Science and the arts are partners in the messy search for truth. The spirit of seeking knowledge and exploration is precious to both disciplines.
Once I was a researcher in a white coat surrounded by test tubes, chemicals and fruit flies. I was delving into the mystery of how the mushy fruit fly egg turns into an exquisitely sculpted fly. Now, I've traded the laboratory bench for the laptop. I write about science as a journalist and book author.
It's a personal journey that invites musing on the relationship between science and the arts. The cliché is that science and the arts are alien cultures: one reveres the objective, the other, the subjective. We often divide human endeavours into belonging to one or other camp. Analysing the chemistry of wine is science. But blending it is an art: it cannot be reduced to a formula.
Some artists deride science for its formulaic reduction of the world: The American author Saul Bellow lamented "science shines a blinding light on us." And of course the fact that science is formulaic and reductive is only the beginning of its sins. The Frankenstein myth dies hard. Since Mary Shelley's novel in 1817, Frankenstein has been reincarnated in every new technology, be it test-tube babies, cloning, nuclear energy, GM crops or synthetic bacteria.
But the cultural divide is not where my musing leads; rather it leads to the similarities between science and the arts. For starters, the cultural chasm is a relatively new thing. Learned men and women of the past – such as Shakespeare and Da Vinci – were often educated in both the arts and sciences.
Cultural crossover
Personally, I trace my awareness of the cultural crossover to a visit to the Washington D.C. offices of the U.S. journal and news magazine Science. Each week the journalists do a stellar job reporting breaking news in the world of science. I'd assumed these illustrious reporters would be former scientists. I was surprised to find that about half of them had a background in the arts, particularly English.
How could English graduates write for scientists, I wondered? A friend of mine who is an English professor was not surprised at all. She reminded me that scientific method is second nature to an essayist. An essay involves the framing of a hypothesis and supporting or refuting it with evidence. Indeed in my recent googling, I discovered that Francis Bacon, the father of the scientific method, is also the father of the English Essay.
When I wrote my first book Stem cells: controversy at the frontiers of science, I experienced another revelation of the homology between science and art. For me, the book represented a metamorphosis from reporter to writer. Starting from an overwhelming heap of scientific information, I tried to sculpt a story of scientific discovery featured with vivid characters and compelling plots. It was maddening to me that I could never write a chapter without going through a half-blind drafting process.
Only after the ninth or tenth draft did the form of the story present itself. By the time I was on my 7th chapter, I was feeling utterly disgusted at my ineptitude. And I happened to be reading Julian Barnes History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters because it was on my son's high school English curriculum.
In one chapter, Barnes describes how the 19th century French painter Gericault painted the Raft of the Medusa. He locked himself in his garret, shaved his head, and painted dozens and dozens of iterations. Just as I was thinking, "why am I bothering to read this boring stuff?" the penny dropped. Gericault could not extract his final vision without moving through this half-blind process. Neither could I. I forgave myself – it seems creative endeavours often have to move through this semi-blind, iterative process.
Fundamental similarities
And so back to science. I see a fundamental similarity in the processes of art and science. They both search for truth through a process of messy exploration. And the language of truth has a recognisable ring to it: It's replete with shades of grey and endless qualifications – it's not always easy to follow, as the erudite one sometimes disappears down a rabbit hole following his or her diversions.
But the spirit of truth seeking and exploration is precious to both disciplines.
Today I see the spirit of science under attack from all sides. More than 400 years since the time of Francis Bacon, it seems the public really has little understanding of the nature of science. For instance, in the stem cell debate, scientists wanted a loosening of the strictures on embryo research, to allow them to explore a new frontier: to discover how embryonic stem cells mould themselves into organs. Clearly a rich frontier whose bounty could provide new treatments for the multitude of diseases that result from deteriorating organs.
For some people, personal mores prevent them from countenancing this research; that is to be respected. But often the public debate was not about personal mores. Opponents argued that this route of discovery would not yield any medical benefits but that an alternative route would: using stem cells from a person's own bone marrow. One might as well have argued with Christopher Columbus. The point is: one cannot know the results of exploration ahead of time. That is why scientific research is done.
Science has also been savaged in the global warming debate. The measured language of science has been used as an excuse to dismiss it. The logic goes: scientists are not sure, so let's not worry about it. Or, if some scientists dissent from the view that man-made emissions are the cause of global warming, then that becomes a reason to discredit science.
Process of discovery
But the fact of the matter is that science is not a purveyor of absolute truth: it is a process of discovery where competing theories are par for the course. Eventually some of them are proved wrong. And so far, the man-made theory of global warming is holding up the best. The latest Intergovernmental Panel Report on Climate Change put a greater than 90 per cent probability on global warming being due to human activity. That was up from an estimated of 66 per cent probability in their 2001 report.
Not only do people fail to grasp the nature of science, they label things as science when they aren't. The book: The Secret, is now top of the NY Times bestseller list. This medieval mystical nonsense proclaims that there is an attractive force between one's desires and their object. It's true that some theories in science like relativity and extra dimensions sound very way out. But that doesn't mean that anything way out is science.
In medieval times, science was about plucking ideas from your own mind. Today, we expect scientific theories to be based on the laws of physics. If not, there needs to be some very compelling mathematic model, some very compelling evidence to support it, and ultimately a major revision to the laws of physics.
Few readers will have worked in laboratories trying to wrest the secrets of the universe with their bare hands, but most will have used the scientific method at some time in their studies. As citizens of a complex, fast-changing and often irrational world, we all need to understand and nurture the precious spirit of science.
Elizabeth Finkel is a Melbourne science writer, a contributing editor of Cosmos and the author of Stem Cells: Controversy on the Frontiers of Science.
Organic vs chemical farming
In regards to Elizabeth Finkel's assertions about organic food, I would like to refer you to an article by David R. Davis, PhD in Journal of the American College of Nutrition. Dr. Davis studied the levels of vitamins and minerals in crops for 50 years. He documented that the levels of these nutrients had dropped considerably due to use of fertilizers and overuse of the land.
Organic gardens [after a number of years of soil building ] have not experienced that same lose.