Sunday, October 04, 2020

The Penultimate Truth (1964) by @philipkdick

 

The Penultimate Truth (1964) by Philip K. Dick. 2020 Recreational Reading 

No wonder they all trembled; no wonder their nights were bad. They served—and knew it—a bad master. -- The Penultimate Truth (p. 72)


Not one of Dick’s most well known books, The Penultimate Truth is a more straightforward, for Dick, SciFi piece set in a future time in the aftermath of the ongoing WW III. 


And because this was evening and the world was darkening, this fog scared him as much as that other fog, the one inside which did not invade but stretched and stirred and filled the empty portions of the body. Usually the latter fog is called loneliness. -- The Penultimate Truth (p. 1)


Astute readers of Hugh Howey’s brilliant Silo Series, may note similarities to Dick’s world where a duped population lives in underground “ant tanks” unaware that there is a paradisiacal above ground world of “demesnes”. 


Your lives are incomplete, in the sense that Rousseau had meant when he talked of man having been born in one condition, born brought into the light free, and everywhere was now in chains. -- The Penultimate Truth (pp. 69-70)


In Dick’s story, the people of the tanks build “leadies”, robots ostensibly made to fight in the ongoing world. The story brings one of the “tank men”, Nicholas St. James, to the surface in search of a cache of replacement organs for dying colleague. Once on the surface, St. James falls in with a group of other tank men who have gone to the surface and realize they’re being manipulated by The Agency and it’s simulacrum of a leader, President Talbot Yancy.  


What a great burden, Adams thought, the luxury of this way we live. -- The Penultimate Truth (p. 72)


As one of The Agency’s staff, Joseph Adams (a key part in the unraveling of a complex plot) goes to New York City for some research, he visits the great repository of knowledge, which like, many envisioned by researchers and writers from the 1940s to 1980s, looked a lot like Vannevar Bush’s Memex:


Joseph Adams made his way by horizontal express belt from the building at 580 Fifth Avenue to the Agency’s titanic repository of reference material, its official archives of every known datum of knowledge from before the war retained and fixed for perpetuity and of course instantly available to the elite, such as himself, whenever needed ... At the great central station he lined up, and when he found himself facing the combination type XXXV leady and Megavac 2-B which acted as ruling monad of the labyrinthine organism of spool upon spool of microtape—whole twenty-six volume reference books reduced to the size of a yo-yo, and merely a yo-yo’s shape and width and weight—he said, rather plaintively, it seemed to him as he heard himself speak, “Um, I’m sort of confused. I’m not looking for any one particular source, as for instance Lucretius’s De Rerum Natura or Pascal’s Provincial Letters or Kafka’s The Castle.” -- The Penultimate Truth (p. 73)


The Penultimate Truth hits on Dick’s themes of alienation, duplicitous authorities, technological control of thought and emotion, anxiety, and paranoia. 



Saturday, September 26, 2020

Science in the Capital Series (2004-07): Forty Signs of Rain | Fifty Degrees Below | Sixty Days and Counting by Kim Stanley Robinson


Science in the Capital Series (2004-07): Forty Signs of Rain | Fifty Degrees Below | Sixty Days and Counting by Kim Stanley Robinson

Generally, the National Science Foundation (NSF) and the Science and Technology Policy (OSTP) are not the settings for exciting story telling. However, noted science fiction writer Kim Stanley Robinson has made them (along with the University of California San Diego, UCSD) page turning science FACTion novels. 


Anna liked the NSF building’s interior. The structure was hollow, featuring a gigantic central atrium, an octagonal space that extended from the floor to the skylight, twelve stories above ... If the interior of the National Science Foundation were all you had to go on, you would have to conclude that doing science consisted mostly of sitting around in rooms talking. (Forty Signs of Rain)


The trilogy is set in the early 2000’s in a setting much like the world as it was then. The significant difference is that the planetary climate experiences first a major weather event that causes massive flooding in Washington, DC (Forty Signs of Rain), followed by a shutdown of thermohaline circulation of the Gulf Stream (Fifty Degrees Below) caused by global warming that melts Greenland’s icecap triggers a dramatic change in the North Atlantic the brings freezing weather to the East Coast and Europe. Sixty Days and Counting continues to follow the fallout of these two events as well as a massive West Coast drought that causes cataclysmic wildfires throughout the West.



