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Do Scientists Have a Special Responsibility to Engage in Political Advocacy?
James Hansen, NASA climate scientist, has argued strongly against Cap and Trade legislation, promoted the need for a carbon tax, complained of muzzling by the Bush administration, and has even been arrested for protesting coal burning power plants. As a scientist and citizen, does Hansen have a moral duty to speak out on policy and politics? Or does he step over an important boundary, risking his own credibility and that of climate science by engaging in political activism?
Questions about how scientists should participate in public debates over science-related issues such as climate policy or voice their preferences when it comes to a specific election, have emerged as major topics of discussion. In a survey report released by Pew last year, 76% of the public and 97% of scientists said it was indeed appropriate for scientists to "become actively involved in political debates." These survey results suggest that perhaps the outlook on scientists and their role in the political process may be changing.
Still though, despite what appears to be widely shared acceptance of scientists' involvement in politics, as Roger Pielke Jr. argues, many scientists still run from the label of advocate. Instead these scientists often describe their efforts not as an attempt at promoting a particular policy direction but as simply scientific popularization. This tendency toward “stealth issue advocacy” may be the greater risk to their credibility.
So perhaps many scientists--when they claim they are not engaging in advocacy--are misreading not only public opinion but also the opinions of their peers. Is it possible that all that is needed is more open discussion about the types of advocacy roles scientists can fulfill, a discussion that would enable scientists to define and articulate exactly what they are doing when they join the political fray?
For insight on this question, I interviewed last week Michael Nelson, associate professor of environmental ethics and philosophy at Michigan State University. In a recent jointly authored article and book, Nelson has begun to re-articulate the debate over scientists as advocates, arguing that in fact, scientists have a special responsibility to become involved in policy debates.—Matthew Nisbet
How do you define advocacy?
In our article “On Advocacy by Environmental Scientists: What, Whether, Why, and How” my co-author, John Vucetich, and I define advocacy as first of all entailing more than merely conducting research and communicating results through primarily scientific venues—even if the nature of the research is inspired by or relevant to a policy matter. For us, advocacy entails promoting, developing, or assessing policy positions. Moreover, we also consider the assessment of policy a form of advocacy because policy assessment routinely entails important yet obfuscated promotion or refutation of a policy, even when the assessor is unaware of such affects.
In a recent (though not yet published) survey that I conducted with some colleagues, this notion of advocacy, in comparison to some others used in the science and advocacy literature, was the most agreed upon by those in leadership positions in various professional conservation organizations.
What is the difference between advocacy and popularization --i.e. communicating about science---which is generally considered uncontroversial? Is there sometimes a false distinction here?
Right, advocacy for the use of science as a tool for discovery, or even communicating the results of scientific findings, seems relatively uncontroversial. We have to remember, however, that we are just coming off roughly a decade where even reporting the results of one’s science could be risky and could subject the scientist to censure – a decade where non-scientist political appointees had no qualms with, and often suffered no penalties for, interfering with science.
Certainly, advocating for the use of science and for revealing the discoveries of science, as well as for specific policy positions are forms of advocacy. Simply because the former is uncontroversial does not mean it is not a form of advocacy, it most certainly is. So in some ways the question is not, is advocacy acceptable, but which kinds of advocacy are acceptable and, most importantly, how ought we to go about advocacy and how ought we as a scientific community react to advocacy. Very little of the vast literature on science and advocacy considers or treats the topic in a sophisticated manner.
What are some of the common arguments against scientists engaging in advocacy?
The arguments against advocacy all suggest that, while scientists seem to have a prima facie duty to serve society, this obligation is overridden by something else: concerns about the loss of credibility, the conflict of time and energy, or a conflict with the fundamental nature of science itself (e.g., assumptions about objectivity vs. subjectivity). But scientists vary wildly on the relationship between these conflicts and advocacy. For some, advocacy is strictly taboo. Some actually do not see a necessary conflict between science and advocacy and believe that scientists are justified in their advocacy at times.
