Posts Tagged ‘chemistry’
“What is really amazing, and frustrating, is mankind’s habit of refusing to see the obvious and inevitable until it is there, and then muttering about unforeseen catastrophes”*…
One of the effectively-secret ingredients in the world’s economic growth over the last couple of centuries has been insurance. The ability to insure against catastrophic loss has underwritten (pun intended) the trillions and trillions of dollars of loans that have funded the construction and acquisition that has enabled the growth of both commercial endeavor and the the accumulation of personal wealth (directly through home ownership and indirectly through equity ownership in those commercial endeavors or participation in pension schemes that own that equity).
But in a way that was enitrely predictable, climate change is rendering a growing portion of the world uninsurable. Gavin Evans ponders what that might mean…
The Florida peninsula looks like a sore thumb. It juts into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic, where the water is getting warmer year on year, prompting fiercer hurricanes that can blow down houses like collapsing decks of cards. Climate scientists are convinced all hell will break loose sooner or later when a monster-sized, property-destroying storm makes a direct hit on Miami or Tampa-St Petersburg. Given three near-misses in the recent past, the experts view such a calamity as inevitable. It’s a huge risk for anyone living there – they stand to lose everything – but also for those bearing the financial side of this risk, the insurance companies. Some in the industry are seeing this as a portent for their future – an impending existential threat with profound implications for the economic system.
There are no easy solutions for people still paying off mortgages and those who want to buy property along the Florida coast, because the potential payout on the back of a mammoth storm is so high that the reinsurers (who insure the insurers against catastrophe) are refusing to underwrite their clients and, with no reinsurance, there’s no insurance; and with no insurance, no mortgages; and with no mortgages, no property market. Insurance protects investments against loss and is therefore a pillar of the economic system. If it goes, economies are destabilised.
Many panicked homeowners have rushed to make their houses less risky for insurance companies by reinforcing their roofs with hurricane clips, installing impact-resistant windows, doors and shutters, and strengthening their foundations. But it’s not just storms and higher, warmer seas that concern insurers. Rising temperatures mean that the frequency, range and ferocity of wildfires are also on the rise.
So far this year, 3,374 wildfires have burned an area of Florida totalling 231,172 acres (at the time of writing), and it is even worse in California where 7,855 blazes have killed at least 31 people, destroyed more than 17,000 houses and devoured 525,208 acres of land, at an estimated cost of more than $250 billion. Here, too, homeowners rushed to make their properties more palatable to cold-footed insurers – clearing their surroundings of anything flammable, covering yards with gravel, sheathing houses with fire-resistant stucco, and replacing wooden roofs with steel.
But, even for the most diligent, insurance companies have turned tail, dumping existing clients and abandoning fire-prone and storm-prone areas altogether. On the Californian fire front, 2024 was a turning point as several insurers ceased issuing new policies because of fire-associated risks, including the United States’ biggest property insurer, State Farm, which cancelled policies in parts of Los Angeles. It is all too easy to view this cynically, but it’s happening because property insurers have been reporting year-on-year losses from climate change-related payouts.
Insurance companies survive by making more money from covering risk than they lose from these risks, which is why they prefer clients less likely to claim (insofar as they can predict the risk involved) and require them to pay substantial excess to discourage claims. When payouts rise above the premium intake, insurance companies either hike up these premiums or withdraw. But when that risk is considered catastrophic, potentially affecting many thousands of clients, as with Floridian storms and Californian fires, it is the reinsurers who are the first to retreat because they will ultimately bear most of the cost.
Reinsurers aggregate payout patterns to establish the likelihood of having to make huge payouts from future natural catastrophes. They do this by gathering exposure data from existing insurers in a geographical area, and by examining catastrophe models (computer simulations that estimate potential losses from natural perils). When they put all this together with detailed analysis of conditions within the area, they come up with a figure for their total potential loss if a catastrophic event strikes.
