Our August issue is available to download now. Our cover story looks at drones, and how they’ll change our lives over the coming few years – both for the better, and for worse. Also inside you’ll find:
Full genetic sequencing of babies - we visit a hospital where this incredible technique is saving lives, but also meet the doctors who want to use it to created ‘designer’ babies to order.
A DIY super-submersible – when director James Cameron decided to make a deep submarine dive, he turned to an amateur submersible builder to create his custom craft. We met him, and learned the secrets of how it was built – using tools including a kitchen food processor.
Science Fiction Special – we invited ten of the brightest minds in science fiction to imagine the future on earth and beyond, exploring the future of warfare, aging, transport, entertainment, and more.
Plus lots more, including:
The incredible journey of the Rosetta space probe, explored in an exclusive interactive graphic
A mobile phone powered by the sun
A barbeque that can charge your gadgets
Waterproof your iPhone for under a tenner
Hammerhead sharks’ evolutionary trap
An electric hat to help you learn
The mysterious world of lightning
Preparing for a future without antibiotics
Build a DIY calculator with our full instructions
Your science questions answered – including “can humans smell fear?”
Today the UK Government announced that trials of self-driving cars on UK roads could begin as soon as next year. Which is good news – if a little late. Self-driving cars have already taken to the roads in the US, Japan and elsewhere, and we took a ride in some of them last October for our cover story “Traffic Pattern”.
But nonetheless, it’s a step in the right direction – and to celebrate, we’re giving away a free copy of that issue so you can read all about self-driving technology. Simply download the app today, and you’ll be offered the free issue when it starts for the first time.
A new exhibition on James Lovelock has just opened at the Science Museum, offering a glance into the museum’s ongoing analysis of his archive.
Lovelock, born in 1919, is an interesting if controversial character who enrages and delights both the scientific establishment and the environmental movement. He is open in his criticism of both groups too. In an interview he gave the Guardian as part of the exhibition launch he argued environmentalism has become a religion and “religions don’t worry too much about facts.” As part of the PR for the exhibition he also spoke to Nature, offering several dismissals of the scientific establishment and a slightly bitchy line regarding “the tendency of some geologists to keep their heads in the sediments.”
Lovelock is best known for the Gaia hypothesis, a vision of the Earth as a holistic self-regulating system co-developed by the microbiologist Lynn Margulis in the 1970s. But he has worked in many fields, refusing to be bound by disciplinary boundaries and contributing to medicine, environmental science, atmospheric chemistry and the exploration of space. He is also an inventor and instrument maker as well as prolific writer.
Lovelock is interesting not just in terms of his scientific outputs, but how he goes about doing science. Eschewing the institutionalisation and large-scale team work of modern so-called ‘Big’ science, he is resolutely independent. He also deviates from standard forms of scientific dissemination, often communicating directly to the public via science books. His refusal to play by the rules of modern science shows up the existence of such rules which are, often, a bit ridiculous. This has won him many fans, but it has also made him the odd enemy too.
Reading the various accolades of Lovelock surrounding the opening of this exhibition, he’s often depicted as a wise old man, a ‘character’ and true independent thinker who took on the establishment. But there is also something slightly anti-social about him too. The exhibition explains that one of the reasons Lovelock made his own instruments was so he had greater confidence in their accuracy. This is perhaps fair enough. But seems to reflect a lack of trust in other people. He is also famously pessimistic of our ability to politically deal with climate change. Lovelock told Nature that “as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have any peer review.” I’m not entirely sure what he means by this, but it seems to imply he doesn’t really have “peers” that might try to fairly review him. Perhaps this is true. As Philip Moriarty recently argued, the specialised nature of modern science mean that often researchers are asked to review work which they don’t really have much detailed knowledge of. Still, there is something arrogant about the way he puts it.
In telling this story of Lovelock, the Science Museum offers us some clever curating. You can enter the exhibition from one of two sides; either tucked behind the games of the Energy Futures gallery, or via the front stairwell and glass lifts. This might prove a challenge for a biographical narrative, but the museum tops and tails the display with items of Lovelock’s youth, with well placed double-faced signage throughout meaning that – although occasionally it feels like cleverly constructed pop-up book – there is a sense of coherent story through his training, work on Gaia and various adventures elsewhere.
