You didn't build that

In a recent NPR broadcast on the wonders of the human brain, we learned how researchers have been able to identify particular regions used for specific tasks and emotions. Such as the finding that people who are happy tend to have a larger precuneus, a structure also thought responsible for consciousness.

These are indeed miraculous times, that we can inspect our own brain and determine what makes us self-aware, what makes us feel happy, which regions might cause insomnia, and how we learn language. One scholar exclaimed of the mystery and power of a brain that is able to unlock its own secrets and understand itself.

After all, our brain is but a computer, composed of about 86 billion neurons. The African elephant has three times as many, but we rarely see scholarly articles published by elephants.

The secret, of course, is that we have evolved the ability to communicate, to both exchange and record complex thoughts. And that over time we have developed tools and technologies allowing us to delve into our physical world, to manipulate and understand its workings, including that of our own brain.

When a single researcher is bent on the task of fathoming the human brain, it is not only her brain focused on the task. She is benefiting from billions of fellow human brains that have, over many years, built a corpus of thought and research and tools and recorded knowledge. This is our unique human power.

Robinson Crusoe, stranded alone on his desert island, would have little chance of understanding the operation of his own brain.

In any human endeavor, it is the multiplication effect that makes our race so successful. Libraries full of research, universities training new generations, clever tools and machines and sensors probing our world, computers and networks facilitating communication, we amplify the power of our own measly 86 billion neurons.

In spite of the critical importance of this social infrastructure, individual brilliance is still crucial, cultivated, and revered. Albert Einstein, whose theory of ripples in the fabric of space-time was recently validated, stood on the shoulders of Copernicus and Planck and Maxwell. It’s as if this fabric of human knowledge and abilities forms a trampoline on which a brilliant, young, aspiring thinker might ascend to a new insight, a breakthrough, a flash of genius.

In this we observe the interaction and mutual interdependence of society and the individual.

“You didn’t build that” is a meme that has pervaded our recent politics. It is meant to diminish the significance, and hence the deserved remuneration, of individual contribution. Liberals use it as a justification for increasing the tax on success. Conservatives interpret it as an attack on the value of entrepreneurs and the free market.

In truth, both have a point. Tom Brady would not be fabulously wealthy without the social infrastructure that offers him a field of play. But we (at least those who are fans) would be the poorer for not seeing his brilliance on the field. Tom Brady is wealthy because we value the entertainment he provides.

Examples abound. Steve Jobs (rest his soul), was enormously wealthy but brought us our ubiquitous, dearly loved iPhones. Larry Page and Sergey Brin, each multi-billionaires, founded Google, an indispensable tool to billions of people every day. Mark Zuckerberg, another multi-billionaire, brought us the spectacle of silly cat videos and embarrassing spring break photos on our Facebook feeds. None of these folks “built that.” But “that” wouldn’t have been built, in this way, at this time, without them.

More quotidian examples surround us. For government employee, teacher, police, and fireman pension funds, those are invested in corporate America. The success of those companies, and the CEOs who lead them, is paramount to your retirement. Yet somehow it is fashionable to decry and punish that success.

Just as in science, society has evolved a commercial infrastructure upon which our entrepreneurs and business leaders create and implement their individual visions. It is true that trucking companies couldn’t be successful without public roads. But without trucking companies, the value of public roads would be diminished. And it’s also true that we must all contribute to the public fisc.

But we must never demean nor punish individual achievement, whether an Einstein, Zuckerberg, or Brady. Individuals need society, and the inverse is blindingly obvious. The trampoline is useless without the jumper.

On Human Adaptability

Tallgrass national Praire Preserve

A few days ago, the US Women’s National Hockey Team came from behind to beat the Canadians, 3-2, in Sundsvall, Sweden. It was a great moment for USA Hockey and speaks well of our Olympic prospects in PyeongChang, 2018.

And yet, Canada continues to wreak her revenge.

Approximately 75,000 years thence, the Laurentide ice sheet formed in Canada during a time of global cooling and spread over the Great Lakes and New England. Eventually, about 18,000 years ago, the global climate warmed once again (sans SUVs), and the glaciers retreated.

While we gained such treasures as Cape Cod and the Islands, we also harvested a bumper crop of glacial rocks. Thank you, Canada.

