As a skeptic, the grassroots movement that espouses creation ‘science’ has what I believe are many flaws, probably equal to the gaps in evolutionary theory that creationists see. Chet Raymo, in his eloquent and subtle Skeptics and True Believers, explains both of these views. The two poles he describes fit well into the two niches of the creation and evolution debate, and I agree that it comes down to this: “It is not so much a matter of evidence as attitudes toward evidence. The astrologer and the scientist have different criteria for the truth—one anecdotal and personal, the other empirical and institutional” (87). One believes what they read is true, the other questions everything, “[t]there are people who prefer that things remain the same; there are people who like change” (137). I would argue, though, that instead of categorizing these two groups as “reactionaries and progressives” you could call them the creationists and the evolutionists (or perhaps scientists is a better, more all-encompassing term). These two views are characterized well in the two-model approach to the world espoused by this grassroots movement.
This approach sees things in only black and white, leaving out any possibility of an intermediate explanation. Creationists must discredit Charles Darwin, because when they do so it will prove special creation was the answer all along. But, they’re forgetting that there are fellow Christians that believe in theistic evolution, or that there are many other creation myths that could also be the answer. The academic freedom ID proponents are so fond of demanding would include these intermediate believes as well as the two extremes, and it would still include evolution. This argument is a categorical error; just because they believe it, doesn’t make it true. If you don’t believe in gravity, you don’t fall off the earth.
This mistake also plays out in the media representation of this debate. When reporters search for balanced treatment in stories concerning evolution, they alternately portray ID or creation ‘science,’ forgetting, or maybe not knowing, that the two are not scientifically equal. The politicization of this debate makes this sort of equal treatment unique to this subject, however, because you rarely see alternatives given when the report discusses quantum theory, astronomy, or thermodynamics. Raymo makes a valid point when he mentions that scientists are often inept at communicating their craft, at making clear why their research is important, or more specifically portraying it as important to humans and what we value. Humans want to know what science will be doing for them, despite the conflict this creates with their belief systems: “we warmly embrace the technological and medical fruits of science, but often hold religious beliefs that stand in flat-out contradiction to the scientific way of knowing” (7). Perhaps scientists, educators and the media need to focus on this way of knowing and give it the fair treatment that it so deserves rather than endlessly addressing the two extremes.
This may not happen though, as conflict is one of the best story-telling techniques, so comparing evolution and creationism, pitting Raymo’s Skeptics against his True Believers, makes for great copy. I would certainly agree when it comes to the books Summer for the Gods (Edward Larson, Basic Books, 1997) and Monkey Girl (Edward Humes, Ecco Books, 2007). This is an epic battle and portrayals of the players create ensuing conflict—it’s a writer’s dream, imaginations couldn’t come up with fodder this good. The nature of the two arguments, though, makes this an unending battle. Its like one is in fact imagination, the other truth; one has eons of believe on its side and the other centuries of empirical evidence. They argue apples and oranges, tom-ae-to/tom-ah-to, anthropocentric views versus natural phenomena. Most scientists (and most creationists too, I assume) don’t see how the two sides can reconcile, though Raymo has constructed a strong argument: “[n]one of the miracles I have been offered in my religious training were as impressively revealing of God’s power as the facts I was learning in science” (20). It should be the duty of scientists and the media (science writers, particularly) to convey these revealing facts, to foster understanding, to unearth this middle ground between the two approaches.
Raymo compares quantum physics to magic, miracles. I would have to disagree; nature is so much more extraordinary than any magic I have ever seen, and the explanations behind her phenomena so much more fantastic than any secrets magicians hide behind their capes. So, for me at least, a way of knowing the world is more incredible than any of the mere beliefs I have tried to understand, because “everything wonderful need not be true” (137). Even if it’s not true it can still be wonderful, you don’t have to disprove truth to convince someone of wonder.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Putting the "controversy" in context. Or not.
