Variant Roman numerals: a project

October 7, 2009 at 8:33 pm (Literacy and writing, Numerals)

Yesterday I thought of a great new project that could be a nice little article, or, if I had a grad student with a background in classical archaeology, as a nice little thesis, or, if someone else wants to work with me, a co-authored paper. Heck, if you scam my idea, more power to you – I will cite you widely if it’s good, and mock you widely if not! You see, the Epigraphische Datenbank Clauss-Slaby is a searchable full-text database with over 350,000 Latin inscriptions (including over 20,000 images). You can enter a word (e.g, Germaniae) and it returns all the inscriptions that have that word. Nifty, huh? Just in mucking about with EDCS today I discovered two or three things that will be coming out in my book that are in need of revision, which makes me only a little bitter.

Now of course I’m not a classicist (I have three terms of Latin under my belt, but that’s hardly enough to make me an expert), but I do know a thing or three about Roman numerals. The study of Roman numerals is sorely neglected in modern epigraphy, which is a shame because there are some really interesting social questions to be asked relating to regional identity and literacy (the sort of stuff, e.g., that Greg Woolf does). We think that we know Roman numerals: just take I, V, X, L, C, D, and M, string them together in groups of no more than three, use subtractive notation for numbers like 9 and 44, and you’re done. But it isn’t so simple.

The Roman numerals are not a static and unified system; there are various expressions for the same number (e.g. XVIII vs. XIIX for 18, or XXXXX vs. L for 50). Back in the 1950s, Arthur and Joyce Gordon did some interesting statistical analysis, indicating some potential sources of this variability (chronological, regional, and textual), but he didn’t have the sort of massive resources that the EDCS provides. So, for instance, it is often said that IIIII for 5, XXXXX for 50, and CCCCC for 500 (i.e., not using the sub-base signs V, L, and D) are particularly found in African inscriptions. Well, a quick search for ‘CCCCC’ and ‘XXXXX’ suggest to me that this isn’t a full explanation. Are certain types of inscription more likely to contain these variants? Could we be dealing with a chronological difference? Could we be dealing with a variant typical of minimally literate writers, or writers of informal texts? Or could it be that the shorter forms are used when there’s less room on the medium, with longer variants used when space is not at a premium? I have no idea, but the only way to find out would be to build a list of inscriptions that use these variants, map them in time and space, and evaluate them in terms of the texts in which they occur.

Now, there are some methodological complexities: some of the interesting variation is between different forms for the same character, and there is no way to search for that. Some of the Roman numeral forms (the use of a horizontal bar or vinculum over a numeral to indicate multiplication by 1000) aren’t represented consistently, or at all, so one would just need to rely on other published material to find the relevant inscriptions. And quite a lot of the project would require taking the database results and then referring to the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. But ultimately it would be taking what seems to be a rather dry subject (variability in Roman numerals) and potentially correlating it with variability in social identities (class, ethnic, professional). Well, I think it’s cool, anyway.

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Ajami and Western numerals

September 3, 2009 at 8:09 pm (Linguistics, Literacy and writing, Numerals)

Pardon me as I sort out my long list of posts that got shelved prematurely this summer during my fieldwork. There is a really neat little article entitled Lost Language in Bostonia, the Boston University alumni magazine. It’s a fascinating look at the research of Fallou Ngom, who specializes in Ajami writing. Ajami is the name given collectively to modified versions of the Arabic script used to write various West African (non-Arabic) languages. Once you set aside the ridiculous title of the article – Ajami is only ‘lost’ in the ethnocentric sense that most Western scholars don’t know about it and is most definitively not a language, but rather a set of writing systems, each used to write a specific language – it’s an interesting look at a neglected subject relating to an area that is often misperceived as illiterate and having made no contributions to intellectual life.

