The thesis of Cats Paws and Catapults is an argument against naive biomimicry. There is a fashionable and romantic belief that natural design is “better” than manmade technology, and human technologists should therefore borrow designs from nature.
The clearest counterarguments Steven Vogel brings are about locomotion by air and water. The attempt to use birds as a model for human flight set inventors off in the wrong direction. Birds are smaller than people, and so the characteristics of their flight technology is different. Larger entities need to go faster to stay aloft. Propellers and jets are superior to flapping wings for heavy humans; lighter birds don’t need the speed. Similarly, marine creatures are smaller than ships. Waves pose a significant barrier for smaller, lighter swimmers, so most marine locomotion happens beneath the surface of the water. Characteristics change yet again at smaller sizes; some insects like water striders are just the right size to take advantage of surface tension.
“Cat’s Paws” compares and contrasts human technology with natural technology in a range of domains: structure, shape, materials, locomotion, using lots of examples from the worlds of biology and artifact. Vogel explains the physical principles, benefits and tradeoffs for the different design approaches, using words to describe the basic math. The material would be even more fun and memorable with animated calculators that showed the changing properties of flight, structural support, and so on, allowing participants to see the impact of changing values. I wonder if this simulation exists somewhere.
The argument is made with a light hand, and the bulk of the book consists of delightful comparisons and contrasts between very different ways of solving design problems. When it comes to biomimicry, Vogel argues the most effective examples involve borrowing some aspects of a natural design, such as a dolphin’s streamlined shape inspiring aerodynamic vehicles, a beetle’s jaws inspiring chainsaw teeth, and the adhesive characteristics of burr inspiring velcro. The models are adapted from nature to the specific design problem and materials needed for the human requirement.
The critique of naive biomimicry focuses largely on the operating characteristics of the technologies: how they solve the presenting design problems of structure and motion. In doing so, Vogel misses a few key points about how and why human designers might want to emulate nature.
Vogel explains that human technology is able to leverage much higher temperatures and temperature ranges than natural technologies. The book, published in 1997, takes for granted the enormous amounts of seemingly cheap fossil fuel energy that allows humans to run our blast furnaces and jet engines. Sample throwaway quote: “One must remember that, their image makers notwithstanding, utility companies are in the business to sell, not save power.” (California fixed this in 1982, when the state Public Utilities Commission came up with the decoupling idea that would allow utility profits to grow while sales declined.)
Another topic that the book doesn’t address at all is waste. Human production processes have tended to create vast quantities of frequently harmful waste; smog, nonbiodegradable plastics, heavy metals in rivers, fertilizer-created dead zones in oceans. Natural processes tend to consume byproducts instead of creating waste, perhaps because they evolved at slower scale in the context of ecosystems, and perhaps because of accidents of chemistry. Birds digest fruit pulp and excrete the seeds that grow another plant. Animals at the end of their life become food for vultures, larvae, and bacteria.
To date, human industrial technologies have been hugely wasteful of energy and materials. Our culture needs more sustainable processes, not because it sounds romantic but because the current solutions won’t last. Vogel’s insight that natural models are best adapted, not borrowed, can be seen in industrial parks that use the byproducts of one manufacturing process as the feedstocks for another, and the use of microbes to detoxify industrial waste.
There are other areas where science and technology have gone beyond the information available to Vogel when he wrote the book a decade ago. Human artifacts are assembled or processed, while natural artifacts are grown. The growth process consists of an development process that creates the organism, and the ongoing chemical processes that sustain the organism; both sets of processes governed by genetic programs. Human products are often assembled at the macroscopic level, while biological products are assembled at the molecular and cellular levels. It would be interesting now, and probably even more interesting ten or twenty years from now, to read a version of the book taking into account insights and progress in the areas of gene-driven development and nanotechnology.
Risk-free local food
Barbara Kingsolver’s new book, Animal Vegetable Miracle is a paean to a year of growing and eating local food at her family’s new home in the Appalachian region where she grew up. In the book, Kingsolver writes with admiration and hope about Appalachian Harvest, a network of organic family farmers who distribute and market their goods to area supermarkets. I looked up the organization on the web, and saw that the Appalachian Harvest packing facility was destroyed in a fire a few weeks ago. The group has resolved to keep going through this growing season (they’re taking donations to rebuild). The contrast between the Kingsolver family adventure and the Appalachian Harvest’s disaster got me thinking about the strengths and weaknesses of the “Miracle” approach.