Museums can be bad spaces for the exploration of science. Science is about ideas, but how do you put a theory in a glass case? Science is also constructed from gradual interactions between scientists and the natural world. It is slow, full of calculations and correspondence. It’s not always exactly eye-catching. And science changes and is continually provisional. It can feel too slippery for something as physically solid as an exhibition. But the Lovelock display captures something of the dynamic texture of doing science. It even manages to display peer review (no mean feat, especially considering Lovelock seems to think he’s beyond such things). Or at least it shows Nature’s rejection letter to Lynn Margulis, complete with a very mid-1980s typeset, and notes from a couple of respected earth scientists who were sent chapters of Lovelock’s second Gaia book in the late 1980s.
There are references to the role of science in diplomacy and scientific advice in politics, with an invitation and seating plan for a dinner held at 10 Downing Street in 1989 in honour of the President and First Lady of Bangladesh. We are told that, after talking with him at dinner, Thatcher invited Lovelock to participate in a seminar on climate change. We are also shown letters dated from 1997 and 2000 from the former Prime Minister, respectively offering congratulations on an award and thanking him for a copy of his new book. It’s not clear if Thatcher and Lovelock bonded scientifically or politically – or a mix of the two – but there seems to be some sense of mutual respect between them anyway.
The Science Museum exhibition also captures some of the cultural offshoots of Lovelock’s work, with the score of an oratorio based on extracts of his books. There was no Captain Planet though, which disappointed me probably more than I should admit to, and perhaps reflects the problem of an exhibition led by a scientist’s own collection and view of their work, rather than exploring the more accidental ways it might have been taken by society at large. There’s also no mention of Lovelock’s relationship with Shell, a company he has a long history of working with and supporting. As he wrote in Homage to Gaia: “My experiences with Shell left me firmly with the impression that they are neither stupid nor villains. On the contrary I know of no other human agency that plans as far ahead or considers the environment more closely.” Perhaps the curators thought it wasn’t relevant. But seeing as Shell is a “Premium Sponsor” of the exhibition it is hard not to wonder.
As enjoyable as much of the exhibition is, however, I worry that in studying a single man, and especially this single man, the museum is in danger of celebrating the cult of the individual somewhat. That Lovelock pushes back against the tendency towards big, networked science is part of what makes him interesting, but it is also unusual. Allied to this I’d have liked to see a lot more critique of Lovelock. In places the exhibition – and certainly the PR for it – borders on hagiography. There is a strong sense of individualism – not just independent thought – which seems to drive Lovelock. This is not necessarily a bad thing, or good one, but could at least be contextualised, in terms of cultural and scientific history of the time.
There is something hollow and depressing in this vision of science as a lone enterprise, just as there is something slightly hollow and depressing about Lovelock’s approach to environmentalism. I don’t think I like it, and I worry that the Science Museum seems so keen to blithely celebrate it.
Dr Alice Bell writes for Popular Science UK every month on science in the media. To read her latest column, download the app - new subscribers get the latest issue, plus the next, free.
Our July issue is out now, and this month – in celebration of the summer blockbuster – we focus on the world of film. To start with, we look at the science behind cinema’s favourite sci-fi bad guys – aliens, zombies, mutants and the like – and whether or not humankind is, in reality, ever likely to encounter them. Plus, what could we do if they did show up angry? Meanwhile, Alice Bell looks at radical anti-science protesters: they appear quite regularly in the cinema, but seem less common in real life – why is that?
Speaking of anti-science protests, we also focus on Genetically Modified foods. With a fresh uproar in motion against GM apples, we examine the accusations most often levelled against GM foods, and assessed each to see if they pose any real danger. Plus:
Meet the woman who wants to sell you a private brain-wave reader
Why bailiffs could be tracking where you drive – even if you don’t owe a penny
50 years’ worth of NASA history in one interactive graphic
A bluetooth-enabled football, and our other gadget picks of the month
What sort of dystopian austerity logic asks the public to vote on whether they want to fund research on water or food security?
The new Longitude Prize, that’s what, brought to you by NESTA, the BBC and the UK’s Technology Strategy Board. Based on the Longitude Prize of 1714, this 21st century version was announced by David Cameron last summer as part of Britain’s leadership of the G8. It’s in the news again because the British public are being asked via a special 50th anniversary edition of Horizon, which of a set of so-called ‘grand challenges’ they think the prize should address.
