Dr. Strange Versus Global Cooling

Global-warming denialists often proclaim that in the 1970s scientists predicted global cooling, then in the 1980s suddenly changed their minds to global warming. Implication: scientists are always changing their minds, so don’t take them seriously when they declare that the world has been warming for decades and is going to get a lot hotter before it’s through. What’ll the big scare be tomorrow? Global polka-dots? Hah!

It’s effective rhetoric even though it makes no sense: So what if scientists have changed their minds — isn’t that what they’re supposed to do, when the facts warrant it? But the point is moot anyway because the story is false. There was no 1970s global cooling scare—not among scientists. A few scientists did suggest that cooling was a possibility, but the overwhelming majority, as reviews of the literature have shown, said that global warming was on its way. This view solidified in the 1980s with increasingly deep knowledge of atmospheric physics. And warming is exactly what we have seen since then and will continue to see: the first decade of the 21st century was, according to NASA, the hottest in the instrumental record, which goes back to before the Civil War.

Whence, then, the myth of the Great ’70s Global Cooling Scare? Several pop media outlets, such as Newsweek (“The Cooling World,” April 28, 1975), did actually publish scare stories on global cooling. These grossly misrepresented the state of the climate science; their contribution to human understanding has been entirely negative, as they now make excellent ammo for the anti-science crowd.

But not all popular media were fooled. Marvel Comics, trying hard in the 1970s to be hip on issues like race, drug addiction, and urban alienation, managed to get it basically right. In Doctor Strange No. 6, February, 1975, the good-guy sorcerer Dr. Strange and his lover/sidekick Clea are confronted by a bitter heroin addict while walking in Central Park. The man points to the sky and says:

Right on! Well, the science is a little wrinkled — nothing is “cutting the oxygen,” and you can’t see the stuff that’s causing the greenhouse effect — but what do you expect from a heroin addict? In any case, Dr. Strange author Steve Englehart landed a lot closer to the mark than the high-paid babblers at Newsweek, Time, and elsewhere who were ignoring the scientific literature and pushing global cooling.

That one slightly awkward frame does not do justice to the trademark fluidity of artist Gene Colan’s pencils. Here it is in its full-page context (well-handled by inker Klaus Janson):

The moral: if you want to understand the world, you are infinitely better off reading comics than listening to the likes of George Will and Rush Limbaugh, who are still dishonestly pushing the myth of a 70s global-cooling consensus among scientists.

But climate-change denialism is here to stay no matter how many comic books we read (and I read my share). Its star may rise higher or sink lower but it will never set, no matter how hot the climate gets, because no form of denialism, once deeply entrenched in a wide following, has ever totally disappeared from the face of the earth. As Dr. Strange says in the last frame, “It is beyond even a sorcerer supreme!”

A Factoid is Born

A recent post by Nick Bilton of the New York Times, “Former Book Designer Says Good Riddance to Print,” claims that the day of the print book is finally fading. Most of Bilton’s blog post is about a blog post by the “former book designer,” Craig Mod, making these present remarks a blog post about a blog post about a blog post. Such is e-life.

Bilton likes what Mod says. Paper books are, or should be soon, on their way out. Accordingly to the appropriately named Mod, “Good riddance.” Bilton enthuses,

For hundreds of years, we’ve been consuming information on static pages, and for the most part, this content has been presented with a beginning, middle and end. Non-linear, digital platforms will prompt a new range of thinking about stories and how to tell them.

People started predicting this exact thing in the 1980s, when computers were already capable of implementing any textual revolution desired, but the promised era of nonlinear fiction — “hyperfiction” — never arrived and it never will. Hyperfiction is a no-starter because it’s a bad idea. It claims to crown readers with “choice,” to liberate them from the page, to raise them to co-creator status: but mousing around a network of texts is only pseudo-creative, like channel-flipping. As readers we are already authentically creative. We are creative when we simply read, most of all when we read well, constructing richly unique inner realities in response to the exquisitely sense-poor stimulus of the printed word. A book is not an information download for your head, it’s an invitation to get to work.

Hyperfiction fails because it is based on the stunningly dumb notion that readers of print on paper are mere slaves of the “static pages.” How could any literate person think so? When all goes well, and it often does, the outwardly “static” reader, staring at the “static” page, is exploding with inward experience. Everyday reality can dissolve entirely into a waking dream of overwhelming intensity as one contemplates the moveless bugs on the paper. Engaged readers are co-creators, collaborative artists, and their working material is the story “with a beginning, middle, and end,” which predates print by millennia. Limitlessness, especially the pseudo-limitlessness of a folder full of branching hypertexts, bores. Limitation excites. Plot excites. Beginning, middle, and end excite. That’s not a prediction, it’s an observation.

Bilton also says:

Under Mr. Mod’s analysis, the common paperback and many other physical books are disposable. He writes, “Once we dump this weight, we can prune our increasingly obsolete network of distribution. As physicality disappears, so, too, does the need to fly dead trees around the world.”