The Kingsolver family experiment took hard work. The family grew most of its own produce in a large garden. Much of their protein came from the chickens and turkeys they raised. The subsistence gardening required many hours of weeding, mulching, picking, canning, drying and home cooking, not to mention sex therapy for turkeys that have been nearly bred out of the instincts of breeding. Meanwhile, Barbara continued to worked as a writer for magazines, her husband Steven is a professor of environmental studies, and their daughter Camille’s was college-bound high school senior. The combination of subsistence gardening and day jobs made for long days. The experiment in local provision also brought many pleasures; forgotten rituals of neighborhood harvesting, the craft and sensory pleasures of home cooking, the family meals, the connections at the farmer’s market, the awareness of the seasons.
The experiment comes across as less of a stunt than Manhattan’s No Impact Man, who is blogging about his family’s experiment in a 19th floor apartment without grid electricity, elevator, plumbing, or toilet paper. The Kingsolver family began their experiment already experienced with gardening, household chickens, home cooking, baking, and preserving. The No Impact family are novices at the subsistence skills. They tried home composting and got flies. They tried gardening and killed the plants. (But they’ve got a book deal, a movie deal, and a Good Morning America gig).
The Kingsolver crew didn’t try to go off the system entirely. They have grid electricity, drove a hybrid car, and bought coffee, spices, and some nonlocal wheat flour. As a young adult, Barbara Kingsolver when through times on food stamps, and had no interest, to her credit, in revisiting poverty and hardship.
The No Impact family’s choices are far too extreme to be a role model. The Kingsolver lifestyle in its entirety is beyond the skills and lifestyle of most Americans, but it is close enough to serve as a model to learn from. More people could buy good food economically at farmers markets, which would create a bigger, more viable market for local organic farming. It would be a greater shift, but more people could garden in cities and suburbs.
The Kingsolver local food project was practical, given the skills and economic resources of the family. It was also lucky and risk-free. The weather was good, the harvest was bountiful. The vegetables, fruit and meat preserved in August carried the family all the way through the winter. The animals were healthy and the turkeys learned to reproduce. There was no drought, flood, fire, or pestilence. And if there had been, the family had income and savings. They could have replaced what they lost and headed to the supermarket.
Barbara Kingsolver’s tale of a year of living locally is romantic, heartwarming, lyrical. It is the home gardeners version of Henry David Thoreau, who had the freedom to tramp in the exurban woods around Concord when on break from serving as the steward, handyman and tutor for Ralph Waldo Emerson’s household.
The organic farmers of Appalachian Sustainable Development don’t have the same economic security. With the decline of tobacco, local farmers are trying to make a living by branding and packaging their food for supermarket customers. The packaging plant fire has put their livelihoods at risk.
The classic stories of American agriculture show even greater risks. Willa Cather and Edna Ferber wrote classic novels about the drudgery, drought, loneliness, hunger and despair of people who tried to make a living from the land.
Eating locally produced food, as subsistence or local market farmers has many virtues. It is more sustainable than the long-distance system we have now, which wastes vast amounts of fossil fuel, degrades soil and water, and is causing an epidemic of obesity and diabetes. We could stand to be a lot more local than we are today.
But when humans have no choices other than local consumption and local markets, the result throughout history is periodic starvation. The ability to transport and trade takes the edge off the risks. Valuing local food is good; worshipping it is excessive.
Consumer environmentalism or system change?
Are Menlo Park willing to make the changes required to really mitigate global warming and peak oil? The city has signed onto the US Mayor’s Climate Change agreement, vowing to reduce greenhouse gases, and has city staff and community members engaged in efforts to identify ways to get greener.
It seems like the most popular tactics are green buying on behalf of households, businesses and the city. It’s a fairly wealthy community, and people seem excited by the prospect of solar roofs and pools, greener lighting, cars and driveways. These things aren’t trivial. New technologies and processes need early adopters. It’s great to be in a community that’s willing to experiment.
But will people really get behind the lifestyle and land use changes needed to make the biggest dent in fossil fuel use? As in, drive less. Cars are the biggest source of greenhouse gas emissions, and the biggest consumers of oil. In order to really mitigate global warming and peak oil, people need to drive less, and that means less sprawl and better transit.