Whereas the original Longitude Prize wanted to determine a ship’s longitude at sea, we have a new set of challenges facing us today. As Cameron put it last year: “There are so many problems in our world that need that amazing solution, whether it is a cure for dementia, solving the problem of diabetes, having a flight from Britain to New York that’s carbon free.”
And whereas the original prize had a Board of Longitude to administer the scheme, the 2014 event wants to add a bit of 21st century openness to the equation. A new board was established – chaired by Astronomer Royal Martin Rees – and they’ve produced a new shortlist of challenges to be put to the public. Despite the board’s wide and world renowned set of expertise, they don’t seem to have travelled much beyond the Prime Minister’s initial suggestions. Diabetes has gone (not sure if the sugar lobby will be delighted or annoyed at that) but dementia and environmentally friendly flight are there, along with both food and water security, the risk of antibiotics resistance and the question of how can we might restore movement to someone with paralysis.
Again, to quote Mr Cameron last year: “I’m thinking of something – Britain’s Got Talent, you know, you switch on the TV and you watch the dog jumping over the pole, or whatever it is. Let’s actually get the nation engaged on what the biggest problems are in science and in our lives that we need to crack, with a multi-million pound prize to then help us do that.” And in many ways this is a laudable aim. People have been attempting to engage the public with the slippery and often esoteric issue of research funding for years. But is a TV-show vote really the way to do it?
A look inside the latest issue of Popular Science UK, available exclusively as an interactive iPad magazine. Download the app to read this issue, and the next, free when you subscribe.
Science writer Philip Ball for one has laughed at the idea that we should treat science policy with the same mindset as ‘the dog jumping over the pole’. In response, Dame Profressor Athene Donald, who is on the prize committee, argued that the social challenges science sets its mind to should be chosen by more voices than just science alone. She’s right, and a lot more has gone into this than just the TV vote; there’s a much more developed Sciencewise project informing the work too.
Still, the public role has been quite controlled throughout – it’s the pre-scripted non-involvement of a pantomime engagement where you might get to shout “HE’S BEHIND YOU” but the romance, jokes and plot twists were all rehearsed weeks back. The schools pack makes the promise to be “no longer spectators” on building the future, but is acting as a “champion” for one of such a limited set of pre-decided topics really offering much involvement? Because they are really limited too.
In many ways, this isn’t a sciencey Britain’s Got Talent, it’s a sciencey Hunger Games. Shall we research water security or food security? YOU DECIDE. What sort of choice is that exactly? Of all the many choices which go into reviewing research ideas – good, useful processes of rejection and encouragement which decide where to put our resources – something as monumentally crass as ‘which challenge we care about most of all’ seems like a very poor point for public engagement.
Moreover, look further afield and this prize comes in a science and technology policy context where our choices over what to research are becoming ever-more curtailed and controlled. Questions are being asked in parliament over the Natural Environment Research Council’s oil and gas innovation strategy. There are mounting concerns about the possible privatisation of the Food and Environment Research Agency; government labs which study bees, GMO safety, tree health and more. On an international level, there’s the 200+ people arrested in Brussels for protesting about the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership – this is just a handful of examples, but they are all science policy stories which could do with much greater public debate and discussion. And yet instead Horizon are asking us to engage in a TV vote over abstracted grand challenges, as if none of this messy, unruly and sometimes questionable politics of science and technology exists.
And let’s not forget that innovation prizes are so popular with policy-makers and industry because they put the burden of risk on the researcher, not the funder. The idea of a lone genius solving the world’s food crisis from his shed in Oldham is a lovely idea, but it is largely wishful thinking. As Jack Stilgoe argued in terms of the idea of Big Society Science, science is an expensive, equipment-heavy team sport, it comes from large scale work which, above all, requires large scale investment. Really clever science takes time, money and infrastructure – time, money and infrastructure the UK government is wilfully cutting – and the TV prize show format all too readily glosses over this.
There’s also the not insignificant point that several of these challenges could be dealt with via changes to social systems, not a new technical innovation. It’s a cliche to point out that engineering innovation is no panacea for the lack of social infrastructure, but there is a reason why this point is so often repeated. When it comes to dementia, in particular, maybe we could look to heath and social welfare systems before we started flashing a trophy around to find a possible ‘cure’. As bioethicist Richard Ashcroft wrote last year during Cameron’s ‘dementia summit’, we already effective treatment for managing the disease, the problem is delivery and cost. Applying the rhetoric of a war on cancer for dementia sounds strong but “it won’t help the fragmented and incoherent health services deal with dementia better. Indeed, it may fragment efforts further.”