In contemplating the computerization of reading — some amount of which I must think is fine, or I wouldn’t be posting this — it is simply weird to say that “physicality disappears.” Physicality doesn’t go anywhere. It’s transformed from paper and glue to flatscreens, batteries, power cords, plastic chassis, microchips, carrying cases of PVC fabric. Instead of paper — the longest-lived, toughest, most environmentally sustainable information-storage medium ever invented — the physicality of the book becomes a flow of short-lived, landfill-bound gadgets consuming large amounts of power in their manufacture (especially the chips, despite their small bulk) and smaller amounts to make the reading act possible moment by moment, all of it generated and distributed by a vast network of ugly and polluting devices.

Good reading itself, which must make us wiser and wilier perceivers of pattern, of choice, of irony and implication, perhaps even of beauty, cannot coexist with oblivion to these facts or with indifference to them. Every medium is a message (though never simply the message), sometimes many messages at once. What is the gadget medium saying? Nothing, according to the prophets of future schlock. “Physicality disappears.” Except — it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. The ultimate naivetee is not to romanticize paper, but to pretend that there is no message built into the gadgets: to blurt out for the millionth time the sophomoric pseudo-insight that content is the only thing that matters, when it isn’t.

What about greenishness? Might e-books really cause less environmental harm than paper books?

It depends on how you stack ’em. Pile the paper books high enough next to any gadget, and sooner or later eco-accounting must favor the gadget. A group called Greentech did a widely reported 2009 study claiming that the Kindle e-book reader is a carbon-footprint win over paper books: “on average, the carbon emitted in the lifecycle of a Kindle is fully offset after the first year of use.”

Unfortunately, it is not possible, without joining the “Cleantech network” for a sum that Cleantech does not disclose online, to read the actual report and decide for oneself whether this claim has any merit. I have not been able to discover any online mention whatever, despite wide coverage of the Cleantech report, of its methodology. How did they come up with their estimate that each Kindle displaces 22.5 books per year per reader? Is that 22.5 hardcovers, or 22.5 paperbacks, or some market-weighted average of the two? What about used books — the “carbon footprint” of which must be divided by the number of owners per book (at least 2)? Used books account for about 15% of US book sales by volume (8% or 9% by dollars), and the number has been growing lately. If Cleantech assumed 22.5 brand-new hardcovers per Kindle per year, then its conclusions are dubious indeed.

Plus, there’s more to life than carbon. What about the non-greenhouse impacts of manufacturing electronics, like mining rare earths, 95% of which reside in ever-friendly China and are mined with horrific destructiveness? Does Cleantech compare these non-carbon impacts? If not, why not? Do they count the greenhouse and other life-cycle impacts of the polyvinyl chloride carrying-cases that are usually purchased to protect e-readers like the Kindle? Again, if not, why not — unless to make e-readers look greener than they really are?

The broader moral is that no study’s merit can be judged without knowing how it got its answers. The Internet dwellers reported on the Cleantech report but asked no questions about methodology, were apparently oblivious to the possibility that there might even be such questions. An attractively counter-intuitive number generated by unknown methods appears, is diffused, is quoted and re-quoted (Googling “Greentech Kindle study” gets 217,000 hits).

And behold, a factoid is born: e-books are greener than paper books. But are they?

OK, I’m Compelled Already

The New York Times just featured a clutch of invited essays on the question “Is Manned Spaceflight Obsolete?” First of all, the phrase is odd: obsolescence implies the appearance of a better alternative for something that was once adequate for some real purpose, and it’s not clear that “manned spaceflight” (why not the gender-neutral “human spaceflight”?) ever was a good or useful thing—though it has sometimes, without doubt, been an intensely exciting thing.

But verbal quibbles aside, let’s look at one of the Times’s pro-spaceflight essays, by Seth Shostak, senior astronomer at the SETI institute—the folks who scan radio waves from space for signs of intelligence. (SETI, by the way, is a good project that has nothing to do with human spaceflight.) Shostak sets out to tell us “Why Hominids and Space Go Together.” He writes that “There are good – even compelling – reasons for a human presence in space.”

Boy—if these are the compelling reasons, the debate is over.

(1) “When it comes to looking for life on Mars, it’s been said that a human explorer could survey that world’s rusty landscape at least 10 times faster than a rover. If we want to know if life is a miracle or merely a cosmic commonplace, human exploration may be essential.”

Shostak’s putative tenfold acceleration would only happen once humans got to Mars, which would take about 10 times longer to accomplish than getting a team of very good robots there while costing 10–100 times more. Hmm. Also, Shostak equates getting the science faster with getting it period, a non sequitur. Even if sending humans were a faster way to get the science, that wouldn’t imply it was the only way. Shostak’s illogic reveals that the whole argument is a pretext. He doesn’t really want to send people to Mars to do faster science there, and might as well admit it.

(2) “Second, we are living on a world with limited real estate and finite resources. Both are expected to become critically stretched within a century. Frankly, homo sapiens will be a flash in the pan if we don’t get some members of our species off the planet.”

In other words, 99.99% of us are doomed to drown in our own excrement, so a lucky few should be sent forth in trillion-dollar lifeboats. This scenario is low-grade science fiction, not serious policy, especially given that if Earth society collapsed, independent long-term survival of Shostak’s projected colonies would be impossible. It takes an entire industrial economy to manufacture every single one of the thousands of touchy widgets essential to any space vehicle or dwelling. In space, no one can hear you scream for replacement parts. Even if we built Shostak’s space lifeboats, they would be roped firmly to our global Titanic.

