Requiem for a cathedral

As I sit in my office writing this, the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris is burning.

It's hard for me to describe what I am feeling.  Mostly, it's a deep, deep grief that something beautiful, something irreplaceable, is gone forever.  It was a place of devotion, a building that had been lovingly cared for and added to for almost nine hundred years, an iconic symbol of the city of Paris.

And now it's gone.

I know that loss is part of the human condition, but this is a big one.  It appears that there isn't even anyone to blame, to take our minds off the grief, as there was with 9/11; the best guess anyone has right now of the cause is an accident during renovation.  That one blunder could deprive the world of something this grand is mind-boggling, but that's what seems to have happened as of the time I'm writing this.

[Image is licensed under the Creative Commons Diego Delso creator QS:P170,Q28147777, Paris Notre-Dame cathedral interior nave east 01d, CC BY 3.0]

This sense of grief at the destruction of something beautiful has been with me for a long, long time.  My first contact with it happened when I was little -- probably not more than four years old -- and my mom, who was a devoted gardener, presented me with a little packet of forget-me-not seeds.  I was so excited I had to open it and pour them into my hand, and in the process stumbled walking across the yard and dropped them into the grass.  I don't recall what my mother did other than saying "so much for that."  What I do remember is crying inconsolably that something that could have been beautiful was lost.  Every time I've been confronted by loss since then, I remember that little packet of seeds and how final and irrevocable it seemed, how nothing I could ever do would change what had happened, would ever make it all right again, world without end, amen.

And it always launches us into the if-only trap, doesn't it?  When a chance set of circumstances led to the death of our beloved border collie Doolin a few years ago, I spent the next weeks trying to parse what we could have changed had we only seen ahead.  Tiny differences -- waiting two minutes, leaving our house through a different door, taking a different path into our yard -- any one of those would have meant that she and that speeding car would not have been at the same place at the same time.

But we're not prescient, and all of those tiny events only add up in retrospect.

Every time something irrevocable occurs, from the minor to the overwhelming, I can't help thinking if only something could have been done differently.  If only someone hadn't blundered, hadn't had a moment of carelessness, had been paying more attention.

And each time, I am brought to the reality that the if-onlys are pointless.  It's done, it's over, it will never be again.

It's the scale of this one that's so horrible.  Consider the love and wonder of the millions of tourists who visited Notre Dame; the ones (like myself) who wanted to go, always intended to go, but never did; the thousands who devoted their time, effort, and money to the upkeep and renovation of the structure; the countless devout Catholics who considered this a central icon of their deeply-held faith; and you have a glimmer of understanding of what people are feeling right now.

I keep going back to the news stories, watching the videos as if to make sure I've understood right, that Notre Dame is really gone.  A part of me still can't quite believe it.

Of course, I still mourn the burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, so it may be a while before this wound heals.

Firefighters are still trying to save what they can, but the last word I heard was that even the vault might be in jeopardy.  Realistically, I don't see how anything but the stone framework will remain standing, and probably not even all of that.  And if they rebuild it, then what?  What they create might well be beautiful and awe-inspiring, as the 9/11 memorial and the new World Trade Center are, but it won't be what it was.  That will only exist in our remembrance -- and in our art, photography, and writing, which (after all) are our species's collective memory.

I'm not sure what else to say.  It still seems surreal, a blow to our false confidence that the world will always remain as it is.  I will be processing this for a long time, I think.  But for now, I'm going to go look at some photographs of a treasure that is now lost forever.

**********************************

Monday's post, about the institutionalized sexism in scientific research, prompted me to decide that this week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is Evelyn Fox Keller's brilliant biography of Nobel Prize-winning geneticist Barbara McClintock, A Feeling for the Organism.

McClintock worked for years to prove her claim that bits of genetic material that she called transposons or transposable elements could move around in the genome, with the result of switching on or switching off genes.  Her research was largely ignored, mostly because of the attitudes toward female scientists back in the 1940s and 1950s, the decades during which she discovered transposition.  Her male colleagues laughingly labeled her claim "jumping genes" and forthwith forgot all about it.

