What can either wander door to door, or rush to respond; and when it arrives might touch, sniff, nip, rear up, stroke, seal, or kill?
Keith S. Taber
a science teacher would need to be more circumspect in throwing some of these metaphors out there, without then doing some work to transition from them to more technical, literal, and canonical accounts
BBC Radio 4's 'Start the week' programme is not a science programme, but tends to invite in guests (often authors of some kind) each week according to some common theme. This week there was a science theme and the episode was titled 'Building the Body, Opening the Heart', and was fascinating. It also offers something of a case study in how science gets communicated in the media.
Sian Harding is Professor of Cardiac Pharmacology at the National Heart and Lung Institute, Imperial College London, and Director of the Imperial Cardiac Regenerative Medicine Centre
As a science educator I listen to science programmes both to enhance and update my own science knowledge and understanding, but also to hear how experts present scientific ideas when communicating to a general audience. Although neither science popularisation nor the work of scientists in communicating to the public is entirely the same as formal teaching (for example,
there is no curriculum with specified target knowledge; and
the audiences
are not well-defined,
are usually much more diverse than found in classrooms, and
are free to leave at any point they lose interest or get a better offer),
they are, like teachers, seeking to inform and explain science.
Science communicators, whether professional journalists or scientists popularising their work, face similar challenges to science teachers in getting across often complex and abstract ideas; and, like them, need to make the unfamiliar familiar. Science teachers are taught about how they need to connect new material with the learners' prior knowledge and experiences if it is to make sense to the students. But successful broadcasters and popularisers also know they need to do this, using such tactics as simplification, modelling, metaphor and simile, analogy, teleology, anthropomorphism and narrative.
Perhaps one of the the biggest differences between science teaching and science communication in the media is the ultimate criterion of success. For science teachers this is (sadly) usually, primarily at least, whether students have understood the material, and will later recall it, sufficiently to demonstrate target knowledge in exams. The teacher may prefer to focus on whether students enjoy science, or develop good attitudes to science, or will consider working in science: but, even so, they are usually held to account for students' performance levels in high-stakes tests.
Science journalists and popularisers do not need to worry about that. Rather, they have to be sufficiently engaging for the audience to feel they are learning something of interest and understanding it. Of course, teachers certainly need to be engaging as well, but they cannot compromise what is taught, and how it is understood, in order to entertain.
With that in mind, I was fascinated at the range of ways the panel of guests communicated the science in this radio show. Much of the programme had a focus on cells – and these were described in a variety of ways.
Talking about cells
Dr Rutherford introduced cells as
"the basic building blocks of life on earth"; and observed that he had
"spent much of my life staring down microscopes at these funny, sort of mundane, unremarkable, gloopy balloons"; before suggesting that cells were
"actually really these incredible cities buzzing with activity".
Dr. Mukherjee noted that
"they're fantastical living machines" [where a cell is the] "smallest unit of life…and these units were built, as it were, part upon part like you would build a Lego kit"
Listeners were told how Robert Hooke named 'cells' after observing cork under the microscope because the material looked like a series of small rooms (like the cells where monks slept in monasteries). Hooke (1665) reported,
"I took a good clear piece of Cork, and with a Pen-knife sharpen'd as keen as a Razor, I cut a piece of it off, and…cut off from the former smooth surface an exceeding thin piece of it, and…I could exceeding plainly perceive it to be all perforated and porous, much like a Honey-comb, but that the pores of it were not regular; yet it was not unlike a Honey-comb in these particulars
…these pores, or cells, were not very deep, but consisted of a great many little Boxes, separated out of one continued long pore, by certain Diaphragms, as is visible by the Figure B, which represents a sight of those pores split the long-ways.
Robert Hooke
Hooke's drawing of the 'pores' or 'cells' in cork
Components of cells
Dr. Mukherjee described how
"In my book I sort of board the cell as though it's a spacecraft, you will see that it's in fact organised into rooms and there are byways and channels and of course all of these organelles which allow it to work."
We were told that "the cell has its own skeleton", and that the organelles included the mitochondria and nuclei ,
"[mitochondria] are the energy producing organelles, they make energy in most cells, our cells for instance, in human cells. In human cells there's a nucleus, which stores DNA, which is where all the genetic information is stored."
A cell that secretes antibodies which are like harpoons or missiles that it sends out to kill a pathogen?