(3) “Third, there’s the enormous appeal of space flight to young people. Ask any kid what interests them more: constructing autonomous rovers or going to Mars? The answer is obvious and so is the implication for NASA’s future.”

This is circular: We need to put people in space so that kids will grow up psyched to to work for the organization that puts people in space. Not to mention the silliness of implying that NASA will continue to have an adequate hiring pool only if it pulls off an endless string of the most dramatic human spaceflight stunts imaginable. If such super-lures were really needed to suction bright engineers out of the educational system, our civilization would collapse: almost all real-life engineering work is unglamorous in the extreme compared to any space project, including a robotic one. (Ask the people who worked on Voyager if they found it boring.) Finally, the belief that we should shape national policy around what most excites 10-year-olds would lead to some very bizarre outcomes, if consistently applied. Again, Shostak doesn’t mean it.

(4) “And finally, there’s this: we need a frontier. Some part of each of us wants to ‘boldly go’, to explore and experience the unknown. The claim that stepping across the threshold of the unknown is too costly or too dangerous wouldn’t have impressed Magellan or Lindbergh.”

Even if it were true that we need a literal, physical frontier to be a healthy culture, which it isn’t, human space travelers never have and never will explore anything “unknown” because they aren’t going anywhere that hasn’t been thoroughly mapped by robots first. No astronautic boot is ever going to touch any lunar or planetary landscape that has not already been photographed at 1-meter resolution from orbit—that’s a mission-planning basic. The real explorers are therefore going to remain robots whether we send people in their wake or not. “Magellan”? Exactly — a robotic NASA probe, launched in 1989, whose radar revealed the surface of cloud-shrouded, kiln-hot Venus as no human space traveler ever could have or ever will, and did so for about half the net cost of a single Shuttle trip to nowhere.

The real modern Magellan . . .

(note human figure lower left)

. . . and a glimpse of what it found

(shield volcanoes on Venus, imaged

area about 300 miles across):

Shostak’s “most compelling” reasons compel us only to recognize that the case for human spaceflight consists entirely of sentiments derived from a rather crude and cruel species of science fiction. When Worlds Collide is a fun flick, and I worshipped it when I was 10, but you can’t build a life on lifeboat fantasies.

The advocates of space settlement say they want to save the human race, but actually they’re writing it off. What they most yearn for, I think, is simplification: no more chaotic, shit-besmeared billions, no more unpredictable Earth, but a cozy cadre of like-minded space fans thinking noble thoughts enwombed in an artificial environment as mysterious and unmanageable as the inside of a soup can. Even if it were possible, it would be Hell.

All This Has Happened Before: The XMRV Imbroglio, Act II

The now-famous 2009 Science paper by Lombardi and colleagues [1] showing a strong correlation between the human retrovirus XMRV and chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) did not parachute into the middle of nowhere. As Hilary Johnson’s Osler’s Web recounts, feelings have been running high on this subject since the 1980s. Careers have been devoted—especially, but not only, in the United Kingdom—to the idea that CFS is not a physical disorder but a psychological one. The Science paper was bound to be unpleasant reading for anyone who had treated scores of CFS patients on the psychological theory and put their professional credibility on the line to defend that theory.

Opponents of physical-cause theories of CFS were therefore cheered by the appearance in January, 2010 of an article appearing to refute the Science piece. The new article, “Failure to Detect the Novel Retrovirus XMRV in Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,” by Erlwein et al., [2] was hailed as showing that the Science piece was a false alarm: “Scientists’ claim to have found the cause of [CFS] is ‘premature’,” headlined The Independent, a British newspaper. [3] Nothing to see here, folks—it’s all over—move along, move along.

But as the Cylons repeat so annoyingly on Battlestar Galactica, “All this has happened before; all this will happen again.” Indeed it has, and indeed it will. Consider a recent case involving another highly charged subject, genetic engineering of crops.

Act I: Threatening Breakthrough

In 2001, David Quist and Ignacio Chapela of U.C. Berkeley announced in Nature that transgenes—chunks of DNA artificially transferred from one species to another—had been found in traditional maize landraces in central Mexico. [4] (A “landrace” is any locally-adapted domestic plant breed.) The study seemed to show that modified genes could spread uncontrollably in the real world, as opponents of genetic engineering had always warned. If so, transgenes might threaten the character or continuance of the Mexican maize landraces, altering the Mexican diet and the global fate of corn itself. As Quist and Chapela put it,

Concerns have been raised about the potential effects of transgenic introductions on the genetic diversity of crop landraces and wild relatives in areas of crop origin and diversification, as this diversity is considered essential for global food security. Direct effects on non-target species and the possibility of unintentionally transferring traits of ecological relevance onto landraces and wild relatives have also been sources of concern.

