William H. Calvin, A Brain for All Seasons: Human Evolution and Abrupt Climate Change (University of Chicago Press, 2002). See also http://WilliamCalvin.com/BrainForAllSeasons/Npole.htm. ISBN 0-226-09201-1 (cloth) GN21.xxx0 Available from amazon.com or University of Chicago Press. |
![]() ![]() William H. Calvin
University of Washington |
If
this were 1831, the year that the North Magnetic Pole was first
located on the Boothia Peninsula, it would be off to the left of the
plane. But it has moved
since then, and is now off to the right, about a thousand kilometers
to the northwest of where it was in 1831.
The North Magnetic Pole is the point toward which all those
decelerating charged particles from the solar wind converge to cause
the aurora borealis. From
space, the aurora looks like a fountain, spewing light – making the
Magnetic Pole look considerably more exciting than the Geographical
North Pole.
No northern lights for us today.
They’re there 24 hours a day, but it’s still noon and we
can’t see them for all the summer sunlight that selectively scatters
off the thin air to produce a blue sky.
Now, in the winter, when it’s most dark up here, you stand a
better chance of seeing the northern lights converging on the magnetic
pole.
And the Geographic North Pole isn’t what it used to be,
either. Back
about fifty million years ago,
there was no sea ice at the North Pole, just open water like all the
rest of the deep oceans. But
more recently, Arctic explorers have always been able to plant a
flagpole at the North Pole.
In the first summer of the new millennium, however, there was
no place to stand at the North Pole – unless you stood up in a boat
at 90°N. (These days,
one holds aloft for the camera that flag of high-tech -
a little GPS unit reading 89.99999°N and with the longitude wildly
varying, each time the boat rocks.) Radar ice-thickness estimates of the Arctic Sea ice showed that it had been thinning for years, just as they had also shown that the northern coastal glaciers of Greenland were thinning.
But few guessed that you’d be able to take a Russian
icebreaker all the way to 90°N and find open water in the summer,
with no ice to stand on.
That it can happen at all is, of course, thanks to the
Norwegian Current carrying water from the North Atlantic Current up to
the major downwelling whirlpools at 76°N.
But that it is so much warmer at 90°N in recent decades is
likely due to things warming up more generally, bringing greenhouse
predictions uncomfortably to mind.
Some scientists argue that the instrumental record (weather
balloons and such) is equivocal on warming in the twentieth century.
Given all of the ice reduction data from recent decades, this
just tells you that we’ve been measuring temperature in the wrong
places, or weighting the data wrong.
Nature, obviously, is sensitive to some other set of
temperatures than the ones we’ve been measuring – and Nature is,
generally, what counts. To
cite the twentieth-century instrumental record, without mentioning all
the melting – as even the occasional scientist may do before general
audiences – is often suspected of being special pleading, trying to
confuse nonscientists with carefully selected facts, what lawyers with
a losing case sometimes attempt to do with juries.
The radar measurements in the Arctic tell the warming story in
a way that will be hard for the global-warming skeptics to refute.
There’s no place left to stand at the North Pole.
Of course, the open-ocean gap, a fissure in the sea ice called
a polynya, will move around, temporarily restoring some footing at
exactly 90°N, but the point remains:
Beware of thin ice, and its implications for the world to the
south of 90°N. You
can see a mode of operation in
the As with the self-perpetuating drought cycle (page 159 ), establishing (and disestablishing) vegetation is thought to have a lot to do with creating regional modes of climate. The big problem is in figuring out what can cause worldwide modes. There are some ideas, such as Gulf Stream failure, for how we might flip suddenly from warm-and-wet into cool-and-dry in a matter of decades. But sudden warming is the real puzzle; no one yet has a good idea for how things can flip back, and even more quickly.
Even the tropics cool down by about 5°C during an
abrupt cooling, and it is hard to imagine what in the past could have
disturbed the whole earth’s climate on this scale.
We must look at arriving sunlight and departing light and heat,
not merely regional shifts on earth, to account for changes in the
temperature balance. Increasing amounts of sea ice and clouds could reflect more
sunlight back into space, but Wally Broecker suggests that a major
greenhouse gas is disturbed by the far-north failure of the salt
conveyor, and that this affects the amount of heat retained.
In Broecker’s view, failures of salt flushing cause a
worldwide rearrangement of ocean currents, resulting in – and this
is the speculative part – less evaporation from the tropics.
That, in turn, makes the air drier.
Because water vapor is the most plentiful greenhouse gas, this
decrease in average humidity would cool things globally.
As Broecker has said, “If you wanted to cool the planet by 5°C
and could magically alter the water vapor content of the atmosphere, a
30 percent decrease would do the job.”
Just as an El Niño produces a hotter Equator in the Pacific
Ocean and generates more atmospheric convection, so there might be a
subnormal mode that decreases heat, convection, and evaporation.
In reconfiguring three cells per hemisphere into some other
mode of general circulation, it might incidentally reduce the amount
of tropical evaporation and thus shift us into a subnormal amount of
greenhouse warming. (Be
careful what you wish for!) To
see how ocean circulation
might affect greenhouse gases we must try to account quantitatively
for important nonlinearities, ones that allow little nudges to provoke
great responses -
like the typical on-off light switch.
Our usual gradualist extrapolations of the present state of
affairs are more like dimmer switches.
All metaphors break down somewhere, and the gradualist
scenarios seem particularly likely to fail.
Let me try some nonlinear metaphors to better approximate the
climate mechanisms.
The modern world is full of objects and systems that exhibit
bistable modes, with thresholds for flipping.
Door latches suddenly give way.
A gentle pull on a trigger may be ineffective, but there comes
a pressure that will suddenly fire the gun.
Household thermostats tend to activate heating or cooling
mechanisms abruptly – also an example of a system that pushes back.
We must be careful not to think of an abrupt cooling in
response to global warming as just another self-regulatory device, a
control system for cooling things down when it gets too hot.
The scale of the response will be far beyond the bounds of
regulation – more like when excess warming triggers fire
extinguishers in the ceiling, ruining the contents of the room while
cooling them down. Though
combating global warming is obviously on the agenda for preventing a
cold flip, we could easily be blindsided by stability problems if we
allow global warming per se to remain the main focus of our
climate-change efforts. Multiple consequences of a single cause are
something we can think about, if reminded.
(“You can’t do just one thing.”)
What’s far harder for us is to think about multiple causes at
the same time. We can
think about one cause and its most obvious consequences, but factoring
in a few more simultaneously-acting causes usually requires much
effort. Even experienced
scientists and historians find it challenging.
The politicians and press who read only “executive
summaries” of climate change reports routinely oversimplify what
they read, and the public gets even less of whatever wisdom was
originally there. And
since nothing expensive gets done unless the politicians feel they
have the people behind them, the world’s largest democracies may
fail to act in time. We
are in a raft, gliding down a river, toward a
waterfall. We have a map
but are uncertain of our location and hence are unsure of the distance
to the waterfall. Some of
us are getting nervous and wish to
land immediately; others insist that we can continue safely for
several more hours. A few
are enjoying the ride so much that they deny that there is any imminent
danger although the map clearly shows a waterfall.
A debate ensues but even though the
accelerating currents make it increasingly difficult to land safely, we fail to agree on an appropriate time to leave
the river. How do we avoid
a disaster?
To decide on appropriate action we have to address two questions:
How far is the waterfall, and when should we get out of the
water? The first is a scientific question; the second is not.
The first question, in principle, has a definite,
unambiguous answer. The
second, which in effect is a political question, requires compromises. -
George Philander, Is the Temperature Rising?, 1998
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