on look.
Anyway, that's the end of my journey in post-apocalyptia until at least later this year. Arse. Next up, and courtesy of some good friends, I've got a choice of vigilante violence or Grand Theft Jungle.
As for my earlier stay in Fallout 3, there are a number of screenshots from the expansion packs over at Flickr.
[*] Leaving aside any issues I have with the quality of Mothership Zeta, I'd add that it also introduces, well, existential issues to the world of Fallout. By explicitly introducing a world beyond the ruined Earth, even one filled with murderous aliens, the devastation wrought during the Great War somehow loses its power. It's important (at least for me) that the survivors in the Wasteland have to make the most of it, and that its only through their efforts that things are going to get better. The presence of an alien civilization advanced enough to travel to the Earth opens the door to shortcut fixes, and to the possibility of just leaving the Earth behind. Which conflicts, in my mind, with the efforts to "build a better world" as the game encourages the player to do. Further, judging from the time period that the aliens have been sampling humans for (hundreds of years), one is left with the suspicion that they may even have precipitated the Great War. Part of the power of Fallout lies in the knowledge that humanity is responsible for the destruction wrought on the Earth. Anyway, it is obviously only a game (and is the least "serious" of the add-ons), but as well as being something of a duff installment, Mothership Zeta also serves to cloud the significance of the events playing out in Fallout's shattered world.
Anyway, so what were these mini-adventures in the Capital Wasteland like? Well, in the order that I played them ...
Broken Steel
Although not the first released, Broken Steel is an obvious first port-of-call since it affords the player character a less self-sacrificing climax to Fallout 3 and the chance to continue their adventures in the Wasteland. Perhaps more importantly, it ups the cap placed on the experience level of the player character, allowing them to acquire even more refined huntin', shootin' and, well, nukin' skills. Also, unlike the other expansions, it is a straight continuation of the main Fallout 3 storyline, and deals largely with the continued pursuit of the dastardly Enclave by the saintly Brotherhood, partly through the Wasteland, but also in new areas just outside of it (most significantly Andrews Air Force Base). This is a pretty fun add-on. Playing it, as I did, straight after the main Fallout 3 storyline, made it a fairly seamless experience that slotted nicely into the events that took place then. It makes good use of a couple of peripheral locations in the Wasteland, and tacks on a nice, if somewhat sparsely populated, rendition of Andrew AFB for the finale. Which includes, needless to say, a bit of spectacular nuking (or back-stabbing betrayal if I'd chosen the Dark Side). However, picking up on the success of Project Purity, it also involves a few enjoyable side missions that take in the economics and politics of the sudden availability of fresh and safe water in the Wasteland. I almost enjoyed these more than the more straightforwardly militaristic main storyline.Operation: Anchorage
Eschewing the subtlety and role-playing elements of the main Fallout 3 storyline, Operation: Anchorage heads off in a more traditional first-person shooter direction. It begins (and, in a sense, remains) at an Outcast bunker in the Wasteland, where the player is inducted into a virtual reality simulation of the Alaskan conflict that led up to the Great War of 2077. Solo or as part of a hand-picked squad, the player must negotiate a series of frosty hurdles to liberate Anchorage from the Red Chinese. Defeating the simulated Reds will unlock a strong room back in the Wasteland bunker, making available some valuable technology to both the Outcasts and to the player. The missions in the Alaskan simulation involve disabling the heavy guns that are shelling Anchorage, destroying a series of strategic targets in the town, and facing down the Chinese commander one-on-one. I have to say that this add-on was something of a disappointment. After the complexity of Fallout 3, this really is just harking back to more conventional "shooters" of bygone days. Interactions with NPCs are bare-bones affairs at best, and the purported squad-based combat seemed to serve only as another impediment to clear. I struggled to put a squad together, but once I saw their battlefield performance, I made sure to ditch them the first chance that I got. In its defense, this add-on is set in an extremely attractive polar setting, especially in the early sections that take place in the mountains that surround Anchorage (though it doesn't take much to be more attractive than the Wasteland!). But this scene-setting prettiness is let down by the linear plotting and utterly conventional combat.The Pitt
Alluded to several times in Fallout 3, the backstory of the Brotherhood of Steel includes an episode on their journey from California to Washington DC in The Pitt, formerly Pittsburgh. Here, they found, then wiped out, a large Raider encampment, but left behind one of their number, Ashur, for dead. 30 years later, Ashur has resurrected The Pitt's industry and runs a massive foundry there. However, he has done so on the backs of slaves, and the player is drawn to The Pitt by an escaped slave, Wernher, who is ostensibly looking to free all those indentured there. Posing as a returning runaway slave, the player must infiltrate the foundry, then work up the ranks to reach a position where a slave rebellion can be instigated. This career progression is hampered by the conditions in the foundry, and by its infestation with Raiders and sub-human "trogs", victims of The Pitt's extreme radiation. However, the prize of freedom for the slaves, and