Act II: Triumphant Counter-Study

Genetically modified corn is big business: 25% of the world’s corn, including 80% of US corn, is genetically modified. [5] It is therefore not surprising that the 2001 paper was intensely attacked for minor methodological flaws. Under pressure, Nature took the unprecedented step of publishing a quasi-retraction (not approved by the authors, Quist and Chapela) stating that “the evidence available is not sufficient to justify the publication of the original paper.” [6]

The debunking process seemed complete in 2005, when a paper in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences reported finding not a single transgene in thousands of maize samples from the same parts of Mexico examined by Quist and Chapela: zero, repeat, zero transgenes in 153,746 sampled seeds. [7]

In certain quarters, the relief was palpable. The zero result was taken as grounds not for questioning the second study but for scolding the first. In a 2006 review [8] of the preceding decade’s nine worst “biotech gaffes,” the editor of Nature Biotechnology spanked Quist and Chapela for being partly “culpable for lukewarm public acceptance and stigmatization of transgenic crop technology.” That’s right, culpable as in deserving of blame. “With so many of the groups ideologically opposed to transgenic crops able to exploit the media, scare the public and perpetuate myths and conspiracy theories about genetic engineering over the Internet,” the editor harrumphed, “prestigious journals [e.g., Nature] should be aware of the long-lasting damage resulting from their willingness to widely publicize results that may be contentious or equivocal.” The maize-transgene scare had “certainly contributed to the decline of European agbiotech.” Very, very naughty.

In the backlash against the original article the academic career of one of its authors, Chapela, was almost destroyed by denial of tenure, but he won in court. [9]

Act III: Vindication

In late 2008, a paper in Molecular Ecology [10] vindicated Quist and Chapela on the basis of tens of thousands of Mexican maize samples. Once again, transgenes had been found in Mexican corn landraces. What is more, the authors of the new study explained exactly why different studies had been getting different answers and explained the false-negative results of the 2005 Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences paper in detail. Even the lead author of that 2005 paper, invited to comment in the same issue of the journal, sportingly pronounced the new piece “a very good study.”

It does not appear, however, that the editor of Nature Biotechnology ever retracted his attacks on Quist and Chapela’s integrity. Indeed, I know of no apology or retraction from anyone who had accused Quist and Chapela of bad science.

Observations

The parallels of the Mexican transgene saga to the XMRV saga are striking: In Act I upsetting primary science appears and solemn warnings against taking a single study too seriously are issued. In Act II, a single study offering to overturn the original is hailed with relief and trumpets. In Act III, the primary science is vindicated—at least, it was with the maize transgenes. There has been no vindicating third act yet for the XMRV/CFS theory, but there are at least three reasons to bet on one.

First, getting a zero result where multiple, independent previous studies have got a nonzero result should be a red flag with any new XMRV study, just as it should have been during the Great Mexican Maize Mystery. Zero? Are you sure you’ve taken the lens cap off the camera?

Second, both zero-result studies—the maize study and the UK XMRV study—used tests for the presence of the target gene or virus different from those used in the studies they challenged. In the case of the maize transgenes, this turned out to be the crux of the problem. Whittemore Peterson states that “the recent study published in the U.K. . . . used non-validated PCR and whole blood PCR assays.” [11] Moreover, the UK study did not select candidates for study using the Science study’s standard, thus producing a twofold apples-and-oranges problem.

Third, the UK XMRV study was rushed through peer review in a few days, according to the Whittemore Peterson Institute. [12] [PS: Actually, as a friendly commenter points out, this is according to the online journal where the piece was published—here’s a screen shot from the source:]

Science is done by human beings, not gods or robots. Its glory is that its method of community-scale, independent checking and criticism almost always enables the production of increasingly accurate knowledge, over time, by a group of people—scientists—who are not increasingly wise or perfect. But in the short term, especially where powerful economic and other interests are involved, the data that some people want to see have a tendency to appear—or the data they do not want to see may be long delayed by diversion of funding and other tactics. Reality wins in the end, but the end may be a while in coming.

Extraordinary claims do require extraordinary evidence, and it is easy to be jerked around by a single paper here and a single paper there. But in the case of the XMRV imbroglio, my money is on the Whittemore Peterson people, who have clearly done the more thorough work. In any case, more studies are under way, and if they are of adequate quality, they will settle this dispute—scientifically.

Unfortunately, that will not necessarily settle the dispute altogether. To answer any scientific question in a way that some people strongly dislike seems to automatically give birth to a new form of denialism. Evolution and global warming already have millions of entrenched, unconvincable unbelievers: is XMRV next?

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REFERENCES

Note: I will e-mail copies of the subscription-required articles to anyone who asks me for them: Lgilman [ a t ] myfairpoint [ d o t ] net

1. http://www.cfids-cab.org/MESA/Lombardi.pdf

2. http://www.plosone.org/doi/pone.0008519

3. http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/scientists-claim-to-have-found-the-cause-of-me-is-premature-1859003.html

4. Quist, David and Ignacio H. Chapela, “Transgenic DNA introgressed into traditional maize landraces in Oaxaca, Mexico.” Nature, 414 (Nov. 29, 2001), 541–543.

5. http://www.gmo-compass.org/eng/agri_biotechnology/gmo_planting/341.genetically_modified_maize_global_area_under_cultivation.html

6. http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v416/n6881/full/nature738.html

7. Ortiz-Garcia, S., et al., “Absence of detectable transgenes in local landraces of maize in Oaxaca, Mexico (2003–2004).” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 102(33), August 30, 2005, 12338–12343. Available at http://www.pnas.org/content/102/35/12338.full.pdf.