A few, very few, believe they have a moral obligation to be advocates, mainly motivated by their sense of being citizens first and scientists second. In the survey I alluded to above, the leadership of these professional conservation organizations were overwhelmingly, and surprisingly of the opinion that it was okay for scientists and scientific organizations to advocate, at least sometimes.
In your article, you draw upon an interesting comparison when discussing the argument that scientists don't have enough time for advocacy work. You compare balancing advocacy and scientific research with commitment to a marriage. Can you explain?
I think the “time argument” is something of a copout. As morally mature human beings we have many moral commitments, and sometimes these commitments conflict with one another, and sometimes we might lack the time or energy to fulfill them all. I have a commitment to my spouse to fulfill certain responsibilities of marriage. I also have various obligations to my neighbors, my community, my university, my various departments, my colleagues, my students, etc.. The simple fact that I cannot always and in each and every case fulfill all of these various commitments does not mean that I do not have them, nor does it mean that I am a hypocrite if I fail to realize them all.
Think of the morally mature person as a juggler, working hard to keep in the air the many moral obligations that they’ve taken on as the morally mature person. The morally mature person is bound to also be the person who drops the ball sometimes. Navigating the rich world of moral commitments that we hold is tough, no doubt, but it is also the obligation we have as morally mature and capable people. It certainly takes wisdom, and courage, and attention, but it is also a rewarding and privileged position.
In discussing the reasons to engage in advocacy, you suggest that scientific research itself is value-laden. What do you mean by this?
I want to be careful here. We know people often claim that science is not value laden, and we know there are other people who point out that science most certainly is value laden. I do not think the former position is defendable, but the latter position needs to be cautious. The mistake that both sides make, I think, is that they try to quickly reach other conclusions based on the premise that science is or is not value laden. In many ways, science is value laden because we are humans and the world we live in is value laden. And I would say this is not a bad thing or something to be afraid of or wish away.
Scientists choose their topics of study (and choose against other topics of study), frame questions in a certain manner (and not in some other manner), accept funding from certain sources (and not from other sources – though there’s certainly more accepting than not accepting). Governments or corporations or agencies fund science, and scientists are employed by governments or corporations or agencies. Science employs concepts such as carrying capacity, health, and conservation. All of these things are normatively laden and it is probably dangerously delusional to think otherwise. All one needs to do is read a little history of science to know how quaint is the notion of value free science.
Now, from this fact alone, however, it does not follow that scientists ought to be advocates, nor that they ought not be advocates. Likewise, if scientists could actually successfully argue that science was not value laden in any way, it would not follow from that fact alone that scientists ought not be advocates. So, in some ways the question about the value laden nature of science, while interesting and fun to think and read about, is quite separate from the question of whether or not scientists ought to be advocates.
You argue that scientists have a "special responsibility" to engage in advocacy. Can you explain?
I shutter when I think about the implications of stripping scientists – those who might know more about some given topic then anyone else – of their citizenship. I do not think people know what they are saying or implying when they say scientists should not be advocates, or when scientists justify their lack of advocacy or criticize their peers on this basis. I can hardly imagine anything more undemocratic, unhealthy, and un-American than knowingly stripping someone of their citizenship, or knowingly giving it up.
As we argue in our Conservation Biology paper, citizens in a democracy have a moral obligation to actively promote within their society that which they are justified in thinking is right or good and to actively opposing that which they are justified in thinking is wrong or bad. Consequently, because they are citizens, every scientist has an obligation to be just and transparently honest advocates. Societies behave unethically when they expect or encourage their citizens to abdicate their privileges and responsibilities as citizens without adequate justification. When scientists reject advocacy as a principle, they reject a fundamental aspect of their citizenship. Rejecting one’s responsibility as a citizen is unethical. An important part of this, however, is the manner in which scientists, as citizens, are obligated to be advocates: in a justified and transparent manner. We have too often seen scientists, and others, not advocating in this manner.
Culturally, in comparison to other fields such as climate science or physics, is there something different about the fields of conservation biology and ecology, where there is perhaps more acceptance and more of a natural turn towards advocacy? Is it easier for conservation biologists and ecologists to be advocates, or do the same considerations apply to all scientists?
