Galileo Did Do Experiments

After finding an old book of mine, The Ten Most Beautiful Experiments, over winter break, I wanted to follow up on my last post. I’ll say that this post is based almost entirely on that book’s chapter on Galileo, but since I don’t see it summarized in many places, I thought it was worth writing up. It is somewhat in vogue to claim that Galileo didn’t actually perform his experiments on falling bodies, and his writings just describe thought experiments. However, this actually confuses two different experiments attributed to Galileo. Most historians do believe stories of Galileo dropping weights from the Leaning Tower of Pisa are apocryphal and come from people confusing what is a thought experiment that Salviati, one of the fictional conversationalists in Two New Sciences, describes doing there, or a relatively unsourced claim by Galileo’s secretary in a biography after his death.

However, Salviati also describes an experiment that Galileo is recognized as having done: measuring the descent of balls of different weights down ramps, which also follow the same basic equation as bodies in free fall, but modified by the angle of slope. I think a few people may doubt Galileo actually completed the ramp experiment, based on criticisms by Alexandre Koyré in the 1950s that Galileo’s methods seemed too vague or imprecise to measure the acceleration. However, many researchers (like the Rice team in an above link) have found it possible to get data close to Galileo’s using the method Salviati describes. Additionally, another historian, Stillman Drake, who had access to more of Galileo’s manuscripts found what appears to be records of raw experimental data that show reasonable error. Drake also suggests that Galileo may have originally kept time through the use of musical tempo before moving on the water clock. Wikipedia (I know, but I don’t have much to go on) also suggests Drake does believe in the Leaning Tower of Pisa experiment. While he may not have done it at that tower, evidently Galileo’s accounts include a description that corresponds to an observed tic that happens if people try to freely drop objects of different sizes at the same time, which suggest he tried free fall somewhere.


What to do if you’re inside a scientific revolution

A LesserWrong user (LesserWrong-er?) has a thought-provoking post on The Copernican Revolution from the Inside, with two questions in mind: (1) if you lived in 17th century Europe, would you have accepted heliocentrism on an epistemic level, and (2) how do you become the kind of person who would say yes to question 1? It’s interesting in the sense the often-asked question of  “What would you be doing during the Civil Rights Movement/Holocaust/Other Time of Great Societal Change” is, in that most people realize they probably would not be a great crusader against the norm of another time. But as someone in Charlottesville in the year 2017, asking about what you’d be doing in scientific arguments is less terrifying relevant than asking people about how they’d deal with Nazism, so we’ll just focus on that.

Cover of Kuhn's The Structure of Scientific Revolutions showing a whirlpool behind the title text.

Look, you’re probably in at least one.

For once on the internet, I recommend reading the comments, in that I think they help flesh out the argument a lot more and correct some strawmanning of the heliocentrists by the OP. Interestingly, OP actually says he thinks

In fact, one my key motivations for writing it — and a point where I strongly disagree with people like Kuhn and Feyerabend — is that I think heliocentrism was more plausible during that time. It’s not that Copernicus, Kepler Descartes and Galileo were lucky enough to be overconfident in the right direction, and really should just have remained undecided. Rather, I think they did something very right (and very Bayesian). And I want to know what that was.

and seems surprised that commenters think he went too pro-geocentrist. I recommend the following if you want the detailed correction, but I’ll also summarize the main points so you don’t have to:

  • Thomas Kehrenberg’s comment as it corrects factual errors in the OP regarding sunspots and Jupiter’s moon
  • MakerOfErrors for suggesting the methodological point should be that both geo- and heliocentric systems should have been treated with more uncertainty around the time of Galileo until more evidence came in
  • Douglas_Knight for pointing out a factual error regarding Venus and an argument I’m sympathetic to regarding the Coriolis effect but evidently am wrong on, which I’ll get to below. I do think it’s important to acknowledge that Galilean relativity is a thing, though, and that reduces the potential error a lot.
  • Ilverin for sort of continuing MakerOfError’s point and suggesting the true rationalist lesson should be looking at how do you deal with competing theories that both have high uncertainties

It’s also worth pointing out that even the Tychonic system didn’t resolve Galileo’s argument for heliocentrism based on sun spots. (A modification to Tycho’s system by one of his students that allows for the rotation of the Earth supposedly resolves the sunspot issue, but I haven’t heard many people mention it yet.)