As anyone from around here knows, when trying to dig a hole for a fence post or to plant a shrub, there is invariably a basketball-sized boulder just a few inches beneath the surface. Imagine that multiplied a thousand-fold, as an early New England farmer tried to plow his fields with his team of oxen. He would be constantly turning up rocks, many of which required the efforts of a long pry bar to fully dislodge them.

Then, the odd, early harvest. A team of oxen or draft horses pulls a heavy sledge back and forth throughout the fields as a gang of youngsters and older teens were matched to the rocks they could handle, piling on and dragging them to the edge of the field. It is only natural that this became the raw material for New England’s beautiful stone walls.

And every spring, the frost heaved up another fresh crop of glacial rocks. And does so to this day. It is not a winning battle.

But New England farmers adapted and persevered. According to Michael Bell, writing for the American Geographical Society in 1989, “In the late nineteenth century, only 33 percent of New England farmland was classified as tilled or tillable by the agricultural census. The rest was equally divided between pasture and woodland.” So the resourceful Yankees determined that untilled land was more cost effective, and used it as pastureland or woodlots.

While these decisions were utilitarian, they gave us the lovely New England scenery of winding roads, rock walls, pastures, and forests that we see today.

Meanwhile, 1,500 miles to the west, a similar conundrum was faced by early settlers of eastern Kansas.

Much of Kansas was broad and flat, with deep rich soil and free of subterranean rock, making it an ideal granary. Wheat and corn and sorghum were grown by the ton. But in one area, a long rectangle extending south from Topeka into northern Oklahoma, another bumper crop of rocks was found. But for a totally different reason.

The Flint Hills, nearly 10,000 square miles, were formed when the shallow Western Interior Sea covered the Midwest from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Circle over 80 million years ago. Over many millions of years, layers of sedimentary limestone and chert (flint) were laid down. Eventually, mountain building in the continent caused the sea to subside and, as it flowed south, limestone was worn away more than flint, leaving the Flint Hills.

When the settlers first tried farming in the Flint Hills, they found that they could only do so in relatively few creek and river bottoms. Whenever they tried to expand their farms into nearby hills, they found thin, clay soil littered with hard, sharp shards of flint. They quickly decided that ranching was a far better use of the land. Cattle found a favorable home here, and thrived.

The Flint Hills is also home to the tallgrass prairie and reconstituted herds of bison. Because of the thick growth of bluestem grass and nearly annual prairie fires, trees are only found in the creek bottoms. Gentle, rounded hills are covered in dense, tall grass as far as the eye can see. The only sound is the rushing wind, rippling patterns and rustling waves in the grass. No cars. No trains or planes. The buffalo dot a distant hillside, contentedly grazing. It is an intense solitude that heals one’s soul.

Two different geographies, two different geologies. But human ingenuity made the best of both. As we do in all places and climes, and certainly, one day, on alien planets. That is the greatest human trick – to adapt.

There is no fear for our future. We will surely adapt again and again.

We are not alone

Science News Magazine has been published since 1922, over ninety years. The news arm of the non-profit Society for Science and the Public educates and informs the public about current happenings in science and technology. It has covered such seminal events as the first man-made nuclear reaction, the first electronic computers, man’s first walk on the Moon, and the first jet aircraft. For some time, the editors have selected the top science story of each year.

For 2013, there were plenty of candidates. The amazing rise of miniature unmanned aerial vehicles (drones). Gene therapy advances in managing blood cancers. The ability to grow replacement organs from scratch. The Nobel prize in physics for the discovery of the Higgs boson.

But what was the top science story of 2013? Bugs.

Or more precisely, bacteria and other organisms which make up the microbiota living on and within the human body.

In a steady stream of studies and reports throughout the year, we learned more and more about our remarkable little cousins. For instance, the fact that only 10 percent of your cells are human; the other 90 percent are a mixture of bacteria, fungi, and viruses. (That microbes are so tiny and human cells relatively huge accounts for the fact that, by mass, our microbiota only amounts to a few pounds).

Scientists are even beginning to argue that we should view the human body as a superorganism defined by this mixture of human and microorganism DNA (microbiome). The advantage in doing so is that it might help us better understand the effects of diet, chemical exposure, and other factors on our health.

It is important to note that our community of microorganisms is for the most part beneficial. They help us digest food and convert it more efficiently to energy. They influence the immune system, training it to identify and fight true pathogens. They produce hormones instructing our body to store fats, and create necessary vitamins. To understand the workings of the human body without considering our microbiome is, we are finding, impossible.