And for those wondering, spoiler alert, but there is no global pandemic.


The arc of the story follows three key characters: Anna Quibler (an NSF program officer), Charlie Quibler (Anna’s husband who splits his life between being a stay at home father and staff member to California Senator Philip Chase), and Frank Vanderwal, a UCSD professor on a year-long appointment to NSF. 


Tying all these together are a group of Tibetian exiles who now hail from the Indian Ocean island nation of Khembalung (who have set up their embassy in the same building as the NSF headquarters), one of whom may be the Panchen Lama


A cast of supporting characters at the NSF, UCSD, and Southern California bio-tech startups round out the cast. Playing increasingly important roles as the trilogy continues (and also as the storyline pivots to follow Frank Vanderwal), two groups of homeless people living in Rock Creek Park and adjacent areas serve as a sort of Greek Chorus. 


Stanley’s embrace of what we now call The Green New Deal and Social Democratic fiscal theories brought to live through the cohesive narrative that stretches through the three books (in essence, this is one long story, like The Lord of the Rings, and the books don’t stand well on their own). Stanley provides a convincing series of possible solutions to human-generated climate change that involves reversing the impact through dramatic planetary engineering measures that are dependent on massive conversion to renewable energy resources and global redistribution of wealth (which looks to raise the world’s population to levels of US wealth).


A major part of sustainability is social justice, here and everywhere. Think of it this way: justice is a technology. It’s like a software program that we use to cope with the world and get along with each other, and one of the most effective we have ever invented, because we are all in this together. When you realize that acting with justice and generosity turns out to be the most effective technology for dealing with other people, that’s a good thing. (Sixty Days and Counting)



Fifteen years or so ago when the series was written, plot lines such as Stanley’s notion that saving the planet can be led by the United States, though he notes it’s not necessary, can now be refactored as the United States unwilling and unable to lead. 


But maybe the United States was not a make-or-break participant, the Europeans seemed to be suggesting. (Fifty Degrees Below)


From a literary point of view, his somewhat clunky portrayal of women and relationships has not aged well. I also would quibble with some minor points (Arlington, VA, even at the story’s setting, would not have been Republican leaning; the National Park Police would not be patrolling the National Zoo, etc.). At the same time, Robinson does have an accurate portrayal of many Washington neighborhoods, including the then NSF headquarters with its Pizzeria Uno and Starbucks. 


In looking at today’s non-pandemic headlines, for instance, “The tipping points at the heart of the climate crisis” in The Guardian (19 September 2020), Robinson seems particularly prescient, if just a few years off.  Interested readers will enjoy a recent interview with the author, “The Realism of Our Times: Kim Stanley Robinson on How Science Fiction Works” (23 September 2020). His latest work, The Ministry for the Future (2020) will be released in October 2020.


  • Forty Signs of Rain (2004)  by Kim Stanley Robinson (2004) | Read: 5 September 2020 | Buy on Kindle

  • Fifty Degrees Below (2005) by Kim Stanley Robinson (2005) | Read: 10 September 2020 | Buy on Kindle

  • Sixty Days and Counting (2007) by Kim Stanley Robinson | Read: 21 September 2020 | Buy on Kindle

  • See my complete 2020 Reading list on Goodreads.

Monday, August 31, 2020

Hiroshima (1946) by John Hersey and Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World (2020) by @lesleymmblume


Hiroshima
(1946) by John Hersey and Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World (2020) by Lesley M.M. Blume

August 2020 marks the 75th anniversary of the Atomic Bombings of Japan. It is also the 74th anniversary of the publication (on August 31) of John Hersey’s revealing issue-long article, Hiroshima, in The New Yorker Magazine. Below are some thoughts on Hiroshima as well as the just published Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World (2020) by Lesley M.M. Blume.



Those of us born in the 1960s had a much different relationship with nuclear war. Too young to have been part of the “Fallout Shelter/Duck and Cover” era, the Nuclear Age of Anxiety for us was reborn in the 1980s with the election of Ronald Reagan that renewed the fear of a global nuclear holocaust that was “popularized” by such mainstream media events as The Day After (1983) television film. Thankfully, no generation has yet seen a nuclear explosion used in war since the two uses, 75 years ago this month, by the United States that served to end the Second World War.


