As the good skeptic knows, one study doesn’t “prove” anything. Rather, we await replication of that study and/or other sources of relevant data. In a sense, the rational person attempts to objectively weigh the information “for” a claim and “against.”
What about the expression, “you can’t prove a negative?” With this supposed truism, the problem word is prove. This saying has always seemed to me a bit like claiming “you can’t prove that the frail old grandmother didn’t strangle her beloved grandson.” Well, with the bar set that high, of course not. What we might say is that seeing she was living in a nursing home 500 miles away when the murder took place, and there’s absolutely no history of violence on her part, and all relatives agree she showed nothing but love for her grandson, it seems very, very, very, very unlikely. Sure, in farther reaches of hypothetical land, she may have had a bad reaction to a medication, hired a body-double, snuck out and rode a Greyhound bus to the murder scene. Or something. But in terms of rational thinking, we need no complete slam-dunk “proof” one way or the other because we don’t need absolute certainty. Working knowledge doesn’t . . . work like that. In the case of the grandmother, we weigh the pros and cons of the possibility: motive, crime-scene evidence, plausibility, etc.
Earlier this summer a study came out that, contrary to previous research,
“found no correlation between students’ overweight risk and the presence of stores with unhealthful food choices near their schools.”
Does this one study prove anything? No. Just as any previous single study that found a positive link did not prove anything. Rather, these are bits of information that may move the scale pointer of probably true (or not) in one direction or another.
If living in a world of claims not absolutely true, but rather probably valid (or not), makes you anxious, you might want to console yourself with a donut. Or a long walk. From the research I’ve seen, the second is likely the better choice.
Okay, I admit it. I’m a bit biased. I’ve got a tree-hugger element to my personality and preferences. So when it comes to organic farming, I find the idea appealing. Yet fortunately (and somewhat unfortunately as well), my thinking has developed to include a chainsaw-like aptitude for critical thinking. This causes me to wonder, Beyond the glitter of the term ‘organic’ itself, and some very persuasive reasoning, what does the evidence tell us?
Thus far, it seems to this skeptic that the evidence is mixed — at least in terms of the overall benefits of organic farming. For example, the nutritional quality of organic produce has thus far been found to be insignificantly better than non-organic.
But, hold the presses, a new research finding into the “organic farming” of chickens (eggs and meat) has found this possible benefit:
[P]oultry farms that have transitioned from conventional to organic practices and ceased using antibiotics have significantly lower levels of drug-resistant enterococci bacteria. [source]
Well, that seems good. At least in isolation. Meaning if we restrict our focus to that one variable. But, damn it, there are so many other variables involved.
What other variables are involved? I’m no poultry farmer, but I imagine there are many. Such as efficiency and net cost to raise organic hens. But beyond that, there are many other variables that sometimes go missing when comparing so-called organic farms to “conventional.”
For example, consider this information from the news release:
Sapkota and her team, which included R. Michael Hulet (Pennsylvania State University), Guangyu Zhang, Sam Joseph and Erinna Kinney (University of Maryland), and Kellogg J. Schwab (Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health), investigated the impact of removing antibiotics from U.S. poultry farms by studying ten conventional and ten newly organic large-scale poultry houses in the mid-Atlantic region. [emphasis added]
Darn, here come the questions. First, “newly.” I wonder if the effect will hold for non recently-converted farms. Next, “mid-Atlantic region.” Is there something about this region that favors organic farming and may not apply to others? And very importantly, did the newly organic farms change only the one variable of antibiotic use? Or did they make other changes, potentially involved?
You get the idea.
As for this consumer, I don’t think that efficiency and cost should be everything when evaluating food production methods. And I like that organic-farming seems to highlight and emphasize other variables (humane, ecological, economic…). Sometimes this is done honestly (particularly for small-scale farms); sometime it is done dishonestly for the purpose of putting a nicer face on otherwise monster-farms.
While I like the idea of going more “organic,” I’m not a fan of the slick use of language. And “organic” is slick. Nor do I care to value an idea that, in practice, fails to yield real results.
Maybe I ought to add wheatgrass to my diet. Never tried the stuff. I’m certainly not averse to greens. On a regular basis I chew and swallow leafy vegetable matter including lettuce, cabbage, spinach, turnip greens, and chard. All cooked, except for the lettuce and sometimes the cabbage, if I’m making coleslaw.
Why might I want to add grass to my diet? A team of scientists has recently concluded that one of our great, great, hominid … cousins, really, did not subsist on a diet high in nuts and seeds, as previously supposed. Instead, “he” chewed and swallowed a great deal of grasses and sedges.
Study co-author Kevin Uno, a University of Utah Ph.D. student in geology, adds: “This study provides evidence that Paranthropus boisei was not cracking nuts, but was instead eating mainly tropical grasses or sedges. It was not competing for food with most other primates, who ate fruits, leaves and nuts; but with grazers — zebras’ ancestors, suids [ancestors of pigs and warthogs] and hippos.” [source]
Son of a . . . cow?!
Thanks to this finding, should we pull a delayed “monkey see, monkey do?” Well, maybe not. First, one study is never definitive. Second, the ancestor in question is identified, in part, by his large, flat set of molars and “powerful jaw.” You and I, on the other hand, have relatively dinky molars and pathetically weak jaws.
So if you are going to eat greens, go for the more delicate stuff. Or, if needed, cook it. Don’t try to be a cow, man.
How can something good for you be bad? Like vitamins. The body naturally uses them. It needs them. So how could taking a vitamin be bad thing?
It seems human physiology is quite complex. Sometimes more of a good thing isn’t better, it’s worse. One example: In recent research it was found that for older women calcium supplement use increased the risk of cardiovascular “events” — particularly heart attacks. [source]
That’s not good. Should elderly women at risk for osteoporosis then not take calcium supplements? As much as peddlers of simplistic “vitamins and diet” solutions might deny it, the answer to that question, and so many like it, is complex.
Beware of simplistic, “no risk” solutions.
As I do most evenings before drifting off to sleep, last night I listened to a podcast or two. On Skepticality I heard an interview of the author of the book, Why We Get Fat: And What to Do About It. Journalist Gary Taubes argued that diets high in carbohydrates and sugar are the problem. And that fats, including saturated fats, have been ‘unscientifically’ demonized.
Hmm. While I applaud Taubes’ questioning and criticism of the current nutritional gospel, I wondered if he was highlighting studies that best made his case while downplaying numerous others.
I also wondered if there may be a number of assumptions impeding our progress in understanding the “best diet.” These few immediate come to mind.
1. Is it possible that there is no “one size fits all” diet? Are our digestive organs, nutritional needs, and lifestyles sufficiently different to at least warrant placing a massive asterisk after claims of “best diet”?
2. Isn’t it a “naturalistic fallacy” to claim that because early humans ate few to no grains, or lots of fruit, etc., this diet is best for us? That our ancestors slept on the ground is not a great argument for doing the same today.
3. Is the average human carrying a few extra pounds evidence of a diet gone awry? Is it truly a bad thing?
4. In a related manner, is it possible that with the bad — increasing rates of diabetes, for example — comes some good that is not being simultaneously studied and/or measured? Isn’t it possible that the best diet isn’t best for all? It seems nearly inconceivable to me that one could optimize some “good” variable with little or no increase in one of many “bad” variables.
5. Finally, is living longer over-rated? It seems like an overly simplistic measure of success. What if living longer comes at the expense of lower energy levels and lesser life satisfaction?
Just wondering.
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