There have been a gross number of critiques of Wikipedia, the encyclopedic source online that anyone can edit. Most of them have been sourly negative, because the Wiki system has certain disadvantages. A common (and correct) complaint is that experts are not given incentives to participate in the process of making great articles, and are frequently given disincentives by being subject to the scrutiny of comparable dunces. Getting right to the core of the matter is the implicit idea that Wikipedia goes by a “consensus theory of truth” — whatever the randomites agree on, is true. (As Ophelia Benson would say, “that’s just fashionable nonsense”.) But just as there is a dark side to Wikipedia, there’s also a dark side to its critics.
In academia, as well as in law, one’s bread and butter is made by name recognition, accomplished not just through great research, but confidence. To a limited extent, internal disagreement is a functional part of the academic system. Dominant names in a field are often remembered for the arguments they made, and for their places in the great debates of the time. What makes conflict in academia functional is that it is generally expected to happen reasonably and respectably, without much permanent damage done to either party. The rules of debate, or cooperative discussion, are pretty straightforward, and informal logic is generally recognized. But the important point is that there are rules for respect, and the common recognition of these rules allows inevitable conflict to bear fruit with actual gains, conclusions, arguments, etc.
Conflict on Wikipedia, however, has no strict rules for respect. Instead, the system is propped up to a great degree by emotions and tactics. There is WikiLove, which is the idea that friendliness and courtesy will curb a lot of silly disagreements before they begin; and the “be bold” tactic, which asks editors to go ahead and perform those edits which seem best to them. The former attempts to curb conflicts; the latter makes sure that conflicts are inevitable. Neither of these have to do with logic or reasons, but only with (admittedly sensible) worldly wisdom.
It is unfortunate that there lack incentives to engage in reasonable behavior. It is precisely the lack of an institutionalized sense of reason which causes the irritable hobbyist to alienate the expert, and cause her to leave. But the dagger cuts both ways: it is the lack of desire to engage in cooperative conversation, due to lack of incentives, which ensure that the expert will not engage in disagreement reasonably.
It is as if Wikipedia were the microcosm of the mass political scene. The expert who leaves the walls of academia will dismiss alternate evidence without even noticing that they’ve dismissed it; they will resort to ad hominem; they will ignore arguments, etc. In short, anything to push a certain conclusion which they are convinced of (and which may or may not be correct). The stamina required to push forward certain propositions, and to assert intellectual territory, makes impatience with counterproposals necessary. And sometimes, the propositions are based on insufficient data; good faith attempts to make corrections are ignored, viewed with scorn, dismissed, and marginalized; entire discussions collapse into foregone — and false — conclusions.
That has essentially been my experience with Wikipedia, and why I’ve lately abandoned it.
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Nice post. You might check out my recent post on similar issues (though from a somewhat more sanguine perspective):
http://ragesossscholar.blogspot.com/2006/08/on-wikipedia-burnout-and-hostility.html
I’m confused as to exactly where the phrase “there’s also a dark side to its critics” comes in. You move on from there to agree with me.
Thanks for the link, Sage, and your comment, Jason.
Jason, I don’t agree with you, in the sense that the content generators are often simply wrong, and moreover feel a sense of entitlement that allows them to create content without verification that is free of innocent inquiry. The twiddlers and the procedural whackjobs are, and always have been, a light amusement to me, because any critiques they may have are so obviously of relatively small worth, that they soar far past my ego. If people get upset about the style of one’s bibliography, then who am I to argue?
Rather, my experience has rather been that, as an independent scholar, my work has been subject to argument- and evidence-free rejection at the hands of vetted scholars; in some cases ignoring those sources cited; in other cases making arguments based on states of affairs which they simply imagine to exist (but demonstrably don’t); in other cases, simply heaping scorn and abuse. This would never happen in an academic setting, but it happens at Wikipedia. But the problem is with lapses in reason by content-generators. Any and every systemic bias that I’m concerned about has to do with clashes of content, and notsomuch with edit creep and so on.
Of course, you don’t need to take my word for any of this. You can look at the discussion pages (and archives) of the Social psychology and Philosophy articles and judge for yourself.
Well, the twiddlers and whackjobs won a long time ago. But that aside, I guarantee I’ve spent waaaaaayyyy too much time observing the processes on Wikipedia.
I’m about to put up a new essay/study on Wikipedia that discusses its relevance/usefulness/process for experts/scholars. I’ll be sure to point you to it.
Jason, any rational observations are appreciated. Thanks in advance.
Though I should say that Wikipedia’s role when it comes to scholarship is decidedly not as a primary source. Scholars should never use it as a primary (Jimbo has said as much). Rather, it should be like a kind of way-station, which acts as an easy and user-friendly way of pointing people in the right direction(s).