Growing up on the California/Nevada border in Lake Tahoe, we’d often take the nearly 500 mile drive on US route 95 to visit family in Las Vegas. Those late night 100 mph drives down ruler-straight roads that took you through Gardnerville, Yerrington, Hawthorne, Mina, Coaldale, Tonopah, Beatty, and then finally Vegas were light on traffic unless you ran into a military convoy. You slowed behind the heavily secured, tarp-covered slow moving multi-wheeled vehicles that would suddenly turn off onto restricted roads into the heart of the Nevada desert, and then hit the gas to make it to Vegas before breakfast.


What, you wondered, were in those trucks? This was still the era (1951-1992) when the United States conducted, first above ground, and then later, underground, nuclear tests. Roughly a 100 km north of Las Vegas, the Nevada National Security Site was the primary U.S. nuclear testing area with nearly 1,000 tests in the forty year period. Visiting and for a while living in Las Vegas, for me, the occasional nuclear induced rumble, the chandelier sway of Oppenheimer’s deadly toy, was the much removed experience of the nuclear era.


Not so for those with direct experience of a nuclear explosion at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Or the too many exposed in fallout downwind from the Nevada tests; the Marshall islanders who lost their lives and homes; or countless others exposed to radiation from the nuclear tests in service of creating the perfect Bomb. A well-reviewed account of the Pacific testing can be found in Day of Two Suns: U.S. Nuclear Testing and the Pacific Islanders (1998) by Jane Dibblin.


At exactly fifteen minutes past eight in the morning, on August 6, 1945, Japanese time, at the moment when the atomic bomb flashed above Hiroshima, Miss Toshiko Sasaki, a clerk in the personnel department of the East Asia Tin Works, had just sat down at her place in the plant office and was turning her head to speak to the girl at the next desk. (Hiroshima, p. 1)


John Hersey, with the publication of Hiroshima (1946) provided a clarion call to the dangers of nuclear war when the horrifying results of such a war were still hidden. First appearing as a report in The New Yorker Magazine, Hiroshima was actually less a clarion call than a quiet exposition of the lives of six survivors of the blast. The intertwined stories of Kiyoshi Tanimoto, Hatsuyo Nakamura, Dr. Masakazu Fujii, Father Wilhelm Kleinsorge, Dr. Terufumi Sasaki, and Toshiko Sasaki. Hersey tells their stories in four compelling sections, “A Noiseless Flash”, “The Fire”, “Details are Being Investigated”, and “Panic Grass and Feverfew.” 


With an economy of style, Hersey lays out the horrific aftermath of the explosion without sensationalism, but a clarity of description that lets the reader picture unfolding catastrophe. 


Miss Sasaki went back to her office and sat down at her desk. She was quite far from the windows, which were off to her left, and behind her were a couple of tall bookcases containing all the books of the factory library ... Just as she turned her head away from the windows, the room was filled with a blinding light. ... but principally and first of all, the bookcases right behind her swooped forward and the contents threw her down, with her left leg horribly twisted and breaking underneath her. There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books. (Hiroshima, p. 16).


Hersey mostly refrains from casting the bombing in moral or ethical terms. The six stories he tells are allowed to speak for themselves and the reader is left to frame them in a larger global context. Ultimately, what we see is that, as Hersey puts it, “The lives of these six people, who were among the luckiest in Hiroshima, would never be the same” (p. 87). Why they would never be the same is made clear in the book; at the same time, the reader is compelled to also understand that it is not just these six lives that were forever changed, but all humanity.


Hersey carefully closes the book not with his own words, but those of Toshio Nakamura, son of Hatsuyo Nakamura and 10 at the time of the bombing. Heresy quotes from a school essay Toshio wrote that year: 


“The neighbors were walking around burned and bleeding. Hataya-san told me to run away with her. I said I wanted to wait for my mother. We went to the park. A whirlwind came. At night a gas tank burned and I saw the reflection in the river. We stayed in the park one night. Next day I went to Taiko Bridge and met my girl friends Kikuki and Murakami. They were looking for their mothers. But Kikuki’s mother was wounded and Murakami’s mother, alas was dead.” (Hiroshima, p. 90).


In the wreckage that adults created, the child sees it, but does not quite comprehend it. For the world who didn’t experience first hand the explosions at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Hersey provided a glimpse of what a quick apocalypse humans could now unleash on the world. 


