Hermione's Helping Hand

I’m on vacation and was inspired to re-read the Harry Potter series. This seemed like an appropriate time given that today, July 31, is Harry Potter’s birthday. Also, in a recent family conversation about the re-telling of fairy tales, we mused about the different experiences you might have with an “updated” fairy tale, or one that takes a different perspective from an original source, depending on whether you had read the original version. I remember back in 2001 talking to a friend who had watched the first Harry Potter movie in the cinema, but who had not read the books beforehand. Being from a different country, he had also not been exposed to the Western canon of fairy tales. He enjoyed the movie, but found it a bit disjointed, and was confused what some scenes were about.

 

So, I wondered what it would feel like to re-read the books with some of these thoughts in mind. I have to admit that the first book is not as good as I remembered. That being said, every fresh re-reading rewires how one thinks about the text so perhaps all this is not surprising. I found the text clunky in some parts, possibly because I have not read any fiction catering to eleven-year olds in a while. Another thing I noticed this time around is how much guiding the author uses to set up a future scene. Is it a helping hand for younger readers? I don’t know.

 

My reading is also coloured by my profession as an educator. I’m constantly noticing what may be “teachable moments”. This time around, Hermione’s nagging, her drawing up study schedules for Harry and Ron, her checking of their work, made me wonder if students today need more Hermiones. It may not seem cool, but having a friend and peer want you to do well academically and makes the effort to help, even when it seems like being a nag, might be a good thing. That sort of helping hand might not be welcome, but in this case, Ron and Harry greatly benefit from it. Once Harry gets on the Quidditch team and his timetable gets tight, it’s Hermione’s strategies that gets him through the end of the year and final exams.

 

The title of today’s post comes from Book 6. In that instance, the beneficiary is Ron, but the help is particularly un-Hermione-esque. And throughout the books, the influence runs both ways. I’d like to think that Ron and Harry learn good study habits with Hermione’s help, but this aspect isn’t emphasized. If Hermione wasn’t there to nag them, would Ron and Harry be diligent in their classes? Rather when Hermione decides to stray from her straight-laced approach and become more “rebellious”, this is what’s celebrated. I’m not sure what the lesson is here. (For example, I previously blogged about Hermione organizing an illegal study group.)

 

Finally, an observation made by my sister after she had read the books has stuck with me. One of Hermione’s roles is to help provide information to the reader. In the first book, Hermione does so by quoting books she has read such as Hogwarts, A History. This keeps the story moving along without being bogged down. Need a factoid to keep things going? The Hermione character provides a way to insert knowledge. Other characters in the book also do this, but none as much as Hermione. Her helping hand is integral to the books!

On Not Reading

To read or not to read. That is the question. Even if you don’t read a book, in no way does it prevent you from talking about it. Or if you feel obligated to skim, ten minutes might be enough. It might even be preferable for you not to read if you are a book critic. This advice sounds positively blasphemous if you love reading and talking about books. But it does come packaged in a witty and humorous book by Pierre Bayard, aptly titled How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read.

 

I’ve written about many books on this blog. I assure you I’ve read all of them. I even read most of Bayard’s but I did skip a few chapters and skimmed others. I think the author would be proud of me. On the one hand, the book made me think that literary criticism is an absolutely vacuous activity. On the other hand, Bayard emphasizes the non-static nature of a book. Read or not, it provides a jumping point to talk about opinions, ideas, musings, speculations, and engage in other human-like activities. It seems apt that books, read or unread, can promote the idealism of the humanities. Or it might just be a load of rubbish.

 

Ideas are two-faced. Janus-like. That was my biggest takeaway from Bayard’s musings. Two people can have completely different ideas when encountering some reading material, especially if they differ greatly in their backgrounds. There’s a most amusing chapter cherry-picking conversations that an anthropologist has with the Tiv tribe in Africa where she tries to tell them (or perhaps sell them) on the universal human tale of Hamlet. The Tiv may disagree with the typical literature interpretations you might encounter in a college classroom but they interact with the story nevertheless as they ridicule its tropes. I have never read Hamlet although I know enough of the story to quote from it.

