Linguistics, AI, and Garden Path Sentences

Parsey Mcparseface

It’s been a while since I’ve shared a post on DR just for the sheer coolness factor, but there’s no way I couldn’t pass along the Washington Post’s article on Google’s natural language parser: Parsey McParseface. What the parser does is fairly easy to explain:

McParseface does what most students learn to do in elementary school. It takes a sentence and breaks it down, identifying nouns, verbs and so forth — and how all of these parts relate to one another. It can tell you, for instance, what the root verb of a sentence is; what is being done to whom and who is doing it.

Along the way, however, the article introduced me to the notion of garden path sentences. These are sentences which, although they are perfectly correct, are incredibly hard for human brains (and AI language parsers) to figure out. Here are two of my favorite examples (from the article):

  1. The horse raced past the barn fell.
  2. The old man the boat.
  3. The coach smiled at the player tossed the frisbee.

Yes, those are all really real sentence. The funny thing is that, now that I’ve wrapped my head around them, it’s hard for me not to understand them effortlessly when I read them. But I remember that the first time I tried to figure them out, it was like a gear in my brain was stuck. They’re called garden path sentences because they are deliberately constructed to make your brain think a word is being used in a certain way when, to understand the sentence, you have to let go of the initial impression and reinterpret a word to make sense of the sentence. So, for example, “the old man” is a phrase that naturally makes you think of the word “man” being used a noun. But, in order to understand that sentence, you have to discard your first impression and realize that it’s being used as a verb in this case: The old [people are the ones who man] the boat.

While I was reading, I couldn’t help but remembering a book I read a couple of years ago called Lexicon.[ref]I wrote a Goodreads review at the time.[/ref] The central conceit of the book is that if you can master language at a truly fundamental level–beneath the level of conscious human understanding–you can use the constituent sounds and their implications to effectively mind-control people. It’s an incredibly cool blend of fantasy magic and technology in a way I’ve never quite seen anywhere else, and feeling your brain struggle to wrap itself around those garden path words is definitely the closest real-life experience you can get to the fantastic mind-powers discussed in the book.

All Things Work for Good, Even Detours

Detour

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey.

There were some very good talks during the Saturday afternoon session of the October 1972 General Conference. Elder Boyd K. Packer had a lot of important things to say about sticking to the basic (in general) and home teaching (in particular) in The Saints Securely Dwell. He taught, for example, that sometimes the most important things are also the easiest to overlook. “No one pays much thought to the beating of the heart,” he said, “until there is the threat that it may be interrupted or stopped.” He also hit on another theme that is starting to quietly emerge across the many talks that I’ve read thus far: the Church serves the family. In this case, “the object of priesthood home teaching is to strengthen the home.”

Another great talk was Elder Loren C. Dunn’s How to Gain a Testimony. It was notable to me for combining the statement “there is one thing to which he is entitled, and that is a testimony of its truthfulness” with the observation that “is no sin to admit to yourself that you do not know if, in fact, you don’t know.” There has been—and continues to be—an awful lot of talk about faith crises. I guess I like the idea of faith construction that Elder Dunn’s talk suggests to me instead. We are not all where we need to be. But there is a way to get there. That is true of so many things in general, and not just of testimonies.

But there is one story—and one paragraph within that story—that sticks out to me from all the several talks we read for this session, and it comes from Paul H. Dunn’s talk “Strengthen thy Brethren.” He writes about dropping off his little girl at a new school when she was afraid to go. She cried and clung to his leg and said “Dad, if you really love me—if you really love me—don’t send me in there.” He replied that “it’s because I do love you that I am taking you in there.”

But then a friend, his daughter’s age, came and cheerfully helped her get over her fears. Here is how he described it:

And before Kellie knew it, she had let go of my leg and got about ten paces away, then realized what she had done. I will never forget her expression and the sermon she taught as she looked back. “Oh,” she said, “Dad, you can go now; I don’t need you anymore.”

It’s an achingly poignant thing for a child to say. As parents, we strive to prepare our children to say it, but we can’t deny that pain that comes when—in one small matter after another—they are really able to say it.

There’s another layer to this talk, however. As I wrote about before, Elder Paul H. Dunn was consumed with scandal in the 1980s (about 10 years after this talk was given) for falsifying many of the stories that he told. Eventually, in 1991, he published an open letter in the Deseret News confessing to fabrications in his stories and to having “indulged in other activities inconsistent with the high and sacred office which I have held.” He also stated that the General Authorities had “censured me and placed a heavy penalty upon me.”[ref] Wikipedia[/ref]

There are those who like to pick at the scabs of the mistakes and imperfections of some of the Church’s leaders, but that’s not why I picked Elder Paul Dunn’s talk. I picked it because, as I said, it struck me so forcefully. It was only after I’d already written half of this post that I remembered who he was. I had every intention of writing this post purely about that story and what it meant to me. [ref]I had the title picked out and everything. It was going to be: “Dad, You Can Go.”[/ref] Then, when I remembered who I was talking about, I had a tough choice. Rewrite the post and make it about something else? Ignore the fact that the story was, quite possibly, embellished beyond truthfulness?[ref]Several of the details do not make sense, once you reread the story with a skeptical eye.[/ref]