Hersey wisely didn’t revisit the story of Hiroshima for many years. At last, in the July 15, 1985 issue of The New Yorker, he published “The Aftermath” which is now included in most book editions, tells us what happened to the six survivors in the intervening 40 years. 



Hiroshima
was a world-wide phenomenon when published in the August 31, 1946 issue of The New Yorker and later in book form.  How Hersey, Pulitzer Prize winner for A Bell for Adano (1944) and noted war correspondent came to write the story of Hiroshima and how the publishing team of Harold Ross and William Shawn at The New Yorker came to publish it, is the story of Lesley M.M. Blume’s Fallout (2020). Blume’s summary of Hersey’s work provides a good refresher for the original, but is no substitute. 


Blume has extensively documented the how and why Hiroshima came into existence. The underlying motives of Hersey and Ross/Shawn in revealing the cover-up by the U.S. government of the aftermath of the two atomic bombs are explained. Blume does a good job of balancing the tremendous moral ambiguities around the use of the atomic bombs. She also reinforces the fact that once the Manhattan Project was underway, there would be compelling reasons to unleash it. Blume provides us with background on the U.S. military staff who gave Hersey permission to enter both Japan and Hiroshima and who ultimately gave permission for the story to be published. Most interesting are the contemporary accounts of the reception of Hiroshima, much of which reflect the still unresolved debate on the “ethics” of the use of the bomb to end a war against an enemy that itself had unleashed inhuman atrocities. 


Concluding the story of Hiroshima, Blume notes: 


Today, Hiroshima Prefecture has nearly 3 million inhabitants. It maintains a world-class museum documenting the atomic bombing and its aftermath, as well as a park and many monuments. The Atomic Bomb Dome—a building whose structure partially survived despite being located near the bomb’s hypocenter—is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 


Located today at the site of the bomb’s exact hypocenter: a low-rise medical building and a 7-Eleven convenience store. (Fallout, p. 181)


The ultimate message of Hiroshima, however, is best summed up in the quote from Hersey with serves as Blume’s epigraph for Fallout: “What has kept the world safe from the bomb since 1945 has been the memory of what happened at Hiroshima” (John Hersey, in Fallout).


It seems, however, that memories fade. Seventy-five years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, thirty-five years after the re-awakening to the dangers of nuclear war, the world mostly yawns at the rise of new nuclear powers or casts these new bomb makers as regional threats or mere flaunters of American hegemony. In the midst of the current COVID-19 pandemic, nuclear holocaust is hard to fathom. In the on-going and existential threat of global climate change where does the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons find headspace?


From the Trinity Test site near Los Alamos, NM, where J. Robert Oppenheimer was moved to quote “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds” (Bhagavad Gita), to the death and destruction wrought in Japan, to the shimmering roads in the Nevada desert where nuclear genie was released while I sped by in ignorance and oblivion, the quick destroyer of worlds continues to grow around us and the lived memory fades.



Also of note, “How John Hersey Revealed the Horrors of the Atomic Bomb to the US: Remembering Hiroshima, the Story That Changed Everything” (April 23, 2019) by Jeremy Treglown in Literary Hub. An extract from Mr. Straight Arrow: The Career of John Hersey, Author of Hiroshima (2019) by Jeremy Treglown.


  • Hiroshima (1946) by John Hersey: Read: August 16, 2020 | Buy on Kindle

  • Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World (2020) by Lesley M.M. Blume: Read: August 28, 2020 | Buy on Kindle

  • See my complete 2020 Reading list on Goodreads.


Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Prelinger Library: Yearbook 2019 (2020) by Prelinger Library. COVID-19 Recreational Reading / @MeganPrelinger & @footage



Prelinger Library: Yearbook 2019
(2020) by Prelinger Library. COVID-19 Recreational Reading.