But what interested me most about the article were the two photos of Ajami manuscripts – one right at the top of the article, another around two-thirds of the way down. And while, yes, I may be the only person to find this really striking, but both of the pages are numbered using Western numerals (51 and 7, respectively). In virtually any handwritten and printed Arabic literature, the set of Arabic numerals ٠١٢٣٤٥٦٧٨٩ are used, not the Western numerals 0123456789. In fact, these numerals have been one of the most resistant to being replaced by Western numerals, even as other regions of the world, such as Japan and India, have partially or fully abandoned their traditional numbering systems. That these Ajami texts are paginated in Western numerals is thus notable, and raises the question of how widely this practice has spread. Is it just chance that these two texts selected happened to use Western numerals, or is this a systematic difference between Arabic and Ajami texts? And if it is a real difference, when and in what context(s) did it emerge? Sounds like a good project for a master’s thesis.

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Zapotec decipherment on the horizon

August 31, 2009 at 8:32 pm (Archaeology, Literacy and writing, Numerals)

Artdaily.org reports on a major new initiative to compile an epigraphic corpus and eventually (it is hoped) decipher the Zapotec hieroglyphic writing system. Unfortunately the article has been poorly translated, and I am at a loss as to the meaning of the sentence, “During that age, numeral system began, which would reach a great sophistication towards 7th century.” But that’s not the point. Most people who think of Mesoamerican writing think of the Maya hieroglyphs, or maybe, maybe the Aztec manuscript tradition. But the earliest inscriptions of the Valley of Oaxaca (the Zapotec homeland) are very early (500 BCE) – as early or earlier than any other Mesoamerican writing (with the exception of the enigmatic Cascajal Block) and (debatably) centuries earlier than any writing in the Maya languages. Monument 3 from San José Mogote is the earliest clear evidence for Mesoamerican numeration (used in the name ‘1 Earthquake’).

But we really don’t know as much as we would like about the Zapotec script (of which there are hundreds of examples dating from 500 BCE to 850 CE, although many are short or fragmentary). Our state of knowledge about the script is roughly where we were with Mayan writing forty years ago: we can read the numbers and the calendar, and we can ‘interpret’ a few other glyphs contextually, but that’s about it. There has been important recent work on Zapotec, particularly by Javier Urcid, whose excellent book, Zapotec Hieroglyphic Writing (2001), represents a major step forward, but it isn’t a decipherment nor does it claim to be. If a Zapotec decipherment or even a partial decipherment were to emerge from this new initiative, it would clearly help sort out many thorny phylogenetic issues in lowland Mesoamerican linguistic history and culture. But the script may not be highly phonetic, and certainly is not an excellent candidate for a Linear-B-Michael-Ventris style decipherment. Still, one can hope.

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Cherokee petroglyphs?

June 24, 2009 at 3:28 pm (Archaeology, Literacy and writing, Numerals)

My attention has been drawn to a recent article in the New York Times by John Noble Wilford, describing a purported cave inscription in the Cherokee script from Kentucky. If confirmed as accurate, this would be the oldest dated text in Cherokee, and almost certainly would have to be in Sequoyah’s hand or one of the earliest script learners. I’m on vacation right now and don’t have access to all the resources I’d normally have to do a detailed analysis, but here are a few principles to keep in mind as you read the article:

- The photo you see with the ‘characters’ has been highlighted in white in a way that would not be acceptable practice among epigraphers, due to the risk of misreading. We have no way of knowing with any certainty where the boundaries between different characters are.

- The dating is entirely on the basis of a portion of the inscription not shown, which apparently reads either 1808 or 1818 in Western (Arabic) numerals. But we don’t have any knowledge of whether Sequoyah (George Gist) had any knowledge of how to form Arabic numeral dates at this early period. And the fact that we can’t decide, apparently, if the third character is a 0 or a 1, even though the first character is apparently evident as a 1, suggests a problem with the paleography that should make us very wary of the validity of the finding.

- The inscription is not a text in the sense of something that could be deciphered; rather, the signs are a hodgepodge of Cherokee-like syllabic symbols. Kenneth Tankersley, the archaeologist who is making the assertion, argues that this was a sort of practice text, an ABC of the Cherokee syllabary. But this claim raises a warning flag for me – it raises the evidentiary bar needed to conclude that this is, in fact, Cherokee writing rather than some petroglyphs (or natural lines in rock, or a combination of the two) that can be seen to resemble some Cherokee signs post facto by modern scholars. It also makes me wonder why the early design of glyphs would be taking place bye engraving stone (a difficult medium) rather than something easier to work with.

