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.

 

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.

 

What follows is old news in two ways – familiar gist, year-old link – but it’s what’s on my old mind.

Suppose we asked a group of Presidential candidates if they believed in the existence of atoms, and a third of them said “no”? That would be a truly appalling show of scientific illiteracy, would it not? And all the more shocking coming from those who aspire to run a technologically sophisticated nation.

Yet something like this happened a week ago during the Republican presidential debate. When the moderator asked nine candidates to raise their hands if they “didn’t believe in evolution,” three hands went into the air-those of Senator Sam Brownback, Governor Mike Huckabee, and Representative Tom Tancredo.

I don’t know whether to attribute the show of hands to the candidates’ ignorance of the mountain of evidence for evolution, or to a cynical desire to pander to a public that largely rejects evolution (more than half of Americans do). But I do know that it means that our country is in trouble. As science becomes more and more important in dealing with the world’s problems, Americans are falling farther and farther behind in scientific literacy. Among citizens of industrialized nations, Americans rank near the bottom in their understanding of math and science. Over half of all Americans don’t know that the Earth orbits the Sun once a year, and nearly half think that humans once lived, Flintstone-like, alongside dinosaurs.

Thus biologist Jerry Coyne at The Edge

While we’re having fun, let me add something I read lately, source now forgotten. To shore up the Flintstone thesis, which of course is contradicted by the fossil record, creationists now argue that God so really, really didn’t love the world that after the Flood had stifled the sinners, he proceeded to extirpate every last trace of them, right down to the atoms of which they were composed.

It’s not exactly fun, is it, when we recall just how many people voted for Huckabee? Is it really so melodramatic to claim that in the US, the values we inherit from the Enlightenment are threatened?

Couldn’t happen here? Well no, not in that form. But consider:

  • decreasing enrolments in engineering, science and applied technologies
  • no improvement in the standards of science journalism – and very few courses in it
  • the option of avoiding science and mathematics earlier and earlier in the school curriculum
  • education and humanities faculties riddled with the social-constructivist virus (‘science-just-another-story’)
  • a strong and increasing tendency in both main political parties to a crude majoritarian approach to policy
  • new generations convinced that in the broadest sense of the word, the only culture is ‘popular’ culture, in which, as Neil Postman said, thou shalt have no prerequisites.

I brood. And read Voltaire.

 

Scientists at Newcastle University have created part-human, part-animal hybrid embryos for the first time in the UK, the BBC can reveal…. So what possible justification can scientists offer for doing what the Catholic Church has branded “experiments of Frankenstein proportion”?

My learned interlocutor Professor Phillips points out that both the BBC and the Catholic Church are mistaken. Hybridity experiments feature not in Mary Shelley’s book but in H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau.

Moreau’s cutting and pasting, adding puma ears and so on, may be gross compared to the delicate gene manipulations of today, but you have to admire the chap’s methodology.

You begin to see that it is a possible thing to transplant tissue from one part of an animal to another, or from one animal to another; to alter its chemical reactions and methods of growth; to modify the articulations of its limbs; and, indeed, to change it in its most intimate structure. . . . I was the first man to take up this question armed with antiseptic surgery, and with a really scientific knowledge of the laws of growth.

But did the Catholic Church overlook Wells’s fiction? Or did the following passage stick like a burr in its collective memory?

Yet one would imagine it must have been practised in secret before. Such creatures as the Siamese TwinsAnd in the vaults of the Inquisition. No doubt their chief aim was artistic torture, but some at least of the inquisitors must have had a touch of scientific curiosity.

The BBC, complicit in the silencing of H.G Wells by the Catholic Church? Chesterton, thou should’st be living at this hour!

PS I wonder if the Pope plays Bioshock?

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