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2023 m. spalio 16 d., pirmadienis

 

Could AI transform science itself?

""By amplifying human intelligence, AI may cause a new Renaissance, perhaps a new phase of the Enlightenment," Yann LeCun, one of the godfathers of modern artificial intelligence (AI), suggested earlier this year. AI can already make some existing scientific processes faster and more efficient , but can it do more, by transforming the way science itself is done?

Such transformations have happened before. With the emergence of the scientific method in the 17th century, researchers came to trust experimental observations, and the theories they derived from them, over the received wisdom of antiquity. This process was, crucially, supported by the advent of scientific journals, which let researchers share their findings, both to claim priority and to encourage others to replicate and build on their results. Journals created an international scientific community around a shared body of knowledge, causing a surge in discovery known today as the scientific revolution.

A further transformation began in the late 19th century, with the establishment of research laboratories—factories of innovation where ideas, people and materials could be combined on an industrial scale. This led to a further outpouring of innovation, from chemicals and semiconductors to pharmaceuticals. These shifts did more than just increase scientific productivity. They also transformed science itself, opening up new realms of research and discovery. How might AI do something similar, not just generating new results, but new ways to generate new results?

A promising approach is "literature-based discovery" (LBD) which, as its name suggests, aims to make new discoveries by analysing scientific literature. The first LBD system, built by Don Swanson at the University of Chicago in the 1980s, looked for novel connections in MEDLINE, a database of medical journals. In an early success, it put together two separate observations—that Raynaud's disease, a circulatory disorder, was related to blood viscosity, and that fish oil reduced blood viscosity—and suggested that fish oil might therefore be a useful treatment. This hypothesis was then experimentally verified.

We're charging our battery

But Dr Swanson's LBD system failed to catch on outside the AI community at the time. Today AI systems have become far more capable at natural-language processing and have a much larger corpus of scientific literature to chew on. Interest in LBD-style approaches is now growing in other fields, notably materials science.

In 2019, for example, a group of researchers led by Vahe Tshitoyan, then at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, in America, used an AI technique called unsupervised learning to analyse the abstracts of materials-science papers, and extract information about the properties of different materials into mathematical representations called "word embeddings". These place concepts into a multi-dimensional space where similar concepts are grouped together. The system thereby gained a "chemical intuition" so that it could, for example, suggest materials with similar properties to another material. 

The AI was then asked to suggest materials that might have thermoelectric properties (the ability to turn a temperature difference into an electrical voltage, and vice versa), even though they were not identified as such in the literature. The ten most promising candidate materials were selected, and experimental testing found that all ten did indeed display unusually strong thermoelectric properties.

The researchers then retrained their system, omitting papers from more recent years, and asked it to predict which new thermoelectric materials would be discovered in those later years. The system was eight times more accurate at predicting such discoveries than would be expected by chance alone. It could also make accurate discovery predictions using other terms, such as "photovoltaic". The researchers concluded that "such language-based inference methods can become an entirely new field of research at the intersection between natural-language processing and science."

A paper by Jamshid Sourati and James Evans, both sociologists at the University of Chicago, published this year in Nature Human Behaviour, extends this approach in a novel way. It starts with the observation that LBD systems tend to focus on concepts within papers, and ignore their authors. So they trained an LBD system to take account of both. The resulting system was twice as good at forecasting new discoveries in materials science than the one built by Dr Tshitoyan's team, and could also predict the actual discoverers with more than 40% accuracy. But the researchers then went one step further. Instead of following the crowd and predicting where researchers would make new discoveries, they asked their model to avoid the crowd, and identify "alien" hypotheses that are scientifically plausible, but unlikely, in the normal course of things, to be discovered in the near future. The system can thus, the researchers argue, both accelerate near-term discoveries, and probe "blind spots" where new discoveries await.

As well as suggesting new hypotheses to investigate, LBD systems that take authorship into account can also suggest potential collaborators who may not know one other. This approach could be particularly effective when identifying scientists who work in different fields, bridging complementary areas of research. Cross-disciplinary research collaborations "will go from being rarities to being more commonplace" when mediated by AI, says Yolanda Gil, a computer scientist at the University of Southern California. And as LBD systems are extended so that they can handle tables, charts and data such as gene sequences and programming code, they will become more capable. In future, researchers might come to rely on such systems to monitor the deluge of new scientific papers, highlight relevant results, suggest novel hypotheses for research—and even link them up with potential research partners, like a scientific matchmaking service. AI tools could thus extend and transform the existing, centuries-old infrastructure of scientific publishing.