Infill development and public transit are much more controversial. For a newcomer, it’s hard to tell how much is sincere concern that useful changes won’t be a bad deal for neighborhoods, and how much is just plain nimbyism.
How to tell you’re in California
Where the State Assembly just just based a bill to incent solar hot water heaters, and the state senator met constituents at the farmer’s market.
Not just Nimbyism – negotiated settlement for Menlo condo/retail near train
Last November, there was a referendum in Menlo Park about a controversial condo/retail development near the train tracks. The folks collecting signatures said that they didn’t necessarily object to the project, they just thought that the city council had negotiated a bad deal for the city. I wondered whether this was sincerely pragmatic opposition, or a cover for Nimbyism. The referendum proponents followed through on the drive to get a better deal. Six months after the referendum succeeded, the referendum proponents and the developer have come up with a settlement reducing the density from 50 to 40 units per acre, and providing a payment of $2 million to the city. The new proposal now needs to go to the planning commission for approval.
How doctors make mistakes
Recently read two books by physicians with different angles on the same topic: how doctors make mistakes. Jerome Groopman is an oncologist who writes in how Doctors Think about the prejudices, biases, and cognitive errors that result in missed diagnoses. Doctors make mistakes when they dislike their patients, when they like patients to much, when they fail to listen to patients enough; when they see the common and miss the unusual, when they are in love with their own expertise. Groopman focuses on the personal and interpersonal, the nuances the doctor-patient relationship and the thought processes in the doctor’s mind.
Atul Gawande is a surgeon who focuses in Better on system problems and process solutions; methods for mass immunization, saving the lives of wounded soldiers, combatting hospital infection, and extending the lives of cystic fibrosis patients. The two doctors advocate different paths to improvement; Gawande encourages increased measurement, system improvement, and standardization; Groopman encourages personal reflection and better communication with patients, and is distrustful (with evidence) of computer-aided protocols that lead doctors to override their better judgment.
While the two physicians have different takes on how to reduce mistakes, they seem both to be a part of an underlying shift in how doctors respond to mistakes. A desire to maintain authority and prevent liability discouraged doctors from acknowledging mistakes. The newer mindset sees that analyzing mistakes with a focus on learning rather than blame can help prevent more errors.
Both doctors criticize the impact of “managed care” on the quality of medicine. Groopman writes about how doctors are encouraged to rush, eliminating doctor-patient relationships, and how drug company perks affect doctors’ judgement. Gawande describes how insurance-company protocols are designed to reduce reimbursement rather than to improve care. Incentives in the US health care system for quality, cost, and accountability are not complementary. We keep paying more and get better technology but not on the whole better care.
Blessed Unrest:
I listened to a podcast of Paul Hawken talking on KQED Forum about Blessed Unrest his new book about an emerging, decentralized grassroots movement that combines environmental activism and social justice. Listening to the show, I wonder whether this represents a new trend, selective observation, or some of both. At the same time that local green and social justice groups are springing up around the world, with beliefs and agendas congenial to Hawken’s lefty preferences, there is a flowering of evangelical protestant groups oriented toward biblical literalism, capitalism, and social conservatism. Hawken sees global spiritual networks as something new in the world, but missionary Christianity has a long history. Yes, there is grassroots activism springing up around the world; is it possible that Paul Hawken sees the parts he wants to see? I’ve only heard the radio show and not yet read the book; perhaps the book addresses these concerns.
The bridge across the bay
Last week, I went to the Menlo Park city council meeting that covered Caltrain’s plan to extend commuter rail across the San Francisco Bay. Trips to the East Bay represent the largest share of miles that I drive. I probably go to SF more often, but take Caltrain a decent share of the time. I never take public transit to the east bay, because of the “you can’t get there from here” factor. It’s physically possible to do it, but it takes about twice as long, so someone who has another option wouldn’t do it. A good proportion of Bay Area Socialtexters who have convenient access to public transit get to work by train or bus, or bike, and we have a couple of employees who live in the east bay who might take public transit if it was more convenient. So a train across the bay sounded like a pretty good idea to me.
