What's in a label? How words shape reality

With the start of a new year it seems appropriate to look at how our perception of the universe is created via language - after all, there's no position in space identifying an orbital starting point. We grow up with a notion of reality that is largely defined by convenience and historical accidents embedded into our language and therefore our thought patterns (and vice versa). For at least the last six hundred years many societies have called our planet Earth, whilst of course Ocean would be more appropriate. Whilst this is just an obvious chauvinism for a land-based species, there are other terms that owe everything to history. We count in base ten, position zero longitude through the Greenwich Meridian and usually show the Earth from one perspective, despite there not being an arrow in our galaxy stating 'this way up' (but then had Ancient Egyptians' view prevailed, Australia and New Zealand would be in the Northern Hemisphere.)

So how far can go with constructs? Our calendar is an archaic, sub-optimal mish-mash, with the interpolation of July and August meaning the last four months of the year are inaccurately named seven through ten. The changeover from the Julian to Gregorian calendar varied from nation to nation, meaning well-known events such as the birth of George Washington and the Bolshevik Revolution have several dates depending on the country defining that piece of history. As for the majority of humans agreeing that we are now in AD 2010, thanks to a fifteen hundred year-old mistake by Dionysius Exiguus our current year should really be at least AD 2014, if we accept that an historical figure called Jesus of Nazareth was born during the lifetime of Herod the Great. It appears that even the fundamentals that guide us through life are subjective at the very least if not far from accurate in many cases.

The philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn argues that all scientific research is a product of the culture of the scientists engaged on those projects, so whilst we might argue that Galileo was the first scientist in a strictly modern use of the word, can there be a definitive boundary between the quasi-mystical thought processes of Copernicus and Kepler (and even Newton), and that of the modern exponents typified by Einstein and Hawking? Whilst we would like to believe in a notion of pure objectivity, scientists are just as subjective as everyone else and their theories are therefore built on assumptions directly related to history, both cultural and biological.

We use labels to comfort ourselves, even boost our egos, via unconscious assumptions that are gradually looking more ridiculous as we delve ever deeper into the mysteries of creation. For example, the past sixty-five million years has been a period frequently named 'the Age of Mammals'. Yet as Stephen Jay Gould was fond of pointing out, most of the world's biomass is microbial and we macroscopic life forms are comparative newcomers, restricted to a far reduced range of environments compared to bacteria, protists and other small-scale organisms.

Despite such sense-expanding tools as infra-red telescopes and electron microscopes, we still process sensory input and use primarily audio-visual output to define scientific theories and methodology. We are in thrall to the languages we use define our thoughts, both conversational language and mathematics. Although the lingua franca of science has varied over the centuries, all languages from Latin to English have one thing in common: they are used to tell us stories. At a basic level, the history of science is riddled with fables and apocrypha, from Newton being hit by an apple (and inventing the reflecting telescope) to Galileo dropping weights from the Leaning Tower of Pisa, even Columbus believing the world was a sphere (he didn't - he thought it was pear-shaped!)

So if scientific history cannot be relied upon, what about the hypotheses and theories themselves? In the words of John Gribbin, we construct 'Just So' stories to create a comprehendible version of reality. Presumably this reliance on metaphor will only increase as our knowledge becomes further divorced from everyday experience but our technology fails to keep pace with confirming new theories; for example, it is far from likely that we will ever be able to directly view a superstring.

In addition, language doesn't just restrict our ideas: if a term has a scientific sense differing from vernacular meaning, problems frequently arise. A classic example would be quantum leap, which to most people means an enormous step forward but to physicists is an electron's miniscule change of energy level. However, even personal computer pioneer Sir Clive Sinclair used the term in its former meaning for his 1984 Quantum Leap microcomputer (at least I assume he did, although QL owners may disagree...)

Speaking of which, perhaps when we finally build (or machines build for us) computers capable of true artificial intelligence, new ways of exploring the universe not tied down to conventional linguistic-based thought patterns may arise. Then again, since we will be the parents of these machines, this may not be feasible. As one of Terry Pratchett's characters stated: "I think perhaps the most important problem is that we are trying to understand the fundamental workings of the universe via a language devised for telling one another where the best fruit is." But all things considered, we haven't done that badly so far.

Technorati Tags: galileo, copernicus, einstein

Hawking and Dawkins: the dynamic duo

There was a time not so long ago when the defining attributes of famous British scientists were little more than a white coat, wild hair, and possibly a monocle. Today, it seems the five-second sound bite mentality of the MTV generation requires any scientist who can top a man-in-the-street poll to have some atypical personality traits, to say the least. So are the current British science superstars good role models in the way they represent science to the public, or having achieved fame are they content to ride the media gravy train, with science taking a backseat (in the last carriage, if you want to continue the metaphor)?