We're full of energy

If LBD promises to supercharge the journal with AI, "robot scientists", or "self-driving labs", promise to do the same for the laboratory. These machines go beyond existing forms of laboratory automation, such as drug-screening platforms. Instead, they are given background knowledge about a particular area of research, in the form of data, research papers and patents. They then use AI to form hypotheses, carry out experiments using robots, assess the results, modify their hypotheses, and repeat the cycle. Adam, a machine built at Aberystwyth University in Wales in 2009, did experiments on the relationship between genes and enzymes in yeast metabolism, and was the first machine to discover novel scientific knowledge autonomously.

The successor to Adam, called Eve, performs drug-discovery experiments and has more sophisticated software. When planning and analysing experiments, it uses machine learning to create "quantitative structure activity relationships" (QSARs), mathematical models that relate chemical structures to biological effects. Eve has discovered, for example, that triclosan, an antimicrobial compound used in toothpaste, can inhibit an essential mechanism in malaria-causing parasites.

Ross King, an AI researcher at the University of Cambridge who created Adam, draws an analogy between robot scientists of the future with AI systems built to play chess and Go. The prospect of machines beating the best human players once seemed decades away, but the technology improved faster than expected. Moreover, AI systems developed strategies for those games that human players had not considered. Something similar could happen with robot scientists as they become more capable. "If AI can explore a full hypothesis space, and even enlarge the space, then it may show that humans have only been exploring small areas of the hypothesis space, perhaps as a result of their own scientific biases," says Dr King.

Robot scientists could also transform science in another way: by helping fix some of the problems afflicting the scientific enterprise. One of these is the idea that science is, by various measures, becoming less productive, and pushing forward the frontiers of knowledge is becoming harder and more expensive. There are several theories for why this might be: the easiest discoveries may already have been made, for example, and more training is now needed for scientists to reach the frontier. AI-driven systems could help by doing laboratory work more quickly, cheaply and accurately than humans. Unlike people, robots can work around the clock. And just as computers and robots have enabled large-scale projects in astronomy (such as huge sky surveys, or automated searching for exoplanets), robot scientists could tackle big problems in systems biology, say, that would otherwise be impractical because of their scale. "We don't need radically new science to do that, we just need to do lots of science," says Dr King.

Automation might also help address another problem: the reproducibility crisis. In theory, when scientists publish their results, others can replicate and verify their work. But there is little glory in replication, which makes it rare. When it does happen, many attempts fail, suggesting that the original work was invalid, or even fraudulent. Scientists have little incentive to repeat the work of others and they are under pressure to publish new results, not verify existing ones. Again, robot scientists could help in some areas of research, such as molecular biology. A study published in 2022 by Katherine Roper, of the University of Manchester, analysed more than 12,000 papers on breast cancer and selected 74 biomedical results for verification using the Eve robot, which was able to reproduce 43 of them. The researchers concluded that automation "has the potential to mitigate the reproducibility crisis" and that it "side-steps the sociological and career disincentives for replication". Machines do not mind publishing verifications of previous results. Nor, unlike human scientists, are they embarrassed by publishing negative results, for example if a particular molecule fails to interact with a given target. Publishing negative results would reduce wasted effort by telling future researchers what not to do. And robot scientists reliably record everything about their work in great detail, which (in theory) facilitates subsequent analysis of their results. "AI innovations can improve the scientific enterprise in all those areas," says Dr Gil.

Functioning automatic?

Obstacles abound. As well as better hardware and software, and closer integration between the two, there is a need for greater interoperability between laboratory-automation systems, and common standards to allow AI algorithms to exchange and interpret semantic information. The introduction of standardised microplates, containing hundreds of tiny test tubes that allow laboratory samples to be processed in batches, increased productivity several hundred-fold for certain types of analysis. Now the same thing needs to happen for data—much of the data from microplate arrays in biology labs ends up in spreadsheets or in tables in papers, for example, where it is not machine-readable.

Another barrier is a lack of familiarity with AI-based tools among scientists. And some researchers, like most workers, worry that automation threatens their jobs. But things are changing, says Dr Gil. When she surveyed attitudes towards AI in science in 2014, she found that, in most fields, "interest in AI seems relatively limited". Most efforts to incorporate AI into scientific research came from AI researchers, who were often met with scepticism or hostility. But the impact of AI is now "profound and pervasive", says Dr Gil. Many scientists, she says, are now "proactively seeking AI collaborators". Recognition of AI's potential is growing, particularly in materials science and drug discovery, where practitioners are building their own AI-powered systems. "If we could get machines to be as good at science as human beings, that would be a radical break, because you can make lots of them," says Dr King.

Scientific journals changed how scientists discovered information and built on each other's work.

 Research laboratories scaled up and industrialised experimentation.

