I am, as several other essays emphasize, an advocate of the position that science is not an objective, truth-directed machine, but a quintessentially human activity, affected by passions, hopes, and cultural biases.
I read Stephen Jay Gould’s The Mismeasure of Man a few months ago, and mentioned to my brother that while I enjoyed it, for some reason I thought it was going to be a collection of science essays on a variety of topics. My brother promptly sent me Gould’s The Panda’s Thumb: More Reflections in Natural History. And it was even better than The Mismeasure of Man.
Throughout the book, which primarily focuses on evolutionary theory, Gould emphasizes that scientific discovery is not a purely objective, step-by-step process, but “is always an interaction of prevailing culture, individual eccentricity, and empirical constraint.” The reader can feel Gould’s enthusiasm and imagination behind every subject he writes about. He emphasizes the complex process of developing theories, that theories are not necessarily a result of orderly, sequential advancements–neatly organized building blocks–but that nature is a wondrous system that abounds with mysteries.
Gould’s essays cover a wide range of topics. One essay discusses how peculiarities in species–features that seem to have little purpose–provide a history of the evolutionary ancestors that came before. In another essay, he argues that evolutionary hyperselection–where every feature has a purpose–doesn’t hold up, as features have latent or other capacities beyond a particular use. When he talks about evolution, he states “”Organisms are built by genes activating in concert, influenced by environments, translated into parts that selection sees and parts invisible to selection.”
In another essay, Gould talks about inductivism versus “eurekaism,” stating that scientific discovery is usually a combination of methodical scientific observations and “aha!” bolts of illumination. In many essays he talks about gradualism–the idea that change is a series of ever ascending steps–versus discontinuous change. He seems particularly interested in the complexities of discovery, the messy process that includes moments of “Inspired error” which can lead to understanding.
In other essays, Gould entertainingly writes about the illustrated evolution of Mickey Mouse (to demonstrate how it parallels human neoteny, where we retain juvenile features into adulthood). He covers the Piltdown Hoax, a whodunnit where evidence of early human evolution was faked by putting the cranium of a human and the jaw of an ape together. In another essay, he defends the intelligence of dinosaurs, often portrayed as lumbering idiots.
Gould explores how biological determinants about race, gender, and class are invalid. He writes about scientific racism, from racist theories in the past about how Down’s Syndrome was connected to Asian peoples, to the “cleaning up” of racist writings by famous scientists.
According to Gould, evolution is not only a system of gradualism, but one that encompasses discontinuous change. He notes: “Darwin portrayed evolution as a stately and orderly process, working at a speed so slow that no person could hope to observe it in a lifetime.” He further goes on, “The modern theory of evolution does not require gradual change. In fact, the operation of Darwinian processes should yield exactly what we see in the fossil record. It is gradualism that we must reject, not Darwinism.”
One of my favorite essays further explores the “inspired errors” of past scientific discovery. Gould recounts scientific discoveries and theories that were later proved wrong. He has a great passage about understanding scientific errors:
Science contains few outright fools. Errors usually have their good reasons once we penetrate their context properly and avoid judgment according to our current perception of “truth.” They are usually more enlightening than embarrassing, for they are signs of changing contexts. The best thinkers have the imagination to create organizing visions, and they are sufficiently adventurous (or egotistical) to float them in a complex world that can never answer “yes” in all detail. The study of inspired error should not engender a homily about the sin of pride; it should lead us to a recognition that capacity for great insight and great error are opposite sides of the same coin–and that the currency of both is brilliance.
While there were a few essays where I didn’t understand a thing (Gould’s accessible brilliance is not in question, but rather my own confusions), I greatly enjoyed this book. Gould truly makes science a grand adventure.