 

The other interesting idea comes in the very first chapter with quotes from a book that I hadn’t heard of, The Man Without Qualities by Robert Musil. In it, there is a most peculiar librarian who pointedly never reads any book in the library other the table of contents so that the book can be situated with other books it is related to. An exasperated patron wants to know why. The librarian says that were he to read the actual book, he might “lose perspective”. That sounds preposterous but it turns out the librarian in fact loves all books, so much so, that “incites him to remain prudently on their periphery, for fear that too pronounced an interest in one of them might cause him to neglect the others.” By taking a step back and having a more expansive view, it is the dynamic relationship between books that is more important than one book’s particular content. It’s holistic knowledge by taking preservation of the whole to the extreme.

 

Most books have not been read by most people. And if you do read a book, you begin to forget the moment you start reading. I find this to be more and more true as I’ve aged. I retain the gist of books, stories, TV shows, movies, but I’ve forgotten the details. If enough time has passed, I can’t even tell you the gist. I could consult my blog to reacquaint myself with what I thought of it back when I read it the first time, but a second reading might induce a different response. I’m a different person now than when I first read the book and may interact with it differently as my constellation of ideas has shifted over time. But I don’t think I will ever be like Musil’s librarian. I love the pleasure of reading a book even if it means I miss out on others. Or even re-reading. Since skimming Bayard’s book, I have a hankering to re-read the Harry Potter series. Fresh eyes might provide more fodder for my blog!

In Search of Nothing

Nature abhors a vacuum. At least on the surface of Planet Earth which supports a gaseous atmosphere at a pressure of 760 mm Hg. How did we know this number? One of Galileo’s students, Torricelli, turned a tube of mercury upside down into a bowl of mercury. As long as the tube is more than 760mm long, there will be a gap of nothing at the top. It’s not an air gap. It’s a gap of Nothing.

 

Toricelli was actually looking for the mystical aether, the sacred material breathed by the gods, the fifth element, the quintessence. Supposedly it “allowed light from the stars to propagate” and was “also holding planets in their orbits”. I’m learning about this history reading through Mark Miodownik’s It’s a Gas. Toricelli had finally isolated the aether, a quest of the alchemists, some of whom thought it associated with the philosopher’s stone that would balance the four humours and cure all illnesses. Perhaps it could even prevent death. No wonder that Voldemort coveted it.

 

The trick to creating vacuum is to pump out all the air molecules from a closed container. That container must be truly air-tight. No leaks! Miodownik writes: “We take the accuracy and intricacy of screws, gaskets and valves for granted today. In the seventeenth century such precision engineering was just beginning.” What shot vacuum to fame was the famous demonstration at Magdeburg by Otto von Guericke. He didn’t use the chemical techniques of the alchemists. He just used mechanics to make an airtight pump. Once the air was pumped out of two hemispheres cupped into a sphere not held together by any other means, two teams of eight horses each could not pull the hemispheres apart.

 

What are the properties of Nothing? Now that scientists could reliably make it. They could start running tests. No living thing survived. (Oxygen was yet to be discovered.) Sound does not travel through vacuum, although light does, and magnetism is unaffected. Turns out that metal wires will glow hot in an enclosed vacuum tube when a voltage is applied, and  Voila! Electric lighting is invented! Even if the wire breaks, you can sometimes get electricity to flow. (Electrons leap across but they didn’t know that yet!) This led to vacuum tubes. And now you have TV. Once you’ve mastered manufacturing silicon chips in vacuum conditions, you now have computers and all manner of smart devices. Who would have anticipated that Nothing would be so important!

