Creative Collaboration: Complementarity

How is creativity enhanced by collaboration?

I’ve been thinking about how to grow and facilitate the new creative cluster in my research group. Can I synthesize a ‘best practices’ system? Are there complementary approaches? What does the theoretician in me do when faced with such questions? I start reading. I’m slowly working my way through two books: Creative Collaboration by Vera John-Steiner; Creativity and Innovation Among Science and Art edited by Christine Charyton. I’m only in the early stages of both books so I haven’t formulated any major conclusions yet. But I was intrigued by an idea in John-Steiner’s book, especially since Niels Bohr features prominently, and because I’m trained as a quantum mechanic.

Chapter 2 of Creative Collaboration is titled “Partnerships in Science”. John-Steiner’s main thesis is that the nurturing of potential and talent is powerfully revealed in such complementary partnerships. While “some collaborations collapse under the weight of individualistic habits… others flourish [as they] strive toward the equality of dignified interdependence.” The chapter examines “the dynamics of complementarity between individuals who bring different disciplinary and personal resources to their partnership… and the dynamic and productive tension between ideas.”

Marie and Pierre Curie appropriately get first mention. There is an analysis of Einstein’s multiple collaborations. But the centerpiece of the chapter is Bohr’s principle of complementarity. The author deftly juxtaposes the ‘physical’ complementarity of wave-particle duality with the ‘social’ complementarity of scientists working together. A quote from Weiskopf (a student of Bohr) summarizes the first type of complementarity: “An electron is neither a wave nor a particle, but it exhibits one or the other set of properties under certain well-defined conditions. The systematics of these dual roles represent the essence of quantum mechanics. Bohr used the term complementarity for the apparent contradiction between the two mutually exclusive properties.”

The second type of complementary (partnership) is explored in four sections: (1) scientific training and discipline, (2) working styles, (3) opposing perspectives, (4) thought and analysis, i.e., conceptual complementarity. While some partnerships may lead to a Hegelian synthesis of two or more ideas, John-Steiner contrasts this ‘classical’ approach with one that maintains the tension and dynamic between different ideas. Complementarity is not the same as synthesis. The two do not become one, but rather continue to enhance knowledge and understanding in a dynamic dance between partners. She writes: “When individuals join together and build upon their complementarity in scientific disciplines, they expand their reach… Collaboration offers partners an opportunity to transcend their individuality and to overcome the limitations of habit, and of biological and temporal constraints… Collaborators redefine their own personal boundaries as they strive toward mutuality and deep understanding.”

There is an interesting exploration of thinking visually, thinking in words, and thinking mathematically. Einstein is characterized as a strong visual thinker (and had excellent mathematically-inclined collaborators). Heisenberg’s ability to frame quantum mechanical concepts in the language of mathematics strongly complemented Bohr’s visionary ideas. Feynman’s use of diagrams in electrodynamics is married with Schwinger’s formal approach, thanks to the mathematical abilities and patience of Freeman Dyson working with both.

Another point that jumped out at me: As historians explore the notes, letters, sketches, and other artifacts of scientific ‘geniuses’, we get a glimpse into the messy workings of being at the edge of novel groundbreaking ideas and concepts. The clean finished product, usually in the form of a scientific manuscript, hides the false trails, ad hoc ideas, nutty suggestions, and stretches of puzzling unproductivity. It reminded me to be patient in the incubation period, to encourage divergent ideas and approaches, to be more comfortable with articulating thoughts that might seem hazy or confusing (rather than trying to always sound polished), and to think about my own strengths and weaknesses so I can find appropriate complementary collaborators. Until reading John-Steiner’s chapter, I had always conceived of creative collaboration as resulting in a Hegelian synthesis of sorts, but this is not necessary nor is it always desirable. That feels freeing. I’ve shared the chapter with my creative (student) group, and I look forward to delving deeper down the rabbit hole.

The Lockhart Bar

An evocative guest blog post from a colleague. If I ever visit Toronto or Montreal, I’m definitely going to the Lockhart bar. Enjoy!

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I have been a Harry Potter fan since age 11, when I was given a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone as a gift. Being the same age as Harry, I connected with the character, and quickly and happily fell down the rabbit hole of the wizarding world. This past December my husband and I took a trip to Montreal, Canada, (why we decided to take a trip to the frigid northeast in December is a topic for another blog!) and while researching the city, I was excited to discover it was home to a Harry Potter inspired resto-bar called the Lockhart. As a life-long Harry Potter fan, a visit to the Lockhart shot to the top of our vacation itinerary to-do list.

