recognized that climate sensitivity must be the first question addressed. For years Lindzen had insisted that climate sensitivity to doubled carbon dioxide could be no more than a few tenths of a degree. So here was a clear disagreement by an order of magnitude, that is, by about a factor of 10. Best of all, Lindzen’s position was documented in publications including his own testimony to Congress and in a few papers published in scientific journals, as well as in a summary published by Richard Kerr in the December 1, 1989, issue of Science magazine.
I realized that climate sensitivity was in the process of being nailed down—rigorously and accurately defined by the paleoclimate information discussed in this chapter. Of course, even today it is possible to find scientists and published papers concluding that climate sensitivity is quite uncertain. A common approach is to calculate the expected warming of the past century based on assumed climate forcings—then, because of uncertainties in actual forcings, conclude that climate sensitivity is only constrained to lie somewhere within a large range, say 2 to 8 degrees Celsius for doubled carbon dioxide. That logic is a case of failing to see the forest for the trees. Our knowledge is not based on the dullest instrument in our tool bag. Rather it is based on the sharpest, most discriminating information we can muster.
Obtuseness concerning climate sensitivity reminds me of a story Richard Feynman told about his early experience at Los Alamos, where many of the top physicists in the world had assembled to work on the Manhattan Project. Feynman would eventually become known, at least among many physicists, as the second greatest scientist of the twentieth century, but at that time he was just becoming a postdoc. He finished his Ph.D. thesis in a rush, as he and many of the top physicists essentially dropped everything to join the effort to help build an atomic bomb (after Einstein warned President Roosevelt, in a now-famous letter, that Germany was probably working on a bomb of monstrous power).
Feynman was at a meeting of some of the physics giants—Richard C. Tolman, Arthur Compton, Isidor Isaac Rabi, J. Robert Oppenheimer, and others—and they were talking about the theory of how they were going to separate uranium. Feynman understood the specific matter being discussed pretty well. Compton explained one point of view, which Feynman could see was right. But they went around the table, someone saying there’s a different possibility, another suggesting still a different idea, all the time Feynman becoming more and more antsy and jumpy, thinking, why didn’t Compton repeat his argument? After they had gone around the table, Tolman, the chairman, said something to the effect of “Well, it’s clear that Compton’s argument is best, and now it’s time to go ahead.” It made a big impression on young Feynman—seeing how really good scientists work. They wanted to look at a problem from all angles, reexamining alternatives and different facets, to guard against a mistake. All the while they could recognize the best idea without having to repeat the arguments.
Jule Charney, were he alive today, would be thrilled by the paleoclimate information on climate sensitivity. Undoubtedly he would stand up and say, “Great, now let’s move ahead.” Dick Lindzen is a whole different kettle of fish. He has made numerous scientific contributions, received significant honors, and suggested interesting ideas. But as for an overview and insight about how climate works, he is no Jule Charney by any means. Lindzen’s perspective on climate sensitivity, as he told Richard Kerr, stems from an idea of a theological or philosophical perspective that he doggedly adheres to. Lindzen is convinced that nature will find ways to cool itself, that negative feedbacks will diminish the effect of climate forcings. This notion spurred Lindzen to propose a specific mechanism for how the atmosphere
I realized that climate sensitivity was in the process of being nailed down—rigorously and accurately defined by the paleoclimate information discussed in this chapter. Of course, even today it is possible to find scientists and published papers concluding that climate sensitivity is quite uncertain. A common approach is to calculate the expected warming of the past century based on assumed climate forcings—then, because of uncertainties in actual forcings, conclude that climate sensitivity is only constrained to lie somewhere within a large range, say 2 to 8 degrees Celsius for doubled carbon dioxide. That logic is a case of failing to see the forest for the trees. Our knowledge is not based on the dullest instrument in our tool bag. Rather it is based on the sharpest, most discriminating information we can muster.
Obtuseness concerning climate sensitivity reminds me of a story Richard Feynman told about his early experience at Los Alamos, where many of the top physicists in the world had assembled to work on the Manhattan Project. Feynman would eventually become known, at least among many physicists, as the second greatest scientist of the twentieth century, but at that time he was just becoming a postdoc. He finished his Ph.D. thesis in a rush, as he and many of the top physicists essentially dropped everything to join the effort to help build an atomic bomb (after Einstein warned President Roosevelt, in a now-famous letter, that Germany was probably working on a bomb of monstrous power).
Feynman was at a meeting of some of the physics giants—Richard C. Tolman, Arthur Compton, Isidor Isaac Rabi, J. Robert Oppenheimer, and others—and they were talking about the theory of how they were going to separate uranium. Feynman understood the specific matter being discussed pretty well. Compton explained one point of view, which Feynman could see was right. But they went around the table, someone saying there’s a different possibility, another suggesting still a different idea, all the time Feynman becoming more and more antsy and jumpy, thinking, why didn’t Compton repeat his argument? After they had gone around the table, Tolman, the chairman, said something to the effect of “Well, it’s clear that Compton’s argument is best, and now it’s time to go ahead.” It made a big impression on young Feynman—seeing how really good scientists work. They wanted to look at a problem from all angles, reexamining alternatives and different facets, to guard against a mistake. All the while they could recognize the best idea without having to repeat the arguments.
Jule Charney, were he alive today, would be thrilled by the paleoclimate information on climate sensitivity. Undoubtedly he would stand up and say, “Great, now let’s move ahead.” Dick Lindzen is a whole different kettle of fish. He has made numerous scientific contributions, received significant honors, and suggested interesting ideas. But as for an overview and insight about how climate works, he is no Jule Charney by any means. Lindzen’s perspective on climate sensitivity, as he told Richard Kerr, stems from an idea of a theological or philosophical perspective that he doggedly adheres to. Lindzen is convinced that nature will find ways to cool itself, that negative feedbacks will diminish the effect of climate forcings. This notion spurred Lindzen to propose a specific mechanism for how the atmosphere
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