the hint of a cure for the radiation sickness, are strong motivating factors. Or are they? Things are not are as morally black-and-white as they first appear in The Pitt. A much better expansion this time around. The Pitt is far more in keeping with the balance between role-playing and combat that was established in Fallout 3. Along with the new, industrial setting, there are a large number of characters to meet, help or betray. What's more is that they're worked into a nice plot in which "doing the right thing" is not as straightforward as it first seems. Having single-handedly wiped out Paradise Falls in the original game, I blazed into The Pitt thinking I'd found a whole new set of slaves to liberate, only to belatedly uncover circumstances that were a lot less clear-cut. If I could be a little critical, The Pitt is somewhat on the small size, consisting more or less solely of a central quest with no substantial side quests. Also, though it again introduces a whole new map, exploration is not a big part of it, and it doesn't take very long to get the measure of the foundry and its surrounds. But leaving these quibbles aside, it's a more fully realised expansion than the previous two, and one that's both truer to Fallout 3 and a lot of fun to boot.Mothership Zeta
Drawing from the rich repertoire of B-movie science fiction, Mothership Zeta takes the player out of the Wasteland, in fact right off of the Earth. After being drawn by a mysterious beacon to the crash site of a downed UFO, the player is teleported aboard the eponymous spaceship. While some scientists have speculated that only peaceful and friendly civilizations are likely to survive long enough to develop interstellar travel, the aliens of Fallout 3 obviously haven't read this research, and favour electrocution and disintegration over pan-galactic harmony. Thrown in with a number of fellow abductees, some of whom have been in cryofreeze for centuries, the player must escape from their alien captors, then work slowly through various levels to ultimately hijack Mothership Zeta. Upfront, I was convinced this would be a great add-on.[*] The retro-futurism of Fallout 3 should have gelled perfectly with the raygun aesthetic of 1950s science fiction that the aliens are drawn from. Certainly, a lot of effort has clearly been ploughed into the visual (and accoustic) appearance of the add-on, what with its classically Grey-like aliens, tail-finned rayguns and a beautifully-realised spaceship. But all this promise is lost in an add-on that, while admittedly sizeable, boils down to little more than conventional shootin'-and-key-findin'. In this regard, Mothership Zeta has a lot in common with Operation: Anchorage, being both rather beautiful but also rather shallow. There is a bit more NPC interaction in this add-on, but it serves as little more than a route for plot exposition, since there's nothing sophisticated or clever about what the player has to achieve (namely: seize control of mothership; escape from mothership). In fact, since Operation: Anchorage is shorter, its lack of complexity is less tiresome than that of Mothership Zeta. I was more than a little pleased to finally take charge of the mothership, but only so I could get straight back down to the Wasteland.Point Lookout
Last, but about as far from least as is possible to be, comes Point Lookout, set in the swamplands of the eponymous State Park to the south of Washington DC. The player is directed there from the Wasteland by Catherine, a mother fretting about her runaway daughter, Nadine, who has headed there to find her fortune. One paddle steamer voyage later, and the player disembarks in a landscape that, while spared from the bombs, is still dangerously radioactive. Once Point Lookout was a tourist destination, with a seafront carnival, a big wheel, and a rich heritage. Now, alongside its handful of ragtag survivors, it plays host to smugglers, moonshiners, a religious cult and rancorous, mutant hill-billies. Furthermore, the swamps are also full of much older dangers and secrets, some from the Great War, some dating centuries further back to the Civil War. As gradually becomes apparent, some of these secrets need investigating, while some need laying -permanently- to rest. By complete chance I saved the best of Fallout 3's expansion packs for last. Point Lookout stands head and shoulders above the other add-ons, and deftly balances a diverse range of "missions" with a large map ripe for exploration, all wreathed in a rich, Southern Gothic atmosphere. It was very pleasing to be freed up to explore again, and to gradually uncover all of the swampland's secrets for myself, rather than just following some A → B → C trail rigidly dictated by geography or single-purpose NPCs. Best of all, it was nice to be enveloped in a story (well, a series of interlocking stories) in which that rare commodity, imagination, had been used. As well as tracking down Nadine, I also found myself following in the footsteps of a long-dead Chinese spy, brewing up moonshine, investigating the murder of a natural gas-prospecting geologist, joining a cult that reveres a hallucinogenic plant, and settling a centuries-long battle of wits between two arch-rivals. All (and more) of which were both carefully plotted and populated by interesting NPCs. I particularly liked the little ancillary missions that had me digging for buried treasure in a flooded delta, and getting Point Lookout's lighthouse back into working order. There's also a fantastic hallucination section in which the player character's fears and disappointments are vividly brought to life. Finally, while it does pander to stereotypes somewhat, it's difficult not to be amused by Point Lookout's southern references, especially the introduction of hillbilly mutants. Very Deliverance.By way of summary, and in case it's not obvious already, I'd rank Fallout 3's expansions as follows ...