There are lots of different ways that people can process the contradiction between the truths of the Gospel and the Church and the falsehoods—in stories, in behavior, or in character—of the men and women who serve. One response is to reject both: if the leaders tell lies over the pulpit at General Conference, what can we trust? Another response is to embrace post-modern ideas of truth. Does it really matter if Elder Paul Dunn had this exact conversation with his daughter? Surely what matters is the impact that the story has, or the principles that it teaches, right?[ref]You can see echoes of the idea that Book of Mormon historicity doesn’t matter, as long as it teaches moral truths.[/ref]

The move God’s Army deals with these issues, and there’s one scene that has stayed with me. It’s 1 hour, 6 minutes into this YouTube version of the film, so if the right spot doesn’t load up, you can scroll forward to that point.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1VPIADCAXM&feature=youtu.be&t=1h6m1s

At the end of the scene, the senior companions says, “People let you down. At least your real father’s there for you.” The greenie response, “I haven’t seen him in thirteen years.” And the senior companion says, of course, “I was talking about your real father.”

People do let you down. And you’ll take your turn letting other people down, sometimes yourself and sometimes people who depend on you.

We live in a world without apparent guardrails. If they’re there, we can’t see them. Sometimes prayers are answered, sometimes they are not. Sometimes leaders are great. Sometimes leaders are failures. I’m not sure that it has to be that way by some kind of logical necessity, but I do believe that even these failures can be turned to good.

Paul said that “we know that all things work together for good to them that love God”[ref]Romans 8:28[/ref] and this sentiment was repeated again and again in the Doctrine and Covenants:

  • “all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another.”[ref]D&C 90:24[/ref]
  • “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord.”[ref]D&C 98:3[/ref]
  • “let your hearts be comforted; for all things shall work together for good to them that walk uprightly, and to the sanctification of the church.”[ref]D&C 100:15[/ref]

I can’t deny frustration and anger at what Elder Paul Dunn’s mistakes mean for the rest of us. They mean that we have to confront the fallibility of our leaders even in General Conference talks. This seems like a desecration and a horrible loss, as though a sacred space we all depend upon had been tainted.

But then, isn’t that the story of the whole Earth? Don’t we live in a Fallen world, a world brought about by the decisions of Adam and Eve? This is the whole pattern, is it not? I wrote, last week, about how home is Heaven’s construction site. I had to say that home was the “construction site” for the simple reason that, of course, our homes are imperfect. Spouses fight. Parents lose patience. Children lose their way. Home should be heaven, but it isn’t. We all inherit sacred spaces, and we all pollute them. Elder Paul Dunn is not a singular exception. He is all of use. I have no excuse to feel animosity towards a fellow sinner.

More importantly, his sins—and therefore our sins—are not irredeemable. One of my favorite songs of all time is a conversion song by Thrice called “The Artist in the Ambulance,” and it includes the simple line in the chorus, “I hope that I will never let you down.”

Of course, we will let God down. But we can still hope anyway, because Christ’s Atonement can swallow our failures. We can hope never to let God down, not because of our own abilities, but because of His Son’s. The hope is real, but the interpretation needs to be fixed.

God’s promise—through Paul and again through Joseph Smith—goes beyond just repair, however. The promise is that all things—not just some of the things—can work for our good. How can Elder Paul Dunn’s sins work for our good? How can all of our sins work for good?

Maybe, just as happens in the scene in God’s Army, when everyone else lets us down we can learn to rely on the ones who never have and never will. This doesn’t excuse anyone. “it must needs be that offences come,” said Jesus, “but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!”[ref]Matt 18:7[/ref] It just means that there is a way for even the dark to be harnessed for the greater light.

Check out the other posts from the General Conference Odyssey this week and join our Facebook group to follow along!

Home is Heaven’s Construction Site

Isaac_a_Lover_of_Peace

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey.

The Saturday morning session of the October 1972 General Conference was another one of those sessions where there was one talk that stood out to me in a singular way. This time the talk was Altar, Tent, Well by Elder M. Theodore Tuttle.

Elder Tuttle begins by quoting from Genesis 26:25: “And Isaac builded an altar there, and called upon the name of the Lord, and pitched his tent there: and there Isaac’s servants digged a well.”

Then Elder Tuttle notes contrasts Isaac with is father (Abraham) and his son (Jacob):

[Isaac] did not reach the heights of Abraham… nor was he as impressive as his son Israel… yet Isaac is loved and revered. He worshiped God, cared for his home, and pursued his work. He is remembered simply as a man of peace. The eloquent simplicity of his life and his unique ability to lend importance to the commonplace made him great.

Isaac’s life, Elder Tuttle says, can be a template for our lives. His day to day concerns are our day to day concerns: altar, tent, and well: worship, home, and work. Elder Tuttle notes, “These basic things of life signified his relationship to God, his family, and his fellowmen. Every person on earth is touched by these three.”

In just a couple of short paragraphs, Elder Tuttle has captured the essence of Mormonism as a practical experience. This, to a great extent, is what it means to live as a Mormon: we seek holiness through the mundane by work and by relationships. Mormons do not try to escape the world to seek our destiny. We realize that many aspects of the world enable us to find that destiny right here and right now.