8. http://www.nature.com/nbt/journal/v24/n3/full/nbt0306-270.html

9. http://www.counterpunch.org/tonak06262004.html

10. Piñero-Nelson A., et al., “Transgenes in Mexican maize: molecular evidence and methodological considerations for GMO detection in landrace populations,” Molecular Ecology (2009) 18, 750–761.

11. http://www.wpinstitute.org/news/docs/WPI_pressrel_011410.pdf

12. http://www.wpinstitute.org/news/docs/WPI_Erlwein_010610.pdf

Night of the Living Benthamites

A scientist friend has drawn my attention to an article on the moral uncertainties posed by climate change. In the article, “Anthropogenic climate change: Scientific uncertainties and moral dilemmas” (in Physica D 237;2008: 2132–2138), Rafaela Hillerbrand and Michael Ghil say they know “a way to correctly incorporate all the relevant uncertainties into the decision making process” (2133). Their suggested method is Expected Utility Theory, an offshoot of game theory, decision theory, and economics.

Hillerbrand and Ghil are “utilitarians,” meaning that for them “the morally correct action is one that maximizes overall human welfare” (2134). Expected Utility Theory is the formal, logical expression of that philosophy. Here is Hillerbrand and Ghil’s quasi-mathematical definition of it (brace yerself!):

[single-click image for larger view, then go back a page on browser to return here]


I call this quasi-mathematical because, for all its Greek symbols and function talk, the idea that people have “preferences” that can be assigned specific numbers is pure whimsy. One-dimensional preferences, as a few seconds of introspection will confirm, don’t even exist. Your desire for a cheeseburger cannot, even approximately, be assigned a unique U_i in the domain of real numbers R: it varies with time of day, how much you have been conditioned by marketing, your desire for healthier food, your desire to indulge in unhealthy food, what you remember of Fast Food Nation or The Omnivore’s Dilemma, a hundred other aspects of self. It is not a quantity at all. So nobody actually computes numbers to plug into equations like this: even economists and utilitarian philosophers aren’t that crazy. All this jargon and notation are gestural, not operable. They are there to lend an air of scientific authority to a philosophical creed first advanced a couple of centuries ago by Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) and John Stuart Mill (1806–1873). The notational fancy dress adds nothing to the basic belief, which many have challenged and which strikes me as essentially crude. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one,” as Spock intones annoyingly in The Search for Spock (1984).

But one needn’t get into the shortcomings of Utilitarianism to find problems with Hillerbrand and Ghil’s approach. A big one is their assumption that if we spend money to mitigate climate change, we will be making people worse off in the here-and-now for the sake of people yet unborn. “[M]itigation of major changes in future climate,” they say, is a “predominantly altruistic goal”; “Investing in the mitigation of climate-change effects means foregoing other investments” in human welfare (2134). This assumption is basic to Hillerbrand and Ghil’s whole argument, because if fighting climate change does not require us to rob a present Peter to pay a future Paul then there is no trade-off, no dilemma, and nothing to write papers about. In particular, Expected Utility Theory (EUT) is irrelevant even if valid.

But the assumption is questionable, even by orthodox economic measures. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) found in 2007 that by 2030, “macro-economic costs for multi-gas mitigation, consistent with emissions trajectories towards stabilization between 445 and 710 ppm CO2-eq, are estimated at between a 3% decrease of global GDP [Gross Domestic Product] and a small increase” (2007 IPCC report on Impacts, Adaptation, and Vulnerability, Summary for Policymakers). “Small increase” means that the world economy might well be strengthened by mitigation—a negative cost—as market distortions are rectified, waste is cut, smart technologies are deployed, and positive side-effects kick in. For example, “near-term health co-benefits from reduced air pollution as a result of actions to reduce [greenhouse] emissions can be substantial and may offset a substantial fraction of mitigation costs” (ibid.)

To support their claim that climate-change mitigation is inherently dilemmic, Hillerbrand and Ghil cite figures (in a section titled, ironically, “Jumping to Conclusions”) showing that it might cost $450 billion per year, about 1% of global GDP, to mitigate climate change sufficiently to avoid “major hazards,” whereas providing 80% of rural Africa with water and sanitation by 2015 would cost “only US$1.3 billion per annum” (2134). This is their only example of a mitigation “trade-off.”

But as their own use of the word “only” flags, this argument is weird. $1.3 billion is 0.3%—one third of one percent!—of $450 billion. The US spends $1.3 billion on the Iraq War every two days. [1] If the world were able and willing to pony up $450 billion for what Hillerbrand and Ghil consider the “predominantly altruistic” goal of climate-change mitigation, wouldn’t it probably be able and willing to come up with a few altruistic pence for African health as well? Wouldn’t it have made more rhetorical sense for Hillerbrand and Ghil to pit an expensive here-and-now opportunity against the possible costs of climate mitigation?

But that is the least of this example’s problems. A bigger one is that Africans happen to be more endangered by climate change than almost anybody else—especially in the water department. To quote the IPCC’s 2007 report again,

Africa is one of the most vulnerable continents to climate change and climate variability . . . Climate change will aggravate the water stress currently faced by some countries, while some countries that currently do not experience water stress will become at risk of water stress . . . (Ch. 7 of the Impacts, Adaptation, and Vulnerability report).

