A Scientist’s Courage
An old Calculus III professor of mine once started his lecture with a joke about the famous philosopher and mathematician Rene Descartes. It went something like this:
This joke is a semantic, logical twist on Descartes’ famous expression “Cogito ergo sum”, “I think, therefore I am.”
Descartes’ Method
Philosophically, Descartes is known for his system of methodological skepticism which is now called “Cartesian doubt.” Descartes understood the immense fallibility of people’s sensory data and hoped to offer a method for discovering truths which we could be sure of.
The method included four steps:
1. Accept as true only what is indubitable
2. Divide every question into manageable parts
3. Begin with the simplest issues and ascend to the more complex.
4. Review frequently enough to retain the whole argument at once.
As an immediate result of his philosophy, Descartes understood that he could not be sure even of his own beliefs and ideas, and so regularly acted to “rid himself of all the opinions he had adopted and commence anew the work of building from the foundation.”
But, what was the foundation?
Descartes’ ground floor was his inability to doubt his own existence, an inability I would imagine most of us share. Descartes’ “cogito”, “I think, therefore I am”, refers to this feeling of personal reality. It is the principle establishing the existence of a being from the fact of its thinking. His first axiom can be understood as meaning “I am real,” or better yet, consciousness is real. Despite the simplicity and self-evidence, this axiom, like all starting-points, should not be taken lightly. As a mathematician, Descartes was in the business of logically deriving universal truths, but had to accept a subjective observation before all else. For his time, such an acceptance required a brave, if not faithful commitment to “reality,” and an insightful vision of what could be built upon it.
Descartes’ Error
The difference between Descartes and the modern thinker is that we now have the understanding and technology required to study the brain.
I recently read neuroscientist Antonio Damasio’s book “Descartes’ Error.” Damasio explores the neural underpinnings of scientific thought, synthesizing clinical data to highlight an intimate connection between emotion and logical reasoning. The error in question is that our existence is implied only by our thought, or in other words, that real perception is guaranteed only by a mind conscious of itself.
Damasio’s argument does not refute Descartes’ idea, but instead expands it for completeness, as would be expected of a worthy foundation upon which to base one’s understanding. He characterizes a relationship of dependence between reason and emotion which manifested as a result of our evolutionary history. As with the sensation of pain, the most fundamental sensory response required for survival, emotions exist to inform us of the benefit or harm of circumstances. Controlled by an ancient part of our brain called the limbic system, emotions influence the processes of attention and working memory, both of which are essential for the act of thoughtful reasoning. Looking even deeper, Damasio shows that our emotions are in turn affected by sensory awareness, the same sensory data which Descartes noticed to be so deceitful.
As an improvement to Descartes’ idea, Damasio suggests that since the mind is embodied, information from the body cannot be excluded, and must be taken as necessary evidence for existence.
It’s too bad “I think and feel; therefore I am,” doesn’t have a better ring to it.
There is a philosophical attitude here which gives me an unmatched appreciation for the work of Descartes, and so many scientists and thinkers following in his footsteps. If Descartes were alive today to apply his methodology, he would modify his most fundamental axiom to align with Damasio’s research. Following the bravery to stick to foundational axioms, we see that Descartes’ philosophy also implies a willingness to accept failure. If doubt is raised about a “truth”, then it must be reassessed and, if necessary, discarded in light of new information
As a student of mathematics, I have begun to understand the importance of axioms, self-evident ideas on which conceptual structures are based, and I regard the act of establishing or agreeing with axioms as courageous, in the knightly sense of the word. Taking on an axiom is a naked and vulnerable commitment to an idea which may, at a later date, be proven completely wrong, but it is a necessary commitment for all scientific inquiry and advancement.
Scientific Courage
I am not alone in this appreciation for scientific grit.
In his book “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions,” the American physicist Thomas Kuhn distinguishes between two types of scientific research: normal science, and revolutionary science. He defines “normal” science as research conducted in a framework of existing rules, called a “paradigm,” wherein progress adds to the accuracy and precision of measurements, like adding pieces to a puzzle with an established border. When novel observations or anomalies are discovered, normal scientists will justifiably dismiss them as outliers, so that new questions do not challenge the existing paradigm, but rather strengthen it. “Revolutionary” scientists will instead look closely at novel observations and use anomalies as a basis to devise alternative paradigms, boldly exploring uncharted territory, with the possibility of discovering that earlier assumptions were wrong. In contrast to normal science, revolutionary science is not cumulative, and leads to a revision of existing beliefs. In both cases, scientists must take the risk that their research will return contradictory results or fail to supply rigorous evidence.
Kuhn discusses the necessity for scientists to “focus attention on a small range of relatively esoteric problems,” so that they may reach otherwise unattainable depths. This focus implies a sacrifice in cross-disciplinary understanding; if they are wrong at square one, specialization can result in a researcher’s life’s work being a failure. We see that scientists must also have the courage to specialize, which always carries the largest risk.
When this small range of problems becomes limited, or the paradigm stops producing functional results through normal scientific research, scientists must change and sometimes completely abandon older research methods.
A “paradigm shift” is a change in axioms and has occurred at almost every major scientific breakthrough over the past centuries. As a famous example, in the 18th century, it was believed that “phlogiston,” a fire-like element, was a substance present in all combustible material, and which was necessary for combustion. By 1777, Antoine Lavoisier had proven this theory to be false by using closed vessels to demonstrate that certain metals gained mass when burned, despite the idea that they were supposed to lose the mass of phlogiston. In its place, Lavoisier contributed the “oxygen theory of combustion,” and launched a much more strict and rigorous era of chemical research. During each shift, it follows that where one paradigm fails, another paradigm succeeds. Revolution is consistent across the history of science, because we cannot get rid of one idea without finding something better.
Looking at the state of modern science, with computing power growing at Moore’s exponential rate, paradigm shifts are occurring much more frequently than in the past, with the major exception of theoretical physics, which is stuck on Einstein’s theory of relativity — despite major progress in the mathematics of theoretical physics, researchers have made very little addition to the physical dimensions of the discipline. Modern scientists will need to be prepared for massive axiomatic changes heralding entirely new disciplines and fields of study. Damasio’s own field, neuroscience, is only in its adolescent stage compared to long-running disciplines like physics, astronomy, chemistry and biology, but its novel insights into the inner workings of the mind are beginning to have profound consequences in medicine and artificial intelligence, among many other fields.
To the budding scientist, I would urge you to dig deep into those systems and ideas which captivate your attention, but be prepared to fail. All discovery comes at the cost of causing someone else’s idea to fail. Whether you are building upon the work of the past, or in search of the next revolutionary discovery, the work that you do will require tremendous courage. First the courage to commit to axioms, followed by the courage to specialize. If necessary, cultivate a humble willingness to accept failure and once more find the courage to start again. As by step 4 of the Cartesian method — the process of reviewing your arguments — remember that you are a small piece of a massive, worldwide community.
Look forward to being proven wrong. It means you are doing something right.
About the author:
A student of Mathematics, learning to read and write, who spends too much study time playing guitar. Raised with a twin brother in a small western British Columbia town, playing in woods that would have pleased Thoreau. — Jonas Petersen, Content Creator at The Brane.
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