Also, knowing that we didn’t have a good understanding of the Coriolis effect until, well, Coriolis in the 1800s (though there are some mathematical descriptions in the 1700s), I was curious to what extent people made this objection during the time of Galileo. It turns out Galileo also predicted it as a consequence of a rotating earth. Giovanni Riccioli, a Jesuit scientist, seems to have made the most rigorous qualitative argument against heliocentrism because cannon fire and falling objects are not notably deflected from straight line paths. I want to point out that Riccioli does virtually no math in his argument on the Coriolis effect (unless there’s a lot in the original text that I don’t see in the summary of his Almagestum Novum). This isn’t uncommon pre-Newton, and no one would have the exact tools to deal with Coriolis forces for almost 200 years. But one could reasonably try to make a scaling argument about whether or not the Coriolis effect matters based only on the length scale you’re measuring and the rotation speed of the Earth (which would literally just be taking the inverse of a day) and see that that heliocentrists aren’t insane.

It’s not a sexy answer to the second question, but I think “patience for new data” goes a long way towards making you the kind of person who can say yes to the first question. You hear the term “Copernican revolution” thrown around like a very specific event, and I think it’s pretty easy to forget the relative timeframes of major players unless this is your bread and butter. Copernicus’ De revolutionibus came out in 1543. Newton’s Principia came out in 1687, which gives a physical explanation for Kepler’s empirical laws and results in them becoming more greatly accepted, and so can be considered a decent (if oversimplified) endpoint for the debate. Galileo began to get vocal about heliocentrism in the early 1610s. The Almagestum Novum came out in 1651. For over a century, people on both sides were gathering and interpreting new data and refining their theories.

I also like this article for a related point, albeit one a bit removed from the author’s thesis. In considering the question of how should accept new theories, we see the historical development of one theory overtaking another as “scientific consensus”. Earlier this year, rationalist Scott Alexander in a post on Learning to Love Scientific Consensus concisely summarized why the typical “consensus is meaningless” trope of just listing times consensus has turned out to be wrong isn’t particularly useful in understanding science:

I knew some criticisms of a scientific paradigm. They seemed right. I concluded that scientists weren’t very smart and maybe I was smarter. I should have concluded that some cutting-edge scientists were making good criticisms of an old paradigm. I can still flatter myself by saying that it’s no small achievement to recognize a new paradigm early and bet on the winning horse. But the pattern I was seeing was part of the process of science, not a condemnation of it.

Most people understand this intuitively about past paradigm shifts. When a creationist says that we can’t trust science because it used to believe in phlogiston and now it believes in combustion, we correctly respond that this is exactly why we can trust science. But this lesson doesn’t always generalize when you’re in the middle of a paradigm shift right now and having trouble seeing the other side.

The notion of “trusting” scientific consensus I think gets to a larger point. There are way more non-scientists than scientists, so most people aren’t in a place to rigorously evaluate contemporary analogues to the Copernican revolution, so you often have to trust consensus at least a little. Also scientists aren’t scientists of every field, so even they can’t evaluate all disputes and will rely on the work of their colleagues in other departments. And given how many fields of science there are, there’s always probably at least one scientific revolution going on in your lifetime, if not several. Fortunately they don’t all take 150 years to resolve. (Though major cosmological ones can take a long time when we need new instruments and new data that can take a long time to acquire.)

But if you want to be the kind of person who can evaluate revolutions (or maybe attempts at revolutions), and I hope you are, then here’s a bit more advice for the second question à la Kuhn: try to understand the structure of competing theories. This doesn’t mean a detailed understanding of every equation or concept, but realize some things are more much important to how a theory functions than others, and some predictions are relatively minor (see point 4 below for an application to something that I thing pretty clearly doesn’t fall into a revolution today). To pure geocentrists, the phases of Venus were theory-breaking because geocentrism doesn’t allow mechanisms for a full range of phases for only some planets, and so they had to move to Tycho’s model. To both groups writ large, it didn’t break the scientific theories if orbits weren’t perfectly circular (partly that was because there wasn’t really a force driving motion in either theory until Kepler and he wasn’t sure what actually provided it, so we see how several scientific revolutions later, it gets hard to evaluate their theories 100% within the language of our current concepts), though people held on because of other attachments. Which leads to a second suggestion: be open-minded about theories and hypotheses, while still critical based on the structure. (And I think it’s pretty reasonable to argue that the Catholic Church was not open-minded in that sense, as De revolutionibus was restricted and Galileo published his future works in  Protestant jurisdictions.) In revolutions in progress, being open-minded means allowing for reasonable revision of competing theories (per the structure point) to accommodate new data and almost maybe more importantly allows for generating new predictions from these theories to guide more experiment and observation to determine what data needs to be gathered to finally declare a winning horse.