Undeterred, McClintock kept at it, finally amassing such a mountain of evidence that she couldn't be ignored.  Other scientists, some willingly and some begrudgingly, replicated her experiments, and support finally fell in line behind her.  She was awarded the 1983 Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine -- and remains to this day the only woman who has received an unshared Nobel in that category.

Her biography is simultaneously infuriating and uplifting, but in the end, the uplift wins -- her work demonstrates the power of perseverance and the delightful outcome of the protagonist winning in the end.  Keller's look at McClintock's life and personal struggles, and ultimate triumph, is a must-read for anyone interested in science -- or the role that sexism has played in scientific research.

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

Defeating the trolls

I'm a firm believer in the idea that most people, most of the time, are trying as hard as they can to do the right thing.

Yes, we often differ about what that right thing is.  Yes, sometimes we try and fail.  But my point is, we are usually working to do the best we can for ourselves and our loved ones.

But.

There is a minority of people who, to put it bluntly, are assholes.  These are the people who can't stand it if others get recognition, are furious when their pet ideas turn out to be wrong, or are simply spiteful and nasty.  And that ugly minority can, unfortunately, be extremely loud at times.

Look at what happened last week to Dr. Katie Bouman, the astrophysicist who spearheaded the project to generate the world's first actual photograph of a black hole.

You'd think that anyone with a scientific bent would have been thrilled, both for her and because of the extraordinary image she helped create.  And honestly, most of us were.  But there was a handful of trolls who couldn't stand the fact that she was getting accolades for her work -- and that she showed great modesty in highlighting the work of the rest of her team.

"No one algorithm or person made this image," Dr. Bouman wrote.  "It required the amazing talent of a team of scientists from around the globe and years of hard work to develop the instrument, data processing, imaging methods, and analysis techniques that were necessary to pull off this seemingly impossible feat.  It has been truly an honor, and I am so lucky to have had the opportunity to work with you all."

So said trolls decided that this was Dr. Bouman's way of admitting she really hadn't had much to do with the research, and set out to destroy her reputation.

Fake Twitter accounts and YouTube channels started popping up, all with the aim of casting doubt on her role in the project.  Many of them focused on her colleague Andrew Chael, who it was implied had done nearly all the research, which was then swiped by Bouman.  Chael himself was having none of it; he posted on Twitter a complete disavowal of the claim, and a demand that the attacks on Dr. Bouman stop.

The trolls then created a fake account in Chael's name and accelerated the nastiness.

Nota bene: if your opinion about something is on such shaky ground that in order to get people to believe it, you have to create a fake Twitter account, impersonate someone else, and then lie outright, you might want to consider whether you're right in the first place.

Twitter, to its credit (a credit that it must be said it often doesn't deserve), pulled the fake accounts as fast as it could, but not before there were thousands of people who had followed them, and tens of thousands of times that the false messages had been retweeted.  As with most false claims, it's damn hard to fix the damage once the claim is out there, regardless of how many times it's debunked, retracted, or deleted.  Witness the ongoing anti-vaxx idiocy, due largely to Andrew Wakefield, whose "studies" were withdrawn and whose work has been shown to be worthless.  Witness "chemtrails," whose genesis was due to a misquoted number on a Louisiana news broadcast.  Witness the ten thousand (literally) public lies Donald Trump has uttered in the last three years.

Undoing all that would be about as easy as putting toothpaste back into a tube.

As far as why anyone would be such a complete dick as to attack Dr. Bouman, most people are attributing it to sexism -- that the trolls couldn't believe that a woman had made such an achievement, and set out to prove that she'd relied on her male colleagues and then stole their glory.  Sadly, this explanation for the trolls' behavior is entirely plausible.  Despite considerable advances, it's still difficult for women to succeed in science.  Consider the 2017 study that showed teams led by women only receive 7% of the total grant money allocations, and a team led by a woman receives on average 40% of the money that a similar project receives if led by a man.  These figures are appalling, even if you take into account that only 17% of working scientists in physics and engineering are female -- the fields with the lowest diversity.

