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CHAPTER 1
QUESTING SCIENCE
What science gets done?
Why do we do science? As a teenager, I took the answer for granted. We explore, as we have always explored, our own world's peaks and rifts, forests and plains, as we clamor to explore other planets and comets. Now that I deal in science I know this cannot be enough, cannot tell us why we all are forced to learn science in school and insist that our children do too, cannot tell us why we spend so much of our financial resources and invest our hopes in science. With explorers there were always only a few, and yet with scientists we have now grown a vast abundance.
"Why," my daughter asks at breakfast this morning, "why is it bad to drain marshes if it stops mosquitoes breeding?" Nowadays a quick web search with her rapidly shows how much science has accumulated behind this query. We read online studies that summarize why drainage can be both good and bad, short term and long term, why every component in the natural cycle is linked into so many others that simple predictions don't often work out. For every "why?" there are lines of Russian dolls stretching out to the horizon, waiting to be opened up to reveal new chambers of information, each gleaned over decades of careful scientific investigation.
We take our science for granted ... that scientists are everywhere around us, that their breed isn't dying out or losing its way, or that it isn't driving its convoys up blind alleys. We assume science will keep on trotting out its miracles that get ever further from our human experience, and deeper into imaginative territories. But how do we know it is in good shape? You pay for it in multiple ways, but do you care for it, do you nurture science? What science are you being offered, which fragments from the vast terrain?
Our societies have discovered that science is a powerful stimulus. It shocks and challenges us, it creates visionary ambitions, and its dopamine-fuelled lure is a natural focus for the human mind that loves "aha!" We trust scientific results that stand the brutal tests of criticism and time. We are so confident in this that we believe any self-aware civilization, anywhere in the universe, would agree with our own established scientific principles. On the other hand, the way that this self-aware civilization went about studying science would likely be completely baffling to us. The scientific system we have created is not a foregone conclusion. Ancient cultures did not have formal organizations to explore the natural world — instead it was left to the curious few who carved themselves temporarily safe niches within their societies. The construction of formalized institutions such as universities, around the world, which foster learning and organized discussion, is one of the many unremarked miracles of our current lives.
Just what science gets done is much more determined by our culture than is the objective truth of our science. The essential need for repeatability and testability in science means that any crack or flaw in the network of interconnected ideas is mostly quickly identified, but what we decide to expend our limited resources on within this infinite structure is not obviously clear.
Approaching the scientific enterprise from the outside, you might imagine that what gets done is formed on agreement between leaders, or emerges from a sort of signposting by nature that is apparent to anyone looking dispassionately at each scientific subfield. My own discussions with public focus groups often bring out their belief that "surely someone is directing the entire science operation." But the truth is much more complicated, and far closer to the way we steer our economy, buffeted by inevitable fashions, gurus, and cycles of booms and busts caused by our social interactions. It is virtually impossible in any country to identify who made a decision to do this piece of science. On the other hand, most countries are effectively locked into competition to do the "best" science, by trying to identify it and fund it.
As I tried to answer my own questions about the web in which I am involved, I became ever more fascinated with accounting for why I do what I do, and surprised by what this investigation says might be usefully changed. This book tries to capture what influences the science that gets done, and why it matters. To do that we have to look at the motivations of everyone involved, beyond those of just the researchers themselves. The view I will elaborate is that it helps to consider the full ecosystem of science. Ecosystems help us see how chunks of the natural world balance themselves, through relationships between many natural organisms all at once. The different parts of the science system act similarly as interrelating organisms. Intense competition — not just between scientists, but between research journals that publish results, universities that house researchers, newspapers, governments, subject areas, and many other contestants — favors survival skills. The resulting ecosystem of science has its own personality and temperament, which leads it toward a future that we might all want to have our own say in.
This book maps my own explorations, asking questions that both scientists and nonscientists have been confused by, and I am startled to find are not well known. Although it has been useful to be a practicing scientist, this is not necessary to appreciate the stories that emerge. In their telling, we might actually understand what it is that our societies want scientists to do (figure 1.1).