- Even if the signs are (proto-)Cherokee syllabics, and even if the number 1808 or 1818 is written on it, this does not establish that this was the date of the inscription. The number could have a non-calendrical meaning. The number could have been inscribed at a different time from the other characters. The number could in fact have been written at any time in order to give the inscription an earlier date (for purposes of deception or otherwise).

- There are purportedly 15 identifiable Cherokee characters, but there are also many other characters in the cave that do not resemble Cherokee characters. We would need to know a great deal more about the entire sign-inventory before we could conclude that the resemblances were sufficient to identify them as early Cherokee signs.

- Janine Scancarelli, an expert on Cherokee syllabics who is quoted in the article, does not in fact comment on the validity of the interpretation, but simply describes what is known about the resemblance of Cherokee symbols to other symbol systems.

- There is no peer-reviewed research yet on this finding (although I’m hoping that some of you who were at the SAAs this year saw the talk).

Now I’m not saying at all that this is a hoax or fraud. We certainly don’t have any evidence of that. But we also don’t have any good evidence to convince me that this site is radically different from other petroglyphic sites from the 18th and 19th centuries, and certainly not that we have a dated instance of a proto-Cherokee inscription. I’m looking forward to more information coming to light on this very interesting find, nonetheless.

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Obituary: Willard Walker

June 8, 2009 at 9:04 pm (Anthropology, Linguistics, Literacy and writing, Numerals)

I learned some sad news today from the very small field of Native American writing systems and literacy studies. The linguistic anthropologist Willard Walker, whose prominent work on the Cherokee syllabary is the most serious scholarly study on the subject, passed away late last month. Dr. Walker, who was a professor emeritus of anthropology at Wesleyan University and was one of that department’s founders, was 82.

One of the more remarkable facts about literacy in colonial and pre-modern North America is the extreme paucity of independently developed writing systems and numerical notations. In contrast to West Africa, where there are dozens of examples of individuals creating indigenous scripts after being exposed to the Roman or Arabic scripts, there are relatively few indigenous North American scripts, and of these, the Cherokee syllabary (in which each sign encodes a syllable rather than a single phoneme) has been one of the most successful. Walker’s work was an effort to explain the development of Cherokee writing that was respectful to Sequoyah (George Guest), the script’s inventor, while steering clear of ‘great man’ fallacies and attempting to understand the sociocultural context of the script’s invention and acceptance (Walker 1969, 1984a, 1984b, 1985; Walker and Sarbaugh 1993). A major part of his life’s work was comparative, showing the ways in which Cherokee interest in literacy contrasted with grave ambivalence about the practice of encoding oral traditions in written texts among many other peoples of the Americas.

Over the years I’ve been asked numerous times to name my favourite numerical notation system. At first I thought that was just a bizarre question, but then, I figure that people in film studies must get asked what their favourite movies are all the time, and that people are just looking for a way into my subject area, a hook, if you will. So for the past couple of years, I’ve told them about the Cherokee numerals. My story here, which is one that Walker touched on only briefly, is that where the Cherokee syllabary thrived (and continues to thrive today), the numerals that Sequoyah developed were never accepted. While the syllabary is well-suited for writing the Tsalagi (Cherokee) language, the Western numerals sufficed for writing numbers, so the Cherokee council voted not to adopt them. They survive only in two documents in the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma – the only evidence we have for the creation of an indigenous North American numerical notation. Unfortunately, none of the standard texts on numerical notation currently published (ahem) mention them.

The other really neat thing about the Cherokee numerals is that they display a remarkable structural resemblance to the system of numerals used by the Jurchin of northeastern China, who developed a script in the 12th century, and who were later known (famously) as the Manchu when they ruled China. If you follow that link you see that the Jurchin system has special signs for 1-19, then every decade from 20-90, then signs for the higher powers of 10. There is no possibility that Sequoyah knew of this system – really, no one in the Western world did until the 1890s – but the Cherokee system parallels it in nearly every detail – although of course the signs are entirely different. If I were to make the case for cognitive constraints interacting with cultural and linguistic variability to produce remarkable and unexpected parallels, this would be a good example. Theoretically, then, the Cherokee numerals are extremely important even though no one actually used them, as far as we can tell.

