There’s a lot of buzz about this New Yorker profile of Kathryn Paige Harden, who has a new book on genetics and behavior coming out. The book has already been the subject of many a blog post and podcast, to the point where I was a little surprised to find it’s not out yet.
As is often the case when I read a bunch of the social-media #discourse around a thing before I read the piece itself, I ended up being mildly surprised by how blandly reasonable it comes off (only mildly, because it’s The New Yorker, after all…). Harden doesn’t seem to be saying anything particularly outrageous. What she’s doing seems to be basically what one of her mentors, Eric Turkhheimer describes in the piece: “You have to believe in a certain amount of genetic causation or you don’t have a science, and you can’t believe in too much genetic causation or you believe that poor people are poor because they have poor genes—and that’s a very, very delicate walk.”
And yet, this seems to be drawing disproportionate amounts of both condemnation and celebration. It’s being blasted as “race science” on one side, and hailed as some revolutionary break with PC orthodoxy on the other (including the headline they put on the profile), but as she describes what she’s doing, it really doesn’t seem to be either. Really, the #discourse around this mostly makes me want to stay very far away from the entire subject.
Of course, that’s not entirely possible, either, as someone who wrote a whole book on the subject of scientific thinking. The question of innate abilities very definitely came up in that context, in that the book is in large part a response to people who say things like “Oh, I’m not a science person, my brain just doesn’t work like that.” (In fact, I find myself idly wondering how many of Harden’s critics would confidently declare themselves “Not a math person” in a different context….)
(Here’s a short video version of the book’s core argument, from a TED event in 2013:)
It’s a thorny problem because it’s hard to deny that something very much like innate ability seems to exist, for science and every other subject. Some people just “get it” in particular areas in ways that seem to come easily and naturally to them. This can be good— it’s usually obvious within a week or two which students will be good at research, because they seem to come in with an innate grasp of the right thought processes— and it can also cause problems. I struggle when I have to teach writing because many students get stuck at an “organize your thoughts” sort of level that I’ve never had to consciously struggle with. I have strong opinions about the “right” way to structure things, but can’t articulate them very well because it just seems so obvious to me.
When I had to directly confront this question about science ability for the book, I sort of stepped around it by casting it in terms of inclinations, rather than something as loaded as “intelligence.” A version of the introduction was published online as “Scientists Are Not That Smart”, and has a piece of that, about the backhanded pseudo-compliment “You’re a scientist? You must be really smart”:
A bigger problem with this awkward compliment, though, is that it’s just not true. Scientists are not that smart — we don’t think in a wholly different manner than ordinary people do. What makes a professional scientist is not a supercharged brain with more processing power, but a collection of subtle differences in skills and inclinations. We’re slightly better at doing the sort of things that professional scientists do on a daily basis — I’m better with math than the average person — but more importantly, we enjoy those activities and so spend time honing those skills, making the differences appear even greater.
To turn things around a bit, I’m a decidedly mediocre carpenter. Not because I lack any of the physical or mental skills needed for the task — I can and have built things out of wood for home improvement projects. I’m not good at it, though, because I don’t particularly enjoy the process and so don’t seek out opportunities to engage in carpentry. I can do it if I have to, but my work is slow and plodding, and when I try to speed it up, I make mistakes and end up needing to start over. Professional woodworkers or even serious hobbyists, who do enjoy those tasks and put in the time practicing them, are vastly better at the essential tasks. This is not merely physical, either — they’re also better at the mental aspect of the job, figuring out how to accomplish a particular construction goal, which is where I generally fail most dramatically. But you’ll never hear anyone say, “A carpenter? You must be really smart.”
Of course, this (deliberately) ducks around the really loaded question of whether those differences in skills and inclinations are genetic, which is the crux of the current issue. It seems kind of farcical to say that they’re not at least partly genetic, especially given that most people will readily acknowledge the genetic component of talent (broadly construed) in less intellectual pursuits— height, quickness, balance, etc.. But then it quickly gets into questions of degrees that I’m not really qualified to assess— how much can you trust the GWAS studies Harden draws on? how much can you trust the studies her critics prefer? how much can you trust anything in the social sciences at all?
In the end, I find the “delicate walk” that Harden is trying to do more congenial than either of the polarized attractors she’s trying to avoid. I would like to think there’s some room for the general policy position it implies, too— as the author of the piece puts it, “If genes play a significant role in educational attainment, then perhaps we ought to design our society such that you don’t need a college degree to secure health care.” That’s a good idea, and I think a potentially powerful rhetorical frame. I’m a little afraid though, that again to use a borrowed phrase, it’s “beautiful and hopelessly quixotic” in our current political context.
This took way longer to write than I wanted, so I’m not going to spend time trying to come up with a clever phrasing here, but will just give you buttons to click or not:
And the comments will be open.