Advice for scientists from a central banker

The Washingtonian is the capital city’s glossy monthly. When I first moved to Washington, DC, in 1990, the magazine seemed obsessed with real estate, lawyers, and the local ecosystem of politicians, lobbyists, and journalists.

Recently, however, the magazine has broadened its scope. One issue this year even had a profile of Chris Monroe, a physicist at the nearby University of Maryland who measures and exploits the quantum properties of cold atoms.

I haven’t finished perusing the November issue, so I can’t tell you if it includes any physics, but it does have an interesting interview with Donald Kohn, the former vice chairman of the Federal Reserve.

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The interview mostly covers Kohn’s role in, and views on, the US economy during his long tenure at the Fed. He served under Paul Volker during the stagflation crisis of the 1970s and under Ben Bernanke during the current financial crisis. But I found his answer to the anonymous interviewer’s final question to be the most thought-provoking. I reproduce it here in full.

What have you learned about life?

To expect the unexpected. One of the difficult things is to recognize what you don’t know. One of the traits I would advocate for policy makers is flexibility. I’m sure this is true in foreign policy and elsewhere, but it’s certainly true in economic policy. Our understanding of the systems that we’re interacting with, people’s behavior, is very partial. We should expect to be surprised quite often.

One of the very hard things to know is, when incoming data on the economy isn’t going the way you expect it to go, does that suggest something really has changed or that it’s just a blip in the data? Sorting out the signal from the noise is very hard. You’ve got to be ready to ask tough questions of yourself, of your colleagues, of your data.

You’ve got to be creative in thinking about current situations and how to respond to them. That all starts with, in my mind, humility about what you know.

Expecting humility from physicists might be too ambitious, but we should all be skeptical and flexible when it comes to our own data, theories, and computer models. The list of discoveries that grew from anomalous blips is long.

If Arno Penzias and Robert Wilson had stuck with their first explanation—pigeon droppings—for a blip in their microwave data, they wouldn’t have gone on to discover the microwave background and win a Nobel prize.

Charles Day

GhettoPhysics

San Diego Comic-Con International is a four-day convention about science fiction and fantasy as depicted in books, magazines, movies, video games, and other media. Animators are increasingly applying physics to make their movies and games look more realistic. With that justification, I applied for and obtained a press pass for this year’s event, which took place in July.

It turned out I couldn’t go, but as a result of registering I’ve been receiving a modest stream of e-mailed press releases about future movies and TV shows. Thanks to its title, the most recent e-mail stood out above all the rest: “GhettoPhysics Announces Release.”

GhettoPhysics is a 94-minute docudrama that, in the words of the press release,

explores how power is wielded in the world through the examination of the interplay between Pimps and Hos. From street corners to Wall Street, on a subtle and globally consequential level, we witness today’s modern pimps selling their vision of business while the women do all of the work.

Through the use of documentary footage, animation, satire and dramatization, this film features notable thought leaders including Dr. Cornel West, Ice-T, KRS-One, Too Short, John Perkins, Cynthia McKinney, William H. Arntz (co-director), and Norman Lear.

From the streets to the classroom to the boardroom, GhettoPhysics details the worlds where the game is being played by the rules of the oldest profession known to man. The power interactions in politics and economics are not typically referred to as a game, but this is exactly what is taking place, and using the language of the street is a simplified way of describing such power dynamics.

GhettoPhysics helps you become more aware of these dynamics and play them from a position of personal power. Themes of empowerment and hope emerge creating awareness of “the game” and empowering individuals to choose the role they play in every situation they encounter.

If you want a better idea of what the movie is like, check out the trailer. But be warned: Despite the bleeping out of swear words, you might find the trailer offensive.

Although the trailer includes a scene from what looks like a physics class, I doubt the movie contains much physics. Why, then, did the movie’s makers put “physics” in the title?

I suspect the answer has something to do with what physics is: the quest to understand nature at its most fundamental and therefore most general. GhettoPhysics looks at how men wield power over women in various arenas, including business, politics, and the home. If, as the movie’s makers presumably contend, masculine power is universal, then calling an investigation into it “physics” is metaphorically apt and rhetorically strong.

Whatever you think of the trailer—or even the movie if you watch it—I find it oddly encouraging that “physics” appears in the title. During the cold war, scientists in movies tended to be mad geniuses, as if to emphasize the awful destructive power of nuclear weapons that scientists had helped create.

