Why science is more than just facts and equations ‹ Literary Hub

For many people, their exposure to science is limited to classes in high school and perhaps a few large introductory science courses when they go to college. Students often leave these experiences with the impression that science is all about memorizing facts, knowing how to solve equations, and literally conducting “experiments.” Millions of other people have already done and for which there is a “right” answer.

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The essential character of science is completely lost in such experiences, which, to put it bluntly, have almost nothing to do with the practice of actual science. At its core, science is about playing with things to uncover new things about the universe (which, by the way, includes our planet and everything in it) that are brand new to you – and maybe brand new to everyone.

Think analogously about spelling and grammar. There are people who enjoy learning correct spelling and grammar. I assume that it is rare for people to enjoy learning to spell, and that most people simply resign themselves to learning these things because they are told they have to. However, many students learn the basics of spelling and grammar before high school and continue to learn them actually interesting Things (from my perspective) like reading great novels or writing poetry (and I think I often forget how annoying it was to even learn the basic building blocks). But it would be difficult for you to read a great novel or write a poem if you don’t have the basic knowledge of spelling and grammar.

At its core, science is about playing with things to discover new things about the universe.

When it comes to science, memorizing facts, knowing how to solve equations, and conducting so-called “experiments” that don’t risk discovering something new are tantamount to learning spelling and grammar. When it comes to science, many people (through no fault of their own) never get to the point where they can do the scientific equivalent of reading a great novel or writing a poem. A huge challenge in the education system is finding ways to convey to students the joy (yes, actual joy) that can come with the practice of real science – and by that I mean an experiment you designed to answer a question to answer that you actually want to know the answer to, and that maybe no one really knows the answer to. Sometimes scientists do this just for fun.

Many people also have views about science and scientists that are deeply rooted in stereotypes – after all, the question is, how many professional scientists does a typical person know and interact with on a regular basis? There is an irony, for example, in the fact that people who think so uncreatively about creativity think that science doesn’t require it. If you want to solve big (or even small) puzzles, you need to be able to come up with new ideas, some of which seem crazy. Following the rules of science is essentially the equivalent of learning the rules of spelling and grammar. Do you have to follow any rules when writing a novel? Well, sort of.

There are elements of writing that are best practices, and if you don’t use them, your work may be incomprehensible to the outside world (thank goodness I have an editor). But if you only stuck to formulaic rules, your novel probably wouldn’t be a huge success. The same goes for science; There are elements of science that are important to ensure that your results are robust and useful to the wider community. But if you want to make a breakthrough, creativity is essential.

Furthermore, there is a widespread belief that there is little room for interpretation in science. Friedrich Nietzsche is often quoted as saying: “All things are subject to interpretation. Which interpretation prevails at any given time is a function of power and not of truth” (although I note with some irony that this is not really that, what he said). In science, we collect data and then try to assess which theory best fits that data. This sounds pretty simple, but deciding which theory fits best depends on which elements you think are most important, whether you agree with the assumptions made, whether you believe the data is sufficiently representative, etc. Then You (as a scientist) need to ask yourself the question: “How can I test whether my interpretation is correct?” If you can’t test it, you may want to regain your confidence that you are right.

That means we also have to be skeptical. The word “skeptical” was adopted from everyday language. For scientists, “skeptical” means “skeptical.” not mean you don’t believe anything. “Skeptical” does means that you examine the strengths and weaknesses of a particular claim and prefer to have evidence. In the latter sense of the word “skeptical,” scientists are (or should be) skeptical. In my opinion, everyone else should do the same. If you believe everything anyone tells you without the need for proof, then I’d like to sell you some stars in the night sky (which, FYI, is a total scam – sorry). Do you believe every news source you read without question? How about politicians? Also, let’s be clear: It’s not really possible to believe everything you’re told because you’ll inevitably be told contradictory things. How do you know what to believe? Skepticism to the rescue.

Ultimately, I’m all about using science as a tool to help us understand the universe. However, if you want to use a tool most effectively, it helps to understand its limitations. Although there are cases where I have used the handle of a screwdriver as a hammer or a table knife as a screwdriver, the result would have been better if I had had a more suitable tool on hand. As for science, it’s really good at testing things that are testable, but outside the realm of the testable, science has no footing. And it is precisely in this area that many of the most profound questions about the cosmos lie.

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We can and have achieved an impressive amount with our minds and logic. But there are limits. Sometimes if we stick with it long enough, these boundaries disappear – we just need better facilities and experiments to find the answer. Often we are quite confident that we could solve this or that puzzle if we could actually do this or that experiment. Breaking new ground in modern science in this way often (but not always) comes at a high price. Next-generation supercolliders or mind-blowingly large telescopes aren’t cheap, but they may be needed to find answers to some of the cosmos’ unsolved mysteries.

If you want to use a tool as effectively as possible, it is helpful to understand its limitations.

Sometimes our limitations reflect the (relatively) extremely short time in which we have been doing modern science. After all, the Scientific Revolution was less than four hundred years ago, which is only 0.00000003 × the age of the universe or 0.0000001 × the age of the Earth. Heck, we’ve only had the two pillars of modern science, general relativity and quantum mechanics, for about a century. Not only does that mean we haven’t had much time to figure things out, but the universe isn’t set up to put on a dog and pony show whenever we need data on something. The universe will take its own sweet time. Do you need to examine a supernova in detail for your doctoral thesis? Well, keep calm, chances are we’ll have one in our galaxy sometime in the next fifty years or so.

Sometimes the limitations we encounter when trying to understand the nature of the cosmos are cognitive in nature. Like in our own brain. Think about it: Human DNA is only about 1.2 percent different from that of chimpanzees. Chimpanzees are smart, no question about it. But could you teach calculus (not to mention general relativity and quantum mechanics)? What if our DNA was 1.2 percent more developed than it is? What could our brain be capable of then? The level of abstract thinking (and other types of thinking we don’t even have words for) could be astonishing. To be clear: I do not advocate transhumanism. Rather, I would like to draw attention to the sheer, unbridled hubris that accompanies the assumption that our brains are even capable of fully understanding the cosmos in its entirety. But that certainly won’t stop us from understanding what we can.

Sometimes the limits we encounter are (or seem to be) fundamental. There are laws of nature that we may never understand, no matter how advanced our brains may be. This means that there are experiments that we may never be able to do (although I use the word “never” lightly and the word “could” optimistically). We may never be able to test what actually happens inside a black hole. We may never be able to explore (let alone interact with) other dimensions (if any). We may never be able to break the infinite regression of what caused the universe to come into being and what caused the cause of the universe to come into being and what caused the cause of the cause of the universe to come into being. Turtles all the way down (we’ll get to the famous story of the never-ending stack of turtles in a moment). Here we reach the limits of science.

For something to be considered scientific, it must, by definition, be testable. There’s a tiny little loophole here: it may not have to be testable now, but it must be testable, at least in principle, at some point in the future by an experiment that could realistically take place. If an idea or hypothesis is untestable, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. This means it is not testable. If it’s not verifiable, how do we know if it’s correct? These (potentially) unverifiable ideas are also (in my opinion) some of the most interesting, probably because they have tormented humanity for millennia.

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abstract out of In the Unknown: The quest to understand the mysteries of the cosmos by Kelsey Johnson. Copyright © 2024. Available out of basic Booksan imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.