Comparison

All evaluations are comparisons. When they are not phrased as comparisons–some thing is said to be good or bad but is not explicitly compared to some other thing–this just means that the comparison is implicit. The other half of the comparison is left blank. Something is there, but it is not stated and there is a good chance we are not consciously aware of what is there or even of there being a “there”. Hemianopia, a recurring theme in the writing of Oliver Sacks, provides a wonderfully explicit analogy. People with hemianopia are blind in half of the visual field. This is very different from being blind in one eye. Suppose you are blind in the right half of your visual field. The visual field of your left eye has a right half of its own, and includes part of the right half of your total visual field; these would be missing. The defect has to be in visual processing. In effect, half of the visual data are being sent for analysis to a processing center, and nothing (at least, nothing the person is conscious of) is coming out of that processing center. The right half of the visual field is not black, it is absent. Black would be a signal, at minimum an indicator that there is a shelf in consciousness labelled “right visual field”, and when one directs attention to that shelf one finds it empty. Sacks describes people with hemianopia insisting that a plate is empty when the left half of the plate is empty. They do not think to themselves–“Well, I can’t see the right half of my visual field, so if I look a bit further to the right I can see the whole plate.” They don’t know the plate has a right half that could be seen. So, imagine we are sometimes like that when we conduct evaluations. We say that a thing is good. Good compared to what? Much of the time, we don’t know. That half of the comparison isn’t garbled or blank, it is absent.

We could also compare this to a missing frame of reference. Suppose we see an object moving to the right. That motion is relative to some frame of reference, some thing or set of things that is interpreted as being fixed in position and relative to which the object is moving. In most ordinary social interactions, one frame of reference is so consistently the obvious default that there is no point stating it and it can be simply assumed without trouble. Sometimes, though, it is not clear. One person may intuit one frame of reference, the other a different one. Then, for effective communication, the first necessary step is the realization that “frame of reference” is a shelf in consciousness that has something on it and could have something different on it. If that shelf is simply invisible, we are stuck.

When we aren’t even aware of the shelf, we haven’t considered what objects should be on it. An implicit comparison is very likely to be unhelpful or misleading. We act as though we are making an appropriate comparison when we aren’t even aware we are making a comparison. Once we are aware of the shelf and consider what should be there, I think a general rule is that the relevant scope of analysis is the range of variation that can be proven to exist. When, for example, one finds oneself thinking that every vote is a vote for the lesser of two evils, there is some unspoken good candidate that–since this candidate never seems to appear–is probably well outside the range of meaningful analysis. One could just as well put an unspoken bad candidate, representing a degree of evil never seen in society, on the shelf and judge every candidate a saint. There’s no reason to prefer one over the other. In either case, we might look at our ruler and wonder why it is marked out to 12 inches when every single thing we measure is less than 4 inches long.

All arguments based on unspoken comparison make this kind of error. When a comparison is explicit, of course it’s still misleading or useless much of the time. We should simply treat implicit comparisons as meaningless until they become explicit, and then consider if the comparison is accurate and meaningful. People hate to abandon the ghosts of better worlds. It feels like abandoning hope, but can mean abandoning despair.

I thought I had about three sentences to write, to capture something that seemed interesting enough to pin down, and find myself somewhere else.

Decadence

Decadence is a concept in ecology that is very distinct in meaning, but sometimes similar in spirit, to the use of the word to describe societal excess and decline. The basic idea is that ecosystems require disturbance to maintain productivity and biodiversity. Fire, flood, and grazing are probably the most frequently invoked examples of disturbance. An ecosystem that is declining due to a lack of disturbance is decadent. At the level of individual plants in the ecosystem, a plant with a high proportion of dead to live biomass is decadent. There is no question that this conceptual framework is accurate and useful in many cases. Fire-dependent ecosystems, especially, have been very thoroughly documented. However, there is also no question that it is not universally applicable. A plant with a high proportion of dead to live biomass could be a mature tree in old-growth forest, since wood is mostly dead. While they should not be envisioned as completely steady-state, disturbance-free ecosystems, applying the concept of decadence uncritically would lead us to believe old-growth forests are fundamentally diseased. Mature plants are often a good thing, not an indicator that something is wrong. We should think critically about what we know about the role of disturbance in an ecosystem and make informed decisions about when and how we apply the concept of decadence. I think there are several factors that tend to bias us in favor of overestimating the importance and frequency of disturbance, and assigning inappropriate importance to decadence, in semiarid ecosystems.

