Science, Order and Creativity

David Bohm, F. David Peat

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2010
• ISBN:
  9781136922800
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Philosophy History & Theory

One of the foremost scientists and thinkers of our time, David Bohm worked alongside Oppenheimer and Einstein. In Science, Order and Creativity he and physicist F. David Peat propose a return to greater creativity and communication in the sciences. They ask for a renewed emphasis on ideas rather than formulae, on the whole rather than fragments, and on meaning rather than mere mechanics. Tracing the history of science from Aristotle to Einstein, from the Pythagorean theorem to quantum mechanics, the authors offer intriguing new insights into how scientific theories come into being, how to eliminate blocks to creativity and how science can lead to a deeper understanding of society, the human condition and the human mind itself. Science, Order and Creativity looks to the future of science with elegance, hope and enthusiasm.

1
REVOLUTIONS, THEORIES, AND CREATIVITY IN SCIENCE

Science today is exerting an ever-increasing influence over the world’s societies, yet at its very heart, it is beset with serious difficulties. One of the most pervasive of these involves its fragmentary approach to nature and reality. In the Introduction it was suggested that, in an age in which science is taken to be the key to increasing progress and the betterment of life, this fragmentary approach can never resolve the deeper problems which now face our world. Many of these problems depend on contexts so broad that they ultimately extend into the whole of nature, society, and the life of each individual. Clearly such problems can never be solved within the limited contexts in which they are normally formulated.

It is only by moving beyond its present fragmentation that science can hope to make a realistic contribution to these, more serious problems which face us. But fragmentation should not be confused with the act of division of an area of knowledge into particular fields of specialization or with the abstraction of specific problems for study. These divisions may be perfectly legitimate, and in fact, they are an essential feature of science. Rather, as the term indicates, to fragment means “to break up or smash.” Fragmentation therefore arises when an attempt is made to impose divisions in an arbitrary fashion, without any regard for a wider context, even to the point of ignoring essential connections to the rest of the world. The image of a watch that has been smashed by a hammer comes to mind, for what results is not an appropriate set of divisions but arbitrary fragments which have little or no significance to the working of the watch. Many of our current attempts to deal with the serious problems discussed in the Introduction result in solutions and actions which are as fragmentary and irrelevant as the parts of a broken watch.

FRAGMENTATION AND CHANGE IN SCIENCE

Science is an attempt to understand the universe and humanity’s relationship to nature. How then is it possible for fragmentation to grow out of such an approach? The very notion of scientific understanding appears to be totally incompatible with a fragmentary attitude to reality. To understand how the fragmentary approach to the problems and difficulties discussed in the Introduction came to pervade the whole of science, it is first necessary to understand not only what fragmentation means, but also how it operates in practice. This involves particularly subtle and complex issues. To begin with, it is important once again to distinguish fragmentation from simple specialization and from the practical division of knowledge into various subdivisions. Clearly some such form of specialization was the essential step in the development of civilization.

Indeed, the study of any field begins with a natural act of abstraction, in order to focus on certain features of interest. To be able to give attention to something, it is first necessary to abstract or isolate its main features from all the infinite, fluctuating complexity of its background.

When such an act of perceptive abstraction is free from an excessive mechanical rigidity, then it does not lead to fragmentation, but rather it reflects the ever-changing relationship of the object to its background. In order to recognize a face in a moving crowd, for example, an act of perceptive abstraction is required in which important features are isolated and integrated together. In a similar way, nonrigid focusing of the mind upon a field of interest will allow a corresponding integration of all relevant features in this field.

As a simple illustration, think of an intern who examines a patient in the emergency ward of a hospital. This doctor must make a preliminary diagnosis based on characteristic signs and symptoms that have to be abstracted from the infinite variety of appearances and behavior of the patient. This diagnosis therefore relies upon an essential division and classification of groups of symptoms and findings. But this division must never be fixed rigidly beforehand. Rather, the doctor must constantly check and confirm his or her hypotheses, changing them when they are not confirmed.

The preliminary diagnosis may point to some trauma in a localized region of the body, the dysfunction of an organ, a generalized infection, or some overall disorder of the metabolism. The recognition of a specific disease therefore depends upon the doctor’s ability to recognize a whole picture of symptoms which have been abstracted out of a complex background. Given this diagnosis, the intern will then call upon the assistance of a doctor who specializes in one of the subdivisions of medicine, for example injuries to the brain, disorders of the gastrointestinal system, fractures of the bones, infectious diseases. When medicine works well, it combines this generalized knowledge with the more focused and detailed knowledge of the specialist. The danger, however, is always present that by converging upon a particular symptom, or area of the body, its connection with the larger whole of the patient’s lifestyle and the lifestyle of the whole society may be neglected. When this happens, the deeper nature of the disorder is obscured and specialization gives way to fragmentation, which will lead to inappropriate treatment.

In a similar way, science has developed into a number of general areas, such as physics, chemistry, and biology. In turn, each of these fields is further broken down into more specific specializations. Physics, for example, includes elementary particles, nuclear, atomic, molecular, condensed matter, fluids, astrophysics, and so on. Each particular discipline involves its own highly specific areas of knowledge together with characteristic theoretical and experimental approaches that have been built up through historical evolution.

