Posts Tagged ‘Science’
“Most things are never meant”*…
From Dan Russell‘s nifty (and in this instance, all-too-appropriately-named) newsletter, Unanticipated Consequences, an “appreciation” of a gentleman into whom (Roughly) Daily has run before (e. g, here)…
If you set out to design a supervillain to destroy the biosphere, create a jovial, optimistic mechanical engineer from Ohio who wanted to make the world a slightly more convenient place. Thomas Midgley Jr. was not a mad scientist plotting global ruin from a diabolical evil-genius lair, he was an enthusiastic tinkerer, and as a friend once commented, had “ten ideas a minute, nine of them screwy, but the tenth a lulu.” He wrote light verse, loved music, and held over a hundred patents. As a teenager, he used elm-tree juice instead of spit to throw unhittable curveballs. He was, by all accounts, a charming guy who merely sought practical solutions to the day’s pressing technological annoyances. What could go wrong?
Yet, by the time his career was over, Midgley had introduced two of the most globally destructive chemical compounds in human history. He became, as one historian aptly put it, a one-man environmental disaster. His legacy is the ultimate cautionary tale for the modern innovator: a masterclass in the massive, terrifying, and utterly unanticipated consequences of design choices…
[Russell tells the stories of Midgley’s pair of consequential inventions: the additive “lead” (tetraethyl lead, a neurotoxin) in gasoline and the refrigerant CFC (the use of which ripped a hole in the ozone layer). He recounts Midgley’s death (literally) in the grip of another of his inventions, then concludes…]
… What do we do with the ghost of Thomas Midgley? It is easy, with a century of hindsight, to look back at the millions of cardiovascular deaths, the plummeting IQs, and the shredded stratosphere, and label him a monster. But that ignores the fundamental mechanics of innovation. The Midgley story is a stark reminder of the massive delta between human intent and ecological reality.
When we invent, we are almost always trying to solve a local, immediate pain point. Engines rattle and refrigerators explode. Midgley looked at these problems and offered brilliant and simple solutions. But biology and atmosphere are deeply intertwined and heavily networked systems. The consequences of introducing synthetic compounds into these systems don’t spool out in days or weeks; they unfold across generations.
Midgley did not want to poison the world. He wrote poetry about human dominance over the Earth, genuinely believing that science could only make the future better. If forced to concede the environmental damage of his inventions, he likely would have plunged headlong into the lab to invent safe substitutes. But he lacked the conceptual tools, the time horizon, and the humility to imagine that the very things that made his inventions magical—the cheap and effective solution of lead and the unyielding stability of Freon—were exactly what made them apocalyptically awful for humanity.
The history of Thomas Midgley is a brilliantly clear, slightly horrifying reminder: sometimes, the most dangerous things in the world are brought to us by a friendly guy with a periodic table in his pocket, just trying to stop that really annoying noise in his car…
The bane of unintended consequences: “New Ways to Poison an Entire Planet: The Legacy of Thomas Midgley, Jr.”
* Philip Larkin, “Going, Going“
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As we consider consequences, we might acknowledge that there are some consequences ourecall that on this date in 1908, at around 7:15 am, northwest of Lake Baikal, Russia, a huge fireball nearly as bright as the Sun was seen crossing the sky. Minutes later, there was a huge flash and a shock wave felt up to 400 miles away. Over Tunguska, a meteorite over 50-m diameter, travelling at over 60,000 mph penetrated Earth’s atmosphere, heated to about 10,000 ºC and detonated 6 to10 km above the ground. The blast released the energy of 10-50 Megatons of TNT, destroying 830 square miles of forest and leaving almost no trace of life. (As the area was essentially unpopulated, estimates are that only three people died.) The Tunguska rock came from the Taurid Meteor storm that crosses Earth’s orbit twice a year.
Midgley’s story is a reminder that we need to take all of the care we can to protect ourselves from unintended harms that we might inflict on oursleves. A meteor strike is, of course, not the product of a human choice– and in 1908, outside our control. But today, there is something we can do: check in with the B612 Foundation.
