Are you one of those people who dislikes science because of what you think
it does to the "mystery" of the world? Do you think that it somehow diminishes
people to try to "explain" their behaviour or that it "takes away the beauty
of the rainbow" to talk about light rays passing through water droplets?
If you are, can I ask you to pause just for a moment and very briefly allow
your mind to entertain the opposite view, perhaps one that will strike you
as utterly preposterous and even repugnant? You can, if you like, think of
yourself as being like the captured prince in
C. S. Lewis's story The Silver
Chair-the one who had to be tied down every evening at six o'clock because,
for an unpleasant few minutes, he had hallucinations and then recovered and
was perfectly normal for the next twenty-four hours. The hallucinations will
not last long, in other words. You are quite safe. Just five minutes of raging
lunacy is all you are in for.
The utterly preposterous idea is this: Explaining something in a scientific
way does not diminish it. It enhances it. Let me tell you why. Understanding
how things work, even your own brain, has a grandeur and a glory that no
nonscientific explanation can come anywhere near.
I do not, of course, expect you to accept this without question. But I do
ask that you start by thinking of something reasonable and not scientific
at all-like, say, Abraham Lincoln. Ask yourself whether it enhances or diminishes
your view of his achievement when you remember that he was "nothing but"
a country-born, self-taught lawyer. Then ask yourself which you admire most:
someone who starts from an unpromising background and achieves great things
by his own efforts and personality, or someone who comes from a wealthy and
powerful family and achieves high office because he has an influential father.
I would be surprised if Abraham Lincoln didn't come out of that comparison
very well. Saying he is "nothing but" a backwoodsman doesn't get rid of him
that easily.
Next, try the pyramids. Does it diminish the
achievements of the ancient Egyptians to say that they built them with "nothing
but" the crudest of tools and measuring instruments? My own sense of awe
and admiration for them only went up when I realised that they moved gigantic
blocks of stone with no wheeled vehicles and that they built the pyramids
with perfectly square bases using "nothing but" lengths of
knotted cord and stakes in the ground. Even the
slightest error would have led to the whole structure being hopelessly out
of shape, and yet there they remain to this day-phenomenal feats of engineering
and nearly perfect shapes. "Nothing but" simple equipment becomes "anything
but" a mean achievement.
Perhaps by now you can see what I am getting at. If you look at a rainbow
and then someone tells you how it comes about, why should you say that "they
have ruined it" by turning it into "nothing but" a trick of light and
water? Why not say the opposite? Out of the utterly
unpromising raw material of drops of water and the laws of refraction has
come something so beautiful that it spans the sky and inspires poets to write
about it.
And if you look at animals and plants and all the
extraordinary structures and behaviour they have, why reject a scientific
explanation of how they got here on the grounds that it makes them "nothing
but" the products of a blind evolutionary process? You could instead turn
and face the full grandeur of the implications of what that process implies.
The bird that builds a nest and brings food to its young may be "nothing
but" the result of evolution by natural selection.
But what a result! Birds, just like us, owe their existence to instructions
carried on DNA molecules. The scientists in
Jurassic Park who grew dinosaurs out of DNA molecules that were found
in preserved blood were on the right track, even though nobody has yet done
this in practice. DNA molecules do indeed carry the instructions for building
all kinds of bodies-dinosaurs, birds, giant sequoias, and even human beings.
And the molecules do not stop there. Every breath you take, every extra second
you remain alive depends on hundreds of chemical reactions all taking place
at the right time. Life would be impossible, for instance, if the body did
not have a constant source of energy-and that energy comes from molecules
such as glucose. Glucose can provide energy, because the three different
sorts of atoms that make it up- carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen-are kept together
by energy-rich links between the atoms, called chemical bonds. If some of
these bonds are then broken so that the large glucose molecule is split into
smaller molecules of water and carbon dioxide, the energy that was once used
to hold the whole glucose molecule together is then released. So the body
plunders the molecules by breaking them up and steals their energy to keep
itself going. It could do nothing unless it was constantly fuelled by this
energy. It would grind to a halt, lifeless and inert. You could not move
a muscle or think a thought without this constant molecular smashing that
your body does and without the energy from the broken molecules being transported
by yet other molecules to the places where it is needed. The bird could not
build its nest and we could not watch it or wonder why it did so. Molecules
have gone far, considering that they are "nothing but" molecules.
There! The few minutes of hallucination are up. I'll untie you now and you
can go back to thinking that scientific explanations diminish and belittle
everything they touch. There is just one thing, though. The prince in C.
S. Lewis's story had rather an unusual sort of hallucination. For those few
minutes each day, he suffered from the vivid delusion that there was something
beyond the dark underground kingdom in which he had been living. He really
believed- poor demented soul-that there was something called sunlight and
a place where the sky was blue and there could be a fresh breeze on his cheek.
But that was only for a few minutes. And then it passed.
MARIAN STAMP DAWKINS
has a lifelong interest in what the worlds of different animals are like-that
is, not just in what they can see, hear, or smell, but in what they know
about their worlds and, above all, in whether they
are conscious of what they are doing. At the same time, she firmly believes
that answers to these issues should come not from anthropomorphism but from
scientific research and, in particular, from studies of animal behaviour.
Much of her own research has been concerned with animal welfare and, in
particular, with the problem of whether animals can experience
"suffering." She has published extensively in this
field, including the book Animal Suffering: The Science of Animal
Welfare. She has also written Unravelling Animal Behaviour and
An Introduction to Animal Behaviour (with Aubrey Manning). Most recently,
she published Through Our Eyes Only? The Search for Animal
Consciousness. Her current research concerns the
evolution of animal
signals, how birds recognise each other as individuals, and
why the fish on coral
reefs are so brightly coloured. She holds a university research lectureship
in the Department of Zoology at Oxford
University and is a fellow of Somerville College.
Further Reading
How Things Are: A Science Toolkit for the Mind |
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