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Nature is not a Machine

Posted in Economy, Environment, Peak Oil, Technology by nickblack on June 20, 2010

Nature is not a machine. I’ve noticed a growing hubris in the way in which people are talking about the BP catastrophe, not least Mr. Obama, who although he’s a lawyer, should know better.  We are listening to these people talking about ‘putting it right’ in the same way that one would fix a broken watch. Replace broken parts and all is well. This drive for the metaphorical arises from the way our cognitive systems seek pattern, which is mostly an evolutionary good, but it has its limits. The wrong metaphor can lead us to desperately wrong analysis.

Nature is not a machine. There are no spare parts. There is no fix. Rather, it’s a cohesive biological system of unimaginable complexity. What has happened in the Gulf of Mexico has changed the environment – forever. The system state has been radically altered and the expectation that it can be put back the way it was is scientifically naïve. I’m sure there will be remediation efforts, but that will not, ever, put that coast back the way it was. This conceit of nature as our pet machine is clearly of machine age origin, but now that we have so much better metaphors for the way the world works, why do we insist on continuing with the same old nonsense? In the last 30 years, with the advent of genetics, the language of modern biology provides us with far more useful metaphors – and modes of analysis. We have nudged a complex ecosystem out of equilibrium. It will eventually find a new equilibrium, but that may not include the existence of blue fin tuna. You were tired of sushi anyway, right?

This is a map of what the Gulf looks like. Notice that it looks a lot more like a nervous system than a machine. It is. It is the nervous system of the beast we’ve made.

(Image thanks to Matthew Baker at ESRI Educational Services)

If we look at this as a biological system whose health we have compromised we can start thinking in terms of the way in which biological systems recover – they heal. And that healing process leaves scars. Life continues, but not with the same vigour as before. And sometimes recovery is impossible and life ceases. The Southeast coast of America may partially recover, but some of the more fragile populations will not. The complex web of life that makes up that ecosystem has been diminished, and pretending that it’s all just going to get taken to the mechanics and put right is offensive. Pretending that it’s just a matter of the BP executive writing impressive cheques makes it worse.

While we’re at it, why is the Gulf of Mexico a catastrophe and Alberta is a business opportunity? Every single peak oil geologist and ecologist I know has been on about what the downside of the oil production curve will look like since Colin Campbell started the Association for the Study of Peak Oil. No mystery. No magic. They have been saying for at least a decade that it will make parts of earth look like bad science fiction. Irrevocably damaged/destroyed ecosystems – which are not easily isolated from the larger planet wide ecology – will inevitably leak their toxins. What cancerous horrors await the good people of Alberta we can only imagine. Massive bird casualties are routine. But no one seems to think of it as a catastrophe.

Let’s put it in context. The largest dam in the world is China’s three gorges project. The second largest is in Alberta. It’s called the Syncrude Tailings dam. It contains 540,000,000 cubic metres of toxic sludge. That is one tailing pond. It total Alberta has 840,000,000 cubic metres in tailing ponds, covering 170 sq. km. This is an Edward Burtynsky photo of what that looks like…

And you thought Mordor was scary? So while I’m not in any way trying to diminish the scale of what is happening in the Gulf, I think it’s good to remember that it’s business as usual in Alberta. Maybe we’re at a turning point. Maybe the BP spill is the thing that finally makes us think about what we’re up to. Oil is killing us, because we are part of the same biology. We are not a machine.

Links:

Nicholas Metivier Gallery

ESRI

Soldiers on the School Run

Posted in Collapse, Environment, International Aid by nickblack on June 15, 2010

Last night I was at the Royal Geographical Society for the annual IRC-UK lecture, ‘Soldiers on  the School Run: Sensible Strategy or Disastrous Compromise?’ This is the latest in a series of events trying to define what it is we’re up to in the business of humanitarian interventions. It’s clear to honest professionals in both the military and the aid industry that the way we are dealing with complex emergencies is not working and needs to get a lot better – fast. There’s no choice. The rate of State failure is accelerating. We simply cannot afford too many Somalias.