And water would only be part of it: “Agricultural production and food security (including access to food) in many African countries and regions are likely to be severely compromised by climate change and climate variability . . .” (ibid.)

So let’s get this straight: Failure to mitigate climate change will screw Africa, big-time. It will undermine, perhaps entirely destroy, any benefits purchased by the $1.3 billion per year that Hillerbrand and Ghil cast fallaciously as an alternative investment. Climate-change mitigation is a precondition for meaningful, long-term aid to Africa, not an alternative to such aid. The whole idea that mitigation would rob the Africans is thus cockamamie, backwards-ass. In fact, one of the nastier tensions in the mitigation debate these days is that the up-front costs of mitigation (usually assumed to be positive) must be borne by strong economies like those of the US, Europe, Japan, and China, while the benefits are going to be greatest for Africa and the other poorer, “southern” regions of the world that are threatened most by climate change to begin with. Hillerbrand and Ghil fantasize that mitigation would steal well-being from the Africans: in reality, the G-20 are quietly worried that mitigation is a giveaway to the Africans.

Another fundamentally wrong, wrong, wrong thing about the either/or notion of climate mitigation that justifies Hillerbrand and Ghil’s whole exercise is the idea that the harms which climate-change mitigation seeks to prevent are distant harms, that mitigation is about “the well-being of future generations” (2133). That is only partly true: yes, what we do today will affect human life for many centuries to come, but the years 2050 (which many of us will live to see) and 2100 (which many of our grandchildren will live to see) are the most commonly referenced points in climate and mitigation scenarios. And let’s not forget Africa, of which the IPCC says: “Changes in a variety of ecosystems are already being detected, particularly in southern African ecosystems, at a faster rate than anticipated . . . ” (ibid., emphasis added). So this is about the future starting now, not the future starting after we are all long dead.

Fortunately, the things we need to do to prevent climate change from becoming disastrous are much the same things we need to do to save ourselves from several other catastrophes: ocean acidification, resource exhaustion, soil death, more. There is therefore no moral puzzle at all about mitigating climate change. Urgent altruism aligns with long-term altruism; self-interest aligns with intergenerational interest; climate mitigation aligns with numerous other benefits; long-term sanity may even, for a miracle, align with economics.

But let’s grant for the sake of the argument Hillerbrand and Ghil’s assumption that mitigation is dilemmic, and see how they deal.

I note, first, that on their first page they subtly minimize the climate threat, stating that climate change will last “for decades to come.” Decades? Try centuries, based on the long residence time of CO₂ in the atmosphere. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change stated in 2007 that “anthropogenic climate change will persist for many centuries.”

On the second page (p. 2133), they set up a classic straw man: “If there is a moral obligation to preserve the climate in its present state, where does it stem from?”

But everyone who knows the science understands that we cannot “preserve the climate in its present state.” That ship has already sailed. The climate has already changed. It is changing all the time and will continue to change. If we were to zero out our greenhouse emissions tomorrow, simply stop emitting altogether, anthropogenic climate change would continue for centuries, albeit at a greatly reduced rate and to a less extreme endpoint. The question is not whether “there is a moral obligation to preserve the climate in its present state”: it is whether there is a moral obligation to do our best to prevent climate from changing uncontrollably and irrevocably to a much different state.

Hillerbrand and Ghil end their article with the rather nonspecific and uncontroversial suggestion that we give scientific prognoses a major role in decisions about climate mitigation while acknowledging that such prognoses, “taken on their own, give no sufficient reasons for acting or not acting, this way or the other” (2137). Well, no duh!

It is hard to see how we could apply Expected Utility Theory (EUT) to questions of mitigation even if we wanted to:

First, because it depends on a bloodless pseudo-math that will never move millions or billions of people to change their lives. Perhaps Hillerbrand and Ghil assume, autocratically, that all important change will be imposed from the top down by an expertocracy: they seem to, but don’t say this explicitly.

Second, EUT won’t work on climate for the reason Hillerbrand and Ghil acknowledge on p. 2135: “assigning actual likelihood values to expected impacts on human welfare [in EUT] is often difficult or even impossible with the current state of knowledge” (or, I would add, any plausible future state of knowledge). In other words, they would have us adopt a quantitative method without having access to the required quantities. This is better known as “guessing.”

Third, because of EUT’s admitted anthropocentrism (“valuing the environment solely as a basic resource for humanity, as done in the present paper”—p. 2135). Hillerbrand and Ghil exclude any idea that the nonhuman (or at least non-“sentient”) world is sacred and that we have any obligation to steward it. If humans can be fine without giant redwoods, then the redwoods can go. In Hillerbrand and Ghil’s vocabulary, only “environmentalists” will bemoan this outcome very much. Jesus, have these people never gone camping? The idea of valuing the non-human is deep-rooted in hundreds of millions of people, if not billions. How can it “promote overall human welfare,” Hillerbrand and Ghil’s ultimate value, to discard a value cherished deeply by a large portion of humans?