 

Miodownik also relates the now-familiar story of the discovery of the noble or inert gases. They upended Mendeleev’s Periodic Table. It took painstaking evidence to show that they existed. They weren’t just Nothing even though they seemed to have no chemical reactivity. How were the noble gases discovered? Rayleigh was unhappy with the imperfections of the masses of the chemical elements. They almost followed a beautiful mathematical pattern, but not quite, and so he decided to measure their masses again with high precision. This is much harder than it sounds. You needed to create a vacuum in a flask and weigh it, then pipe the gas in and weigh it again. But the pressure, temperature, and humidity of the room can affect this measurement. You needed to more than triple-check everything. Most scientists didn’t believe Rayleigh, even after Ramsay provided an independent confirmation. Eventually argon was joined by helium, neon, krypton and radon. Chemistry’s 1904 Nobel Prize went to Ramsay for his discoveries. And eventually scientists and engineers found uses for all these gases that at first glance did Nothing!

Gaslight

As an urban kid, my first encounter with the will-o’-the-wisp was through literature. In the dreary journey to Mordor in The Lord of the Rings, Frodo and Sam make their way through the Dead Marshes; Gollum warns them not to follow the lights that can lead them astray. For Harry Potter readers, the equivalent creature is the hinkypunk. Wikipedia defines it as an “atmospheric ghost light… dancing or flowing in a static form, until noticed or followed, in which case they visually fade or disappear”. Today, their lore has been transformed into the kid-friendly version of the jack-o’-lantern at Halloween.

 

We now know something about the chemistry that causes this luminescence – oxidation reactions involving methane and phosphines, gases released in marshland from decaying organic matter. Air currents play a role in the wispy behavior. While I’ve personally never seen this before – I don’t visit marshlands in poorly lighted areas – it is apparently spooky-looking. In his latest book, It’s a Gas, author Mark Miodownik shares historical writings about such spooky observations. I learned that a Major Blesson, from Napoleon’s army, did some early experiments to figure out what was going on and concluded that the wisps were “caused by flammable gas bubbling up from the bottom of the marsh”.

 

Living in an age of electric lights in urban areas, I have scant notion of what it would really be like to have experienced what most of humanity knew when the sun went down. Darkness. Danger. And the fear of not being able to see what might be lurking nearby. (Yes, I could go camping in some remote area to see the stars, but I like my creature comforts.) Miodownik discusses the “anatomy of a flame” from a wood fire, and how careful observations led to mass production of charcoal and tar. Folks also discovered that the invisible released gas was also explosive: Methane. In the marshes we can thank anaerobic microorganisms that eat carbon dioxide and poop methane.

 

Enter the scientists and engineers: Could methane gas be used to light the streets and households of urban areas? Can we shoo away the dark and eliminate the spooky? It was also a safety issue. You might fall into a cesspool or get mugged. In 1801, the inventor Philippe Lebon rigged a system for a hotel in Paris. According to Miodownik, “so marvelous was the spectacle of will-o’-the-wisps flickering away around every corner that the public happily paid three francs to enter and see the wonderland he had created.” But that first system didn’t catch on. It was the stink. Not from odorless methane, but from small amounts of hydrogen sulfide that were naturally part of the gas mix. British engineers eventually figured out how to remove the stink: one step in their refining process involved bubbling the gas mixture through lime water (calcium hydroxide solution) which reacts with acidic hydrogen sulfide.

 

Storing gas was a tricky business. You had to compress it. Then you had to release it at the right pressure to get optimal lighting while avoid too many fumes from incomplete burning. Then there was the problem of gas leaks. Today, a tiny amount of methanethiol, a compound very similar to hydrogen sulfide, is added so our noses can detect the smell of a gas leak. In a mere 25 years after Lebon’s demonstration, any large town in Britain had gaslight. Eventually gaslight was replaced by electric light as science marched onward.

 

The word gaslight has returned to our vocabulary in the twenty-first century. As women entered the workforce in ever-increasing numbers and began to vie for positions in leadership, boorish men took to “gaslighting” them. Miodownik relates that the phrase coms from a 1938 play titled Gaslight whereby a conniving husband tries to manipulate his wife into thinking she is insane “by dimming the gaslights in their home, and when she notices, he claims the lights are not dimmer – it is all in her mind.” In a former age, gaslight illuminated. Now it obscures. What will it do in tomorrow’s age?