Stray thoughts

  1. Let me explain  how I corrected my view on the Coriolis effect. We mainly think of it as applying to motion parallel to the surface of the Earth, but on further thought, I realized it does also apply to vertical motion (something further from the center of the Earth is moving at a faster rotational velocity than something closer, though they do have the same angular velocity). Christopher Graney, a physics and astronomy professor at Jefferson Community and Technical College who I will now probably academically stalk to keep in mind for jobs back home, has a good summary of Riccioli’s arguments from the Almagestum Novum in an article on arXiv and also what looks like a good book that I’m adding to my history/philosophy of science wishlist on Amazon. The Coriolis effect arguments are Anti-Copernican Arguments III-VI, X-XXII, and XXVII-XXXIII. Riccioli also addresses the sunspots in Pro-Copernican Argument XLIII, though the argument is basically philosophical in determining what kind of motion is more sensible. It’s worth pointing out that in the Almagestum, Riccioli is collecting almost all arguments used on both sides in the mid-17th century, and he even points out which ones are wrong on both sides. This has led some historians to call it what Galileo’s Dialogue should have been, as Galileo pretty clearly favored heliocentrism in Dialogue but Riccioli remains relatively neutral in Almagestum.
  2. I’m concerned someone might play the annoying pedant by saying a) “But we know the sun isn’t the center of the Universe!” or b) “But relativity says you could think of the Earth as the center of the Universe!”. To a), well yeah, but it’s really hard to get to that point without thinking of us living in a solar system and thinking of other stars as like our sun. To b), look, you can totally shift the frames, but you’re basically changing the game at that point since no frame is special. Also, separate from that, if you’re really cranking out the general relativity equations, I still think you see more space-time deformation from the sun (unless something very weird happens in the non-inertial frame transform) so it still “dominates” the solar system, not the Earth.
  3. For a good example of the “consensus is dumb” listing of consensuses of the past, look at Michael Crichton’s rant from his “Aliens Cause Global Warming” 2003 Michelin Lecture at CalTech beginning around “In science consensus is irrelevant. What is relevant is reproducible results.” Crichton gets close to acknowledging that consensus does in fact seem to accommodate evidence in the plate tectonics example, but he writes it off. And to get to Crichton’s motivating point about climate science, it’s not like climate science always assumed man had a significant impact. The evolution of global warming theory goes back to Arrhenius who hypothesized around 1900 that the release of CO2 from coal burning might have an effect after studying CO2’s infrared spectrum, and it wasn’t until the 60s and 70s that people thought it might outweigh other human contributions (hence the oft-misunderstood “global cooling” stories about reports from the mid-20th century).
  4. Or to sum up something that a certain class of people would love to make a scientific revolution but isn’t, consider anthropogenic climate change. Honestly, specific local temperature predictions being wrong generally isn’t a big deal unless say most of them can’t be explained by other co-occurring phenomena (e.g. the oceans seem to have absorbed most of the heat instead of it leading to rising surface temperatures), since the central part of the theory is that emission of CO2 and certain other human-produced gases has a pretty effect due to radiative forcing which traps more heat in. Show that radiative forcing is wrong or significantly different from the current values, and that’s a really big deal. Or come up with evidence of something that might counter radiative forcing’s effect on temperature at almost the same scale, and while the concern would go away, I think it’s worth pointing out it wouldn’t actually mean research on greenhouse gases was wrong. I would also argue that you do open-mindedness in climate science, since people do still pursue the “iris hypothesis” and there are actually almost always studies on solar variability if you search NASA and NSF grants. 

