I finished my last final exam today (woo!!!), so now instead of staying up late studying, I get to stay up late sorting through all my junk and packing some of it in boxes with copious amounts of duct tape -- aka 'packing'. I'm moving to a new dorm on the other side of campus next year, and I'm heading back home to California on Saturday, so I have to hurry up and get all my stuff boxed and hauled across campus before then.
Just now, I was making safety sheaths for a set of cooking knives I bought and never used (because they're mediocre quality, and I just used my pocket knife for everything anyway). Take several sheets of paper, wrap around, duct tape, fold the end over, duct tape again, et voila. It works surprisingly well. For day-to-day storage, these sheaths work fine as is; for longer-term storage, duct tape the knife handles to the sheaths so they don't slip out.
Clearly, though, it is a sign of the times, of the era of online publishing, that I used printouts of PNAS papers to do this. It's the rare, rare paper that I'll print out to read, what with PDFs and having an institutional subscription to everything. Anymore, the only papers I print are ones that I need to read and reread in quite a bit of detail -- say, if I've got to write an essay that addresses the content of that paper specifically. (Intro Psych, I'm looking at you!)
Yes, kids, science saves lives! It keeps you safe! Were it not for science, how would I keep myself from being slashed up by kitchen knives??
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Gallery of nudibranchs!
Check this out: National Geographic nudibranch photo gallery. It's absolutely amazing.
I've seen a couple of nudibranchs underwater, scuba diving in Hawaii. It's neat to see them live and in context, but it being underwater, it's kind of dim and the colors are washed out. Seeing them in optimal photography conditions like this is really cool.
[h/t Pharyngula]
I've seen a couple of nudibranchs underwater, scuba diving in Hawaii. It's neat to see them live and in context, but it being underwater, it's kind of dim and the colors are washed out. Seeing them in optimal photography conditions like this is really cool.
[h/t Pharyngula]
Friday, May 9, 2008
Grad students declared "security threats" by govt
You have got to be kidding me.
This article, Government Declares Some Grad Students Are ‘Security Threats’, appeared in today's issue of The Tech (MIT's student newspaper). A number of international students working with the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute are being denied easy access to the ports they sail from because the government considers them, for no reason at all, "security threats".
To get in and out of the ports, you need this RFID card, the "Transportation Worker Identification Credential". Without the TWIC, it's very difficult (though not impossible) to get in and out. Difficult-but-not-impossible is a totally unreasonable restriction to impose on these researchers. It's hard enough not having key-card access to the building that contains the lab you're interning in -- *raises hand* -- and even though it's reasonable to expect a bit more difficulty when you're doing fieldwork, it's not Antarctica these students are requesting easy access to, it's a port. And, I might add, these students are only asking for the same access that their labmates and PIs already enjoy.
As the Dept. of Homeland Security wrote to one student (others received similar letters), “I have personally reviewed the Initial Determination of Threat Assessment, your reply, accompanying information, and all other information and materials available to the TSA. Based upon this review, I have determined that you pose a security threat and you do not meet the eligibility requirements to hold a Transportation Worker Identification Credential (TWIC).” This is what we say to students who come here to carry out government-funded research? We give them grant money and then call them "security threats"?
Two of the students being denied access are from Britain and Germany. Britain and Germany. I thought we were supposed to be all buddy-buddy with these countries? If this is what students from friggin' Britain and Germany have to deal with, how much worst must it be for students from, say, Syria?
My friend Raffi, who's from Canada, mentioned how the Office of International Students is always warning them about how "if you do this you'll get deported. If you do that you'll get deported." Apparently the definition of "security threat" bears this out: you're a security threat if you threaten national or transportation security, if you pose a threat of terrorism, if you have "lacking mental capacity"... or if you simply have the wrong kind of visa.
I'm ashamed to live in a country that funds scientists and then treats them this way.
[Crossposted to LiveJournal]
This article, Government Declares Some Grad Students Are ‘Security Threats’, appeared in today's issue of The Tech (MIT's student newspaper). A number of international students working with the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute are being denied easy access to the ports they sail from because the government considers them, for no reason at all, "security threats".
