We’re
living in the Information Age. I don’t
know what they’ll call the next age, since we don’t yet have enough information
to make the call, probably because it’s too hard to imagine anything more
wonderful than our modern technology (in the archaic sense of the word –
filling a person with wonder).
The computing ability of that little device in my
pocket is powerful enough to deliver most of the world’s information in a
matter of seconds, any time, day or night.
I marvel at this, in the same way I marvel at giant aircraft that fly to
Japan and the little handful of pills I take every night I’m told is keeping me
alive. The pleasant female voice on my
iPhone telling me how to get from Dublin to Killarney. I feel if you aren’t dazzled by these
technical miracles, you aren’t paying attention. But still.
Hadron Collider Is
information the same as learning, and is learning the same as knowledge?
I’m what
they call an Infomaniac, which is a common condition with writers, who want to
know everything all the time. I
obsessively absorb all the information I can grab, which is a lot, because
I never know when it will come in handy.
Though I’m beginning to think it’s too much.
One of the conclusions
emerging from this gush of information is that much of it is inaccurate. While disinformation is rampant, most inaccuracies
are unintentional, because the individual chronicler can only know so much, as
is true with those who advise her, so she has to get some things wrong. Consequently, you have to take the things you
learn with a grain of salt. A big, honking,
room-sized boulder of salt.
A recent article in the New York Times by a learned scientist tells us we really shouldn’t expect science to have the
right answers. Actually, quite the
contrary. They’re often wrong, and the
more conviction they display, the less reliable their assertions. I’ve known this for some time, having studied
the history of science. Nearly every
groundbreaking study and elegant theory is full of caveats, and put forth
usually more as a proposition than an iron-clad, done deal. They will only know how close they got to a definitive
answer over time, as additional research adds to the understanding, and the worthy
process of challenges and counterarguments takes its course.
And the most
wonderful thing to me, is that while science can often predict with 100% certainty
what will happen from a set of organized interactions, they often don’t know why . Much of modern electronic wizardry is based
on theories of quantum mechanics, which not a single physicist in history has fully
understood. They can just guess and
approximate, and hope that their children and grandchildren will get us closer
to the truth.
(Quantum mechanics is so hard to understand that at least one theoretical physicist thinks his science has given up trying. I agree with him that this is foolish. What if Lewis and Clark had stopped in Kansas, telling each other, this is just too hard?)
So that’s
the other leg of the stool. Information
leads to learning, which may or may not yield reliable knowledge, which rarely
serves up truth, in the absolute way we all understand the word.
Consequently,
truth is likely the most revered and slipperiest word in the language. An advertising colleague of mine once said, in the midst
of a very confusing and stressful period at work, “I know my name is Joan and I
live in a house.” Like her, I know
certain things to be true. I love my
wife, my dog and my family. I love the
places I live, and my friends. I was
born in Philadelphia and if I root for the Phillies, they’ll likely lose in the
playoffs. Everything else is up for
grabs.
Everyday I read something that totally
contradicts what we’ve always considered to be established fact. Coffee is bad for you? Nope. It’s great.
Drink all you want. Red wine is
great for your health? Nope. Even a little bit will shorten your
life. Neanderthals were lumbering,
inferior oafs. Nope. Their brains were bigger than ours and they could
kick our asses with one foot tied behind their backs. Honey bees are disappearing? Nope.
We’re lousy with them.
My goal, and
intended default setting, is to be a skeptic, without becoming a cynic. To be open to everything, without believing
anything prior to further examination.
Trust but verify. As much as you
can, and then still keep some skepticism in reserve.
As a young
person, I was usually flush with passionate conviction. At his stage, when someone asks my opinion on
something, anything, I usually say, “I’m not sure.”
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