Which is itself appalling.

So this disgusting episode is yet another reason to be careful about what you believe online.  Double, triple, quadruple-check your sources before you pass along links.  That is especially true if the link supports something you're already inclined to believe; we all fall prey to confirmation bias.

Despite all this, I still think that humanity is, in the majority, good.  But being good means you speak up against the ugly minority who are determined to attack, demean, and degrade others.  Defeating the trolls takes an effort by all of us.  To paraphrase Edmund Burke (the paraphrase is to remove the sexist verbiage, the irony of which does not escape me): "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that the good do nothing."

**********************************

Monday's post, about the institutionalized sexism in scientific research, prompted me to decide that this week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is Evelyn Fox Keller's brilliant biography of Nobel Prize-winning geneticist Barbara McClintock, A Feeling for the Organism.

McClintock worked for years to prove her claim that bits of genetic material that she called transposons or transposable elements could move around in the genome, with the result of switching on or switching off genes.  Her research was largely ignored, mostly because of the attitudes toward female scientists back in the 1940s and 1950s, the decades during which she discovered transposition.  Her male colleagues laughingly labeled her claim "jumping genes" and forthwith forgot all about it.

Undeterred, McClintock kept at it, finally amassing such a mountain of evidence that she couldn't be ignored.  Other scientists, some willingly and some begrudgingly, replicated her experiments, and support finally fell in line behind her.  She was awarded the 1983 Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine -- and remains to this day the only woman who has received an unshared Nobel in that category.

Her biography is simultaneously infuriating and uplifting, but in the end, the uplift wins -- her work demonstrates the power of perseverance and the delightful outcome of the protagonist winning in the end.  Keller's look at McClintock's life and personal struggles, and ultimate triumph, is a must-read for anyone interested in science -- or the role that sexism has played in scientific research.

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

An avalanche of fire

One of the most utterly terrifying phenomena on Earth is called a pyroclastic flow.

Pyroclastic flows are explosive eruptions of volcanoes that release not molten rock, but finely pulverized debris and hot gases that then flow downhill at an astonishing rate -- in some cases, forming a cloud at a temperature of 1000 C moving at an almost unimaginable 700 kilometers per hour.  Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed by pyroclastic flows from Mount Vesuvius on August 24, 79 C.E., which killed everyone in their path and buried the cities under layers of ash, where they remained for centuries until being unearthed by archaeologists.

If you're not too prone to freak-out over such things, I strongly recommend this ten-minute animation that recreates the destruction of Pompeii:

More recently, a 1902 eruption of Mount Pelée on the island of Martinique triggered a pyroclastic flow that obliterated the city of Saint Pierre, killing 30,000 people in an estimated five minutes.  There were only three survivors -- Louis-Auguste Cyparis, who was lucky enough to be in an underground dungeon; Léon Compère-Léandre, who lived on the edge of town and still suffered severe burns; and Havivra Da Ifrile, who was on the beach when the eruption started and had the presence of mind to jump in a rowboat, where she was later found, unconscious and adrift, three kilometers offshore.

Saint Pierre before the eruption...

... and after:

[Images are in the Public Domain]

What has long been a mystery to volcanologists is how pyroclastic flows achieve the speeds they do, which, after all, is the key to their deadliness.  Lava flows, while they can do tremendous damage to houses and land, rarely cause loss of life because they can almost always be outrun (or in some cases, outwalked).  The fastest pyroclastic flows, on the other hand, are moving so rapidly that even if you had warning, you couldn't move quickly enough to escape.

But a paper last week in Nature describes how a team from three universities in New Zealand (Massey University, the University of Auckland, and the University of Otago) and one in the United States (the University of Oregon) created a model of pyroclastic flows, and found that the reason they travel so quickly is basically the principle of air hockey -- the cloud is suspended on a cushion of superheated air, reducing the friction to nearly zero.