The Longitude Prize 2014 talks a language of inclusion and cash to meet global challenges but is really very limited in its scope, and all around it science and innovation is being cut and enclosed even further. The big flashy show of the event could be an invite for the public to be interested in how we use science and engineering to build our futures. It could, in turn, also be a chance for those who currently hold such purse strings to realise that public engagement really isn’t that scary and try something more adventurous instead. I hope both possibilities turn out to be true. But it looks a lot like bread and circus to distract us from cuts. I find this patronising, and possibly a bit suspect.
If you look at your voter’s choices in the Longitude Prize and feel a bit limited, ignore that particular ballot and, as we approach a general election, ask the political parties vying for your support to commit to increasing public funding of science, and increasing transparency and public engagement with science policy too. Because the rhetorics surrounding this prize are right about one thing, we should have a much richer public debate about how we use science and engineering to build our future.
Dr Alice Bell writes for Popular Science UK every month on science in the media. To read more, download the app - new subscribers get the latest issue, plus the next, free.
Photo: John Harrison’s H4, of the original Longitude Prize, at the 2014 launch.
Since the first Big Bang Fair back in 2009, though, its choice of sponsors have inspired controversy. Mainly, it’s the presence of arms manufactures like BAE Systems. It has become an increasingly tired joke that something called the Big Bang Fair might be associated with companies who make very big bangs indeed.
Big bangs sound fun. Indeed, a lot of them are fun. Greg Foot’s Kamboom show for this year’s Big Bang sounded like a blast, in more ways than one. But it’s worth remembering that all our great scientific expertise on making bangs comes via centuries of devoting scientific energies to ever more inventive ways of killing people.
BAE doesn’t just get an association and space for their logos for their sponsorship money, they have exhibition space too. In many ways, it is appropriate that they do. Big Bang is largely about showcasing careers in science and engineering, and BAE are a major employer. Even if they weren’t sponsors, you might expect them to be mentioned. Military research and development is a truth in science and engineering, although it is not always talked about outside. Raise the issue with researchers and they often shrug it off “that’s just how it is, how it’s always been” they might even laugh at those who dislike as if they are naive to the truth (as opposed to knowing the truth very well, just not liking it).
But even if BAE should be mentioned in the exhibition floor, it doesn’t have to be with the sort of public relations space it currently gets. This goes for other groups too, from all sorts of areas of science and technology, whatever you think of them: Coca-Cola, Water Aid, the University of Manchester, the NHS, the BBC or Lockheed Martin. There is a difference between talking about the various companies and other institutions which make up UK science and engineering and being led by their spin.
Last year the BAE stall showcased “bedflex“, tech designed to help recovering amputees. This was, I felt, a rather partial view of BAE’s diverse portfolio of products. If anything, it looked crass. This year’s stall was a little more open about what sort of business they were in, but the display still lead with notes on how much charity work they did and the help they’d provided the British bobsleigh team. This doesn’t look like education, nor does it look like decent careers advice, it looks like PR. I’m not sure why groups like the Royal Academy of Engineering and BIS are lending the weight of their reputations and resources behind that sort of activity, arms manufacturer or not.
Another example was the stall outlining Coca-cola’s work to improve the sustainability of their plastic bottles – part of a suite of exhibits on food technology that also included Nestle and Cadbury’s. It was inspiring and interesting, presented by people who sounded like they genuinely loved their work. A crowd of young people collected around them, wide eyed, and I could see why. But it was a limited view, ignoring many other areas of scientific and political analysis which could be brought to bear on the issue. Teachers and parents can encourage students to ask critical questions – the kids are quite capable of cheekily asking them anyway – but the atomised nature of the Fair’s set up doesn’t exactly encourage it.
Educational spaces are, at their best, teacher-led; offering students opportunities to combine and mix different areas of knowledge and come to their own conclusions. By contrast, the brand-led approach of the Big Bang Fair is by its nature limited. The trade fair set up also means that stalls had to compete for attention in the loud and busy space, privileging those with larger PR budgets. Many lured people in with freebies. I saw a small group of children engrossed by the Renewables UK stall – simple electrical activities in trays – but it was hard to keep their attention once someone dressed in the sparkly blue costume of a nuclear enrichment company’s mascot turned up, offering photo opportunities.