Most grasslands are adapted to both fire and grazing. The tendency for most grasses to keep their buds (apical meristems) at or a little below ground level is a great adaptation for tolerating events, like fire and grazing, that remove large amounts of above-ground biomass. Many grasses also tend to accumulate energy reserves until that kind of disturbance event comes along. A plant that still has its buds intact and stored energy available can quickly convert stored energy into new growth to replace what was lost. In the absence of disturbance, accumulations of dead biomass on the ground make it more difficult for new growth to emerge, and the stored energy reserves remain unused and are eventually lost to decay. This pattern of grassland features is so common and well-known that it has become the established paradigm. In this paradigm, decadence is a very useful concept. A high proportion of dead to live biomass is strong evidence that something is going wrong. Semiarid grasslands, however, often deviate from this pattern. For instance, the dominant grasses in the Chihuahuan Desert are suffrutescent. The above-ground stems persist and branch for multiple years, with new growth coming from buds well above ground level. This makes them less tolerant of both fires and grazing, and means that accumulations of dead biomass have no little or no inhibitory effect. New growth does not need to push through a layer of dead plant matter, the grasses can simply continue growing above old biomass indefinitely. The presence of suffrutescent grasses in an ecosystem should cause us to immediately recognize that we are not operating under the standard grassland paradigm, and that decadence is probably not a useful concept. However, people are not good at dealing with exceptions. Once a pattern has been established in our minds, it becomes decoupled from the evidence on which it was based. Instead of recognizing changes in the underlying evidence as a cause to rethink the paradigm, we accept the paradigm as factual and see new evidence only by its light. We have been presented with very strong evidence, from the 1890s to present, that our grassland paradigm is fundamentally, and sometimes catastrophically, wrong in semiarid grasslands dominated by suffrutescent grasses. The paradigm has, nonetheless, been remarkably resilient. For instance, there is a series of papers from 2000 to 2010 on the role of prescribed fire in suffrutescent-dominated grasslands on the Jornada Experimental Range in which researchers have continued to advocate for an important ecological role of fire in the maintenance of these grasslands. They do so despite more than a century of evidence strongly rejecting the traditional grassland paradigm in these ecosystems, and a strong rejection of this ecological role for fire in their own data, which they present in these papers. When exceptions to the standard paradigm are so strongly resisted by professional scientists, it should be no surprise that this paradigm also continues to be accepted by most non-academics living and working in these ecosystems.

Decadence is very easy to assess quickly and subjectively. Fundamentally, you go outside during the growing season and look around you. How green does the vegetation look? Other ecosystem attributes for which decadence is a proxy, on the other hand, are quite difficult to measure. Measuring an ecosystem’s primary productivity requires that you clip and weigh new growth on the plants around you, dry them and weigh again to correct for variation in moisture content rather than productivity, correct for the time of year (how much of the year’s biomass has been produced at the time you measure), correct for consumption by herbivores, and correct for weather. Having collected this data, supervised others who are collecting it, and managed productivity data collected by various people over several decades, I know that not only is this data difficult and time-consuming to collect, without a constant focus on quality assurance and quality control it will not be collected with any usable accuracy and even with a strong focus on QA/QC the data will be less accurate than many of the other attributes of the ecosystem that we could measure. Biodiversity data is also very difficult to measure. Thinking simply of plants, accurate biodiversity data really requires the oversight and assistance of someone who has a decade or more of expertise with the taxonomy and identification of plants in that ecosystem. I say that as someone with that kind of expertise who is absolutely certain that he makes silly or careless errors in collecting this kind of data. I think I make those errors far less frequently than people without the same expertise, but I know I make them. I try to notice and correct myself when I do. In any case, if decadence is a good proxy for various ecosystem attributes we want to measure–and in some cases it is–it is a wonderful shortcut. When it is not a good proxy–and in some cases it is not–the sheer subjective obviousness of this variable will make it very tempting to use it anyways. In practice, that’s what most people do. You will hear, for instance, people say that a prescribed fire had worked really well. If you push a little to try to find out what evidence they’re looking at and how they’re evaluating it, rapid growth from grasses after the fire is almost always one of the indicators they’re using. Suppose before the fire you have a grassland with about 50/50 green new growth and brownish, older, mostly dead plant matter. After the fire, you have a carpet of fresh green. Subjectively, this is very appealing. You can’t help but notice a very dramatic change in decadence, and even without a grounding in traditional paradigms about grassland ecology most people are going to intuitively interpret this as a positive change. Does it actually correlate with positive changes in things like productivity, biodiversity, and so on? We can’t know that without actually doing the measurements. When faced with a subjectively obvious improvement, though, it is hard to convince people to put in the time and effort. So we tend to look at the easy variables and fill in the rest with assumption. It’s easy to look at decadence, and someone showed that it’s a good shortcut over there… close enough.