Now, movie scientists—especially physicists—are still eccentric, but, like The Big Bang Theory‘s Sheldon and Leonard, are engaged in pursuits that are both challenging and benign.

Charles Day

While I’m on vacation

This week I’m on vacation on California’s Central Coast. I won’t be blogging or doing any other work (besides checking e-mail to make sure I don’t have a huge mound of the stuff when I return).

As a temporary alternative to my Dayside musings (and, I hope, a permanent supplement to them), I recommend you visit Computing Now.

Created by the IEEE Computer Society, Computing Now draws its material from the society’s flagship magazine, Computer, and the flagship’s flotilla of specialist magazines, among them IEEE Security and Privacy, IEEE Pervasive Computing, and Computing in Science and Engineering. The resulting mix of articles and news covers all the practical, social, and scientific aspects of computing.

Charles Day

Physicists are funnier than physics

In 1998 Physics Today‘s editors decided to celebrate the magazine’s 50th anniversary with a special issue. Among the one-time features we considered was a humor competition. Readers were invited to submit funny physics stories. The best would be published in the anniversary issue.

Well, that was the plan. The entries were so bad, so unfunny, that we decided not to run any of them. Despite numbering around 130 000, the magazine’s readers had failed to find the fun in physics.

There are jokes about physics. In my undergraduate statistical mechanics class, the lecturer, a self-professed socialist, explained that the Boltzmann distribution, not an equitable distribution, was the most probable—”unfortunately,” he remarked with perfect comic timing. And of course, I expect you’ve heard a joke or two about the uncertainty principle, “Heisenberg walks into a bar . . . or does he?”

In general, physics isn’t a rich source of humor. It’s too abstract and rarefied, too free of irony. But, I contend, those same qualities mean that the people who practice physics are objects of fun, if not for physicists themselves, then for the nonphysics laity.

The CBS sitcom The Big Bang Theory draws its humor from the obsessive nerdiness of its main charactors, an assortment of Caltech physics students, as this clip shows.

Paul Dirac was perhaps the most purely esoteric physicist. As if to prove my contention, there are several humorous anecdotes about him, including this one:

Dirac was watching Anya Kapitza knitting while he was talking physics with Peter Kapitza. A couple of hours after he left, Dirac rushed back, very excited. “You know, Anya,” he said, “watching the way you were making this sweater I got interested in the topological aspect of the problem. I found that there is another way of doing it and that there are only two possible ways. One is the one you were using; another is like that . . . ” And he demonstrated the other way, using his long fingers. His newly discovered “other way,” Anya informed him, is well known to women and is none other than “purling.”

In being funnier than their metier, physicists are like Mr. Anchovy and other chartered accountants. The Monty Python sketch “Lion Tamer” doesn’t work if you replace “accountancy” with “physics,” but it still makes me laugh.

Charles Day

The punishment cell

My brain makes odd connections. A report yesterday about the rescued Chilean miners mentioned that they would be wearing sunglasses to protect their dark-adapted eyes as they neared the surface. That detail brought to mind someone else who spent a long time in near darkness: Natan Sharanksy.

In 1973 Sharansky wanted to leave the Soviet Union, where he worked as an applied mathematician, and emigrate to Israel. The Soviet Union’s Ministry of Internal Affairs refused to grant him and other Jews exit visas. Involuntarily, he became a refusenik; voluntarily, he became a human rights campaigner.

Four years later Sharansky was convicted, wrongly, of spying for the US and sentenced to 13 years hard labor in a Siberian prison camp. For minor breaches of prison rules, such as sharpening his toothbrush to cut food, he was confined for long periods in one of the prison’s punishment cells. Here’s how he described the cell in his 1988 memoir Fear No Evil:

The punishment cell was in the basement, where the darkness was broken only by a dull lamp over the door so the guard could see me through the peephole. The cement floor of my cell measured about two meters by one and an half. In the middle was a little cement stump that was almost too small to sit on. The walls were moist with large wet spots, and the damp plaster was peeling off. The moisture quickly penetrated through my clothing. At first I didn’t feel the cold, but I could see that night would be difficult.

Around the world, individuals and societies, including the American Physical Society, campaigned for Sharansky’s release. In 1988 on Berlin’s Glienicke Bridge, a traditional location for cold war deals, Sharansky and three real Western bloc spies were swapped for five real Eastern bloc spies.

