- Bauerlein, Mark.
The Dumbest Generation.
New York: Tarcher/Penguin, 2008.
ISBN 978-1-58542-639-3.
-
The generation born roughly between 1980 and 2000, sometimes dubbed
“Generation Y” or the “Millennial Generation”,
now entering the workforce, the public arena, and exerting an
ever-increasing influence in electoral politics, is the first
generation in human history to mature in an era of ubiquitous
computing, mobile communications, boundless choice in entertainment
delivered by cable and satellite, virtual environments in video games,
and the global connectivity and instant access to the human patrimony
of knowledge afforded by the Internet. In the United States, it is
the largest generational cohort ever, outnumbering the Baby Boomers
who are now beginning to scroll off the screen. Generation Y is the
richest (in terms of disposable income), most ethnically diverse, best
educated (measured by years of schooling), and the most comfortable
with new technologies and the innovative forms of social interactions
they facilitate. Books like
Millennials Rising sing
the praises of this emerging, plugged-in, globally wired
generation, and
Millennial Makeover
(May 2008)
eagerly anticipates the influence they will have
on politics and the culture.
To those of us who interact with members of this generation
regularly through E-mail, Web logs, comments on Web sites,
and personal Web pages, there seems to be a dissonant chord
in this symphony of technophilic optimism. To be blunt,
the kids are clueless. They may be able to multi-task,
juggling mobile phones, SMS text messages, instant Internet
messages (E-mail is so Mom and Dad!), social
networking sites, Twitter, search engines, peer-to-peer
downloads, surfing six hundred cable channels with nothing
on while listening to an iPod and playing a video game,
but when you scratch beneath the monomolecular layer of
frantic media consumption and social interaction with
their peers, there's, as we say on the Web,
no content—they appear
to be almost entirely ignorant of history, culture, the
fine arts, civics, politics, science, economics, mathematics,
and all of the other difficult yet rewarding aspects of
life which distinguish a productive and intellectually
engaged adult from a superannuated child. But then one
worries that one's just muttering the perennial complaints
of curmudgeonly old fogies and that, after all, the kids
are all right. There are, indeed, those who argue that
Everything Bad Is
Good for You: that video games and pop culture
are refining the cognitive, decision-making, and moral
skills of youth immersed in them to never before attained
levels.
But why are they so clueless, then? Well, maybe
they aren't really, and Burgess Shale relics like me have
simply forgotten how little we knew about the real world
at that age. Errr…actually, no—this book, written
by a professor of English at Emory University and former
director of research and analysis for the National Endowment
for the Arts, who experiences first-hand the cognitive capacities
and intellectual endowment of those Millennials who arrive in his
classroom every year, draws upon a wealth of recent research
(the bibliography is 18 pages long) by government
agencies, foundations, and market research organisations,
all without any apparent agenda to promote, which documents
the abysmal levels of knowledge and the ability to apply it
among present-day teenagers and young adults in the U.S.
If there is good news, it is that the new media technologies
have not caused a precipitous collapse in objective measures
of outcomes overall (although there are disturbing statistics
in some regards, including book reading and attendance at
performing arts events). But, on the other hand, the
unprecedented explosion in technology and the maturing
generation's affinity for it and facility in using it have
produced absolutely no objective improvement in their
intellectual performance on a wide spectrum of metrics.
Further, absorption in these new technologies has further
squeezed out time which youth of earlier generations spent
in activities which furthered intellectual development
such as reading for enjoyment, visiting museums and historical
sites, attending and participating in the performing
arts, and tinkering in the garage or basement. This was compounded
by the dumbing down and evisceration of traditional content
in the secondary school curriculum.
The sixties generation's leaders didn't anticipate
how their claim of exceptionalism would affect the next generation,
and the next, but the sequence was entirely logical. Informed
rejection of the past became uninformed rejection of the past, and
then complete and unworried ignorance of it. (p. 228)
And it is the latter which is particularly disturbing: as
documented extensively, Generation Y knows they're
clueless and they're cool with it! In fact, their
expectations for success in their careers are entirely
discordant with the qualifications they're packing as they
venture out to slide down the razor blade of life
(pp. 193–198). Or not: on
pp. 169–173 we meet the “Twixters”,
urban and suburban middle class college graduates between 22 and 30
years old who are still living with their parents and engaging in
an essentially adolescent lifestyle: bouncing between service
jobs with no career advancement path and settling into no
long-term relationship. These sad specimens who refuse to
grow up even have their own term of derision:
“KIPPERS”
Kids In Parents' Pockets Eroding Retirement Savings.