In "Generation of Air Lubrication Within Pyroclastic Density Currents," by Gert Lube, Eric C. P. Breard, Jim Jones, Luke Fullard, Josef Dufek, Shane J. Cronin, and Ting Wang, we find out about a series of experiments that are not only cool but must have been extremely fun to carry out.  They built a twelve-meter-long chute, mined some volcanic particles (deposited in the 232 C.E. eruption of New Zealand's Mount Taupo), heated it up to 130 C, and sent 1000 kilograms of it at a time barreling down the chute, all the while filming it with an ultrafast camera.

As Michelle Starr, writing for Science Alert, describes the results:

[W]ithin the flow there were extremely high shear rates - the rate at which layers in a fluid flow past each other.  When shear increases, so does air pressure; and when shear rates are at their highest, that pressure produces a cushion of air just above the ground, pushing particles away from each other, with denser volcanic dust layers sliding over the top of it.

The result is that the flow keeps moving downhill at higher and higher rates until it hits an obstacle, dissipates, or cools enough that the effect diminishes and the particles slow down.

This makes me glad I live in such a benign part of the world.  Here in upstate New York, the worst we have to worry about is the occasional snowstorm, and the fact that the summers are distressingly short.  (This year, summer is scheduled for the second Thursday in July.)  But compared to living near an active volcano, or a hurricane zone, or Tornado Alley, or near a seismic fault line -- I'd say we're pretty damn fortunate.

But of all the natural disasters the Earth is capable of creating, I don't think there's anything quite as terrifying as these avalanches of fire -- unpredictable, lightning-fast, and capable of destroying everything in their path.  Compared to that, I'd choose our long, cold winters in half a heartbeat.

***********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a fun one; Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras, and Ella Morton.  The book is based upon a website of the same name that looks at curious, beautiful, bizarre, frightening, or fascinating places in the world -- the sorts of off-the-beaten-path destinations that you might pass by without ever knowing they exist.  (Recent entries are an astronomical observatory in Zweibrücken, Germany that has been painted to look like R2-D2; the town of Story, Indiana that is for sale for a cool $3.8 million; and the Michelin-rated kitchen run by Lewis Georgiades -- at the British Antarctic Survey’s Rothera Research Station, which only gets a food delivery once a year.)

This book collects the best of the Atlas Obscura sites, organizes them by continent, and tells you about their history.  It's a must-read for anyone who likes to travel -- preferably before you plan your next vacation.

(If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!)

The black heart of M87

It's awfully easy to get discouraged lately.

The news seems to go from bad to worse every day.  Government corruption, terrorist attacks both here and overseas, every other news story a testament of the amazing ability of Homo sapiens to treat each other horribly.

So when we have a triumph, we should celebrate it.  Because as Max Ehrmann put it, in his classic poem "Desiderata:" "Many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism...  With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world."

We got a lovely example of that a couple of days ago, with the revelation that scientists had amassed enough data from the Event Horizon Telescope project to produce the first-ever photograph of a black hole.  It's at the heart of the massive elliptical galaxy M87, in the constellation of Virgo, and is about 54 million light years away.  With no further ado, here's the photo:

I think the left-hand one -- with less magnification -- is even more amazing, because it shows the black hole in context with its surroundings.  It looks more "real."  But in either case, they're stunning.  The glow comes from matter being sucked into the black hole, being heated up to the point of producing x-rays as a sort of electromagnetic death scream before dropping forever beyond the event horizon.  For the very first time, we're seeing an actual image of one of the most bizarre phenomena in nature -- an object so massive that it warps space into a closed curve, so that even light can't escape.

But even this isn't my favorite image that has come out of this study.

This is:

This is Katie Bouman, the MIT postdoc (soon to be starting as an assistant professor at CalTech) whose algorithm made the black hole image a reality.  Bouman responded to her sudden fame with modesty.  "No one of us could've done it alone," she said.  "It came together because of lots of different people from many backgrounds."

Which may well be, but no one is questioning her pivotal role in this groundbreaking achievement.  And what I love about the photograph above is that it perfectly captures the joy of doing science -- what Nobel Prize-winning physicist Richard Feynman called "the pleasure of finding things out."  We now have a window into a piece of the universe that was invisible to us before, and that ineffable feeling is clearly captured in her expression.