To get in and out of the ports, you need this RFID card, the "Transportation Worker Identification Credential". Without the TWIC, it's very difficult (though not impossible) to get in and out. Difficult-but-not-impossible is a totally unreasonable restriction to impose on these researchers. It's hard enough not having key-card access to the building that contains the lab you're interning in -- *raises hand* -- and even though it's reasonable to expect a bit more difficulty when you're doing fieldwork, it's not Antarctica these students are requesting easy access to, it's a port. And, I might add, these students are only asking for the same access that their labmates and PIs already enjoy.
As the Dept. of Homeland Security wrote to one student (others received similar letters), “I have personally reviewed the Initial Determination of Threat Assessment, your reply, accompanying information, and all other information and materials available to the TSA. Based upon this review, I have determined that you pose a security threat and you do not meet the eligibility requirements to hold a Transportation Worker Identification Credential (TWIC).” This is what we say to students who come here to carry out government-funded research? We give them grant money and then call them "security threats"?
Two of the students being denied access are from Britain and Germany. Britain and Germany. I thought we were supposed to be all buddy-buddy with these countries? If this is what students from friggin' Britain and Germany have to deal with, how much worst must it be for students from, say, Syria?
My friend Raffi, who's from Canada, mentioned how the Office of International Students is always warning them about how "if you do this you'll get deported. If you do that you'll get deported." Apparently the definition of "security threat" bears this out: you're a security threat if you threaten national or transportation security, if you pose a threat of terrorism, if you have "lacking mental capacity"... or if you simply have the wrong kind of visa.
I'm ashamed to live in a country that funds scientists and then treats them this way.
[Crossposted to LiveJournal]
Monday, April 28, 2008
[Buddhism|Hinduism|Catholicism|*ism] is the new black
Cosmo: "Choosing a religion is like choosing a MySpace wallpaper"
...WTF?
In what sense can religion meaningfully be chosen? Ideally, everyone discovers what they believe when they look at the world around them and come to an incontrovertible conclusion. Of course this is not going to happen. Conclusions change, and it's impossible to be 100% sure of anything, given the fallibility of human minds. And for a lot of people it's going to be too much work to really figure out what they think, rather than just hopping onto the nearest appealing ready-made philosophy.
[...Ok, I'll bite. I am a hard agnostic: I believe that the nature of deity is both unknown and unknowable. (I used to be a soft agnostic -- wasn't sure whether nature of deity was knowable or unknowable). I believe in questioning but remembering the limits of our understanding, and retaining a sense of wonder.]
I'm honestly not sure what to think of this article (other than the obvious "oh, look, more dreck from Cosmo").
I loathe the aspect that promotes religiosity for appearances' sake. If you're going to take "a shot of Catholicism, a sprinkle of Buddhism, a pinch of Hindu teachings — or whatever else you're in the mood for that day", why even bother? All you're doing is quote-mining to justify what you already (want to) believe. Practicing confirmation bias. Enough of that: just believe what you believe, and stop gilding it.
I'm all for the aspect that promotes having your own worldview, instead of blindly accepting whatever some robed old guys with books say, or whatever your parents said. Anything that promotes seeking and questioning is a good idea.
In the same vein, I'm all for anything that diminishes the absolute blind fanaticism with which a lot of people follow their religions. Even if you simply accept a pre-made worldview, there's nothing that says you need to accept it to the extent that you need to go kill people or spread malicious lies and hatred because of it. But I hate to like the Cosmo article simply for this reason. There is something wrong with the world if Cosmo's viewpoint is the lesser of two evils.
...WTF?
In what sense can religion meaningfully be chosen? Ideally, everyone discovers what they believe when they look at the world around them and come to an incontrovertible conclusion. Of course this is not going to happen. Conclusions change, and it's impossible to be 100% sure of anything, given the fallibility of human minds. And for a lot of people it's going to be too much work to really figure out what they think, rather than just hopping onto the nearest appealing ready-made philosophy.
[...Ok, I'll bite. I am a hard agnostic: I believe that the nature of deity is both unknown and unknowable. (I used to be a soft agnostic -- wasn't sure whether nature of deity was knowable or unknowable). I believe in questioning but remembering the limits of our understanding, and retaining a sense of wonder.]
I'm honestly not sure what to think of this article (other than the obvious "oh, look, more dreck from Cosmo").