Educating AI

One reason my blog writing has fallen off the past year – I’m ambivalent about bots scraping my data to train AI models. But honestly, I’m not that great a writer, and it’s not like the bots are mining gold. I just need to get over myself and keep sharpening my writing practice, be it on this blog or elsewhere.

 

I just finished reading The Alignment Problem by Brian Christian. While the issue of AI ethics and the dangers posed by advanced AI are the main theme, what I spent time mulling over was comparing the educating of AI with the educating of human students. There are differences between human brains and machine learning neural networks, but the bigger difference is the wetware of the entire human body-organism, which cannot be separated into dry hardware and software.

 

Christian launches the historical story with Skinner’s behaviorism, Turing’s computing machines, and the neuron assembly of McCulloch and Pitts. (I didn’t know Pitts was such an enigmatic character until reading this book!) This is the framework of reinforcement learning. The reward hypothesis states that “all of what we mean by goals and purposes [is essentially] the maximization of the cumulative sum of a received scalar reward”. Shoot for the high score! Not surprisingly, Atari and other early video games were utilized in the training process. (I also learned that Montezuma’s Revenge, a game I played in the 1980s, is particularly tricky for an AI to get good at and represented some sort of gold standard.) What made the world pay attention was when AI beat grandmasters at Chess and Go.

 

I appreciate Christian going through the challenges of any training method. (He also carefully distinguishes reinforcement learning from supervised and unsupervised learning.) These include the problem of the terseness of a scalar reward or punishment, compounded by a delay in knowing that a much earlier blundering move may have cost the game. Turns out “reinforcement learning is less like learning with a teacher than learning with a critic. The critic may be every bit as wise, but is far less helpful.” There’s an interesting story on the “dopamine puzzle” that leads to a learning model (known as temporal difference) that what’s really being valued is the “error in its expectation of future rewards”.

 

The most interesting part for me was Chapter 5 (“Shaping”) on the Problem of Sparsity. Essentially, “if the reward is defined explicitly in terms of the end goal, or something fairly close to it, then one must essentially wait until random button-pressing, or random flailing around, produces the desired effect. The mathematic show that most reinforcement-learning algorithms will, eventually, get there…” but it’s inefficient and takes too darn long. The solution is to put together a Curriculum. That’s what we do as human educators. I break down the learning of chemistry into steps; I set tasks for the students; I try to motivate them; and there’s a rewards system in terms of points and a final grade. But creating the right incentives in AI training turns out to be quite tricky. Specifying certain steps along the pathway often does not have the desired outcome. Evolution has had hundreds of millions of years to shape humans, dolphins, elephants, and octopi, all naturally intelligent creatures among many others.

 

Can you get beyond external reinforcement strategies? Can you build in intrinsic curiosity into a computer? Can you value novelty? There are some clever tricks to do this. OpenAI (now famous for ChatGPT) is profiled for their early efforts working on Atari-arcade-like games. Can we learn from how humans and apes learn? Can computers learn through imitation? Do they learn the same way? I learned that human children in some situations over-imitate compared to chimpanzees; “children are from a very young age, acutely sensitive to whether the grown-up demonstrating something is deliberately teaching them, or just experimenting.” Why does this work? It “allows the student (be it human or machine) to learn things that are hard to describe.” The OpenAI folks managed to get an AI to beat Montezuma’s Revenge by watching YouTube videos of many human players.

 

This may be why taking students through worked examples, then letting them try simpler problems, before adding complexity to a more sophisticated problem is a pedagogical approach that works well, at least for the subject of chemistry. Many of these principles came from folks doing research into teaching and learning math. There’s also a tricky balance between intrinsic and extrinsic motivational approaches. It’s not that one always works better than the other. I’m not sure that final grades, which I assign based on numerical scores, are the best value function that most of my students strive towards. I understand that grades loom large for increasingly stressed students in what they perceive to be a global cutthroat career market. My generation did not experience the pressures they are facing now. With AI chomping at their heels as a competitor, the business of educating AI may be existential for them, even if they don’t realize it yet.

