The fate of Flight 1282

In many people, there's a deep-seated need to find a reason for the bad things that happen in the world.

Well, of course, there always are reasons, but those are proximal causes; the car crashed into a telephone pole because the tires hit an icy spot on the road, Uncle Hubert died because his cancer recurred, the house caught fire because of an electrical short in the wiring.  But there's this strange desire to ascribe more to it than that, to find ultimate causes beyond the here's-why-it-happened proximal causes.

It's not limited to unfortunate events; that sort of thinking can extend to positive ones as well.  "It was meant to be" is a deeply seductive idea.  I remember running into it in the fantasy literature I grew up with, that certain outcomes were fated to be by some sort of overarching pattern to the universe.  Take this example from The Lord of the Rings:

"There was more than one power at work, Frodo," [Gandalf said.]  "The Ring was trying to get back to its Master.  It had slipped from Isildur's hand and betrayed him, then when a chance come it caught poor Déagol, and he was murdered; and after that Gollum, and it had devoured him.  It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean, and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his deep pool again.  So now, when its Master was awake once more and sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum.  Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire! 

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker.  I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker.  In which case, you, Frodo, also were meant to have it.  And that is an encouraging thought."

I think I'm not alone in having read this passage and found it a comforting idea.  I ran into it again, even more explicitly, in the novel/fable for adults The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, in which the main character is told repeatedly that if you are on the right path to accomplishing your life's goal, "the universe itself will conspire to make certain you succeed."

Wouldn't it be lovely if that were true?

Most people are profoundly uncomfortable with the idea that the universe might be simply a weird and chaotic place -- full of proximal causes, but damn few ultimate ones.  That it's a place where things sometimes work out even when you do everything wrong, and sometimes don't, even when you do everything right.

The reason the topic comes up is the much-publicized emergency landing made on January 5 by Alaska Airlines Flight 1282 from Portland, Oregon to Ontario, California, minutes after takeoff, when a chunk of the fuselage blew off.  Astonishingly -- some say miraculously -- there were no serious injuries.

Even weirder is that the two seats next to the place where the damage occurred, 26A and 26B, were empty at the time.

To say this is fortunate is a significant understatement.  Claims have surfaced since then that the two seats had been sold and the two passengers were delayed and missed the flight, but those claims have not been verified and it's possible the seats were simply empty.

Almost immediately, two explanations began to circulate, one benevolent and one of a darker hue.

The more positive one was that a divine power had intervened to save the two people who would have sat in those seats, as well as the rest of the people on the plane.  "God is great!" posted a devout Reddit user.  "How can anyone doubt His existence after something like this?"

Well, the sticking point is all the times circumstances conspire to produce a more gruesome outcome.  It's all very well to see God's hand in saving the two presumed passengers, and to utter platitudes like "God must have a plan for them!"  The problem starts when you apply it the other way.  In for a penny, in for a pound, you know?  If Great-Aunt Petunia falls down the stairs and breaks her neck, do you then say, "I guess God was done with her"?

Sometimes things end happily, but often they don't.  If you think there's a Grand Plan, you'd better be ready to explain both.  (Unless you fall back on "God works in mysterious ways," which is an unassailable position but explains exactly nothing.)

Also circulating, though, is a less pleasant option for the reason behind the aircraft accident, and that's the one taken by the conspiracy theorists.  I've already seen a variety of twists on this, but the most common is that Alaska Airlines was running a test of its emergency protocols and deliberately staged the rupture, but at least was kind enough to make sure the two seats next to the hole would be unoccupied at the time.  Besides being wildly unlikely -- airplanes are expensive, and there are lots of ways to test emergency protocols without blowing a hole in the side of one in midair -- there's the dubious logic of the airline company saving two people while simultaneously risking the lives of the other 177 people on board.

But as usual, the conspiracy theorists are convinced they've figured it out.  Better a horrifying reason, apparently, than no reason at all.

