On Banality of Science & Tech after Bud
A biased opinion essay on
bbb-based narratives
accumulation of bullshit as a path to mortality
a naive wish for a version of science that reads like poetry
the role of scientific poets helping "time"
On March 12th 2024, at around 12pm, I lost my Ph.D. advisor, “Bud”. I was officially his student for three years (2014-2017) but I was lucky to meet him frequently till his last day. Being his student is my greatest academic achievement, but his influence on me extends far beyond academia. He was my mentor in history, art, culture, gardening, and politics. He was my guiding light on cloudy days of research and my stable anchor in the unknown seas that surround the life of an immigrant student. But more than anything, he was the manifestation of an honest version of science that is liberated from result-oriented narratives and branding. On multiple occasions, I witnessed him sticking to his values, when scientific or educational systems (e.g., a fluid mechanics journal or a mechanical engineering department) were starting to move towards bullshit and needed correction. I witnessed him holding his position and artistically showing the right path, so other small fish could swim against the flow–even when it was against his self interest.
After I lost Bud, I was aggressively sensitive for a while, mainly towards those who benefit from the version of science that relies heavily on branding, including myself. These biased lines are written with that anger and frustration.
Scientists are not immune to bullshit. In fact, we are systematically rewarded to improve along this axis.
Bullshit/ˈbʊlʃɪt/–Indifference to truth
Our evaluation metrics today—perhaps more than ever—are vulnerable to manipulation by those who can ride the surface waves of popularity, and science is no exception. Today, success in scientific environments (e.g., through the index number game of academic publication or the political game of performance review in applied research funded by private sectors) can be achieved through what I’d like to call bbb-based narratives, i.e., pop narratives optimized for short-term gains and generated based on bullshit, branding, and boondoggle.
Boondoggle/ˈboonˌdäɡ(ə)l/–Work or activity that is wasteful or pointless but gives the appearance of having value.
These narratives are strong tools. Once successful, they give birth to the next dominant variant, which consumes resources at a rapid rate to multiply and dominate. They are not inherently bad; depending on who is leading them, they can lead to positive action, shake up a passive system, or wake up a lazy organization from its comfortable, inefficient sleep. But since they often serve as shortcuts to influential positions that enable rapid, large-scale change, they often attract opportunists with good branding skills.
Snails strongly believe that only blurred visions lead to rapid changes.
The crisis begins when, these bbb-based narratives become the path of least resistance to ppp, i.e., promotion to powerful positions. Once bbb-masters control the promotion process, the system will start to decay and soon lose its aaa, i.e., the ability to actually act. With a decent amount of cynicism, one could say that's why we never landed on the moon again.
In a self-correcting environment, the mortality process begins when the system loses its ability to act. The accumulation of bullshit over time slowly fills the mortality dam, and at a certain point, when the dam breaks, the bullshit shatters, and the flood transforms all loud pop spikes into a forgotten noise on a 2D plot—with time as x-axis and importance as y-axis.
Mortality/môrˈtalədē/–the inability to keep your legacy against the passage of time.
Time is our oldest filter for bullshit and I like to believe that it still works, that it seems to be failing only because I’m too distracted to have a bird-eye view, that when a system gets infested with bullshit it dies over time; it naturally should, no? Well, unless it is constantly fed by an external energy source (e.g., fossil fuels, slaves, or cheap immigrant labor) which always comes at the cost of other’s effort and resources. Because bbb-masters are great at unfair capitalization bbb-based systems do not get filtered out by time soon enough. As a result, they are everywhere around us, only apparently functioning, leading us to believe that, as humans, we are incapable of acting on real problems.
Perhaps naively, I think that science is that one safe place that should stay clean of these result-oriented pop narratives. Perhaps naively, I still believe that an accessible version of science–away from the pretentious Ivy League tone, indifferent to short-lived waves of popularity, and liberated from addiction to success—should exist: an honest version that reads like poetry.