No: it won’t do. There is some hope in moral common sense, philosophically raggedy-ass though it may be: there is no hope in the robotic gameboarding of Expected Utility Theory. Common fear of total disaster, common care for the fate of our descendants, common devotion to the non-human as well as to the human—love, in fact, love for land, for life, for people, for non-people, for children: this is the only hope, unless one assumes (as I think Hillerbrand and Ghil do) that paltering, marginal actions are really all that’s going to be necessary . . .

I see it now. Full circle. The issue-minimizing and straw-manning that Hillerbrand and Ghil deploy early in their piece lower the bar enough so that their pet ethical calculus, the Expected Utility Theory, can hop over it. If the question were only whether we are obliged to make a feint at attempting the impossible (i.e., “preserve climate in its present state”), and that over a scale of mere “decades,” then a morally contorted pseudo-quantitative system operating on admittedly insufficient data would suffice. Because accomplishing next to nothing would really be OK. If you’re selling plastic sporks, you want people to think they’re going to be eating pudding, not steak.

Utilitarianism is a spork.

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[1] As of 2007, the American Friends Service Committee calculated that the US was spending $720 million per day on the Iraq War (reported in the Washington Post). That’s $1.3 billion every 1.8 days.

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I will e-mail a PDF of the Hillerbrand and Ghil article to anyone who writes me at lnpgilman [ a t ] wildblue [ d o t ] net to request a copy.

Striking Just the Right False Balance

Over at the New York Times, climate blogger Andrew Revkin has just posted a response from scientist Michael Prather, who has done an astonishing pile of fine work for the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate (IPCC) over the years. Prather takes issue with two statements from Revkin, the first of which reads: “Environmentalists assert that the reports by the panel are watered down by a requirement that sponsoring governments approve its summaries line by line.”

Such remarks, Prather says, “seem too easy, and I worry that such beliefs and accusations become propagated as facts without some serious evaluation as to their authority.”

I have profound respect for the work of the IPCC. Its 2007 report is an epoch-making, primary resource for anyone wanting to understand climate change. Nevertheless, Dr. Prather’s response seems to me evasive at best. Indeed, the statement he quotes is itself “watered down.” That governments meddled with language in the IPCC’s 2007 report is not simply a claim of “environmentalists” but of participants in the IPCC process, as reported in the mainstream press. See, for example, “U.S., China Got Climate Warnings Toned Down” (Washington Post, April 7, 2007), which begins: “Some sections of a grim scientific assessment of the impact of global warming on human, animal and plant life issued in Brussels yesterday were softened at the insistence of officials from China and the United States, participants in the negotiations said.” Before-and-after versions of specific passages are quoted.

Did these events happen, or did they not? If they did, shouldn’t journalists represent them as fact, not as something that “environmentalists assert”?

This is a case of the journalistic phenomenon of false balance — the casting of disputed questions in an apparently even-handed form that conveys a distorted impression of fact. Climate scientists themselves have been dogged by false balance for decades, as journalists noted demurely that this or that question (on which 90+ percent of scientists doing relevant work agree) is “disputed”—as indeed it is, by a tiny handful of people with scientific qualifications plus Rush Limbaugh. Here, in a turnabout that I do not find refreshing, false balance is deployed to soften facts about the IPCC process, trotting them out as dubious “assertions.” (“Assert” is one of those inherently loaded words. If somebody is represented as “asserting” something, the reader is already three-quarters of the way to dismissing whatever it is they’re saying.)

It is obviously unlikely that powerful and ruthless governments explicitly given line-by-line authority over the IPCC’s final reports would never use that authority. And, if news accounts such as the one cited above are accurate, they do use it — sparingly, cautiously, selectively. The IPCC’s scientific content is strong, but governments don’t care about that. They know that few people, including science journalists, actually buckle down and read the IPCC’s science. They’re afraid of soundbites — quotable passages in plain, alarming language that might go viral enough to threaten business as usual. These are the passages, it appears, that they bestir themselves to censor.

So this is not, I think, about the scientific validity of the IPCC’s conclusions. It’s about spin. Governments spin primarily through censorship, outright lies, controlling access, and spoonfeeding leaks to journalists; journalists spin — usually unconsciously, no doubt, assuming that it is simply how one stays “objective,” above the fray — primarily through false balance and selective omission. And Revkin is one of the good ones.

The Stuff That’s Not Right

A gusher of quasi-religious human spaceflight advocacy has erupted in predictable response to the 40th anniversary of the first human Moon landing (July 20, 1969). The commonest tack has been to bemoan our lack of progress and call for renewed dedication to human flight to the Moon and Mars. I didn’t even try to dip my cup in the torrent of exhortation, reading time being a finite resource and the arguments all much of a muchness, but a friend drew my attention to the essay by Thomas Wolfe in the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/19/opinion/19wolfe.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1). Wolfe, author of The Right Stuff (1979), is a major pop historian of space flight, and therefore worth looking at.

In characteristically peppy prose, Wolfe recaps the history of the race to the Moon and argues that NASA must make an impassioned, big-values case for human spaceflight beyond Earth orbit so that it can stop dorking around and get back to its real business of building “a bridge to the stars.”