One of my annual pleasures is receiving the annual Prelinger Library Yearbook in the mail. For those who don’t know about the Prelinger Library, it:


is an independent research library located in San Francisco’s South-of-Market neighborhood. It is open to anyone for research, reading, inspiration, and reuse ... The library is primarily a collection of 19th and 20th century historical ephemera, periodicals, maps, and books, most published in the United States. Much of the collection is image-rich, and in the public domain. The library specializes in material that is not commonly found in other public libraries. (From the website)


Founded in 2004 by Megan Prelinger and Rick Prelinger, the collection is described as follows:


The library is primarily a collection of 19th and 20th century historical ephemera, periodicals, maps, and books, most published in the United States. Much of the collection is image-rich, and in the public domain. The library specializes in material that is not commonly found in other public libraries. (From the website)


Past Years

and organized "according to the library’s unique geospatial taxonomy" (From the website). All of that, however, does not encompass the serious fun and research that the library facilitates. The annual Yearbooks documents the many activities that showcase the Library’s role as a center for arts and education. Among the activities this year were:


  • Jeremy Ferris: Comics

  • Kendell Harbin and Asa Wilder Research Residency

  • Klooj

  • And a list of institutions that used the library as a resource


You can see the library's online catalog here. I would also recommend that you look for Megan Prelinger’s two books when you have a chance: Another Science Fiction: Advertising the Space Race (2010) and Inside the Machine: Art and Invention in the Electronic Age (2015) and Rick Prelinger’s amazing collage documentary films, from 2004’s Panorama Ephemera to his Lost Landscapes series (2008 - current). You can find all the films here.


Some photos from my 2006 visit to the Prelinger Library are below.








Monday, August 24, 2020

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions: 50th anniversary edition (1962, 2012) by Thomas S. Kuhn. COVID-19 Professional Reading

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions: 50th anniversary edition  (1962, 2012) by Thomas S. Kuhn. COVID-19 Professional Reading 

“Paradigm Shift”. We could stop the discussion of Kuhn’s 1962 work with those two words which, literally, created a paradigm shift in the conversation around systemic change, not just in science, but nearly all fields and disciplines. Paradigm shift, it’s safe to say, covers the spectrum of human endeavor, scholarly and not.  


This edition features both Kuhn’s own 1969 (somewhat defensive) postscript as well as a brilliant essay (2012) by Ian Hacking that contextualizes Structure with 50 years of hindsight:


Although Structure had an immense immediate impact on the community of historians of science, its more enduring effects have probably been upon philosophy of science and, indeed, on public culture. -- Ian Hacking (Introductory essay)


As noted above, over the past 20 year, “paradigm shift” has become a bit shopworn, but still remains a convenient shorthand for many industries. The term saw a rebirth with the rise of the internet and as new paradigms were developed for publishing (both popular and scholarly, and especially journalism), education, commerce (including the rise of the “gig economy”), entertainment (particularly music and “television”), and many more. 


At the end of Structure, Kuhn prophetically notes: 


Since this view is also compatible with close observation of scientific life, there are strong arguments for employing it in attempts to solve the host of problems that still remain. (p. 173)


In reading Structure, I found a curious congruence between Kuhn’s concept of “Crisis and the Emergence of Scientific Theories” (p. 66) and “The Response to Crisis” (p. 77), Sections VII and VIII of Structure, and the depiction of the “Seldon Crisis” in Isaac Asimov’s Foundation (1951-53 for the original trilogy) series where a critical event leads to a rethinking and reorientation of the world. 


For Asimov, a technological priesthood, or equivalent, was responsible for observing and mediating the paradigm shifts brought on by a Seldon Crisis. For science (and, more broadly if we are to apply the concepts outlined in Structure to other areas, acceptance of the shift and its implications are not so easy. Kuhn notes: 


Just because it is a transition between incommensurables, the transition between competing paradigms cannot be made a step at a time, forced by logic and neutral experience. Like the gestalt switch, it must occur all at once (though not necessarily in an instant) or not at all. (p. 150)


To put it more bluntly, Kuhn quotes the remark by Max Planck:


And Max Planck, surveying his own career in his Scientific Autobiography (1949), sadly remarked that “a new scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die, and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it.” (p. 151)


In Section XI: The Invisibility of Revolutions, Kuhn gives a number of examples of how the revolutionary nature of certain shifts become lost in the smoothing of the curve in writing of history: 


Those misconstructions render revolutions invisible; the arrangement of the still visible material in science texts implies a process that, if it existed, would deny revolutions a function. (p. 140)


Science, and, by the extension of Kuhn’s concept of paradigm shift to a multitude of areas, is much more punctuated that the linear accounts we often see, and that there is a different and more complex relationship between theories and facts:


And that means that theories too do not evolve piecemeal to fit facts that were there all the time. Rather, they emerge together with the facts they fit from a revolutionary reformulation of the preceding scientific tradition, a tradition within which the knowledge-mediated relationship between the scientist and nature was not quite the same. (p. 141)


If paradigm shifts to occur (which seems obvious), how do scientists move between the old and the new paradigms? In Section XII: The Resolution of Revolutions, Kuhn provides an answer. 