America wouldn’t be America without the freedoms it affords its citizens. This adage has been used to describe our country probably since its inception, and I doubt that anyone would argue this point with Ben Stein. After seeing his new documentary “Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed”, however, that may be the only unarguable point. I admit that as a zoologist and science enthusiast, I was biased going into the film, and I knew that it would get my hackles up. What surprised me though was that I found myself upset not just for the scientists that the film misrepresents—I expected that—but for someone who spends most of the movie preaching about freedom and free speech, Stein edited a lot of important information out of his film. For someone who espouses a movement asking for “equal time” for a religious theory in the science classroom he sure didn’t give science equal time in a movie to promote a religious theory. Not that I expected him to do so.
I could go on ad nauseum with my criticisms of this film, and my critiques of the standard anti-evolution arguments would take up pages themselves. I will leave that for another time, since they are becoming cliché anyhow. I have other criticisms, too, such as Stein’s stylistic choices. The footage of concentration camps and the Berlin Wall being erected as backdrops for his introduction to the “debate” were a bit overblown and, frankly, they aren’t fair comparisons, which becomes clear as the film drones on. The snippets of 1950’s propaganda films taken out of context between interviews with scientists made me weary. The references to the first amendment grew tiresome. The whining about the “witch hunt” that about a dozen scientists and journalists have had to endure—plus the “many more” who conveniently refused to speak on camera for fear of repercussions—was a purely rhetorical move to convince people who already believe that this battle between religion and science is proof of coming Armageddon. However, what I take most issue with is how a majority of those interviewed, as well as most of the arguments posed in the film, are out of context. Not that I didn’t expect this to be the case.
Stein interviews many scientists, including some who believe in Intelligent Design. He whines for them and with them about the persecution they have had to endure when they have tried to present ID research to scientific journals. Their articles aren’t accepted or printed, they were fired, they are now “black-listed”. This looks, to the casual or uneducated observer, like an injustice, like the big bad scientists are picking on the creationists yet again, but it is—shock!—taken out of context. What he predictably leaves out of these discussions is the fact that the research these scientists were presenting wasn’t science, and for that matter, he never explains why ID proponents think they have a scientific argument.
Stein also interviews evolutionary biologists and experts like Eugenie Scott from the National Center for Science Education (NCSE: www.ncseweb.org/). He allows them to explain that evolution by natural selection is a fact, but doesn’t let them describe that a fact in science has an airtight argument to support it, including empirical evidence that has been replicated in many experiments. He lets them try to explain the basics of the theory, but not the connotations that word carries in the scientific community. Stein even corners several scientists into saying that the more they learned about the theory of natural selection the less they believed in a creator. Scientists, by Stein’s conclusion (based on the 3-4 scientists who admitted this) are anti-God.
I expected to be irritated by the same tired arguments against evolution, the anti-atheistic attacks by the ID proponents, and even expected the scientists and science itself to be misrepresented. However, I was surprised by the misrepresentation of ID as well.
Perhaps misrepresentation is an overstatement, since the basis of the theory was never really elucidated from creationism. The chief experts on this position are The Discovery Institute in Seattle, WA, a “non-partisan public policy think-tank conducting research on technology, science and culture, economics, and foreign affairs” (www.discovery.org). They were key players in the anti-evolution court challenges in recent years, including the highly publicized Dover, PA trial. The crux of their “evidence” for an intelligent designer is the irreducible complexity in life and they are usually careful refer to this individual as a designer. It has always been my understanding that ID proponents work diligently to avoid using the terms Creator or creationism, so either that has changed or Stein is misrepresenting them as well. My friend, a non-scientist—yet not particularly religious either, said that she didn’t know much about ID going into the film, and she guessed she didn’t know much about it afterward. I actually felt myself getting angry for the Discovery Institute, who didn’t seem to get much face time in a movie based on ID. I most certainly did not expect this.
Despite the conclusions based on too-small sample size, the comparisons of scientists to Hitler, or the misrepresentation of the positions, I left the theatre less exasperated than I expected. I rolled my eyes at Stein’s inane attempts at humor, scoffed at his incessant whining, and all the while a Latin phrase was looping through my head: res ipsa loquitur (1). The movie wasn’t an attempt to explain the misunderstood underdogs who believe in Intelligent Design. Instead, like the propaganda films that act as filler and a poor attempt at humor, it was Stein’s diatribe against the establishment; a film meant to rally support from those who already see the world this way. Stein made a point of reiterating that America is free, there is freedom of speech and freedom of religion and freedom of press. He criticizes the scientific discipline for not letting people speak, but he leaves out the most important part: they weren’t speaking science. He should have worried less about the religious affiliations of scientists and more about how he looks like a hypocrite for editing the speakers in his own film. But really, in this never-ending argument between the natural and the supernatural, the believers and the non-believers, the thinkers and the non-thinkers, isn’t this to be expected?