And so there is nothing poetic about Elder Tuttle’s statement that “To Latter-day Saints, the home is a holy place.” That’s not a metaphor an exaggeration. It’s our theology. The home is “patterned after the celestial home whence we came.” We affirm that God is our Father. We believe that we also have a Mother. We believe our parents want us to become like them. Home is the place where that happens. Home is not heaven quite yet—none of our families are perfect—but home is heaven’s construction site.

This work is mundane. The task of building heaven is not a task of great deeds or dramatic confrontations. It is a chore of practicing kind responses when we’re stressed and tired. It’s the discipline of constantly having to reconsider our priorities. It’s the labor of wrestling our recalcitrant personalities into congruence with love in countless small, unnoticed battles day in and day out. It is learning and growth as imperceptible and, when God blesses our lives, as relentless as a tree taking root in the soil and spreading branches towards the sun and the stars.

The work is relational. Of all the virtues we seek after, none is higher than love. And love is a virtue that only exists in the context of relationships. You can be honest with a stranger. You can deal generously with a stranger. But you cannot love a stranger, because love is friendship. Mormon congregations are determined by geography, and this means we can’t shop for a congregation we like. We don’t pick the people we set next to in the pews, and we don’t pick the bishop we like the most either. But this is just a shadow of the blood bonds that make up a family. Not being able to choose your fellow congregationalists is nothing like not being able to choose your parents, your siblings, or your children. The aim of all our mundane work, the objective to which our daily discipline is directed, is nothing but the cultivation of these relationships so that we may, with God’s grace, bring ourselves into harmony with each other.

One consequence of all this emphasis on the family is that, for Mormons, the institution of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints exists to serve the family and not the other way around. “The Church… is a family church,” says Tuttle, and “we may say that a prime purpose of this church is to perfect and exalt the family.”

Elder Tuttle concludes his talk:

How little things have changed since Isaac’s day—the things that really matter. There is the same God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the same family roles to fill, the same need to work. Altar, tent, and well: these things are essential. Placed in proper perspective by God’s revealed word, they provide at once our greatest challenge and achievement.

Altar, tent, and well. These are why we are here.

Check out the other posts from the General Conference Odyssey this week and join our Facebook group to follow along!

A Grand Fundamental Principle

DTS_Photography_Movie4

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey.

Elder Marvin J. Ashton gave the first talk of the Friday afternoon session in October 1972, and it was fantastic. What Is a Friend? is timely in so many ways, and is one of my favorite talks since starting the General Conference Odyssey last year.

One of the things I’m sure people noticed when reading it, is Elder Ashton’s push back against the conventional wisdom that “A friend is a person who is willing to take me the way I am.” In contrast to that view, Elder Ashton taught that “we are something less than a real friend if we leave a person the same way we find him.”  He expounded:

There seems to be a misunderstanding on the part of some men today as to what it means to be a friend. Acts of a friend should result in self-improvement, better attitudes, self-reliance, comfort, consolation, self-respect, and better welfare. Certainly the word friend is misused if it is identified with a person who contributes to our delinquency, misery, and heartaches. When we make a man feel he is wanted, his whole attitude changes. Our friendship will be recognizable if our actions and attitudes result in improvement and independence.

This became the central theme of the talk; friendship requires that we be willing to

  1. take a person as they are and
  2. leave them improved.

We need both, but so often the world teaches only the first. It teaches that a friend is “a person who passively nods approval,” rather than one who will “suggest and render the best for us regardless of the immediate consequences.”

I also loved the idea of friendship as Elder Ashton applied it to the priesthood hierarchy. “President Less is our friend,” he wrote, and also said, “I love President Tanner and I love President Romney because they are my friends.” This contrasts to starkly with the conventional view of leadership in the world. One example of this is the dichotomy between enlisted and officers in most military forces. The distinction, which hearkens back to class differences, has a useful purpose in a human institution. In On Killing, he wrote about “the paradox of war” saying that “to be a good leader you must truly love (in a strangely detached fashion) your men, and then you must be willing to kill (or at least give the orders that will result in the deaths of) that which you love.”

The officer / enlisted distinction serves to create that “strange detachment” that allows officers—even those who love their men—to send them to their deaths according to the cold calculus of war. This pattern of leadership persists across much of our society, even when there is no such rational basis for it. Leaders are different. They are aloof. They are separate.

But not in the Church. In the Church, there are not officers and enlisted. We’re all enlisted. There are no such barriers between the clergy and the lay members, we’re all lay members. And so we’re all—or we should all be—friends.

And then, Elder Ashton extended this principle even farther, citing several passages from the scriptures that describe God as our friend and concluding, “We need God’s friendship. He pleads for ours.” This is a concept that is only possible with the correct view of friendship, that love motivates both acceptance of a person and an unmitigated desire to help that person become better.

Of course, in our relationship with each other, we have to be wary of motes and beams, but the fundamental motive to help each other rise higher is fundamental to friendship, and it is that principle that animates our friendship with God who—unlike us—always knows exactly what we need to continue our ascent to be more like Him.

And so it is that, as Joseph Smith said, “friendship is one of the grand fundamental principles of ‘Mormonism’.”

