No Such Thing as “Proof”

As any scientist will tell you, even the most widely accepted theories and laws are still subject to some level of doubt and cynicism. However, that does not mean that we should not act on those theories and laws as if they were true – because chances are, they are true. The study discussed in “The Dying Russians” is interesting because it proposes an explanation for a phenomenon that while plausible, can not possibly be proven. Eberstadt draws his conclusions based on the evidence made available to him, and in some ways it is deductive. For example, his first hypothesis was that “Russians are dying due to infectious diseases.” He then refuted this hypothesis upon looking at the statistics and finding that the death rate due to infectious diseases is relatively as would be expected. He then proceeded to the next possible explanation, and searched for evidence that either refuted or supported the next hypothesis. The problem with this method is that once you have found a hypothesis that you like, it is easy to pick and choose evidence that supports your hypothesis while underplaying or ignoring the evidence that does not. The conclusion that Russians are dying of a “broken heart” is supported by evidence, but Eberstadt was actively looking for that evidence, and might not have been looking quite as hard for evidence that countered his theory.

However, there is something that feels right about this conclusion. It just makes sense. And I think that at a certain point you have to put trust in the academic integrity of political scientists in order to glean any value from their work. No conclusion will ever be completely bulletproof, but if something is most likely true, I think that it is okay to act on that belief as if it were true. This is the only way to learn and build on previous knowledge and experiences.

Hedgehogs and Foxes in “The Dying Russians”

Masha Gessen’s essay “The Dying Foxes” is a textbook example of two varying theories and methods of social science both attempting to solve the same solve the same problem; in this case the trying to identify a cause for the alarmingly high death rates and low life expectancies in Russia, as well as the unusually low birth rate in the country. Gessen summarizes the work and theories of Michelle Parsons and Nicholas Eberstadt as they navigate this conundrum. The methods used by Parsons and Eberstadt perfectly align with the two categories of writers outlined in Isaiah Berlin’s essay “The Hedgehog and the Fox.” Parsons, an anthropologist who lived in Russia during the height of the population decline, is a quintessential hedgehog. Parsons focuses solely on “what she calls ‘the cultural context of the Russian mortality crisis.'” She interviews survivors of the crisis in an attempt to get inside the mind of a Russian citizen at the time. She also examines the upbringings of her subjects, as well as economic shifts in the country brought on by the rise and subsequent collapse of the Soviet Union. However, while Parsons examines many different aspects of the lives of Russians during the time of the crisis, her research focuses solely on the psychological condition of those Russians. She views the crisis only through that lens, and doesn’t necessarily entertain the notion that there could be other factors involved in the crisis. Eberstadt and his methods, on the other hand, align perfectly with Berlin’s definition of a fox. As Gessen notes, “Eberstadt is interested in the larger phenomenon of depopulation, including falling birth rates as well as rising death rates.” Also, Eberstadt focuses on “Russia’s half-century-long period of demographic regress rather than simply the mortality crisis of the 1990s,” as Parsons does. Another difference between the two is that Eberstadt is not necessarily theorizing on potential reasons, as Parsons does at times. Rather, he takes somewhat more of a scientific approach, in that he tries to find “hard data” that clearly identifies a specific reason or reasons as to the cause of the mortality crisis. While Eberstadt admits that he can’t pinpoint a culprit, he examines a long list of potential cause of the demographic regression, and he “is thorough in examining each of them.” So while Eberstadt is unable to solve the problem of Russian demographic regression, his methods are much more effective and examine a much wider range of potential causes than Parsons does.

Statistics, Stories, and Truth in Russia

I think there is some value to the idea of a truth beyond any form of science because the scope of any discipline is necessarily incomplete. An anthropological approach will give insight into the human effects of social change but is limited by the number of people it can reach; a historical analysis will net valuable data on societal trends while neglecting the personal impact of those trends in every way but outcomes. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t see the truth. A blended approach, one combining a macro understanding of trends with an eye for the human detail, can move closer to the truth than any single method alone.

This type of synthesis is attempted by Masha Gessen in “The Dying Russians”. He examines the work of both an anthropologist and an economist to try to understand why Russians are dying so young after the fall of the Soviet Union. Parsons, the anthropologist, provides a compelling answer: they feel unneeded. The transition from Soviet-communism to capitalism and the plunder of the Soviet coffers by western businesspeople rapidly shifted the views of the average Russian towards their job – they went from feeling needed and secure to superfluous and exploited. Their early deaths are a product of their alienation. This explanation is persuasive in context, but, as Gessen notes, fails to account for the previously high rates of death in Russia. According to Eberstadt’s statistical analysis, Soviet mortality rates spiked in multiple periods before the fall of the Berlin wall. These increases cannot be explained by a feeling of uselessness after the implementation of robber-capitalism. Instead, Gessen suggests, they’re a product of hopelessness. The Soviet system ground down Russians, who started to perish from despair; this was not stopped by a transition to capitalism, and indeed increased. The feelings of Parsons’s Russian subjects are not wrong, but are poorly contextualized. With a combined approach, a shrewd examiner can mesh the experiences of people with their historical frame to better understand a society and its outcomes.