Like the story of the Chilean miners, Sharansky’s has a happy ending. After his release, he was reunited with his wife, emigrated—at last—to Israel, formed a political party, and was elected to the Knesset.

There’s another similarity between the miners’ rescue and Sharansky’s release. Both were possible thanks to people outside the San Jose mine and the Perm 25 camp. We might never be accidentally trapped in a mine or wrongly sent to a prison, but if we get the chance to help those who are, we should seize it.

Charles Day

Why are nonscientists skeptical of climate change?

Hal Lewis is a professor emeritus of physics at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Upset about how the American Physical Society (APS) has dealt with climate change, he resigned from the society last week—very publicly.

In a widely circulated open letter to Curtis Callan, the APS president, Lewis referred to anthropogenic climate change as “the greatest and most successful pseudoscientific fraud I have seen in my long life as a physicist.”

I am not a climatologist, nor is Lewis, but we’re both scientists. Even though I disagree with his characterization of the science behind climate change, I respect both his skepticism and his dissent. But what of the skepticism of nonscientists, such as Senator Jim Inhofe of Oklahoma, Virginia’s attorney general Ken Cuccinelli , or my sister’s friend Kate whom I met two years ago in the Castle Hotel in my hometown of Conwy?

I don’t summarily discount the views of Jim, Ken, and Kate because they’re not scientists. But the answer to the question, Are humans warming Earth?, is a scientific one with a scientific answer. If their skepticism doesn’t spring from science, where does it come from?

Religion is not likely to be the source. Unlike evolution or Big Bang cosmology, anthropogenic climate change doesn’t challenge the dogmas of mainstream religions. Indeed, John Houghton, a former chair of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, has been successful in persuading his fellow evangelicals that climate stewardship is a Christian priority.

My guess—and that’s what it is—is that nonscientists don’t believe humans are warming the planet for the same reason that some sedentary people won’t eat more vegetables or exercise more to avert an untimely death: Those remedies are so unpalatable and onerous that people deny they’re needed.

But Earth’s climate or a human’s arteries don’t care what we think. Doing nothing is the risk.

Charles Day

Lies, damned lies, and impact factors

In a commentary published four years ago in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Eugene Garfield outlined the history of the journal impact factor.

He and Irving Sher created the impact factor in the early 1960s to help determine which journals should be included in the then new Science Citation Index. Relying solely on the number of papers published in a journal, they feared, risked ignoring thin, highly selective journals, such as the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

In case you didn’t know, a journal’s impact factor for a given year is the average number of citations received by papers published in the journal during the two preceding years. Letters to the editor, editorials, book reviews, and other non-papers are excluded from the impact factor calculation.

Review papers that don’t necessarily contain new scientific knowledge yet provide useful overviews garner lots of citations. Five of the top 10 perennially highest-impact-factor journals, including the top four, are review journals.

In physics the top journal by impact factor, and the 10th highest in all of science, is Reviews of Modern Physics, which published its first issue in 1929. When I checked this afternoon, a 2004 paper by Igor Zutic, Jaroslav Fabian, and Sankar Das Sarma entitled “Spintronics: Fundamentals and Applications” had racked up 1669 citations!

Now suppose you’re a journal editor or publisher. In these tough financial times, cash-strapped libraries use impact factors to determine which subscriptions to keep and which to cancel. How would you raise your journal’s impact factor?

Publishing fewer and better papers is one method. Or you could run more review articles. But, as a paper posted recently on arXiv describes, there’s another option: You can manipulate the impact factor by publishing your own papers that cite your own journal.

The paper’s authors are two mathematicians from the University of Minnesota, Douglas Arnold and Kristine Fowler. “Nefarious Numbers” is the title they chose for the paper. Its abstract reads as follows:

We investigate the journal impact factor, focusing on the applied mathematics category. We demonstrate that significant manipulation of the impact factor is being carried out by the editors of some journals and that the impact factor gives a very inaccurate view of journal quality, which is poorly correlated with expert opinion.

When I ask physicists how they pick which journals to publish in, “audience” is the most common answer: They want their peers to read their work. I’m not sure whether the manipulation of impact factors hurts research, but it would be a pity if libraries canceled their subscriptions to journals whose impact factors are honestly earned.

