Hurricane Maria, a category 4 storm struck Puerto Rico, a US territory, on September 20 flattening it. The island was already in trouble with crumbling infrastructure, soaring debt, and an antiquated electrical grid. This wiped all three out, at least for the time-being.
The total devastation could cost between $45-90 billion. And the destruction has had a significant impact on the agricultural, pharmaceutical, and tourist industries... upon which much of the island’s economy depends. While its inhabitants are technically US citizens, critics have argued that the Trump administration has been slower to respond and less robust in doing so, than in Florida and Texas, both recently ravaged by extreme weather events.
Today, the island faces lack of cell phone service, food and water shortages, and the growing fear of a water-borne disease epidemic. The death toll stands at 51. Meanwhile, over 3,000 still live in shelters two months after the hurricane made landfall.
Only about 25% of Puerto Ricans today have power, and some places on the island are expected to be without electricity for months. Analysts say it could take six months to restore electricity to the entire island. This is in stark contrast to the situation in Florida after Hurricane Irma, where 95% of the state’s power was restored within a week.
It all started with a tweet. Tesla CEO and founder Elon Musk tweeted back. Credit: Getty Images.
Part of the difference in response is because the territory’s grid was far more antiquated. It was more than a half-century old. The Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority experienced mounting debt in recent years which the island’s citizens have been paying down. In addition, Hurricane Irma which hit the island only a week prior destroyed much of the grid. Maria finished it off. Still, some argue that compared to the number of workers who ameliorated Florida’s power woes, the number of technicians sent to Puerto Rico is underwhelming.
Earlier this week, a small Montana outfit called Whitefish Energy Holdings, announced a $300 million contract with Puerto Rico's electricity authority, to restore over 100 miles of power lines. But the island has 2,500 in all. So what now? Is Puerto Rico stuck? Fear not dear friends, its Tesla to the rescue! On Tuesday, Oct. 24 CEO Elon Musk announced the successful installation of Tesla’s Powerpack commercial energy storage batteries and solar panels, restoring power to Hospital del Niño, a children’s hospital in San Juan. It serves about 3,000 patients, 30 of which are in serious condition and require 24-hour care.
It all started back Oct. 5 when on Twitter, one Scott Stapf asked Elon Musk if he could restore power to the island with Tesla’s solar panel and battery systems. The tech leader replied, “The Tesla team has done this for many smaller islands around the world, but there is no scalability limit, so it can be done for Puerto Rico too. Such a decision would be in the hands of the PR govt, PUC, any commercial stakeholders and, most importantly, the people of PR.”
Puerto Rico Gov. Ricardo Rossello reached out to Musk. The two had “a great initial conversation,” according to the governor and after several more, they announced plans to get the hospital’s power needs met. Three weeks later, it’s outfitted with a solar field out back and all the juice it needs. Rossello and Puerto Rico’s Chief Innovation Officer Glorimar Ripoli, have discussed with Musk, Tesla using the island as a model to show how their solar and storage systems can transform electrical grids across the world.
Tesla storage batteries outside of Hospital del Niño. Credit: Tesla.
Rossello has promised all the lights will be on by Christmas, which analysts say may be unrealistic. Bloomberg News reported a phone interview with Puerto Rico’s Department of Economic Development and Commerce Secretary, Manuel Laboy, on Sunday. He said the San Juan government was hoping that the US federal aid package they were receiving can act as an opportunity to upgrade the grid and reinforce it, in order to withstand the next epic hurricane.
Meanwhile, Tesla tweeted out pictures of its initial efforts and said it was “the first of many solar + storage projects going live” in Puerto Rico. In addition, the company has been sending over its Powerwall battery storage units. Its batteries and solar panels are going to build microgrids all around the island. Hospital del Niño was just the first.
Still, questions remain. Funding and the scope of the project haven’t been delineated and queries have gone unanswered. Tesla is putting a lot of effort forth, however. It pushed back the announcement of its all electric semi-truck to November, to focus on helping restore the island’s grid. Musk himself donated $250,000 to help Puerto Rico get back on its feet. And he said they’re ramping up battery production in order to meet the island’s needs.
