Authors: Robert M. Hazen
Science Matters (2 page)
The great ideas approach to science has another enormous advantage. While you are learning about issues that are in the news today, such as drug-resistant microbes or human cloning, you will be building an intellectual framework that will allow you to understand the issues of the future. To see the importance of this approach, consider that when we first began discussing this second edition of
Science Matters
in 2006, the reality of global warming (and the consequent need for governmental action) was still hotly debated in political circles. A year later, thanks in part to record temperatures and an unprecedented shrinking of the Arctic ice cap, the reality of global warming is widely accepted and the debate has shifted to determining how much of the warming is caused by human activities and what actions need to be taken to deal with it.
It is entirely possible that problems that loom large today—the spread of bird flu, the ethics of stem cell research, the proliferation of nuclear weapons, and much more—may seem insignificant by 2020. But while we cannot predict
which
science-laden issues will dominate the headlines of the future, we know that some surely will. And since every future scientific advance will grow out of the ideas contained in this book, mastering them allows you to deal with not only today’s problems, but tomorrow’s as well.
There is a temptation, when presenting a subject as complex as the natural sciences, to present topics in a rigid, mathematical outline. We have tried to resist this temptation for a number of reasons. In the first place, it does not accurately reflect the way science is actually performed. Real science, like any human activity, tends to be a little messy around the edges. More important, the things you need to know to be scientifically literate tend to be
a somewhat mixed bag. You need to know some facts, to be familiar with some general concepts, to know a little about how science works and how it comes to conclusions, and to know a little about scientists as people. All of these things may affect how you interpret the news of the day. So if you find that the book is something of a potpourri, don’t be surprised. That’s the way science—like everything else in life—is.
Finally, we hope that we can communicate to you another little-known fact about science: that it is just plain fun—not just “good for you,” like some foul-tasting medicine. It grew out of observations of everyday experience by thousands of our ancestors, most of whom actually enjoyed what they were doing. Amid the collection of fact, history, logic, and policy questions that follows, we hope you occasionally catch a glimpse of two people who enjoy what they do—who occasionally thrill at the thought of the intellectual beauty of the universe we are privileged to live in and know.
Note on the Second Edition
When we began the first edition of
Science Matters
in 1989 we proposed eighteen great ideas of science that we felt framed virtually all discoveries of the natural world and all advances in technology. We could not have foreseen many of the remarkable developments of the past two decades—nanotechnology archaea, LEDs, cloning, dark energy, ancient microbial fossils and deep microbial life, evidence for oceans of water on Mars and lakes of methane on Titan, ribozymes, carbon nanotubes, extrasolar planets, and so much more. But all of these unanticipated findings fit into the existing framework of science. The core concepts of science have not changed, and we are unable to point to any fundamentally new scientific principle that has emerged during the
1990s or 2000s. Accordingly, while every chapter has been significantly updated, we have added only a single new chapter on the explosion of advances in biotechnology. We conclude that the experience of the past two decades underscores the value of the great ideas approach to achieving scientific literacy.
Knowing
Y
OUR LIFE IS FILLED
with routine—you set your alarm clock at night, take a shower in the morning, brush your teeth after breakfast, pay your bills on time, and fasten your seat belt. With each of these actions and a hundred others every day you acknowledge the power of predictability. If you don’t set the alarm you’ll probably be late for work or school. If you don’t take a shower you’ll probably smell. If you don’t fasten your seat belt and then get into a freeway accident you may die.
We all seek order to deal with life’s uncertainties. We look for patterns to help us cope. Scientists do the same thing. They constantly examine nature, guided by one overarching principle:
.
The universe is not random. The sun comes up every morning, the stars sweep across the sky at night. The universe moves in regular, predictable ways. Human beings can grasp the regularities
of the universe and can even uncover the basic, simple laws that produce them. We call this activity “science.”
Science is one way of knowing about the world. The unspoken assumption behind the scientific endeavor is that general laws, discoverable by the human mind, exist and govern everything in the physical world. In its most advanced form, science is written in the language of mathematics, and therefore is not always easily accessible to the general public. But, like any other language, the language of science can be translated into simple English. When this is done, the beauty and simplicity of the great scientific laws can be shared by everyone.
Science is not the only way, nor always the best way, to gain an understanding of the world in which we find ourselves. Religion and philosophy help us come to grips with the meaning of life without the need for experimentation or mathematics, while art, music, and literature provide us with a kind of aesthetic, non-quantitative knowledge. You don’t need calculus to tell you whether a symphony or a poem has meaning for you. Science complements these other ways of knowing, providing us with insights about a different aspect of the universe.
Our ancestors perceived the universe in ways that sometimes seem very strange to us. For all but the past few hundred years of human existence the universe was viewed by most people as a place without deep order or rules, governed by the whims of the gods or even by chance. By noting the daily movements of
objects in the sky, however, our ancestors got their first hints that some kind of order and regularity might exist in nature. The position of the sun, the phases of the moon, and the dominant constellations of stars cycled over the years, decades, and centuries with unerring regularity. Whatever governs its motion, the fact is that the sun does come up every morning.