Whether you buy the first or second scenario, though, the urge to find an explanation for the happy outcome of the accident (beyond the proximal causes, such as the skill of the pilot and copilot in landing the damaged plane) is leading people onto some very thin philosophical ice.  I'm reminded of the brilliant and devastating novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder, which I read when I was in eleventh grade.  I don't exaggerate when I say I never saw the world the same way afterward.  In the book, devout and innocent Brother Juniper, a monk in seventeenth-century Peru, is devastated when five members of the village where he lives were killed in the collapse of a bridge over a canyon.  Believing that God always has a reason for everything, for "the fall of every sparrow," he sets out to study the life histories of each of the victims, to see if he can determine why those five and no others were killed.

In the end, he reaches a deeply troubling conclusion; either the mind of God is so subtle that a human could never parse it, or else there was no reason.  Things simply happen because they happen; there are no patterns and no ultimate causes.  It's a heretical position, and at the end of the book Brother Juniper is burned at the stake by the Inquisition along with all of his writings.

So perhaps there is a reason that the two seats on Flight 1282 were unoccupied, beyond simple happenstance.  If so, it's beyond me to see what that might be, given how many times things go wrong and people do die.  Scary as it is, I think it's much more likely that the universe is simply a chaotic place where -- to quote the wonderful song "The Monkey's Paw" by Laurie Anderson -- "it's the roll of the dice, a shot in the dark, the big wheel, the big ride."

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Dream weaving

In the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Night Terrors," the ship gets trapped in a phenomenon called "Tyken's Rift," one of the myriad hand-waving scientific phenomena they came up with as plot devices.  It's some sort of rip in the space-time continuum -- I swear, given how often it rips in that show, you'd swear the space-time continuum was made of wet Kleenex -- and the upshot is that it causes a weird result for the crew.  They lose their ability to drop into REM sleep, so they're prevented from dreaming.

And it causes them to start hallucinating, and eventually, to go violently insane.  It'd happened to another ship, whose crew ended up killing each other.  This led to one of the single creepiest images the show ever came up with, while Dr. Crusher is in the morgue doing post-mortems on the dead crew members -- and is beginning to hallucinate herself.

There are a number of aspects of the episode that are pretty silly, but this one scene works brilliantly, mainly because it highlights exactly how surreal and terrifying dreams can be.  While you're inside them, they seem absolutely real.  In the last couple of years, I've had a number of dreams of being attacked by an animal -- odd in and of itself, because I always have gotten along with animals.  Dogs, in fact, like me a great deal better than people do.  But each time, I'm minding my own business, and some animal charges me, causing me to wake up, and more than once, to shout out, waking my poor long-suffering wife.

Why do I dream this stuff?  In fact, why does anyone dream what they do?  That's an interesting, and not an easy, question.  It brings to mind a topic that came periodically in my biology classes, involving the difference between proximal and ultimate causes.  In a proximal sense, we know that dreaming is caused by an activation of the visual and auditory cortices and a reduction in activity of the prefrontal cortex during REM sleep, triggering us to imagine vivid images and sounds while simultaneously shutting off one of the primary "reality filters" we have (explaining why dreams can seem to make sense while we're in them, and completely batshit insane once we wake up).

But when students asked "why do we dream?" that's not usually what they meant.  They were looking for a deeper, ultimate cause -- what purpose does it serve?  What is the overarching reason for dreaming?  And there, we go into what is largely uncharted territory.  Science, it turns out, is not so good at teleology -- the analysis of ultimate causes, explanations that don't just look at the mechanism, but the purpose or driver behind them.

This is why I was a little dubious about a paper by Erik Hoel of Tufts University that appeared in the journal Patterns last week.  Entitled, "The Overfitted Brain: Dreams Evolved to Assist Generalization," Hoel claims that his study of artificial intelligence/deep neural networks suggests that the purpose of dreams is to help us generalize what we've learned -- that our ordinary experience gives us limited ability to develop flexibility (i.e., we usually are confronted with the same stuff over and over again), so dreams interject a hefty dose of pure weirdness to help us learn to deal with the unexpected.