Check out the other posts from the General Conference Odyssey this week and join our Facebook group to follow along!

Quick Thoughts on Trump and Predictions

Now that Donald Trump has wrapped up the GOP nomination, there are two kinds of articles flooding the national conversation:

  1. Surely this is a sign of the End Times.
  2. Pundits are dumb!

I can’t really contest #1 because, in a nutshell, I agree.[ref]And yes, I realize my second Tweet is the Platonic ideal of grasping at straws.[/ref]

But let me talk about #2 for a second. First: yes, articles like this one and this one and this one that are full of  screenshots of pontifications about how Trump has no chance are funny now that he is the winner of the primary after all. But hold on a second. Does the fact that somebody was wrong about a prediction actually mean that they were dumb? That their prediction was a stupid one? Not necessarily.

If you bet your life savings on being able to flip a coin 5 times in a row and get heads every time, I am going to say you have made a dumb decision. You’ve got about a 97% chance of losing everything and only a 3% chance of winning. But lets say you ignore me, place your bet, and you manage to get lucky and win. This doesn’t make you a genius. It makes you an idiot who got lucky.

People are terrible at statistical reasoning. We like reality simple and we like it deterministic. That means we like to believe that if Y happened, then it’s because of X and obviously X had to cause Y and couldn’t have caused W or Z or coconut soup.

But reality is messy. Sometimes good predictions fail because there was systematic information that nobody had access to. Sometimes good predictions fail because of just plain old dumb luck (like in my example with coin flips). The point is just that even someone who is right 95% of the time is going to get it wrong 5% of the time, and that doesn’t mean that in those 5% of cases where they get it wrong there was actually anything they could or should have predicted differently.

Take a guy like Nate Silver. Unlike your average pundit, he’s got a track record of getting things right by using objective, transparent, quantitative methods. He was largely right in 2008, 2010, and 2012. And this year, he was one of the leading voices telling people to calm down and not worry too much about Trump.[ref]I know, because I was one of the folks who cited him.[/ref] As a result, he is now being singled out by name by, for example, Business Insider: NATE SILVER: ‘We basically got the Republican race wrong’ as one of those silly propeller heads we never should have listened to in the first place.

Not so fast.

First, this is actually a meaningful question. Journalistic credibility is already at historical lows, and that has dire consequences for society. A strong, free press is a bedrock institution of democracy, and if the press is perceived to be hopelessly biased or suborned or just plain old incompetent, that’s bad for our nation. And it matters whether the perception is real or false. In reality, it’s probably a little of both. My read on Nate Silver (who fulfills the role of a journalist even if he doesn’t fit the old, pre-21st century conception) is that he’s an honest guy doing good work. On the other hand, there is a legitimate argument that journalism is fracturing into a thousand click-bait seeking echo chambers. If we, the reading public, don’t discern between episodic mistakes and systematic corruption, then we can’t provide the necessary incentives for the good ship Free Press to right herself.

It’s also meaningful because we need to know what happened with Trump. Yes, obviously Silver (and most everyone else) predicted the wrong outcome. But the question is why were they wrong? Was it incompetence? Was it information nobody had access to? Or did Trump keep getting heads every time he flipped the coin? Almost none of the articles I’ve read address this question. They just assume that if your prediction fails it was a bad prediction. In other words, they are assuming incompetence. And this means we’re likely to draw all the wrong conclusions about what Trump’s victory means.

So–even though he got it wrong–I strongly recommend reading Silver’s take. In it, he raises this important question explicitly:

What’s much harder to say is whether Trump is a one-off — someone who defied the odds because a lot of things broke in his favor and whose success will be hard to repeat — or if he signifies a fundamental change in American politics.

In answer, he notes the three ways his prediction was systematically off:

  1. Voters are more tribal than I thought.
  2. GOP is weaker than I thought.
  3. Media is worse than I thought.

It’s not clear if these are things Silver should have known or if these are new facts that we only know now because of Trump’s victory, but the point is that–because they are systematica rather than merely random–these are new facts that can help us understand and predict the world going forward.[ref]Until they change again, of course.[/ref]

But there is also room for randomness. Take a look at this chart:

 

silver-postin-1

Prior to the New York state primary, Trump had never taken a majority in a GOP primary. Since then, he’s never not taken the majority. What happened? Silver’s guess is that voter rationally and deliberately evaluated Trump’s argument that whoever gets the most votes should get the nomination (even if they fall short of a majority) and so decided to make sure Trump got the majority to avoid a contested election. To me, this makes very little sense, because “rationally and deliberately” are not adverbs I usually apply to voter action. And I’m not making a dig at Trump’s voters, I just mean that group action seldom has that kind of rational, deliberate nature without some kind of elaborate infrastructure to support it.[ref]This is where I could make a long tangent on complex systems, spontaneous order, emergence, and the price system, but I won’t. This time.[/ref]

My guess? Well, two of the big stories leading up to New York were Ted Cruz’s statements about “New York values” and his machinations to win delegates without winning elections in Colorado and Maine. So, what do you think happens when a populist demagogue leading a movement of voters who feel bitter, dispossessed, and disenfranchised by a corrupt, elitist system gets to tar his top challenger as a conniving insider using questionable technicalities to steal votes? Oh, and he insulted you, too. Cruz walked face-first into Trump’s zeitgeist, and that–I am guessing–fueled Trump’s unprecedented win in New York state which, in turn, snowballed into his further victories after that.