This might be the case, it is something of an empirical question and would make for an interesting bit of scholarship. A number of scholars have suggested that it is a short leap from describing the state of nature, as ecologists do, to being willing to act on behalf of nature. I am not sure we understand a lot about the nature of that “short leap.” I would guess it would have something to do with the love of that which you study, or the love of studying living things and systems (something akin to the biophilia hypothesis). Conservation biology from its very inception, however, has quite intentionally and unabashedly been motivated by the normative assumption that the diversity of life is a good thing, a value quite apart from its mere use value.
Certainly this makes some conservation biologists uneasy, and there are always attempts to “purify” the discipline by ridding it of these roots, but the intrinsic value of nature has been there from the beginning. If I admittedly and intrinsically value that which I study, and if in my study of it I discover threats to it, I think the leap to my willingness to act on its behalf is hardly a leap at all.
You also argue that if advocacy is done effectively by a scientist, they are at little risk for losing their credibility. But what about universities or scientific societies: If more of their faculty or members are engaging in advocacy, does this jeopardize the reputation or funding support for a university? Or the reputation of a scientific society?
I do not really believe that scientific credibility is as fragile as other people seem to believe. Scientists can be terrible people and still do good science, or they can be wonderful people and do bad science, and we can all make that distinction. Moreover, we sometimes forget that it is the scientific community that is the gatekeeper of credibility. If a scientist or scientific community cannot draw a distinction between a person and their advocacy on the one hand, and their science on the other, then shame on us. If we give away the control over our own ability to judge credibility, then shame on us.
I actually think that universities, especially land grant universities, would gain some credibility in the eye of the public if they became more engaged. Certainly if they advocate without transparency and in an unjustified manner that would be a terrible thing – and we see some of that today. But can you imagine a university where scientists worked with communication specialists, philosopher of science, ethicists, writers and poets and film makers, to consider and craft messages relaying the results of their work in a justified and transparent manner? Where we all took engagement as a sacred duty, as a way to justify and measure and test our work? Can you imagine what an example that would set in a culture that currently struggles so much with basic notions of civility?
Are there places where you draw the line on advocacy. For example do you make a distinction between advocating for a) general societal action on climate change, b) specifically for passage of Cap and Trade legislation and c) specific advocacy in support of a political candidate or one political party that has a preferred position on climate change?
I am not sure I would necessarily draw the distinction there, I am not sure that my advocacy for a general societal action and the support of a candidate or specific legislation can be reasonably disentangled from one another. Scientists have always supported legislation, societal actions, and candidates that supported increasing science funding or perpetuated certain myths about the advance of science and the advance of civilization (see Daniel Sarewitz’s Frontiers of Illusion). Would I, however, draw the line on advocacy somewhere else? Again, I think if we stick to the basic idea that advocacy is acceptable if it is justified and transparent, then that is where I would draw the line. Some of what goes by the name of advocacy today is inappropriate for sure, but not because it is advocacy, but because it is done in an unjustified and/or un-transparent fashion. I guess at the end of the day I do not worry about the results of advocacy done in a justified and transparent manner.
How does James Hansen's advocacy work fit with the framework of your arguments? Is Hansen an ideal type scientist advocate? Or are there elements of Hansen's advocacy that generate cause for concern? Is his status as a Federal employee raise issues?
I think Hansen if probably pretty close to what I am thinking about here. I do not think I am aware of anything he does that is not based in the best available science, transparent, premised upon fairly uncontroversial normative assumptions, and justified. His status as a Federal employee might raise issues with those who believe that Federal employees should not be advocates (or should not be advocates for certain policies – since when Federal employees advocate for some policies no one bats an eye), or with those who do not agree with what he is advocating. On the other hand, if Federal employees are not working on behalf of the well-being of the public what are they doing? But at least with this type of advocacy it is transparent, it could be laid out as a formal argument, we could have a rational discussion about the argument, its premises and inferences, we would know where to begin a rich conversation.
Last year you participated in the Columbia River Quorum, a summit among members of each of the four academic cultures to discuss strategies for how each of these disciplines can participate together in public communication initiatives about climate change. In other academic cultures such as the humanities or even the social sciences, do think there is a different view about advocacy? In other words, are these disciplines more open to advocacy historically?