“Sometimes this high-tech world calls for low-tech solutions”*…
Our human war against infectious microbes has escalated. As bioscience has produced a stream of anti-bacterial and anti-fungal treatments, the continuously-evolving micro-organisms they target evolve in ways to protect themselves… and so our antibiotics become less effective.
This antibiotic resistance is estimated to result in more than 2.8 million infections from antibiotic-resistant bacteria, and more than 35,000 people die as a result. Antibiotic resistance adds $20 billion in excess direct healthcare costs each year in the US. Additional costs to society for lost productivity could be as high as $35 billion a year. All of this is driven in some measure by over-prescription (the CDC reckons that over 25% of antibiotics prescribed in US outpatient settings are unnecessary)– but the evolutionary dynamics of our microbial “enemies” being what they are, the problem would be material in any case.
So effective non-antibiotic treatments are especially valuable. Ian Ingram reports on one of the latest..
The FDA cleared medical-grade Australian sheep blowfly (Lucilia cuprina) larvae in what maker Cuprina Holdings believes marks the first debridement product to use this particular species.
Dubbed Medifly Maggots, the product [pictured above] is indicated for removing dead or infected tissue from non-healing necrotic skin and soft tissue wounds — such as pressure or neuropathic foot ulcers — and non-healing traumatic or post-surgical wounds.
A healthcare worker is required to oversee the application of the prescription maggot product, which was cleared based on demonstration of equivalence to the previously cleared medical-grade green bottle blowfly larvae — Lucilia sericata (Medical Maggots).
“Maggot debridement therapy has earned its place in modern wound care, and adding a second FDA-cleared species strengthens the entire field,” Ronald Sherman, MD, the company’s medical and scientific director, said in a statement.
“Lucilia cuprina has a meaningful international track record,” and the new clearance “gives clinicians and their patients more flexibility in how this therapy is delivered,” added Sherman, who has worked on the development of medical-grade maggots for decades and was instrumental in getting the first product cleared by the FDA in 2004.
According to recent estimates, anywhere from 1-2% of people in developed countries have chronic wounds, which are associated with greater risks of limb amputation and mortality.
Maggots, long used for clearing dead or non-healing tissue before the invention of antibiotics, can spare antibiotics and have also been associated with a lower risk of lower-limb amputation in diabetics with non-healing lesions…
As poet A. R. Ammons wrote (in “Catalyst“): “Honor the maggot, supreme catalyst.”
“New Type of Maggot Cleared by FDA as Medical Treatment,” from @medpagetoday.com.
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As we rethink remedies, we might spare a thought for Alice Stewart; she died on this date in 2002. A physician and epidemiologist, she specialized in social medicine and the effects of radiation on health. Starting in WW II, she investigated the health effects of exposure to TNT in ammunitions factories, of carbon tetrachloride, and a prevalence of tuberculosis among shoe industry workers.
In the 1950s, Stewart led a pioneering study of x-rays (especially the pre-natal x-rays of expectant mothers) as a cause of childhood cancer. Her results were initially regarded as unsound, but were eventually accepted worldwide; the use of medical x-rays during pregnancy and early childhood was curtailed as a result– though it took around two and a half decades.
And after a visit to the U.S. in 1974, Stewart consulted on a major investigation of the health of workers in the nuclear industry there: she examined the sickness records of employees in the Hanford (WA) plutonium production plant and found a far higher incidence of radiation-induced ill health than was noted in official studies (produced by the nuclear industry).
Stewart was awarded the Right Livelihood Award in 1986 “for bringing to light in the face of official opposition the real dangers of low-level radiation.” In 1997 she was invited to become the first Chair of the European Committee on Radiation Risk.