Michael Pollan, in an in-depth New York Times Magazine article (“Some of My Best Friends are Germs”, May 15, 2013), details his research into this new frontier. Starting with a submission of swabs to the BioFrontiers Institute at the University of Colorado, he received a detailed report of his personal microbiome. Pollan interviews the scientists involved in the project and describes how our microbiome, unique as a fingerprint, is developed. Soon after birth, a community of microbes takes hold in the infant gut. Its composition from there is influenced by environment and, mostly, diet. In fact, the BioFrontiers scientists can identify from a person’s swab samples both where they live in the world and what is the makeup of their diet.

Researchers have observed that obesity may be encouraged by a certain mix of gut flora. And that mix of flora is a result of diet. Meat eaters have a distinct pattern of gut flora from vegetarians. Diets high in sugars and fats are quickly absorbed, denying nutrition to our little minions. They prefer diets high in fiber and complex carbohydrates; these take much longer to digest. What a surprise, then, to see that independent research into low glycemic index (GI) diets have concluded that diets high in fiber and complex carbohydrates are highly preferable for health. The microbes are the key, and they live or die by our dietary choices.

So what might this flood of human microbiome research mean? Perhaps we’ll find that our war on bacteria, with a plethora of antibiotic soaps and cleaning products, might be taking a toll on our little helpers. Certainly we need to be concerned with pathogens, but perhaps we are overdoing it.

We might find that diet books of the future will focus on cooking for our whole selves. Lightly cooked vegetables, whole grains, al dente pasta, for instance, all take longer to digest and provide the fiber that our gut bacteria thrive on. Feed them well and they will serve us well. It would be a complete change in perspective and provide a grand new toolset for managing obesity and optimizing health.

There is much research yet to do and understanding to be gained. But it is exciting that we are beginning to comprehend the owner’s guide to the whole human being.

On wooden ships and foxhole radios

Foxhole radio - c. 1942

We commemorated the two-hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Lake Erie a few weeks ago. On September 10, 1813, a rag-tag group of American sailors led by Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry beat the British fleet at Put-in-Bay, Ohio. This decisive battle was a major factor in resolving the War of 1812. Perry is memorialized in his home state of Rhode Island and at Presque Island, Pennsylvania, where six of his nine-ship fleet were built by hand, from their keels up.

In a seemingly unrelated event, National Public Radio recently aired an appreciative retrospective about AM radio. Listeners called in and recounted tales of making crystal radios from scratch. Veterans of World War II remembered building “foxhole radios” which used a razor blade and pencil as a detector to pull music and comedy skits from the ether, cheering an otherwise grim battlefield.

These disparate observations illustrate an important point. For nearly all of humankind’s existence, we lived in close proximity to our various technologies. You could either weave cloth from wool yourself or knew someone who could. And at the very least, you were certainly capable of understanding how it was done. Nearly anyone could become a blacksmith or learn to grow and reap a crop of wheat. Or build a wooden ship, or a radio.

It is only in the past fifty years or so, the briefest tick of human existence, that our technologies have become so complex, so remote.

Former backyard mechanics joke that one now needs a double degree in mechanical and computer engineering to build a car. But the joke is true. Fifty years ago, we could adjust the point gap and timing, change the carburetor jets, and really understand what was happening. Today, we look at our shiny new iPhone and haven’t a clue that it uses quantum tunneling effects to store our silly cat video, a concept that bedeviled Albert Einstein himself (quantum tunneling, that is, not the cat videos, but one wonders what he would have thought of them).

This evolution of complexity and technological remoteness will accelerate, and it will do so exponentially. Our children and their children will live in a world far removed from crystal radios and backyard brake jobs. This isn’t a bad thing. Technology has given us wonderful advances leading to notably longer human life spans.

But, yet, a wedge is being driven into our humanity, separating us from the world that nurtures us. It’s not that we shouldn’t celebrate the advent of autonomous (driver-less) cars and nano-engineered robots, but we need to retain our connectedness to Mother Earth. It is important to know how to grow a tomato and how to make your own sauce. While enjoying the constant chatter of Facebook, you must write an actual letter, in your own hand, to express your love to a distant elderly relative.

So let’s revel in this wild ride we're all on together, but don’t forget to take that quiet walk in the woods with the iPhone shut off. The silly cat video can wait a bit.