From time to time, people suggest to me that scientists ought to give more consideration to social problems—especially that they should be more responsible in considering the impact of science upon society. This same suggestion is made to all the other scientists, and it seems to me that we do think about these problems from time to time, but we don't put full-time effort on them—the reason being that we know we don't have any magic formula for solving problems, that social problems are very much harder than scientific ones, and that we usually don't get anywhere when we do think about them.
I believe that a scientist looking at non-scientific problems is just as dumb as the next guy—and when he talks about a non-scientific matter, he will sound as naïve as anyone untrained in the matter. Since the question of the value of science is not a scientific subject, this talk is dedicated to proving my point—by example.
The first way in which science is of value is familiar to everyone. It is that scientific knowledge enables us to do all kinds of things and to make all kinds of things. Of course if we make good things, it is not only to the credit of science; it is also to the credit of the moral choice which led us to good work. Scientific knowledge is an enabling power to do either good or bad—but it does not carry instructions on how to use it. Such power has evident value—even though the power may be negated by what one does.
I learned a way of expressing this common human problem on a trip to Honolulu. In a Buddhist temple there, the man in charge explained a little bit about the Buddhist religion for tourists, and then ended his talk by telling them he had something to say to them that they would never forget—and I have never forgotten it. It was a proverb of the Buddhist religion:
“To every man is given the key to the gates of heaven; the same key opens the gates of hell.”
What then, is the value of the key to heaven? It is true that if we lack clear instructions that determine which is the gate to heaven and which the gate to hell, the key may be a dangerous object to use, but it obviously has value. How can we enter heaven without it?
The instructions, also, would be of no value without the key. So it is evident that, in spite of the fact that science could produce enormous horror in the world, it is of value because it can produce something.
Another value of science is the fun called intellectual enjoyment which some people get from reading and learning and thinking about it, and which others get from working in it. This is a very real and important point and one which is not considered enough by those who tell us it is our social responsibility to reflect on the impact of science on society.
Is this mere personal enjoyment of value to society as a whole? No! But it is also a responsibility to consider the value of society itself. Is it, in the last analysis, to arrange things so that people can enjoy things? If so, the enjoyment of science is as important as anything else.
But I would like not to underestimate the value of the world view which is the result of scientific effort. We have been led to imagine all sorts of things infinitely more marvelous than the imaginings of poets and dreamers of the past. It shows that the imagination of nature is far, far greater than the imagination of man. For instance, how much more remarkable it is for us all to be stuck—half of us upside down—by a mysterious attraction, to a spinning ball that has been swinging in space for billions of years, than to be carried on the back of an elephant supported on a tortoise swimming in a bottomless sea.
I have thought about these things so many times alone that I hope you will excuse me if I remind you of some thoughts that I am sure you have all had—or this type of thought—which no one could ever have had in the past, because people then didn't have the information we have about the world today.
For instance, I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves…mountains of molecules, each stupidly minding its own business…trillions apart…yet forming white surf in unison.
Ages on ages…before any eyes could see…year after year…thunderously pounding the shore as now. For whom, for what?…on a dead planet, with no life to entertain.
Never at rest…tortured by energy…wasted prodigiously by the sun…poured into space. A mite makes the sea roar.
Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves…and a new dance starts.
Growing in size and complexity…living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein…dancing a pattern ever more intricate.
Out of the cradle onto the dry land…here it is standing…atoms with consciousness…matter with curiosity.
Stands at the sea…wonders at wondering…I…a universe of atoms…an atom in the universe.
The same thrill, the same awe and mystery, come again and again when we look at any problem deeply enough. With more knowledge comes deeper, more wonderful mystery, luring one on to penetrate deeper still. Never concerned that the answer may prove disappointing, but with pleasure and confidence we turn over each new stone to find unimagined strangeness leading on to more wonderful questions and mysteries—certainly a grand adventure!
It is true that few unscientific people have this particular type of religious experience. Our poets do not write about it; our artists do not try to portray this remarkable thing. I don't know why. Is no one inspired by our present picture of the universe? This value of science remains unsung by singers: you are reduced to hearing not a song or poem, but an evening lecture about it. This is not yet a scientific age.
Perhaps one of the reasons for this silence is that you have to know how to read the music. For instance, the scientific article may say, “The radioactive phosphorus content of the cerebrum of the rat decreases to one-half in a period of two weeks.” Now what does that mean?
It means that phosphorus that is in the brain of a rat—and also in mine, and yours—is not the same phosphorus that was there two weeks ago. It means the atoms that are in the brain are being replaced: the ones that were there before have gone away.
So what is this mind of ours: what are these atoms with consciousness? Last week's potatoes! That is what now can remember what was going on in my mind a year ago—a mind which has long ago been replaced.