In starting to map out the territories of this book I realized that there really is no good place to find a description of the way science actually works. This landscape turns out to be complicated, interesting, and connected. And yet it should also influence how we read explanations of scientific results, visions, funding, and ambition. Many of the issues I raise can be found in fragments, across blogs and letters pages, and discussed by scientists, sometimes widely. However each minidebate is part of a wider frustration that I sense in scientists themselves, of being trapped in a system not of their making. And even worse, they feel that they are powerless to modify this system, because its meshing cogs are so finely aligned that no change is independent of every other part. This book is thus also a stimulus to restore balance: for nonscientists to regain some insight and control into what happens with their funds, and for scientists to regain some insight and control into how it happens.
WHY SHOULD WE CARE?
We pay for science. We accept the tantalizing gifts it provides, though we are sometimes nervous about their effects or about their ethics. And science will frame our future, the future for our children, and the long, deep future for humans on this planet. On average we each pay only a few hundred dollars a year to support science, not very much compared to what we burn up just driving around. But this is one of the best investments we make in our collective future, returning far more than any other opportunity for our savings. How this investment is spent on our behalf is a very peculiar thing, and this is another story of this book. The increasing wealth of our societies has nurtured the growth of a new ecosystem, both insulated from and buffeted by wider forces across society, in which science is mined, amassed, archived, and expanded.
The book is planned as a survey, focusing on different parts of the system in turn to see how the overlapping spheres of influence mesh together to create a science ecosystem. I start with the science itself and show how scientists are fragmented between a pair of interdependent roles. I also ask how realistically we can view science as its own ecosystem, and how this raises questions to consider about science. To ground our discussions I review motivations for doing science in chapter 3, using the lens of what scientists have thought most important over the past half century. In mapping the chains of influence, the next three chapters consider in turn how scientists present their newfound knowledge, how they hear about it from each other, and finally how we all across society get to hear about it through the media. These illuminate the flows that bind the spheres of knowledge, people, and media around scientists themselves. Later in chapter 7 I explore what resources go into science and who controls where this money flows. How the people who make this all happen are shaped along the way is sketched out in chapter 8 to complete the survey of the overlapping spheres and their myriad internal competitions. Inchapter 9, I pull all this together to consider how evolution in this landscape is responsible for its current situation, before making some suggestions about ways we might change it in the final chapter, offering tentative prescriptions. Rather than a polemical stance, my main aim is to describe what the state of science really is and how it works.
I am a practicing scientist, and thus deeply implicated in the system, but I had an early career in industry and so already approached research with one eye refracting the perspective of an outsider's prism. My aim is to write as an outsider might look in, as a science sociologist of the mainstream, laying bare the construction of this science system. Popular accounts of science instead tend to focus on larger-than-life personalities, early historical perspectives, and to lay out compilations of mythical and anecdotal stories to provide color and moral fables. I am going in a different direction, both because my theme is about the wider interactions, but also because I want to capture what we have now and where it might be going.
Along the way I find many questions whose answers I felt I ought to know. How many scientists are there in the world? How many physicists, chemists, biologists, or engineers? How many more or less will there be in ten years? Of the thousands of papers published each day, why do a few get into our newspapers and Twitter streams? Who chooses for us, and why? Who chooses what sort of science gets done? What do scientists read? How do they choose what science to do? Are there too many biologists in the world, or too few? What sets the size of a science conference? These are not part of my background knowledge, nor that of most scientists.
Science is in rude health, never having been better funded or producing more results. Any system has its flaws though, and in science many are well known: influences of money and self-interest, sporadic scandals of distorted or false data and conclusions, sensationalisms of wild hype or wild personalities, distorted reporting from the media circus, or individuals stealing credit. All these are persistently aggravating to the cause of science, but they do not fundamentally undermine it because of the self-correcting way that it works.
However another set of deeper worries will emerge from my survey here, ones that are an implicit part of the system of science itself. The contested interactions that are integral to the science ecosystem are inflating competition between its different components. This ever tightening set of global competitions skews how the system works and evolves. Through this book, I hope to show why I am no longer quite so convinced about the globalization of science and why I believe science might be expanding too much. These competitions have other effects that will become apparent, such as reducing the diversity in how science is funded and appreciated. All these pressures focus on the scientist, who, contrary to conceptions of airy independence from societal pressures, is at the nexus of some of the most intense global struggles. But to start at the beginning, we first need to ask what we mean by science.
CHAPTER 2
WHAT IS SCIENCE?