“Soft as the earth is mankind and both need to be altered”…
Indeed, especially over the last 150 years or so, both have been. And as a consequence, John MacDonald reports, the Anthropocene is presenting a challenge to geologists:
I’m standing on a beach at Workington, on the western edge of the Lake District in England [pictured above and throughout the article linked below]. Here I find myself contemplating a very unnatural object, while pondering a pretty fundamental question: what, exactly, is a rock? For a geologist like me, this should be easy to answer, but what I’m looking at has made me think otherwise.
At Workington, all seems natural – the sounds of the waves lapping the shore, the call of seabirds, the smell of the ocean, the sight of the stony beach and high cliffs. At first glance, the beach is made largely of a rock platform, which is not a particularly unusual phenomenon – many coastal areas are ‘rock coasts’ made of sandstone, basalt or granite. These rocks are ancient in human years – often millions or even billions of years old – and have been sculpted into their current cliff or platform shapes over hundreds to thousands of years.
Yet among the waves is an object that shouldn’t be there: a wheel and tyre, embedded in the rock that makes up the shore. It’s not stuck in a crevice – the rock has actually formed around it. How can this have happened? The wheel and tyre are of a mid-20th century style, but rocks are ancient, often millions of years old. Aren’t they?
Closer inspection of this hard rock platform shows it is what geologists call conglomerate: a sedimentary rock made of rounded pebbles and cobbles deposited on the Earth surface. Over thousands to millions of years, this material is buried and heated causing minerals to form and fill in the gaps between the pebbles and cobbles, fusing them together into a hard rock mass. At Workington though, this can’t have happened: as well as the tyre, my colleagues and I found several other human-made objects, under 100 years old. The pebbles and cobbles in the conglomerate aren’t natural either: they are all made of slag, a solid by-product of the iron- and steel-making process.
As a geologist, I have studied various types of natural rocks, but recently I have become interested in ‘anthropogenic geomaterials’ – things like industrial slag – and how they become entwined in geological and environmental processes. I came to Workington originally to look at the slag, because I was interested in its potential to scrub-capture carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. However, when encountering the rock platform with the wheel in it, I was drawn by its incongruity. After studying the geomaterials of Workington more closely with my colleagues Amanda Owen and David Brown, we believe that this little-known section of the English coastline represents a tangible and potentially long-lasting signature of the impact humans are having on the planet.
Unlike many industrial landscapes, nature here has mostly returned, so it would be easy to miss that the beach is composed of human materials. Here a process that normally takes millennia or aeons has happened in a matter of decades. And it’s not the only example: new forms of anthropogenic geology are emerging around the world. These new materials are blurring the borderline between the natural and unnatural. They are also raising a rather fundamental question for geology: what actually is a rock?…
And what becomes of geology as its tasks come to resemble archaeology and anthropogy? Read on for the backstory and the answers.
Not natural, not quite unnatural, the strange new rocks of the Anthropocene stretch the boundaries of geology: “What is this rock?” from @aeon.co.
* W. H. Auden, “In Praise of Limestone“
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As we ruminate on rocks, we might spare a thought for William Logan; he died on this date in 1875. Born in Montreal in 1798, he was sent to Edinburgh for an education, after which, he lingered in Britain to work in Wales at his uncle’s coal and copper-smelting business. Logan made geologic maps of coal fields in Wales, in attempt to understand the sources of coal and ores. He noted the relationship between the underlying clay layers and fossil tree roots with local coal beds– which helped substantiate the theory that coal beds are formed in place.
On returning to Canada in 1842, he became the founding director of the Geological Survey of Canada. At the time, the country’s geology was virtually unknown; but as a product of two decades of his research, the CGS published the monumental Report on the Geology of Canada in 1863. Known as “the father of Canadian geology,” Logan was knighted by Queen Victoria; and after his death Mount Logan, Canada’s highest mountain, was named in his honor.