Who knows if I’m right or not, though, and that’s my point. This is basically the blind luck category. If I’m right, then it took the coincidence of Cruz and Trump being pretty much right where they were leading up to New York in the polls, plus the rules being what they were in Maine and Colorado, etc. You can find explanations for all of that, but at a certain point we’re just making stories up after the fact to explain what is, in reality, an essentially chaotic reality. Or hey, maybe I’m wrong, in which case nobody knows.

Either way, this matters a lot for the big question: is Trump a one-off? Or a sign of the new reality? I don’t know the answer definitively, but I do know the shallow and vapid articles where some pundits make fun of other pundits for not punditting well enough are just a distracting waste of time.

The Darkness of Game of Thrones

There will be Game of Thrones spoilers in this post. 

The cover of Game of Thrones, back before it went mainstream.
The cover of Game of Thrones, back before it went mainstream.

George R. R. Martin can write.[ref]Well, given how slow his progress has been recently, I suppose I should be more specific. When Mr. Martin writes, it’s very good.[/ref] I’ve known that since I read A Game of Thrones nearly 20 years ago. I was bothered by crippling a child in one of the first scenes, and by the time I got to Ned Stark’s execution at the end of the book I knew that the series wasn’t for me. I haven’t read any other books in the series, and I haven’t watched a single episode of the HBO adaptation. But, because I follow a lot of pop culture with interest, I do keep up with most of the memorable moments. From the Red Wedding to the death of Jon Snow, I keep tabs.

And it’s pretty grim stuff.

It turns out that Jon Snow’s not dead after all, by the way. This is the big reveal in the most recent episode, but it was overshadowed by, you know, brutally feeding a mother and her child to a pack of ravenous dogs. Here’s what Kelly Lawler wrote about it:

So in an episode where fans were given what might be the greatest news they could hope for, they were also treated to a mother and newborn child being eaten alive by dogs. Why? I couldn’t tell you, but I can tell you that an episode like “Home” demonstrates what is the fundamental underpinning of this show: It will do anything in its desperation to shock you. And while having actors and producers flat-out lie for a year in the press is the more innocent end of that spectrum, we certainly hope we’re not forced to listen to more infants being eaten alive. Because that’s not the shock we’re looking for.

Lawler goes on:

And so the audience was treated to the sounds and very nearly the sight of a woman and her newborn son being ripped apart by dogs. We’ve already seen countless women raped, a young girl burned alive by her own father, not to mention the weekly grind of violence and death we’ve become accustomed to. Sure, some of that is par for the course with the genre and the path this show has decided to take, but even for the most ardent fans, for the most faithful viewer, when is enough enough? Is there no line this show won’t cross?

There is something that people do not seem to understand about values, and it is this. Particular values are subjective and contingent. But having values at all is objective and universal. Where a society chooses to draw lines in what is acceptable and what is not changes with history and location and context. That societies draw lines is not.

Lawler seems to think that the important question is, how far do you go? But that doesn’t really matter, because different societies–and different individuals–have their own tolerances and their own lines in the sand. Location is largely meaningless. What matters is direction. Lawler writes that the show “will do anything in its desperation to shock you.” Why desperation? Because the more you shock the audience, the less sensitive they become.

No matter what your tolerances are, the danger–I believe–comes in crossing them habitually and for no higher purpose and in so doing desensitizing yourself. The world we live in certainly does not need less sensitivity. It certainly does not need less empathy. It does not need less light.[ref]FYI, A Game of Thrones is very, very far from the darkest stuff out there. If you really want to read a book with lots of child-torture and child-rape, then you should skip George R. R. Martin and head straight for N. K. Jemisin.[/ref]

Just something to think about.

The Dog Whistle Dilemma

dog whistle 800x400

Political polarization is bad enough, but sometimes partisan arguments are worse than merely polarizing. One example of this is the response to the controversial topic of political correctness and so-called “social justice warriors.”

Now, I’m not a huge fan of the term “social justice warriors” because—as a term that was initially a pejorative and is still primarily used that way—it carries a lot of baggage. But I do think that concerns about political correctness are legitimate, and I documented a lot of thinkers (primarily from the American left) who have agreed in recent months in Difficult Run’s most widely read article of 2015: When Social Justice Isn’t About Justice. This view—that political correctness, social justice activism, microagressions, tolerance, etc—have gone a little too far seems to be an emerging consensus. But there are still holdouts.

Not surprisingly, the holdouts come from within the social justice movement itself. One prominent, sympathetic voice is John Scalzi. He’s a best-selling, award-winning science fiction author who famously signed a multi-million-dollar publishing deal with Tor last year.[ref]Big enough to get its own article in the New York Times, the LA Times, and other venues.[/ref] He’s a prominent, influential voice on social justice issues, and according to him—and thousands who agree—there is no conceivable, legitimate concern to be had on this topic. For example, back in 2014, he wrote that:

“Political Correctness” is a catchphrase which today means one of two things. The first is, “I have done no substantial thinking on this topic in at least twenty years and therefore anything I say past this point cannot be treated with any seriousness.” The second is “It is more important for me to continue my ingrained bigotry than it is for you not to be denigrated or offended by my bigotry, because I am lazy and do not wish to be bothered.” If in fact you do not intend to convey either of these two things, you should not use, nor sign on to a document which uses, the phrase “political correctness.”