Opened in March 2017 by the owners of the Instagram-famous Lockhart bar in Toronto, the Lockhart is located in the trendy Plateau neighborhood of Mont Royal. On a -6˚ F night my husband and I crunched through the snow looking for the Lockhart. Nestled nondescriptly among charming brick buildings, the bar could be easily overlooked. But those in the know will be alerted to its location upon spotting the simple wooden sign bearing the head of a stag hanging at the edge of the sidewalk.  This, as many of you will know, is the form that Harry’s patronus takes, as well as the Animagus form that Harry’s father took. Walking up to the door, you see the second clue that you have found your destination. You are met with a sign stating “Rechereché pour crimes frauduleux et méfaits publics. Si vous l’apercevez, veuillez contacter Le Lockhart immédiament.” (“Wanted for fraudulent crimes and public mischief. If you see him, please contact the Lockhart immediately.” Forgive my rough translation!), reminiscent of Azkaban prison wanted posters from the Harry Potter films. The portrait of the wanted individual is missing from the frame. Perhaps he was bored and wandered off, as wizarding portraits are wont to do. Whatever the case, it provides the perfect photo opp to begin your visit to the Lockhart.

As you enter, you encounter a shelf full of bottles and vials with familiar labels such as Bezoar, Wolfsbane, and Essence of Dittany. Turn the corner and you are greeted by a mural of a castle silhouetted against a full moon that could easily be the view first years see as they glide along the Great Lake toward Hogwarts for the first time. Move into the main bar area and you see brooms, wands, and Harry Potter Funko Pop! figures sprinkled around the room, along with stag horns, snakes, and ravens. One wall is papered with what appear to be pages from an ancient Herbology textbook. Another is filled with posters of Yule Balls and Quidditch World Cups. An illuminated sign above the bar reads “Potions and Elixirs;” equally likely to describe the alcoholic beverages being served or the products coming out of Snape’s potions class. Another sign painted on a brick wall reading “Tout était bien” (All was well), will be immediately recognizable by fans of the Harry Potter books as the final line of the epilogue. The ceiling and a few walls are painted black, giving the Lockhart a dark atmosphere. Every once in a while the typical bar music stops playing and a mixed version of a Harry Potter film score comes over the speakers as the few lights that are on are replaced by black lights, revealing Azkaban prison numbers painted on the wall and the enormous claw of some magical beast painted in neon colors covering the entire ceiling.

After excitedly gazing around, my husband and I grabbed stools at the bar for a front row seat of the mixology magic. This is where the Lockhart shines. They offer a menu of creative and clever drinks with names that slyly reference the Harry Potter series. There is the Flying Ford Anglia, a hot pink drink with a cotton candy cloud precariously balanced above the liquid and a little blue car peeking out, and the Dementor’s Kiss, ominously served in a glass skull and made using ghost pepper-soaked tequila. Imbibe at your own risk! Sitting at the bar we had the perfect view to experience the flames, color changes, and creativity that went into every drink. Of course, there is also a take on Butterbeer, called Better Beer to avoid copyright issues. This version tastes nothing like the Butterbeer you will find at the Wizarding World theme parks. There is no cream soda or butterscotch here. Instead, the flavor of the Better Beer is a combination of ginger and cinnamon, making for a delightfully sharp, spicy, and sweet drink. I enjoy the Wizarding World theme park Butterbeer as much as the next super fan, but I found it refreshing that the Lockhart would take their version in a completely different direction.

The Lockhart’s liquor license requires a purchase of food in order to consume alcohol, but this doesn’t mean you are stuck with plain or boring bar food. The Lockhart offers a tapas menu full of creativity and flavor. Here you will find fewer thematic references to the Harry Potter series (though there are some- Forbidden Pizza or Fantastic Beets Salad anyone?). Rather, the chef set out to create dishes using ingredients that have historically been used in rituals and remedies around the world. From the menu of delectable sounding options, I ordered the roasted sweet potato and chickpea falafel with lemon, garlic sauce, and butternut risotto. It was an absolutely delicious mix of flavors. My husband and I couldn’t resist the dessert menu either. We were tempted by the house made Chocolate Frogs, but opted for the Fried Bread Pudding with harry “porter” caramel sauce, Nutella, and whipped mascarpone. It was scrumptious!