For my money (not that I spent any; this was a birthday present), Point Lookout clearly deserves top billing among the various expansions. Its gameplay could be criticised as being too similar to Fallout 3, but that's a bonus in my book, especially when deviating from the Fallout 3 formula appears to produce such limp results. I'd place The Pitt next, followed by Broken Steel, although this is a bit more of a toss-up because the former is a little on the short side, and the latter does raise the level-cap (though still not enough for my liking). Operation: Anchorage and Mothership Zeta bring up the rear, but distantly. In spite of looking lovely, both are just too straightforward and linear to hold a candle up to the other add-ons. Given all the fun that's to be had with Fallout 3, it's rather damning to say that Mothership Zeta is too lengthy. This drags it firmly into last place, though it's still well worth a look, with the emphasis on look.
Anyway, that's the end of my journey in post-apocalyptia until at least later this year. Arse. Next up, and courtesy of some good friends, I've got a choice of vigilante violence or Grand Theft Jungle.
As for my earlier stay in Fallout 3, there are a number of screenshots from the expansion packs over at Flickr.
[*] Leaving aside any issues I have with the quality of Mothership Zeta, I'd add that it also introduces, well, existential issues to the world of Fallout. By explicitly introducing a world beyond the ruined Earth, even one filled with murderous aliens, the devastation wrought during the Great War somehow loses its power. It's important (at least for me) that the survivors in the Wasteland have to make the most of it, and that its only through their efforts that things are going to get better. The presence of an alien civilization advanced enough to travel to the Earth opens the door to shortcut fixes, and to the possibility of just leaving the Earth behind. Which conflicts, in my mind, with the efforts to "build a better world" as the game encourages the player to do. Further, judging from the time period that the aliens have been sampling humans for (hundreds of years), one is left with the suspicion that they may even have precipitated the Great War. Part of the power of Fallout lies in the knowledge that humanity is responsible for the destruction wrought on the Earth. Anyway, it is obviously only a game (and is the least "serious" of the add-ons), but as well as being something of a duff installment, Mothership Zeta also serves to cloud the significance of the events playing out in Fallout's shattered world.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Military intelligence
One of his more interesting projects looked at the US military's investigation of the paranormal and New Age "techniques". I was familiar with some of the material he uncovered before reading the book, but I was still astonished at the variety of the craziness studied by the military, how seriously this sort of stuff was taken, and for how long. It certainly reminded me of the old joke about military intelligence. Anyway, his work was turned into a fictionalised film version which we caught today. Any good?
Not really is the simple answer. Which is a shame since both Jeff Bridges and George Clooney try their best to breathe life into a lame script that splices snippets of Ronson's investigations into a pretty stupid journey through a militarised Iraq. What's particularly annoying is that though the film points out that it's partially factual from the start, it's not obvious which parts are based on real events, and which parts are completely made-up or heavily embellished. To the extent that part of me wonders if the US military bankrolled the film - what better way to discredit Ronson's facts than mix them up with fiction?
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Space opera
Back to this blog's favoured science fiction pulp-meister, Neal Asher, and a return to his "main sequence" of novels centred around the cybernetically-enhanced Polity agent, Ian Cormac. It seems like yesterday, but I last read one of this series back in summer 2007. How time flies. Anyway, Line War picks up more or less hot on the heels of the earlier volume Polity Agent ...