Thinking of the Urban as Natural

Image result for urban ecology

“Name everything you can think of that is alive.” This was the prompt given to three different groups of children: the Wichi, an indigenous tribe in the Gran Chaco forest, and rural and urban Spanish-speakers in Argentina. It might not surprise you to know that the indigenous children who directly interact with wildlife often named the most plants and animals that lived nearby and were native to the region, and they often gave very specific names. The rural children named a mixture of both native Argentinian wildlife and animals associated with farming. But the urban children were very different from the others. They would name only a few animals in Argentina. Instead, they named significantly more “exotic” animals from forests and jungles in other countries and continents. This result has been replicated in multiple studies on child development. But we shouldn’t be so hard on the urban children.

This reflects a somewhat uncomfortable truth about how we learn. If you live in a city, you mainly learn about nature indirectly, through pop culture and formal science education. In both contexts, it is much easier to find information about “exotic” animals like lions or tigers instead of most of the organisms that make a home in the city. I think this is a symptom of a deeper cultural notion: that somehow cities are “fake” environments divorced from nature. I will argue that this distinction between the urban and natural is not only wrong, but also harmful to our society.

First, we should consider that this notion really only makes sense relatively recently in history. Cities are young in a geological and even anthropological sense, but since we’ve been making them as a species, they have been influenced by nature. We talk about “cradles of civilization” because they were places where the natural environment was well-suited to supporting early, complex social systems and their infrastructure. To use the literal Ur-example, consider the Fertile Crescent region, the convergence of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. This provided lush soil at several elevations, which supported the growth of a variety of crops and helped with irrigation. And many modern cities can still be traced back to earlier environmental decisions. I am from Louisville, a city by a part of the Ohio River that could not be crossed by boat until the building of locks in the 1830s. The city was founded as a natural stopping point for people before they would go on to the Mississippi River.

Second, it seems incredibly alienating to argue most of humanity is “unnatural”. Since 2008, the majority of humans have lived in cities. By 2050, 70% of the global population will live in urban areas. We should not discourage the growth of cities or devalue them, when their more efficient use of resources and infrastructure is necessary to keep projected population growth sustainable. The smart development of cities recognizes they can help preserve other environments.

Finally, this urban-natural distinction distorts our understanding of the environmental and ecological processes that affect cities and even our broader understanding of the environment. A recent study showed that insects help reduce food waste just as much as rodents in New York City – for every memeable “pizza rat” there’s an army of “pizza ants” getting rid of rotting food. Despite their importance, in New York’s American Museum of Natural History renowned insect collection, they have almost no species native to the city. And since many city-dwellers like the Argentinian children only know about exotic species, it affects animal conservation efforts. Well-known “charismatic” species like pandas or rhinos have support all over the world. Few people are aware of endangered species in urban areas And sometimes scientists don’t even know. For instance, relating to the above, 40% of insect species are endangered, but we don’t know if that number is different in cities.

Instead of rejecting the last few thousand years of our society’s development, we should (re)embrace cities as part of the broader natural world. Recognizing that cities can have their own rich ecological and environmental interactions can help us build urban spaces that are better for us humans, other city-dwelling creatures, and the rest of the world.

(Note: This post is based on a speech I gave as part of a contest at UVA, the Moomaw Oratorical Contest. And this year I won!)

I Have a Hard Time Summing Up My Science and Politics Beliefs Into a Slogan

From a half-joking, half-serious post of my own on Facebook:



Evidently, I am the alt-text from this comic.

“HERE ARE SOME GOOD ARTICLES ABOUT PHILOSOPHY AND SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE” (I didn’t actually give a list, since I knew I would never really be able to put that on a poster, but some suggested readings if you’re interested: the Decolonizing Science Reading List curated by astrophysicist Chanda Prescod-Weinstein, a recent article from The Atlantic about the March for Science, a perspective on Doing Science While Black, the history of genes as an example of the evolution of scientific ideas, honestly there’s a lot here, and this is just stuff I shared on my Facebook page over the last few months.)