This is why reinsurers focus so intensely on climate change. Take a glance at the websites of big ones like Swiss Re and Munich Re and you get a sense of how central this is to their calculations – a concern that has spread to property insurers who are starting to hire climate consultants. Even more than market volatility, climate is their biggest headache. ‘You won’t meet a single insurance or reinsurance CEO who doesn’t believe in climate change,’ the insurance investor and former Lombard Insurance CEO James Orford told me. ‘They see it in the numbers – a combination of more extreme, less predictable events, combined with big losses of sums insured. All the modelling suggests these are uninsurable risks.’…
[Evans recaps the history of insurance, starting in Genoa, in the mid-14th century, with the insuring of maritime expeditions; examines the current state of play; examines the efforts (and gauges the weaknesses) of state’s efforts to step up with coverage when insurers step away; then considers another role for states…]
If states do withdraw from insurance and reinsurance, some of the most lucrative areas of the US, Canada, Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia will be devastated: no mortgages and no banks, leading to more ghost towns and villages. ‘It ends with depopulation and abandonment,’ said Agarwala. ‘Climate change reduces the operating space for humanity.’ In the UK, rising sea levels and coastal erosion could literally reduce operating space, putting 200,000 British homes at risk by 2050. There’s no coastal-erosion insurance, which puts more burden on the state, mainly to pay for new defences, but also to help people move.
Governments can take action in other ways, by investing greater sums in risk-prevention and management. There are signs of this happening such as the ‘fire-hardening’ and storm-prevention efforts in Florida, and improved flood defences in the UK; meanwhile, the EU’s Recovery and Resilience Facility is being used in several countries to build and renovate operations centres to cope with wildfires, and to buy firefighting helicopters.
In future, it is likely that voters will demand that their state and national governments do far more, regardless of the cost. They will want tougher building codes, including limitations on building in risky areas; expensive fire-prevention and fire-fighting schemes; better flood and storm defences; improved early catastrophe management, involving relocating people from risky areas and, when disaster strikes, rapid life-saving interventions such as large-scale emergency evacuations. If the insurance industry is forced to retreat by the climate crisis, all of this infrastructural investment will require vast chunks of taxpayers’ money. It is hard to avoid the feeling that this is part of our destiny, and that the sore thumb of the Florida peninsula is pointing us to the future…
Whole regions of the world are now uninsurable, bringing radical uncertainty to the economy: “The insurance catastrophe,” from @aeon.co.
See also: “An Uninsurable Country” (a report form NRDC), “The Insurance Crisis Is So Desperate People Are Turning Socialist” (a gift article from Bloomberg), and “The Uninsurable Future: The Climate Threat to Property Insurance, and How to Stop It” (from Yale Law Review)
* Isaac Asimov
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As we cover up, we might send highly-charged birthday greetings to a man who made foundational contributions both to the detection of climatic conditions and to a technology that may help allieviate climate change: John Frederic Daniell was born on this date in 1790. Named the first professor of chemistry at the newly founded King’s College London in 1831, he was an avid meteorologist. He invented the dew-point hygrometer known by his name and a register pyrometer; in 1830 he erected a water-barometer in the hall of the Royal Society.
But Daniell is better remembered as a chemist (and physicist), especially for his invention of the Daniell cell, an element of an electric battery much better than voltaic cells, the standard before him. Indeed, the Daniell cell is the historical basis for the contemporary definition of the volt (the unit of electromotive force in the International System of Units). All advances in battery technology since then were “from” the base that Daniell laid.
“To-day I think / Only with scents”*…
We’ve considered before smell, the unsung hero of the senses. Today, Kaja Šeruga explains how scientists using chemistry, archival records, and AI are reviving the aromas of old libraries, mummies and battlefields…
We often learn about the past visually — through oil paintings and sepia photographs, books and buildings, artifacts displayed behind glass. And sometimes we get to touch historical objects or listen to recordings. But rarely do we use our sense of smell — our oldest, most primal way of learning about the environment — to experience the distant past.
Without access to odor, “you lose that intimacy that smell brings to the interaction between us and objects,” saysanalytical chemist Matija Strlič. As lead scientist of the Heritage Science Laboratory at the University of Ljubljana in Slovenia and previously deputy director of the Institute for Sustainable Heritage at University College London, Strlič has devoted his career to interdisciplinary research in the field of heritage science. Much of his work focused on the preservation and reconstruction of culturally significant scents.
Reconstructed scents can enhance museum and gallery exhibits, says Inger Leemans, a cultural historian at the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences. Smell can provide a more inviting entry point, especially for uninitiated visitors, because there’s far less formalized language for describing smell than for interpreting visual art or displays. Since there’s no “right way” of talking about scent, she says, “your own knowledge is as good as the others’.”