In evaluating the objective data and arguments presented here, it's
important to keep in mind that correlation does not imply causation.
One cannot run controlled experiments on broad-based social trends:
only try to infer from the evidence available what might be the cause
of the objective outcomes one measures. Many of the characteristics
of Generation Y described here might be explained in large part simply
by the immersion and isolation of young people in the pernicious peer
culture described by Robert Epstein in
The Case Against Adolescence
(July 2007), with digital technologies
simply reinforcing a dynamic in effect well before their
emergence, and visible to some extent in the Boomer and
Generation X cohorts who matured earlier, without being
plugged in 24/7. For another insightful view of Generation Y (by another
professor at Emory!), see
I'm the Teacher, You're the Student
(January 2005).
If
Millennial Makeover
is correct, the culture and politics of the United States
is soon to be redefined by the generation now coming of
age. This book presents a disturbing picture of
what that may entail: a generation with little or no
knowledge of history or of the culture of the society
they've inherited, and unconcerned with their ignorance,
making decisions not in the context of tradition and
their intellectual heritage, but of peer popular culture.
Living in Europe, it is clear that things have not
reached such a dire circumstance here, and in Asia the
intergenerational intellectual continuity appears to
remain strong. But then, the U.S. was the first adopter
of the wired society, and hence may simply be the first to
arrive at the scene of the accident. Observing what happens
there in the near future may give the rest of the world a
chance to change course before their own dumbest generations
mature. Paraphrasing Ronald Reagan, the author notes that
“Knowledge is never more than one generation away from
oblivion.” (p. 186) In an age where a large fraction of all
human knowledge is freely accessible to anybody in a
fraction of a second, what a tragedy it would be if
the
“digital natives”
ended up, like the pejoratively denigrated “natives” of the
colonial era, surrounded by a wealth of culture but ignorant of
and uninterested in it.
The final chapter is a delightful and stirring defence of culture wars
and culture warriors, which argues that only those grounded in
knowledge of their culture and equipped with the intellectual tools to
challenge accepted norms and conventional wisdom can (for better or
worse) change society. Those who lack the knowledge and reasoning
skills to be engaged culture warriors are putty in the hands of
marketeers and manipulative politicians, which is perhaps why so many
of them are salivating over the impending Millennial majority.
- Dewar, James A.
To the End of the Solar System.
2nd. ed.
Burlington, Canada: Apogee Books, [2004] 2007.
ISBN 978-1-894959-68-1.
-
If you're seeking evidence that entrusting technology development
programs such as space travel to politicians and taxpayer-funded
bureaucrats is a really bad idea, this is the book to read. Shortly
after controlled nuclear fission was achieved, scientists
involved with the Manhattan Project and the postwar atomic energy
program realised that a rocket engine using nuclear fission instead
of chemical combustion to heat a working fluid of hydrogen would
have performance far beyond anything achievable with chemical
rockets and could be the key to opening up the solar system to
exploration and eventual human settlement. (The key figure of merit
for rocket propulsion is “specific impulse”, expressed
in seconds, which [for rockets] is simply an odd way of expressing
the exhaust velocity. The best chemical rockets have specific impulses
of around 450 seconds, while early estimates for solid core nuclear
thermal rockets were between 800 and 900 seconds. Note that this
does not mean that nuclear rockets were “twice as good”
as chemical: because the
rocket
equation gives the
mass ratio
[mass of fuelled rocket versus empty
mass] as exponential in the specific impulse, doubling
that quantity makes an enormous difference in the missions which can
be accomplished and drastically reduces the mass which must be lifted
from the Earth to mount them.)