The Big Bang Fair is not the only area of science and engineering where having a certain amount of money gets you access to a larger pool of public resources. Science Museum displays require a major sponsor, so it’s maybe no surprise that the sponsors tend to match the subjects; the Virgin Media space, for example, the Materials Gallery brought to you in association with the UK Steel Industry, or Shell-branded climate change events. But who’ll sponsor the gallery of industrial accidents? Or slavery? Or Betamax, gas fridges and all the other discarded bits of technology which still tell a story about the modernity we’ve created?
This model is increasingly applied to formal education too, with the network of University Technical Colleges. These are led by a sponsor university and co-sponsored by large companies. The Heathrow Aviation UTC is arguably the most overtly political of these, embedding social and economy ties to flight tightly in a local area, driving right across years of environmental activism in the process. Indeed, I’m surprised not have seen more protest about it – and the EDF sponsored nuclear skills college – from the green movement, or even other competing industrial interests.
This approach is increasingly true in terms of research funding too. Researchers are more likely to gain access to public money if they can bring resources – or at least letters of support – from industry. In many ways it is a good idea, it can top up the increasingly impoverished pot of public funding, it also often brings industrial expertise and ideas along with money, and it helps encourage academics to consider how they might help build research that can be used by others. But it also focuses our public science energies to a reasonably narrow set of interests, meeting the needs of groups that already have money and power rather than anything more disruptive.
Science and engineering that can be of use to established companies is often a good thing, but it is important we have funding to do other work too – if not, we further lock ourselves into the way we are currently running the world. And, as great as many aspects of modern society are, isn’t the point of science and engineering is to offer us space for improvement?
Alice Bell writes every month in Popular Science UK. Read her latest column, about James Lovelock at the Science Museum, in the app. This article was published in the April 2014 edition.
Photo of the Big Bang Fair 2013 by Ian Hughes, used under a Creative Commons Attribution license (source here).
In our May issue we focus on the human brain – or more specifically, how to replicate it in software. We meet several scientists working to decode and, ultimately, emulate how it works: “When I say emulation, think of it, for example, in the same sense as emulating a Mac on a PC”, one told us. “It’s kind of like platform independent code.”
But we also take a look at what the human brain can achieve. In our 2014 invention awards, we speak to the people behind incredible advances that could soon appear in our everyday lives, from better heating for homes to a foldable bike helmet and a shoe that charges your phone as you walk. Plus, the students who designed an incredibly low-cost exoskeleton for patients recovering from a stroke.
And further afield, we look to the skies – and what might fly out of them, and into us. The earth exists amid what one scientist called a “shooting gallery” of asteroids – with over 10,000 classified as “near earth”. We meet the people working to prevent them crashing into us – or, at the very least, predict such an incident beforehand. And we also look at why NASA is working to grab at least one asteroid, and physically drag it closer – no easy task.
Last month, the Nuclear Information Service and health NGO Medact published a report on the relationships between UK universities and the Atomic Weapons Establishment. The report is important in itself, though not especially shocking. According to documents released under the Freedom of Information Act, they learnt around £8m research funding a year is given to more than 50 universities. This isn’t much in the scheme of research funding, but still significant, especially if, like the authors of the report, you have low tolerance for any nuclear weapons research.
But what really caught my eye was the reply from Imperial College, who told the Guardian that the work was “strongly blue skies in nature.” Even putting aside the qualifier of “strongly”, the term “blue skies” covers a multitude of sins. So let’s pull it apart. The term “blue skies science” refers to research where the applications are not immediately apparent. So the government might, for example, fund a doctoral training centre in offshore renewable energy, because it knows that it wants as much knowledge on that as possible. They know that simply giving scientists money won’t lead to shiny perfect tech at the end of it, but putting as much resources as possible, strategically, in particular areas can be helpful. Or they might, similarly, via the MoD and the AWE, put it into nuclear weapons work. But we should also fund research free from those sorts of foci too, because sometimes you don’t know what you are looking for, and learning about the world we live in as best we can can be a reward in itself.