Despite their potential to enrich our understanding of history and art, smells are rarely conserved with the same care as buildings or archaeological artifacts. But a small group of researchers, including Strlič and Leemans, is trying to change that — combining chemistry, ethnography, history and other disciplines to document and preserve olfactory heritage…
Read on for the fascinating details: “Recreating the smells of history,” from @knowablemag.bsky.social.
* Edward Thomas, “Digging“
###
As we take a whiff, we might recall that it was on this date in 1924 that Coco Chanel agreed with the Wertheimer brothers Pierre and Paul, directors of the perfume house Bourjois, to create a new corporate entity, Parfums Chanel, Its signature product was Chanel No. 5. She had been selling small quanitites of the scent in her boutique since 1921.
Traditionally, fragrances worn by women had fallen into two basic categories. Respectable women favored the essence of a single garden flower while sexually provocative indolic perfumes heavy with animal musk or jasmine were associated with women of the demi-monde. Chanel sought a new scent that would appeal to the flapper and celebrate the seemingly liberated feminine spirit of the 1920s. Her scent was formulated by chemist and perfumer Ernest Beaux, who designed an unprecedented olfactory architecture, a bouquet of 80 scents whose precious notes were blended with high proportions of aldehydes, organic compounds that carry a crisp, soapy, and floral citrusy scent. In late 1920, when presented with small glass vials containing sample scents numbered 1 to 5 and 20 to 24 for her assessment, she chose the fifth vial. Chanel told Beaux, “I present my dress collections on the fifth of May, the fifth month of the year and so we will let this sample number five keep the name it has already, it will bring good luck.”
The first promotion for Chanel No. 5 appeared in The New York Times on December 16, 1924– a small ad for Parfums Chanel announcing the Chanel line of fragrances available at Bonwit Teller, an upscale department store. The fragrance, of course, become a fave. An Andy Warhol subject and worn by everyone from Marilyn Monroe and Catherine Deneuve to Mad Men’s Peggy Olson, the perfume, is a foundational part of fragrance history… and still sells a bottle every 30 seconds.
“Money is a servant to politicians and the country. But, if the politicians and the country become the servant of the money, the politicians have failed.”*…
Given all that’s going on in the current adminsitration, it’s hard to keep track of the havoc. Here, an update on a drama playing out in the legislature (with heavy White House involvement).
Crypto interests came after the local banker last week in a bitter Congressional fight. As Matt Stoller explains, they didn’t win, but it’s not over…
… [Last] Thursday, the Senate Banking Committee abruptly canceled its meeting, known as a mark-up, to write little-noticed legislation to deregulate the financial system. And the reason is that two of the more powerful forces in D.C. – the banking lobby and the new MAGA-powered crypto world – came into conflict. The result, so far, is a stalemate.
I haven’t written about crypto for a few years, because there’s not much to say beyond “they did a lot of bribes in a bribe-prone system.” But depending on what happens next, we could be looking at the end of an iconic American figure, the local banker, and his or her replacement with something very different. The context of the legislative fight is, as you see in lots of other areas, the decline of the productive institutional fabric of America.
Culturally speaking, banks have a weird place in America, as they are the institutions that control permission to use resources. The endless number of bank heist movies, often with plucky burglars as heroic figures telling bank customers they needn’t worry because it’s not their money at risk, suggests that there’s a lot of skepticism of financial power in general. But there are two types of bankers, the generous local elite and the extractive beancounter. These represent a traditional populist vs oligarch framework.
Take the holiday classic film It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s about a small town banker named George Bailey, played by Jimmy Stewart. Bailey’s help financing useful things in Bedford Falls, like houses and businesses, contrasts with the avaricious Harry Potter, who is a stand-in for Wall Street.
There’s a reason for these cultural totems. Americans have always understood that distant control of credit is dangerous, the theme of movies such as Wall Street, Margin Call, and The Big Short. They also see that local control of credit and payments is key to self-sufficiency. Local banks uses to be, and to some extent still are, the powerhouse of American cities and towns.