Starting in 1955, a project began, initially within the U.S. Air
Force and the two main weapons laboratories, Los Alamos and
Livermore, to explore near-term nuclear rocket propulsion,
initially with the goal of an ICBM able to deliver
the massive thermonuclear bombs of the epoch. The science
was entirely straightforward: build a nuclear reactor able
to operate at a high core temperature, pump liquid hydrogen
through it at a large rate, expel the hot gaseous hydrogen
through a nozzle, and there's your nuclear rocket. Figure out
the temperature of exhaust and the weight of the entire nuclear
engine, and you can work out the precise performance and mission
capability of the system. The engineering was a another matter
entirely. Consider: a modern civil nuclear reactor
generates about a gigawatt, and is a massive structure
enclosed in a huge containment building with thick radiation
shielding. It operates at a temperature of around 300° C,
heating pressurised water. The nuclear rocket engine, by comparison,
might generate up to five gigawatts of thermal
power, with a core operating around 2000° C (compared
to the 1132° C melting point of its uranium fuel), in a volume
comparable to a 55 gallon drum. In operation, massive quantities of
liquid hydrogen (a substance whose bulk properties were little
known at the time) would be pumped through the core by a
turbopump, which would have to operate in an almost indescribable
radiation environment which might flash the hydrogen into foam
and would certainly reduce all known lubricants to sludge
within seconds. And this was supposed to function for minutes,
if not hours (later designs envisioned a 10 hour operating lifetime for
the reactor, with 60 restarts after being refuelled for each mission).
But what if it worked? Well, that would throw open the door to
the solar system. Instead of absurd, multi-hundred-billion dollar
Mars programs that land a few civil servant spacemen for
footprints, photos, and a few rocks returned, you'd end up, for
an ongoing budget comparable to that of today's grotesque NASA
jobs program, with colonies on the Moon and Mars working their
way toward self-sufficiency, regular exploration of the outer
planets and moons with mission durations of years, not decades,
and the ability to permanently expand the human presence off
this planet and simultaneously defend the planet and its biosphere
against the kind of Really Bad Day that did in the dinosaurs
(and a heck of a lot of other species nobody ever seems to
mention).
Between 1955 and 1973, the United States funded a series of
projects, usually designated as Rover and NERVA, with the
potential of achieving all of this. This book is a thoroughly
documented (65 pages of end notes) and comprehensive narrative
of what went wrong. As is usually the case when government
gets involved, almost none of the problems were technological.
The battles, and the eventual defeat of the nuclear rocket were
due to agencies fighting for turf, bureaucrats seeking
to build their careers by backing or killing a project,
politicians vying to bring home the bacon for their constituents
or kill projects of their political opponents, and the struggle
between the executive and legislative branches and the military
for control over spending priorities.
What never happened among all of the struggles and ups and downs
documented here is an actual public debate over the central rationale
of the nuclear rocket: should there be, or should there not be, an
expansive program (funded within available discretionary resources) to
explore, exploit the resources, and settle the solar system? Because
if no such program were contemplated, then a nuclear rocket would not be
required and funds spent on it squandered. But if such a program
were envisioned and deemed worthy of funding, a nuclear rocket, if
feasible, would reduce the cost and increase the capability of the
program to such an extent that the research and development cost of
nuclear propulsion would be recouped shortly after the resulting
technology were deployed.
But that debate was never held. Instead, the nuclear rocket program
was a political football which bounced around for 18 years,
consuming 1.4 billion (p. 207) then-year dollars (something
like 5.3 billion in today's
incredible shrinking
greenbacks). Goals were redefined, milestones changed,
management shaken up and reorganised, all at the behest of
politicians, yet through it all virtually every single technical
goal was achieved on time and often well ahead of schedule. Indeed,
when the ball finally bounced out of bounds and the 8000 person
staff was laid off, dispersing forever their knowledge of the
“black art” of fuel element, thermal, and neutronic
design constraints for such an extreme reactor, it was not because
the project was judged infeasible, but the opposite. The green
eyeshade brigade considered the project too likely to
succeed, and feared the funding requests for the missions which
this breakthrough technological capability would enable. And so
ended the possibility of human migration into the solar system
for my generation. So it goes. When the rock comes down, the
few transient survivors off-planet will perhaps recall their names;
they are documented here.