That is what it means when one discovers how long it takes for the atoms of the brain to be replaced by other atoms, to note that the thing which I call my individuality is only a pattern or dance. The atoms come into my brain, dance a dance, then go out—always new atoms but always doing the same dance, remembering what the dance was yesterday.
When we read about this in the newspaper, it says, “The scientist says that this discovery may have importance in the cure of cancer.” The paper is only interested in the use of the idea, not the idea itself. Hardly anyone can understand the importance of an idea, it is so remarkable. Except that, possibly, some children catch on. And when a child catches on to an idea like that, we have a scientist.
It is very curious that in our society, while we have an interest in all sorts of things, and we have an appreciation for all sorts of things, we have a complete ignorance and a complete lack of appreciation of science. We are not teaching science in a way that is good for the development of the human mind. We are not teaching it so that it is a part of the human, of the general culture. We are not teaching it so that men can feel that they have some understanding of the world in which they live.
The last of the values of science, which I want to talk about, is a little more indirect, but not much. The scientist has a lot of experience with ignorance and doubt and uncertainty, and this experience is of very great importance, I think. When a scientist doesn't know the answer to a problem, he is ignorant. When he has a hunch as to what the result is, he is uncertain. And when he is pretty darn sure of what the result is going to be, he is in some doubt. We have found it of paramount importance that in order to progress we must recognize our ignorance and leave room for doubt. Scientific knowledge is a body of statements of varying degrees of certainty—some most unsure, some nearly sure, none absolutely certain.
Now, we scientists are used to this, and we take it for granted that it is perfectly consistent to be unsure, that it is possible to live and not know. But I don't know whether everyone realizes this is true. Our freedom to doubt was born out of a struggle against authority in the early days of science. It was a very deep and strong struggle: permit us to question—to doubt—to not be sure. I think that it is important that we do not forget this struggle and thus perhaps lose what we have gained. Herein lies a responsibility to society.
We are all sad when we think of the wondrous potentialities human beings seem to have, as contrasted with their small accomplishments. Again and again people have thought that we could do much better. They of the past saw in the nightmare of their times a dream for the future. We, of their future, see that their dreams, in certain ways surpassed, have in many ways remained dreams. The hopes for the future today are, in good share, those of yesterday.
Education, for good and evil
Once some thought that the possibilities people had were not developed because most of those people were ignorant. With education universal, could all men be Voltaires? Bad can be taught at least as efficiently as good. Education is a strong force, but for either good or evil.
Communication between nations must promote understanding—so went another dream. But the communication systems are dominated by a noisy disharmony of advertisers and reviewers and commentators and critics. Communication is a strong force, but for either good or evil.
The applied sciences should free men of material problems at least. Medicine controls diseases. And the record here seems all to the good. Yet there are some patiently working today to create great plagues and poisons for use in warfare tomorrow.
Nearly everybody dislikes war. Our dream today is peace. In peace, man can develop best the enormous possibilities he seems to have. But maybe future men will find that peace, too, can be good and bad. Perhaps peaceful men will drink out of boredom. Then perhaps drink will become the great problem which seems to dwarf all others. Then, perhaps, they will search for solutions to this problem, when we have found that it is a thing of the past.
Always these things, the hopes of yesterday, were ideas which assumed that the solution of a problem was only to find a solution. But the solution may be just as complicated as the problem. The solution may be a thing that we can't accept. But we go on, trying to solve problems. We are not very careful, though, to notice that we are not succeeding.
We are trying to do it, as we have always done, by having some fellows with ideas, some with power, lead us. And we are falling into the same old traps. We are not today, in the same high state of expectation of a new era of smoothly developing and improving human affairs that we were, say, in 1919. We have seen that the hopes of the past have not been realized, and we are not so enthusiastic about the hopes of the future.
We are particularly sad because we see that we have not made much progress. We have a little bit of a new problem. We have a new force, a new power, which is so great that we are not sure how to handle it. We are not sure how to control it. And we are not sure that we can control it. This is the power of science. And it is the power that gives us all the trouble today.
We are, all of us, in a difficult position. We are, all of us, trying to do our best. And we are, all of us, in some way, I think, failing.
I am sorry to have to tell you this, but I do not see any easy solution. I do not see any possibility of our being able to solve the problems of the world in the way that we have, in the past, solved some of our problems.
What should we do about it? I think, as scientists, we have a special responsibility. I think that we have a responsibility to teach mankind the lessons that we have learned in our struggle with nature. We have a responsibility to point out the value of this freedom, this freedom to doubt, this freedom to question. We have a responsibility to proclaim the value of this freedom; to teach how doubt is not to be feared but welcomed and discussed; and to demand this freedom as our duty to all coming generations.