Scientists have talked about differences between “pure” and “applied” for well over a century, with the former occasionally being referred to as “basic.” But it was post-war, in the light of mass mobilisation of scientists to work on the bomb (and many feeling uncomfortable about the applications this particular work had), where the idea of a need to make a concerted effort to protect some areas of science from application took hold. Vannevar Bush, who orchestrated the Manhattan Project and was highly influential in science policy in the US and beyond, helped enshrine this principle with his 1945 report Science, The Endless Frontier. As with arguments surrounding the so-called ‘Haldane Principle’ this often went alongside the idea that basic research could be maintained by a reasonable amount of autonomy for scientists (arguably naively assuming political influence on scientists comes merely from formalised structures of public policy).
A lot about the phrase “blue skies” is very noble, but it is also very easily applied to hide politics at play. So when it’s used, it is worth asking a few questions: (a) isn’t science more than its research (b) which bit of sky are you looking at, and (c) is it really?
Firstly, science is more than research; it’s a huge structure of social interactions which offer a lot more. CERN is a good example here, its most famous ‘spin off’ – the world-wide-web – being more a consequence of its social structures than any particular bit of science discovered there. It’s also worth considering the amount of training it offers for junior researchers who won’t stay in the particular area of science they are initially working in; it increases capacity in particular fields. The scientific ideas might not go into the financial sector, or defence, but people do. As the report notes, one of the goals of the collaboration between IC and the AWE is to attract physicists to AWE.
Secondly, which bit of sky? This is maybe where the ‘strongly’ qualifier point in Imperial’s rhetoric comes in. They aren’t making bombs, but they know their work is likely to help towards the knowledge required for bomb building, hence why AWE funds it. The oil industry funds a lot of what might be described as basic science too,projects that might be seen as worthwhile on many dollars, but which they feel are likely to help them. Again, CERN makes for a good example. Wonderful and inspiring as it is, we should remember to ask why it’s allowed, and why we don’t have more like it. It’d be nice to see a grand project akin to CERN looking at, for example, the oceans (and, indeed, there is a history of large international projects in the environmental sciences, for a range of political reasons). But maybe the people who hold the purse strings don’t find the idea of looking in that direction so attractive, or are worried what they might find.
Finally, is it really? Too often, the term “blue skies research” is applied as a form of misdirection and its worth being sceptical. If scientists are going to work with industry – especially controversial industries such as the AWE, or the Natural Environment Research Council’s (NERC’s) recent memorandum of understanding with Shell – then they need to be as open as possible about it and avoid loose platitudes like “strong blue skies” so the public can hold such work accountable. Medact and NIS shouldn’t have had to use a Freedom of Information request to get these details about AWE funding; UK science should be talking about it anyway in as open and accountable ways as possible, even consulting the public about whether they think it is a good idea. Similarly, it shouldn’t take Greenpeace bugging NERC for them to release notes on their relationship with Shell (and at time of writing, I still haven’t seen the text of that memorandum). Why such secrecy?
None of this is to argue against research that is done for reasons other than a direct and obvious application. We should be interested in ourselves, our planet, its other inhabitants, the wider universe and what makes them all up. We should invest in work that simply aims to look and track our world and hope that, as well as enriching our view on life, this offers us new solutions to problems and warn us of spaces for concern too (e.g. that great spin-off to polar research, the hole in the ozone layer). When it is applied, we should ensure it is designed to meet a wide range of interests, not just those of a few choice companies with good links to politicians.
The most important point to remember is probably that the various spin-offs of research aren’t simple. To that point, it’s fair to quote Imperial as telling the Guardian that AWE-funded research leads to understanding and applications that contribute to the public good, such as a better understanding of earthquakes, extreme weather events or the damage caused by explosions. It’s also worth noting, from the report itself, that Imperial’s Centre for Inertial Fusion Studies aims to help transfer AWE work on plasma physics into the civil sector to support research into fusion energy.
It’s important we find ways to do work like that. A simple “no tolerance” policy on AWE research could miss such opportunities. But it has to be managed well and we have to keep asking who exactly these links serve. Moreover, when it comes to the offshoots like knowledge of earthquakes, couldn’t we get all this and more from looking at another bit of sky, too?
Alice Bell writes a column on science in the news every month for Popular Science UK. This article appeared in the March 2014 issue. The April 2014 issue is available now, including columns on the Big Bang Fair’s links with arms companies, and the problem of studies looking for “hard wired” differences between the sexes – see a preview here, or read both in our app.
Photo: the one-legged Torii at the Sanno Jinja, Nagasaki, with obligatory blue sky overhead.