In November 2015, at precisely the time that opinion across much of the spectrum of American politics was starting to really take political correctness seriously as a threat, he wrote:

I’m always embarrassed for the people who use these phrases [“political correctness” and “social justice warriors”] thinking they’re cutting, when in fact what they signal to the rest of the world is that the utterer is dog-whistling to a low-wattage, bigoted rabble in lieu of making an actual argument.

You can immediately see the polarization and absolutism of Scalzi’s statements. If we take Scalzi’s argument at face value then we must write off folks like Andrew Sullivan, John McWhorter, Jeannie Suk, Jonathan Chait, Laura Kipnis, Asam Ahmad, Damon Linker, Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt[ref]These are the folks I quoted in When Social Justice Isn’t About Justice [/ref] as ignorant bigots. That’s a pretty diverse list of gay and straight, male and female, white and black thinkers (almost none of whom are conservative or Republican), but in one fell swoop Scalzi says you can ignore anything they say. Which is the whole point: you can make the world a much simpler place by inventing reasons to completely ignore your opponents. This is what political polarization is all about. We’ve seen this before.

But when we look at the specifics of Scalzi’s argument, we see another problem. The key concept in Scalzi’s argument is the concept of dog whistling. A dog whistle is “a type of whistle that emits sound in the ultrasonic range, which people cannot hear but some other animals can, including dogs and domestic cats, and is used in their training.”[ref]Quote is from Wikipedia, which notes that it is also known as a “silent whistle.”[/ref] So, in politics, the idea of dog whistling is that someone disguises racism behind a veneer of apparently neutrality. For example, they will talk about “thugs” (when discussing issues of race and crime, perhaps) as a stand in for just using the n-word. This accusation is true. It is a real thing that really happens.

The problem is that Scalzi isn’t leveling the accusation against a particular thing said by a particular person in a particular context. He is saying that anyone who says anything in any context about political correctness or social justice warriors is engaging in dog whistling.

Intended or not, the inevitable consequence of this move is that it subjectifies arguments. Making an argument about a person’s motivations or private beliefs is always tricky, but in most cases we can build a case by using publicly available, objective facts like their words, their behavior, the consequences of their actions, and so forth. But that’s not possible when we make categorical statements about the motivations and private beliefs of a wide range of people without any recourse to external facts. The only way to enact the total dog whistle accusation as Scalzi does is to abandon objectivity.

The case for abolition relied on objective claims like all people deserve human rights and human rights are incompatible with slavery as an institution. The 20 century civil rights movement also relied on objective claims such as segregation is incompatible with genuine racial equality. But the all-encompassing dog whistle accusation eschews recourse to any publicly available, objectively valid facts and so eschews objectivity itself.[ref]This is a common theme in modern social justice activism, by the way. Microaggressions are essentially subjective, although in that case it’s not the alleged intention of the microaggressor that matters, but the perceptions of the microaggrieved.[/ref]

Why does this matter? It matters because once an argument becomes subjective, it no longer makes sense to talk about who is more correct. Instead, arguments inevitably devolve into contests to see who is more powerful. When objective truth is no longer a recourse, all that remains is appeal to power. [ref]This is why so much contemporary social justice activism revolves around mass-shaming. It only takes one person to present a true argument, but it takes a mob to properly browbeat someone. You could argue that it takes a lot of people to amplify a true argument, but that clearly doesn’t apply to mass-shamings. If there’s just a single person being subjected to a massive barrage of negative attacks, clearly disseminating information broadly is not the primary objective. I’m also not saying the left invented mass shaming or has the monopoly on it, but it’s certainly distinctive of contemporary social justice activism.[/ref]

This makes the dog whistle accusation an ultimately self-defeating tool from the standpoint of genuine concern for social justice, because once the argument becomes a question of power, it is a foregone conclusion that it can no longer constitute a genuine challenge powers in high places. You cannot speak subjective truth to power because subjective truth is power.

The practical reality is that the ultimate consumers of social justice activism are nice, college-educated, open-minded, prosperous, white Americans who are desperate to find the magic words to say to absolve themselves of any perceived guilt from profiting off of historical exploitation or collaborating in ongoing, systemic oppression. Social justice activism, unmoored from sternly objectivist claims, cannot resist the universal solvent of American consumerism and is already far on its way to becoming just another luxury good. Social justice arguments rooted in subjectivism are no harder for elites to absorb and appropriate than any other cultural artifact, and when that happens the tactics, rhetoric, and infrastructure of social justice are deployed to serve the interests of those elites rather than to challenge them. This is true even when social justice ends up being deployed against minorities. Weapons, even rhetorical ones, don’t care who they are aimed at.

