Fluff

I have a friend, a mathematician, that rolls his eyes at any infusion of the scientific with the mystical. He would call it fluff. Fair enough.

In my life I've made an attempt to reconcile my studies and knowledge of science with other facets of my life that are no less potent, nor less important to my mind. Though there are clear conflicts between some of my scientific and spiritual ideas, there are areas of overlap and agreement. The same can be said even within the various truths of my political repertoire. For instance, universal healthcare is appealing, as is a balanced federal budget. There is conflict, dissonance here, but there can be resolution.

One of the lessons I took home from the Tao te Ching is that we can learn from, and can best experience peace, fulfillment and productivity in our lives by learning the patterns and ways of nature. As stated in the translation linked above:

Man follows the earth.
Earth follows the universe.
The universe follows the Tao.
The Tao follows only itself.

In Herman Hesse's Siddhartha (full text), the title character, toward the end of his life and spiritual journey, lives with a ferryman by a river. At one point in the narrative, Vasudeva tells Siddhartha to learn from the river.

The river has taught me to listen; you will learn from it, too. The river knows everything; one can learn everything from it.

Nature (earth, the river) is the ultimate teacher and master for us mortal folk, in that the pattern of the universe is written in the pattern of earth. Hermeticism uses the phrase As above, so below. The Lord's prayer: On earth as it is in heaven. The microcosm reflects the macrocosm. By learning and applying the patterns of the earth, we humans, if we but humble ourselves, may come closer to an understanding of the universe, the heavens, the infinite, etc.

In the West, our scientific method has evolved out of the careful study of this nature (as has science elsewhere . . . I'm a little more familiar with the evolution of Western science) . . . the revolution of cosmic spheres, the ebb and flow of the tides, the movement of air masses, the cycles of our seasons, the dance of excited particles in the auroras. Our modern studies of physics, astronomy, chemistry and biology were once lumped under the umbrella of Natural Philosophy.

If I tried to explain what scientists do to a kindergartener, I suppose I would say that we ask nature (or, the universe) questions. I suppose I would give the same answer if I were asked what a Taoist does.

To me, engineers operating in the arena of biomimicry embrace this ideal in its fullest. The idea is simple . . . let natural systems provide inspiration for technological advance. Let's learn from someone who's been doing it longer and more efficiently. We now have artificial gecko feet for climbing walls. Aerospace engineers are taking a cue from maple seeds in the design of small aerial vehicles. The medical field has its humble roots in the extraction of beneficial compounds from medicinal plants. We learn from nature.

I left secondary education to go back to the lab because I felt I had more questions to ask of nature. I look at my work through a variety of lenses and parallels. My work parallels my philosophy. My work parallels my art, photography. In my art, a lens receives reflected energy, light, from a subject and focuses it on a digital sensor. Following the conversion of that light into a series of ones and zeroes, that information is fed to a computer, which converts data back to light on a monitor, producing an image. I find some of those images beautiful. Of course, I acknowledge my bias.

In my science, I frequently place a sample of matter (a subject) I've created (sub-created, manipulated or synthesized might be more appropriate terms) in an instrument that bombards the matter with various radiation - ultraviolet, visible light, infrared, a beam of electrons - energy. The energy interacts with the sample and is either absorbed, reflected, scattered, and the energy emerging from the sample invariably reaches a digital sensor, undergoes a conversion by a computer to ones and zeroes, and, in the end, generally is rendered as an image. Some of these are more or less beautiful. Admittedly, it is difficult to admire the beauty of a ultraviolet-visible spectrum of a sample of silver nanoparticles. However, as noted in a previous post, these nanoscale objects possess a beauty that we can unlock with more sophisticated tools and methods.

As I said, the notion of learning from the universe, earth, nature resonates with both scientific and mystic centers of my brain. At this point, after the discussion of nanoparticles and spectra, you may be thinking, "That's a stretch, Sandrik. Your nanoparticles aren't natural." Fair enough, but I disagree. In recent years the distinction between man-made and natural has given my brain some trouble. Certainly, I concede that there are sub-creations of humanity that are destructive by nature, even to ourselves. However, when a robin constructs a nest, do we call it robin-made? Do we distinguish it from what is natural? If a human builds a home of timbers from the forest, is it natural? If a steel doorknob is added? If vinyl siding is added? Where do we draw the line between the natural and the unnatural? Are humans natural? I think the last question gets more to the point. Was not all the matter in humans and the home present since the earth first cooled from a cloud of gas to a molten lump to a rocky orb covered mostly with water? If anything, we are manipulators, reassemblers, sub-creators, not makers. There can be no man-made, in the fundamental sense. To me, man-made implies a certain level of arrogance.