I loathe the aspect that promotes religiosity for appearances' sake. If you're going to take "a shot of Catholicism, a sprinkle of Buddhism, a pinch of Hindu teachings — or whatever else you're in the mood for that day", why even bother? All you're doing is quote-mining to justify what you already (want to) believe. Practicing confirmation bias. Enough of that: just believe what you believe, and stop gilding it.
I'm all for the aspect that promotes having your own worldview, instead of blindly accepting whatever some robed old guys with books say, or whatever your parents said. Anything that promotes seeking and questioning is a good idea.
In the same vein, I'm all for anything that diminishes the absolute blind fanaticism with which a lot of people follow their religions. Even if you simply accept a pre-made worldview, there's nothing that says you need to accept it to the extent that you need to go kill people or spread malicious lies and hatred because of it. But I hate to like the Cosmo article simply for this reason. There is something wrong with the world if Cosmo's viewpoint is the lesser of two evils.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Trivia-heap syndrome
Part of the reason I think a lot of hard scientists look down on biology is that introductory biology is so often poorly taught in a particular way. Intro physics is almost entirely problem-solving, and intro chemistry is similar, with maybe a bit more memorization (Quick! How many valence electrons does aluminum have?). But biology frequently ends up being taught as a large heap of random terms and facts, almost entirely without any unifying themes or methods of thought -- just a disconnected jumble.
I've dubbed this "trivia-heap syndrome".
Any biologist (or, hell, anyone who's gotten past the required intro course) can tell you that biology is not about memorizing terms and facts, any more than physics is about blocks sliding down inclined planes. But as Chad Orzel says in that post: "To some degree, this is inescapable-- those repeated exercises are used to establish a pattern of thought that is a necessary prerequisite for moving on to more interesting material." A similar thing could be said of biology: to some degree, it's necessary to memorize a lot of terms and random facts and unconnected processes and so on, before you can get to the interesting work of studying how they interact and how they can be manipulated.
But this is actually true of every field, not just biology (or other fields prone to trivia-heap syndrome); it's just not as apparent. Consider intro mechanics again: all about things falling, hitting each other, rotating, etc etc. In order to do interesting things, you first have to know what balls, rods, strings, pulleys, blocks, inclined planes, and gravity are. You also have to understand the basic types of things they can do: move, rotate, accelerate, come into contact, break, exert forces on each other. Of course these are trivial things to know, because we've all been exposed to simple objects and their motions since we were born -- and this is why intro mechanics courses don't begin with a couple weeks of definitions and memorization. The only difference between that and biology is that we're not exposed from birth to genes and proteins and cells and their interactions. The world teaches us the trivia-heap for physics, but we have to be taught about biology's trivia-heap.
All right, so the trivia-heap is an unavoidable evil whenever you're starting in a new field. Fine. But never fear, there are still ways to get around trivia-heap syndrome. As soon as you know a very few things, you can start thinking about them in terms of experiments to be done and puzzles to be solved, instead of facts and descriptions. What would happen if this particular thing were mutated in this way? What effect would that have on the cell? How could you (the experimenter) tell that this was in fact the case? What if you got the opposite observation -- what might have gone wrong? Here's a simple system you're interested in; outline an experiment to find out whether this particular part of it works this way or that way. This is both interesting and a lot more like what actual biologists do; certainly much more so than the typical dreck of "Define a gene", "Outline how a gene gets translated to protein" that most high-schoolers get shoved down their throats. That's lazy teaching for you (or the creeping horror of bad standardized curricula for things like AP tests, which reduces to the same thing).
I learned a decent bit of biology just by reading random things. I can practically recite The Cartoon Guide to Genetics, by Gonick & Wheelis (that link is to the updated edition, not the old-school edition I read). I also took an introductory class at one of those academic summer camps. The net result was that I came into my high school biology class already knowing about half the stuff we would cover, which just made the trivia-heap syndrome that much more painful. A lot of my classmates struggled with memorizing things. Very few people did well on the "lab practical", in which we had to plan and carry out experiments to identify a mystery substance -- precisely because we spent so much time on trivia-heaping and so little time on problem solving / sensible experiment design. MIT's intro biology course (7.013), by contrast, is like a breath of fresh air. It's not entirely free of trivia-heap syndrome, but there's a gigantic emphasis on solving puzzles, considering what-ifs, proposing experiments, and interpreting results. (`Gigantic' emphasis relative to other intro biologies, of course.)