Consider Conor Friedersdorf’s recent Atlantic piece: Left Outside the Social-Justice Movement’s Small Tent. The story describes Mahad Olad’s journey into and then estrangement from social justice activism. Why? He had the temerity to question trigger warnings and attempts to shut down conservative speakers. The result? “I was accused of being outrageously insensitive and apparently made three activist cohorts have traumatic breakdowns,” (for questioning trigger warnings) and “I was accused of being a ‘respectable negro,’ ‘uncle tom,’ ‘local coon’ and defending university officials to continue to ‘systemically oppress minorities,” (for questioning silencing of conservative speakers).

This is just one example of social justice turning against minorities, but there are plenty more. There are articles like That awkward moment when I realized my white “liberal” friends were racists and The Unchecked Racism Of The Left And The Platinum Rule and The Disturbing Story Of Widespread Sexual Assault Allegations At A Major Progressive PR Firm and What Happens When a Prominent Male Feminist Is Accused of Rape?. [ref]Note that, predominantly, these examples do not rely on subjectivist claims. Rape and sexual assault, unlike universal dog whistles and microaggressions, are not subjective.[/ref]

As long as the dog whistle accusation is used as a blanket condemnation of all who have the temerity to question social justice activism and political correctness, social justice will be subjectified and therefore vulnerable to subversion by the privileged.[ref]Crucially: this happens without malice or even conscious awareness. It’s not that privileged people are evil, in this case, it’s just that goods and services are systematically warped to serve their interests, as social justice activists well understand in other contexts.[/ref] On the other hand, if the dog whistle accusation is only employed when there’s some kind of objective evidence for it, some bigots will get away with dog whistling because there won’t be enough convincing, objective evidence. This is the dog whistle dilemma, and it is intractable.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that our society is fully of intractable problems. The entire criminal justice system is a giant apparatus set up to confront exactly this kind of intractable problem. We balance the principle of presumed innocence and Miranda rights (to protect the innocent) against warrants and imprisonment (to punish the guilty) knowing full well we’re balancing incompatible interests. With fewer legal protections for the accused, we punish more of the guilt, but also more of the innocent. With more legal protections, we protect the innocent but also let the guilt get away. That’s not to say that we’re complacent about the tradeoff, and it’s certainly not to argue that we have the balance correct today. It’s simply to illustrate that the idea of an irreconcilable tradeoff between competing and incompatible values is not new.

The fatal flaw in the contemporary social justice movement is myopia. A criminal justice system that only cared about punishing the guilty would, in short order, discard all civil liberties in the pursuit of that objective, resulting in a nightmare.

No one wants to live in a society where sometimes murderers get away on a technicality. No one wants to live in that kind of society, that is, until we stop to really consider the alternative. A world where courts and prosecutors do not have to abide by the rule of law is even worse.

The same applies here. A world where some people can get away with racism as long as they cloak it in a thin veneer of plausible deniability is not anybody’s idea of a utopia. But a solution like Scalzi’s is even worse, because it’s not only a world riven by polarization and discord, but also a world where social justice itself becomes subjectified and then perverted to serve the interests of entrenched elites.

Mormonism and Becoming

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This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey.

Last week we covered the last session of the April 1972 General Conference. In July of that year, President Joseph Fielding Smith passed away, so this week we’re covering the first session during which President Harold B. Lee served as President.

It also means that during the three-year period from 1970 – 1972, there were three different Presidents of the Church[ref]as President Kimball noted in his talk.[/ref]. Change for the Church continued rapidly, since President Harold B. Lee passed away in 1973, meaning that the Church had 4 different Presidents in just a 5-year period.

Change was the central theme of one of the talks this session, Elder John H. Vandenberg’s Becoming a Somebody. “Who is there who has reached that point in life,” he asked, “where he can afford to allow himself to stop growing or to stop improving?”

This idea of constant progress and growth is at the core of who we are as Mormons, and Elder Vandenberg did an excellent job of trying it to our foundational principles and ordinances. It starts with faith, of course, but then “repentance follows faith as naturally as the day follows dawn.”

Once again, we’re unearthing that connection in Mormonism between knowing and loving. When we see Christ, we want to be nearer to Him. And that means becoming more like Him. And so faith leads to repentance, and then to baptism which—“as it cleanses the reborn person”—initiates a whole new journey of growth that is guided by the Holy Spirit. And so Elder Vandberg concludes:

In these principles we find the unfailing power to change… As one acquires knowledge of the gospel principles and pursues his course, he can successfully apply those principles to his individual circumstances, whether his position be one of great or meager possessions; whether it be early in life, during his economic production period, or in retirement. The gospel is meant to temper life and to bring it into true balance and fruition.

Thus we see the Gospel as middle way: calling us to strive for ideals beyond everyday experience, but at the same time calling us to spend our days and years in mundane work and service. Mormonism makes us grow because, when we are truly trying to live it, we refuse to let go of either Heaven or Earth and find ourselves stretched between the two.

Two final points stuck out from this talk. First, President Vandenberg said that “the Lord has decreed that ‘the Church hath need of every member.’” Last week, news broke of Tyler Glenn’s new song from his solo album. Glenn, the lead singer of the band Neon Trees, had recently been a positive spokesperson for the Church but, it seems, has come to believe that the Church has no need of him because of his same-sex attraction. That’s not true, and it’s not what the Church teaches. We are all sinners, and the Church needs us all anyway. That need is absolute and—like the Savior’s love—it is not contingent on our worthiness or righteousness. Glenn’s loss is also our loss—as it is with every member who stumbles—and I hope one day he comes home.