There have already been six papers written about this accomplishment, and that's only the beginning.  I find myself wondering what other obscure and fascinating astronomical phenomena Bouman's algorithm could be used to photograph -- and what we might learn from seeing them for real for the first time.  I also wonder what effect that will have on us ordinary laypeople.  The physicists may be comfortable living in the world of their mathematical models (I heard one physicist friend say, "The models are the reality; everything else is just pretty pictures"), but the rest of us need to be more grounded in order to understand.  So what if we were to see more than an artist's conception of things like pulsars, quasars, gamma-ray bursters, type 1-A supernovae?

Kind of a surfeit of wonder, that would be.  But what a way to be overwhelmed, yes?

***********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a fun one; Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras, and Ella Morton.  The book is based upon a website of the same name that looks at curious, beautiful, bizarre, frightening, or fascinating places in the world -- the sorts of off-the-beaten-path destinations that you might pass by without ever knowing they exist.  (Recent entries are an astronomical observatory in Zweibrücken, Germany that has been painted to look like R2-D2; the town of Story, Indiana that is for sale for a cool $3.8 million; and the Michelin-rated kitchen run by Lewis Georgiades -- at the British Antarctic Survey’s Rothera Research Station, which only gets a food delivery once a year.)

This book collects the best of the Atlas Obscura sites, organizes them by continent, and tells you about their history.  It's a must-read for anyone who likes to travel -- preferably before you plan your next vacation.

(If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!)

The dangers of pseudoarchaeology

One of my ongoing peeves is that so many people put more faith in popular media claims than in what the scientists themselves are saying.

This can take many forms.  We have the straw-man approach, usually done with some agenda in mind, where someone will completely mischaracterize the science in order to convince people of a particular claim, and for some reason said people never think to find out what the scientists actually have to say on the matter.  (One example that especially sets my teeth on edge is the young-Earth creationists who say that the Big Bang model means "nothing exploded and created everything" and forthwith dismiss it as nonsense.)

An even more common form this takes is the current passion many people have for shows like Monster Quest and Ancient Aliens and Ghost Hunters, which aim to convince viewers that there is strong evidence for claims when there is actually little or none at all.  This kind of thing is remarkably hard to fight; when you have a charismatic figure who is trying to convince you that the Norse gods were actually superpowerful extraterrestrial visitors, and supporting that claim with evidence that is cherry-picked at best and entirely fabricated at worst, non-scientists can be suckered remarkably easily.

But "hard to fight" doesn't mean "give up," at least to archaeologist David Anderson of Radford University (Virginia).  Because he has absolutely had it with goofy claims that misrepresent the actual evidence, and is publicly calling out the people who do it.

Anderson's quest started in February, when a claim was made on The Joe Rogan Experience that a famous piece of Mayan art, from the sarcophagus of Mayan King K’inich Janaab’ Pakal, who died in 683 C.E., showed him ascending into the skies in a spaceship:

It's one of the favorite pieces of evidence from the "Ancient Aliens" crowd.  But the problem is, it's wrong -- not only from the standpoint that there almost certainly were no "Ancient Aliens."  They evidently never bothered to ask an actual expert in Mayan archaeology, because that's not even what the art is trying to depict. Anderson was infuriated enough that he responded to Rogan in a tweet: "Dear @joerogan… [the piece of Mayan art you mentioned] depicts [Pakal] falling into the underworld at the moment of his death."  The "rocket" beneath the king's body, Anderson explains, is a depiction of the underworld, and the rest of the "spaceship" is a "world tree" -- a common image in Mayan art, not to mention art from other cultures.

Rogan, to his credit, thanked Anderson for the correction, but some of his fans weren't so thrilled, and railed against Anderson as being a "mainstream archaeologist" (because that's bad, apparently) who was actively trying to suppress the truth about ancient aliens for some reason.  Anderson, for his part, is adamant that archaeologists and other scientists need to be better at calling out pseudoscience and the people who are promoting it.  He cites a study done at Chapman University (California) showing that 57% of Americans polled in 2018 believe in Atlantis (up from 40% in 2016) and 41% believe that aliens visited the Earth in antiquity and made contact with early human civilizations (up from 27%).

