Essay 11: On Science

Like politics and business, science seems to be one of those subjects that everyone appreciates, yet has little actual knowledge of; they have no qualms praising to the sky its clear utility, and yet it does not in the slightest cause a burning desire in them to know the why behind how the technology they use actually works. No knowledge of communication services, how vaccines protect people from deadly diseases, how the internet works, etc. And this isn't even to mention the sheer dearth in knowledge, in even the most elementary and passing acquaintance with the queen of all sciences, mathematics. Yes, I call math a science, as that is in keeping with what the original definition was. Samuel Johnson defined it in five different ways, but the very first definition he gave was more or less reducing the word to a synonym of knowledge; and the fourth definition he gave (which is in the sense I meant) is that of "Any art or species of knowledge." Johnson then goes on to quote Shakespeare and Hooker, two of the most sublime English quotations I have read regarding this great word, and thus must provide them for the sake of your enjoyment:

"No science doth make known the first principles, whereon it buildeth; but they are always taken as plain and manifest in themselves, or as proved and granted already, some former knowledge having made them evident."

• Hooker

"I present you with a man
Cunning in musick and the mathematicks,
To instruct her fully in those sciences."

• Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

Science as we know it today—more or less a subject that encompasses so many topics, many of which did not exist in the past century—has become a byword for those interested in the study of the natural world. But in past ages, it would have been legitimate to call a poet a scientist, for they have eyes just as good as the inquisitor of nature—the man who resembles Francis Bacon or Isaac Newton—with his tools and measurements, finely tuned for the most accurate assessment of physical phenomena. And yet, as Goethe noted over two centuries ago, these men and women, with their love of truth and facts, do not come any closer to truly understanding science than the child who gazes upon the rainbow for the first time. I, of course, mean this in a phenomenological sense—the essence of experience itself cannot be subject to the methodological naturalism of the empiricist. Facts about reality and how we perceive such facts are two different extrapolations of the same conclusion.

This is what Goethe pointed out in his Theory of Colors, standing firm and tall in all his grace and beauty against Newton, who was more revered as a god then than he is now. Goethe pointed out that while Newton was content to say light was a spectrum that vibrates at different frequencies, Goethe questioned why we perceive it differently in various lighting conditions and how our moods affect it so. He argued that color was not inherent to light; rather, it arose from its interaction with the environment. You see, this here is the clear difference between the poet and the scientist in how they view reality: they have different presuppositions that restrict the kind of questions they can ask. In science, one is supposed to observe some phenomenon and ask in what way that thing occurs (not why, but how); whereas to the poet, the artist, the free spirit—we who appreciate things for the joy or dread they make us feel—we ask how this thing affects us so. This is the concern for the artist, not the scientist, not the one interested in uncovering the mystery that lay hidden beneath our ignorance.

And it’s also amazing to relate that the history of science more or less coincides perfectly with our advancement of civilization. I would argue here that science is the single most important subject in the history of the world in terms of improving the conditions of our existence. Nothing comes close to literature when it comes to our spiritual fulfillment and necessary contemplative exercises, but when it comes to quality of life, health, and societal prosperity, I want nothing but science and its grand facts of reality—which change the way we go about living as a species. Look at how far we have come from our first three great accomplishments: speech, writing, and fire. From these, we have gone on to produce weapons that could destroy the whole earth many times over, we have cured diseases, we have restored hearing to the deaf, we can perform brain surgery without the patient dying, we have supply chains that feed billions of people each day. Dear lord, do I have to go on describing all the good that has come from our fruitful endeavors into science: the technology I am using now, the servers that allow my words to be posted onto Substack and read by like-minded free spirits, who understand what I say and appreciate what I think—all these things occurring in the background for the sake of our own amusement and pleasure. I don’t know a better time to be alive than now; so far we have come, and so far we are going to be.

But the question then is raised, what shall we writers and kindred spirits do, given that we have no inclination to dedicate ourselves to science or make advancements in it? I say this: hold the view that Schopenhauer and Goethe did, that science is a part of culture, and should thus be cultivated within you. You should strive to have a basic grasp of the technical aspects of reality, and how they work. All of modern psychology, for instance, runs a fine line between the scientific and the subjective (emotional), and so too does philosophy; find an avenue by which you may divert your attention to the physical reality of the world, so that you may better grasp it. I myself got interested in studying mathematics because I liked the application it had to solving real-world problems; from there, I studied physics very assiduously, and from that, I was introduced to literature by coming across the history of science and studying the biographies of many of its contributors. One, in particular, to whom I am forever indebted: Gerolamo Cardano, the man whose autobiography (The Book of My Life) made me see that there were other subjects that touch reality that don't necessarily find themselves in a particle physics textbook. From reading that great book, I fell in love with prose and good literature—and here I am two years later, writing to you in the most elegant, albeit at times tedious and boring, manner I can muster. I hope I have given you my thoughts on so great a subject as science as best I could.

But to return, yes, my fellow student of life, attempt as best you can to study science, gain a deep appreciation of the world, for so much more joy, beauty, and wisdom is to be found in reality, and in your thoughts concerning it, than anywhere else. It is a poor poet who laments the facts of reality, thinking they somehow remove the awe and beauty that is there; I think, on the contrary, there is nothing in discovery that requires you to quit the excitement that such a natural occurrence inspires within you. Think of all the sunsets and full moons that we—mankind—have missed, only for us millions of years later to appreciate them; in no way does this diminish the grandeur of consciousness and the fact that we have the faculties to experience anything in the first place. This is the awe that is within us all, the twilight of our ignorance, eclipsed by the truth of revelation through patience and scientific inquiry. The scientific method, the repetition of experiments—already proven centuries ago—all for the sake of self-discovery, that thing for which mankind is thoroughly inclined and approves of lovingly. I hope, dear spirit and reader—gentle and kind as you are—to continue on your path of excellence; to never stop looking up, to never stop wondering how, to question why this is so, and to seek answers wherever you may find them, for there lies a truth that no one, not even yourself, is ready for; and yet it will come upon you and enrapture you forever until you understand what greatness truly is, and never will you return to your wicked ways. Stay true to yourself, realize that science answers the how, philosophy and literature the why (never confuse them), and that life is to be played out as a tightrope walk between the two. For that is what makes man great, that he is able to remain steadfast in his love for existence despite all the misery that may be thrown at him, the resilience he builds from his endurance, the grandeur he feels towards his loved ones; this is where he may, for the first time, realize that all is good, so long as advancements are continuing to be made, and that the spirit of science lives on not only within himself but in others as well. The day science comes under attack, truth dies; and so it is incumbent upon us all (even the writer and artist who never loved math or science in school) to, if not learn it, at least appreciate what it offers us in terms of utility and increased productivity. Stay firm in such tight and narrow circumstances, and you shall find yourself in a world of understanding that is unlike any other bliss in the world.