Southwest Script

A slate tablet bearing the longest inscription yet found in the enigmatic Southwest Script has been found in southern Portugal, as reported by the Associated Press today. Although it’s only 86 characters long, it represents a major expansion in the corpus of Southwest Script inscriptions, which all come from southwestern Iberia (hence the name) and date from the 7th-5th centuries BCE. Southwest Script is one of the world’s more obscure semi-deciphered scripts; one can get a sense of this by the fact that about half of the top 20 hits on Google are to today’s news article (although the label ‘Tartessian’ is somewhat more common).

The Southwest Script is typologically complex. As discussed in the article, some of the signs are alphabetic (roughly, one sign = one phoneme, either a consonant or vowel), others are syllabic (one sign = one consonant + vowel combination), and others are of unknown signification – possibly representing whole words (logograms) or something else entirely. The sound-symbol correspondences can be established because the signs are related to several other Iberian scripts and ultimately to a Phoenician ancestor – so it is possible to read some parts of some of the inscriptions phonetically. But this is far outweighed by what we don’t know (yet).

An awful lot of scripts have some such typological complexities; Egyptian and Japanese are well-known examples, but even the modern Latin alphabet has logographic components like @, &, $, and % which would make a script-decipherer’s job much harder. But with the Southwest Script, where there are so few inscriptions (and the ones we have are so short), the problem becomes nearly unsurmountable. The fact that we can’t even reliably associate the script with a language, even though Phoenician has been fully deciphered for centuries, says quite a lot about the state of the decipherment.

One of the real challenges in Southwest Script studies is that the texts found are all extremely short, making computational decipherments effectively impossible. This new find will not eliminate this methodological difficulty, but it will at least make it more plausible to find repeated sequences of signs that occur in other Southwest Script tablets, one of the key aspects of archaeological decipherment. This might allow us eventually to say more about the linguistic context of the tablets and ultimately work, over the next several decades, towards what might be reasonably called a new archaeological decipherment.

Steve #1032

I am extraordinarily pleased to announce that I have been officially inducted into the roster of Steves at Project Steve, maintained by the National Center for Science Education. As Steve #1032, I join at least 1031 of my peers who, in addition to holding doctorates in fields related to evolution, are named Steve, Stephen, Steven, Esteban, Stephanie, etc. My sole duty as a member of this illustrious society is to promote, through undogmatic scientific inquiry, teaching and research about the origin and evolution of life. To which end, I can do no better than to quote from the NCSE itself:

Evolution is a vital, well-supported, unifying principle of the biological sciences, and the scientific evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of the idea that all living things share a common ancestry. Although there are legitimate debates about the patterns and processes of evolution, there is no serious scientific doubt that evolution occurred or that natural selection is a major mechanism in its occurrence. It is scientifically inappropriate and pedagogically irresponsible for creationist pseudoscience, including but not limited to “intelligent design,” to be introduced into the science curricula of our nation’s public schools. (NCSE, 2008)

Sciencing up the place

I got back late Saturday from the SaSci/SCCR conference in Las Vegas, to be greeted in Detroit by several inches of new-fallen snow … oh joy! Although I hardly had the time or inclination to do any serious gambling while away, I did win modestly at the airport slots due to my flight being delayed for half an hour. My talk was sparsely attended but nonetheless well-received, and it looks like as a result of these discussions, I’ll be presenting next year at the same conference as part of a session on anthropology and numerical cognition (in other words, exactly my field). In general, discussions about methodology in cognitive anthropology have led me to think quite a bit about my upcoming work this summer working with Detroit middle school students and learning about mathematical concept formation. A real challenge in the anthropology of mathematics is that there aren’t very many anthropologists working on mathematics, and because mathematics is a weird sort of domain where referents are often abstract, our methodologies aren’t extremely well developed, as opposed to, say, the study of kinship terms or ethnobotanical knowledge. So I have been spending the past few days thinking a lot more seriously about elicitation tasks and what exactly a mathematics-oriented ethnographic interview ought to look like and how on earth I can/should apply any of the highly theoretical knowledge I have acquired to this very grounded situation. Of course, I won’t really have the slightest clue what I’m doing until I actually start doing it, and possibly not even then.