Granted, even MIT's intro biology problem-solving is simplistic, and occasionally feels like doing an inclined-plane problem in physics (especially when I know a decent bit about a particular system, and I can tell the problem vastly oversimplifies the situation, even if I don't know exactly how). But now we're back to Chad Orzel, inclined planes, and "establishing patterns of thought". There is a certain intuition of biological ways and means, of how cells/genes/proteins work in broad strokes, that is immensely valuable but hard to obtain. This intuition is something like a toolkit of abstractions over specific examples, but I'd venture to say it's not something that can be taught explicitly in the abstract, the way math can. The analogous thing in physics, again, is something the world teaches us from birth: unsupported objects fall, if you push something its speed changes; that sort of general idea about how things operate. I've developed my biological intuition somewhat, through reading and studying (and sometimes working directly with) boatloads of examples, and I think that's just about the only way it can be developed. But it's something every experimenter (or bioengineer!) needs in spades, and it's something the general public could also really use.
So, to sum up: the trivia-heap is sometimes a necessary evil, but trivia-heap syndrome is eminently avoidable. Emphasize puzzle-solving and experiments, instead of facts and definitions, and it'll do everyone a heap of good.
I've dubbed this "trivia-heap syndrome".
Any biologist (or, hell, anyone who's gotten past the required intro course) can tell you that biology is not about memorizing terms and facts, any more than physics is about blocks sliding down inclined planes. But as Chad Orzel says in that post: "To some degree, this is inescapable-- those repeated exercises are used to establish a pattern of thought that is a necessary prerequisite for moving on to more interesting material." A similar thing could be said of biology: to some degree, it's necessary to memorize a lot of terms and random facts and unconnected processes and so on, before you can get to the interesting work of studying how they interact and how they can be manipulated.
But this is actually true of every field, not just biology (or other fields prone to trivia-heap syndrome); it's just not as apparent. Consider intro mechanics again: all about things falling, hitting each other, rotating, etc etc. In order to do interesting things, you first have to know what balls, rods, strings, pulleys, blocks, inclined planes, and gravity are. You also have to understand the basic types of things they can do: move, rotate, accelerate, come into contact, break, exert forces on each other. Of course these are trivial things to know, because we've all been exposed to simple objects and their motions since we were born -- and this is why intro mechanics courses don't begin with a couple weeks of definitions and memorization. The only difference between that and biology is that we're not exposed from birth to genes and proteins and cells and their interactions. The world teaches us the trivia-heap for physics, but we have to be taught about biology's trivia-heap.
All right, so the trivia-heap is an unavoidable evil whenever you're starting in a new field. Fine. But never fear, there are still ways to get around trivia-heap syndrome. As soon as you know a very few things, you can start thinking about them in terms of experiments to be done and puzzles to be solved, instead of facts and descriptions. What would happen if this particular thing were mutated in this way? What effect would that have on the cell? How could you (the experimenter) tell that this was in fact the case? What if you got the opposite observation -- what might have gone wrong? Here's a simple system you're interested in; outline an experiment to find out whether this particular part of it works this way or that way. This is both interesting and a lot more like what actual biologists do; certainly much more so than the typical dreck of "Define a gene", "Outline how a gene gets translated to protein" that most high-schoolers get shoved down their throats. That's lazy teaching for you (or the creeping horror of bad standardized curricula for things like AP tests, which reduces to the same thing).
I learned a decent bit of biology just by reading random things. I can practically recite The Cartoon Guide to Genetics, by Gonick & Wheelis (that link is to the updated edition, not the old-school edition I read). I also took an introductory class at one of those academic summer camps. The net result was that I came into my high school biology class already knowing about half the stuff we would cover, which just made the trivia-heap syndrome that much more painful. A lot of my classmates struggled with memorizing things. Very few people did well on the "lab practical", in which we had to plan and carry out experiments to identify a mystery substance -- precisely because we spent so much time on trivia-heaping and so little time on problem solving / sensible experiment design. MIT's intro biology course (7.013), by contrast, is like a breath of fresh air. It's not entirely free of trivia-heap syndrome, but there's a gigantic emphasis on solving puzzles, considering what-ifs, proposing experiments, and interpreting results. (`Gigantic' emphasis relative to other intro biologies, of course.)