Therefore, paradigm-testing occurs only after persistent failure to solve a noteworthy puzzle has given rise to crisis. And even then it occurs only after the sense of crisis has evoked an alternate candidate for paradigm. (p. 145)


He continues:


More is involved, however, than the incommensurability of standards. Since new paradigms are born from old ones, they ordinarily incorporate much of the vocabulary and apparatus, both conceptual and manipulative, that the traditional paradigm had previously employed. (p. 149)


With the concluding Section XIII: Progress Through Revolutions, Kuhn argues that the only progress in science is through revolutions: 


When they [crisis] arise, the scientist is not, of course, equally well prepared. Even though prolonged crises are probably reflected in less rigid educational practice, scientific training is not well designed to produce the man who will easily discover a fresh approach.(p. 166). 


And: 


When it repudiates a past paradigm, a scientific community simultaneously renounces, as a fit subject for professional scrutiny, most of the books and articles in which that paradigm had been embodied. Scientific education makes use of no equivalent for the art museum or the library of classics, and the result is a sometimes drastic distortion in the scientist’s perception of his discipline’s past. (p. 167).


For the revolution to be complete, the for the paradigm to shift, the new paradigm must possess two traits:


First, the new candidate must seem to resolve some outstanding and generally recognized problem that can be met in no other way. Second, the new paradigm must promise to preserve a relatively large part of the concrete problem-solving ability that has accrued to science through its predecessors. (p. 169). 


The successful revolution, the transition to a new paradigm, contains a curious conundrum, scientific progress (and in many of the fields where the concept of paradigm shift is applied) lacks a teleological end; as Kuhn notes: 


The developmental process described in this essay has been a process of evolution from primitive beginnings—a process whose successive stages are characterized by an increasingly detailed and refined understanding of nature. But nothing that has been or will be said makes it a process of evolution toward anything. (pp. 170-171).


The successful paradigm shift will change one’s perception of the past and understanding of the present, but, frustratingly, does not provide a path to the future or even a window to glimpse that future. And, just as Heraclitus said, “you cannot step twice into the same stream” (as quoted in Plato, Cratylus, 402a) the past perception of the world is annihilated with the new paradigm and “you can’t go home again.”


Concluding Thoughts 


In the nearly 60 years since it was first published, Structure does show include artifacts of its time. As Hacking notes, “science” almost exclusively means physical science (still true today when it comes to funding of non-medical research). Though it should be noted, in the final section of Structure, Kuhn draws heavily on natural sciences for his concluding analogy. More jarring to the 2020 ear is the exclusive use of he/him/his. In 1962 gender inclusivity was rarely used (even by female writers such as Susan Sontag in her 1966 essay collection, Against Interpretation and Other Essays).


Likewise, Kuhn mostly embraces the moral neutrality of science, a stance already severely tried since the start of the Atomic Age. As Matthew C. Rees noted in “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions at Fifty” (The New Atlantis, Fall 2012). 


One persisting trouble with Kuhn’s classic work is that its narrow focus left too many questions unanswered — including the question not just of what science is but of what science should be … Kuhn’s work is largely silent on the value of science and the wellbeing of society, and entirely silent on the wrongheadedness of blindly accepting scientific authority and discarding the philosophical questions that must always come first, even when we pretend otherwise.-- Rees (2012).


As a result, though new paradigms seldom or never possess all the capabilities of their predecessors, they usually preserve a great deal of the most concrete parts of past achievement and they always permit additional concrete problem-solutions besides. (p. 169)


I’ll close with one final and, at this time of the COVID-19 pandemic and ongoing crisis of global climate change: 


One of the strongest, if still unwritten, rules of scientific life is the prohibition of appeals to heads of state or to the populace at large in matters scientific. (p. 168)


Indeed.