As is the "standard model" for Asher's novels (including the last one I read), the novel picks up a number of characters that have graced earlier titles, and then runs them through a breakneck, multi-stranded plot. The cast consists of (among many others) the necessary (Ian Cormac), the unsurprising (Dragon) and the unstoppable-force-of-vengeance (Mr. Crane). As is also a popular motif with Asher, a vaguely bad character from an earlier novel returns here and is rehabilitated (Mr. Crane previously; here it's Orlandine). And, as has become increasingly the norm across all of Asher's work, Jain technology is at the fore, subverting Polity AIs and generally causing galactic-scale mischief. However, while pitched battles against the Jain still feature strongly, this time around Asher is cutting to the heart of his fictional utopia and suggesting that the bedrock on which it is grounded, the all-powerful AIs, is somewhat less considerate of human life than has hitherto been supposed.
Anyway, the above replaces my traditional plot summary because, let's face it, Asher's labyrinthine, fast-paced plots are largely superfluous to describe, and require a lot of backfilling to explain characters and their motivations. Which, to be fair, Asher usually does provide (albeit in fairly clunky, Basil Exposition-style shorthand), presumably to accommodate readers less familiar with his canon. Suffice to say: usual characters; usual multi-stranded plot that gradually comes together; usual "goodification" of previously "bad" character; usual extended battle scenes; unusual subversion of fictional universe's founding principle.
This latter shift, hinted at for the last few novels, is the most interesting thing here, though it is a little reminiscent of a plot thread in Iain (M.) Banks' novel Excession. And the dénouement here, that the morally ambiguous actions of the Polity's de facto ruler, Earth Central, will ultimately benefit humanity, also has a whiff of a similar argument sketched out by an AI protagonist at the close of Banks' (most excellent) Look to Windward.
Anyway, notwithstanding the above familiarities and parallels with Banks' (much older) work, Line War is still a passable and broadly engaging addition to Asher's body of work. Much as I suggested previously, I still think that Asher's tying in of everything to the Jain is going to cause him trouble down the line. Further, Asher should really draw a lesson from the work of Alastair Reynolds, and explore his Polity universe with different characters, different story structures and different perspectives. Reynolds' original Revelation Space series got bogged down with the same, tortuously-entwined characters, but he's kept his future history interesting subsequently by doing standalone novels set within it ... much like Iain Banks has been doing for several decades with his Culture novels.
As is the "standard model" for Asher's novels (including the last one I read), the novel picks up a number of characters that have graced earlier titles, and then runs them through a breakneck, multi-stranded plot. The cast consists of (among many others) the necessary (Ian Cormac), the unsurprising (Dragon) and the unstoppable-force-of-vengeance (Mr. Crane). As is also a popular motif with Asher, a vaguely bad character from an earlier novel returns here and is rehabilitated (Mr. Crane previously; here it's Orlandine). And, as has become increasingly the norm across all of Asher's work, Jain technology is at the fore, subverting Polity AIs and generally causing galactic-scale mischief. However, while pitched battles against the Jain still feature strongly, this time around Asher is cutting to the heart of his fictional utopia and suggesting that the bedrock on which it is grounded, the all-powerful AIs, is somewhat less considerate of human life than has hitherto been supposed.Anyway, the above replaces my traditional plot summary because, let's face it, Asher's labyrinthine, fast-paced plots are largely superfluous to describe, and require a lot of backfilling to explain characters and their motivations. Which, to be fair, Asher usually does provide (albeit in fairly clunky, Basil Exposition-style shorthand), presumably to accommodate readers less familiar with his canon. Suffice to say: usual characters; usual multi-stranded plot that gradually comes together; usual "goodification" of previously "bad" character; usual extended battle scenes; unusual subversion of fictional universe's founding principle.
This latter shift, hinted at for the last few novels, is the most interesting thing here, though it is a little reminiscent of a plot thread in Iain (M.) Banks' novel Excession. And the dénouement here, that the morally ambiguous actions of the Polity's de facto ruler, Earth Central, will ultimately benefit humanity, also has a whiff of a similar argument sketched out by an AI protagonist at the close of Banks' (most excellent) Look to Windward.