That said, there have always been a variety of financial institutions to serve different kinds of customers, including large corporations. There are three kinds of banks in America, the small bank, the regional bank spanning a few states, and a few dozen national mega-banks. Local banks, a la George Bailey, are more efficient with better service and more commercial lending. According to the Institute for Local Self-Reliance, roughly half of U.S. assets were held in small banks, which did most of the productive lending. In 2020, small and regionals held just 17% of industry assets, but offered 46% of bank lending to new and growing businesses.
In the post-war era, this mix of banking was relatively stable, with roughly fourteen thousand local banks and thrifts serving as mortgage and commercial lenders, and check clearing institutions. But in the early 1980s, policymakers sought to consolidate the sector, enacting a series of deregulatory laws to encourage bank failures and mergers. The result is that today we have fewer than four thousand banks, and by the end of the Trump administration, we may have fewer than a thousand.
Of course, the world isn’t the same as it was forty five years ago. Since the 1980s, finance has changed. We are a capital markets driven economy, not a bank-driven one, and we use credit cards not checks, apps and ATMs more than branches. Bailouts have replaced proactive regulation, and we now have four giant Too Big to Fail banks that span multiple lines of business from investment banking to brokerage services. But local economies still depend on local banks, and there are fewer and fewer of them…
… Banking is a great business, because mostly you pay customers a small amount for the use of their money, and get the government to guarantee you a profit. You can make more if you actually do the work to lend money, but you don’t have to.
In return for this easy profit via a government safety net, bankers accept regulation. As the brilliant scholar Saule Omarova notes, the best way to understand banks is as franchises from the government. Bankers safeguard the nation’s money and payments system, and are well-paid for it, but it’s fundamentally a public and not a private duty. That’s why there are banking charters from the state.
The rise of crypto parallels the consolidation and corruption of banking. From the 1980s onward, small town bankers, like everyone else during the neoliberal era, became heavily oriented around removing rules against speculation and froth. The low interest rate environment of the New Deal gave way to a high interest rate world, and that put enormous pressure on the balance sheets of bankers who had lent money more cheaply. That, plus the turn of the Democrats away from protecting small towns in favor of consumer rights, led to a sharp anti-government sentiment among local bankers…
[Stoller unpacks the history of banking the last few decades and then turns to crypto…]
… While anti-monopolists argued for a renewal of public institutions to tamp down on concentrations of wealth and power, the crypto world went the opposite way, arguing that it was the very existence and power of public institutions that led to the crisis in the first place.
Crypto was ideological, at first framed around utopian rhetoric and the blockchain. Unfortunately, there were no actual real use cases for productive ends, it was entirely a way of scamming or speculating without rules. During the 2010s, when the Federal Reserve kept interest rates at zero and engineered a set of bubbles, crypto was one of the more prominent ones. In 2021, I wrote an article titled “Cryptocurrencies: A Necessary Scam” describing the ideological goal of crypto.
Fortunately, regulators kept crypto hived off from the real economy, so as the bubble blew up, it didn’t much matter. In 2022, when Sam Bankman-Fried and a host of crypto institutions collapsed in an orgy of fraud and leverage and money laundering and sanctions evasions, crypto seemed to be over. But it wasn’t, because of the power of the banking lobby, the weakness of Joe Biden’s administration, and the general pro-deregulation consensus in Congress…
… After Biden, the crypto industry had immense political leverage over a supine Congress and a friendly administration. Concerns over things like consumer protection ended, of course, but even more “serious” things like worries over national security and sanctions evaporated. Trump pardoned the Binance CEO Changpeng Zhao, and no one cared any longer that crypto was used to funnel money to Hamas and Venezuela.
The narrative around crypto changed, as crypto proponents dropped their naive ideological arguments. Industry proponents no longer argued there’s anything innovative, or that crypto is important for payments or any other purpose. It’s purely a mechanism to speculate. And the industry ended its commitment to a stateless approach. The trading side of crypto attacked stock market regulations, while the banking side demanded access to the banking franchise, including bank charters, access to the Federal Reserve safety net, and so forth. They started claiming they are bank-like, only better, and that the current banking order is lazy and protected by regulation.
And that brings us to the legislative fight last week. A few months ago, Congress did its first set of favors for the crypto industry, passing the Genius Act, which allowed for companies to issue “stablecoins,” which is to say, they can take dollar deposits as long as they back those deposits with actual dollars. However, they were mostly barred from paying interest on stablecoins. And the payment of interest on deposits is really key, because that’s what would allow stablecoin issuers and crypto exchanges to compete with banks over those cheap customer deposits that enable profits. It is an existential problem, not for the JP Morgan’s of the world, as they are so big it doesn’t matter, but for the rest of the banking sector, the local and community guys.