People have inherent aesthetic biases. Dead plant material on the ground in an ecosystem is called “litter”, and while ecologists all conceptually know that this use of the word is rather different than the “trash left by humans” usage, it’s probably not a coincidence that it’s the same word and our thinking is probably colored by the negative connotations. We think of cleanliness, orderliness, and uniformity as desirable attributes in our homes, cities, and gardens, and we don’t simply turn this bias off when we visit more natural environments. Decadent plants are untidy. In semiarid systems where both grasslands and shrublands are equally natural parts of the landscape, we simply like the looks of a grassland better. Further, some kinds of plant communities are simply easier for us to interact with than others. Shrubbier plant communities are often more difficult to walk through and see around in, especially if they have a lot of dead branches. In areas where spiny plants are common, shrubbier plant communities can be painful. Within a grassland, generally the shorter the grasses are and the less dead plant material there is, the easier it is to walk around in. In a forest, down limbs are a hindrance. Our aesthetic biases and physical means of interacting with the world push us towards a negative view of decadence.

Last but not least, one of our major uses of semiarid ecosystems is the grazing of livestock. Viewed through the lens of a rancher, dead plant biomass accumulating on the land is wasted feed for livestock. Fresh new growth after a fire is highly palatable. And people are very strongly biased towards interpreting their actions in a positive light. If you make your living by creating disturbance events that remove a lot of above-ground plant biomass, you will probably view that process as beneficial and adopt a worldview like the traditional grassland paradigm. When that paradigm happens to be correct, everything lines up nicely. In grazing-adapted ecosystems, the path to managing grazing in a way that is consistent with the long term health and productivity of the ecosystem is generally obvious and relatively easy to follow. People still make bad decisions, because people are people, but someone dedicated to making the right decisions can figure out how to do it and the system is relatively resilient to the occasional mistake. Believing that grazing is beneficial is not just the conceptual path of least resistance, it’s true across a substantial range of possible grazing management practices. People tend to take the conceptual path of least resistance regardless, however. When we find ourselves in a semiarid grassland dominated by suffrutescent grasses, we should be able to figure out that this is not a grazing-adapted ecosystem and change our concepts and behavior accordingly. If our livelihoods depend on grazing, that’s a strong force pushing us in the opposite direction.

The concept of decadence is regularly applied in semiarid ecosystems, but I think in most cases it is misapplied. Attempts to arrive at a better understanding face strong headwinds, and have not prevailed so far.

Don’t make me no never mind.

One reason I like the saying, “Don’t make me no never mind,” is that it means the same as its inverse, “Makes me no never mind.” I think we can add to that category this pair: “All models are wrong, and some are useful,” and, “All models are right, and some are useful.” If some parameter is invariant, it really doesn’t matter what its absolute value is. At least, it does not matter to any analysis limited to the scope within which that parameter is invariant. In the case of models, it also isn’t really the point that the correctness parameter truly is invariant. If we act as though correctness is invariant, we can direct our attention down more fruitful avenues. For this purpose, as well, the via negativa or the via positiva will work equally. Choosing between them is just a matter of personal preference.