Anderson says, and I agree, that this is a serious problem, not only because of how high the raw numbers are, but because of the trend.  I know it's not really a scientist's job to make sure the public understands his/her research, but given the amount of bullshit out there (not to mention the general anti-science bent of the current administration), it's increasingly important.

You may wonder why I'm so passionate about this, and be thinking, "Okay, I see the problem with people doubting climate science, but what's the harm of people believing in ancient aliens?  It's harmless."  Which is true, up to a point.  But the problem is, once you've decided that evidence -- and the amount and quality thereof -- is no longer the sine qua non for support of a claim, you've gone onto some seriously thin ice.  Taking a leap into pseudoscience in one realm makes it all that much easier to jump into other unsupported craziness.  Consider, for example, the study that came out of the University of Queensland that found a strong correlation between being an anti-vaxxer and accepting conspiracy theories such as the ones surrounding the JFK assassination.

So learning some science and critical thinking are insulation against being suckered by counterfactual nonsense of all kinds.  Which is why yes, I do care that people are making false claims about a piece of Mayan artwork... and so should you.

***********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a fun one; Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras, and Ella Morton.  The book is based upon a website of the same name that looks at curious, beautiful, bizarre, frightening, or fascinating places in the world -- the sorts of off-the-beaten-path destinations that you might pass by without ever knowing they exist.  (Recent entries are an astronomical observatory in Zweibrücken, Germany that has been painted to look like R2-D2; the town of Story, Indiana that is for sale for a cool $3.8 million; and the Michelin-rated kitchen run by Lewis Georgiades -- at the British Antarctic Survey’s Rothera Research Station, which only gets a food delivery once a year.)

This book collects the best of the Atlas Obscura sites, organizes them by continent, and tells you about their history.  It's a must-read for anyone who likes to travel -- preferably before you plan your next vacation.

(If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!)

The library of possibilities

In the brilliant Doctor Who episode "Turn Left," the Doctor's companion Donna Noble finds out that a single decision she made on a single day -- whether to turn right or left at an intersection -- creates two possible futures, one of them absolutely horrific.

It's a common trope in science fiction (although in my opinion, it's seldom been done as well, nor as poignantly, as in "Turn Left"), to look at how our futures could have been significantly different than they are.  I even riffed on this in one of my own novels -- Lock & Key -- in which there are not only multiple possible outcomes for each decision, there's a library (and a remarkably grumpy Head Librarian) that keeps track of not only what has happened, but what could have happened.  For every human being who ever existed, or who ever might have existed.

If you want to know how I handled the idea, you'll just have to read the book.

In reality, of course, the number of possible outcomes for even a simple series of choices increases exponentially with each successive decision, so in any realistic situation the possibilities are about as close to infinite as you can get.  Which makes a paper that came out in Nature last week even more extraordinary.

In order to see how amazing it is, a brief lesson in quantum mechanics for the non-physics-types in the studio audience.

One of the basic concepts in quantum physics is superposition: any measurable property of a wave (or subatomic particle) exists in multiple states at the same time.  The distribution of these states -- more specifically, the probability that the particle is in a specific state -- can be described by its wave function.  And the completely counterintuitive outcome of this model is that prior to observation, the particle is in all possible states at once, and only drops into a particular one (in a process called "collapsing the wave function") when it's observed.  (Regular readers of Skeptophilia may recall that I did a post on a particular part of this theory, Wigner's paradox, a few weeks ago.)

So that's amazing enough.  Particles and waves exist as a multitude of present possibilities, all at the same time.  But now, a collaboration between physicists at Griffith University (Queensland, Australia) and Nanyang Technological University (Singapore) have gone a step further:

They have developed a prototype device that generates a quantum state embodying all of the particle's future states simultaneously.