We had an incredibly enjoyable evening at the Lockhart. The creative cocktail menu, delicious food menu, and friendly atmosphere would make it a welcoming place for anyone. At first glance, some fans may be disappointed with the Lockhart. The Three Broomsticks or Leaky Cauldron this is not. The decor, drinks, and ambiance all nod toward the Harry Potter books and films, but are not overt. The owners have not tried to recreate the film sets or theme parks. Instead, the Lockhart is inspired by the series. This is, in part, to avoid copyright infringement. (The name itself is sufficiently removed from the main characters of the series, referencing the vain author and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we all love to hate, Gilderoy Lockhart, so as to be plausibly unrelated.) But it is mostly because recreation is not the point. The Lockhart is not trying to be a themed attraction. Instead, it creates an atmosphere in which you can imagine a world where magic wands, potions, flying brooms, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry truly exist. A world that is not wholly separate from our own, and, for a short time at least, you are part of it.

The True Energy Crisis

Published in 2012, Richard Muller’s Energy for Future Presidents aims to educate both the general public (reader and voter) and politicians about issues surrounding energy. The book is divided into five sections. Let me start at the end and work my way backwards.

In Section V, Muller gives his opinion on the matter addressing the president of a nation. He begins: “The role of a science advisor should not be to advise but rather to inform and educate so that the president knows and understands enough to be able to make the right decisions. When you are elected, you’ll have to balance many things, including diplomacy, economics, justice, and politics – things that scientists like me have not mastered.”

Muller then summarizes the crux. “The true energy crisis in the U.S., and in much of the world, derives predominantly from two issues: energy security and global warming. The security problem comes not from an energy shortage (we have plenty), but from an oil [petroleum] shortage… The global-warming problem derives from rapidly growing coal use in the developing world.” Muller then summarizes the technologies he thinks will be important for the future, those that have ‘breakout’ potential, and those that are less likely to solve the crisis. He makes the detailed arguments for and against these in Sections II and III of the book. Some of his recommendations are not surprising to scientists in the field, but others he deems faddish – ‘feel-good’ and short-term, but failing to address the longer-term issues.

Section IV “What is Energy?” is listed as an optional chapter. Muller states at the beginning: “Feel free to skip [this chapter]. Or even better, read through it casually, without feeling you have to learn it.” To whet the reader’s appetite, there is a fun table showing that (by mass) chocolate chip cookies deliver almost 8 times more energy than TNT. Here it is below (screenshot from Google Books).

There’s also a section titled “Is Energy a Thing?” that introduces the Carnot equation. In the past, I’ve had students read an annotated chapter in Feynman’s book that I think does a better job in conveying the strangeness of energy: We don’t know what it is but we can count it. I’ve been emphasizing this point throughout my class this semester (we’re still smack in the middle of thermodynamics). One thing I found fun about this section: Muller has subsections describing how energy is taught to college freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, each building on the other while introducing more abstract concepts. Emmy Noether deservedly gets mentioned for her contributions in expressing invariance mathemically.

Section III outlines everything we might call “Alternative Energy”. Muller goes into the pros and cons of different technologies from multiple perspectives: scientific, environmental, economical, and political-personal. He covers solar, wind, batteries, flywheels, nuclear, biofuels, fusion, synfuel, tidal, geothermal, etc. He also makes direct comparisons of electric automobiles, versus hybrids, natural gas autos, and fuel cells. The leader to beat is natural gas, and Muller makes a strong case as to why from multiple perspectives. I do tell my students about natural gas, and we discuss fuel efficiency from an energy perspective, but I did learn some new details that I will use in subsequent classes. It was good to update myself on many recent developments (i.e. 2011) since my knowledge in this area has been spotty over the years. Twenty years ago, I worked on fuel cell catalysis and early generation synfuel, but it has been a while since I delved into the literature on those topics.

Section II covers the current energy landscape including the issues of liquid energy (oil) security, shale gas and shale oil, smart grids, and how to think about energy productivity. Section I covers the Fukushima and Deep Water Horizon “Energy Catastrophes”, where Muller would argue that these aren’t really catastrophes when you look at the big picture. Global warming is also tackled here. Muller is likely to draw fire from both ends of the political spectrum for his views. His analysis is sobering, and it’s worth reading his book in full to understand his arguments. While one may quibble over some of the details and interpretations, I think his broad overall arguments make sense. It’s hard to predict the future, but it behooves future presidents to think carefully about the different arguments. Muller makes the issues clear and understandable without dumbing down the science. I will be cribbing some of these for my classes!