“The system, to a large extent, causes its own behavior”*…
Alan Jacobs quotes from Freeman Dyson‘s epic 1998 book, Imagined Worlds…
It often happens that a scientific revolution is accompanied by a change in style. I like to use the names of Napoleon and Tolstoy to symbolize two contrasting styles: rigid organization and discipline represented by Napoleon, creative chaos and freedom represented by Tolstoy. In the world of computers, Napoleon is the massive IBM main-frame; Tolstoy is the humble Macintosh. The computer revolution was an escape from the Napoleonic ambitions of von Neumann to the Tolstoyan anarchy of the Internet. Future revolutions will bring more such escapes.
Jacobs goes on to observe…
The big AI companies are the apotheosis — literally, in the view of many who work for them — of Napoleonic science. The open web and the world of hobbyist and small-scale devices (often built on the Raspberry Pi) are our remaining refuges of Tolstoyan computing.
See also: “Twenty Five Years After Imagined Worlds, What World Are We Living In? – Our surprisingly Napoleonic twenty-first century,” in which Erik Larson unpacks Dyson’s thinking and reconciles it to the world of 2022 (when Larson wrote the piece).
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As we contemplate culture, we might spare a thought for Jack Kilby; he died on this date in 2005. An electrical engineer, he made a– if not the— foundational advance that moved us into the age we’re now navigating: the integrated curcuit (or as we know it, the chip).
In mid-1958, as a newly employed engineer at Texas Instruments, Kilby didn’t yet have the right to a summer vacation. So he spent the summer working on the problem in circuit design known as the “tyranny of numbers” (how to add more and more components, all soldered to all of the others, to improve performance). He finally came to the conclusion that manufacturing the circuit components en masse in a single piece of semiconductor material could provide a solution. On September 12, he presented his findings to the management: a piece of germanium with an oscilloscope attached. Kilby pressed a switch, and the oscilloscope showed a continuous sine wave– proving that his integrated circuit worked and thus that he had solved the problem.
Kilby is generally credited as co-inventor of the integrated circuit, along with Robert Noyce (who independently made a similar circuit a few months later). Kilby has been honored in many ways for his breakthrough, probably most augustly with the 2000 Nobel Prize in Physics.
“Things that are so far removed from our daily experience… are inherently hard to understand”*…
That’s certainly true of numbers. And as the numbers grow, the cognitive challenges grow with them. (Indeed, by way of example: 1 million seconds, is roughly 11.5 days; 1 billion seconds is almost 32 years.)
We’ve looked before at the mysterious extremes of math: zero and infinity [and here]. But as Dan Falk reminds us, the numbers in between can seem pretty strange as well– especially the extremely large ones. In a review of Richard Elwes‘ Huge Numbers: A Story of Counting Ambitiously, From 4½ to Fish 7, Falk spotlights some of the largest numbers humans have ever contemplated…
… Aficionados of huge numbers are called “googologists,” a reference to the number 10100, known as a googol. Such numbers have a peculiar sort of existence. For the vast majority of us, they’re of limited everyday value. Calculations at the supermarket checkout, or at tax time in April, typically involve far more modest figures. Perhaps we’ve read that the U.S. national debt is in excess of $38 trillion — a mind-numbing figure, to be sure, but it’s not as though any one individual needs to count it up in stacks of $20 bills.
And yet, much larger numbers await those who seek them out. Consider the kinds of numbers that crop up in problems involving combinations and permutations. For example, in how many distinct ways can one shuffle a deck of cards? Elwes takes us through the calculation, and we end up with a figure of about 8×1067. Compared to that number, the odds of getting a royal flush when dealt a five-card poker hand seem pretty decent, sitting at a mere 1 in 649,740 (still rare enough that many poker players have never held such a hand). Or consider that famous 1980s cultural touchstone, the Rubik’s cube. In how many ways can one scramble the cube? It turns out that the figure is about 43 quintillion, or 4.3×1019 — but in spite of that ridiculously large figure, people do routinely solve the puzzle, and champions can do it in mere seconds. In fact, as Elwes explains, no Rubik’s cube arrangement is more than 20 moves away from any other arrangement.
