Teaching Science

I have taught various subjects over the years in various settings—from college physics, to meditation, to spiritual practices, to nonviolence. Because of my technical background, one of my favorite subjects to teach is science—particularly in a one-on-one setting. I love the definitiveness, the objectivity of science. To every scientific question we pose, there is an unequivocal answer; a truth. That unambiguous answer may often not be quite known yet, but it does exist and potentially can be found. The unknown factor can provide the stimulus for us to keep on searching.

How big is the universe? How did life begin? Where did life begin? How much of global warming is being caused by humans? Why is that bird singing? What is the cognitive ability of a dog? Why is the sky blue? These questions all have definitive answers. Some we know now, some we don’t. When someday we do know the answer, our early hypothesis or theory will finally become a “law.” It’s an unfolding of truth.

Just knowing that an answer does exist is very satisfying to me, when I teach science—even if I can’t give the answer today. In that sense science is different from religion or philosophy, in that it deals neither with absolute certainty nor with anybody’s opinion, belief, or insight. It does not rely upon the charisma or repute of anyone. The truth of scientific matters is accessible to both the mighty and the humble. It’s the people’s knowledge.

Humility is, in fact, very central to science (or should be). Despite the fact that the human science book of knowledge is massive, we know that the book of our ignorance is far larger. So when I teach science I might be able to come across at one time as authoritative—say, when describing why the sky is blue—but I must admit that nobody yet knows how big the universe is. It probably does have a size (possibly infinite), but we haven’t cracked the code yet. As a teacher of science, that keeps me humble. I can’t in all honesty spout either dogma or certainty—and even when I can, it’s nothing that I own. The “law” of gravity is independent of the mind of any human. Furthermore, most things we teach are not laws, but just our current best guess. Be advised that tomorrow’s discoveries may turn it all upside down.

When we dig a little deeper, we come to understand that science’s foundation of certainty is even shakier than we first thought. (Of course, this lack of certainty is exactly what religious fundamentalists love to attack—for they possess the arrogance to think that they have nailed down the answer, for once and forever.) As scientists, however, we must honestly admit that we know less than we’d like to think we do. That comes hard for some scientist types. We might use precise models and elegant equations to describe and predict natural phenomena, but we often don’t know if the problem at hand even fits our model—let alone that the model may be specious. Disturbingly often someone comes up with a new observation or a new model that consigns the current favorite to the trash can.

An example: Newton’s laws once were believed to define a precisely predictable universe, until Einstein rocked that boat (and quantum mechanics flipped it over). Example: We’ve developed elaborate theories and models for the workings of the universe, but we have no idea what 95% of the stuff in the universe is! Dark matter and dark energy are just that: big things that seem to hide in the shadows. Example: We can often very accurately predict the behavior of water’s amazing properties, but we have no idea of why water behaves that way. Example: Only recently have we gained some confidence that we know the size of the observable universe (some 13.7 billion light-years radius), but we don’t know if there’s anything beyond that; also we’re not sure if the universe will continue expanding indefinitely or one day, like a stretched rubber band, will begin to contract again. The more we learn, the more we realize just how much we don’t know.
All that uncertainty may sound like an indictment of science (and some people conclude exactly that), but it makes it all the more wonderful for me. The marvel lies in not knowing; the wonder arises from viewing the fantastic growth of scientific knowledge over the centuries and having the faith that unimaginable horizons of wisdom wait to be viewed. I think it is just dandy to live with the uncertainty. The more I come to comprehend this magnificent world, the more beautiful and immaculate I can see it is. And if I accept the current uncertainties, I am open to new wonders that will inevitably come along, rather than resist them, because I’ve already made up my mind. It’s a form of the humble Zen “I don’t know mind,” which eagerly awaits to be enlightened.