Do you think that the voters of Iowa and New Hampshire have an inordinate amount of power in deciding who the credible candidates are going to be in the presidential primaries?

Take the issue of ethanol, an alternate energy fuel that can be made from corn, which is one of Iowa’s chief agricultural products.

Ethanol fuel is not particularly efficient, and some even believe that it may use more energy to produce ethanol than the fuel provides. But both Republican and Democratic candidates must support ethanol to get any traction in Iowa. And you may disagree about the promise of ethanol, but we can never have a serious discussion about it as long as Iowa retains such a powerful voice in the presidential elections.

This is just one extreme example of the larger issue, which is that two states get to set the tone for the other forty-eight. From the financial districts in New York, to the wheat fields in Kansas, to the senior citizen centers in Florida, to the Mormon churches in Utah, to the cattle ranches in Texas, to the Hollywood community in California, to the indigenous peoples of Alaska and Hawaii, America is a panoply of voices and points of view. To bestow the coveted frontrunner status to candidates after hearing from only two out of fifty states seems like a subversion of democracy.

The general election is held in every state on the same day.

Should the primaries all be held on the same day?

TIME Washington bureau correspondent Michael Scherer reminds us what’s wrong with American politics today:

Here’s one thing you need to know about John McCain. He’s always been the coolest kid in school. He was the brat who racked up demerits at the Naval Academy. He was the hot dog pilot who went back to the skies weeks after almost dying in a fire on the U.S.S. Forrestal. His first wife was a model. His second wife was a rich girl, 17 years his junior. He kept himself together during years of North Vietnamese torture and solitary confinement. When he sits in the back of his campaign bus, we reporters gather like kids in the cafeteria huddling around the star quarterback. We ask him tough questions, and we try to make him slip up, but almost inevitably we come around to admiring him. He wants the challenge. He likes the give and take. He is, to put it simply, cooler than us.

It’s hard to tell if he’s serious or not. Either this is a brilliantly insightful parody of a major problem with American mass media today, or a particuarly egregious example of that problem. Analysis of the process by which we choose the leader of the free world shouldn’t be reduced to the level of high school social politics.

And yet, that’s exactly what we see in the media. John McCain seems to be the chosen one, and enjoys favorable media coverage even though voters seem largely indifferent to him.

And while we were all at the pep rally, oil futures hit $100 a barrel, we developed a huge trade deficit, and another year has gone by in Iraq claiming the lives of almost a thousand American soldiers and over twenty thousand Iraqi civilians.

Remember, many Americans voted for George W. Bush in 2000 because he was the candidate they most wanted to have a beer with. Al Gore was seen as too stuffy and a know-it-all. Are we really ready to make the same mistake again?

The 2008 Iowa caucuses, held earlier this week, prompted me to think about what Shakespeare had to say about populist politics and corn. Enjoy!

From Coriolanus:

They said they were an-hungry; sigh’d forth proverbs:
That hunger broke stone walls; that dogs must eat;
That meat was made for mouths; that the gods sent not
Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds
They vented their complainings; which being answer’d,
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
To break the heart of generosity,
And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o’ the moon,
Shouting their emulation.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

The Iowa votes were hyped this week.

Fifteen worthy hotshots together hoped to get a trophy: the state’s trust.

Northerner Barack Obama won among the eight Democrats, with the wealthy Senator Edwards and dethroned Hillary Clinton behind.

Southerner Mike Huckabee won among the seven Republicans, leading smug Mitt Romney and haughty Fred Thompson.

The holders of the highest party totals might run a harsh slog against one another in ten months.

Yesterday on This Week, George Stephanopoulos cited a “stunning” statistic from the Congressional Budget Office:

From 2003 to 2005, the increase in income for the top one percent exceeded the total income of the bottom twenty percent.

Turn that over in your mind for a moment before we move on to the Question of the Week, which comes to us via the Hoover Institute, a conservative think-tank at Stanford University.

How much does the gap between rich and poor matter? In 1979, for every dollar the poorest fifth of the American population earned, the richest fifth earned nine. By 1997, that gap had increased to fifteen to one. Is this growing income inequality a serious problem? Is the size of the gap between rich and poor less important than the poor’s absolute level of income? In other words, should we focus on reducing the income gap or on fighting poverty?

It’s a fair point. Do rising waters raise all ships? And if so, does it matter if the rich get richer faster than the poor get richer? Or is income inequity really the problem, and a bigger slice of the pie for the rich means less for everyone else? And is it okay to mix ship and pie metaphors when talking about economics? I guess what I’m asking is this:

Does the income gap matter?

Today, the Nobel Prize winners are invited to the White House, which means that George W. Bush and Al Gore will meet face to face. Imagine that they have a private moment together.