Or consider the age of the universe, estimated to be about 13.8 billion years. This may seem like a lengthy span of time, but our cosmic future is where the really big numbers come up. Elwes examines the so-called heat death of the universe, in which all matter has broken down into subatomic particles. We may reach this point in [10 raised to the 10th power, raised again to the 120th power] years — this dizzying figure is 10 raised to the power of 10120 — at which point, Elwes says, the universe will have ballooned up to a diameter of 10 to the power of 10 to the power of 10120 light years. (Yes, that’s [10 raised to the 10th power, again to the 10th power, then to the 120th power] light years.) Elwes adds a footnote: “At this point, the choice of units hardly matters; the distance is so immense that whether we choose to measure it in Planck lengths or giga-light years makes little difference.” Let that sink in!
As mind numbing as such figures are, the highest numbers contemplated by humans come not from physics but from pure mathematics and computer science. Like “Graham’s number” — an immense figure put forward as the upper-bound for solutions to a problem in a branch of mathematics known as Ramsey theory. Some readers may find the ensuing discussion of multi-dimensional hypercubes a bit challenging, but one can enjoy the payoff regardless: We end up with a number that can’t even be expressed in conventional notation, and which earned a mention in the 1980 edition of the “Guinness Book of World Records” as “the highest number ever used in a mathematical proof.”
Reading this book is a little bit like sitting in the back row of an auction house where a rare Picasso (let’s say) is up for grabs: How high is this thing going to go? And indeed, Elwes keeps going. We eventually meet the so-called busy beaver numbers, a set of numbers that crop up in theoretical computer science, when one tries to deduce whether a particular computer program will eventually stop, or keep going forever — a conundrum known as the “halting problem.” As Elwes explains, it’s not at all straightforward to distinguish the two types of programs (and if it was, it would help mathematicians tackle some of the most vexing problems in their field).
The fifth busy beaver number, known as BB(5) — associated with a computer program that can access five internal states — works out to 47,176,870. And that’s as far as we’ve gotten, Elwes explains. No one has worked out the value of BB(6), but he assures us that it’s beyond the range of any physical computer; and BB(16) leaves even Graham’s number in the dust.
But wait, there’s more! “Rayo’s number,” concocted by Agustín Rayo — a dean and professor at MIT — using set theory, is bigger still (here’s a fun video about it); and “Fish 7,” mentioned in the book’s subtitle, named for a Japanese googologist who goes by the pseudonym “Fish,” builds on Rayo’s number, and … well, the details are not easily digested, but the mind-melting nature of these numbers comes across as a feature, not a bug, of Elwes’s story… the narrative is enlivened by explorations of the peculiarities of math history…
… Archimedes tried to estimate how many grains of sand would be needed to fill up the known universe, back in the third century B.C. Did he simply have too much time on his hands? Not at all, insists Elwes: The Greek thinker was articulating an important idea — that no matter how unfathomably large a quantity may be, we can describe it with precision, thanks to mathematics. “Archimedes,” he writes, “was penning a manifesto for the expressive power of large numbers.”…
… [Elwes focuses] on numbers that are ridiculously large and yet finite. In the end, perhaps this is the most mind-boggling fact of all: that these enormous numbers, from Graham’s number to Fish 7 and beyond, fall as far short of infinity as does the humble number 1…
The mysteries of the massive: “The Mind-Boggling Science of Enormous Numbers,” @danfalk.bsky.social on @richardelwes.bsky.social in @undark.org.
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As we enumerate enormity, we might spare a thought for a seminal mathematician, Alan Turing; he died on this date in 1954. He was a foundational computer science pioneer (inventor of the Turing Machine (an influential model for the general-purpose computer), creator of the “Turing Test” (only too relevant in these AI-infected times), inspiration for “The Turing Award” (the “Nobel Prize of computing“), and cryptographer (leading member of the team that cracked the Enigma code during WWII).
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