Undiscovered Knowledge

Most people are unable to fathom that as a species we are not always capable of determining the cause of a phenomenon in science; they therefore assume that every social problem has an explanation that they already understand. This form of arrogance is absurd. Humans discover more and more about how the brain affects social behavior every year, rendering any assumption that an answer must lie within our current range of knowledge ridiculous. As described in Masha Gessen’s “The Dying Russians”, Eberstadt understands that with current information it might be impossible to officially determine the cause of the high mortality rate in Russia. While Eberstadt is more interested in the general phenomenon of depopulation, he employs an extremely structured method to try and determine the cause of high mortality and “systematically goes down the list of the usual suspects” (Gressen). He does, however, conclude that he cannot offer an explanation for the deaths. Eberstadt uses historical instruments of explanation such as previous trends in Russian history (population decline in 1917-1923) to analyze the cause of high mortality in Russia.

In political science, most theories are formed based on the past. While it is significantly easier to form a correct theory with hindsight and illustrate correlation, it is extremely difficult to prove causation. Whereas Eberstadt took a historical approach of sorts, Parsons explores “the cultural context of the Russian mortality crisis”, and uses cultural instruments of explanation to attempt to understand the phenomenon”. As Gressen points out, the obvious flaw in Parsons investigation is that the interviews were carried out over a decade after the phenomenon, and were conducted with survivors. While it may be easy to determine a correlation between the sense of worthlessness that Russians feel and high mortality rates, causation is extremely difficult to prove after the fact. One could argue that the answer for the large number of deaths in Russia is a simpler form of a “truth” that lies beyond science. I consider that “truth” to simply represent the knowledge we do not yet have, and striving for the unreachable is what allows that knowledge to be acquired.

Third Blog Post: The Dying Russians

Masha Gessen’s “The Dying Russians” presents the approaches of two different people–Michelle Parsons and Nicholas Eberstadt–to the study of the Russian mortality crisis. In doing so, she shows much of the difference between Parson’s possibly hedgehog-esque approach versus Eberstadt’s seemingly more fox-like approach. Parsons analyzes the Russian mortality crisis in the 1990s through a cultural lens (which makes sense given that she is an anthropologist); it seems that she wants to delve into the idea that the diminishment of Russians’ self-worth has caused–or at least contributed to–the strikingly high mortality rate in Russia. She conducts her research through a series of “unstructured interviews with average Muscovites.” My first concern when reading this is that these interviews are described as unstructured; as someone who prefers more methodological approaches to study, the fact that her interview questions are apparently not standardized in any way seems troubling. I am also curious as to what Parsons defines as an “average Muscovite,” and I am skeptical–like Gessen–of Parson’s decision to interview “the survivors, not the victims, of the [Russian] mortality crisis.” Furthermore, to touch upon a point made in class this week, Parson’s use of interviews as her method of study is tricky/potentially problematic because we never know whether or not people are telling the whole truth.

As Gessen points out, Parson’s approach is problematic because it attempts “to identify a single turning point,” and potentially ignores other factors that contribute to Russia’s mortality crisis, factors which Eberstadt attempts to observe. I find less issue with Eberstadt’s method–and tend to identify it as more fox-like–because he approaches his study more systematically, and, at least from what Gessen writes in her article, he seems to do so without major preexisting notions/theories; he studies various “culprits”: infectious diseases, cardiovascular disease, injuries and poisonings, and when he finds that the rates at which some of these culprits kill Russians is much higher than in other countries, he “thoroughly examines” why this is the case.

Dying Russians Reveals Importance of Being A Fox

The intersection of political science, history, and journalism in Masha Gessen’s study of the decades long rise in Russian mortality demonstrates how vital it is to be on the right side of the Isaiah Berlin Hedgehog/Fox paradigm. On one level, the interdisciplinary approach to the question ensures that each individual finding can be aggregated into a picture of the truth clearer than each approach would approach alone. On another, the importance of recognizing the intersections of culture, institutions, and history in affecting something as broad as mortality is that each approach can reveal ways in which the others are incomplete. The cultural malaise that can keep birth rates low and contribute to a whole host of behaviors that in themselves don’t explain historically high death rates but together fit tellingly into a larger canvas cannot be understood without understanding the Soviet and post-Soviet institutions that shape (and are shaped by) that culture, which in turn cannot be understood without knowledge of the history of the post-Stalinist USSR and the factors that contributed to its disintegration and the state formation/recalibration of the Russian Federation. Even when all of these things are put together, there is no certain answer as to why Russians keep dying younger than much of the world, but an approach that is secure in the fact that it is more important to get closer to an uncertain truth than to project confidence behind a grand theory that doesn’t correspond to reality is an approach that will produce valuable analysis.