But more generally, and despite receiving other, unrelated good news while away, it’s hard to be back from this particular conference feeling unmitigatedly positive about my discipline and my particular orientation within it. I’ve always been an oddball (and usually proud of it) in that I refuse to define myself within the usual four-field subdisciplinary taxonomy (physical, archaeological, cultural, and linguistic anthropology) common for the past century. I just don’t see any point, insofar as most of what ought to distinguish archaeologists from cultural anthropologists (e.g.) is methodological rather than conceptual. But then inevitably we get caught up in what is versus what ought to be, and the ways in which methodologies affect all other aspects of our work, and then we end up yellling at one another instead of being productive.

On top of that, you add the division between anthropology-as-humanism and anthropology-as-science, where I lean rather heavily towards the latter perspective even though as a ‘labelled’ linguistic anthropologist most of my attributed subfield leans the other way. The Science Wars had enormous fissioning effects on anthropology, such that some departments actually split administratively between humanistic and scientific wings, but some of that fissioning exists at a subdisciplinary level as well: you would be hard-pressed to find a physical anthropologist who rejects the label ‘scientist’, for instance. The Society for Anthropological Sciences is both a symptom of and a potential solution to these issues: it reflects a profound dissatisfaction with the humanistic bent of most cultural and linguistic anthropology, but at the same time by organizing itself in opposition to those trends, does little to convince any non-scientific anthropologists of the merits of the perspective.

For my part, I’m quite happy to use humanistic approaches when relevant, which is often. A lot of the empirical work underlying my forthcoming book, Numerical Notation: A Comparative History, examines the social, cultural, and political contexts under which particular numerical systems arose, spread, and declined. Lots of the work is essentially epigraphy as applied to numbers, and the scholars I relate to are linguists, historians, classicists, etc. In terms of much of my analysis, historians would surely recognize it as akin to what they do, even if, by the nature of the subject, it tends to underemphasize the individual personalities involved.

But I can’t escape the feeling that all this humanistic analysis acquires greater relevance when embedded in the broader search for patterns, and within anthropology the analysis of social processes and the comparison of social systems. I am thrilled that the structure of the book retains the basic structure of my dissertation, which has two separate analytical chapters, one cognitive, the other social, neither of which stands alone. But ultimately it is a comparative history, one which seeks to transcend the particular and get at something pan-human underlying it all. For an anthropologist today to admit to being a comparativist, outside of a very small number of venues, is like admitting you’re a cannibal, it seems sometimes. I do think I see some glimmers of hope that the field is becoming methodologically and theoretically more inclusive than when I was a grad student. I guess we’ll see, when the book is out, whether the reviewers agree.

What happens in Vegas

In a couple of hours I’m off to Las Vegas for the 2009 Society for Anthropological Sciences conference, where I’m presenting a paper entitled, “Frequency dependent biases in the transmission of communication technologies”. If any of my readers are going to be there (unlikely though that may be), it’ll be … well, it will be more compelling than the abstract that follows below makes it seem:

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Frequency dependent biases in the transmission of communication technologies

Frequency dependent bias is a form of horizontal cultural transmission bias in which the frequency of a cultural trait influences the likelihood that others will adopt it. Previously seen as a unitary phenomenon, frequency dependence in fact consists of three separate types, each involving distinct decision-making processes and having different patterns of acceptance, retention, and abandonment. In particular, communication technologies, whose popularity determines their utility, exhibit unusual characteristics of cultural transmission. A brief case study from the phylogenetic history of written numerals demonstrates the usefulness of considering the different effects of frequency for the adoption of new communication technologies. More broadly, the prevalence of frequency dependent phenomena in various cultural evolutionary contexts suggests the need to evaluate decision-making processes more rigorously when evaluating the adoption and retention of cultural traits.

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I’ll try to put together something interesting in the way of a blog post while I’m away, provided I don’t get sucked in by the charms of the city. Catch you on the flipside!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Darwin

As you probably know if you are reading this blog, today is the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin, FRS (1809 – 1882), probably the finest naturalist of his age and the originator of the theory of evolution by means of natural selection. In my evolutionary anthropology and history of anthropology classes I always start by asking how many people have heard of Darwin – of course every student raises their hand – and follow that up by asking how many of them have actually read Darwin, at which point the crickets start chirping. For the anthropologist, The Origin of Species isn’t especially interesting, given that Darwin only alludes to the probability of human evolution in the final pages of that expansive volume. For me, the more interesting text is The Descent of Man (1871), which neatly adumbrates virtually every significant debate in evolutionary anthropology, including many in linguistic anthropology. This is not to say that Darwin was always right, or that nothing has happened in the past 125 years. But he was asking the right questions, many of the same questions with which we still struggle, and I can think of no better tribute than to discuss his work in the context of those questions. I present a selection of quotations from the Project Gutenberg e-text of the 1874 second edition of the Descent, followed by questions and citations to recent literature dealing with these issues.