“The ability to understand something before it is observed is at the heart of scientific thinking. Perhaps poetry is another of science’s deepest roots: the capacity to see beyond the visible.” Rovelli, Carlo. The order of time. Penguin, 2019.
But even if “Time” is still doing its job, what else do we have to help us with this battle?
Even though the growth of bbb-based narrative in scientific environments is a systematic problem, the primary defenders against this crisis are individuals whom I like to refer to as scientific poets or Hakims.
Hakim/haˈkēm,ˈhäkəm/: one who transcends the science kingdom and enters the playground of wisdom.
Scientific poets embody a synthesis of seemingly opposite qualities: they reach the top but somehow do more than just capitalizing on others below them, and this helps them stay sharp. They are extremely successful but not addicted to success, and this helps them stay loyal to their values. They are open to novelty but can also see the hollowness of new popular waves. They understand the power of narratives but are able to tell the difference between short-lived branding and timeless results. And finally, they are extremely productive in generating science and yet see value in teaching and mentorship. Bud was the greatest scientific poet I’ll ever know.
Scientific grandparents like Bud are our main chance for correcting scientific and educational systems when bullshit-based narratives empty their core of the weight of truth. The truth they carry is our savior against the fast expansion of distraction we are facing today, and many other modern-day diseases. I was lucky to witness how the pure form of scientific curiosity (stronger than spirituality or religion) can bring meaning to life, breathe life into a garden, impart wisdom to a lost PhD student, create new working educational/scientific systems or correct failing ones. These guardians of truth and heavy sources of stability stay loyal to scientific curiosity until the day they die, because it helps them maintain control over death—the ultimate form of distraction—in their final moments. I've seen it firsthand, and I've felt it firsthand: when they leave, bullshit smiles—as if gravity has weakened. And once they’re gone, things no longer fall into the right space, distraction spreads over time, and the system falls apart.
"Things fall downward because, down there, time is slowed down by the earth. A moving object experiences a shorter duration than a stationary one: a plant grows less and a man dreams less." Rovelli, Carlo. The order of time. Penguin, 2019.
Thank you Bud, for teaching me everything I know correctly. Now that you're gone, it's as if gravity has weakened. I feel adrift without your “if I were you”s and I am terribly scared of losing our shared memories. I am certain that it would take another lifetime for me to encounter a tree as tall and fruitful as you, but I calm myself by spending time with Bryn in your garden and in the honor of being labeled a friend by you.
I lost a man who used to sit above the stream of time
A man so honest
A man full of life
And now that the winds that used to carry me are all gone
Time is a great friend of mine
It’ll speak to me
I know
I just have to flee
To somewhere where I don’t miss hummingbirds
To where the snails see me
And when it speaks
It’ll flow
Like the creek of my tears
Like a river full of justice
It’ll cut right through the grass
It’ll fill all the gaps:
The shoulders I deserve to cry on
The lips I deserve to kiss
The cities I deserve to miss
And when it flows
It’ll shut all those little mouths
It’ll sink all those little ants
All those poor fucking cockroaches who choose to be little acts
And it’ll flow
I know
I just need to learn how to write a poem that doesn’t bother the birds first
Plant the larch exactly how the maple says
And the moss
Exactly how the crow wants
I just need to hear beyond the wish
On rocks of emotions
I need to sit and learn how to fish:
Daphnes
Cigarettes
And loads of lost memories.
And when I have a tiny little catch
He’ll speak to me again
I know
I just need to learn to guess the season first
From the way the leafs move
And the night air scents.
Disclaimer note: Fast changes led by non-scientific bbb-based narratives that aim to correct a failing scientific system can be far more dangerous than scientific bbb-based narratives themselves.
"Shinto takes a far-sighted view that low-level or wrong ideas will eventually be naturally eliminated in the long run." Motohisa Yamakage, The Essence of Shinto.
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