To learn more about this development, watch this:
Does science tell the truth? The answer to this question is not as simple as it seems, and my 13.8 colleague Adam Frank took a look at it in his article about the complementarity of knowledge. There are many levels of complexity to what truth is or means to a person or a community. Why?
It's complicated
First, "truth" itself is hard to define or even to identify. How do you know for sure that someone is telling you the truth? Do you always tell the truth? In groups, what may be considered true to a culture with a given set of moral values may not be true in another. Examples are easy to come by: the death penalty, abortion rights, animal rights, environmentalism, the ethics of owning weapons, etc.
At the level of human relations, truth is very convoluted. Living in an age where fake news has taken center stage only corroborates this obvious fact. However, not knowing how to differentiate between what is true and what is not leads to fear, insecurity, and ultimately, to what could be called worldview servitude — the subservient adherence to a worldview proposed by someone in power. The results, as the history of the 20th century has shown extensively, can be catastrophic.
Proclamations of final or absolute truths, even in science, shouldn't be trusted.
The goal of science, at least on paper, is to arrive at the truth without recourse to any belief or moral system. Science aims to go beyond the human mess so as to be value-free. The premise here is that Nature doesn't have a moral dimension, and that the goal of science is to describe Nature the best possible way, to arrive at something we could call the "absolute truth." The approach is a typical heir to the Enlightenment notion that it is possible to take human complications out of the equation and have an absolute objective view of the world. However, this is a tall order.
It is tempting to believe that science is the best pathway to truth because, to a spectacular extent, science does triumph at many levels. You trust driving your car because the laws of mechanics and thermodynamics work. NASA scientists and engineers just managed to have the Ingenuity Mars Helicopter — the first man-made device to fly over another planet — hover above the Martian surface all by itself.
We can use the laws of physics to describe the results of countless experiments to amazing levels of accuracy, from the magnetic properties of materials to the position of your car in traffic using GPS locators. In this restricted sense, science does tell the truth. It may not be the absolute truth about Nature, but it's certainly a kind of pragmatic, functional truth at which the scientific community arrives by consensus based on the shared testing of hypotheses and results.
What is truth?
But at a deeper level of scrutiny, the meaning of truth becomes intangible, and we must agree with the pre-Socratic philosopher Democritus who declared, around 400 years BCE, that "truth is in the depths." (Incidentally, Democritus predicted the existence of the atom, something that certainly exists in the depths.)
A look at a dictionary reinforces this view. "Truth: the quality of being true." Now, that's a very circular definition. How do we know what is true? A second definition: "Truth: a fact or belief that is accepted as true." Acceptance is key here. A belief may be accepted to be true, as is the case with religious faith. There is no need for evidence to justify a belief. But note that a fact as well can be accepted as true, even if belief and facts are very different things. This illustrates how the scientific community arrives at a consensus of what is true by acceptance. Sufficient factual evidence supports that a statement is true. (Note that what defines sufficient factual evidence is also accepted by consensus.) At least until we learn more.
Take the example of gravity. We know that an object in free fall will hit the ground, and we can calculate when it does using Galileo's law of free fall (in the absence of friction). This is an example of "functional truth." If you drop one million rocks from the same height, the same law will apply every time, corroborating the factual acceptance of a functional truth, that all objects fall to the ground at the same rate irrespective of their mass (in the absence of friction).
But what if we ask, "What is gravity?" That's an ontological question about what gravity is and not what it does. And here things get trickier. To Galileo, it was an acceleration downward; to Newton a force between two or more massive bodies inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them; to Einstein the curvature of spacetime due to the presence of mass and/or energy. Does Einstein have the final word? Probably not.
Is there an ultimate scientific truth?
Final or absolute scientific truths assume that what we know of Nature can be final, that human knowledge can make absolute proclamations. But we know that this can't really work, for the very nature of scientific knowledge is that it is incomplete and contingent on the accuracy and depth with which we measure Nature with our instruments. The more accuracy and depth our measurements gain, the more they are able to expose the cracks in our current theories, as I illustrated last week with the muon magnetic moment experiments.
So, we must agree with Democritus, that truth is indeed in the depths and that proclamations of final or absolute truths, even in science, shouldn't be trusted. Fortunately, for all practical purposes — flying airplanes or spaceships, measuring the properties of a particle, the rates of chemical reactions, the efficacy of vaccines, or the blood flow in your brain — functional truths do well enough.