Quantum Waves are Still Physical, Regardless of Your Thoughts

Adam Frank, founder of NPR’s science and culture blog 13.7, recently published an essay on Aeon about materialism. It’s a bit confusing to get at what he’s trying to say because of the different focus its two titles have, as well as his own arguments. First, the titles. The title I saw first, which is what is displayed when shared on Facebook, is “Materialism alone cannot explain the riddle of consciousness”. But on Aeon, the title is “Minding matter”, with the sub-title or blurb of “The closer your look, the more the materialist position in physics appears to rest on shaky metaphysical ground.” The question of theories of mind is very different than philosophical interpretations of quantum mechanics.

This shows up in the article, where I found it confusing because Franks ties together several different arguments and confuses them with various ideas of “realism” and “materialism”. First, his conception of theories of mind is confusing. I’d say the average modern neuroscientist or other scholar of cognition is a materialist, but I’d be hesitant to say the average one is a reductionist who thinks thought depends very hard on the atoms in your brain. Computational theories of mind tend to be some of the most popular ones, and it’s hard to consider those reductionist. I would concede there may be too much of an experimental focus on reductionism (and that’s what has diffused into pop culture), but the debate over how to move from those experimental techniques to theoretical understanding is occurring: see the recent attempt at using neuroscience statistical techniques to understand Donkey Kong.

I also think he’s making a bit of an odd claim on reductionism in the other sciences in this passage:

A century of agnosticism about the true nature of matter hasn’t found its way deeply enough into other fields, where materialism still appears to be the most sensible way of dealing with the world and, most of all, with the mind. Some neuroscientists think that they’re being precise and grounded by holding tightly to materialist credentials. Molecular biologists, geneticists, and many other types of researchers – as well as the nonscientist public – have been similarly drawn to materialism’s seeming finality.

Yes, he technically calls it materialism, but he seems to basically equate it to reductionism by assuming the other sciences seem fine with being reducible to physics. But, first, Frank should know better from his own colleagues. The solid-state folks in his department work a lot with “emergentism” and point out that the supposedly more reductionist particle people now borrow concepts from them. And he should definitely know from his collaborators at 13.7 that the concept of reducibility is controversial across the sciences. Heck, even physical chemists take issue with being reducible to physics and will point out that QM models can’t fully reproduce aspects of the periodic table. Per the above, it’s worth pointing out that Jerry Fodor, a philosopher of mind and cognitive scientist, who does believe in a computational theory of mind disputes the idea of reductionism


This is funny because this tends to be controversial, not because it’s widely accepted.

Frank’s view on the nature of matter is also confusing. Here he seems to be suggesting “materialism” can really only refer to particulate theories of matter, e.g. something an instrument could definitely touch (in theory). But modern fundamental physics does accept fields and waves as real entities. “Shut up and calculate” isn’t useful for ontology or epistemology, but his professor’s pithy response actually isn’t that. Quantum field theories would agree that “an electron is that we attribute the properties of the electron” since electrons (and any particles) can actually take on any value of mass, charge, spin, etc. as virtual particles (which actually do exist, but only temporarily). The conventional values are what one gets in the process of renormalization in the theory. (I might be misstating that here, since I never actually got to doing QFT myself.) I would say this doesn’t mean electrons aren’t “real” or understood, but it would suggest that quantum fields are ontologically more fundamental than the particles are. If it makes more physical sense for an electron to be a probability wave, that’s bully for probability waves, not a lack of understanding. (Also, aside from experiments showing wave-particle duality, we’re now learning that even biochemistry is dependent on the wave nature of matter.)

I’m also not sure the discussion of wave function collapse does much work here. I don’t get why it would inherently undermine materialism, unless a consciousness interpretation were to win out, and as Frank admits, there’s still not much to support one interpretation over the other. (And even then, again, this could still be solved by a materialist view of consciousness.) He’s also ignoring the development of theories of quantum decoherence to explain wavefunction collapse as quantum systems interact with classical environments, and to my understanding, those are relatively agnostic to interpretation. (Although I think there’s an issue with timescales in quantitative descriptions.)