On the one hand, the military is engaged in adapting to WW4 – the kind of battles waged or imagined in WW2 and the Cold War are history. WW4 is a counterinsurgency war. Neither the battles between national armies that characterized WW2, nor the long distance threatening of the Cold War are relevant to today’s forces fighting jihadists in the fields and villages of Afghanistan. It is a far more complex mission than previous forces had to consider. The WW4 soldier is expected to be part diplomat, part aid worker, and part nation builder. Panelist Ahmed Rashid believes there is a crisis between the  military and the NGOs in Afghanistan. The rate of change in mission has been too rapid for the military to adapt its strategy from the Cold War, and their command structure is incompatible with the way NGOs work. But the heart of the problem is the very different perspective of each organization.

For the NGOs, whose objectives range from acute disaster relief to long term development, and who therefore expect to spend anything from a few weeks to years in a given place, the issue is how to maintain independence from the military on which they increasingly rely for logistics and security. It is axiomatic  in the Aid industry that aid should be ‘independent, neutral and impartial.’ But in the management of complex emergencies there is increasing involvement of the military, and the politics of military intervention means that there is no neutrality or impartiality. The NGOs are fearful that the more they are identified with the military, their safety will be in jeopardy. It is well known that on this basis the Taliban considers Aid workers to be ‘American Slaves. Mike Young is IRCs director for Asia and the Caucasus, and he’s been at it for 12 years.  He doesn’t believe in big plans, he’s all for local, which takes time and trust. He’s frightened that if the Taliban remain after the US and UK forces leave, the locals who worked with the Aid agencies will be killed as collaborators.  He remains very doubtful of the long term effectiveness of military based Aid, but admits that we’re stuck with what we’ve got.

Major General (Ret.) Tim Cross, who is a veteran the Gulf, the Balkans and Iraq argued that for the military it wasn’t a question of whether they should be doing development and humanitarian intervention, but how. On balance he said that he thought both the military and the NGOs were doing ‘a reasonable job’, but that ‘we have to keep talking to each other.’ So they have very different missions, and very different ways of operating. But they find themselves working together out of necessity.  And not only with NGOs. The US marines have been trying to use academics in its efforts for ‘hearts and minds’ and to avoid accidental civilian casualties. The Human Terrain Systems embed social scientists and anthropologists with combat troops to help tacticians with local knowledge. This new kind of counterinsurgency war/complex emergency situation is demanding  rapid adaptation, and if that means embedding academics and /or humanitarian workers, so be it.

Uneasy bedfellows they may be, but it looks like they will be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. Nation building is new and over the last 10 years it’s been pretty hit and miss. Perhaps what is happening is that two distinct mindsets are having to merge, because the prospect of large parts of Africa and Asia collapsing is too dire to imagine.

Links:

International Rescue Committee

Human Terrain

Wintermute

Posted in Economy, Science, Technology by nickblack on June 10, 2010

“Welcome my son, welcome…to the machine.”

Pink Floyd, 1975

Twice a year since 1993 the TOP500 project has released a list of sites operating the 500 most powerful supercomputers. This June, in the number one spot is the Cray Jaguar at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, with a benchmark speed of 1.759 Petaflops. A Petaflop is 1,000,000,000,000,000 floating point operations a second. In second place is a Chinese system at the National Supercomputing Centre in Shenzhen, called Nebulae. Nebulae has a benchmark speed of 1.27 Petaflops. The benchmark is used to standardize results, but gives a slower speed than the machine’s theoretical maximum. The theoretical maximum for Jaguar is 2.33 Petaflops, and for Nebulae it’s 2.98. So there are now supercomputers running at 2 Petaflops.