The question of advocacy comes up far less in the humanities I think. This might be because we are not taken as seriously as are scientists. We are not well placed to have the impact that scientists can have. It might be that questions of advocacy are heightened in disciplines that are wealthier, more powerful, perceived to be more central. Historically, however, philosophers believed advocacy to be a duty and they were great advocates. In fact, they sometimes suffered terribly and unjustly for it. One might argue that Socrates was put to death because of his advocacy. Somehow, somewhere we lost that. By and large, though certainly not universally, philosophers do not engage with the world in a way that many would recognize as engaged, helpful, relevant, or even understandable. It is a strange thing to me because what we possess and what we teach and the skills that we can bring to bare if we chose to are amazingly powerful. What I am talking about is really basic, but equally lacking: critical analysis and serious rational thought. Philosophers could be great partners and collaborators with biological scientists, media specialists, and social scientists. And although there are some serious obstacles here, such partnerships have incredible potential for good in the world, and they could well serve all disciplines.
What types of advocacy initiatives do you see as requiring four culture collaborations?
Here is just one. In the last week I published a book with philosopher and writer, Kathleen Dean Moore, Moral Ground: Ethical Action for a Planet in Peril (Trinity University Press, 2010). The book is premised upon a philosophical or ethical argument. The first premise of the argument, that we are doing great and harm to the world such that we are infringing upon the well-being of the future, is established by the biological and social scientists. Advocates immediately take these facts, these bits of information, and try to urge us to act to prevent these harms. But we know that people are not acting. They do not act because from any given set of facts alone no specific course of action follows. We need to make, loud and beautifully clear, the missing second premise.
We need to argue that we have a moral obligation to leave a world as rich in possibilities as the world that was left to us. So, our book is a collection of over 80 recognized moral voices (scientists and politicians, ethicist and writers, religious leaders and business leaders) who all argue that we do have just such an obligation. So, the basic framework comes from philosophy. But the first premise is from the sciences. The idea of how we convey or communicate this message is from media and communication specialists. We argue that only by fusing science, with ethics, with communication specialists, with writers and poets and film makers will be fully capable of addressing our environmental problems that are, by their nature, precisely this multi-dimensional.
I love to think about these fusions. Philosophers working on films, poets inspired by the work of a scientist, communication experts wrestling over messages with sympathetic and creative colleagues from the sciences and humanities. We all know that the academy is not currently like this, but it could be, and just think about the possibilities, the power of this, and the good fun.
--Interview with Michael Nelson, Michigan State University
For more on what Nelson calls second premise fusions, see this previous post and article on “four culture” partnerships at universities.
What do readers think? Does Nelson make a convincing case about the need for scientists to engage as advocates? Do you agree with Nelson that when scientists reject advocacy as a principle, they reject part of their citizenship?
Watch below a Big Think interview with James Hansen as he advocates for a carbon tax [Transcript follows]. Do you agree with Nelson that Hansen is an ideal example of a scientist-advocate?
Inventions with revolutionary potential made by a mysterious aerospace engineer for the U.S. Navy come to light.
- U.S. Navy holds patents for enigmatic inventions by aerospace engineer Dr. Salvatore Pais.
- Pais came up with technology that can "engineer" reality, devising an ultrafast craft, a fusion reactor, and more.
- While mostly theoretical at this point, the inventions could transform energy, space, and military sectors.
The U.S. Navy controls patents for some futuristic and outlandish technologies, some of which, dubbed "the UFO patents," came to light recently. Of particular note are inventions by the somewhat mysterious Dr. Salvatore Cezar Pais, whose tech claims to be able to "engineer reality." His slate of highly-ambitious, borderline sci-fi designs meant for use by the U.S. government range from gravitational wave generators and compact fusion reactors to next-gen hybrid aerospace-underwater crafts with revolutionary propulsion systems, and beyond.
Of course, the existence of patents does not mean these technologies have actually been created, but there is evidence that some demonstrations of operability have been successfully carried out. As investigated and reported by The War Zone, a possible reason why some of the patents may have been taken on by the Navy is that the Chinese military may also be developing similar advanced gadgets.