Friday Night Lightbulbs

I’ve been experiencing a little insomnia on Friday nights since the semester started. Sometimes I have trouble falling asleep, or I wake up in the middle of the night, because my mind is working on crazy and creative ideas! It’s my own fault, really. I decided to start a new arm in my research group related to creative projects. I invited three sophomores who were in my Research Methods course last semester (where we discussed creativity!) to take part in this ‘experiment’. We are getting together on Friday afternoons to bat around ideas, even if they sound crazy!

Each of the students has their own project, somewhat nebulously defined – although I’m hoping it will take shape as we refine our ideas into something workable. All three have strong interdisciplinary interests, so there is overlapping interest in the projects. They all exhibited ‘out-of-the-box’ thinking in my classes and are also enthusiastic about a wide range of things – I think their energy is infecting my older tired neurons in a good way. I’ve also assigned myself an interdisciplinary creative project outside of my typical bread-and-butter computational work, although still related to my chemical origin-of-life interests, but that’s a subject for a later post.

On our first Friday, I posed the question of how molecules would introduce themselves to other molecules in a meet-and-greet. What is the language of molecules? How would they define themselves in their own language, rather than one imposed by human chemists? This led to a raucous discussion involving the sight, smell and sound of molecules. Finding Dory was involved. But we also talked about fundamental concepts regarding chemical signaling and waves (physics). My insomnia that Friday night led to a frenzied sequence of thoughts culminating in the idea of a short story, tentatively titled Searching for the Beluga Whale Molecule. No, I haven’t written it yet. To use Dorothy Sayers’ expressions in Mind of the Maker, the Idea is present but it has not incarnated itself in Energy or imbued the Power. (Okay, maybe a bit of it spilled out in our following meeting.)

What have I been contemplating this weekend? Ideas from my students! The one who is working on a chemistry-music nexus is contemplating defining boundaries. She told us about this weird phenomenon where if a spoken phrase is repeated on a loop, your mind (after a few repeats) hears it as music. To hear this in action, visit this site and click on Demo #1. It was ‘trippy’ (the aptly-chosen word of another student) and we got into a discussion about perception, inflection, and eventually, polymers (a large molecule with chemically repeating units). We got there because another student asked “What is the connection to chemistry?” That’s a question I would have normally asked, but a student beat me to it!

The other two students are helping me come up with creative approaches and assignments for both semesters of General Chemistry that I can use next year in my classes. I would like to inject an element of creativity (I think it can be taught and modeled) as we cover the ‘standard’ chemistry content. One of them, working on the Photoelectric Effect, outlined the germ of a creative exercise to imagine oneself as an electron in the experiment. What would you see or experience if you were the electron? Widening the lens, what would be the metal atom’s point of view in a lattice as it was hit by light? Would it be different if light knocked on the door as a wave or a photon? The other student is working along the lines of having the students design (or imagine) a large space-station to sustain long-term human life, using the concepts of energy and equilibria. Since I’ve been reading Energy for Future Presidents (by Richard Muller) this week, ideas about next-generation fuels have been swirling through my mind. On top of that I’ve been imagining myself as an electron traveling through different contexts. Now that’s trippy.

Independent Learning

I’ve been having fun embarking on a new research project this semester. This requires a lot of reading and hunting down the appropriate resources. Sometimes I’m looking for a brief introductory overview of a particular concept or approach; at other times I’m looking for a specific application or methodology. Finding the right materials at the right level, so I can get the most out of it, can be challenging. While the process is occasionally frustrating, I do enjoy the scent and the hunt to learn something new. I’m also reasonably efficient and well-practiced in separating the wheat from the chaff in the Internet era.

How do novice students try to learn something new? Before the internet, you might go to the library and look for (what you hope is) the appropriate book or encyclopedia. Or you might try to find an expert in the area – this could be a teacher/professor or some other practitioner. You are likely to trust the library book or the area expert. Information is scarce, and for it to get into an encyclopedia or an expert’s brain-schema, it is likely significant resources were expended to do so. The information is probably of ‘good’ quality because it has been filtered by the appropriate gatekeepers.

In the Wild Wild Web (WWW) of information abundance, the problem is wading through the chaff to get to the needle in the haystack. How does one filter through that information? With modern search engines, an Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) bot sorts or ranks the information according to some algorithm. And if you so happened to find what you wanted, the ‘helpful’ bot might even suggest or recommend what you might look into next. For example, “folks like you who read X also read Y.” The algorithm is based on some assumptions, and further interactions between the user and the algorithm refines it – for better or for worse. Algorithms can also be ‘gamed’ by users.