Anyway, notwithstanding the above familiarities and parallels with Banks' (much older) work, Line War is still a passable and broadly engaging addition to Asher's body of work. Much as I suggested previously, I still think that Asher's tying in of everything to the Jain is going to cause him trouble down the line. Further, Asher should really draw a lesson from the work of Alastair Reynolds, and explore his Polity universe with different characters, different story structures and different perspectives. Reynolds' original Revelation Space series got bogged down with the same, tortuously-entwined characters, but he's kept his future history interesting subsequently by doing standalone novels set within it ... much like Iain Banks has been doing for several decades with his Culture novels.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Lift-off
As of a few minutes ago, both seagull chicks from the roof opposite are now able to take to the air. They seemed to do a few minutes in the skies around NOC before landing back where they'd started together with one of their parents. Much loud (congratulatory?) calling out then ensued. It seems like 2010 is yet another successful year for the NOC roof rookery.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Wikileaks
I find myself in the position of both (generally) supporting the war in Afghanistan, and supporting the release of intelligence documents by Wikileaks. Although it is not a point seemingly recognised by the authorities (at least officially or in press briefings), given that the latter has revealed some interesting and unpleasant truths about the former, I think the release will keep things honest and transparent, and will ultimately better serve the interests of Afghans and ourselves.
Admittedly, in the short term the release will (justifiably) cause outrage in Afghanistan and (unjustifiably) consternation in the West, and this may even serve to undermine the war. However, in the longer term the release will (hopefully) make our generals and politicians less gung-ho in action and less self-serving in reporting. It will also (again, hopefully) make the general public realise that actions such as those in Afghanistan aren't as clean as they are presented, while at the same time providing a base from which it's possible for an interested observer to quantify and compare the positives and negatives of military action.
What I haven't heard anyone say yet, and what I hope the general public is smart enough to pick up on, is that the "negatives" in Afghanistan need to be properly contextualised. This is one of the largest unintended declassifications ever, making our view of the war in Afghanistan much more complete than for other, corresponding wars. As such it would be very easy to mistakenly assume that Afghanistan is aberrantly bloody, and judge it accordingly. In all likelihood, other conflicts are similarly indiscriminate in their separation of friend and foe, but just not reported on as thoroughly (though I note that this "intelligence malfunction" is largely thanks to a single operative rather than dedicated work by journalists).
A similar phenomenon occurs with so-called "friendly fire" incidents that are now widely reported in the West. Until Gulf War 1, I don't think I'd ever heard this term used, but by Gulf War 2 (the sequel) it was common currency in war reporting (and even used to foster anti-American sentiment in some quarters). Does this mean that there were no incidents in earlier wars in which soldiers from the same side shot one another? Obviously not; and transparently so when one considers that battlefield communications are now vastly superior to how they were in the early 20th century. But the asymmetry in the quality and quantity of information available between modern and historical conflicts should always be carefully considered.
Admittedly, in the short term the release will (justifiably) cause outrage in Afghanistan and (unjustifiably) consternation in the West, and this may even serve to undermine the war. However, in the longer term the release will (hopefully) make our generals and politicians less gung-ho in action and less self-serving in reporting. It will also (again, hopefully) make the general public realise that actions such as those in Afghanistan aren't as clean as they are presented, while at the same time providing a base from which it's possible for an interested observer to quantify and compare the positives and negatives of military action.
What I haven't heard anyone say yet, and what I hope the general public is smart enough to pick up on, is that the "negatives" in Afghanistan need to be properly contextualised. This is one of the largest unintended declassifications ever, making our view of the war in Afghanistan much more complete than for other, corresponding wars. As such it would be very easy to mistakenly assume that Afghanistan is aberrantly bloody, and judge it accordingly. In all likelihood, other conflicts are similarly indiscriminate in their separation of friend and foe, but just not reported on as thoroughly (though I note that this "intelligence malfunction" is largely thanks to a single operative rather than dedicated work by journalists).
A similar phenomenon occurs with so-called "friendly fire" incidents that are now widely reported in the West. Until Gulf War 1, I don't think I'd ever heard this term used, but by Gulf War 2 (the sequel) it was common currency in war reporting (and even used to foster anti-American sentiment in some quarters). Does this mean that there were no incidents in earlier wars in which soldiers from the same side shot one another? Obviously not; and transparently so when one considers that battlefield communications are now vastly superior to how they were in the early 20th century. But the asymmetry in the quality and quantity of information available between modern and historical conflicts should always be carefully considered.
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