The most aggressive crypto firm, Coinbase, sort of offers interest on deposits, with what are called “rewards.” By calling them rewards instead of interest, Coinbase is trying to create a loophole in the Genius Act. But it’s a grey area, at best, and regulators could crack down.
The next piece of legislation pushed by the crypto world was called the Clarity Act, which has a number of elements, some of them involving rules around speculation. If it passes, we can expect very little regulation of the stock market, anti-money laundering, or insider trading going forward. But the fight that led to the cancelation of the markup of the Clarity Act is whether “rewards,” aka interest on deposits, are legal. Enter the banking lobby.
Community and regional bankers are not used to fighting with conservatives, because they haven’t had to. They did block liberal lawyer Omarova from becoming the bank regulator at the Office of Comptroller of the Currency. But they certainly aren’t used to dealing with feral and weird crypto MAGA online influencers with billions of dollars. That doesn’t make sense to them. And it should have been obvious that they were in the crosshairs of the crypto industry; the Federal Reserve just launched a rulemaking to give crypto a mini bank charter, which should scare the hell out of the local banks.
But they finally have started to get in gear, pointing to a Treasury report saying that $6.6 trillion of deposits might leave the banking system if crypto companies could pay interest on stablecoins. The Independent Community Bankers Association, the trade group for local bankers, mobilized its members against stablecoin rewards.
Much of the crypto world doesn’t care about stablecoins or banking; they are interested in removing the rules regulating speculation and gambling. For them, it’s a securities law matter. But for Coinbase, which makes roughly a billion dollars in revenue with stablecoins, that part of the bill does matter. And so Brian Armstrong pulled his support for the bill on the eve of the markup. There’s something a bit odd about Coinbase’s opposition, since they got 95% of what they wanted, and everyone else is fine with the legislation. But I don’t want to speculate too much on motivations, the point is Armstrong was unhappy with the final bill.
It’s not clear what happens now. The Senate Banking Committee has put enormous time and effort into this legislation, at the behest of crypto donors. But it really is an zero sum fight. If crypto exchanges can pay interest or rewards on stablecoins, then local banks lose their deposit base. If crypto exchanges can’t, then they won’t get access to cheap deposits. While Senators are desperate for some sort of compromise, it doesn’t look like there is one. Someone has to win and someone has to lose.
This battle is one where there is no good guy, but if there’s someone who is less bad, it would be the local bankers. They at least do lend into communities, and are subject to real regulation. Crypto is a disaster, and if we integrate crypto into the real economy, they will eventually demand their own bailout. But the critique that banks don’t pay much in interest on accounts is accurate. Furthermore, the credit card business is a bloated monopolistic mess. Still, those problems are largely about the Too Big to Fail banks, not the local guys, and the TBTF banks will be fine regardless.
Honestly, I’m exhausted by the question that we are forced to answer in this fight. Should credit allocation and payments be controlled by a set of lazy right-wing bankers who hate government, or a hungrier and deeply corrupt group of crypto scammers? It would be nice to have an alternative to those two interest groups. And eventually, we will, since it’s becoming clear that the state will have to take a much bigger role in credit allocation. But for now, the fact that crypto finally got stopped, at least temporarily, by the banking lobby, well at least it’s funny. And it does show how checks and balances are useful even when everyone involved is deeply flawed.
At this moment, I’ll take what I can get…
The end of an era? “The Slow Death of Banking in America,” from @mattstoller.skystack.xyz.
Pair with Molly White‘s “They’ve bought themselves a Congress” (“Coinbase calls the shots in the Senate…”) and from Matt Levine: “Stablecoin Narrow Banking” (“one solution here is to allow stablecoins to pay interest (like banks) but also impose capital requirements (like banks). I would not bet on that happening though…”) “Memecoin Venture Capital,” (“… today I want to talk about the fourth category, tokens promising no rights…”)
* Oliver Kemper
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As we hollow out our mattresses, we might send painless birthday greetings to Felix Hoffman; he was born on this date in 1868. A chemist for the German chemical and pharmaceutical company Bayer, he sythesized both acetylsalicylic acid (ASA), which Bayer marketed as “aspirin,” and diamorphine, which was popularized under the Bayer trade name “heroin.”