From there, Frank says we should be open to things beyond “materialism” in describing mind. But like my complaint with the title differences, those arguments don’t really follow from the bulk of the article focusing on philosophical issues in quantum mechanics. Also, he seems open to emergentism in the second to last paragraph. Actually, here I think Frank missed out on a great discussion. I think there are some great philosophy of science questions to be had at the level of QFT, especially with regards to epistemology, and especially directed to popular audiences. Even as a physics major, my main understanding of specific aspects of the framework like renormalization are accepted because “the math works”, which is different than other observables we measure. For instance, the anomalous magnetic moment is a very high precision test of quantum electrodynamics, the quantum field theory of electromagnetism, and our calculation is based on renormalization. But the “unreasonable effectiveness of mathematics” can sometimes be wrong and we might lucky in converging to something close. (Though at this point I might be pulling dangerously close to the Duhem-Quine thesis without knowing much of the technical details.) Instead, we got a mediocre crossover between the question of consciousness and interpretations of quantum mechanics, even though Frank tried hard to avoid turning into “woo”.

Weirdly Specific Questions I Want Answers to in Meta-science, part 1

Using “meta-science” as a somewhat expansive term for history, philosophy, and sociology of science. And using my blog as a place to write about something besides the physical chemistry of carbon nanomaterials in various liquids.

  • To what extent is sloppy/misleading terminology an attempt to cash in on buzzwords? Clearly, we know that motive exists – there aren’t two major papers trying to narrow down precise definitions of graphene-related terms for nothing. But as the papers also suggest, at what point is it a legitimate debate in the community about setting a definition? “Graphene” was a term that described a useful theoretical construct for decades before anyone ever thought* someone could make a real sheet of it, so maybe it isn’t unreasonable that people started using it to describe a variety of physical things related to the original idea.
    • This contains a sort of follow-up: What properties do people use in clarifying these definitions and how much does it vary by background? Personally, I would say I’m way closer to the ideal of “graphene” than lots of people working with more extensively chemically modified graphene derivatives and am fine with using it for almost anything that’s nearly all sp2 carbon with about 10 layers or less. But would a physicist who cares more about the electronic properties, and which vary a lot based on the number of layers even in the lower limit, consider that maddening?
  • Nanoscience is very interdisciplinary/transdisciplinary, but individual researchers can be quite grounded in just one field. How much work is being done where researchers are missing basic knowledge of another field their work is now straddling?
    • For instance, when reading up on polymer nanocomposites, it seems noted by lots of people with extensive polymer science backgrounds that there are many papers that don’t refer to basic aspects of polymer physics. My hunch is that a lot of this comes from the fact that many people in this field started working on the nanoparticles they want to incorporate into the composites and then moved into the composites. They may have backgrounds more in fields like solid-state physics, electrical engineering, or (inorganic/metallic/ceramic) materials science, where they would have been less likely to deal with polymer theory.
    • Similarly, it was noted in one paper I read that a lot of talk about solutions of nanoparticles probably would be more precise if the discussion was framed in terminology of colloids and dispersions.

Oh my gosh, I made fun of the subtitle for like two years, but it’s true

  • Is the ontological status of defects in nanoscience distinct from their treatment in bulk studies of materials? This is a bit related to the first question in that some definitions would preclude the existence of some defects in the referent material/structure.
    • On the other hand, does this stricter treatment make more sense in the few atom limit of many nanomaterials? Chemists can literally specify the type and location of every atom in successful products of well-studied cluster reactions, though these are even pushing the term “nano” (though in the sense they may be too small).
    • Is this a reflection of applications of defects at the different scales? (More philosophically worded, are defects treated differently because of their teleological nature?) At the bulk level, we work to engineer the nature of defects to help develop the properties we want. At the nanoscale, some structures can basically be ruined for certain applications by the mislocation of a single atom. Is this also a reflection of the current practical process of needing to scale up the ability to make nanomaterials? E.g. as more realistic approaches to large-scale nanotech fabrication are developed, will the practical treatment of defects in nanomaterials converge to that of how we treat defects in the bulk?

*Okay, more like anyone cared a lot about it, since there are papers going back to the 1960s where researchers describe what appear to be atomic monolayers of graphite.

Comparing Birth Control Trials Today to Those in the 60s Ignores a Sea Change in Research Ethics

Vox has a wonderful article on the recently published male birth control study that is a useful corrective to the narrative that falsely equates it to the original studies of The Pill. Though I say ignore their title, too, because it’s also not that helpful of a narrative either. But the content is useful in arguing against what seems like a terrible and callous framing of the study in most commentary. The key line: “And, yes, the rate of side effects in this study was higher than what women typically experience using hormonal birth control.” Also, can we point out if something like 10 women a year at a school like UVA were committing suicide and it might be linked to a medication they were taking, people would probably be concerned? There’s something disturbing about well-off American women mocking these effects that seemed to disproportionately affect men of color (the most side effects were reported from the Indonesian center, followed by the Chilean center).

