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Edward O. WilsonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Without science, humans are forced to guess about the mysteries of the natural world. With science, humanity has learned a prodigious amount about how the universe works and how to make use of that knowledge. Science is a set of techniques of thought and tools of measurement that uncover aspects of nature previously unimagined. Through science, visible light has been found to be a mere sliver of the electromagnetic spectrum of radiant energies that pour down onto the earth, allowing humans to observe subatomic particles and the birth of distant stars. Visual and auditory signals that only animals can sense—high-frequency sounds emitted by bats to locate their prey, electric fields generated by fish to sense their way through dark oceans, and many other examples—have been detected and used to study creatures and their perceptions.
This great variety of sensory capabilities arises because animals have evolved to use precisely the information receptors they need to survive in their specific environments. For humans, three factors prepare the way to venture past evolved needs and abilities to invent civilizations that lead to scientific discoveries: human curiosity, the ability to abstract general principles from nature, and the invention of mathematics, which mirrors nature with uncanny precision, providing accurate answers to anyone regardless of cultural origin or gender.
The equations of particle physics have enabled scientists to predict certain characteristics of electrons to within one part in 100 billion. The development of microscopes has made it possible to see things too small for the unaided eye, from the first bacteria observed in the late 1600s to images 1 million times smaller of molecules, including DNA. Scientists have ventured further into the microscopic, building nanotechnology machines a few molecules in size, etching gigabytes of data onto tiny metal pins, and timing precisely the speed of chemical reactions by observing the tiny flashes of light given off as atoms bond. Researchers have learned how to assemble thin layers of molecules, a first step on the path to the manufacture of living cells.
These advances require theories that make sense of the data so it can be organized usefully to predict and manipulate physical things. Theories and claims abound, some of them wild and unproven, on how the world works, but only scientific theories are made to be shot down, “to be tested in the acid washes of skepticism, experiments, and the claims of rival theories" (57). This gives them their power, as only those theories that survive rigorous trials, and still accurately fit the data, can make predictions and lead to further discoveries. Theories must be simple, measurable, repeatable, generative of further theories, and consistent, or consilient, with related theories. Unlike pseudosciences—astrology, creation science, ufology, and the like—the natural sciences, such as astronomy and biomedicine, fulfill all the criteria within their theoretical frameworks.
The chief method of science is reductionism, or taking apart natural phenomena to discover their building blocks. Some criticize this as a mere obsession with tiny details, but scientists sift those details to tease out the basic principles that can explain the complexities. The goal of the various sciences is "to fold the laws and principles of each level of organization into those at more general, hence more fundamental levels” (60). Science is hard to do, and most of its new ideas are wrong. The Holy Grail of science is to make a fundamental discovery; researchers who don’t are considered also-rans; those who don’t but write eloquently about their science may be widely admired among scholars and the public but lightly regarded by scientists.
While most scientists stay near the shore of the ocean of science, the best swim out toward deep water, combining personal confidence with the willingness to take risks for the sake of major discoveries. Naturalists have hunters’ instincts, searching the wilds of nature or the cells under a microscope for new finds. Mathematical minds develop equations that explain phenomena, and then they suggest to experimentalists research paths that might confirm or disprove the math. Most science is built bit by bit; few discoveries are as monumental as evolution or relativity. As evidence piles up, successful theories go "from ‘interesting’ to ‘suggestive’ to ‘persuasive’” and finally to “compelling” and “obvious” (64). Yet, there is no single way to prove a hypothesis so that it becomes a theory, and many scientists believe there never will be a unitary method.
Others, including Wilson, argue that objective truth exists and that an objective way to determine that truth also exists, one that can cut through the foibles, fallacies, superstitions, prejudices, and other vagaries of human thought. Chief among the candidates is logical positivism, which, from the 1920s, has sought a strict and logical language of truth that can be applied universally to all statements. Another is mathematics, with its closed deductive system that contains many equations that describe natural phenomena and can serve as rigorous test beds for new theories. Positivism has collapsed mainly because humans don’t yet have an adequate theory of how the human mind works. Science is a creative project, and creativity is messy and doesn't conform easily to a set of rigorous principles. A more thorough study of the human mind and brain may reveal secrets about thought processes and lead to a more accurate description of how truth is found and verified.
Physical sciences are difficult, but even harder and more complex are the social sciences and the humanities. The challenge is to bring them into the realm of logic, evidence, and proof. The story of Theseus and the minotaur serve as a symbol of this quest. Theseus ties one end of a ball of yarn to a rock and unreels the ball as he descends in to the minotaur’s labyrinth. Theseus locates the minotaur and slays it in battle, then finds his way back along the string. The labyrinth represents the material world; the string is the consilience of connections between the branches of knowledge: “Theseus is humanity, the Minotaur our own dangerous irrationality" (73). The upper galleries are the physical sciences, and within the deep interior lie the mazes of the social sciences, the humanities, and religion whose branching possibilities dwarf the physical sciences in complexity.