“Who knows whether it is not true that phosphorus and mind are not the same thing?”*…
In an excerpt from his book White Light, Jack Lohmann explores the rare and special element phosphorus…
In the moments that follow the death of a whale, when the light disappears and is swallowed by dark, the body’s weight draws to the base of the sea and compresses. It settles in mud. It forms an environment known as a whale fall, a world that will last for decades.
The whale fall grows in stages. The larger species come, the eels, the sharks. They rip apart the dead whale’s flesh. The tail, the head, the organs are consumed. The size of predator lessens as the length of time extends. Tiny mouths clean the bones dry. A skeleton remains; bacteria descend upon it. They turn bones into nutrition, consuming the whale in a process that is almost imperceptibly slow. Worms arrive and burrow through the skeleton. Other organisms come and eat the worms. Larger predators reinhabit the space. Within a barren, lightless plain, on the basis of decaying bones, a world is born.
Whalebone contains an element that is rare: phosphorus, a limiting ingredient in life on Earth. Of all the elements of the periodic table, phosphorus is one of six that are absolutely necessary for the existence of life. Of those six, phosphorus is the most limited. Because of its rarity, it controls life—it determines who grows and shrinks, who lives and dies, what areas become biologically wealthy and which ones will be biologically poor. “The maximum mass of protoplasm which the land can support, like the maximum that the sea can support, is dictated by the phosphorus content,” Isaac Asimov, the biochemist, wrote in 1959. Phosphorus, he wrote, “is life’s bottleneck.”
Each of the six essential elements performs a vital role. Carbon forms long chains, connecting compounds together to create large, complicated structures. Hydrogen and oxygen combine to form water. Nitrogen and sulfur create proteins, providing organisms with food. Phosphorus converts energy, carries information, constructs cell membranes, and performs a host of other actions that underpin life’s complexity. Phosphorus allows seeds to grow and fruit to ripen. It is the main ingredient in matches. It both enables life and destroys it. Sarin gas, created from white phosphorus, is a potent agent of chemical warfare.
When it is isolated, phosphorus emits a steady, menacing glow. Phosphorescence is the name that is applied to this phenomenon: it describes materials that glow without ignition. The glow of the upper ocean is phosphorescent. Some paint glows. One consistent feature of the near-death experience, reported by people whose hearts stopped beating and bodies began to fade, has been the presence of a peculiar brightness all around. Images flash, the soul floats, and the body is left behind. The mind feels calm. (It is, in fact, surging with electricity: its final moments are seemingly near.)
When phosphorus burns, it bonds with oxygen, creating phosphate: one atom phosphorus, four atoms oxygen. Phosphate is remarkably prevalent in all life forms, although it is otherwise comparatively rare throughout the world. It is crucial to our existence. Outside of life, phosphate exists in geological form, made up of condensed, crystalline structures that are hidden in the crevices of our planet. Inside of life, it exists in every cell. It forms the membranes that hold the parts of cells together. It provides energy, in the form of adenosine triphosphate, ATP, which powers the actions of all life-forms. Even before birth, each of us gained identities by way of the cumulative influences of small phosphate groups, which held together the strands of our DNA. As we grew from zygote to cellular zillionaire, those groups enabled the replication of DNA and the formation of more complex beings—us.
The phosphorus in our bodies came, at first, from molten lava, hardened into rock. That rock eroded out of mountains, flowed down rivers, and fertilised the land below. The land supported the growth of plants, which allowed the spread of animals. The human body is, roughly speaking, one percent phosphorus. Phosphorus is spread throughout our cells, but it is concentrated mainly in our bones. We are extensions of the planet—we forage for phosphorus by eating plants and animals, and we fertilise the soil through waste and death. Plants thrive on this natural fertiliser. Phosphorus moves through the bodies of plants and animals, fungi and bacteria, and ultimately, usually, makes its way to the water. It is deposited as sediment: it forms new rock on the seafloor. The rock is made of compressed bodies, phosphorus squeezed from lives that are no more. It is littered with phosphatic bones, with phosphate-encrusted bivalves, with fossilised phosphate scraps. These things are hidden, set to be released in geologic time. As this time passes, the Earth’s plates move. The underwater rock becomes land. The land erodes. The cycle continues.