Björk relates this idea rather well in her song "The Modern Things."

All the modern things
like cars and such
have always existed.

They've just been waiting in a mountain
for the right moment,

Listening to the irritating noises
of dinosaurs
and people
dabbling outside.

Further, I think the natural/synthetic distinction serves to divorce and isolate us from the natural world. We see ourselves as a species apart from, rather than a species, a part of the natural world, much as our egos serve to isolate us from one another.

What's the point? Does the identification of ourselves and our sub-creations as natural give us license to run roughshod and re-create nature in our likeness? I wouldn't make that argument. While I wouldn't argue that my synthesis of nanoparticles is an unnatural process, any more so than is the construction of a robin's nest, I would and have argued that a kinship with nature should guide the manner in which I use, produce, spread and commercialize these nanoparticles. I believe the old model of holding dominion over the grass, herbs, fruit trees, great whales, winged fowls, cattle, creeping things, beasts of the earth has gotten us where we are today, with deteriorating air to breathe, water to drink, along with diminished diversity of living species with which to commune in the enjoyment of life.

So what, then? Is the pattern of heaven written on these nanoparticles? Probably not. But, when I watch the beaker of clear liquid turn yellow, and imagine the interplay of atoms, molecules and electrons, and observe a correspondence between that hump in the UV-Vis spectrum and the size and shape of the nanoparticles, viewing this whole process of nanoparticle synthesis and analysis in my mind's eye, from the macrocosm to the nanocosm, seeing the parts and the whole, all the while realizing that this process is but one character (in the language sense) in the script in this particular scene and act of the play that is the life of the universe, I experience what I can only describe as Zen, or enlightenment, or the touch of the Holy Spirit. The ego dissolves and I inhale and exhale in unison with the heaving cosmos. It feels similar to the solitude on the top of a mountain, or standing in the spray at the base of a waterfall. It's unity. It's a recognition of myself taking part in the life of the universe, and recognition of the life of the universe taking part in me.

I ask my questions. The universe answers.

Tribute: Buckminster Fuller

I started teaching (assisting) a summer class this week. It's CH 1000, preparatory chemistry. Basically, it's boot camp for college science. In other words, high school chemistry. My advisor tells
me I could do the recitation in my sleep, but the educator in me feels the need to prepare. Thus, my update is not as punctual as I'd like.

Anywho . . . Buckminster Fuller. Anyone who has seen a geodesic dome is familiar with his most noteworthy architectural contribution, at which he arrived quite independently of Dr. Walther Bauersfeld, who used the dome design successfully to construct a planetarium 20 years prior to Fuller's work with domes. Epcot Center represents a full geodesic sphere, of which a dome is but a partial section.

Beyond his architecture, Fuller began thinking and writing about concepts like environmental sustainability. I'll let the man speak for himself about this and other topics beyond architecture.

Does humanity have a chance to survive lastingly and successfully on planet Earth, and if so, how?

For the first time in history it is now possible to take care of everybody at a higher standard of living than any have ever known.

Only ten years ago the ‘more with less’ technology reached the point where this could be done. All humanity now has the option to become enduringly successful.

Pollution is nothing but the resources we are not harvesting. We allow them to disperse because we've been ignorant of their value.

When I am working on a problem, I never think about beauty. I think only how to solve the problem. But when I've finished, if the solution isn't beautiful, I know it's wrong.

I look for what needs to be done. After all, that's how the universe designs itself.

There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly.

Intuition operates in the twilight zone between conscious and subconscious.

The nearest each of us can come to God is by loving the truth.

God, to me, it seems, is a verb not a noun, proper or improper.

Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable.

For the chemist, Buckminster Fuller is most known for his legacy in Fullerene chemistry. The soccer ball-shaped Buckyball, more formally the Buckminster Fullerene, is essentially a geodesic sphere composed of carbon atoms at the vertices.

Fullerene chemistry has extended beyond the Buckyball to flat sheets & tubes (carbon nanotubes). Graphene (flat sheet form) carbon has recently been exploited by researchers at UC Berkeley for its semiconducting properties.

A materials scientist here at Tech borrowed some quartz cuvettes this week so he could obtain a ultraviolet-visible spectrum of some Fullerenes in benzene. It turns out he's working on using Buckyballs in solar cells. I'll give an update when he returns the cuvettes.