Granted, even MIT's intro biology problem-solving is simplistic, and occasionally feels like doing an inclined-plane problem in physics (especially when I know a decent bit about a particular system, and I can tell the problem vastly oversimplifies the situation, even if I don't know exactly how). But now we're back to Chad Orzel, inclined planes, and "establishing patterns of thought". There is a certain intuition of biological ways and means, of how cells/genes/proteins work in broad strokes, that is immensely valuable but hard to obtain. This intuition is something like a toolkit of abstractions over specific examples, but I'd venture to say it's not something that can be taught explicitly in the abstract, the way math can. The analogous thing in physics, again, is something the world teaches us from birth: unsupported objects fall, if you push something its speed changes; that sort of general idea about how things operate. I've developed my biological intuition somewhat, through reading and studying (and sometimes working directly with) boatloads of examples, and I think that's just about the only way it can be developed. But it's something every experimenter (or bioengineer!) needs in spades, and it's something the general public could also really use.
So, to sum up: the trivia-heap is sometimes a necessary evil, but trivia-heap syndrome is eminently avoidable. Emphasize puzzle-solving and experiments, instead of facts and definitions, and it'll do everyone a heap of good.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Ah, greenery
If you had ten (soon to be eleven) plants to name after scientists, who would you name them after?
[I've counted the twin bamboo shoots as one plant because I've got them tied together like those ones you see in Chinese kitsch stores -- and thinking of naming them Ramón y Cajal.]
[I've counted the twin bamboo shoots as one plant because I've got them tied together like those ones you see in Chinese kitsch stores -- and thinking of naming them Ramón y Cajal.]
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
But is conlangery useful?? [Linguists and Conlangers, part 2]
Yes, it's been quite a while since the first installment of this series. I wrote a whole big long draft of this post and then realized it was mostly wrong, and it took a while to get back on track.
First off, I am not saying that conlangers are oppressed or shunned or anything by academic linguists. Far from it. It's often said that conlangers have a "persecution complex" in this arena -- i.e. we're whiny little geeks. If anything, conlangers get more friendship from linguists than from the general public. That said, most linguists don't exactly brim over with warmth and welcome for practitioners of the secret vice. Conlanging is typically regarded as a kind of silly little hobby or diversion: nobody cares that much as long as you don't let it interfere with your work.
I will admit that there is one anti-conlanging argument that stings me and makes me feel guilty: "Why aren't you out in the field, saving dying languages? You're squandering your talent, skills, interest, and time!"
This argument seems a lot more valid than its generalized counterpart, "Why aren't you working against Great World Evil #42373?" Linguistics interest and expertise are relatively thin on the ground, so it's harder for the cause of saving dying languages to get enough resources/people behind it. Conlangers are often so interested in linguistics that they pursue their interest even when it harms other aspects of their life. Not for nothing do people call it addictive.
But seriously? Firstly, most conlangers just don't have as much spare time as people seem to imagine. Secondly, and more important, most conlangers don't have the expertise to do linguistic fieldwork. A goodly number pursue linguistics in college, but you need a lot more than a bachelor's to do fieldwork. I only know of two conlangers who are linguistics grad students (undoubtedly there are more, but not many more). Most of us have day jobs. We're hobbyists. Would you want model-airplane hobbyists fixing fighter jets?
The other main arguments against conlanging are that it's frivolous, pointless, a waste of time, etc. And for this I can't do better than to point you to The Conlanger's Manifesto, by David Peterson, which eloquently defends conlangery as an art form:
Amen, brother. Conlangery is the art of linguistics, and it should need no more defense than that.
Occasionally, you'll run across linguists actually using conlangs. If you're teaching a linguistics course, occasionally you may want to illustrate some particular concept by using a conlang. That way, you can design the conlang to show off the feature to its best advantage, and avoid all the irrelevant noise/irregularities that you'd get if you used a natlang. It's the same principle as medical illustration: realistic, but with all the fat trimmed away. Just try and find an illustration that shows the pancreas without trimming away a whole load of other viscera! It's damn near impossible. Conlang examples serve the same purpose in a linguistics class. The goal is transmission of key information, not pinpoint-accurate naturalism.