 By extending and combining these two previous transformations, AI could indeed change the way science is done.” [1]

1. "Could AI transform science itself?" The Economist, 13 Sept. 2023, p. NA.

Vienišo buriavimo istorija klausia, kodėl žmonės ieško jo pavojaus

  „Buriavimas vienam: istorija. Richard King. Specialios knygos; 512 puslapių; 25 svarai

 

     Joshua Slocum, nenuilstantis prekybininkas, verslininkas ir jūreivis, gimęs 1844 m. ūkyje Naujojoje Škotijoje, turėjo nevienodą laivo kapitono patirtį. Tarp jo įgulų kildavo maištai – kartą jis nušovė žmogų – ir per daug jo laivų atsidūrė ant kranto ar dar blogiau. Jam nepatiko garlaivių išvaizda, kurie iki 1890-ųjų beveik visiškai pakeitė burėmis varomus krovininius laivus. Ką čia daryti senam jūrininkui, „gimusiam vėjyje“, „ištyrusiam jūrą taip, kaip gal mažai kas ją mokėsi“?

 

     Jo sprendimas buvo atkurti draugo padovanotą pūvantį laivelį ir tapti pirmuoju žmogumi, kuris vienas apiplaukė pasaulį. Trejus metus trukęs nuotykis 37 pėdų (11 metrų) Spray laive būtų finansuojamas iš siuntų, kurias jis atsiųs į Boston Globe. Knyga, kurią jis parašė „Buriavimas vienam aplink pasaulį“, niekada nebuvo išleista.

 

     Įtraukiančioje, gražiai parašytoje buriavimo vienam istorijoje Slocumo įtaka ir pavyzdys niekada nėra toli nuo horizonto. Autorius Richardas Kingas yra vienišas transatlantinis jūreivis. Jis imasi ištirti, kas priverčia vis daugiau žmonių sėsti į mažą valtį ir savarankiškai plaukti per pasaulio jūras.

 

     Ponas Kingas nagrinėja maždaug 50 vienišų jūreivių išgyvenimus ir emocijas. Susidomėjimas vienišu buriavimu prasidėjo XIX amžiaus antroje pusėje, 1869 m. kelionėmis aplink Britanijos pakrantę (E.E. Middleton), 1876 m. per Atlantą (Alfredas „Centennial“ Johnsonas) ir iš Kalifornijos beveik iki Australijos 1882 metais (Bernard Gilboy).

 

     Atsakymas į klausimą, kodėl žmonės leidžiasi į tokias pavojingas keliones, yra labai įvairus. Asmeninio patvirtinimo troškimas dažnai yra vėjas už pavienio buriuotojo nugaros, tačiau stebėtinai daug keliautojų mažai žinojo apie laivus ar jūrą, prieš planuodami (arba kai kuriais atvejais net pradėdami) jų nuotykius vandenyje. Ann Davison, kuri tapo pirmąja moterimi, apiplaukusia pasaulį 1952 m., buvo našlė dėl nelaimingo atsitikimo plaukiant, tačiau pati buvo naujokė jūreivė. Ji pasirinko buriavimą, „nes tai suteikė laisvę, nepriklausomybę, keliones ir namus“.

 

     „Jūros tyrinėtojas-hipis-poetas“ Bernardas Moitessier taip susitapatino su būtybėmis, kurias pamatė, kad jautėsi tapęs jį supančio pelaginio pasaulio dalimi. Jis tikėjo, kad jo valtis buvo gyva, kvėpuojanti būtybė. Jis apibūdino „didžiąją peleriną“ kaip „sielą lygią, kaip vaiko, kietą, kaip nusikaltėlio“. Moitessier buvo ant slenksčio, kad užsitikrintų greičiausią laiką 1968 m. Auksinio gaublio lenktynėse, kai nusprendė pasitraukti iš to, kas, jo manymu, buvo vulgarus konkursas. Jis tik plaukė – pusantro karto aplink pasaulį.

 

     Tie, kurie ėmėsi buriavimo solo, aplink pasaulį dalijasi panašiais pastebėjimais ir emocijomis. Jūros paukščiai, ypač judrūs audros paukščiai ir tingiai sklandantys albatrosai, yra draugai, kaip ir žaismingi delfinai ir atkakliai irkluojantys vėžliai. Beveik visi išsigandę ryklių, grėsmingo buvimo, laukiančio, kol vienišas jūreivis padarys klaidą. Visi kenčia nuo miego trūkumo (o kai kurie – ir haliucinacijų). Jie snūduriuoja valandą ar dvi, pasitikėdami jų vairo sistemomis, suvokdami, kad ta nesąžininga banga užgrius ant jų arba, dar blogiau, gali būti numušti didžiulio tanklaivio ar konteinerinio laivo, nepaisančių jų mažyčio buvimo.