In the seventeenth century, for example, the study of gases embraced both physics and chemistry, and a range of different approaches and experimental techniques were used in the one laboratory. The Irishman Robert Boyle, for example, was interested in the behavior of gases, both chemical and physical without distinction. In particular he became fascinated by what he called the “spring” of a gas, the way its volume changes with pressure. In order to make careful measurements of this relationship, it was necessary to isolate each particular gas from background contingencies, such as changes in temperature. But once Boyle’s law had been established, it became possible to widen the investigation and to explore the effect of both pressure and temperature on the same volume of gas. In turn, ever more refined experiments could detect deviations on the part of individual gases, from this ideal behavior. But by now, the study of gases had divided itself into two main areas, their physical and their chemical behaviors, which were studied by scientists with quite different backgrounds and trainings.

The example of Boyle’s research illustrates two particular tendencies in specialization: first, that a topic of general interest, in this case the behavior of gases, can become divided into several distinct fields of study; and second, the way in which a scientific investigation proceeds by focusing, through carefully designed experiments, upon some particular property of a system and then attempting to study it in isolation from the wider context of its environment. Once this particular property is fully understood, the context can then be expanded to include additional effects and properties. Ideally, areas of specialization are never rigidly fixed but evolve dynamically, in a state of flux, subdividing into narrow regions of specialization at one time then becoming more generalized at another. Provided that these boundaries remain fluid and scientists are aware of the wider context of each experiment and concept, then the problems of fragmentation need not arise.

But, in general, science today is becoming more and more specialized so that an individual scientist may spend a lifetime working in a particular narrow field and never come into contact with the wider context of his or her subject. Indeed, some scientists believe that this is inevitable. For as knowledge accumulates, knowing everything in depth and detail becomes impossible, so that researchers must apparently be content to work in increasingly narrow areas.

Nevertheless, it is still commonly thought to be possible to find examples in which specialization does not lead to fragmentation but rather to an actual extension of the overall context. In biology at the start of this century, for example, most researchers had little to do with the emerging ideas in physics. Experts may have had some superficial knowledge of the new advances in atomic physics and quantum theory but they had little reason to connect it to their daily research. However, a few decades later interest in DNA brought into biology a whole series of new experimental techniques first developed in physics. Today the methods of experimental physics and the quantum theory form revolutions, theories, and creativity in science 5 an essential part of what has become known as molecular biology. The context of molecular biology has therefore transcended the boundaries of a number of sciences. However, as a new area of study, molecular biology has itself become fragmented and separated from other fields of biology. Today a molecular biologist probably has little in common with workers in whole animal biology, for example. Hence, even when significant cross connections are made between areas of specialization, the end result may in fact be an even more subtle and far-reaching form of rigid specialization.

As was suggested earlier, however, there appears to be no intrinsic reason why the movement between specialization and generalization, analysis and synthesis should of itself necessarily lead to fragmentation. Moreover, it is clear that individual scientists themselves would hardly make a conscious decision to carry out their research in a fragmentary way. How then has the present fragmentation of science come about? Clearly it must involve some particularly subtle factors that have by now become built into the very way that science is carried out. Our proposal is that fragmentation does not so much arise from some defect in the scientific approach. Rather it has its origins in the general ways in which human beings perceive and act, not only as individuals but, more importantly, on an organized social level. As an example (which will be explored in more detail in the next chapter), fragmentation arises in scientific communication and this becomes embedded in the very way the languages of science are used. And since the causes of such fragmentation are in general mainly subliminal, they are extremely difficult to detect and to correct.

A more general subliminal cause of fragmentation in science involves what might be called “the tacit infrastructure of scientific ideas.” Some of our most valuable skills exist in the form of such a tacit infrastructure of knowledge. A child, for example, spends long hours with a bicycle before suddenly learning to ride. Yet once this new skill is acquired, it never seems to be forgotten. It takes a subliminal and mainly unconscious form, since no one actually “thinks” about how to ride a bike. Likewise typing, sailing a yacht, walking, swimming, playing tennis, and for the skilled handyperson, fixing a car, replacing a broken electrical plug, or changing a washer in a faucet all involve this sort of tacit infrastructure of knowledge and skills. Similarly, a scientist possesses a great deal of such knowledge and skills which are at his or her “fingertips.” These make day-to-day research possible, allowing concentration on the main point of issue without the constant need to think about the details of what is being done. Most scientists, for example, carry out their research by using experimental techniques or applying established theories that were first picked up in graduate school. In this way a physicist may spend a decade investigating, for example, the internal structure of metals without ever needing to question this tacit knowledge in any basic way.

But science, like everything else, is in a constant process of evolution and change. In this process, the developments that are made in one area may sometimes have serious consequences for the foundations of theories and concepts in other areas. In this way, the overall context of science is constantly undergoing changes which, at times, are both deep and subtle. The result of this complex change is that the underlying tacit infrastructure of concepts and ideas may gradually become inappropriate or even irrelevant. But because scientists are accustomed to using their tacit skills and knowledge in subliminal and unconscious ways, there is a tendency of the mind to hold on to them and to try to go on working in old ways within new contexts. The result is a mixture of confusion and fragmentation.