What makes this interesting is that futurist Ray Kurzweil estimates the computing speed necessary to emulate human intelligence is 10 Petaflops, or 1016 operations per second. A check of the Top 500 lists from the last few years confirms that Moore’s Law is alive and well in supercomputing. In June 2008 the 1Petaflop barrier was breached for the first time by an IBM cluster called Roadrunner at the US Department of Energy at Los Alamos. So it’s reasonable to assume that by June 2012 a machine will reach 8 Petaflops – within striking distance of Kurzweil’s estimate. Two years after that a machine will exist that is nearly twice as fast as brainspeed.

These speeds are opening up entirely new kinds of science. Simulation of complex systems like climate, astrophysics, fusion, and genetics. Researchers will be able to run simulations faster and cheaper for a huge variety of scientific and technological problems which have until now been impossible or prohibitively expensive. The most challenging of these problems is how to simulate operation of the brain’s 100 trillion neurons – the most complex object in the universe.

The Transhuman event horizon is nearly upon us. The merger of our biological intelligence with non biological intelligence is now within one decade. We are in the process of radically accelerating our own evolution. We began doing it inside computers in the 80s, molecular biology labs in the 90s and now we’re about to do it to ourselves. We are entering an era in which we will no longer be the smartest one in the room. By 2020 supercomputers wil be running at 64 Petaflops, more than 6 times brainspeed.

This represents the most fundamental paradigm shift in human evolution – a radical discontinuity in human history.

The TOP500 is a list only includes the systems that are volunteered to them. As Dr. Lockley, of the Oxford Supercomputing Centre, pointed out: “The spooks have got some pretty big machines.” So it appears that within five years either the US or Chinese intelligence agencies will have machines that are capable of simulating human intelligence.

Do we really want the NSA to be the first one on the block to have a functioning AI?

Good morning Wintermute, how are you today?

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Prisoner of Fun

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized by nickblack on June 2, 2010

I went down to visit an old friend who manages a swish new watersports resort on the Turkish coast. A way of going to a sunny part of England, while pretending to go to Turkey. A camp for fun. Bugger local colour, the people who do these holidays are desperate and they have children. They want some corner of a foreign field that is forever England, and never mind the culture. Get on a plane full of English people for a few hours, then a night coach dash through the outskirts of some crumbling soviet style cities, into the deserted countryside and at midnight you arrive. Theoretically.

The plane was 3 hours late so we arrived in the middle of the night. I say ‘we’ because Ms Mia insisted that if I was going to the Mediterranean and I didn’t take her, there’d be trouble. Mad Ms M doesn’t do planes (we’re going to crash), coaches (we’re going to crash), or watersports (we’re going to drown and wearing sports clothing is stupid), so she came just to have a good moan. She’d thrashed her writing arm writing commercial copy  and wanted to sit by the pool and nurse herself back to what she imagines good health. Or so she said.

The room was tastefully done up in the style of an ancient Greek motel, if they’d had motels. Above our twin beds – one of the things about going on holiday with an ex – was a faux fresco fragment of Greek lovers from the classic age, all willowy limbs and diaphanous textiles. The sliding balcony door was framed in Doric columns of distressed beige, as were the beds. Even the marble floor was beige. But I bet we had better plumbing than half of Turkey.

We woke to that Mediterranean sky that reminds your interior designer of Farrow and Ball’s Cook’s Blue, and the sea a shade of Arsenic (number 214). After a wake up roll up on the balcony we went off to breakfast and that’s where the trouble started. The Turkish kitchen staff had gone mental. Unless you’ve survived since ancient Rome, or you’ve been a diplomat at one of those state bashes, you’ve never seen this much food in one place. Seconds. Thirds. Eat till you burst. Every meal, every day, was as much as you could ever conceive of eating and you left the dining terrace in a rolling stagger. Package holiday heaven.