I always thought that I might contact Dr. Walker to talk to him about the numerals, which he discussed only in passing. Certainly I would have been thrilled if he read the few pages of my book that I devoted to the subject and had anything to say about them. Alas, that will never happen now.

The clock in my office bears Cherokee numerals – some innovative person sells them through Cafepress. It is the only ‘text’ with the numerals readily available to anyone today. Tomorrow, in honour of the work of Dr. Walker, it will be silent.

Walker, W. 1969. Notes on native writing systems and the design of native literacy programs. Anthropological Linguistics: 148-166.
———. 1984a. The Design of Native Literacy Programs and How Literacy Came to the Cherokees. Anthropological Linguistics: 161-169.
———. 1984b. Literacy, Wampums, the Gúdabuk, and How Indians in the Far Northeast Read. Anthropological Linguistics: 42-52.
———. 1985. The Roles of Samuel A. Worcester and Elias Boudinot in the Emergence of a Printed Cherokee Syllabic Literature. International Journal of American Linguistics: 610-612.
Walker, W., and J. Sarbaugh. 1993. The early history of the Cherokee syllabary. Ethnohistory: 70-94.

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Up to 11, up to 100

May 18, 2009 at 9:03 am (Anthropology, Numerals)

On the weekend my wife and I took the opportunity to rewatch the finest rock/mock-umentary ever made, This is Spinal Tap (sorry, Unicode still hasn’t got around to n-diaeresis). We’re going to see the boys from Spinal Tap / every other Christopher Guest movie ever made, unwigged and unplugged, in concert in Detroit on the 29th, so this was sort of preliminary research.

As you know if you’ve been reading for a while, or at least if you’ve been reading and paying attention, I study cultural aspects of numbers and mathematics, and so today I’d like to talk to you about one of the greatest phrases coined in the past quarter-century, ‘up to eleven’ – check out this strikingly long list of pop-cultural references as evidence of its ubiquity, or just so you know what I’m talking about here if you’re unfamiliar with the movie. The core idea is that a higher number represents more (in this case, more volume –> better!), rather than simply being a more fine-grained division of a continuum (i.e., 1 to 10 –> 1 to 11 –> … 1 to 100, etc.).

Okay, it’s hilarious, and I’m making it sound all technical and such, but I have a point here. It’s an example of what I call conspicuous calculation, the use of (often unnecessarily) large numbers for discursive effect. This is highly prevalent in Western societies, but is by no means limited to them – one of the earliest pieces of Egyptian text, the Narmer mace-head, contains a set of numerals ranging into the millions boasting of a large quantity of livestock and people taken as plunder. Particularly in state societies that have a focus on quantification and enumeration, numbers can become a tool to overawe, manipulate, and obfuscate. The argument is longer (and still in development), but you get the idea.

But in one of those fantastic serendipities, a fascinating article came out in the New York Times a few days ago, ‘Confused by SPF? Take a Number‘ by Catherine Saint Louis. It’s a fascinating look at how an objective measurement (Sun Protection Factor / SPF: the measured ratio of the time it takes to burn with sunscreen on to the time it takes to burn without it) can be used as part of a rhetorical advertising war and can exaggerate the actual protection you are receiving. Although dermatologists are aware that there is little practical difference between SPF 30 and SPF 100 – and that far more significant factors include how much sunscreen you use, and how thoroughly you apply it – the numbers war has significant effects, as discussed in the article:

“It captures the consumers’ attention, the high SPF,” said Dr. Elma D. Baron, an assistant professor of dermatology at Case Western Reserve University who sees patients at hospitals in Cleveland. “Just walking down the drugstore aisle and seeing a SPF 90 or 95, they assume, ‘This is what I need.’ ”

and

When told of Neutrogena’s 100+ lotion, Ms. Bigio worried that the sunscreen she always wears when rock climbing and bicycling to work isn’t enough. “It makes me feel like SPF 45 is inadequate,” she said.

Now that there is such a thing as SPF 100, there is a real danger that 100 will be interpreted as complete protection. Living in a decimal society permeated by scientific discourses, we tend to associate 100 with 100%. It’s no coincidence that the new Neutrogena product is advertised as SPF 100+, not SPF 104 or SPF 106.4. In contrast no one would advertise SPF 25 as ‘20+’. The spurious roundness of the number allows the consumer to associate 100 with completeness and thus to be confident of full protection. But SPF isn’t a measure of the percentage of the sun’s rays blocked, and it doesn’t have an upper limit.