Exploring ADOM

I’m thirty years late to Ancient Domains of Mystery, more commonly known by its acronym ADOM. Created by Thomas Biskup in 1994, it is a computer role-playing game (CRPG) that is often described as Rogue-like. There’s an irreverent but informative video that discusses this issue amidst a high-speed playthrough of the ASCII version of ADOM. While there are spoilers, they go by much too fast for you to remember any of them, so I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve never played the original Rogue so I have no basis for comparison. The three features that stood out to me are that it is turn-based, the dungeons are procedurally generated, and there is permadeath – when your character dies, the game immediately records it and all you can do is restart from scratch with a new character.

 

Most of my experience with computer games was for a half-decade in the mid-to-late 1980s, sometimes referred to as the golden age of CRPGs with plenty of different designs with new spaces to explore. I was first hooked by Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and got through Ultima V before life took over. In the last year, however, I have been rediscovering the cousins and close descendants of those early games. I’ve been surprised by delightful obscure gems such as Antepenult alongside well-known old classics such as the first Might & Magic.

 

The old CRPGs required patience. You had to grind your way through lots of fights to earn experience, gold, and better weapons and armor. You had to level up your spellcasters to access more powerful destructive and protective magic. The baddies and bosses got harder. You needed special items to access special areas. I don’t have the same patience now as I did forty years ago, but I am enjoying the discovery aspects of ADOM. There’s a huge world to explore (mostly underground since it is a dungeon-crawler) with tons of different items. You don’t know what’s around the next corner so you’d better be prepared to fight or run. There’s a sweet satisfaction with surviving a nail-biting encounter, discovering a strange new space, or coming across an item you’ve never seen before.

 

I think I’m on my tenth or twelfth character in ADOM, and only the second to make it to the mid-game stage. (You die early and often, which is part of the exploration.) My previous troll fighter reached level twelve and made it to Dwarftown but got killed shortly after, somewhere in the Caverns of Chaos. I currently have a hurthling archer that successfully completed many early quests that I’m quite attached to now, so I am save-scumming (allowing me to restart if something bad happens or my character is close to death). What’s a hurthling? It’s like a halfling, hobbit or bobbit. If you recognize any of those names, you’ll know that CRPGs borrow heavily from Tolkien and its D&D derivatives. In ADOM, mithril gear is better than regular gear made of wood, leather, or iron. It’s also lighter – and carrying weight matters! But there’s also adamantium and eternium. ADOM has no problem mixing genres.

 

While I had no idea what I was doing in the first several games, experimenting with different objects and strategies, now that I have mid-level characters, I would prefer to not go back to the beginning and grind my way anew. (I’ve always had Fate decide all aspects of my starting character rather than picking my own stats.) So alongside my natural experimenting within the game world, I’ve also started referring to Internet resources (such as the ADOM Guidebook). In addition, I’m watching my way through a very entertaining play-through on YouTube, where I’m pacing myself episode-wise so my character is roughly at the same level. I’m learning that ADOM is even bigger than I thought, and there are things you can do that I hadn’t even considered. I suppose I’m learning from the large community of those who had gone before me. Long-term players have played thousands of games over the years and built up a lore of knowledge.

 

It’s a bit (or perhaps a lot) like science – discovering the natural “laws” of the world around you, what you can do and what you can’t do. There’s the trial and error approach which I used early on, and there’s learning from the community of those who have trialed-and-errored a lot more and are sharing the results of their labor. Finally, there might be folks who have looked at the code and can say something about the “hidden” underlying rules. This is how we humans learn. Many before us have experimented directly, and the fruits of discovery have been passed down to us so we don’t have to reinvent the wheel. As a teacher, it’s an integral part of my job to pass down this knowledge in my field of expertise, which is chemistry. One thing I convey to students is that we can come up with abstractions to understand the underlying rules of chemistry. This includes mathematical models that powerfully allow us to make predictions of what will happen in a different situation; it’s like discovering the source code of nature!