 My first thought was, "That can't possibly mean what it sounds like."  But yes, that turns out to be exactly what it means.  "When we think about the future, we are confronted by a vast array of possibilities," said Mile Gu of Nanyang Technological University, who led the study.  "These possibilities grow exponentially as we go deeper into the future. For instance, even if we have only two possibilities to choose from each minute, in less than half an hour there are 14 million possible futures.  In less than a day, the number exceeds the number of atoms in the universe."

So having even a simple system that generates all possible futures at the same time is somewhere beyond amazing, and into the realm of the nearly incomprehensible.

"Our approach is to synthesize a quantum superposition of all possible futures for each bias," said Farzad Ghafari, of Griffith University.  "By interfering these superpositions with each other, we can completely avoid looking at each possible future individually.  In fact, many current artificial intelligence (AI) algorithms learn by seeing how small changes in their behavior can lead to different future outcomes, so our techniques may enable quantum enhanced AIs to learn the effect of their actions much more efficiently."

"The functioning of this device is inspired by the Nobel Laureate Richard Feynman," added Dr Jayne Thompson, a member of the Singapore team.  "When Feynman started studying quantum physics, he realized that when a particle travels from point A to point B, it does not necessarily follow a single path.  Instead, it simultaneously transverses all possible paths connecting the points.  Our work extends this phenomenon and harnesses it for modeling statistical futures."

So I'm sitting here, trying to wrap my brain around the implication of this research.  Quantum indeterminacy indicates that we don't live in a completely deterministic universe; there's always some uncertainty, built into the actual fabric of the universe.  But the idea that we could, even in principle, create a system from which we could analyze all of the possible futures is stunning.

As Maggie Carmichael, the Assistant Librarian in Lock & Key, puts it:

All of our actions, even the smallest ones, make a difference.  Most of us never find out what that difference is.  All choices have consequences, however insignificant they seem at the time.  However, the truth of that statement is only evident here in the Library, where we can see what would have happened if we had acted otherwise.  Without that information, what happens simply… happens.

***********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a fun one; Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras, and Ella Morton.  The book is based upon a website of the same name that looks at curious, beautiful, bizarre, frightening, or fascinating places in the world -- the sorts of off-the-beaten-path destinations that you might pass by without ever knowing they exist.  (Recent entries are an astronomical observatory in Zweibrücken, Germany that has been painted to look like R2-D2; the town of Story, Indiana that is for sale for a cool $3.8 million; and the Michelin-rated kitchen run by Lewis Georgiades -- at the British Antarctic Survey’s Rothera Research Station, which only gets a food delivery once a year.)

This book collects the best of the Atlas Obscura sites, organizes them by continent, and tells you about their history.  It's a must-read for anyone who likes to travel -- preferably before you plan your next vacation.

(If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!)

Whales, fossils, and the limitations of commons sense

One of my favorite things about science is its ability to jolt us out of our preconceived notions.

We all have common-sensical ideas about how the universe works, and they allow us to function pretty well most days.  The problem is, some of them are correct and some of them are wildly wrong, and how do you tell which is which?  As physicist Sean Carroll eloquently puts it, in his wonderful book The Particle at the End of the Universe:

It's only because the data force us into corners that we are inspired to create the highly counterintuitive structures that form the basis for modern physics...  Imagine that a person in the ancient world was wondering what made the sun shine.  It's not really credible to imagine that they would think about it for a while and decide, "I bet most of the sun is made up of particles that can bump into one another and stick together, with one of them converting into a different kind of particle by emitting yet a third particle, which would be massless if it wasn't for the existence of a field that fills space and breaks the symmetry that is responsible for the associated force, and that fusion of the original two particles releases energy, which we ultimately see as sunlight."  But that's exactly what happens.  It took many decades to put this story together, and it never would have happened if our hands weren't forced by the demands of observation and experiment at every step.

That's why I find it frustrating when someone says, "Oh, that can't be right, it sounds ridiculous," and forthwith stops thinking about it.  We've seen over and over that "sounding ridiculous" is not a reliable indicator of the truth of a claim.  The only acceptable criterion is hard evidence -- as long as you've got that, what your claim sounds like is entirely irrelevant.

