September 2008

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Down with paper money!

Number 1 son decided yesterday that he’d heard quite enough from father about the perfidy of the Royal Society and the madness of stock markets. He emerged from the local library with a bundle of his usual gory arcana and – for me – a copy of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. After reading the first chapter on the Mississippi Scheme I feel better. That was the episode shortly after the death of Louis XIV in which a Scottish adventurer won the confidence of the Regent, commandeered the heights of the French economy and led the nation straight down the gurgler.

The resemblance of the chap on the right to a younger Alan Greenspan is a bit of a worry.

I suppose it had to happen, the Royal Society recommending that creationism be taught in schools. From the Times article it seems probable that the decision has been made to show ‘sensitivity’ to guess who, Muslims and fundamentalist Christian students. The Royal’s director of education says as much.

Professor Reiss, a Church of England clergyman, said: ?Just because something lacks scientific support doesn?t seem to me a sufficient reason to omit it from a science lesson.”

Expect astrology soon, and lab sessions in casting the runes and an incursion of witches. Ridiculous, you say and you’d be right, because there’s no influential, well-funded and in the Muslim case, scary lobby group pushing for them.

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Then again ? suppose the Italian lady’s husband were the kind of scientist who bats on about his research in dense jargon until she wants to scream. And suppose that the hands-across-the-cultures man told his spectroscopy story colourlessly ?

“Learning the stuff of which the stars are made ?” It sounds as if it ought to be exciting enough, but – and this is something many academics find difficult to grasp – bare facts do not speak except to those already in possession of a context and able to grasp their significance. (CRICK: “It’s a double helix!” WATSON: “Call Stockholm!”)

Gustav Kirchoff is certainly not a name like Albert Einstein or James B. Watson. He was however, a very distinguished scientist indeed. This is a piece of the Wikipedia article.

Gustav Robert Kirchhoff (March 12, 1824 ? October 17, 1887) was a German physicist who contributed to the fundamental understanding of electrical circuits, spectroscopy, and the emission of black-body radiation by heated objects. He coined the term “black body” radiation in 1862, and two sets of independent concepts in both circuit theory and thermal emission are named “Kirchhoff’s laws” after him.

But the article as a whole does nothing to inspire readers or lead them to see why Kirchoff’s spectrocopy laws opened up the universe. For that you need context, you need eloquence, and you need a rhetoric that bridges the gap between the scientific and the general reader. On my shelf are two recent general histories of science, John Gribbin’s Science: a History 1543-2001 (2002) and Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything (2003). Neither delivers. Bryson has nothing on Kirchoff himself and nothing, even, on spectroscopy. Gribbin covers Kirchoff, but the detail of finding sodium on the sun is just another detail in an evenly-paced exposition.

The moral is simple: we need someone to write up the story of how we discovered what the stars are made of – and the cultural story, for there’s bound to be one – of how the new knowledge was received in the period. Did it just add weight to the story of a mechanistic universe that unfolded from Newton on? I guess Kolb’s own book is the first place to go.

I don’t mean to find fault with either history, just to note that in a very small sample of widely-available readings (I roamed around the Web, as well) there’s nothing to bring a sparkle to our Italian lady’s eyes.

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This blog has complained before about the vogue for mixing fact and fiction so as to blur the distinction between them. On this as on so much else, Johnson has something to contribute.

Talking of an acquaintance of ours, whose narratives, which abounded in curious and interesting topicks, were unhappily found to be very fabulous; I mentioned Lord Mansfield’s having said to me, “Suppose we believe one half of what he tells?” JOHNSON. “Ay; but we don’t know which half to believe. By his lying we lose all reverence for him, but also all comfort in his conversation.” BOSWELL. “May we not take it as amusing fiction?” JOHNSON. “Sir, the misfortune is, that you will insensibly believe as much of it as you incline to believe.”

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A last word about the growth of creative writing courses (previous entries here and here) before their demand for paper deforests the world.

Unless compelled, the students will not read. According to Michael Wilding, who introduced creative writing at Sydney University:

Most of the people studying it and teaching it are deeply committed to writing, but many have little or no interest in books by other people. They all want to write, but have little interest in reading.? ? _ [Weekend Australian, Feb 9-10, 13]

An honorable exception, Alan Wearne at Newcastle University, will have none of that: he makes them read and what’s more limits the intake to 35. To get in there you need demonstrated talent. Elsewhere, the enrolment figures are in the hundreds, and the reading requirements slight or non-existent.

A surefire way of reducing the anxiety of influence, of course. It seems the creative writing people are adopting the educational approach favoured by our art schools from about 1970 on, with results now familiar.

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Dr Phillips (whom God preserve) of New Jersey came across this example of the gap between Us and Them:

By 1859 Kirchoff knew enough about the spectra of gases from laboratory studies to identify the chemical elements in the Sun responsible for the dark lines in the solar spectrum. Thus, on the basis of experiments done on Earth, he could discern that the Sun is not made of any heavenly substance like quintessence [as hypothesized by Aristotle] but of everyday earthly elements.

I often wonder why history doesn’t take more notice of Kirchoff’s accomplishment. The idea that we learned what the Sun and the stars are made of would have astonished the ancients: it still astonishes me. Some philosophers and historians are so alienated from science that the significance of the discovery is hardly mentioned.

This was made painfully clear to me one spring day in 1989, when, during a banquet at a physics conference in Rome, I found myself sitting next to a physicist’s spouse who happened to be a historian at the University of Rome. Although astronomy is a highly specialized profession, I am always amazed by the degree of specialization in other fields. She was an expert on European history of the year 1859 (presumably the university has one hundred nineteenth-century European historians). In a clumsy attempt at polite dinner conversation, I asked why she happened to concentrate on that year. With a “surely you must know” tone, she replied that it was a very significant year because of the development of a remarkable idea. I made the mistake of asking if she was referring to Kirchoff’s discovery of the chemical composition of the Sun. She stared at me so long, with such a curious expression on her face, that I thought surely I must have linguini stuck to my chin. But no, she was simply amazed by the naivete of my question. Finally, she informed me that the significant event of the year 1859 was the publication of A Critique of Political Economy, by Karl Marx.

I further compounded my errors by asking how a mere economic theory could be compared to the discovery of the composition of the stars. I suppose that a biologist might ask why she considered Marx’s book more important than another book published in 1859, On the Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin. After another long stare, with a sigh of exasperation she turned to the person sitting on her other side, presumably searching for more enlightened conversation. I am embarrassed to admit that in the intervening years I still haven’t understood why the development of a (since discredited) economic theory is of more lasting importance than learning the stuff of which the stars are made. Perhaps one day I will.

The original source is Edward W. “Rocky” Kolb’s Blind Watchers of the Skies (1996)

I put aside (with some reluctance) explanations that include the words arrogance, educated imbecility, Italian bourgeois manners and ideology. Say instead that the lady evidently lacked intellectual imagination.

I mean the capacity to appreciate the significance of discoveries in another discipline, not to understand them technically, but to grasp what they mean for our general, shared picture of the world. Some other, more recent discoveries of a like kind within my lifetime: Chomsky’s proposal (with the neurological evidence) that the human mind is ‘wired for language’; the platelet movement of the earth’s crust and of course, the cracking of the DNA code by Crick and Watson. Not to know something of discoveries of this magnitude, not to want to understand their consequences for our general outlook is surely to be disqualified from seriousness.

I have reservations about the presiding spirit over at Edge, web organ of the ‘third culture’ but its distinguished contributors make it essential reading.

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