All this made me think about the push towards online ‘personalized’ learning. I’ve looked at some of these adaptive-learning systems, which guide a student through learning a particular topic. To find out where the student is at, questions are posed. Based on the students correct or incorrect or half-correct answers, an algorithm ‘decides’ the next item in the sequence that the student should tackle. Presumably this is based on some logical pedagogical system. Maybe we should call this pedalogic. (Hah! I invented another new word.) The system filters the student through twists and turns in its database, supposedly to provide the optimum pathway that meets the personalized learning needs of that student. At least that’s what is advertised.

In these adaptive-learning systems, the components of the system have already been vetted, presumably by pedalogical experts (practicing instructors working with educational technologists). While this may pull from WWW, it has been pre-curated by humans. (Post-curation, pathways can be determined by algorithms and user statistics.) Could a similar system work for an independent learner navigating with WWW as an information source? Let’s call it GooglExpert – the adaptive-learning powerful A.I. searchbot. GooglExpert may ask you a few questions during the process to narrow the search scope and collect information to further populate its search database for future users. In this way, it curates the parts of WWW most useful or reliable at the level appropriate to the user. A bunch of data down the road could lead to a lucrative paywalled-garden within the WWW. GooglExpert might even hire expert practitioners to contribute.

If high quality learning requires high quality curation, who or what is best at it? A single novice learner would not be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, but a crowd-sourced group of relative novices might. Would an expert actually be needed? Maybe at some stages. I guess I’m asking myself what relevance I would have to the life of a student in an age where independent learning could take place through GooglExpert Garden. How important is the relationship between humans to the learning process? Maybe it’s different at different learning stages. I could probably teach myself quite a bit of new chemistry, but wouldn’t it be so much richer if I learned it directly from a human expert in the field? Perhaps it’s because I can’t imagine a versatile enough A.I.-bot, but maybe it’s just that I lack imagination.

In the meantime, more exciting independent learning awaits!

Happily Ever After

I hadn’t planned on watching Season 6 of Once Upon A Time, after the incoherent mess that was Season 5. But I spotted the DVD set while browsing in my local branch library, and decided to try a few episodes. One of my former students had mentioned a year ago that Season 6 was looking better than Season 5 (thanks to the return of the Evil Queen). I was a bit confused in the first few episodes, not remembering most of the mess of the previous season, but it looked promising from the storytelling point of view.

But then things start to fall apart.

Spoiler alert!

More new characters are introduced, and some of them were potentially interesting. But old characters are also revived, and this is simply TOO MANY characters! The main cast have settled into one-dimensional caricatures. The Evil Queen and Gold/Rumpelstiltskin continue to be interesting, but the rest of the characters seem ‘wooden’. They’re mainly foils responding to each other to drive the narrative forward – except that the narrative itself is a mess. Resolution of the storylines fall into two main categories: (1) artificially forced with high speed, or (2) incoherently dragged out and messy.

I happen to be re-reading Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers, and her description of the ideal interplay between the writer and the character of the stories is short-circuited in many of the later season episodes in Once Upon A Time. The story just feels shallow; as if someone took the Shears (Scissors) of Destiny and cut off the appropriate story resolutions. It’s too bad because the Shears of Destiny make their appearance in several episodes, and had the potential to be a very interesting magical object. This is coupled with the early theme of characters crashing into Storybrooke from the Land of Untold Stories – folks trying to escape their fate and find a new destiny. I had glimpses of what might have been interesting story arcs, only to be bewildered as threads were dropped or cut off prematurely. If this was meant to be an underlying philosophical current to the story, it failed spectacularly.

Each subsequent season requires an even badder baddie. The Black Fairy however is a rather one-dimensional villain – uninteresting for the most part. Even her back story felt forced, although perhaps it makes a good case for why you shouldn’t ask too many questions about your future destiny. Prediction is such a messy science. There is a further exploration of the blurring of lines between Heroes and Villains, and Season 6 does a reasonably good job here with several sets of characters. The part where the town comes together to share an evil curse so as to dilute its effects was well done. The seemingly obligatory musical episode was overall amusing, and while a bit clumsy, it adequately fit into the overall narrative arc. The setting of the Final Battle being about What To Believe, mirroring the opening of Season 1, was overall good, although the final resolution still felt forced.