There are many things to criticise about this book. It is cheaply
made: the text is set in painfully long lines in a small font with
narrow margins, which require milliarcsecond-calibrated eye muscles
to track from the end of a line to the start of the next. The
printing lops off the descenders from the last line of many pages,
leaving the reader to puzzle over words like “hvdrooen”
and phrases such as “Whv not now?”. The cover seems to
incorporate some proprietary substance made of kangaroo hair and
discarded slinkies which makes it curl into a tube once you've
opened it and read a few pages. Now, these are quibbles which do
not detract from the content, but then this is a 300 page paperback
without a single colour plate with a cover price of USD26.95. There
are a number of factual errors in the text, but none which seriously
distort the meaning for the knowledgeable reader; there are few, if
any, typographical errors. The author is clearly an enthusiast for
nuclear rocket technology, and this sometimes results in over-the-top
hyperbole where a dispassionate recounting of the details should
suffice. He is a big fan of New Mexico senator
Clinton Anderson,
a stalwart supporter of the nuclear rocket from its inception through
its demise (which coincided with his retirement from the Senate
due to health reasons), but only on p. 145 does the author
address the detail that the programme was a multi-billion dollar
(in an epoch when a billion dollars was real money) pork
barrel project for Anderson's state.
Flawed—yes, but if you're interested in this little-known
backstory of the space program of the last century, whose tawdry
history and shameful demise largely explains the sorry state of the
human presence in space today, this is the best source of which I'm
aware to learn what happened and why. Given the
cognitive collapse in
the United States (Want to clear a room of Americans? Just say
“nuclear!”), I can't share the author's technologically
deterministic optimism, “The potential foretells a resurgence at
Jackass Flats…” (p. 195), that the legacy of Rover/NERVA will be
redeemed by the descendants of those who paid for it only to see it
discarded. But those who use this largely forgotten and, in the
demographically imploding West, forbidden knowledge to make the leap
off our planet toward our destiny in the stars will find the
experience summarised here, and the sources cited, an essential
starting point for the technologies they'll require to get there.
“ ‘Und
I'm learning Chinese,’ says Wernher von Braun.”
- Raspail, Jean.
Le Camp des Saints.
Paris: Robert Laffont, [1973, 1978, 1985] 2006.
ISBN 978-2-221-08840-1.
-
This is one of the most hauntingly prophetic works of fiction
I have ever read. Although not a single word has been changed
from its original publication in 1973 to the present edition,
it is at times simply difficult to believe you're reading
a book which was published thirty-five years ago. The novel
is a metaphorical, often almost surreal exploration of the
consequences of unrestricted immigration from the third world
into the first world: Europe and France in particular, and how
the instincts of openness, compassion, and generosity which
characterise first world countries can sow the seeds of their
destruction if they result in developed countries being
submerged in waves of immigration of those who do not share
their values, culture, and by their sheer numbers and rate of
arrival, cannot be assimilated into the society which
welcomes them.
The story is built around a spontaneous, almost supernatural,
migration of almost a million desperate famine-struck residents
from the Ganges on a fleet of decrepit ships, to the “promised
land”, and the reaction of the developed countries along
their path and in France as they approach and debark. Raspail
has perfect pitch when it comes to the prattling of
bien pensants, feckless
politicians, international commissions chartered to talk
about a crisis until it turns into catastrophe, humanitarians
bent on demonstrating their good intentions whatever the
cost to those they're supposed to be helping and those who
fund their efforts, media and pundits bent on indoctrination instead
of factual reporting, post-Christian clerics, and the rest of
the intellectual scum which rises to the top and suffocates
the rationality which has characterised Western civilisation
for centuries and created the prosperity and liberty which makes it a
magnet for people around the world aspiring to individual achievement.
Frankly addressing the roots of Western exceptionalism and
the internal rot which imperils it, especially in the context
of mass immigration, is a sure way to get yourself branded a
racist, and that has, of course been the case with this book.