The council meeting was educational. Dozens of people came out from the neighborhood that would be affected by the train, who were either concerned or adamantly opposed. They didn’t want a train through their backyards; and funding for features like grade crossings and sound barriers weren’t clearly available. People were seriously worried that the plan was a stalking horse for freight rail. Apparently, Southern Pacific has the legal right to take freight trains across the bay if the tracks are upgraded to handle freight. For people who live near the tracks, a freight trains running all night long would be horrid. The projections of commuter ridership didn’t do a lot to dispel the fear that commuting wasn’t the main purpose of the program.
The ridership estimates were low — only about 6,000 passengers per day, about 10% of the car traffic across the bridge. The Caltrain did not seem to have end-user benefits as clear priorities, with only six rides per day. Options to cut costs in various ways would cut connectivity as the first resort to cutting costs, dumping passengers in Newark, without a train connection. It was not clear why the ridership estimates were so low; perhaps because the proposed service is not very convenient.
Some city council members and community members are pushing for a bus rapid transit option instead of the train. This could be more convenient, cheaper, and less noisy. I got up and spoke in the interest of people who would benefit from better cross-bay commuting, even though it was scary to speak amid the parade of people arguing vehemently against the route.
The meeting was an excellent education on the the difficult dynamics of regional transit in the bay area. The transit agency representatives sounded more interested in upgrading their trains than serving commuters, or making sure that people who lived by the tracks would still have livable neighborhoods. The room was full of people who didn’t want a train in their back yard; and there was only one speaker (me) providing personal testimony about benefits.
Given the risks to the oil supply and global warming, I think we are going to very badly need improved regional transit. Right now, organizational dynamics make it harder to do.
p.s. As far as I could tell, the Almanac and the Palo Alto Daily didn’t cover the session. There is no local media to be found.
Animal Architects
Why do caterpillars hang from trees? They bungee jump from a silk thread in order to flee a hungry bird or other threat. They can crawl back up the thread or descend to the ground. How do beavers build their dams and lodges? With great variety and flexibility, never the same way twice, depending on the weather, landscape, population, and other factors. Animal Architects discusses insect silk, beaver dams, birds nests, bee hives, and other examples of animal building. The stories are fascinating in themselves, and the thesis is tells a larger story. The authors use numerous examples, from stereotyped wasp nests, to the highly flexible building strategies of beavers, to build taxonomies of mapping, from stimulus-response to concept-building, and social intelligence, from isolation to multi-dimensional decision-making. The picture of animal intelligence is much richer and more nuanced than the “stimulus-response” behaviorist school.
There is a strong perceived dichotomy between “intelligence” and “instinct”. It can be seen in today’s article Washington Post article about a recent scientific study showing that humans pleasure centers are stimulated by acts of generosity and kindness. The article quotes neuroscientists and philosophers suggesting that these scientific studies take moral judgements outside of the realm of morality and into the domain of physical determinism. “Joshua D. Greene, a Harvard neuroscientist and philosopher, said multiple experiments suggest that morality arises from basic brain activities. Morality, he said, is not a brain function elevated above our baser impulses. Greene said it is not “handed down” by philosophers and clergy, but “handed up,” an outgrowth of the brain’s basic propensities.” But the expression of morality – like other aspects of human behavior — intertwines instincts, emotions, culture, and reason. The interesting thing isn’t nature or nurture, it’s the fascinating combinations.
Well-woven transit in a multi-centered region
Here’s a very interesting post from a blog in Houston, a metro area that has even greater problems with auto-dependence and transit fragmentation than the Bay Area. The post describes a coordinated intermodal system used in a multi-centric region of Germany that has four different types of transit used for different needs, including inter-city travel, commuter travel, and city travel. The pieces are designed to knit together, minimizing transfers and supporting easy transfers from mode to mode.
The kicker — the region in question covers the same amount of geographical area as Houston, which covers over 10,000 square miles in 10 counties. The Bay Area is somewhat smaller, about 7,000 square miles in 9 counties according to 511.org. Conclusion: it is possible to create a coordinated transit system in a spread-out region with multiple metros.
p.s. The German system serves about 5 million residents, with 640 million trips in 2005. The Bay Area has about 7 million residents, with about 500 million trips per year. The Bay Area’s usage of a less well-integrated integrated system is 55% of theirs, measured in trips per person per year year.