Another, less-used, possibility is to have students create a miniature conlang that exemplifies a particular feature. I've seen a worksheet that taught the basics of ergativity very effectively this way. Unfortunately, it wasn't from an actual linguistics class. It was from a presentation at the 2nd Language Creation Conference. Er, I mean, a presentation that never took place (it was sacrificed in favor of another panel discussion due to time constraints): "Applications of Conlanging in Pedagogy". You can see the worksheet on page 13 of the PDF of the program. I can't genuinely speak from the perspective of a student, because I already knew what ergativity was at the time, but I really think it would have been very effective as a homework assignment, because it gets you actually working with an ergative system.
But the most interesting intersection of conlangs and linguistics, in my opinion, is in the domain of research. A lot of studies have come out recently, where people are exposed to a small conlang and then their learning success is tested and studied. This is a really exciting paradigm, because you can engineer your language to have certain traits in the area you're interested in, and to be `normal' or `easy' in all other areas. If you're testing acquisition of (say) verb-subject-object word order (English is subject-verb-object), you can make your language have perfect consistent VSO order and be completely unremarkable in everything else. Good luck finding a natlang that fits that bill. It's the same cutting-out-the-noise principle we saw earlier.
Or, if you want to put in noise and study how people will deal with it, you can manipulate the type and amount of noise to a very high resolution. Likewise with (say) syllable-transition probabilities in a word-segmentation study (if ba is always followed by ka, but ka is followed by a whole lot of different things, you can deduce that fooBAKAbar is the words fooBAKA and bar, not fooBA and KAbar.)
I'm currently involved in a research project using this paradigm, and I think it's an incredible tool. Look out for a lit review in the near future!
There are some conlangers who would like to see descriptive research done on fully-fleshed-out conlangs. And I hate to say this, especially because I'm good friends with this crowd, but I disagree. I don't think that investigating and describing conlangs can tell you much about the range and properties of human natural language. (Most academic linguists, I think, would agree with me.) To find out anything about human natural language, you ought to study human languages that have evolved naturally, instead of ones that were consciously invented. You can make a conlang with any conceivable twisted logical structure; the structure may be possible, but that doesn't mean it would ever evolve naturally, or that it's reflective of anything in natural language.
But since conlangery is the art form associated with linguistics, you could do the same sort of humanistic or aesthetic studies that you do on paintings (the art form associated with vision science). What do people find elegant or appealing? What conlang properties elicit what subjective reactions? What bizarre structures have what bizarre effects on people trying to use the language (the linguistic analogue of optical illusions)? And this could have implications in the study of natlangs.
Next up: the learn-a-conlang paradigm in language acquisition research.
First off, I am not saying that conlangers are oppressed or shunned or anything by academic linguists. Far from it. It's often said that conlangers have a "persecution complex" in this arena -- i.e. we're whiny little geeks. If anything, conlangers get more friendship from linguists than from the general public. That said, most linguists don't exactly brim over with warmth and welcome for practitioners of the secret vice. Conlanging is typically regarded as a kind of silly little hobby or diversion: nobody cares that much as long as you don't let it interfere with your work.
I will admit that there is one anti-conlanging argument that stings me and makes me feel guilty: "Why aren't you out in the field, saving dying languages? You're squandering your talent, skills, interest, and time!"
This argument seems a lot more valid than its generalized counterpart, "Why aren't you working against Great World Evil #42373?" Linguistics interest and expertise are relatively thin on the ground, so it's harder for the cause of saving dying languages to get enough resources/people behind it. Conlangers are often so interested in linguistics that they pursue their interest even when it harms other aspects of their life. Not for nothing do people call it addictive.
But seriously? Firstly, most conlangers just don't have as much spare time as people seem to imagine. Secondly, and more important, most conlangers don't have the expertise to do linguistic fieldwork. A goodly number pursue linguistics in college, but you need a lot more than a bachelor's to do fieldwork. I only know of two conlangers who are linguistics grad students (undoubtedly there are more, but not many more). Most of us have day jobs. We're hobbyists. Would you want model-airplane hobbyists fixing fighter jets?