There are, to be sure, many mentions of “whites”
and “blacks”, but I perceive no evidence that
the author imputes superiority to the first or inferiority
to the second: they are simply labels for the cultures
from which those actors in the story hail. One character,
Hamadura, identified as a dark skinned
“Français de
Pondichéry” says (p. 357, my
translation), “To be white, in my opinion, is not a colour of skin,
but a state of mind”. Precisely—anybody, whatever
their race or origin, can join the first world, but the first
world has a limited capacity to assimilate new arrivals knowing
nothing of its culture and history, and risks being submerged
if too many arrive, particularly if well-intentioned cultural
elites encourage them not to assimilate but instead work for
political power and agendas hostile to the Enlightenment
values of the West. As Jim Bennett observed, “Democracy,
immigration, multiculturalism. Pick any two.”
Now, this is a novel from 1973, not a treatise on immigration and
multiculturalism in present-day Europe, and the voyage of the
fleet of the Ganges is a metaphor for the influx of immigrants into
Europe which has already provoked many of the cringing compromises of
fundamental Western values prophesied, of which I'm sure most
readers in the 1970s would have said, “It can't happen
here”. Imagine an editor fearing for his life for
having published a cartoon (p. 343), or
Switzerland being forced to cede
the values which have kept it peaceful and prosperous by
the muscle of those who surround it and the intellectual
corruption of its own elites. It's all here, and much more.
There's even a Pope Benedict XVI (albeit very unlike the
present occupant of the throne of St. Peter).
This is an ambitious literary work, and challenging
for non mother tongue readers. The vocabulary is enormous,
including a number of words you won't find even in the
Micro Bob. Idioms, many
quite obscure (for example “Les
carottes sont cuites”—all is lost),
abound, and references to them appear obliquely in the text.
The apocalyptic tone of the book (whose title is taken
from
Rev. 20:9)
is reinforced by many allusions to that Biblical prophecy.
This is a difficult read, which careens among tragedy, satire,
and farce, forcing the reader to look beyond political nostrums
about the destiny of the West and seriously ask what the
consequences of mass immigration without assimilation and
the accommodation by the West of values inimical to its own
are likely to be. And when you think that Jean Respail saw
all of this coming more than three decades ago, it almost
makes you shiver. I spent almost three weeks working my way
through this book, but although it was difficult, I always
looked forward to picking it up, so rewarding was it to
grasp the genius of the narrative and the masterful use of
the language.
An English translation is available.
Given the language, idioms, wordplay, and literary allusions
in the original French, this work would be challenging to
faithfully render into another language. I have not read the
translation and cannot comment upon how well it accomplished
this formidable task.
For more information about the author and his works, visit
his official Web site.
- Biggs, Barton.
Wealth, War, and Wisdom.
Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2008.
ISBN 978-0-470-22307-9.
-
Many people, myself included, who have followed financial markets for
an extended period of time, have come to believe what may seem, to
those who have not, a very curious and even mystical thing: that
markets, aggregating the individual knowledge and expectations of
their multitude of participants, have an uncanny way of “knowing”
what the future holds. In retrospect, one can often look at a chart
of broad market indices and see that the market “called”
grand turning points by putting in a long-term bottom or top, even
when those turning points were perceived by few if any people
at the time. One of the noisiest buzzwords of the “Web 2.0”
hype machine is “crowdsourcing”, yet financial markets
have been doing precisely that for centuries, and in an environment
in which the individual participants are not just contributing to
some ratty, ephemeral Web site, but rather putting their own net
worth on the line.
In this book the author, who has spent his long career as a
securities analyst and hedge fund manager, and was a
pioneer of investing in emerging global markets, looks at
the greatest global cataclysm of the twentieth century—World
War II—and explores how well financial markets in
the countries involved identified the key trends and
turning points in the conflict. The results persuasively support
the “wisdom of the market” viewpoint and are a
convincing argument that “the market knows”, even when
its individual participants, media and opinion leaders, and
politicians do not. Consider: the British stock market put in an
all-time historic bottom in June 1940, just as Hitler toured
occupied Paris and, in retrospect, Nazi expansionism in the West
reached its peak. Many Britons expected a German invasion in the
near future, and the Battle of Britain and the Blitz were
still in the future, and yet the market rallied
throughout these dark days. Somehow the market seems to have known
that with the successful evacuation of the British Expeditionary
Force from Dunkerque and the fall of France, the situation, however
dire, was as bad as it was going to get.