Among Dr. Pais's patents are designs, approved in 2018, for an aerospace-underwater craft of incredible speed and maneuverability. This cone-shaped vehicle can potentially fly just as well anywhere it may be, whether air, water or space, without leaving any heat signatures. It can achieve this by creating a quantum vacuum around itself with a very dense polarized energy field. This vacuum would allow it to repel any molecule the craft comes in contact with, no matter the medium. Manipulating "quantum field fluctuations in the local vacuum energy state," would help reduce the craft's inertia. The polarized vacuum would dramatically decrease any elemental resistance and lead to "extreme speeds," claims the paper.
Not only that, if the vacuum-creating technology can be engineered, we'd also be able to "engineer the fabric of our reality at the most fundamental level," states the patent. This would lead to major advancements in aerospace propulsion and generating power. Not to mention other reality-changing outcomes that come to mind.
Among Pais's other patents are inventions that stem from similar thinking, outlining pieces of technology necessary to make his creations come to fruition. His paper presented in 2019, titled "Room Temperature Superconducting System for Use on a Hybrid Aerospace Undersea Craft," proposes a system that can achieve superconductivity at room temperatures. This would become "a highly disruptive technology, capable of a total paradigm change in Science and Technology," conveys Pais.
High frequency gravitational wave generator.
Credit: Dr. Salvatore Pais
Another invention devised by Pais is an electromagnetic field generator that could generate "an impenetrable defensive shield to sea and land as well as space-based military and civilian assets." This shield could protect from threats like anti-ship ballistic missiles, cruise missiles that evade radar, coronal mass ejections, military satellites, and even asteroids.
Dr. Pais's ideas center around the phenomenon he dubbed "The Pais Effect". He referred to it in his writings as the "controlled motion of electrically charged matter (from solid to plasma) via accelerated spin and/or accelerated vibration under rapid (yet smooth) acceleration-deceleration-acceleration transients." In less jargon-heavy terms, Pais claims to have figured out how to spin electromagnetic fields in order to contain a fusion reaction – an accomplishment that would lead to a tremendous change in power consumption and an abundance of energy.
According to his bio in a recently published paper on a new Plasma Compression Fusion Device, which could transform energy production, Dr. Pais is a mechanical and aerospace engineer working at the Naval Air Warfare Center Aircraft Division (NAWCAD), which is headquartered in Patuxent River, Maryland. Holding a Ph.D. from Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, Pais was a NASA Research Fellow and worked with Northrop Grumman Aerospace Systems. His current Department of Defense work involves his "advanced knowledge of theory, analysis, and modern experimental and computational methods in aerodynamics, along with an understanding of air-vehicle and missile design, especially in the domain of hypersonic power plant and vehicle design." He also has expert knowledge of electrooptics, emerging quantum technologies (laser power generation in particular), high-energy electromagnetic field generation, and the "breakthrough field of room temperature superconductivity, as related to advanced field propulsion."
Suffice it to say, with such a list of research credentials that would make Nikola Tesla proud, Dr. Pais seems well-positioned to carry out groundbreaking work.
A craft using an inertial mass reduction device.
Credit: Salvatore Pais
The patents won't necessarily lead to these technologies ever seeing the light of day. The research has its share of detractors and nonbelievers among other scientists, who think the amount of energy required for the fields described by Pais and his ideas on electromagnetic propulsions are well beyond the scope of current tech and are nearly impossible. Yet investigators at The War Zone found comments from Navy officials that indicate the inventions are being looked at seriously enough, and some tests are taking place.
If you'd like to read through Pais's patents yourself, check them out here.
Laser Augmented Turbojet Propulsion System
Credit: Dr. Salvatore Pais
Tips from neuroscience and psychology can make you an expert thinker.
This article was originally published on Big Think Edge.
Problem-solving skills are in demand. Every job posting lists them under must-have qualifications, and every job candidate claims to possess them, par excellence. Young entrepreneurs make solutions to social and global problems the heart of their mission statements, while parents and teachers push for curricula that encourage critical-thinking methods beyond solving for x.