My bigger concern here, though, is that most people seem to not understand (or are basically ignoring) how modern research ethics works. For instance, the notion of benefits being weighed in the evaluation of continuing the study aren’t merely the potential benefits of the treatment, but the added benefit of acquiring more data. This was an efficacy study (so I think Phase II, or maybe it was combined Phase I/II, although it might be a really small Phase III trial). It seems like the institutional review board felt enough data had been collected to reach conclusions on efficacy that more data didn’t justify the potential high rate of adverse effects. Which also DOES NOT mean that this treatment has been ruled out forever. The authors themselves recommend further development based on the 75% of participants claiming they would use this birth control method if it were available. I imagine they will tweak the formulation a bit before moving on to further trials. Also, it’s sort of amusing that complaints on this come from people who typically think moves toward regulatory approval are controlled by Big Pharma at the expense of patient health.

Yes, this is different than the initial birth control trials. Yes, the women of Puerto Rico were chosen as human guinea pigs. Though it’s worth pointing out another major factor in choosing Puerto Rico was that it actually had a pretty well organized family planning infrastructure in the 50s and 60s. Admittedly, there’s more racism almost certainly coming into play there, because the politics of family planning were super complicated through the early and mid 20th century and there were definitely overlaps between eugenics and family planning. It’s also worth pointing out the study was encouraged by Margaret Sanger (and earlier studies by Planned Parenthood). Also, the FDA didn’t even initially approve Enovid for contraception because the atmosphere was so repressive back then on reproductive health; it was for menstrual disorders but prescribed off-label for contraception, which is why we know so many women desperately wanted the pill. Heck, even the Puerto Rico study was nominally about seeing if the pill helped with breast cancer. It took another year of discussion by the researchers and companies to get the FDA to finally approve contraception as an on-label use. The company making the pill was actually so concerned about the dosage causing side effects they begged for FDA approval for a lower dose just for contraception (see page 27-28 there) but were rebuffed for another year or two and they refused to market the initial dose for solely for contraception. (Also, to clarify, no one is taking these medications anymore. These versions of the pill were phased out in the 80s.)

Was there sexism at play? Absolutely, and I totally get that. But that doesn’t mean the narrative from 2016 neatly maps onto the narrative of the 1950s and 1960s. Which brings me to my last point. If your view of research ethics is primarily colored by the 1960s, that’s terrifying. You know what else happened at the same time as the initial contraception pill studies? The US government was still letting black men die of syphilis in the name of research. The tissue of Henrietta Lacks was still being cultured without the knowledge or consent of anyone in her family. (And the way they were informed was heartbreaking.) People were unknowingly treated or injected with radioactive material (one of many instances is described here in the segment of testimony by Cliff Honicker). One study involved secretly injecting healthy people with cancer cells, and to prove a theme, those cells were descendants of the ones originally cultured from Henrietta Lacks. Heck, there’s the Milgram experiment and then the Stanford Prison Study was in the 70s. The ethics of human experimentation were a mess for most of the 20th century, and really, most of the history of science. Similarly, medical ethics were very different at the time. Which isn’t to justify those things. But don’t ignore that we’ve been working to make science and research more open, collaborative, and just over the last few decades, and people seem caught up in making humorous or spiteful points than continuing that work right now.

(Other aside, it’s worth pointing out that the comparison here probably does have to be to condoms, which you know, skip the side effects though their typical effectiveness rate is worse. Most of the methods don’t obviously change ejaculate, so unless measuring sperm concentration and motility is a couple’s idea of foreplay, sexual partners who don’t know each other well will still probably want a condom [or unfortunately another method, because yes, the system is sexist and women are expected to do more] as assurance. It’s worth pointing out the study design only worked with “stable” couples who were mutually monogamous and planned on staying together for at least a year during the duration of the study, so there presumably was a high degree of trust in these relationships.)