As an example, consider the development of the theory of relativity. Before Einstein, the Newtonian concepts of absolute space and time had pervaded both the theory and the practice of physics for several centuries. Even a physicist as original as H. Lorentz at the turn of the century continued to use these concepts in an effort to explain the constancy of the velocity of light, irrespective of the speed of the measuring apparatus. Newtonian notions of relative velocity suggested that the measurement of the speed of light should yield an experimental result that depended upon the speed of the observing apparatus relative to the light source. For example, if the apparatus moves rapidly toward the source of light, it would expect to register a higher speed than if it moved away. However, no such effect was observed during very careful measurements. Lorentz, in an effort to retain the Newtonian concepts, proposed an ether theory, in which the anomalous results on the measurement of light were explained by actual changes in the measuring apparatus as it moved through the ether.

Lorentz was therefore able to explain the constancy of the velocity of light, independent of the relative speed of the observer, as an artifact produced by the measuring instruments themselves, and there was no need to question the fundamental nature of Newtonian ideas. It took the genius of Einstein to do this. But such was the strength of the tacit infrastructure of basic concepts that it required a long time before scientists could generally appreciate the meaning of Einstein’s proposals. As with Lorentz, the general tendency was to hold on to basic ways of thinking in new contexts that called for fundamental changes. In this way a confusion was introduced into the subliminal infrastructure that becomes extremely difficult to detect.

To be free of this confusion, scientists must be able to perceive the underlying infrastructure of skills, concepts, and ideas in a radically new light. In the first instance, such perception reveals various internal contradictions and other inadequacies, which should in themselves alert scientists to the fact that something is going wrong. An accumulation of internal contradictions and inadequacies should properly lead scientists to question the whole general structure of the theories and presuppositions that underlie a particular field. In some cases, this examination would involve calling into question even the independence of that area of specialization from others.

In many cases, however, this sort of response does not actually take place and scientists attempt to press on by putting “new wine in old bottles.” But why should this be? The answer to this question involves a psychological factor, the mind’s strong tendency to cling to what it finds familiar and to defend itself against what threatens seriously to disturb its overall balance and equilibrium. Unless the perceived rewards are very great, the mind will not willingly explore its unconscious infrastructure of ideas but will prefer to continue in more familiar ways.

The mind’s tendency to hold on to what is familiar is enhanced by the fact that the overall tacit infrastructure is inseparably woven into the whole fabric of science as well as into its institutions, on which depends the professional security of each scientist. As a result, there is always a strong pressure against any individual scientist who threatens to “rock the boat.” But of course, this resistance is not confined simply to science but occurs in every walk of life when familiar and comfortable thoughts and feelings are threatened. People will therefore tend not to have the necessary energy and courage to call into question the whole tacit infrastructure of their field. But this becomes increasingly difficult to do as the whole infrastructure ultimately extends, in its implications, into the whole of science and even of society itself.

One particularly significant mechanism which the mind employs to defend itself against the inadequacy of its basic ideas is to deny that it is relevant to explore these ideas. Indeed the whole process generally goes further because it is implicitly denied that anything important is being denied! Scientists, for example, may avoid confronting deeper ideas by assuming that each particular difficulty or contradiction can be dealt with through some suitable modification of a commonly accepted theory. Each problem therefore produces a burst of activity in which the scientist seeks a “new idea.” But rather than looking for something truly fundamental, scientists often attempt an addition or modification that will simply meet the current problem without seriously disturbing the underlying infrastructure.

Another way of defending the subliminal structure of ideas is to overemphasize the separation between a particular problem and other areas. In this way the problem can be studied in a limited context and without the need to question related concepts. But this only acts to prevent a clear awareness of the ultimate connections of the problem to its wider context and implications. The result is to produce artificial and excessively sharp divisions between different problems and to obscure their connections to wider fields. As these divisions rigidify with time, they cease to constitute valid breaks or abstractions of distinctfields of study and result in a pervasive form of fragmentation. Further work, guided by this fragmentary infrastructure, will lead to an apparent confirmation of the original assumption that there can be a sharp separation between the fields in question. Different areas of study now appear to exist on their own, as objective and independent of the actions, will, and desire of individual scientists, even though their actions originally brought about this fragmentation in the first place. Fragmentatio...

Table of contents

• CONTENTS
• PREFACE
• INTRODUCTION
• 1 REVOLUTIONS, THEORIES, AND CREATIVITY IN SCIENCE
• 2 SCIENCE AS CREATIVE PERCEPTION-COMMUNICATION
• 3 WHAT IS ORDER?
• 4 THE GENERATIVE ORDER AND THE IMPLICATE ORDER
• 5 GENERATIVE ORDER IN SCIENCE, SOCIETY, AND CONSCIOUSNESS
• 6 CREATIVITY IN THE WHOLE OF LIFE
• 7 THE ORDER BETWEEN AND BEYOND
• NOTES
• INDEX