1This literally means, "the thing itself speaks" but in general is translated "the thing speaks for itself" (www.wikipedia.com).
I could go on ad nauseum with my criticisms of this film, and my critiques of the standard anti-evolution arguments would take up pages themselves. I will leave that for another time, since they are becoming cliché anyhow. I have other criticisms, too, such as Stein’s stylistic choices. The footage of concentration camps and the Berlin Wall being erected as backdrops for his introduction to the “debate” were a bit overblown and, frankly, they aren’t fair comparisons, which becomes clear as the film drones on. The snippets of 1950’s propaganda films taken out of context between interviews with scientists made me weary. The references to the first amendment grew tiresome. The whining about the “witch hunt” that about a dozen scientists and journalists have had to endure—plus the “many more” who conveniently refused to speak on camera for fear of repercussions—was a purely rhetorical move to convince people who already believe that this battle between religion and science is proof of coming Armageddon. However, what I take most issue with is how a majority of those interviewed, as well as most of the arguments posed in the film, are out of context. Not that I didn’t expect this to be the case.
Stein interviews many scientists, including some who believe in Intelligent Design. He whines for them and with them about the persecution they have had to endure when they have tried to present ID research to scientific journals. Their articles aren’t accepted or printed, they were fired, they are now “black-listed”. This looks, to the casual or uneducated observer, like an injustice, like the big bad scientists are picking on the creationists yet again, but it is—shock!—taken out of context. What he predictably leaves out of these discussions is the fact that the research these scientists were presenting wasn’t science, and for that matter, he never explains why ID proponents think they have a scientific argument.
Stein also interviews evolutionary biologists and experts like Eugenie Scott from the National Center for Science Education (NCSE: www.ncseweb.org/). He allows them to explain that evolution by natural selection is a fact, but doesn’t let them describe that a fact in science has an airtight argument to support it, including empirical evidence that has been replicated in many experiments. He lets them try to explain the basics of the theory, but not the connotations that word carries in the scientific community. Stein even corners several scientists into saying that the more they learned about the theory of natural selection the less they believed in a creator. Scientists, by Stein’s conclusion (based on the 3-4 scientists who admitted this) are anti-God.
I expected to be irritated by the same tired arguments against evolution, the anti-atheistic attacks by the ID proponents, and even expected the scientists and science itself to be misrepresented. However, I was surprised by the misrepresentation of ID as well.
Perhaps misrepresentation is an overstatement, since the basis of the theory was never really elucidated from creationism. The chief experts on this position are The Discovery Institute in Seattle, WA, a “non-partisan public policy think-tank conducting research on technology, science and culture, economics, and foreign affairs” (www.discovery.org). They were key players in the anti-evolution court challenges in recent years, including the highly publicized Dover, PA trial. The crux of their “evidence” for an intelligent designer is the irreducible complexity in life and they are usually careful refer to this individual as a designer. It has always been my understanding that ID proponents work diligently to avoid using the terms Creator or creationism, so either that has changed or Stein is misrepresenting them as well. My friend, a non-scientist—yet not particularly religious either, said that she didn’t know much about ID going into the film, and she guessed she didn’t know much about it afterward. I actually felt myself getting angry for the Discovery Institute, who didn’t seem to get much face time in a movie based on ID. I most certainly did not expect this.