One can hardly doubt, that a man-like animal who possessed a hand and arm sufficiently perfect to throw a stone with precision, or to form a flint into a rude tool, could, with sufficient practice, as far as mechanical skill alone is concerned, make almost anything which a civilised man can make. The structure of the hand in this respect may be compared with that of the vocal organs, which in the apes are used for uttering various signal-cries, or, as in one genus, musical cadences; but in man the closely similar vocal organs have become adapted through the inherited effects of use for the utterance of articulate language.

- What is the relationship between tool manufacture and the use of language? (Stout et al. 2008)
- To what extent is ape vocalization a precursor to, or analogous to, human speech? (Arbib et al. 2008)

The formation of different languages and of distinct species, and the proofs that both have been developed through a gradual process, are curiously parallel. But we can trace the formation of many words further back than that of species, for we can perceive how they actually arose from the imitation of various sounds. We find in distinct languages striking homologies due to community of descent, and analogies due to a similar process of formation. The manner in which certain letters or sounds change when others change is very like correlated growth. We have in both cases the reduplication of parts, the effects of long-continued use, and so forth.

Languages, like organic beings, can be classed in groups under groups; and they can be classed either naturally according to descent, or artificially by other characters. Dominant languages and dialects spread widely, and lead to the gradual extinction of other tongues. A language, like a species, when once extinct, never, as Sir C. Lyell remarks, reappears. The same language never has two birth-places. Distinct languages may be crossed or blended together.

- How closely can the analogy between linguistic and biological change be drawn? (Chater et al. 2009)
- To what extent is linguistic change phylogenetic? (Gray et al. 2009)
- Should language change and language death be seen as parallel to biological extinction? (Mufwene 2004)

From the fundamental differences between certain languages, some philologists have inferred that when man first became widely diffused, he was not a speaking animal; but it may be suspected that languages, far less perfect than any now spoken, aided by gestures, might have been used, and yet have left no traces on subsequent and more highly-developed tongues. Without the use of some language, however imperfect, it appears doubtful whether man’s intellect could have risen to the standard implied by his dominant position at an early period.

- What is the relationship between the evolution of language and the evolution of modern human cognitive capacities? (Coward and Gamble 2008)
- What is the nature and structure of ‘proto-language’? (Botha 2008)

With respect to perfection, the following illustration will best shew how easily we may err: a Crinoid sometimes consists of no less than 150,000 pieces of shell, all arranged with perfect symmetry in radiating lines; but a naturalist does not consider an animal of this kind as more perfect than a bilateral one with comparatively few parts, and with none of these parts alike, excepting on the opposite sides of the body. He justly considers the differentiation and specialisation of organs as the test of perfection. So with languages: the most symmetrical and complex ought not to be ranked above irregular, abbreviated, and bastardised languages, which have borrowed expressive words and useful forms of construction from various conquering, conquered, or immigrant races.

- Is it possible to classify languages according to principles of regularity or purity, and is it worthwhile to do so? (Hoffman 2008)
- What is the role of migration, warfare and cultural contact in understanding the evolution of languages? (Nichols 2008)

One can only imagine that Darwin would be pleased to see such active and interesting research being done so long after his own seminal efforts. Happy birthday, Mr. Darwin.

Works cited

Arbib, M. A., K. Liebal, S. Pika, M. C. Corballis, C. Knight, D. A. Leavens, D. Maestripieri, J. E. Tanner, M. A. Arbib, and K. Liebal. 2008. Primate Vocalization, Gesture, and the Evolution of Human Language. Current Anthropology 49, no. 6: 1053-1076.
Botha, R. 2008. Prehistoric shell beads as a window on language evolution. Language and Communication 28, no. 3: 197-212.
Chater, Nick, Florencia Reali, and Morten H. Christiansen. 2009. Restrictions on biological adaptation in language evolution. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 106, no. 4 (January 27): 1015-1020.
Coward, F., and C. Gamble. 2008. Big brains, small worlds: material culture and the evolution of the mind. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 363, no. 1499: 1969-1979.
Gray, R. D., A. J. Drummond, and S. J. Greenhill. 2009. Language Phylogenies Reveal Expansion Pulses and Pauses in Pacific Settlement. Science 323, no. 5913 (January 23): 479-483.
Hoffman, K. E. 2008. Purity and Contamination: Language Ideologies in French Colonial Native Policy in Morocco. Comparative Studies in Society and History 50, no. 03: 724-752.
Mufwene, S. S. 2004. Language birth and death. Annual Review of Anthropology 33, no. 1: 201-222.
Nichols, Johanna. 2008. Language Spread Rates and Prehistoric American Migration Rates. Current Anthropology 49, no. 6 (December 1): 1109-1117.
Stout, D., N. Toth, K. Schick, and T. Chaminade. 2008. Neural correlates of Early Stone Age toolmaking: technology, language and cognition in human evolution. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences 363, no. 1499: 1939-1949.