And then there is this final question: “I ask you, brethren, sisters, where would we be, where would you be, where would I be, if it were not for the power of the gospel of Christ?” It’s a sobering question, and one well worth asking of ourselves.

Check out the other posts from the General Conference Odyssey this week and join our Facebook group to follow along!

The Peace of Knowing God

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This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey.

With our 21st week of posting, we’ve come to the end of our third General Conference. Which means we have approximately 700 more weeks to go. We didn’t call it the General Conference Odyssey for nothing!

The Sunday afternoon session of the April 1972 General Conference further solidified my impression that the Sunday sessions are where it’s at. This session had some pretty consistent themes as well, with talks like Peace and Whence Cometh Our Peace? along with Knowing God.

In his talk (Peace), Elder Eldred G. Smith asked, “How is it that we have not discovered the secret of peace when we have been looking for it all through the ages?” And then he answered: “I’ll tell you. We are looking for someone to create it for us—to bring it to us.” We can’t just receive peace. We have to make peace. How? Elder Smith makes one practical suggestion: “Peace… comes from service.” In a time of virtual activism—banging at keyboards for justice—this is a more timely reminder than ever.[ref]They don’t call it “slacktivism” for nothing.[/ref]

Then, in Elder John H. Vandenberg’s talk (Whence Cometh Our Peace?), there is this simple but important observation: “Just as running madly after worldly things does not bring peace, neither does sitting idly by.” The peace we seek as Mormons is not a peace of enlightened contemplation, but of active engagement. Of work.[ref]That’s something Walker will like.[/ref]

And then, tying the two together, is Elder Bernard P. Braockbank’s talk: Knowing God, who said, “Many believe that there is a God, many say that they know there is a God, but many do not act like they know God.” He put the emphasis on “know,” saying: “There is a great difference in believing or knowing that there is a God and in knowing God.”  But I am also struck by the transition from the first two statements using the verbs “believe” and know” and the last one, using the verb “act.” There is something about knowing God that ties it inseparably to behavior.

I don’t invest a huge amount of time in trying to formalize my theology, but I do have the belief that all truths are part of one great whole and the hope that one day I will see it. Things we thought were different will turn out to be intimately connected. One such pair consists of love and understanding, which Mormons intuitively believe are intertwined. (No one wrote about this more eloquently than Orson Scott Card.) Another may turn out to be belief and action. It’s possible that true belief in goodness requires us, over time, to be good. The affinity for light and truth in our heart and mind, combined with a sense of integrity, mean that eventually we must seek to bring our own actions into conformity with that light and with that truth.

I’m not sure. As I said: I don’t put a lot of stock in my own theological innovations or speculations. But I catch glimpses now and then of a leviathan just beneath the surface, a vast and intimate construct, that make me happy and optimistic about the destination that lies at the end of the road of discipleship.

Check out the other posts from the General Conference Odyssey this week and join our Facebook group to follow along!

The Smug Style in American Liberalism

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If you haven’t heard of Emmett Rensin’s article for Vox yet, you will certainly hear about it soon. In a deliberate send up to Richard Hofstadter’s The Paranoid Style in American Politics, Rensin takes liberalism to task for an overbearing smugness that leads the movement to hold in contempt many of the people it allegedly wants to help.

And, just in time, along comes a great example of exactly the kind of smug contempt that Rensin wrote about. Our case study? Jacobin’s article Merle’s America. Erik Loomis has  take-down that explains exactly what is wrong with Jacobin’s discussion of the country music legend: Jacobin: Walking on the Fighting Side of Me.

Were you thinking, I really need to know what Jacobin has to say about Merle Haggard? Probably not. Unfortunately, Jacobin decided to publish a Merle Haggard obituary of sorts, by Jonah Walters. It is, without exaggeration, the worst essay I have ever seen in that publication and one of the worst essays on music I have ever read. It is essentially an exercise in Aesthetic Stalinism, arguing that Merle Haggard was a terrible person and overrated artist because he was supposedly the voice of American reaction for a half-century. This is not only wrong politically, it’s wrong musically.

Loomis spends most of the article going through the factual inaccuracies of the Jacobin piece, but he doesn’t sidestep the central issue either:

[So] often on the left, talking about the white working class as they actually exist, turns into a snobbish dismissal, whether of actual people or of their cultural forms… Walters’ essay shows how quickly many leftists fall into a knee-jerk belief that the actual living breathing white working class is a political failure and thus evaluates their cultural forms from that perspective.

Rensin couldn’t have asked for a better example of this central thesis. Which is, in case you’re curious:

  1. “Beginning in the middle of the 20th century, the working class, once the core of the coalition, began abandoning the Democratic Party… Among white voters making between $30,000 and $75,000 per year, the GOP has taken a 17-point lead.”
  2. The left replied by “[finding] comfort in the notion that their former allies were disdainful, hapless rubes,” and so “smug liberals created a culture animated by that contempt.”
  3. “The internet only made it worse. “

Rensin’s article is long, but it is well worth reading in full.