Despite the conclusions based on too-small sample size, the comparisons of scientists to Hitler, or the misrepresentation of the positions, I left the theatre less exasperated than I expected. I rolled my eyes at Stein’s inane attempts at humor, scoffed at his incessant whining, and all the while a Latin phrase was looping through my head: res ipsa loquitur (1). The movie wasn’t an attempt to explain the misunderstood underdogs who believe in Intelligent Design. Instead, like the propaganda films that act as filler and a poor attempt at humor, it was Stein’s diatribe against the establishment; a film meant to rally support from those who already see the world this way. Stein made a point of reiterating that America is free, there is freedom of speech and freedom of religion and freedom of press. He criticizes the scientific discipline for not letting people speak, but he leaves out the most important part: they weren’t speaking science. He should have worried less about the religious affiliations of scientists and more about how he looks like a hypocrite for editing the speakers in his own film. But really, in this never-ending argument between the natural and the supernatural, the believers and the non-believers, the thinkers and the non-thinkers, isn’t this to be expected?
1This literally means, "the thing itself speaks" but in general is translated "the thing speaks for itself" (www.wikipedia.com).
Raising my game
When I tell people that I my master’s degree will be in science writing, many ask what I will do with such an education. I often have difficulty answering, because, ironically, I have trouble articulating exactly what this degree means for me. Science is a passion for me; I left a successful career to earn a degree in zoology. However, it doesn’t interest other people as much, often because they don’t understand it or think they won’t (in that sense it’s like me with calculus). So, if I had to pinpoint what exactly it is I want this master’s education for it would be to learn how to write about science for non-scientists—for those people who think they will never understand it so they don’t try. This is a difficult endeavor, as not only do you have to know the science, but you have to walk the fine line between laying out basic facts in an interesting manner and “luring readers to raise their games” (Quammen 2004.).
I believe that one of the major problems with this task is the fact that many scientists, just like a majority of the general public, don’t know the history of the field. They also don’t understand the overlap not just between the sciences, but also between science and the humanities (which E.O. Wilson deftly tackles in Consilience, his thin volume on the continuum between arts, humanities and natural science). I’m learning that I too succumb to this ignorance. Fortunately, my graduate program requires me to design my own curriculum, and I chose this course in the history of science and scientific thinking to begin my credits. We do students—all students, not just undergraduate science majors—a disservice by not offering such a course.
With recent statistics such as nearly half of Americans not understanding, or wanting to learn about, evolution, Robin Dunbar is correct when he titled his book The Trouble with Science. He was also on target when, in the introduction, he said: “it seem to me that all these different phenomena share a common element: an information gap of disastrous proportions. Neither the proverbial man-in-the-street nor…views in the humanities have any real understanding of what scientists do or how science works” (Dunbar 7).
Dunbar spends his 189 pages outlining what he believes are the problems with science, but I think he has left out crucial parts of the equation. He rehashes old arguments that science is “spiritually corrosive” and that it “cannot really co-exist with anything” (9). He briefly discusses a history of the field, but in discussing how to define science, he loses me when he says that Newton didn’t do science when he developed the law of gravity. His reason? Because according to what we know now, Newton’s theories don’t tell us anything. To me, this is taking it out of context, because we have the ability to learn so much more today, with the help of supercomputers and electron microscopes and a myriad of other technologies that weren’t around when Newton was developing his theory, simply trying to explain the natural world. I have been trying to pinpoint just why Dunbar’s argument here is fallacious, but I am falling short, perhaps because it is just not a good argument.
Dunbar goes on to discuss the roots of science, or rather, if other species do “cookbook science.” Indeed, he is correct when he says that “being able to predict what is going to happen in order to be able to act in an appropriate way at the right moment is fundamental to survival” (58). However, I’m not convinced by his obtuse examples that what he describes isn’t just based in genetics, or that the behaviors don’t stem from adaptations in order to deal with the environment and simply survive. Certainly all animals make connections and learn these connections, which would behoove the animal if s/he wants to get her/his genes into the next generation—that’s survival. Science is a way of thinking, and I am not saying we are the only species to think this way, but it’s anthropomorphic to compare a way of thinking to the formal practice of science in which we engage. I do agree, “children behave as natural scientists,” though, especially because of the implications that has for education (particularly science education, which in our country is under duress at the moment) (114).
Dunbar also makes me long for the days when, like when Darwin was published, the “public at large” read his work, as well academics in non-science disciplines (135). It seems today, from the standpoint of science writers at least, that the public is only interested in specific stories: anecdotes about humans and animals interacting, medical mysteries, controversies and their backlashes, or science that only has personal relevance. How many people actually know the causes and rates of global warming? How many know how stem cells are really made, and how such research is conducted? My guess is not many, and in today’s world it is more important than ever to understand science and technology; nearly every aspect of our lives is affected.