The Dying Russians

Masha Gessen’s “The Dying Russians” is an example of the potential for truth and explanation that inheres in the encounter between “good journalism” and social science. It is also an fine illustration of how the pursuit of a puzzle—in this case “Why are Russians dying at such high rates, and so young, since 1991?”—can give way to a new and unexpected (if not more harrowing) question, “Why have Russians been dying at such high rates for decades?” The conclusion that the piece reaches is almost lyrical, and possibly not even science. Russians are, it would seem, dying of broken hearts.

Assess the piece from the perspective of this week’s discussion of the nature of science and methodology. How are cultural, institutional, or historical instruments of explanation brought to bear on the analysis, and are they effectively used? Is there a “truth” that lies beyond the grasp of social science, or even medical science. If so should we stop striving for the unreachable? You might want to keep in the back of your mind Ian Shapiro’s entreaty that we adhere to “problem-oriented research” rather than “method-driven” political science. (“…if one’s only tool is a hammer, everything in sight starts to look like a nail.”

Photo:  “Dynamo” factory workers listening about the death of Joseph Stalin, 1953 by Dmitry Baltermants

 

Grading Systems, a Necessary Evil

I would like to focus on the necessity of a grading system in education. While Gatto seems to feel as though grading is just a means for society to cultivate obedience and sort people into categories, I look at it as a necessary evil rather than something that should be eliminated. It certainly isn’t perfect, but without incentive, especially in a world filled with mindless distraction, I feel as though there would not be a meaningful desire for most people to educate themselves. Without material incentive, people tend to do the minimum, the economy of the former Soviet Union speaks well to this. While the education system may not be making students into “their best selves,” everything learned in K-12 education isn’t entirely worthless. And grading systems, when they become more important in middle and high school, do play on the self-interested part of human nature to “fool” students into learning things in some capacity, even if it’s just for the grade. It’s hard to convince children that learning is important, and I think the grading system is more successful at encouraging education if the alternative is anarchy. Of course, there’s a middle ground somewhere, grading systems should be encouraging intellectual accomplishment rather than blind obedience to monotonous daily tasks which the grading systems of today all too often reward in excess. We just need to find it.

Pawns in Burma

At first, I thought that the power players in Orwell’s account were the Burmans. However, upon closer examination I find this not to be true. While the Burmans can yell obscenities at Orwell as soon as they in the background and anonymous, this does not represent a significant form of power. Their power comes in the form of perpetuating brutal British behavior, as the British feel that it is expected of them and they will be exposed as weak otherwise. While this certainly represents power, this actually harms the Burmans, therefore making it less valid in my opinion. I also find that Orwell does not have true power in the account, as he acts according to the Burmans’ expectations rather than his own free will. Instead, their is a third variable holding power over both Orwell and the Burmans. This third variable is the British state. Without British backing, Orwell would not be in his position, and the Burmans would not have their expectations of him as a brutal man. Both Orwell and the Burmans experience oppression, as they cannot acknowledge their hidden politics without fear for some repercussion. Thus, the British government had set up in Burma two sets of pawns, creating a political stalemate, perpetuating their power over the region.

Response to Sasha’s “Shooting an Elephant” Post

I think Sasha makes some good points with regard to the power of the majority and the “shared laugh” concept. Like I alluded to in my own post, while Orwell and the British may have authority over the Burmans, the native people actually have power over the Europeans. This is due in part to both the sheer discrepancy in numbers between the groups and the social obligations that Orwell’s authority entails. However, the two factors are often intertwined. When Orwell is gratuitously fouled in soccer, he is unable to complain because he is outnumbered by the Burmans and because he would appear weak if he were to show his fear, compromising the legitimacy of his authority. Evidently, the extent of Orwell’s authority does not translate to his extent of power in the situation. Meanwhile, despite the power dynamics of Orwell and the Burmans, the concept of the “shared laugh” may be applicable to the bigger picture. While the British exercise their power the Burmans are free to engage in whatever kind of private discourse they like, mostly likely regarding their anti-British sentiment. However, in the public sphere, they are well aware of their position in the Imperialist society. This is made evident after Orwell shoots the elephant and elicits a strong reaction from its owner. “The owner was furious, but he was only an Indian and could do nothing.” This matter-of-fact remark speaks volumes. Even though Orwell lacks power in the story, his authority is still firmly cemented in society.