 

Yes, I could try to “enjoy” grinding my way through ADOM with no outside references. But I think the exploration is enhanced by tapping into the wisdom of the community while being careful to avoid spoilers. Without it, I think I would just give up – ADOM is a hard and unforgiving game. But games also allow you to explore the paths not taken, and ADOM’s many different starting characters and strategies, and its multiple endings (from what I’ve gleaned without looking at any of them in detail), provide a certain satisfaction. The procedurally-generated dungeons add to the game’s high replay value. For someone with my old-school 1980s CRPG background, ADOM provides an exploration experience at its finest. Warts and all. My character recently grew horns due to increased background corruption. That was yet another recent surprise with reaching the mid-game!

Shapeshifting Vine

I’ve been thinking about plants and photon-absorbing pigments having recently read a speculative and interesting origin-of-life article that suggests animals might be gardeners co-opted by plants. Last year, I read about flavor molecules and poisons, which are part of the suite of secondary metabolites released by plants. Right now I’m reading The Light Eaters by Zoe Schlanger, a fascinating look into cutting-edge and controversial research in botany. Do plants “scream in pain” when we pluck a leaf or break a twig? Do they then warn their neighbors with signaling molecules that danger is nearby? Can they listen to sounds? Are they “conscious” in their own way, different from humans or octopi? These are interesting questions, and Schlanger delves deep into the research. Her writing is also thoroughly engaging, aimed at the non-expert, reminding me of Ed Yong’s superb book. Who would have thought botany would be so exciting!

 

Chapter 8 discusses the “chameleon vine”: Boquila trifoliolata. I’d never heard of it before. It is native to Chile and has some interesting cousins in Asia. This vine of a plant is an actual shapeshifter. Not like the lizard chameleon that can only change its colors. Not like the leafy water dragon that has evolved to look like the water plants where it spends its time. Not like many examples of adaptation in nature that take generations. Boquila does its shapeshifting in real time. But this is plant time, measured in hours or days; too slow for us impatient humans who prefer to marvel at it with time-lapsed photography. It has reshaped its leaves to mimic dozens of other plants, some that look very different from each other. Sometimes the details are astonishingly close; sometimes the match is poorer. How does this happen?

 

There are two prevailing theories; there is some experimental evidence for each but scientists are still in the throes of figuring out what’s going on. That’s what the cutting-edge of science looks like. The theories may sound wild. One is the “plants have vision” hypothesis. Plant leaves have plenty of light-sensitive molecules, not just ones used in photosynthesis. Maybe the vine sees its neighbor and mimics it. The other gives primacy to microorganisms; the shared space may allow microorganisms to exchange information (horizontal gene transfer), and to move from one plant to another, that may then translate into building leaves that look identical. Both ideas sound crazy when you first hear them, but there is some evidence for each. Not enough to gain widespread acceptance. Science is conservative, for good reason. You don’t discard an established theory that was built up by initial evidence unless the new evidence that disproves it is sufficient and overwhelmingly so.

 

I don’t know which of the two theories I lean towards. However, both ideas have pushed me to think more about my own research. Since getting into origin-of-life research, I’ve started to pay close attention to microorganisms, bacteria and archaea. Since starting to teach biochemistry, I’ve been marveling at the world of metabolites – plants and fungi are amazing in this regard where secondary metabolism is concerned. I’m starting to see conjugated pi-systems show up in origin-of-life related molecules, and I’ve started to read up on how to analyze photochemical reactions using computational chemistry. There’s something intriguing about the interplay of photons and chemistry that could be the key to why we have dynamic systems, building up molecules and breaking them down, going along the flow of the second law of thermodynamics yet diverting it to one’s own ends. That last phrase might sound speculative and crazy too.

 

This brings me back to pondering the nature of the boggart, one of my early posts when I started this Potions for Muggles blog. We now have a plant boggart in being able to shapeshift, but seemingly limited to being a mimic. While the Harry Potter books do mention interesting plants and their properties, this seems subdued compared to Fantastic Beasts and how to find them. We miss the wondrous nature of plants because they seem so unlike us. Boquila would have been of great interest to Professor Sprout, and I could see her working closely with a Potions Master to delve into the subtle connections between plants and their secondary metabolites that would go into potions!