I bring up the critiques of Dunbar’s book not because I think I can do better, but because if he lost me, someone who wants to read about the history of science and the intricacies of the discipline, he would lose other readers, and all of the points he made successfully will be wasted. Part of learning to be a good writer is honing the art of reading. I’m learning what to do in order to perfect my writing (insofar as one can perfect anything) while I am learning equally invaluable, possibly more valuable, lessons from the books that didn’t speak to me. Joan Didion has been quoted as saying she writes for the “woman on the bus.” It is she, as well as the “proverbial man-in-the-street” that science writers need to reach in order to educate the public at large, not just the people who already know how it works (7). As E.O. Wilson said, “science should be poetry, poetry science” (in Consilience).
Dunbar, Robin. 1995. The Trouble with Science. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 213 pages.
Quammen, David. 2004. “Was Darwin Wrong?” National Geographic, November 2004.
Wilson, E.O. 1998. Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge. New York, N.Y.: Vintage Books. 355 pages.
I believe that one of the major problems with this task is the fact that many scientists, just like a majority of the general public, don’t know the history of the field. They also don’t understand the overlap not just between the sciences, but also between science and the humanities (which E.O. Wilson deftly tackles in Consilience, his thin volume on the continuum between arts, humanities and natural science). I’m learning that I too succumb to this ignorance. Fortunately, my graduate program requires me to design my own curriculum, and I chose this course in the history of science and scientific thinking to begin my credits. We do students—all students, not just undergraduate science majors—a disservice by not offering such a course.
With recent statistics such as nearly half of Americans not understanding, or wanting to learn about, evolution, Robin Dunbar is correct when he titled his book The Trouble with Science. He was also on target when, in the introduction, he said: “it seem to me that all these different phenomena share a common element: an information gap of disastrous proportions. Neither the proverbial man-in-the-street nor…views in the humanities have any real understanding of what scientists do or how science works” (Dunbar 7).
Dunbar spends his 189 pages outlining what he believes are the problems with science, but I think he has left out crucial parts of the equation. He rehashes old arguments that science is “spiritually corrosive” and that it “cannot really co-exist with anything” (9). He briefly discusses a history of the field, but in discussing how to define science, he loses me when he says that Newton didn’t do science when he developed the law of gravity. His reason? Because according to what we know now, Newton’s theories don’t tell us anything. To me, this is taking it out of context, because we have the ability to learn so much more today, with the help of supercomputers and electron microscopes and a myriad of other technologies that weren’t around when Newton was developing his theory, simply trying to explain the natural world. I have been trying to pinpoint just why Dunbar’s argument here is fallacious, but I am falling short, perhaps because it is just not a good argument.
Dunbar goes on to discuss the roots of science, or rather, if other species do “cookbook science.” Indeed, he is correct when he says that “being able to predict what is going to happen in order to be able to act in an appropriate way at the right moment is fundamental to survival” (58). However, I’m not convinced by his obtuse examples that what he describes isn’t just based in genetics, or that the behaviors don’t stem from adaptations in order to deal with the environment and simply survive. Certainly all animals make connections and learn these connections, which would behoove the animal if s/he wants to get her/his genes into the next generation—that’s survival. Science is a way of thinking, and I am not saying we are the only species to think this way, but it’s anthropomorphic to compare a way of thinking to the formal practice of science in which we engage. I do agree, “children behave as natural scientists,” though, especially because of the implications that has for education (particularly science education, which in our country is under duress at the moment) (114).
Dunbar also makes me long for the days when, like when Darwin was published, the “public at large” read his work, as well academics in non-science disciplines (135). It seems today, from the standpoint of science writers at least, that the public is only interested in specific stories: anecdotes about humans and animals interacting, medical mysteries, controversies and their backlashes, or science that only has personal relevance. How many people actually know the causes and rates of global warming? How many know how stem cells are really made, and how such research is conducted? My guess is not many, and in today’s world it is more important than ever to understand science and technology; nearly every aspect of our lives is affected.