 

     Autorius pasakoja istoriją apie jo solo Šiaurės Atlanto perėją 2007 m., padarytą senyvo amžiaus 28 pėdų laivu. Nors ir negalima lyginti su nepaprastų jūreivių žygdarbiais, apie kuriuos jis pasakoja šioje knygoje, jo išgyvenimai yra pakankamai intensyvūs, kad galėtų į juos giliai įsijausti. Kelionei einant į pabaigą, į jį vos neįsirėžė konteinerinis laivas. Jo savaeigė mentelė kažkaip nustumia jo mažą valtį nuo nelaimės.

 

     Slocumui, ankstyvam solo buriavimo pradininkui, nepasisekė. Netrukus po to, kai 1909 m. lapkritį išplaukė iš Vineyard Haven, Masačusetso, jis ir Spray dingo. Beveik neabejotinai jį pargriovė vienas iš jo nekenčiamų garlaivių." [1]

 

1. "A history of solitary sailing asks why people seek out its danger." The Economist, 14 Sept. 2023, p. NA.

A history of solitary sailing asks why people seek out its danger.


"Sailing Alone: A History. By Richard King. Particular Books; 512 pages; £25

Joshua Slocum, an indefatigable trader, entrepreneur and sailor, born in 1844 on a farm in Nova Scotia, had a patchy record as a ship's captain. Mutinies had a way of breaking out among his crews—he once shot a man dead—and too many of his ships had ended up grounded or worse. He loathed the look of steamships that by the 1890s had almost entirely replaced sail-powered freighters. What was there for an old sailor "born in the breezes", who "had studied the sea as perhaps few men have studied it", to do?

His solution was to restore a rotting hulk given to him by a friend and to become the first person to circumnavigate the world single-handedly. The three-year adventure aboard the 37-foot (11-metre) Spray would be funded by dispatches he would send to the Boston Globe. The book he went on to write, "Sailing Alone Around the World", has never been out of print.

In an engaging, beautifully written history of single-handed sailing, Slocum's influence and example are never far from the horizon. Richard King, the author, is a solo trans-Atlantic sailor himself. He sets out to investigate what it is that possesses an ever-growing number of people to get into a small boat and sail on their own across the world's seas.

Mr King examines the experiences and emotions of some 50 lone sailors. Interest in solitary sailing for its own sake began in the second half of the 19th century, with voyages around the coast of Britain in 1869 (E.E. Middleton), across the Atlantic in 1876 (Alfred "Centennial" Johnson) and from California nearly to Australia in 1882 (Bernard Gilboy).

The answer to the question of why people go on such dangerous journeys varies widely. A yearning for personal validation is often the wind at a solo sailor's back, but a surprising number of voyagers had little knowledge of boats or the sea before planning (or, in some cases, even beginning) their aquatic adventures. Ann Davison, who became the first woman to circumnavigate the globe in 1952, had been widowed by a sailing accident but was a novice sailor herself. She chose sailing "because it offered freedom, independence, travel and a home into the bargain".

The "explorer-hippy-poet of the sea" Bernard Moitessier so identified with the creatures he saw that he felt himself become part of the pelagic world around him. He believed his boat was a living, breathing being. He described the "great cape" as having a "soul as smooth as a child's, as hard as a criminal's". Moitessier was on the brink of securing the fastest time in the Golden Globe race of 1968 when he decided to leave what he increasingly felt was a vulgar competition. He just carried on sailing—one and a half times around the world.

Those who have undertaken solo, around-the-world sailing share similar observations and emotions. Seabirds, particularly busy storm-petrels and lazily gliding albatrosses, are friends, as are playful dolphins and doggedly paddling turtles. Nearly all are frightened of sharks, a sinister presence waiting for the lone sailor to make a mistake. All suffer sleep deprivation (and some, hallucinations). They doze an hour or two while trusting in their self-steering systems, conscious of the possibility of that rogue wave coming crashing down on them, or, even worse, being run down by a huge tanker or container ship oblivious to their tiny presence.

The author relates the story of his own solo North Atlantic passage in 2007, done in an elderly 28-foot sloop. Although not to be compared to the feats of the extraordinary sailors he recounts in this book, his experiences are sufficiently intense for him to empathise deeply with them. Towards the end of his voyage, a container ship almost smashes into him. His self-steering vane somehow gybes his little boat away from disaster.

Slocum, the early pioneer of solo sailing, was not so lucky. Soon after setting sail from Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts, in November 1909, he and Spray disappeared. He was almost certainly run down by one of his hated steamships.” [1]

1. "A history of solitary sailing asks why people seek out its danger." The Economist, 14 Sept. 2023, p. NA.