What do they say? What should they say? What would you like to imagine that they say?

Feel free to answer as a one-liner, or to write a short dialogue.

From the American Research Group:

November 13, 2007 – Impeachment

A total of 64% of American voters say that President George W. Bush has abused his powers as president. Of the 64%, 14% (9% of all voters) say the abuses are not serious enough to warrant impeachment, 33% (21% of all voters) say the abuses rise to the level of impeachable offenses, but he should not be impeached, and 53% (34% of all voters) say the abuses rise to the level of impeachable offenses and Mr. Bush should be impeached and removed from office.

The respondents didn’t specify whether they were specifically referring to the administration’s policy on torture. They didn’t say if they were talking about how they cherry-picked intelligence to justify a wrong-headed war, or how they compromised national security by outing a covert CIA operative, merely as retribution for her husband calling them on their lies. The respondents may not have been specifically responding to warrantless wiretapping and secret military tribunals. They may have simply been thinking of how the administration handed over all government regulation to the industries being regulated. The data doesn’t say. All they were asked was if President Bush abused his power, and 64% said he did. The data also doesn’t show what the other 36% were thinking.

When you look at the data, though, something else is striking.

I’m surprised, though I guess I shouldn’t be, that so few people gave Response 2. Imagine a graph of this data. Usually a distribution like this would slope up, slope down, or rise in the middle like a bell curve. That this data set has such a sharp dip in the middle is a testament to just how polarizing this president has been. 64% of Republicans feel that President Bush has not abused his powers as president at all, while 50% of Democrats feel he should be impeached for it.

Also, more than one-fifth of respondents in general felt that his abuses had risen to the level of an impeachable offense, but that he shouldn’t be impeached. Isn’t that being soft on crime? Or perhaps we just remember the last time an opposition Congress impeached a sitting president, and are unwilling to go through all of that again, even if it’s warranted this time.

Because for 36% of the population, warrants are sooooo 20th century.

One year to go.

Who will be the next president of the United States?

This is meant to be a prediction, not an endorsement, but feel free to throw in your preferences as well.

Ro has a thought-provoking post about the relationship between learning something and knowing it. Before I address that question, it might be worth taking a moment to consider what it means to know something.

What do we mean when we say we know something? For the individual, it might be the same as saying we unequivocally believe it. But is that enough? If Iago believes his wife has been unfaithful, and he has no evidence to support his belief, does that count as knowledge? Probably not.

Socrates argued that a belief must be justified to be considered knowledge. Othello might say that he knows his wife Desdemona has been faithful, because he has reason to believe in her love and trustworthiness. His belief is justified. But that doesn’t necessarily make it true, and so that probably doesn’t count as knowledge either. Knowledge must be both true and justified.

When we say someone else knows something, that might mean that they believe it and we believe it too. If Iago uses manufactured evidence to manipulate Othello into believing that Desdemona has been having an affair with Cassio, Othello can say that he knows that Desdemona has been unfaithful, because his belief is justified by evidence that has been presented to him. But we would not say that Othello knows it. He still believes it, but we do not.

Which brings us to the Gettier problem. Imagine that while Othello is being manipulated by Iago, Desdemona has been secretly having an affair with the Duke. Othello makes the statement that he knows Desdemona has been unfaithful. Does he know it? This time, his belief is both true and justified. And yet Gettier would not count this as knowledge, because Othello’s belief, while true and justified, is based on false evidence. He has no knowledge of the actual affair. Robert Nozick would point out that if the statement weren’t true, Othello would still believe it.

Now let’s go back and look at the question originally posed by Ro, which has to do with the relationship between knowledge and learning. If I say I learned something, that means I know it, which means I believe it. If I say you learned something, that means you believe it and I believe it. For example, President Bush got into a bit of trouble for including the following in the 2003 State of the Union address:

The British government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium from Africa.

By citing the British government, Bush’s speechwriters sought to insulate the administration from claims they already knew were false. But by using the word “learned” they implied the word “knew” which means that Bush was essentially saying that he also believed that the statement was true. It was later discovered that the statement was not true, and that the Bush administration was aware it was not true at the time the speech was written. Saying “The British government has learned” did not provide the out they were hoping it would.

Ro’s other question was whether knowing something implies that one has learned it. A strict empiricist might say yes, but even John Locke allowed for some a priori knowledge gained through reason alone. The classic example is from René Descartes: Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. Is this knowledge? Was it learned?

Finally, I can also attest that it is possible to have learned something and not know it. I demonstrate this condition several times every day.

Defense attorney for Michael Vick? Camp counselor from hell? War crimes defendant?

What’s next for Alberto Gonzales?