When I was a kid, we had SPF 6 or SPF 8 around the house, and we rarely wore it (even though I’m pretty pale for someone of partially Mediterranean heritage, and one half of my family is particularly burn-prone). Was I well-protected? Probably not. I also should have been wearing a hat (still to this day I am a non-hat person). Today you can’t even find such low SPFs anywhere, and you will find people who think that putting anything less than SPF 30 on your child is tantamount to abuse. But make no mistake: this is a discursive battle as much as it is a scientific one, one ultimately governed not by laboratory practice but by the need of an industry to outmanoeuver competitors, literally, by outnumbering them.

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Numbering by the books

May 5, 2009 at 10:54 pm (Literacy and writing, Numerals)

On Thursday I will be pretending to be a medievalist at the International Medieval Congress in exciting Kalamazoo, Michigan and hoping not to get tossed out of the room for being a dirty no-good social scientist. My paper is entitled “Numbering by the Books: The transition from Roman to Arabic numerals in the early English printing tradition”, and is … well, it is just about what it sounds like it is, only significantly more interesting! I’m looking at the not-so-systematic introduction of Arabic (Western) numerals into the printing tradition, using England as a case study because there’s such a huge body of accessible texts (all hail the great god EEBO!), and commenting on the common wisdom that Arabic numerals allowed books to be organized more efficiently than Roman numerals, using a combination of quantitative and qualitative analysis.

The panel is being organized by my friend Shana Worthen and promises to be really excellent. For those of you who may be at K’zoo this year, it’s Session 74 (Fetzer 1035, Thursday 1:30pm). Hope to see you there!

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Handbookery

April 14, 2009 at 2:56 pm (Archaeology, Linguistics, Literacy and writing, Numerals)

Here are a couple of new publications of which I am very proud and which may be of interest to you. I’ve included them both lest the publishers involved think I’m playing favourites!

Chrisomalis, Stephen. 2008. The cognitive and cultural foundations of numbers. In The Oxford Handbook of the History of Mathematics, Eleanor Robson and Jacqueline Stedall, eds., pp. 495-517. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Numbers are represented and manipulated through three distinct but interrelated techniques: numeral words, computational technologies, and numerical notation systems. Each of these has potential consequences for its users’ numerical cognition, but these consequences must be understood in terms of the functions and uses of each technique, not merely their formal structure. Most societies use numerical notation only to represent numbers, and have a variety of other techniques for performing arithmetic. The current Western practice of pen-and-paper arithmetic is anomalous historically. The transmission, adoption, and extinction of numerical systems thus depends primarily the social and economic context in which cultural contacts occur, and only minimally on their perceived efficiency for arithmetic.

Chrisomalis, Stephen. 2009. The origins and co-evolution of literacy and numeracy. IN The Cambridge Handbook of Literacy, David R. Olson and Nancy Torrance, eds, pp. 59-74. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

While number concepts are panhuman, numerical notation emerged independently only in state societies with significant social inequality and social needs beyond those of face-to-face interaction, and in particular with the development of written texts. This survey of seven ancient civilizations demonstrates that, although written numerals tend to develop alongside the first writing, the specific functions for which writing and numerals co-evolve are cross-culturally variable. A narrowly functionalistic approach that generalizes the Mesopotamian case to all early civilizations and proposes that numerals always emerge for accounting and bookkeeping is empirically inadequate. An alternate theory is proposed that regards the emergence of writing and numerical notation as an outgrowth of elite interests relating to social control, but leaving unspecified the particular domains of social life over which those elites use to control non-elites. Numerical notation is a special-purpose representational system that, in its simplest form, unstructured tallying, is a precursor to written communication, and which persists and expands as a parallel notation in literate contexts.

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Sciencing up the place

February 23, 2009 at 2:38 pm (Anthropology, Archaeology, Linguistics, Numerals)

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.

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What happens in Vegas

February 18, 2009 at 4:08 pm (Anthropology, Evolution, Numerals)

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!

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