Hoel writes:

Understanding of the evolved biological function of sleep has advanced considerably in the past decade.  However, no equivalent understanding of dreams has emerged.  Contemporary neuroscientific theories often view dreams as epiphenomena, and many of the proposals for their biological function are contradicted by the phenomenology of dreams themselves.  Now, the recent advent of deep neural networks (DNNs) has finally provided the novel conceptual framework within which to understand the evolved function of dreams.  Notably, all DNNs face the issue of overfitting as they learn, which is when performance on one dataset increases but the network's performance fails to generalize (often measured by the divergence of performance on training versus testing datasets).  This ubiquitous problem in DNNs is often solved by modelers via “noise injections” in the form of noisy or corrupted inputs.  The goal of this paper is to argue that the brain faces a similar challenge of overfitting and that nightly dreams evolved to combat the brain's overfitting during its daily learning.  That is, dreams are a biological mechanism for increasing generalizability via the creation of corrupted sensory inputs from stochastic activity across the hierarchy of neural structures.  Sleep loss, specifically dream loss, leads to an overfitted brain that can still memorize and learn but fails to generalize appropriately. 

It's an interesting idea.  And I have to admit that the dream I had a few nights ago, wherein a horse jumped a fence and charged straight at me, hooves flying and teeth bared, is pretty fucking stochastic.  I am, however, a bit wary of any claim of the form "X is a widespread phenomenon, and it happens because of Y."  Complex phenomena -- which dreaming certainly is, given people's varied experience of it -- seldom have only a single proximal cause, much less a single ultimate cause.  And as I said, ultimate causes are notoriously tricky to identify anyhow.  Even some simpler questions to frame than dreaming -- such as why humans have upright posture -- have yet to be settled.  (Some suggestions are that it was to give us farther sight distance in the grasslands where we evolved, to leave our hands free to manipulate tools, that it made it easier to wade in order to gather aquatic organisms like shellfish for food, that it improved walking and running endurance, that it allowed our ancestors to reach fruit in trees more easily, that it made it easier for mothers to hold their infants while moving from place to place...  In point of fact, it could be any of these, all of these, or various other advantages not on the list, and it would be extremely difficult to discern which is correct.)

All of which is not meant to criticize Hoel's hypothesis specifically, because it's pretty intriguing.  I'm just always hesitant to jump to an appealing explanation just because "it sounds like it makes sense."  Reality is awfully complex, and explanations can be hard to come by.

But whatever the reason is, I'd sure like it if I could stop dreaming about being attacked by vicious animals.  My wife would like it, too.  Being awakened in the middle of the night because your husband is dreaming he's being attacked by a raging wombat kind of gets old after a while.

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Too many people think of chemistry as being arcane and difficult formulas and laws and symbols, and lose sight of the amazing reality it describes.  My younger son, who is the master glassblower for the chemistry department at the University of Houston, was telling me about what he's learned about the chemistry of glass -- why it it's transparent, why different formulations have different properties, what causes glass to have the colors it does, or no color at all -- and I was astonished at not only the complexity, but how incredibly cool it is.

The world is filled with such coolness, and it's kind of sad how little we usually notice it.  Colors and shapes and patterns abound, and while some of them are still mysterious, there are others that can be explained in terms of the behavior of the constituent atoms and molecules.  This is the topic of the phenomenal new book The Beauty of Chemistry: Art, Wonder, and Science by Philip Ball and photographers Wenting Zhu and Yan Liang, which looks at the chemistry of the familiar, and illustrates the science with photographs of astonishing beauty.

Whether you're an aficionado of science or simply someone who is curious about the world around you, The Beauty of Chemistry is a book you will find fascinating.  You'll learn a bit about the chemistry of everything from snowflakes to champagne -- and be entranced by the sheer beauty of the ordinary.

[Note: if you purchase this book from the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]