It's ironic then that we continue to cultivate habits that stunt our ability to solve problems. Take, for example, the modern expectation to be "always on." We push ourselves to always be working, always be producing, always be parenting, always be promoting, always be socializing, always be in the know, always be available, always be doing. It's too much, and when things are always on all the time, we deplete the mental resources we need to truly engage with challenges.
If we're serious about solving problems, at work and in our personal lives, then we need to become more adept at tuning out so we can hone in.
Solve problems with others (occasionally)
A side effect of being always on is that we are rarely alone. We're connected through the ceaseless chirps of friends texting, social media buzzing, and colleagues pinging us for advice everywhere we go. In some ways, this is a boon. Modern technologies mediate near endless opportunities for collective learning and social problem-solving. Yet, such cooperation has its limits according to a 2018 study out of Harvard Business School.
In the study, participants were divided into three group types and asked to solve traveling salesman problems. The first group type had to work on the problems individually. The second group type exchanged notes after every round of problem-solving while the third collaborated after every three rounds.
The researchers found that lone problem-solvers invented a diverse range of potential solutions. However, their solutions varied wildly in quality, with some being true light bulb moments and others burnt-out duds. Conversely, the always-on group took advantage of their collective learning to tackle more complex problems more effectively. But social influence often led these groups to prematurely converge around a single idea and abandon potentially brilliant outliers.
It was the intermittent collaborators who landed on the Goldilocks strategy. By interacting less frequently, individual group members had more time to nurture their ideas so the best could shine. But when they gathered together, the group managed to improve the overall quality of their solutions thanks to collective learning.
In presenting their work, the study's authors question the value of always-on culture—especially our submissiveness to intrusions. "As we replace those sorts of intermittent cycles with always-on technologies, we might be diminishing our capacity to solve problems well," Ethan Bernstein, an associate professor at Harvard Business School and one of the study's authors, said in a press release.
These findings suggest we should schedule time to ruminate with our inner geniuses and consult the wisdom of the crowd. Rather than dividing our day between productivity output and group problem-solving sessions, we must also create space to focus on problems in isolation. This strategy provides the best of both worlds. It allows us to formulate our ideas before social pressure can push us to abandon them. But it doesn't preclude the group knowledge required to refine those ideas.
And the more distractions you can block out or turn off, the more working memory you'll have to direct at the problem.
A problem-solving booster
The next step is to dedicate time to not dealing with problems. Counterintuitive as it may seem, setting a troublesome task aside and letting your subconscious take a crack at it improves your conscious efforts later.
How should we fill these down hours? That's up to you, but research has shown time and again that healthier habits produce hardier minds. This is especially true regarding executive functions—a catchall term that includes a person's ability to self-control, meet goals, think flexibly, and, yes, solve problems.
"Exercisers outperform couch potatoes in tests that measure long-term memory, reasoning, attention, problem-solving, even so-called fluid-intelligence tasks. These tasks test the ability to reason quickly and think abstractly, improvising off previously learned material to solve a new problem. Essentially, exercise improves a whole host of abilities prized in the classroom and at work," writes John Medina, a developmental molecular biologist at the University of Washington.
One such study, published in the Frontiers in Neuroscience, analyzed data collected from more than 4,000 British adults. After controlling for variables, it found a bidirectional relationship between exercise and higher levels of executive function over time. Another study, this one published in the Frontiers in Aging Neuroscience, compared fitness data from 128 adults with brain scans taken as they were dual-tasking. Its findings showed regular exercisers sported more active executive regions.
Research also demonstrates a link between problem-solving, healthy diets, and proper sleep habits. Taken altogether, these lifestyle choices also help people manage their stress—which is known to impair problem-solving and creativity.
Of course, it can be difficult to untangle the complex relationship between cause and effect. Do people with healthy life habits naturally enjoy strong executive functions? Or do those habits bolster their mental fitness throughout their lives?
That's not an easy question to answer, but the Frontiers in Neuroscience study researchers hypothesize that it's a positive feedback loop. They posit that good sleep, nutritious food, and regular exercise fortify our executive functions. In turn, more potent executive decisions invigorate healthier life choices. And those healthy life choices—you see where this is going.