One thing I liked about Season 6 was that in some instances the characters, now seasoned in the unforeseen effects of magic, try to think a bit more carefully around the dictum “all magic comes with a price”. This leads to a clever use of making wishes of the Genie of the Lamp, and leads to a wish-dream world that overall seemed to hang together quite well. Yes, Aladdin, Jafar and Princess Jasmine make their appearance. In particular, Aladdin’s ‘savior’ character and the Shears of Destiny, allow for the exploration of some interesting ideas. Except for the Genie’s Lamp, there wasn’t much of an exploration of magic in an interesting way, except maybe for the clumsy approaches to stopping the magic of another. Apparently dexterity and an appropriate wristband work well and often.

I am pleased that the season came to an end with a version of “And They Lived Happily Ever After”. While there were allusions to the-next-generation, I have no plans on watching it. The current cast gets to the end of their fairy tale in a fitting ending even though the journey was convoluted.

P.S. Here are my previous musings of Seasons 1-3 and Season 4. I didn't bother writing about Season 5.

P.P.S. The card game Once Upon A Time, unrelated to the TV series, is actually quite good.

Seeing the Unseen: Spineless Version

Jellyfish are fascinating. I hadn’t realized as much until my eyes were opened reading Spineless by Juli Berwald.  Part-memoir, yet chockfull of scientific facts, Berwald takes you around the world in her quest to consume all things jellyfish. Yes, she even decides she has to try cooking and eating some! The subtitle of the book is The Science of Jellyfish and the Art of Growing a Backbone. I found it even harder to put down then the excellent I Contain Multitudes by Ed Yong, and read multiple chapters in a single sitting. I will just highlight one of them.

Chapter 7 is titled Seeing What’s Not There. Having pondered Invisibility Rings and Making Visible the Invisible in chemistry, this chapter was particularly fascinating. Yes, it’s about jellyfish transparency – but there are many other equally fascinating denizens of the deep highlighted by Berwald. The tale of transparency begins with her interviewing the jellyfish scientist, Richard Harbison, asking him why so many jellyfish are transparent. His response: “The question is, why isn’t everything transparent?”

Berwald ponders this question and writes: “In the ocean, with nothing to hide behind and nothing to blend into, being opaque puts you at risk of being seen. Being seen means being eaten. Invisibility is also an advantage if you are a predator. Prey are more likely to steer clear if they can see you. Prey might just stumble into your grasp if they can’t. Transparency is an underwater invisibility cloak; the ultimate disguise.”

Posing Harbison’s question to another scientist, Sonke Johnson, comes the reply: “because it’s hard.” A surface-dwelling creature only needs to blend into its surroundings; a “surface paint job” might suffice. But for an ocean roamer, one needs to do much better. Berwald writes: “Some animals do this by being extraordinarily thin. Light passes through such animals so easily that it encounters almost nothing to scatter it. One supermodel of transparency is a comb jelly called the Venus girdle, which is less than an inch thick, but can stretch a yard and a half in length. The animal’s svelteness decreases scattering so much that in photographs it looks like just a few white lines dashed off by a sketch artist.”

Berwald anticipates the reader’s next question. “But many jellyfish aren’t flat; they are bulbous round things.” Having previously discussed jellyfish locomotion and buoyancy powered by its amazing mesoglea, it turns out that “watery mesoglea is a brilliant solution to being transparent… [because] light passes through the mesoglea nearly the same way it passes through the ocean.” Berwald just has a way with words. “Jellyfish are physically fat and optically skinny.” But there’s more. “And being physically rotund matters a lot more in the open ocean, where there’s nowhere to hide, because even the best invisibility cloak isn’t perfect… [If] spotted by a predator, it’s always better to have heft on its side. No one wants to tangle with a big dude. The mesoglea allows a thin jellyfish to masquerade as a jumbo version of itself, and it does so on the cheap… jellyfish get a lot of heft, not for free but at a significant metabolic discount.”

I’m essentially quoting Berwald to give you a flavor of her engaging prose, and also because I would do a lot worse trying to capture what she writes in my own clumsy narrative. You’ll have to read the book (and it is a delight!) if you want to know why the blood belly comb jelly has a currant-colored stomach. I also learned that in Spanish, jellyfish is medusa. And yes, Berwald appropriately weaves in the Greek mythology in her book. Jellyfish might hold a clue to immortality. And their famed barbs are more sophisticated than I could have ever imagined. (Below is the Australian Box Jellyfish, picture taken from World Atlas.)