A Dadaist artist is painted with the ashes of burned banknotes during the financial crisis.
In a world gone mad, what can the few sane people left do? What can someone say when there are no words that seem up to the job? How can anyone hope to express ideas so terrible when doing so will only reduce those ideas?
These are some of the things that inspired the Dada movement, and in its absurd, surreal, and chaotic nonsense, we find the voice of the voiceless.
The origin of Dadaism
Dada was a response to the madness of World War I. Reasonable, intelligent, and sensitive people looked at the blood and mud graveyards of the trenches and wondered how any meaning or goodness could ever be found again. How can someone make sense of a world where millions of young, happy, hopeful men were scythed down in a spray of bullets? How could life go back to normal when returning soldiers, blinded and disfigured from gas, lay homeless in the streets? Out of this awful revulsion, there came one bitter voice, and it said: "Everything is nonsense."
Dada is the art of the nihilist. It smashes accepted wisdom, challenges norms and values, and offends, upsets, and provokes us to re-examine everything.
And so, the Dada movement expressed itself in absurdity. Tzara, the closest you get to a Dadaist philosopher, put it like this: "Like everything in life, Dada is useless. Dada is without pretension, as life should be." Dada rejects all systems, all philosophy, all definite answers, and all truth. It is the living embrace of contradictions and nonsense. It seeks "to confuse and upset people, to shake and jolt". It aims to shout down the "shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good manners," when actually "everything happens in a completely idiotic way."
In short, Dada is a response to the world when all the usual methods have broken down. It's the recognition that dinner party conversations, Hollywood blockbusters, and Silicon Valley are not how life actually is. This is a false reality and order, like some kind of veneer.
The Dada response to life is to embrace the personal and passionate madness of it all, where "the intensity of a personality is transposed directly, clearly into the work." It's to recognize the unique position of an artist, who can convey ideas and feelings in a way that goes beyond normal understanding. Art goes straight to the soul, but the intensity of it all can be hard to "enjoy" in the strictest sense.
Where is this Dada?
For instance, Dada is seen in the poems of Hugo Ball who wrote in meaningless foreign-sounding words. It's in Hausmann, who wrote works in disconnected phonemes. It's found in Duchamp's iconoclastic "Fountain" that sought to question what art or an artist really meant. It's in Hans Richter's short film "Ghost before Breakfast," which has an incoherent montage of images, loosely connected by the theme of inanimate objects in revolt. And, it's in Kurt Schwitters' "psychological collages" which present fragments of objects, juxtaposed together.
Dada is intended to shock. It's an artistic jolt asking, or demanding, that the viewers reorient themselves in some way. It is designed to make us feel uncomfortable and does not make for easy appreciation. It's only when we're thrown so drastically outside of our comfort zone in this way that Dada asks us to question how things are. It shakes us out of a conformist stupor to look afresh at things.
The paradox of Dadaism
Of course, like all avant-garde art, Dada needs to address one major problem: how do you stay so provocative, so radical, and so anti-establishment when you also seek success? How can maverick rebels stay so as they get a mortgage and want a good school for their kids? The problem is that young, inventive, and idealistic artists are inevitably sucked into the world of profit and commodity.
As Grayson Perry, a British modern artist, wrote: "What starts as a creative revolt soon becomes co-opted as the latest way to make money," and what was once fresh and challenging "falls away to reveal a predatory capitalist robot." With Dada, how long can someone actually live in a world of nonsense and nihilistic absurdity?
But there will always be new blood to keep movements like Dada going. As the revolutionaries of yesterday become the rich mansion-owners of today, there will be hot, young things to come and take up the mantle. There will always be something to challenge and questions to be asked. So, art movements like Dada will always be in the vanguard.
Dada is the art of the nihilist. It smashes accepted wisdom, challenges norms and values, and offends, upsets, and provokes us to re-examine everything. It's an absurd art form that reflects the reality it perceives — that life is nothing more than a dissonant patchwork of egos floating in an abyss of nothing.
Jonny Thomson teaches philosophy in Oxford. He runs a popular Instagram account called Mini Philosophy (@philosophyminis). His first book is Mini Philosophy: A Small Book of Big Ideas.