And while life choices are ultimately up to individuals, organizations have a supportive role to play. They can foster cultures that protect off-hours for relaxing, incentivize healthier habits with PTO, and prompt workers to take time for exercise beyond the usual keyboard calisthenics.
Nor would such initiatives be entirely selfless. They come with the added benefit of boosting a workforce's collective problem-solving capabilities.
Live and learn and learn some more
Another advantage of tuning out is the advantage to pursue life-long learning opportunities. People who engage in creative or problem-solving activities in their downtime—think playing music, puzzles, and even board games—show improved executive functions and mental acuity as they age. In other words, by learning to enjoy the act of problem-solving, you may enhance your ability to do so.
Similarly, lifelong learners are often interdisciplinary thinkers. By diving into various subjects, they can come to understand the nuances of different skills and bodies of knowledge to see when ideas from one field may provide a solution to a problem in another. That doesn't mean lifelong learners must become experts in every discipline. On the contrary, they are far more likely to understand where the limits of their knowledge lie. But those self-perceived horizons can also provide insight into where collaboration is necessary and when to follow someone else's lead.
In this way, lifelong learning can be key to problem-solving in both business and our personal lives. It pushes us toward self-improvement, gives us an understanding of how things work, hints at what's possible, and, above all, gives us permission to tune out and focus on what matters.
Cultivate lifelong learning at your organization with lessons 'For Business' from Big Think Edge. At Edge, more than 350 experts, academics, and entrepreneurs come together to teach essential skills in career development and lifelong learning. Heighten your problem-solving aptitude with lessons such as:
- Make Room for Innovation: Key Characteristics of Innovative Companies, with Lisa Bodell, Founder and CEO, FutureThink, and Author, Why Simple Wins
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- The Power of Onlyness: Give Your People Permission to Co-Create the Future, with Nilofer Merchant, Marketing Expert and Author, The Power of Onlyness
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The Rijksmuseum employed an AI to repaint lost parts of Rembrandt's "The Night Watch." Here's how they did it.
- In 1715, Amsterdam's Town Hall sliced off all four outer edges of Rembrandt's priceless masterpiece so that it would fit on a wall.
- Neural networks were used to fill in the missing pieces.
- An unprecedented collaboration between man and machine is now on display at the Rijksmuseum.
Robert Erdmann, a senior scientist working for the Rijksmuseum, cannot help but smile when I ask him to explain — in as much detail as possible — how exactly he used artificial intelligence to recreate long-lost portions of Rembrandt van Rijn's most famous painting, The Night Watch (1642). "Most people just want the elevator pitch," he tells me over Zoom.
The Night Watch is a mammoth of a painting, and it used to be even bigger. In 1715, it came into the possession of the bureaucrats in charge of Amsterdam's Town Hall. In order to fit it on their wall, they sliced off all four outer edges of Rembrandt's priceless masterpiece, inadvertently creating the compromised version we know today.
Rembrandt's "The Night Watch," with the missing edges shown in black.
The missing pieces of "The Night Watch" were never recovered, but we know what they looked like thanks to Gerrit Lundens, a contemporary of Rembrandt who copied the painting when it was complete. These missing sections depict the top of the arch, a balustrade at the bottom, and two soldiers of Frans Banninck Cocq's militia company that stood at the far left.
Though the absence of these elements does not make "The Night Watch" any less impressive, their presence greatly alters the painting's look and feel. The balustrade emphasizes the company's movement forward. Together, the four missing pieces shift the principal figures — Cocq and Willem van Ruytenburch — to the right, creating a more compelling composition.
Copy of "The Night Watch" by Gerrit Lundens.
As part of Operation Night Watch, a multimillion-dollar restoration mission, the Rijksmuseum set out to recreate these missing pieces of the painting to show visitors The Night Watch as Rembrandt had originally constructed it. One easy way to do this would be to upload the smaller Lundens copy into Photoshop, blow it up by a factor of five, print it out, and call it a day.