The other main arguments against conlanging are that it's frivolous, pointless, a waste of time, etc. And for this I can't do better than to point you to The Conlanger's Manifesto, by David Peterson, which eloquently defends conlangery as an art form:
...Looking only at the utilitarian end of it, if the creator isn't going to use his/her language for communication, and since language can be viewed only as a means of communication, language creation is pretty useless.
But is this all language is: A method of communication? If so, what is poetry? what is literature? What possible use could James Joyce's Ulysses have? I suppose if you were on a desert island and needed to smash crabs, it would do the trick—it's pretty thick, after all. But beyond that? According to them, it would have no use. And why stop there? What good do paintings do anyone?...Pretty soon what you're left with is a world without art.
At this point, the argument should come to an end. The rigor and usefulness of art is an argument that has been argued many times by many people much more articulate than I, and by now (I certainly hope), the whole world should have figured out that art really does pull its weight on Earth.
Amen, brother. Conlangery is the art of linguistics, and it should need no more defense than that.
Occasionally, you'll run across linguists actually using conlangs. If you're teaching a linguistics course, occasionally you may want to illustrate some particular concept by using a conlang. That way, you can design the conlang to show off the feature to its best advantage, and avoid all the irrelevant noise/irregularities that you'd get if you used a natlang. It's the same principle as medical illustration: realistic, but with all the fat trimmed away. Just try and find an illustration that shows the pancreas without trimming away a whole load of other viscera! It's damn near impossible. Conlang examples serve the same purpose in a linguistics class. The goal is transmission of key information, not pinpoint-accurate naturalism.
Another, less-used, possibility is to have students create a miniature conlang that exemplifies a particular feature. I've seen a worksheet that taught the basics of ergativity very effectively this way. Unfortunately, it wasn't from an actual linguistics class. It was from a presentation at the 2nd Language Creation Conference. Er, I mean, a presentation that never took place (it was sacrificed in favor of another panel discussion due to time constraints): "Applications of Conlanging in Pedagogy". You can see the worksheet on page 13 of the PDF of the program. I can't genuinely speak from the perspective of a student, because I already knew what ergativity was at the time, but I really think it would have been very effective as a homework assignment, because it gets you actually working with an ergative system.
But the most interesting intersection of conlangs and linguistics, in my opinion, is in the domain of research. A lot of studies have come out recently, where people are exposed to a small conlang and then their learning success is tested and studied. This is a really exciting paradigm, because you can engineer your language to have certain traits in the area you're interested in, and to be `normal' or `easy' in all other areas. If you're testing acquisition of (say) verb-subject-object word order (English is subject-verb-object), you can make your language have perfect consistent VSO order and be completely unremarkable in everything else. Good luck finding a natlang that fits that bill. It's the same cutting-out-the-noise principle we saw earlier.
Or, if you want to put in noise and study how people will deal with it, you can manipulate the type and amount of noise to a very high resolution. Likewise with (say) syllable-transition probabilities in a word-segmentation study (if ba is always followed by ka, but ka is followed by a whole lot of different things, you can deduce that fooBAKAbar is the words fooBAKA and bar, not fooBA and KAbar.)
I'm currently involved in a research project using this paradigm, and I think it's an incredible tool. Look out for a lit review in the near future!
There are some conlangers who would like to see descriptive research done on fully-fleshed-out conlangs. And I hate to say this, especially because I'm good friends with this crowd, but I disagree. I don't think that investigating and describing conlangs can tell you much about the range and properties of human natural language. (Most academic linguists, I think, would agree with me.) To find out anything about human natural language, you ought to study human languages that have evolved naturally, instead of ones that were consciously invented. You can make a conlang with any conceivable twisted logical structure; the structure may be possible, but that doesn't mean it would ever evolve naturally, or that it's reflective of anything in natural language.
But since conlangery is the art form associated with linguistics, you could do the same sort of humanistic or aesthetic studies that you do on paintings (the art form associated with vision science). What do people find elegant or appealing? What conlang properties elicit what subjective reactions? What bizarre structures have what bizarre effects on people trying to use the language (the linguistic analogue of optical illusions)? And this could have implications in the study of natlangs.
Next up: the learn-a-conlang paradigm in language acquisition research.
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