The Disappearing Spoon: Chapter 18: Tools of Ridiculous Precision Summary & Analysis

National bureaus of standards and measurement tend to attract the most meticulous people alive. There is one in most countries—the U.S. institute is known as the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST). The scientists who work at this institution believe that measurement doesn’t just facilitate science, but is “a science itself.” The global standards bureau—which sets the standards for other bureaus—is located in Paris. The kind of role they are tasked with is, for example, measuring a kilogram to a wildly specific degree. The International Prototype Kilogram housed there must be so precise that it cannot even be scratched or gather a single dust, lest that changes its mass. Ideally, it would not lose “a single atom.” 

The U.S. has its own standard kilogram, which at the time of writing will soon have to be meticulously brought (as hand luggage) to Paris to be measured against the kilogram there. Recently, scientists have been noticing something strange: the Paris kilogram has been losing about half a microgram (equivalent to a fingerprint) of mass per year. No one can explain why. Part of the reason why scientific measurements need to be so exact is so experiments can be replicated as precisely as possible across the world. The fact that the official kilogram is mysteriously shrinking is considered a serious (and embarrassing) problem.

Somewhat similarly, the length of each Earth day is increasing very gradually, thanks to the effect of the tide on Earth’s rotation. In order to adjust to this issue in the most precise way possible, the U.S. has started using an atomic clock, which bases its measurement of time on electrons. The atom they use for the atomic clock is called cesium, which has “heavy, lumbering atoms.” While this has led to a standard of precision unlike anything humanity has had before, Kean suggests that there is something poetic lost in no longer relying on the stars and seasons as the tool for measuring time.

“Fundamental constants” refers to pure abstract numbers that never change, like pi or the mass of a kilogram. The “fine structure constant” is a measurement the tightness of the connection between electrons and the nucleus. In the scientific community, it is simply called alpha. This number is extremely important to physicists, because without it atoms couldn’t exist. In 1976, a Soviet scientist named Alexander Shlyakhter studied the only organic nuclear fission reactor in the known universe, Oklo, and concluded that alpha was actually getting bigger. For a long time, there was a lot of wild speculation about Oklo, including that it was evidence of a past alien invasion.

However, by measuring the elements at the site, scientists were able to see that it was instead simply an extraordinary natural nuclear reactor. Uranium was slowed down by the river water at the site, which allowed reactions to take place where they ordinarily wouldn’t have. Studying Oklo, Shlyakhter speculated that the relative lack of samarium produced at the site meant that in the past, alpha must have been ever so slightly smaller. Many scientists have disputed this, unwilling to believe that alpha, a fundamental constant, could change. The debate continues and it will probably be difficult to ever explain the discrepancy at Oklo with absolute certainty.  

In the universe, there are black holes called quasars which destroy other stars and in doing so produce light. A group of Australian scientists studied how some ancient quasar light passed through space dust in order to test if it’s possible that alpha could have changed. Provocatively, they concluded that the evidence does indeed indicate that alpha may have changed (albeit by only 0.001 percent across 10 billion years). Despite the very low degree by which this change is thought to have taken place, the idea that it might have changed at all has been revolutionary for scientists. If alpha changed, Einsteinian physics would have to be replaced with a totally new paradigm (just as Einstein’s theories displaced those of Isaac Newton). It could also transform the search for alien life.

Enrico Fermi may have featured some unfortunate incidents—winning a Nobel Prize for a discovery he didn’t actually make, dying of beryllium poisoning—but his legacy is a positive one due to the fact that he was the last major scientists who spanned the experimental and theoretical sides of the profession. He had a “devilishly quick mind” and a fondness for posing eccentric questions. However, Fermi was deeply troubled by one of the most fundamental questions facing humanity: considering the size of the universe and the fact that earth is actually a rather ordinary planet, where are the aliens? This question came to be known as “Fermi’s paradox.” 

In 1961, the astrophysicist Frank Drake developed the Drake Equation, which suggested that given the size and properties of the universe, there are about 10 “sociable civilizations” in our galaxy alone. Of course, this is only a guess even if it is based on scientific research. Nowadays, scientists at least know that they don’t need to witness civilizations directly through a telescope in order to know they are there. They can use other methods such as searching for magnesium, which is a byproduct of the creation of all life-forms known to humanity.

The only problem with these methods is that they depend on the notion that the same scientific laws that govern our existence are also true across the universe. If alpha has changed over time, it is possible that earth—despite being unremarkable in many ways—really is unique in having conditions that could produce life. Currently, most scientists don’t favor this view, instead maintaining that there are most likely other life-forms in the universe—and probably an enormous number of them. Of course, until a scientist finds proof of alien life, there is simply no way to know for sure.