Most people have a comfortable familiarity with the idea of science. My first task though is to prise apart this solid-seeming notion of what it is, and to locate two contrasting types of science inquiry and what drives each one. To understand the ecosystem as a whole, I then want to tackle how many researchers there are at the moment, and how this is changing. This tribe of scientists is the core of the science ecosystem, and I will discuss how they divide themselves within it. Finally I will discuss how the science ecosystem might work, mapping out the different parts we will visit on this tour.
THE ROLES OF SCIENTISTS
SCIENCE IN OUR SURROUNDINGS
Look around you now. What do you see that a spirited woman teleported forward through time from prehistory might recognize or understand? Tables, floors, sockets, screens, lights, windows. All are absent from the natural world; all offer intricate wonders. What would intrigue your prehistoric visitor most? Each object has myriad stories to tell, ways of understanding culture, history, science, and technology, all blended.
Correspondingly, how do your surroundings intrigue you, and what questions emerge from where your gaze alights? How is that glittering shard of light hitched by wires to the wall spilling colors over the room? Perhaps you are puzzled by the inaudibly chattering microwaves from your mobile devices ricocheting off your friends and your floors, passing tenuously through walls. How come this metal spoon feels hot, while the porous ceramic of your coffee mug that holds it is not. How are the clumped words on this page leaving indelible chemical marks in your brain, for you to reconsider in your pauses?
Science is not only so concretely apparent. Perhaps you are more concerned about invisible fears raised by hectoring all around us. What is really aloft in the air we are breathing, visible as that sulfur yellow-white horizon smog. How much guilt did that ear-tautening plane journey add to how you feel about our use of planetary resources. Is an article you read really showing a promising cure for cancer?
These ways of viewing the world, asking the "why is it," "why does it do this" questions, are the natural pesterings of a scientific stance. Mostly our questioning attitude starts near home. Why we are ticklish, why only some of us, and then what tickling might be for. How do dogs navigate over long distances so well? Such questions often still don't have answers that fully satisfy us. But science questions roam much further. While existing natural things just are what they are, interlocking into an accepted part of our worlds, new invented devices are weirdly fascinating. Thumbnails that store all our music. Glittering black solar panels that feed our energy habit. The dazzle of technologies that make miracles, fleeting glimpses of their inner science only hinting at the underpinnings that drive them.
How do these ways of seeing our surroundings relate to "science"? When are we actually doing science? And what does it mean to be doing science? The pages of newspapers and websites offer a glimpse of the problem of defining science and categorizing its activities. As I write this, my web feed has pieces about the particle accelerator at CERN under "science," polar bear feeding ranges are "climate change," and discussions about battery storage concepts are "technology." Are these all science too? Can "scientists" work on technology, or the environment? To deal with this fuzziness I will first revisit where science emerged from.
WHERE ARE OUR STEREOTYPES?
Our idea of what science encapsulates constantly changes. From the sixteenth century, "natural philosophy" labeled those eccentrics musing about the physical realms and its increasingly fertile experimental methods. While the label science came from the Greek for the whole of knowledge, it was soon captured by those focusing solely on the natural and physical domains. By the mid-1800s "scientists" were seen as those who sought knowledge from nature only. A hundred years ago, we had emerging stereotypes: lone scientists devoted to understanding an enigmatic Nature, gluttonous collectors labeling abstruse specimens from one of Nature's rich niches, entrepreneurial technologists hammering out fixes to problems that people will pay for. But things have moved on a century, and while the appetite for peeking over the shoulders of scientists has become even more compelling, to funders and the public alike, our old categories divide poorly.
Scientists and technologists constantly influence each other. Greek-speaking scholars fleeing the Turks influenced an Italian humanist movement keen to rediscover classical literature and revitalized science knowledge (idolized now as the "Renaissance"). When the Black Death made labor expensive in the fourteenth century, technology grew in importance, milking this nascent science for manufacturing materials and devices that could turn a profit. Gutenberg's printing advances in the fifteenth century distributed this knowledge widely, while the improving ship technologies enabled the collection of new discoveries from far and wide. Systemization of this arrayed knowledge cried out for the explanatory power of science. Industrialization accelerated these cycles of science and technology, with huge effects in alleviating the drudgery of living by the twentieth century.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Secret Life of Science"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Princeton University Press.
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