Dedication
To my children, Sarah and John Eliot.
"You must go on.
I can't go on.
I'll go on."
Samuel Beckett
The Unnamable, 1953
Credits
Copy Editor: Carolyn Holleyman
Cover and Photograph of Author: Sarah R. Beerbower
Cover painting: Armand Henrion (1875-1958), from the author’s
collection.
Preface
The perspective of this book differs from that of most books that one would find in the popular science section of a library or bookshop. I do not undertake to surprise or educate the reader with examples of the marvelous discoveries of science and the amazing things that we have come to learn about the world around us. Instead, and of more importance, I try to show the reader what we do not know, illustrating both the scope and the depth of our ignorance.
I have been tempted to think that at least the broad brush strokes of what I have to say here are already largely familiar to or known by most well-educated persons today. Of course, if that were the case, then there would be little point in my writing it all down. However, I am pretty confident that it is not the case. In my youth, I attended three of the English-speaking world’s most elite institutions of higher education. I did not learn these things. Admittedly, I did get an introduction and enough exposure to pique my interest and continuing curiosity (and to bring me back to this undertaking some 40 years later). But, I should have learned these things at university. What we do not know should be an integral part of a meaningful education.
Given some of the themes that will be developed in the pages that follow, it seems appropriate right up front to address one obvious question: why do I think that I am qualified to address the matters set forth herein?
It is certainly a fair question, and it is one on which I have pondered at length, especially when considering alternative and less frustrating ways to spend my time than writing the many words that follow. I have answered the question to my own satisfaction, as follows:
As an undergraduate majoring in economics at Amherst College, I took a particular interest in methodological questions arising in the social sciences, leading me deeply into the philosophy of science. I continued that interest as a post-graduate research student at the University of Cambridge. Thereafter, at the Harvard Law School, I studied the concepts of causation, evidence and proof, as well as the nature of laws—subjects just as integral to jurisprudence as to the philosophy of science. Indeed, the historical intellectual interrelationships between law and the relevant areas of philosophy are extensive. In addition, for over 50 years, I have been an avid reader of popularized science (biology, paleontology, physics, astrophysics, cosmology, genetics, evolution, mathematics). Many of the hundreds of books I have read were written by leading scientists in their fields as attempts to explain their science to the intelligent lay reader.
I also spent 35 years as a trial lawyer. Apart from deepening my understanding of the subjects studied in law school, how is that professional experience relevant? Well, I quickly learned in my practice four things that I think apply very clearly to the subjects that I address herein.
There are always at least two sides to every issue. Every issue.
Disputes of fact are very often genuine (there is no clearly correct version).
"Truth” itself is relative and a matter of degree.
Advocacy and presentation matter.
Also, as a trial lawyer, I had years of practice interviewing and examining witnesses and extensive experience with the use of experts and of expertise to “prove” factual propositions or to persuade an audience to reach the desired conclusions, with the use of logic to promote or rebut positions and with the assemblage and presentation of evidence. Although it was not always apparent at the time, looking back, I see the direct relationship between my professional experiences and some of the central issues in the philosophy and methodology of science (as well as, of course, in the politics and techniques of scientific advocacy).
As will become clear, my guiding prejudice in undertaking this project, and one of the beliefs to which I hope to convert the reader in the pages that follow, is that non-scientists can achieve valuable insights into and make constructive critiques of the developments that occur in the continuing quest for scientific knowledge, even of developments in the more difficult and technical areas of exploration. Thus, the writing of this book constitutes an effort to establish that my prejudice is, indeed, defensible. In other words, one of the arguments that I am advancing herein is that someone like me is capable of doing something like this. I hope that the demonstration is persuasive.
I am concerned about what I see in our age of specialization as a tendency toward a tyranny of expertise and a related misuse of science. Because the scientists know so much complicated, highly technical details, lay opinions are presumed likely to be wrong or, in any event, irrelevant.
One consequence of this feeling is apathy; another is withdrawal. Given the ever present and universal human temptation to take the easy road–to avoid confrontation and strenuous effort, both physical and mental; it is truly unfortunate that those individuals with the intellectual capability and natural inquisitiveness to understand scientific and technical issues should be deterred from even trying by the supposed superiority of the experts.
I do not mean, either, to suggest that this tyranny is something that is imposed on the public by the experts. It is just in the air.
In fact, I do not think that the experts have taken the lead in promoting this tyranny, except where religion is involved. Many scientists have expressed dismay at the public hostility and some have concluded that the solution is better education of the public about the science involved. Nonetheless, I think that part of the ongoing problem is the patronizing or scornful attitude displayed by some scientists toward the public; many experts show disdain for the opinions of the general public or simply refuse even to acknowledge such opinions as worth inclusion in the debate. It is also not helpful for scientists to fail to realize that public policy is much more than science and that that would be true even if the science were “certain.” Indeed, many valid policy differences have been reduced to a supposed conflict between those who embrace science and those who deny it. (Yet, only the most naïve would refuse to acknowledge that the more vocal proponents on each side would readily switch positions with respect to the authority of science if the implications of the science in question were to be reversed.)
It is important for the lay person to realize how much scientists do not know about even their own areas of expertise and to keep clearly in mind the limited application of what they do know to areas outside their own specialties. Engaged citizens need to recognize that scientists’ views on most things are pretty much as likely to be wrong as those of anyone else and that scientists’ opinions on, for example, matters of public policy should not matter more than the opinions of persons of reasonable intelligence and common sense. At the same time, in policy debates and general discourse, the scientist must not be dismissive of views just because they are expressed by non-experts. And, in the pursuit of science, the scientist must always be open to the possibility that he or she—and the authorities that preceded them—are wrong. In short, it is equally