Charles Day

Photoreceptors, carburetors, and intelligent design

A paper in today’s Nature caught my eye. E. J. Chichilnisky of the Salk Institute for Biological Studies in San Diego and his collaborators set out to determine how the cells in primate retinas are wired to sense color.

Now you might think, as I did before reading the paper, that the problem had already been solved. Our retinas contain three types of photoreceptive neuron that are maximally sensitive to red, green, or blue light. When, say, the blue photoreceptors fire, we see blue, right? Wrong.

It turns out that neuroscientists have known for some time that our brains don’t receive direct signals from the R, G, and B photoreceptors. That’s in part because the photoreceptors’ spectral responses overlap. A dim red light would elicit the same level of response in an R photoreceptor as a bright red light would elicit in a G photoreceptor.

Our eyes rely instead on “opponency.” The signals that run from our retinas to our brains correspond to two opposing combinations: B − (R + G) and R − G. The combinations are calculated by specialized neurons called ganglions that receive input from mixed groups of photoreceptors.

Chichilnisky and his team connected hundreds of ganglion cells in vitro to electrodes. They then recorded the cells’ response to a spectrally varying light field whose spatial resolution was fine enough to trigger responses in individual photoreceptors.

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The figure shows schematically how the photoreceptors (colored dots) are grouped to feed data to individual ganglions (at the focal points of the white lines). In principle, the grouping of randomly distributed photoreceptors could account for the retina’s sensitivity to color. But Chichilnisky found that an extra ingredient is needed: The photoreceptors closest to the focal points are weighted more heavily than those farther out.

Sensing color with randomly distributed and simply connected R, G, and B photoreceptors seems elegant, but if you look under the hood at the proteins responsible, you see a baroque edifice of bizarre complexity. Here, for you to skip, skim, or scrutinize, is how the Wikipedia entry on photoreceptors describes the protein-to-protein transduction chain:

  1. The rhodopsin or iodopsin in the outer segment absorbs a photon, changing the configuration of a retinal Schiff base cofactor inside the protein from the cis-form to the trans-form, causing the retinal to change shape.
  2. This results in a series of unstable intermediates, the last of which binds stronger to the G protein in the membrane and activates transducin, a protein inside the cell. This is the first amplification step – each photoactivated rhodopsin triggers activation of about 100 transducins. (The shape change in the opsin activates a G protein called transducin.)
  3. Each transducin then activates the enzyme cGMP-specific phosphodiesterase (PDE).
  4. PDE then catalyzes the hydrolysis of cGMP. This is the second amplification step, where a single PDE hydrolyses about 1000 cGMP molecules. (The enzyme hydrolyzes the second messenger cGMP to GMP.)
  5. With the intracellular concentration of cGMP reduced, the net result is closing of cyclic nucleotide-gated ion channels in the photoreceptor membrane because cGMP was keeping the channels open. (Because cGMP acts to keep Na+ion channels open, the conversion of cGMP to GMP closes the channels.)
  6. As a result, sodium ions can no longer enter the cell, and the photoreceptor hyperpolarizes (its charge inside the membrane becomes more negative). (The closing of Na+channels hyperpolarizes the cell.)
  7. This change in the cell’s membrane potential causes voltage-gated calcium channels to close. This leads to a decrease in the influx of calcium ions into the cell and thus the intracellular calcium ion concentration falls.
  8. The lack of calcium means that less glutamate is released to the bipolar cell than before (see below). (The decreased calcium level slows the release of the neurotransmitter glutamate, which can either excite or inhibit the postsynaptic bipolar cells.)
  9. Reduction in the release of glutamate means one population of bipolar cells will be depolarized and a separate population of bipolar cells will be hyperpolarized, depending on the nature of receptors (ionotropic or metabotropic) in the postsynaptic terminal (see receptive field).

Evolution and the limits of what can be achieved within cells with proteins are behind the rather involved transduction chain. To achieve its current performance, the primate eye has made use of a succession of incremental changes that began in the Cambrian era 540 million years ago.

Human engineers aren’t limited to making only incremental changes. My first car, a 1977 Chevrolet Malibu, had a bulky—and balky—carburetor to mix petrol and air. My second (and current) car, a 1993 Honda Civic, has a fuel injector to do the same job.

