Weekly rhythm of discovery

“You can know the name of a bird in all the languages of the world, but when you’re finished, you’ll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird... So let’s look at the bird and see what it’s doing — that’s what counts. I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.” – Richard Feynman, physicist (1918-1988)

My parents tell me that I asked a lot of questions when I was a child. I do not find that special since that is the job of any child. But my father said that when he would tell me he would answer me “later,” I would ask back “what time?” Maybe this weekly column is my attempt in adult life to have that time — the time to find things out and understand and share them with my readers. This column is where I try to cultivate that “difference” that Feynman spoke of. I find that it is one of the most joyful, not to mention useful, paths to discovering what it means to be human and to be alive at this day and age. It has defined the work I do, the friends I have chosen, for better or worse — the reputation I have, and the things I “squander” or “scrimp my time” on.  

Science writing has become more than simply getting dirty with my neural fingers trying to wrap my mind around an idea that just came out about a disease, human behavior or physical phenomenon. For me, walking this weekly rhythm with my readers involves a balanced mélange of rigor and playful humor, which has provided a rhythm for the life of my own mind. Sometimes, in understanding something even if only a little bit better from before and sharing it with you, is akin to the giddy and satisfying feeling akin to licking dark chocolate off of a baking bowl. Other times, I feel like a haphazardly crafted whistle trying to echo a symphony. But in all, I try to remember the lesson and move on so I could give you better pieces.

After over six years of offering uninterrupted weekly dose of science writing, I am still asked what the heck this column is about. This is a science column. As long as I still have to explain what this column is in every yearender I write, I feel that I have been doing a lousy job. But I do not really give up easily. I really like to stick it out with things and people I love. Science is a way of knowing, far more reliable than any other endeavor, in making us understand nature. As such, it is too important to be left to scientists alone. So in what may probably turn out to be a lifelong exercise in foolhardiness, I stick my head onto the often murky waters of scientific jargon and often, get confused even more. But sometimes, once a week, I see enough of a clearing to make sense of something — to connect this and that, and offer you a space for our minds that echo a shared encounter with discovery.

Why do I do it? Science writer Natalie Angier answered that perfectly when she said asking that question is like asking why you need friends or why we need music. I do this because I have this gushing desire to share what science teaches us about ourselves, each other and the universe no matter how small. It is the dance of my life so that whether it is a column, a book or a science museum, I will play this music of my life because it is who I am. I may fumble clumsily now and then but please know that in every column, I gave it my best shot, with the time and information I had at the time.

There is another reason why I do science writing. When Stephen Hawking, the scientist confined to a wheelchair which could never constrain his physics, was offered a new machine that would replace that “robotic” voice he’s had since the 80s, he refused. He said that people already recognize that voice to be his so he would rather stay with that voice. Imagine all the people who have to get every latest gadget and attach those to themselves and still never get anywhere with their minds. That also reminded me of when Einstein was asked how many leather jackets he had and he replied that the reason for having a leather jacket is that you would not need another one. These two examples show that scientists have a way of putting things in perspective so squarely without the burdensome imperative of religious doctrine or the dizzying seesaw language of politics. I deeply admire and respect that kind of perspective spoken by Hawking and Einstein. I am most at home with it. Of course, not only scientists can have that perspective but for some reason, I find that ability less rare among scientists.

So De Rerum Natura is simply that — that Thursday attempt to differentiate between “knowing the name of something” and “knowing something.” It is the difference between knowing the name of your loved one to write it on an ID card and writing his name on a love letter intended for him. I hope I was able to walk you through these “love letters” for nature, in this weekly rhythm. I certainly enjoyed the year’s walk.

Thank you for reading the columns.

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