If today's celebrities are frequently reduced to mere caricatures of their former selves (supposing they had anything more in the first place), how can the complex subtleties of modern science survive the media simplification process? If there is one thing that defines our current state of scientific understanding, it is surely that the universe is very subtle indeed. A recent episode of The Armstrong and Miller Show highlighted this beautifully via a sketch of Ben Miller (who in real life swapped a physics PhD for luvviedom) as a professor being interviewed about his latest theory. Each time he was asked if it was possible to provide a brief description of his theory in layman's terms, he succinctly replied, "no".

Arguably the two biggest names today, at least in Britain, are Stephen Hawking and Richard Dawkins. After appearances on everything from Star Trek to The Simpsons, Hawking has overtaken Einstein as the scientific genius everyone has heard of. But, like Einstein's last few decades, has Hawking reached the height of fame long after completing his best work, a genius revered without comprehension by a public unaware of the latest developments in astrophysics? If it's true that theoretical physicists' main period of productivity is usually in their twenties, Hawking wouldn't be any different from other physicists his age (remembering he retired from the Lucasian Chair several months ago).

Hawking himself implies that his fame is compounded of demand from a lazy and scientifically non-savvy media (as in "who's the current Einstein?") twinned with the tedious if understandable interest surrounding his condition. It's probably fair to say that a physically-fit Professor Hawking wouldn't be considered to provide nearly as interesting copy. Of course to be able to write the best-selling (nine-million copies!) A Brief History of Time was a fantastic achievement, not least for its brevity. If it (and Hawking's later ventures) succeed in promoting scientific knowledge and methodologies then all well and good but it's not difficult to get the feeling that he is primarily viewed as a brand name. Very little of the blame can be passed to Hawking himself, but the question that must be asked is does the interest in him divert the limited media attention span for science away from a younger generation of scientists?

Richard Dawkins on the other hand seems to have deliberately cultivated media attention, no doubt revelling in his description as Darwin's Rottweiler. As holder of the Charles Simonyi Professorship until late last year he had an official position from which to promote public understanding, but for me his single-minded crusade has become rather tiresome. His role model, Thomas Henry Huxley, promoted science as "nothing but trained and organized common sense" whilst in addition espousing, via his "trade mark" agnosticism, the notion that one should not believe or disbelieve a proposition without justifiable evidence. Surely Huxley's agnosticism and the ideal of the scientific method are indistinguishable?

In contrast, Dawkins' approach is to browbeat all opposition, religious, scientific, or otherwise, with techniques that ironically having rather more in common with "faith viruses" than science. His documentary The Root of All Evil? allegedly omitted interviews with religious moderates to concentrate on the oddballs. It's understandable that documentary producers like a clear-cut argument, but skewing the evidence to fit the theory is inexcusable for a scientist. Dawkins' use of probability is his most objective method in support of atheism but when the law of parsimony, otherwise known as Occam's razor, cannot obviously be applied to resolve many aspects of the sub-atomic world, how can a glib theory along the lines of "I believe there's a less than even chance of the existence of a deity, therefore there isn't a deity", be accepted any more than a literal interpretation of Genesis? Warning of the increasing dangers of fundamentalism to both science and society as a whole is admirable, but to promote a simplistic thesis regarding complex, largely non-scientific, issues seems more an exercise in self-promotion than anything else. And Dawkins has the cheek to say that the word 'reductionism' makes him want to reach for a weapon...

It pains me to say it but I'm not sure either of the dynamic duo, somewhat atypical scientists as they undoubtedly are, can be said to be ideal promoters of science. If such excellent communicators as Martin Rees, Richard Fortey, or Brian Cox were as well known as Hawking and Dawkins is it more likely we see an increase in science exposition and less media shenanigans? At the end of the day fame is very fickle, if the example of Magnus Pyke is anything to go by. Ubiquitous in the 1970s and '80s, Pyke appeared in everything from a best-selling pop single (and its video) to a washing machine commercial. Voted third in a 1975 New Scientist poll only to Einstein and Newton as the best-known scientist ever, this charismatic and socially-aware 'boffin' is unfortunately almost forgotten today. But then an American business magazine recently claimed that Hawking was an American, no doubt lulled by the speech synthesiser into a false sense of security...

Technorati Tags: creationism, einstein, dawkins