His argument isn't explicitly religious, but he does throw in god-language in the second paragraph, irony-coated for easy swallowing: “The American space program [was] the greatest, grandest, most Promethean — O.K. if I add ‘godlike’? — quest in the history of the world. . . ” Sure it’s OK, Tom, because it’s honest. Robotic exploration of the Solar System is about satisfying curiosity, expanding scientific knowledge, harvesting visions of strange beauty for all to see: human spaceflight is about our jones for the “godlike.” So let’s just put that out there for the Universe.

Except Wolfe feels the need to make some kind of argument for spaceflight, and so offers a form of the standard case: colonizing other planets is needed to guarantee long-term racial survival. Admiringly paraphrasing Nazi slave-driver Werner von Braun [http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/germany/1309924/Germans-at-last-learn-truth-about-von-Brauns-space-research-base.html], he argues that “The Sun itself is a star that is on fire and will someday burn up, leaving our solar system uninhabitable. Therefore we must build a bridge to the stars, because as far as we know, we are the only sentient creatures in the entire universe.” This is an uncommonly silly version of the prudential argument for space colonization, which usually cites asteroid impacts as the likeliest race-ender: the Sun is due to last for several billion years more. Its inevitable demise in the distant cosmic future is no reason at all for upping NASA’s budget in fiscal year 2011.

But that’s how Wolfe handles mere fact throughout this whole essay. One wonders if his access to the Internet was impaired. For example, his explanation of why orbital nukes were not deployed by the US and USSR in the 1960s is complete bosh. The “three-body problem” was irrelevant, as 2 minutes of online research would have told him, as were the technical difficulties arising from the complex relative velocities of satellite, warhead, and target (which he also cites). The re-entry targeting problem must be solved for any ballistic missile: all such are lobbed into space before descending toward their targets. That’s what makes them “ballistic.” The problem cannot be essentially harder for an object in an orbital trajectory rather than a parabolic one. The first real reason there are no space nukes is that they would have to be stored in plain sight in a highly vulnerable, continuously observable location—i.e., orbit. Submarines, in contrast, can hit their targets almost as quickly, quicker in some cases, from shifty, hard-to-detect, un-first-strikeable starting points, and land-based ICBMs deployed deep inside home territory are easy to maintain and can be launched before attacking missiles can get at them. Second and more importantly, the US and USSR both feared (sensibly) that each power might attempt to co-orbit nuclear mines with their enemy's space missiles—a countermeasure impossible with land-based or sea-based weapons—leading to a hellishly unstable, thousand-sided Mexican standoff. Hence the Outer Space Treaty of 1967.

Wolfe tirelessly compares astronauts to warriors engaged in “single combat.” The analogy is too pat. First, there was if anything a rather collegial feeling between the rival space programs, not a militant oppositional one. International standards for assisting distressed astronauts were agreed on in 1967 and 1968 (Treaty on Rescue and Return). Second, the astronauts competed at performing stunts, not clobbering each other. The superpower rivalry for Olympic medals in swimming, figure skating, and gymnastics would be a much closer parallel. These unusual people—athletes, astronauts—were put forth, however foolishly, as existence proofs of what each rival system could accomplish. They were trophy humans. Their whole point was that they were non-military, that they supposedly proved each country's ability to create or achieve or build something up, not merely to blow stuff to kingdom come.

One wonders if Wolfe—or the Times—fact-checks anything. Well, he gets it right when he says that a Russian dog was the first animal in orbit, but then he goes on to claim the Shuttle was originally “supposed to appeal to the public by offering orbital tourist rides.” I'm pretty sure he's just making this up. I have never read any such thing and doubt that such a frivolous goal would have been floated in the days when NASA was trying to convince Congress to fund the Shuttle's development. There was indeed optimistic talk of the Shuttle eventually paying for itself, but through orbital industrial activity, not joyride tickets.

Finally, his breezy dismissal of the basic “why not send robots” question—citing von Braun again, this time to the effect that “there is no computerized explorer in the world with more than a tiny fraction of the power of a chemical analog computer known as the human brain, which is easily reproduced by unskilled labor”—is childish. Human brains are indeed more powerful than microchips, no duh. But they are in fact more expensive to raise and educate than computers are to build, quips about unskilled procreation to the side. When it comes to space flight, computers do not require life-support systems hundreds or thousands of times more massive than themselves and do not need to be brought home alive. They can therefore be sent out in relatively large numbers on very risky, comparatively cheap, usually one-way missions to collect data while the humans stay right here on Earth and analyze it—which is exactly how and why the Solar System, including Mars, has been explored so extremely well since the 1970s. Sciencewise, the entire wealth of Earth would barely have sufficed to achieve using astronauts what NASA has achieved using robots on a fraction of its annual budget. True, geologists pick up better rocks than robots do—unless the robots are being remotely controlled by geologists. Which they always are.

There is simply no astronaut/robot rivalry to seriously discuss when it comes to science for the dollar. The true reasons for manned spaceflight, whatever their merits, are entirely nonscientific. Hubble telescope notwithstanding, yes: even adjusting for inflation, the Hubble could have been re-built and re-launched several times over for the cost of the five Shuttle repair missions at ~$1G each. And it was a skinny baby to begin with because of the vampire suction of the Shuttle development budget.

Colorful-essayist disease: Wolfe has it bad. The striking phrase is preferred over the complex fact every time.