As for humans living on a terrestrial surface terraformed into urban sprawls, a camouflage cloak would have to be extremely sophisticated to mask the presence of its wearer. A true cloak of invisibility, like the one handed down to Harry Potter from his ancestors, would be a marvel indeed. The best we can do with our modern optics and sensors is probably an invisibility shield. Several variations have shown up in movies featuring hi-tech gadgets. But in the realm of the merpeople, a hi-tech invisibility wetsuit would be within reach. Then again, it depends on who’s looking and how they are looking. Not every creature exploits the visual, especially if there’s little light in the depths.

In any case, I am looking forward to my next visit to an aquarium. Having read Berwald’s fantastic book, I will never look at jellyfish the same way again. I’ll be spending time looking a lot closer and harder, to see what I had not seen before!

Managing Energy Levels

The drawback with a long winter break is getting back into the swing of things once the new semester begins. For me, this is about managing energy levels. While I came into work on a regular schedule several weeks before the start of classes, much of my time was spent sitting in my office in front of my computer. I was either preparing for classes, reading or writing. There were hardly any meetings to attend. Every semester, my teaching schedule is a little different. This semester I’m teaching on MWF mornings (starting at 8am). That’s also when I hold chunks of my office hours. In the (MWF) afternoons I have scheduled meetings with my research students.

I made it through my first full week of classes (last week). By mid-afternoon on MWF, I felt drained of energy. Students have been coming into office hours to get help on homework even in the first week (good for them!) so I’m basically engaged with students for a chunk of the day from 7:45am when I start chatting with the first few folks walking into class, until about 2:30pm. What seems to work is to have a good breakfast, teach my first class, then have a snack, before students start showing up for office hours. (This morning, they showed up before I had finished my oat bar.) Then I teach my next class, have lunch, and meet my research students. My students would characterize me as enthusiastic in class; but this means I expend a lot of energy in class discussions. Asking and answering questions during office hours, further drains my energy.

The good news is that my Tue/Thu schedule is much lighter. I have a couple of administrative meetings on Tue followed by another office hour block. I’ve purposefully kept my Thu free of office hours, although if a student finds me and needs help, I’m generally willing to oblige. (That’s the culture in my department, and I enjoy helping students learn chemistry, so I welcome them.) My goal is to spend chunks of Tue/Thu thinking about research, scholarship and creative activity. At least that’s the plan this semester, and so far it seems to have worked well in Week #1. Today, I was still feeling tired by mid-afternoon, but I feel a little less drained compared to last week. So I think I’m doing a better job managing my energy levels, i.e., I’m getting used to my new schedule.

As I was pondering how to manage my energy levels this past week, I was reminded of one of my research projects – exploring how a proto-metabolic system might arise from a bunch of chemical substances. This is the ‘metabolism-first’ approach to the origin of life, i.e., managing energy flow into the system to create dynamic dissipative structures (and by structures I mean networks of molecules) that ‘take advantage’ of non-equilibrium thermodynamics. It’s a fine line, though. Too much energy flux leads to a variety of unproductive side reactions that consume metabolic molecules without regenerating them quickly enough. But too little energy makes it challenging to maintain the system away from equilibrium. The molecules that make up a proto-metabolic cycle (or hypercycle, or even systems of hypercycles) are likely sensitive to changes in flux. Optimizing such a system requires exquisite managing of the energy levels of the individual molecules that are consumed and regenerated in these cycles. By that I mean, the molecules and chemical reactions involved have been honed over time by chemical evolution, to be dissipative structures in their given chemical environments.

In my second semester General Chemistry classes this semester, the first third of class is on chemical thermodynamics. This is followed by a short section on chemical kinetics, taking us to Spring Break! After we go through the basics of kinetics, my plan is to spend one class session talking about how thermodynamics and kinetics relate to the chemical origins of life. There’s a video I have my students watch before class so that they understand the difference between thermodynamic and kinetic control. (The key figure is shown below.) But this example is a very simple case – and one that will not generate a metabolic cycle. But if you imagined a cascade of interconverting structures with just the right energies and barriers, and the appropriate energy flow, you could create stable cycles – but they would be dynamically stable.

When the semester is in session, my energy and activity follows somewhat of a weekly cycle. There are energy highs and lows, and I need certain rest periods and energy boosters to get me through the turnovers. There are inputs and outputs, and the energy flux in my classrooms may vary depending on students’ participation in class discussions. Exams and events (Spring Break!) will shift these fluxes temporarily until the hum of the regular cycle picks up again. Efficiencies change when adapting to these variables. That’s what I’m trying to do in Week #2 – to adapt my energy levels so I am operating efficiently and dissipating my energy at a more sustainable rate, as I cycle through the semester.