The story of phosphorus runs through every strand of DNA in every organism in the world. It runs through every piece of food and waste, and every living thing. But the story of how humans changed the phosphorus cycle is rooted in a few specific spots. We first found phosphate rock in England, and the fertiliser industry began. The industry changed when rock of greater scale was found in Florida; but today, the Florida rock is almost gone. Our global agricultural system rests upon the dictates of Morocco’s monarch.
Already, in some places around the world, the end of phosphate rock has occurred. It happened on the island of Nauru, far out in the Pacific, and there we see a world that passed its limits. It peaked, declined, and fell to ruin. Amid those ruins, the story of our broken phosphorus cycle comes to a close.
But it does not need to end there. There is mass resistance to the modern expansion of corporate farming methods. The world’s small farmers, who produce half our food, work their land with the nuanced understanding that agriculture has always been an ecological effort. They safeguard phosphate and replenish it.
Scientists, economists, and engineers are working to make phosphorus recycling compatible with modern life. Food, we now know, feeds our bodies better when it comes from healthy soils, and healthy soils come from nature, not from machines. Supported by this understanding, people are working to create a better agriculture. Cities are composting food scraps. Disenfranchised farmers are fighting for their land. If we listen to those with knowledge—rather than those with money—it is possible to restore the cycles of the earth.
There was once, long ago, a different kind of phosphate problem. When life first started, 4.5 billion years ago, the problem was that phosphorus existed only in rocks—and then, of course, no one was available to mine them. Life needed concentrated pockets of phosphorus in order to form. In a century of study, scientists have not come to an agreement about how nature solved its problem. Something happened in a pond, around a vent, near a meteor strike—something. We do not know exactly. We do know something happened, though, because we are here.
Today, phosphorus remains a part of the mix of chemical elements present in the earth’s magma, and volcanic eruptions create sprawling beds of igneous rock that hold within them trace amounts of the mineral. Now, however, humanity has transferred large amounts of phosphorus onto farmland, into streams and ponds, into rivers, and, ultimately, into the ocean.
The result of this is somewhat murky, but it appears that humans are changing the geology of the world. We are leaving a legacy in stone, and we are doing it by creating anew a world that once existed—one overrun with algae in the waters, with dying fish, with widespread oxygen loss in the sea. This new world is not, for us, ideal. (For algae lovers, it may be paradise.) But it is conducive to the formation of phosphate rock. This new rock will be formed and buried over intervals of millions of years. It will be hidden beneath the ground, prepared to be discovered in the future.
Just as phosphate enables life in humans, so too does it feed the life of the whale fall. The destruction of the bones of the whale provides enough fat to support a community of bacteria, and it releases enough phosphate to support the expansion of the ecosystem. The whale fall lasts because of the barrenness that surrounds it: the cold temperatures and darkness of the deep ocean preserve the whale carcass for the creatures that can access it, allowing the ecosystem to exist without floating away or being quickly eaten. Instead, whale falls remain as they begin—remote, shadowed, and teeming with life.
The nutrients provided by a whale fall represent, in a single day, two thousand years of sustenance. Their effect, ecologically, is strong enough that biologists have identified dozens of species of ocean-dwelling organism that evolved to specialise only in whale falls, those thousands of little worlds beneath the sea. There are four-foot worms and hairy crabs, clinging shrimp and curious sharks, bacteria that float, fish that feast, a mess of life, growing and thriving, a community unto itself, separated from all other beings by a dark emptiness that extends in all directions.
This blip of abundance seems bound to recede, and eventually it will. Over a period of half a century, the whale fall’s nutrients begin to dwindle, and the organisms that feasted on them go away in turn. The ecosystem fades into the landscape that surrounds it. Barrenness overtakes the ground. Just decades after a new world of opportunity opened up, life disappears; this little spot of seafloor is unlikely to be visited by such prosperity ever again…
Of the six chemical elements necessary for life, phosphorus is the rarest. It determines what grows and shrinks, who lives and dies: “Life’s Ancient Bottleneck,” via @quillette.bsky.social.