Similarly, researchers can travel into the depths of cell biology, along the way learning the details of the organelles and molecules that make up various cells, but they are unable to use that knowledge to predict how organelles will be organized in a different type of cell nearby; they get lost trying. In the 1950s, Wilson studied how harvester ants communicate by first reasoning that the ants must use odors to send signals in the dark, then extracting organs from ants and crushing them to release any odors, and waving them at the harvester workers in an ant farm until two of the organs generated strong reactions in the ants, who swarm toward the odor expecting to fight an incoming enemy. An associate analyzed the odors and discovered that they are known types of pheromones. He and Wilson thereby discovered a chief means of ant communication.
Having descended from ant colony to chemical molecules, Wilson wondered whether it would be possible to make predictions from chemistry to animal behavior. They reason that alarm pheromones will be smaller than food pheromones—emergencies pass quickly, but food sources need a chemical signal that’s heavy and will stick around—and this turns out to be true. It did not prove possible, however, to predict which pheromones would do the various jobs, or from which glands. This demonstrates the difficulty of making complex assumptions from simple discoveries; much more information is needed about the ants, their histories, and their environments before such a predictive synthesis might be possible.
Shamans of the Amazon region ingest neuromodulator drugs, such as Datura and ayahuasca, to induce dreamlike trances where they encounter otherworldly spirits, many in the shape of serpents. Because poisonous snakes can be deadly, primates, including humans, inherit a natural tendency to fear them, a fear that often grows stronger during adolescence; many cultures have snakes as gods or symbols of power. Scientific study of these dreams might provide insight on the inner workings of the deep mind. Sigmund Freud proposed that dreams permit the airing of repressed desires in the form of symbolic stories. A more recent theory, the activation-synthesis model, posits that dreams are simply a phantasmagoric by-product of the brain’s processing of memories formed during the day. Perhaps the true meaning of dreams, if there is one, lies somewhere between these two theories.
The biological sciences approach questions about organisms from different perspectives of space and time. The grandest view is evolutionary biology, which looks at centuries and vast portions of the Earth’s surface; ecology studies regions over years and decades; organismic biology observes single lifetimes in discrete locations; cellular biology focuses in on fractions of seconds and millimeters; and molecular biology and biochemistry study the microscopic and subatomic. Together, these various scales make up the totality of biology as it is studied and taught, creating a consistent and consilient system of thought.
While the complexities of organisms can be whittled down to the cellular and molecular level, going the other way—to infer, from atoms, the shape of proteins, their assembly into organelles, organelles into cells, cells into tissues, and so forth—is difficult. The subtle energy relationships between nearby atoms, for example, plus the even more subtle effects from more distant atoms, make such calculations enormous. It gets worse when studying ecology, where, at best, scientists can study the interactions of a few organisms at a time, and complexities of their interactions with the rest of the hundreds or more species nearby increase exponentially to become, in practice, unmeasurable. The simple removal of top predators from a local area, for example, will cause a cascade of surprising and unpredictable effects within that environment.
Since the 1970s, a new approach, complexity theory, searches for the algorithms nature uses to generate complex systems from simple building blocks. Whether any such rules of nature exist is hotly debated. Already, chaos theory and fractal geometry have proven instructive, for instance helping biologists discover rhythmic patterns in population growth and decline. Another approach is Stuart Kauffman’s NK model, which states that an organism must be unstable enough in design to adapt easily to changing environments but not so unstable as to collapse into chaos.
However, no model yet has triggered an outpouring of new theories within biology. Furthermore, biologists “foresee no need for overarching grand explanations as a prerequisite for creating artificial life" (99). Already they know that DNA translates to RNA and thence to amino acids which self-assemble into the complex proteins that form half of the body’s mass, and that some proteins, the enzymes, behave like microscopic factories, shaping and altering other molecules—splitting sucrose into glucose and fructose, for example—to turn them into useful products.
From the knowledge so far acquired, biologists believe that they will soon be able to assemble an entire synthetic cell. Beyond that, they hope to construct tissues and then organ systems, including nervous systems, and thereby begin to understand in detail the biochemical underpinnings of the mind and behavior. The question remains whether biologists will arrive at general principles “that allow a living organism to be reconstituted in full without recourse to brute force simulation of all its molecules and atoms" (103). With the rapid advance of computers and massive digital simulations, those discoveries may await scientists in the near future.
Chapter 4 lays out the arguments in favor of science as a potential ruling method for all fields of thought, including the humanities. Rigor, honesty, and humility are built into the scientific method. Ariadne’s Thread represents the difficulty science has in finding its way back from the labyrinth of details it has discovered to the large-scale things of the world: organisms, geological processes, star systems. Research on atoms says little about complex life forms; the way birds flock can’t be predicted simply from observations of single birds; the study of human individuals doesn’t predict the development of civilizations. In complexity theory, these are called “emergent properties.”
Therefore, the study of quantum mechanics provides little insight into the understanding of, for example, migratory animals or Atlantic storms. Large-scale natural systems are built, like everything, from subatomic particles, but the emergent rules of large-system behavior may remain forever unpredictable. People won’t find the answers to deep social and ethical problems by studying the wave function of a nucleon. What unifies science isn’t so much the principles of nature it has found as it is the system of thought that enables those discoveries. Science is a tool that works on any data set and informs any human activity. It is science’s way of looking at problems and mysteries, declares Wilson, that can tie together all fields of human endeavor.
By Edward O. Wilson