This point comes up every year in my AP Biology class when we talk about the evolutionary history of whales.  The fossil record for whales was pretty lousy, because being marine mammals their skeletons are mostly destroyed by scavengers and degraded by seawater, not to mention the fact that many of them end up in the abyssal regions of the ocean floor.  After that, we'd only find them if those deep oceanic sediments get scooped up by the movement of tectonic plates and thrust up onto land -- something that (1) doesn't happen that often, and (2) results in significant deformation of the rocks formed, thus completely destroying any fossils that were present.

It wasn't until a fossil bed was discovered in Pakistan in the early 1980s that we actually got any data on what the ancestors of today's whales looked like.  The northern parts of Pakistan and India -- i.e., the Himalayas -- were formed in exactly the way I've described above.  We lucked out, though, because at least one rock formation not only has ancestral whale fossils, but ones that survived in reasonably good condition.

Now, here's the counterintuitive part; the fossils found in Pakistan and India have conclusively shown that the nearest living non-cetacean relatives of whales are hippos...

... and artiodactylid ruminants.  For example, cattle, sheep, goats, deer, and antelopes.

This is the point where people look at a picture of a blue whale and a white-tailed deer and say, "Hang on a moment.  That can't be right."  But it is -- as confirmed not only from the fossil record, but from extensive genetic studies.

We just got further confirmation of this relationship from an entirely different fossil bed -- this one from mid-Eocene (i.e., about forty million years old) rocks in Peru.  A team led by paleontologist Olivier Lambert, of the Institut Royal des Sciences Naturelles de Belgique, has discovered not only a new species but an entirely new genus of proto-cetaceans.  Called Peregocetus pacificus, it catches whale evolution right in the middle between the terrestrial ancestors and their aquatic descendants.

The authors write:

[T]his unique four-limbed whale bore caudal vertebrae with bifurcated and anteroposteriorly expanded transverse processes, like those of beavers and otters, suggesting a significant contribution of the tail during swimming.  The fore- and hind-limb proportions roughly similar to geologically older quadrupedal whales from India and Pakistan, the pelvis being firmly attached to the sacrum, an insertion fossa for the round ligament on the femur, and the retention of small hooves with a flat anteroventral tip at fingers and toes indicate that Peregocetus was still capable of standing and even walking on land.  This new record from the southeastern Pacific demonstrates that early quadrupedal whales crossed the South Atlantic and nearly attained a circum-equatorial distribution with a combination of terrestrial and aquatic locomotion abilities less than 10 million years after their origin and probably before a northward dispersal toward higher North American latitudes.

So that's kind of amazing.  It also illustrates why we can't rely on "that sounds reasonable" to determine what's true.  This is just one example of how science has come up with a result that we never would have arrived at using common sense -- as helpful as that is in most ordinary situations.

Reconstruction of ancestral cetacean Pakicetus inachus [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Nobu Tamura (http://spinops.blogspot.com), Pakicetus BW, CC BY 3.0]

Myself, I like the capacity of science to astonish us.  It would be incredibly boring if the universe turned out to work exactly the way we thought, that our minds are perfect little windows through which we perceive everything right the first time.

Much better to be reminded of our limitations -- and to have such a powerful tool to check our guesses, and correct us when we're wrong.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a fun one; Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras, and Ella Morton.  The book is based upon a website of the same name that looks at curious, beautiful, bizarre, frightening, or fascinating places in the world -- the sorts of off-the-beaten-path destinations that you might pass by without ever knowing they exist.  (Recent entries are an astronomical observatory in Zweibrücken, Germany that has been painted to look like R2-D2; the town of Story, Indiana that is for sale for a cool $3.8 million; and the Michelin-rated kitchen run by Lewis Georgiades -- at the British Antarctic Survey’s Rothera Research Station, which only gets a food delivery once a year.)

This book collects the best of the Atlas Obscura sites, organizes them by continent, and tells you about their history.  It's a must-read for anyone who likes to travel -- preferably before you plan your next vacation.

(If you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!)