The fuel injector didn’t evolve from the carburetor, nor did the transistor evolve from the thermionic valve. Both innovations, which are simpler and more effective than their predecessors, resulted from leaps of engineering and scientific imagination—which brings me, at last, to my main point.

The devices in our bodies are intricate and complex, but they’re too fussy to be the work of an intelligent designer.

Charles Day

Palladium

Did you know that palladium is named after the asteroid Pallas? William Hyde Wollaston, who discovered the element in 1803, picked the name to honor the asteroid’s discovery a year earlier.

I acquired that piece of periodic table trivia this morning when I was struggling to understand the science behind this year’s Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Richard Heck, Ei-ichi Negishi, and Akira Suzuki shared the prize “for palladium-catalyzed cross couplings in organic synthesis,” as the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences put it.

Not knowing what “cross couplings” are and hoping for enlightenment, I turned to the 13-page Scientific Background that the academy posted on the Nobel website. The document described and explained the reactions that Heck, Negishi, and Suzuki developed. It also explained why those reactions are important. But it failed to satisfy my curiosity about what struck me as a key question: Why is palladium such an effective catalyst?

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After some digging around on the internet, I found a partial answer. Palladium’s electronic configuration is

1s2 2s2p6 3s2p6d10 4s2p6d10

My apologies if you’re not familiar with notation. Anyway, the odd thing here is that it looks as though all palladium’s s, p, and d orbitals are full of electrons. Given that such repletion usually reduces, rather than enhances, an element’s chemical options, I had to dig further.

Palladium’s empty 5s orbital is lower in energy than its full 4d orbital. Presumably, when palladium reacts with other atoms, the ensuing exchange of electrons involves both the 5s and 4d orbitals. But that’s my presumption. If you know the electronic origin of palladium’s catalytic power, please tell me!

Despite my not attaining complete palladium enlightenment, I did discover another piece of trivia in the element’s Wikipedia entry:

In the run up to 2000, Russian supply of palladium to the global market was repeatedly delayed and disrupted because the export quota was not granted on time, for political reasons. The ensuing market panic drove the palladium price to an all-time high of $1100 per troy ounce in January 2001. Around this time, the Ford Motor Company, fearing auto vehicle production disruption due to a possible palladium shortage, stockpiled large amounts of the metal purchased near the price high. When prices fell in early 2001, Ford lost nearly US$1 billion.

The palladium ingot in the photo is about the size of two packs of playing cards. At today’s prices it would cost about $60 000.

Charles Day

A Nobel Prize for levitating a frog

Not quite. Andre Geim and Konstantin Novoselov of the University of Manchester in the UK won this year’s physics Nobel for discovering a way to make graphene, a form of carbon that consists of a honeycomb lattice one atom thick.

The graphene discovery happened in 2004. Four years earlier, when Geim was at the Radboud University Nijmegen in the Netherlands and Novoselov was his graduate student, the pair and their collaborators used a 10-tesla superconducting electromagnet to levitate a frog by means of diamagnetism.

Unlike the graphene discovery, frog levitation hasn’t begotten a vast worldwide research effort whose fruits include thousands of research papers and scores of patents. Nevertheless, as Novoselov recounted in an interview with ScienceWatch, the two projects have something in common:

The style of Geim’s lab (which I’m keeping and supporting up to now) is that we devote ten percent of our time to so-called “Friday evening” experiments. I just do all kinds of crazy things that probably won’t pan out at all, but if they do, it would be really surprising. Geim did frog levitation as one of these experiments, and then we did gecko tape together. There are many more that were unsuccessful and never went anywhere (though I still had a good time thinking about and doing those experiments, so I love them no less than the successful ones).

This graphene business started as that kind of Friday evening experiment. We weren’t hoping for much, and when I gave it to a student, it initially failed. Then we had what you could call a stream of coincidences that basically brought us some very remarkable results quite quickly —within a week or so. Then we decided to continue on a more serious basis.

At first glance, 10% of anyone’s time doesn’t seem like a lot, but it amounts to one day per fortnight. In the four years between 2000, when they levitated the frog, and 2004, when they discovered graphene, Geim and Novoselov had only one other success, the gecko tape of 2003.

Like everyone else, physicists are increasingly busy. Time is precious. But, as Geim and Novoselov’s Friday evening experiments demonstrate, the rewards of spending even a small fraction of your time on long-shot ideas can be huge.

Charles Day

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