(Images by by envandrare and OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay)
Immune cells
Rutherford moved the conversation onto the immune system, prompting 'Sid' that "There's a lovely phrase you use to describe T cells, which is door to door wanderers that can detect even the whiff of an invader". Dr. Mukherjee distinguished between the cells of the innate immune system,
"Those are usually the first responder cells. In humans they would be macrophages, and neutrophils and monocytes among them. These cells usually rush to the site of an injury, or an infection, and they try to kill the pathogen, or seal up the pathogen…"
and the cells of the adaptive system, such as B cells and T cells,
"The B cell is a cell that eventually becomes a plasma cell which secretes antibodies. Antibodies, they are like harpoons or missiles which the cell sends out to kill a pathogen…
[A T cell] goes around sniffing other cells, basically touching them and trying to find out whether they have been altered in some way, particularly if they are carrying inside them a virus or any other kind of pathogen, and if it finds this pathogen or a virus in your body, it is going to go and kill that virus or pathogen"
A cell that goes around sniffing other cells, touching them? 1 (Images by allinonemovie and OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay)
Cells of the heart
Another topic was the work of Professor Harding on the heart. She informed listeners that heart cells did not get replaced very quickly, so that typically when a person dies half of their heart cells had been there since birth! (That was something I had not realised. It is believed that this is related to how heart cells need to pulse in synchrony so that the whole organ functions as an effective pumping device – making long lasting cells that seldom need replacing more important than in many other tissues.)
At least, this relates to the cardiomyocytes – the cells that pulse when the heart beats (a pulse that can now be observed in single cells in vitro). Professor Harding described how in the heart tissue there are also other 'supporting' cells, such as "resident macrophages" (immune cells) as well as other cells moving around the cardiomyocytes. She describe her observations of the cells in Petri dishes,
"When you look at them in the dish it's incredible to see them interact. I've got a… video [of] cardiomyocytes in a dish. The cardiomyocytes pretty much just stay there and beat and don't do anything very much, and I had this on time lapse, and you could see cells moving around them. And so, in one case, the cell (I think it was a fibroblast, it looked like a fibroblast), it came and it palpated at the cardiomyocyte, and it nipped off bits of it, it sampled bits of the cardiomyocyte, and it just stroked it all the way round, and then it was, it seemed to like it a lot.
[In] another dish I had the same sort of cardiomyocyte, a very similar cell came in, it went up to the cardiomyocyte, it touched it, and as soon as it touched it, I can only describe it as it reared up and it had, little blobs appeared all over its surface, and it rushed off, literally rushed off, although it was time lapse so it was two minutes over 24 hours, so, it literally rushed off, so what had it found, why did one like it and the other one didn't?"
Making the unfamiliar, familiar
The snippets from the broadcast that I have reported above demonstrate a wide range of ways that the unfamiliar is made familiar by describing it in terms that a listener can relate to through their existing prior knowledge and experience. In these various examples the listener is left to carry across from the analogue features of the familiar (the city, the Lego bricks, human interactions, etc.) those that parallel features of the target concept – the cell. So, for example, the listener is assumed to appreciate that cells, unlike Lego bricks, are not built up through rigid, raised lumps that fit precisely in depressions on the next brick/cell. 2
Analogies with the familiar
Hooke's original label of the cell was based on a kind of analogy – an attempt to compare what we has seeing with something familiar: "pores, or cells…a great many little Boxes". He used the familiar simile of the honeycomb (something directly familiar to many more people in the seventeenth century when food was not subject to large-scale industrialised processing and packaging).
Other analogies, metaphors and similes abound. Cells are visually like "gloopy balloons", but functionally are "building blocks" (strictly a metaphor, albeit one that is used so often it has become treated as though a literal description) which can be conceptualised as being put together "like you would build a Lego kit" (a simile) although they are neither fixed, discrete blocks of a single material, nor organised by some external builder. They can be considered conceptually as the"smallest unit of life"(though philosophers argue about such descriptions and what counts as an individual in living systems).
The machine description ("fantastical living machines") reflects one metaphor very common in early modern science and cells as "incredible cities" is also a metaphor. Whether cells are literally machines is a matter of how we extend or limit our definition of machines: cells are certainly not actually cities, however, and calling them such is a way of drawing attention to the level of activity within each (often, apparently from observation, quite static) cell. B cells secrete antibodies, which the listener is old are like (a simile) harpoons or missiles – weapons.
Skeletons of the dead
Whether "the cell has its own skeleton" is a literal or metaphorical statement is arguable. It surely would have originally been a metaphoric description – there are structures in the cell which can be considered analogous to the skeleton of an organism. If such a metaphor is used widely enough, in time the term's scope expands to include its new use – and it becomes (what is called, metaphorically) a 'dead metaphor'.