and of course …

Darwin, C. 1871. The Descent of Man. London: John Murray.

Reference letters: a letter-writer’s views

I’m now nearing the end of what has been a very busy reference-letter-writing season for graduate and medical schools. I’ve been writing letters both for McGill students (some of whom I know extremely well) and for Wayne students (who I’ve known for four months, tops) and also serving on my department’s graduate committee reading admissions applications and the reference letters that come with them. For me, writing reference letters is, if not actually enjoyable, a part of my job that is more than just a duty, but something I care about doing well, and the (hopeful) result is something I care about a hell of a lot. I also (humbly?) think I’m damn good at it.

A recent conversation with a friend has got me thinking about different practices and traditions with regards to the practice of letter-writing. We don’t talk enough about the nuts and bolts of the process, particularly not in public venues. Obviously, I am not at liberty to discuss any specific contents of any of these letters, but I think a general discussion of some of the issues might be helpful to students who may find this post, and to my colleagues for whom this should be a fairly enjoyable part of the job: helping their students move forward in their chosen professions. Please bear in mind that everything below reflects my practice, but others may well behave differently.

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The Talk: Firstly, everyone who wants me to write them a reference letter for grad school gets to hear from me about the harsh realities of grad school. I even have a workshop that I give on that subject. The one thing I don’t do is give a blanket ‘Don’t go to grad’, although some of my colleagues follow that plan. I can’t fault their intentions, but my view is that ‘Do as I say not as I do’ is pretty much always hypocritical and that in any case, these students are adults and are more likely to be influenced by information than blanket moral pronouncements. But even so, no one gets away without hearing that academia is a tough gig. I also do try to mention that they aren’t crazy for wanting to go, and that intellectual life can be very rewarding – I personally found grad school to be a very relaxing period of my life – but I don’t hide the downsides of penury, anxiety and uncertainty.

Saying No: I sometimes say no to a student who asks for a letter, usually under one of three conditions:
a) Students who come to me very shortly before the due date. Guys, I usually do make an effort for, but realistically I want a minimum of a week’s notice, with two to four weeks preferred. If I have a letter already written for you and you know that, then obviously a short turnaround is possible, but otherwise, don’t expect me to be happy.
b) Students I just don’t remember at all. Usually the student knows I may not know them well and mentions that in their email or in person, giving me a way out. I don’t even know why they bother, although most commonly it’s students who major in some other, larger field and for whom my anthro seminar was one of the only classes where they interacted with a faculty member.
c) The third category is the hardest: students who I don’t think are cut out for grad school. Usually rather than saying no outright, I will say something to the effect that I wouldn’t be able to write them a strong letter, or suggest programs that may be more suitable for the student.

Information: I want as much information as the student is able to give me to allow me to write the best letter possible. At minimum I want a transcript, letter of intent, and CV, with a writing sample if I don’t already know the student’s writing well, and GRE/test scores if relevant. If some aspect of a student’s record is substandard, I can (and will) ‘write around’ that issue: not ignore it, but frame it in its context. Also, a student may have experiences that I may not know about, but which can be used to really beef up my letter. I can’t think of any case where a student has provided information that has made my letter worse than it otherwise would be.

Content: I always try to be as specific as possible in every aspect of the letter. I believe that the genre of reference letters (and that’s what it is -a literary genre) is tricky because so many letters are nearly-identically praise-filled, as everyone tries to get their students in the best places possible. Specificity is my solution to this problem: the more facts I can include, the better. Basically, I write on the assumption that the reader needs something memorable which could be used in the student’s favour in a committee meeting, to separate the student from the pack of mediocrities out there.