The Measure of a Student

I finished reading Cathy Davidson’s latest book, The New Education, subtitled: How to revolutionize the university to prepare students for a world in flux. It is the latest in a series of many articles, books, and presentations, made by pundits bemoaning the state of higher education. Having read much in this area already, I did not learn anything new here, but Davidson’s book collects the main threads of the web and delivers them with a clear narrative. Like many other popular pieces, the points being made are illustrated by personal stories of individuals, some data analysis, and a splash of history for narrative arc.

In today’s post, I will concentrate on Chapter 7 (“The Measure of a Student”) because it’s something I’ve been thinking hard about this past month. In particular, I’m motivated (again) to de-emphasize grades and exams, and to find alternative assignments and assessments in my introductory general chemistry courses. My hope is to find that happy medium between depth-rigor of knowledge (students must know the basics!) and creative application of that knowledge (students acquire relevant skills that will serve them both present and future).

“The Measure of a Student” is about assignments and assessments. Davidson’s anecdotal human interest story is an adjunct math professor at UC-Berkeley, who seems to be a fantastic teacher, who loses his job ostensibly because of his unconventional approach. The professor is quoted: “What does it mean to adhere to department norms if one has the highest student evaluation scores in the department, students performing statistically better in subsequent courses, and faculty universally reporting ‘extraordinary skills at lecturing, presentation, and engaging students’?... In a nutshell: stop making us look bad. If you don’t, we’ll fire you.” (His students also apparently “scored just as high or higher” on standardized departmental final exams.

The splash of history will be familiar to those who have looked into the history of grades. Mount Holyoke College is credited as the first institution to systematically create and implement a letter-grade system. Originally A, B, C, D and E, with A being the top grade (similar to classifying egg-size back then, get your “Grade A” eggs!), there was a controversy over the E grade. Apparently there was a fear that students would attempt to misrepresent E to future employers as “Excellent”, or in Hogwarts parlance “Exceeds Expectations”. (I suppose it could also be “Egghead”.) The E was changed to the dreaded F, derived from “the old Anglo-Norman failer, meaning nullification, nonoccurrence, or failure.” Use of the F spread to other institutions, but in addition, an agriculture professor at the University of Illinois introduced grades to the meatpacking industry.

Meatpackers, skeptical that a single letter grade could represent “something as complex as the quality of sirloin or chuck… insisted that, along with the grade, the written comments of the meat inspector to be tied to each and every piece of meat.” We no longer seem to have that metadata, and the USDA now uses words rather than letters. Prime. Choice. Select. No one is going to buy B grade meat, or anything lower, at least in today’s society. It’s no wonder that for many of our students today, getting a B is a tragedy. Anything less than A seems like a failure. I hope we don’t go the route of the Australian guide to kobe beef – slicing up the A’s into finer categories.

It’s not easy to buck the trend. Except for trend-buckers such as Hampshire or Reed College, most of us and our institutions caught in a vast system, made more acute by technology. At the end of the book, Davidson has a section addressed to students: Ten Tips for Getting the Most out of Your College Experience. #10 reads: When it’s time to submit an actual, professional resume, remember your first reader might be an algorithm. Sadly, this is likely to be increasingly true. I do like some of Davidson’s other tips including #2 Mitigate risk while taking risk. My favorite (and clearly I’m biased) is #3 Find a great prof and take advantage of all they can offer. In particular: “Great profs don’t just lecture well – they challenge you to think in new ways about new things. They don’t give answers; they ask deep questions. Visit their office hours…”

Davidson, like many others before her, argues strongly against standardized exams, with standardized questions, and standardized answers. She also argues that these do not lead to future palpable impact, and that we should be preparing our students differently. Exams are proxies for what the student “knows”, but is that enough? And are they even good proxies? (I suppose it depends on how the exam is written and how you prepare the student up to that point.) As I look to revamping my introductory chemistry courses, this time around, I’ve decided to strongly take student input into account. I’ve invited a couple of former students who were in my general chemistry course last year and my research methods course last semester (where we had a creativity thread!) to help me redesign assessments and assignments that are more open-ended and creative, without sacrificing the things the students must learn the ‘old-school’ way. I’m trying to refrain from imposing my ideas early on and allow wild ideas to flow back and forth in our group discussions. I’m already excited for next semester! In the meantime, I need to maintain my focus on trying to be an excellent teacher in my classes this semester. We’ve only just started, and setting the right tone and environment is crucial.