I bring up the critiques of Dunbar’s book not because I think I can do better, but because if he lost me, someone who wants to read about the history of science and the intricacies of the discipline, he would lose other readers, and all of the points he made successfully will be wasted. Part of learning to be a good writer is honing the art of reading. I’m learning what to do in order to perfect my writing (insofar as one can perfect anything) while I am learning equally invaluable, possibly more valuable, lessons from the books that didn’t speak to me. Joan Didion has been quoted as saying she writes for the “woman on the bus.” It is she, as well as the “proverbial man-in-the-street” that science writers need to reach in order to educate the public at large, not just the people who already know how it works (7). As E.O. Wilson said, “science should be poetry, poetry science” (in Consilience).
Dunbar, Robin. 1995. The Trouble with Science. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 213 pages.
Quammen, David. 2004. “Was Darwin Wrong?” National Geographic, November 2004.
Wilson, E.O. 1998. Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge. New York, N.Y.: Vintage Books. 355 pages.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Trying to be a science writer
Everyone who knows me knows I am a voracious reader. At any given time I can have anywhere from two to five or so books in progress, though I am sure there are times that the number is higher. These books can cover subjects as diverse as macroevolution in the mammalian lineage, the evolutionary basis for play behavior in animals, or whatever organism I happen to be obsessed with that week. They cover history, literary periods like the Harlem Renaissance and non-fiction essays on anything from atheism to theology. I immerse myself in novels and often have to make deals with myself to read a certain number of books before I buy more. It rarely works.
Everyone who knows me knows I am passionate about science. I left a successful social work career in order to pursue my curiosity, and after finally getting a bachelor's in zoology I surprised many people by entering graduate school for science writing. It didn't surprise me at all, as writing is a natural extension of reading, and I love to share my opinions, whether or not anyone wants to listen.
Most wanted to know why I didn't just go to graduate school for science. There are academic reasons, like the fact that I can't pass calculus to save my life, but I found the perfect answer in Natalie Angier's book The Canon: A Whirligig Tour of the Basics of Science (2007, Houghton Mifflin):
"...What's your point with these intellectual hybridization experiments, anyway?"
"I don't know," I said. "I like science. I trust it. It makes me feel optimistic. It adds rigor to my life."
He asked why I didn't just become a scientist. I told him I didn't want to ruin a beautiful affair by getting married. Besides, I wouldn't be a very good scientist, and I knew it.
So you'll be a professional dilettante, he said.
Close enough. I became a science writer. (page 4)
So Ms. Angier was a writing student with a science obsession, whereas I was a science student with a writing obsession. I couldn't have said it better myself, and no one who knows me would argue with the fact that I want to be a "professional dilettante" (though most would probably insert the word "student" for "dilettante"). So here I am , trying to be a science writer.
Everyone who knows me knows I am passionate about science. I left a successful social work career in order to pursue my curiosity, and after finally getting a bachelor's in zoology I surprised many people by entering graduate school for science writing. It didn't surprise me at all, as writing is a natural extension of reading, and I love to share my opinions, whether or not anyone wants to listen.
Most wanted to know why I didn't just go to graduate school for science. There are academic reasons, like the fact that I can't pass calculus to save my life, but I found the perfect answer in Natalie Angier's book The Canon: A Whirligig Tour of the Basics of Science (2007, Houghton Mifflin):
"...What's your point with these intellectual hybridization experiments, anyway?"
"I don't know," I said. "I like science. I trust it. It makes me feel optimistic. It adds rigor to my life."
He asked why I didn't just become a scientist. I told him I didn't want to ruin a beautiful affair by getting married. Besides, I wouldn't be a very good scientist, and I knew it.
So you'll be a professional dilettante, he said.
Close enough. I became a science writer. (page 4)
So Ms. Angier was a writing student with a science obsession, whereas I was a science student with a writing obsession. I couldn't have said it better myself, and no one who knows me would argue with the fact that I want to be a "professional dilettante" (though most would probably insert the word "student" for "dilettante"). So here I am , trying to be a science writer.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Correction
I need to correct the title of the book in my last post. As I was putting it back on the shelf, I realized I got the subtitle incorrect. It should read The Canon: A Whirligig Tour of the Beautiful Basics of Science.
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