Superlatives: Although I despise the casual superlative, combined with specificity, superlatives can be used to great effect. Here’s where my anal-retentiveness comes into play. While there may only be one ‘best student in her class’ or ‘best student I’ve ever taught’, there are more ‘best in X course’ and even more ‘best essay out of X essays’. Or, if a student works full-time in addition to high intellectual performance, ‘most industrious’ might be brought into play (with supporting evidence, of course). Here we get back to the information issue

Length: Most of my letters are one single-spaced page for undergraduates. There have been a couple of exceptions for students I know especially well or whose records demand a fuller accounting, but realistically, one page is usually going to be enough. Given the limits of a committee’s time, long letters can conceal relevant information rather than highlighting it.

Customization: I would be lying if I said that I wrote a different letter for each student for each school, but I customize the school name and program that the person is applying to. Also, if the student is applying to two very different programs (e.g. in different disciplines), I will have two variants to encompass that fact. If a student has given me specific information as to the people they might want to work with, it only takes me a moment to add a sentence with specific names to my letter.

Writing My Own Letters: The other day, a friend remarked to me that it was customary in her department for referees to ask students to write their own letters and bring them to be signed. What the bloody hell kind of practice is that? While I understand that letter-writing can be a chore, I consider it to be profoundly unethical for students to be asked to write their own letters (not that I blame students who agree to do this – they are obviously not free to say no). Am I really strange to find this practice so disturbing?

Student Input: I will say, however, that I welcome student input into letters, particularly with regard to correcting errors or mentioning specific facts they would like me to have in the letter. After all, I don’t know every aspect of every student’s life, or why exactly this program is important to them. While I won’t censor my opinions or feel bound by a particular request, I do take suggestions very seriously.

Seeing Letters: I have a standing and explicit policy that before I send any letter (or after, or whenever), I will show any student the letter I have written for them. This not only ensures that I don’t make any stupid errors, but also (I hope) gives people peace of mind as to what is being said. So much of the grad admissions process is opaque, and my policy is intended to alleviate any fears – and of course, if the student doesn’t care to use my letter, they know exactly on what basis they make that decision.

Online Forms: I love the fact that many institutions now allow me to upload a PDF of my letter directly to the institution, bypassing the old ‘signed over the seal’ snail-mail method. I even have an electronic letterhead and signature to make it all fancy and official-looking. And they mostly send confirmation emails afterwards so I know it got there. And I certainly don’t mind having to fill out online check-boxes of the ‘top 5% – top 10% – top 25% – top 50% – oh god don’t admit this one’ variety. What I do object to is institutions that force you to rewrite your comments to fit a set of online questions (often with character limits). The process is annoying enough already without making faculty spend more time dividing up a perfectly good letter into little chunks, then getting anxious about whether we did it right.

Results: I was commenting to a friend the other day that if students knew how anxious and nervous we, as faculty, get about our students getting into grad school, they would either react with disbelief or laughter. And I suppose maybe some faculty just don’t care, but I’m young and idealistic and dammit, I do care a hell of a lot. So when I write a letter and then I don’t even hear where a student has been accepted, much less where they’re going, I get a little peeved. I don’t need a hand-written thank you note – email or Facebook or whatever will do quite fine. But I do think it’s rude not to let me know what the results of my efforts (and theirs) were.

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So that’s it! Any issues I have missed? Any pet peeves or quirks? Am I way off base on some of these points?

How to read phone numbers

Over at my personal blog, The Growlery, I am conducting a non-scientific poll in the name of Science, collecting preliminary data to help me formulate research questions on a new project. The topic: how to read phone numbers. While I’m not using this data directly, the more respondents I get, the better I’ll be able to think about issues relating to the lexical interpretation of non-lexical numerical symbols. The poll should take no more than a few minutes to complete. To respond, you need to have a Livejournal account, which can be obtained for free here.

Textbooks redux

Welcome to all the new readers who have arrived here from Savage Minds, where my anti-textbook rant was linked yesterday. For further (non-anthropological) evidence for my case, my wife has provided some choice gems from her graduate-level library science text. Prepare to be shocked.

In the spirit of immediate but generalized reciprocity, I should note that Savage Minds discusses a very interesting report on where PhDs in anthropology work five years or more after their degree. I was surprised at the high percentage (over 60%) who are in tenure-track jobs, given the new prevalence of non-academic (but still professional) work in the field. The report has more good news than bad for those thinking about an academic career. It’s worth noting, however, that anthropology PhDs who drop out of professional life entirely are unlikely to respond at high rates to such surveys, producing a significant potential source of bias.