* Stendhal
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As we esteem an exquisite element, we might recall that it was on this date in 1897 that Jell-O was introduced in strawberry, raspberry, orange and lemon fruit flavours. The product is based on gelatin, derived from a protein produced from collagen– importantly (a la whalebone) composed in part of phosphorus— extracted from boiled bones, connective tissues, and other animal products.
Peter Cooper, inventor and founder of the Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art, obtained the first American patent for the manufacture of gelatin in 1845. In 1895, cough syrup manufacturer Pearl B. Wait purchased the patent and developed a packaged gelatin dessert. Wait’s wife, May David Wait named it “Jell-O.” In 1899, Wait sold Jell-O to “Orator Francis Woodward”, whose Genesee Pure Food Company produced the successful Grain-O health drink. While sales were intitially slow, they grew steadily, and Walt’s company (which changed its name to Jell-O Company) merged first with Postum, then General Foods, then Kraft– which reports that they sell more than a million packages of Jell-O brand gelatin each day.
“It’s peculiar. It’s special. There’s very little of it, but it has this pivotal role in the universe.”*…
One of the oldest, scarcest elements in the universe has given us treatments for mental illness, ovenproof casserole dishes, and electric cars. Increasingly, our response to climate change seems to depend on it. But how much do we really know about lithium? Jacob Baynham explains…
The universe was born small, unimaginably dense and furiously hot. At first, it was all energy contained in a volume of space that exploded in size by a factor of 100 septillion in a fraction of a second. Imagine it as a single cell ballooning to the size of the Milky Way almost instantaneously. Elementary particles like quarks, photons and electrons were smashing into each other with such violence that no other matter could exist. The primordial cosmos was a white-hot smoothie in a blender.
One second after the Big Bang, the expanding universe was 10 billion degrees Kelvin. Quarks and gluons had congealed to make the first protons and neutrons, which collided over the course of a few minutes and stuck in different configurations, forming the nuclei of the first three elements: two gases and one light metal. For the next 100 million years or so, these would be the only elements in the vast, unblemished fabric of space before the first stars ignited like furnaces in the dark to forge all other matter.
Almost 14 billion years later, on the third rocky planet orbiting a young star in a distal arm of a spiral galaxy, intelligent lifeforms would give names to those first three elements. The two gases: hydrogen and helium. The metal: lithium.
This is the story of that metal, a powerful, promising and somehow still mysterious element on which those intelligent lifeforms — still alone in the universe, as far as they know — have pinned their hopes for survival on a planet warmed by their excesses…
[Baynham tells the story of this remarkable element, the development of it many uses (in psychopharmacology, in materials science, and of course in electronics– especially batteries), the rigors of extracting it for those purposes, and the challenges that its scarcity– and its potency– present…]
… Long before cell phones and climate anxiety and the Tesla Model Y, long before dinosaurs and the first creatures that climbed out of the ocean to walk on land, long before the Earth formed from swirling masses of cosmic matter heavy enough to coalesce, back, way back, to the infant universe, to the dawn of matter itself, there were just three types of atoms — three elements in the blank canvas of space. One of them was lithium. It was light, fragile and extremely reactive, its one outer electron tenuously held in place.
Everything we have done with lithium, all its wondrous applications in energy, industry and psychiatry, somehow hinges on this basic structure, a sort of magic around which we’re increasingly engineering our future. Lightness is usually associated with abundance on the periodic table — almost 99% of the mass of the universe is just the lightest two elements. Lithium, however, is the third lightest element and still mysteriously scarce…
That most elemental of elements: “The Secret, Magical Life of Lithium,” from @JacobBaynham in @noemamag.com.
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As we muse on materials, we might send densely-packed birthday greetings to Philip W. Anderson; he was born on this date in 1923. A theoretical physicist, he shared (with John H. Van Vleck and Sir Nevill F. Mott) the 1977 Nobel Prize for Physics for his research on semiconductors, superconductivity, and magnetism. Anderson made contributions to the theories of localization, antiferromagnetism, symmetry breaking including a paper in 1962 discussing symmetry breaking in particle physics, leading to the development of the Standard Model around 10 years later), and high-temperature superconductivity, and to the philosophy of science through his writings on emergent phenomena. He was a pioneer in the field that he named: condensed matter physics, which has found applications in semiconductor and laserr technology, magnetic storage, liquid crystals, optical fibers, nanotechnology, quantum computing, and biomedicine.
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