In the United States, the Dow Jones Industrial Average declined
throughout 1941 as war clouds darkened, fell further after
Pearl Harbor and the fall of the Philippines, but put in an
all-time bottom in 1942 coincident with the battles of
the Coral Sea and Midway which, in retrospect, but not at the
time, were seen as the key inflection point of the Pacific war.
Note that at this time the U.S. was also at war with Germany
and Italy but had not engaged either in a land battle, and yet
somehow the market “knew” that, whatever the
sacrifices to come, the darkest days were behind.
The wisdom of the markets was also apparent in the ultimate losers
of the conflict, although government price-fixing and disruption
of markets as things got worse obscured the message. The
German CDAX index peaked precisely when the Barbarossa invasion
of the Soviet Union was turned back within sight of the spires of
the Kremlin. At this point the German army was intact, the Soviet
breadbasket was occupied, and the Red Army was in disarray, yet
somehow the market knew that this was the high point. The
great defeat at Stalingrad and the roll-back of the Nazi invaders
were all in the future, but despite propaganda, censorship of letters
from soldiers at the front, and all the control of information a
totalitarian society can employ, once again the market called
the turning point. In Italy, where rampant inflation obscured
nominal price indices, the inflation-adjusted BCI index put in
its high at precisely the moment Mussolini made his alliance
with Hitler, and it was all downhill from there, both for
Italy and its stock market, despite rampant euphoria at the time.
In Japan, the market was heavily manipulated by the Ministry of
Finance and tight control of war news denied investors information
to independently assess the war situation, but by 1943 the market
had peaked in real terms and declined into a collapse thereafter.
In occupied countries, where markets were allowed to function,
they provided insight into the sympathies of their participants.
The French market is particularly enlightening. Clearly, the
investor class was completely on-board with the German
occupation and Vichy. In real terms, the market soared after
the capitulation of France and peaked with the defeat at
Stalingrad, then declined consistently thereafter, with only
a little blip with the liberation of Paris. But then the French
stock market wouldn't be French if it weren't perverse,
would it?
Throughout, the author discusses how individuals living in both the
winners and losers of the war could have best preserved their wealth
and selves, and this is instructive for folks interested in saving
their asses and assets the next time the Four Horsemen sortie from
Hell's own stable. Interestingly, according to Biggs's analysis, so-called
“defensive” investments such as government and top-rated
corporate bonds and short-term government paper (“Treasury Bills”)
performed poorly as stores of wealth in the victor countries and
disastrously in the vanquished. In those societies where equity markets
survived the war (obviously, this excludes those countries in Eastern
Europe occupied by the Soviet Union), stocks were the best financial
instrument in preserving value, although in many cases they did
decline precipitously over the period of the war. How do you ride
out a cataclysm like World War II? There are three key ways: diversification,
diversification, and diversification. You need to diversify across
financial and real assets, including (diversified) portfolios of
stocks, bonds, and bills, as well as real assets such as farmland,
real estate, and hard assets (gold, jewelry, etc.) for really hard
times. You further need to diversify internationally: not just in
the assets you own, but where you keep them. Exchange controls can come
into existence with the stroke of a pen, and that offshore bank
account you keep “just in case” may be all you have
if the worst comes to pass. Thinking about it in that way, do you
have enough there? Finally, you need to diversify your own options
in the world and think about what you'd do if things really
start to go South, and you need to think about it now,
not then. As the author notes in the penultimate paragraph:
…the rich are almost always too complacent, because they
cherish the illusion that when things start to go bad, they will have
time to extricate themselves and their wealth. It never works
that way. Events move much faster than anyone expects, and the
barbarians are on top of you before you can escape. … It
is expensive to move early, but it is far better to be early
than to be late.
This is a quirky book, and not free of flaws. Biggs is a connoisseur of
amusing historical anecdotes and sprinkles them throughout the text.
I found them a welcome leavening of a narrative filled with human
tragedy, folly, and destruction of wealth, but some may consider
them a distraction and out of place. There are far more copy-editing
errors in this book (including dismayingly many difficulties
with the humble apostrophe) than
I would expect in a Wiley main catalogue title. But that said,
if you haven't discovered the wisdom of the markets for yourself, and
are worried about riding out the uncertainties of what appears to
be a bumpy patch ahead, this is an excellent place to start.