Most historians of science point to the need for a reliable calendar to regulate agricultural activity as the impetus for learning about what we now call astronomy. Early astronomy provided information about when to plant crops and gave humans their first formal method of recording the passage of time. Stonehenge, the 4,000-year-old ring of stones in southern Britain, is perhaps the best-known monument to the discovery of regularity and predictability in the world we inhabit. The great markers of Stonehenge point to the spots on the horizon where the sun rises at the solstices and equinoxes—the dates we still use to mark the beginnings of the seasons. The stones may even have been used to predict eclipses. The existence of Stonehenge, built by people without writing, bears silent testimony both to the regularity of nature and to the ability of the human mind to see behind immediate appearances and discover deeper meanings in events.
Stonehenge relied on the regular and predictable movements of sun, moon, and stars to serve its builders as a calendar. At the solstices and equinoxes, the light of the sun or moon aligns with the stones, and so documents the passage of time
.
Astronomy was the first science. Throughout history some of the best minds produced by the human race have pondered the meaning of the celestial display. Most of the resulting theories shared a common property—they all assumed that in some way Earth was special, and that what happened in the heavens had no relevance to phenomena on Earth. In one important version of the universe, for example, the stars and the planets turned eternally on crystal spheres, and their motion had nothing to do with mundane events like the fall of an apple in an orchard. People who believed that the universe was built this way produced a large body of accurate observations of the positions of heavenly bodies, but astronomers were divorced from craftsmen and artisans who were doing different things for the development of science.
While the astronomers were gazing into the heavens, other men and women, equally ingenious, were trying to understand the way things operated on Earth. Their motivation was practical:
they studied the properties of heated metals because they wanted to develop stronger alloys, they studied the flow of fluids because they wanted to build canals, they experimented with different combinations of ingredients to make better-tasting food and more effective medicines, and so on. They never seemed to think that the prosaic tasks in which they were engaged had anything to do with the stars and planets.
The branch of science that finally broke out and forged a link between the cerebral astronomers and the practical artisans was “mechanics.” This is an old term for the study of motion. Every system, natural or man-made, contains matter in motion. Planets orbit, blood circulates, chemicals explode, people walk. Mechanics is the superbly pragmatic science of pocket billiards and car crashes, cannonballs and guided missiles. Today, the principles of mechanics point to such useful things as stronger buildings, faster cars, more exciting sports, and, as always, more sophisticated weapons. But more important from the point of view of the birth of modern science, the study of mechanics blazed the trail that subsequent scientists have followed. While studying mechanics, scientists developed and refined the scientific method, a technique that has given us so many new insights into the universe we inhabit.
Modern science can be said to have started with the work of Isaac Newton (1642–1727) in England. According to Newton, the universe is something like a clock. In a clock, the external appearance—the slow sweeping of the hands—is a result of the motion of internal gears. In the same way, all of the natural phenomena we see in the world around us are the result of a few natural
laws working beneath the surface of things. Newton demonstrated that:
For Newton, the key fact about motion was that it occurs in response to the action of one or more forces. The “gears” that connect forces and motion are Newton’s three laws of motion, and they apply to everything that moves. Gases streaming out of an exploding star, a football thrown downfield, and blood cells in your arteries all move in compliance with these very simple, but very general, laws.
Uniform Motion and Acceleration
If you’re going to study something like motion, the first thing you have to do is decide what sorts of motion are found in nature. Scientists recognize only two kinds: uniform and accelerated. Everything in the universe is either in uniform motion or accelerating.
Any object that stands still or moves in a straight line at constant speed is in uniform motion. A book sitting on your desk, a car driving along an interstate with the cruise control set at 65 mph, and a spaceship traveling at 1,000 miles per second in deep space are all in uniform motion.
Acceleration is any change in motion and occurs when something speeds up, slows down, or changes direction. This definition may seem a little strange, because when you drive a car “acceleration” means speeding up—not slowing down or turning a corner. Physicists use a more general meaning for acceleration—but whatever the definition, it’s something you feel in your gut. Flooring the
gas pedal on your car, braking for a light, or rounding a bend all tend to move you around in your seat. And there’s nothing subtle about acceleration—people don’t ride roller coasters to experience uniform motion.
Isaac Newton, building on results from centuries of experiments on moving objects, wrote down a compact set of laws that de scribes the nature of all motion. That these laws apply to such an immense assortment of situations illustrates the power behind thinking of nature as regular and predictable. Newton’s three laws of motion provide a cornerstone of physics and a model for what a science is supposed to be.
Newton’s laws tell us how to predict the motion of a system just by knowing the forces that act on it. The three laws are stated separately, but they work together like separate gears that run a clock. Like all the fundamental laws that govern science, Newton’s laws of motion may seem simple—almost simplistic. The deepest insights of the human mind often have this characteristic. Yet, as generations of physics students can testify, there is a subtlety and richness behind this apparent simplicity—how else could the laws describe everything from the orbits of Neptune’s moons to the movement of exploding gases in your car’s engine?