Easy, but far from adequate. As Erdmann puts it: "There's nothing wrong with using an artist like that. However, the final product would still contain traces of that artist's own style." For Erdmann, the only viable solution was to create a series of neural networks — software that mimics the human brain through the use of artificial neurons — to transform the Lundens copy into an "original" Rembrandt.
Humans, unlike computers, aren't able to make perfect copies. Faithful though Lundens' painting is — especially in its visual detail, for example, the number of buttons on a coat, plumes on a feather, or engravings on a halberd — it still contains a myriad of miniscule differences that prevented Erdmann from simply copy-pasting it onto the original.
Perspective was the first and arguably most important item on Erdmann's list. "The geometric correspondence is pretty good at the bottom of the copy," he says. "At the top, that correspondence starts to fall apart; the composition looks stretched out, supposedly because Lundens was unable to reach the top of the painting to get its precise measurements."
Lundens' copy, adjusted for perspective by the AI.
After creating a neural network that could identify corresponding elements in both versions of The Night Watch — from faces and hands to clothing and weapons — Erdmann made a second neural network that could stretch, rotate, foreshorten, compress, and decompress the Lundens copy so that its measurements matched the Rembrandt original as closely as possible.
According to Erdman, this step was "a guide to where we should place the figures on the left, because they need to be consistent with the extrapolation from the original Night Watch." Aside from aligning the two paintings, Erdmann's adjustments also transformed the facial structure of figures like Cocq, bringing them closer to Rembrandt's expert rendering.
Detail of the Lundens copy before perspectival adjustments.
Detail of the Lundens copy after perspectival adjustments.
Just as a painter must tone their canvas before they can work on composition and color, so too did Erdmann have to get the dimensions right before he could move on to the third and final stage of his coding process. Erdmann's next part of the neural network involved — to paraphrase his elevator pitch — sending the artificial intelligence algorithm to art school.
"Not unlike how you might translate a text from Dutch to English, we wanted to see if we could transform Lundens' painterly style and palette into Rembrandt's," he explains, comparing the learning curve to a quiz. To educate it, the AI was given random tiles from the Lundens copy and asked to render the tiles in the style of Rembrandt.
As with any pedagogical situation, Erdmann evaluated the AI's efforts with a corresponding grade. The closer its output matched the contents of the original Night Watch, the higher the grade it received. When grading, Erdmann considered things like color, texture, and representation (i.e., how well does this frowning face resemble a frowning face, or this sword an actual sword?).
"Once you've defined what makes a good copy, you can train the network on thousands and thousands of these tiles," Erdmann goes on. There are 265 gigabytes of memory of thousands of attempts stored, which demonstrates improvement in quality over a very short time. Within less than a day, the error margin between the AI and the real Rembrandt grew so small it became insignificant; the training was complete.
Lundens copy when adjusted for perspective and Rembrandt's style by AI.
Along the way, the AI had developed a thorough understanding of what made Rembrandt Rembrandt. When translating Lundens' copy, it used a less saturated color palette and thicker, sketchier brushstrokes. It even adopted the painter's signature use of chiaroscuro — a technique involving sharp contrasts between light and shadow.
Then it was time for the final exam. Using the knowledge gained from copying Rembrandt, Erdmann ordered the AI to transform the four outer edges of the Lundens copy — removed from the original Night Watch — into Rembrandt's signature style. The result, an unprecedented collaboration between man and machine, is now on display in the Eregalerij of the Rijksmuseum.
Detail of the completed "Night Watch." The two figures on the left were added from the adjusted Lundens copy.
The missing pieces, resuscitated by AI, were printed onto canvas and varnished so that they had a similar gloss to the rest of the painting. The pieces were then attached to metal plates, which were placed in front of the original Night Watch at a distance of less than one centimeter, thus creating an optical illusion for visitors without actually touching Rembrandt's work.
While conservation science is evolving rapidly, the achievements of people like Erdmann are still eclipsed by the artistic genius of the painters whose work they try to preserve, which is a shame because Erdmann's software can be just as inventive as Rembrandt's brushwork. At the very least, Erdmann's problem-solving skills would have made the master proud.