Our fellow holiday makers were clad in the collective hallucination of English leisure: Quicksilver, Animal, Fat Face, O’Neill, Billabong…The logos of magical thinking: If we all just keep it up, we’ll live in a country with a climate  and we won’t work in Swindon, we’ll live on the beach in Australia and be tan and thin. No you won’t. As soon as they’d killed themselves with calories and covered each other in spf50, it was off to the beach and sailing. Ahhh, a laser dinghy on the morning bay. Light wind and clear water – more like a massage than sailing. The beach staff, all lovely young things, Turk and Brit, were so helpful you wanted to take them home. M got a beach lounger at the far end of the beach and worried about her tan in isolation. And that’s what we did. I sailed and she smoked and seethed on the beach. We ate and ate, and read and read and sailed and sailed.

We thought about blending in, but it was uphill. M kept muttering that these weren’t our people and I kept thinking that we didn’t have any people because that would imply some link to humanity. We looked wrong. There was some kind of barrier. Every time I got to talking to some nice couple from Richmond or Manchester I ended up making a mistake. I’d bring up the imminent collapse of civilization, or peak oil and they’ve got little children so they’re not thrilled to hear from some old loony that it’s all over and that Leicestershire will look like the Ukraine in 10 years. Or that was M’s explanation anyway. I thought it might be that she didn’t have that yummy mummy hair and the top shop beach wear with the gold trim and sequins. And then I found out from Simon, 11, that the kids called her the shouting wife and that explained it.

After a few days we both got the creeps. It was like being in that TV show from the 60s, the Prisoner, you kept expecting to see Patrick McGoohan and a big white balloon. Food arrived. As soon as you’d finished a plate it was whisked away by a smiling young Turkish person. You had fun on the beach. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t leave because all the surrounding area is Turkish military and they have no sense of humour. At 4 in the afternoon there was a dinghy race, every day, which was always won by the same kid from Ireland. We only found out later he was a world class racer and we’d all been wasting our time. We did yoga. We did pilates. We did something with big balls, let me rephrase that, we did an exercise class where you sat on a big plastic ball and did sit ups till you cried. We ate again. In the evenings we sat in the beach bar and drank beer. People read big novels. Children annoyed their parents. It seemed timeless but in a terrifying way. I felt I knew how cows felt: domesticated and passive. Just a big domesticated mammal in a fun prison.

They made us go to into town on one day. We mountain biked. Not just any mountain bikes. All brand new Gary Fishers for Crissakes. A bit OTT for a 20 minute ride but hey, this is funtown. A fishing harbour teeming with feral cats and old men drinking tea from tiny glasses and smoking. We wandered the back streets and looked in the shops. This place had been a fishing harbour since Agamemnon was making trouble. Old stone lanes and alleys. It had that kind of marginal poverty you see in places on the fringes of the West. Not bad, but not great. All the wrong logos. Personality cult pictures of Ataturk everywhere. We ate terrible fish and chips and three strands of dead lettuce imitating a salad. I had to have a secret conversation in broken Turkish with the owner after pretending I was on my way to the toilet. M can’t stand the sight of fish with heads, so I had to ask them to filet the fish for us, but without letting her know or she would have been embarrassed. I was trying to explain phobias in a language I don’t speak. He was mystified, but did his best. It wasn’t much of an escape. All the people from the camp were at the same restaurant because it was the day we had to go to town and it was the only good one. We finished and biked home, defeated.

At last, Saturday, going home. You can only do this for a while. We sat around waiting for the coach. By now the kids were fed up, mums were ridiculous colours, and everyone  had gained 15 pounds. M had managed to burn her bum the colour of sunset in a last minute attempt to look like a Bedouin, so she couldn’t sit down properly. I’d windsurfed till my arms didn’t work anymore. Time to go. We piled on the coach and drove through towns made up entirely of pastel tower blocks stuck out in the dry hills. Who builds this stuff? Who lives there? Sort of bad Islamic science fiction dystopia sprouting endless satellite dishes. No trees. No water. No thanks.

We arrived at the airport and there was a security check before you entered the terminal. I thought that was a bit cheeky, I mean this is a Muslim country. I wanted to mention to the armed guard that I thought it was a bit rich, given that they were the ones blowing up our airports, not the other way round, but M talked me out of it. Same time next year?

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