Insert Monkey Pun Here: More on Evolution and Recommendations

Mark refers to the Texas Tech biology professor Michael Dini as a “fool” for his no-recommendations-for-creationists policy. That’s harsh. Mark himself admits that this policy might be appropriate if applied only to biology majors: “After all, you probably wouldn't recommend someone for graduate work in physics who insisted that Newtonian mechanics was ‘just a theory’ and held out for the Aristotelian theory of motion.” His complaint, then, must be based on the judgment – a factual judgment, I submit – about whether evolution is relevant in the practice of medicine. I tend to agree with Mark that it probably is not. But then again, Paul Orwin (quoted here by Eugene) points out some plausible connections between evolution and medicine – or at least between evolution and medical research. Even if one doesn’t agree with Orwin’s or Dini’s arguments, they hardly strike me as “foolish.” Honest, intelligent people can disagree here.

Mark puts the issue in terms of compelling recommendation-seekers to say something they don’t believe: “Handicapping someone in applying to medical school because he won't say something he thinks is false is mean and stupid, just as kicking a kid out of Scouting because he won't pretend to a belief in a Higher Power is mean and stupid.” Perhaps this is a reason for Prof. Dini not to make his policy public, lest students just give him the answer they know he wants to hear. But the honesty concern cuts both ways: if the professor truly believes – for whatever reason – that a student is not qualified, it is disingenuous for him to write a letter indicating otherwise.

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"I Cannot Recommend Her More Highly..."

Eugene discusses the fascinating case of a biology professor at Texas Tech who refuses to write recommendations for students who reject the theory of evolution. The case raises questions relating both to law and to academic ethics, and Eugene presents excellent arguments on both sides of both issues. Nonetheless, my strong inclination is to defend the professor’s discretion. Let’s set aside the issue of evolution versus creation, and just look at what it means to write a recommendation.

As a professor, I have to write recommendations fairly often, and it’s not a simple process. When you do it, you’re putting your name and reputation behind someone, saying to others that you think this person is honest, credible, and possessed of the necessary skills or talents for the position he seeks. (Unless, of course, it’s a *bad* recommendation – more on that below.) Writing a recommendation involves, to some degree or another, putting one’s own credibility on the line, and it necessarily involves the exercise of judgment.

Thus, writing a recommendation is not just another requirement of the job, like grading papers or having office hours. It’s making a statement about one’s own beliefs and judgment. Although it would be unacceptable for a professor to say (as one of my sister’s unfortunately said) that he will never write any recommendations at all, there has to be a very wide margin of discretion. To require someone to recommend someone whom they do not deem worthy is to remove all meaning from the word “recommendation.”

I think there is also a relevant practical consideration: there is no way to require that a recommendation be “fair.” As anyone who’s ever written or read a recommendation can attest, it is easy enough to damn a candidate with faint praise. For that matter, the letter writer could just use heavy and uninspiring language, so that the letter is less likely to have a positive impact. It’s rather like trying to compel an actor to perform the role of Hamlet – if he really isn’t inspired by the role, there’s no way to assure a good performance. Requiring professors to write recommendations seems likely to encourage them to write less-than-glowing letters for students who are better off asking someone else.

These considerations hold true even if the particular professor’s judgment is compromised in some way. In the present case, I think the professor is probably correct to doubt the scientific-mindedness of biology students willing to ignore the incredible array of evidence supporting evolution. On the other hand, he is likely mistaken that one’s perspective on evolution has much to do with one’s effectiveness in the medical profession. Yet that is his judgment, and judgment cannot truly be compelled. A policy that requires professors to write recommendations even when their convictions tell them otherwise will either (a) result in weak recommendations not worth having, or (b) result in strong-but-insincere recommendations that diminish the persuasive power of sincere recommendations.

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What Would Jesus Smoke?

Once again, the Office of National Drug Control Policy spent millions of dollars of your money to spread drug war propaganda during the Superbowl.

In one ad, “Ghost Train,” a man on a subway is haunted by ghosts of people killed in the crossfire of the drug war. Why are they harassing this well-dressed commuter? Because he bought drugs (the ghosts explain) and the drug dealers were fighting over drug money. In another ad, “Ghost Office,” a little girl killed in a bomb blast gives a guilt trip to a businesswoman who bought drugs – because the money ended up in the hands of terrorists. Both ads end with the message, “Drug Money Supports Terrible Things.”

This is something like punching holes in your neighbor’s gas line, and then blaming the explosion on your neighbor’s filthy cigarette habit.

There should be a parody of these ads that puts the blame where it really belongs. In the new version of the ads, when the commuter and businesswoman ask why the ghosts are blaming them, the ghosts should respond: “Because you’re a member of Congress, and you voted for the war on drugs. Your laws created huge black-market profits that lead to violence and death.” The ads should end with the message, “The War on Drugs is a War on People.”

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Linguistic Cosmos and Taxis

Eugene takes on the language police, and for the most part I agree with him. Language is, as Eugene argues, a “grown order” that evolves over time. New usages emerge and old ones die, in response to the real needs of real language users. Trying to freeze the language in place -- or worse yet, turn back the clock to some earlier version of the language -- is a pointless and (to the rest of us) annoying endeavor.

But I do have a nit to pick, as I think Eugene’s criticism goes too far. He says:

Linguistic prescriptivism (dictionarymakers recording what they think should be the usage, not what is the usage), is a "made order" -- a judgment of a small group of people selected for the purpose of rendering their judgment. Made orders are sometimes useful, for instance in the setting of technical standards. But as to language, I think the grown order approach is far more likely to yield a language that is genuinely responsive to users' needs than the made order approach.

Yes, grown orders (also known as spontaneous orders) are generally more responsive than made orders. But does any form of linguistic prescriptivism necessarily fall in the latter category? Unless the prescriptivists actually attempt to enforce their standards on the rest of us in the manner of the French Academy, the power of the prescriptivists to influence the language is dependent on the willingness of other speakers to follow their lead. In other words, the prescriptivists' admonitions have their place within the grown order of language. If you want a real example of a made order in language, try Esperanto.

Consider the analogy with the free market, another type of spontaneous order. The defining characteristic of this order is *not* the absence of hierarchy or deliberate organization; otherwise, we’d have to conclude that the existence of firms violates the principles of the market. The defining characteristic of the market order is the absence of an overarching authority with the ability to command specific outcomes. Within this decentralized framework, influential people and organizations may work to achieve specific outcomes on a voluntary basis. The linguistic prescriptivists are analogous to the managers of a firm who, upon observing a new competitor that claims to make a better mousetrap, stubbornly insist that the old-fashioned mousetrap is superior. And maybe they’re right; the real test is in the mousetrap-buying choices of consumers. Likewise, in language, the test of the prescriptivists’ prescriptions is their staying power.

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My Small Place in the Blogosphere

I find this amusing. I've created a couple of charts showing the number of hits on this website for each day and week since it creation. See if you can guess when I got linked by Instapundit.

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