Telling stories about cells
A narrative is used to help a listener imagine the cell at the scale of "a spacecraft". This is "organised into rooms and there are byways and channels" offering an analogy for the complex internal structure of a cell. Most people have never actually boarded a spacecraft, but they are ubiquitous in television and movie fiction, so a listener can certainly imagine what this might be like.
Endoplastic reticulum? (Still from Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Paramount Pictures, 1979)
Oversimplification?
The discussion of organelles illustrates how simplifications have to be made when introducing complex material. This always brings with it dangers of oversimplification that may impede further learning, or even encourage the development of alternative conceptions. So, the nucleus does not, strictly, 'store' "all the genetic information" in a cell (mitochondria carry their own genes for example).
More seriously, perhaps, mitochondria do not "make energy". 'More seriously' as the principle of conservation of energy is one of the most basic tenets of modern science and is considered a very strong candidate for a universal law. Children are often taught in school that energy cannot be created or destroyed. Science communication which is contrary to this basic curriculum science could confuse learners – or indeed members of the public seeking to understand debates about energy policy and sustainability.
Anthropomorphising cells
Cells are not only compared to inanimate entities like balloons, building bricks, cities and spaceships. They are also described in ways that make them seem like sentient agents – agents that have experiences, and conscious intentions, just as people do. So, some immune cells are metaphorical 'first responders' and just as emergency services workers they "rush to the site" of an incident. To rush is not just to move quickly, buy to deliberately do so. (By contrast, Paul McAuley refers to "innocent" amoeboid cells that collectively form into the plasmodium of a slime mould spending most of their lives"bumbling around by themselves" before they "get together". ) The immune cells act deliberately – they "try" to kill. Other immune cells "send out" metaphorical 'missiles' "to kill a pathogen". Again this language suggests deliberate action (i.e., to send out) and purpose.
That is, what is described is not just some evolved process, but something teleological: there is a purpose to sending out antibodies – it is a deliberate act with an aim in mind. This type of language is very common in biology – even referring to the 'function' of the heart or kidney or a reflex arc could be considered as misinterpreting the outcome of evolutionary developments. (The heart pumps blood through the vascular system, but referring to a function could suggest some sense of deliberate design.)
Not all cells are equal
I wonder how many readers noticed the reference above to 'supporting' cells in the heart. Professor Harding had said
"When you look inside the [heart] tissue there are many other cells [than cardiomyocytes] that are in there, supporting it, there are resident macrophages, I think we still don't know really what they are doing in there"
Why should some heart cells be seen as more important and others less so? Presumably because 'the function' of a heart is to beat, to pump, so clearly the cells that pulse are the stars, and the other cells that may be necessary but are not obviously pulsing just a supporting cast. (So, cardiomyocytes are considered heart cells, but macrophages in the same tissue are only cells that are found in the heart, "residents" – to use an analogy of my own, like migrants that have not been offered citizenship!)3
That is, there is a danger here that this way of thinking could bias research foci leading researchers to ignore something that may ultimately prove important. This is not fanciful, as it has happened before, in the case of the brain:
"Glial cells, consisting of microglia, astrocytes, and oligodendrocyte lineage cells as their major components, constitute a large fraction of the mammalian brain. Originally considered as purely non-functional glue for neurons, decades of research have highlighted the importance as well as further functions of glial cells."
Jäkel and Dimou, 2017
The lives of cells
Narrative is used again in relation to the immune cells: an infection is presented as a kind of emergency event which is addressed by special (human like) workers who protect the body by repelling or neutralising invaders. "Sniffing" is surely an anthropomorphic metaphor, as cells do not actually sniff (they may detect diffusing substances, but do not actively inhale them). Even "touching" is surely an anthropomorphism. When we say two objects are 'touching' we mean they are in contact, as we touch things by contact. But touching is sensing, not simply adjacency.
If that seems to be stretching my argument too far, to refer to immune cells "trying to find out…" is to use language suggesting an epistemic agent that can not only behave deliberately, but which is able to acquire knowledge. A cell can only "find" an infectious agent if it is (i.e., deliberately) looking for something. These metaphors are very effective in building up a narrative for the listener. Such a narrative adopts familiar 'schemata', recognisable patterns – the listener is aware of emergency workers speeding to the scene of an incident and trying to put out a fire or seeking to diagnose a medical issue. By fitting new information into a pattern that is familiar to the audience, technical and abstract ideas are not only made easier to understand, but more likely to be recalled later.
Again, an anthropomorphic narrative is used to describe interactions between heart cells. So, a fibroblast that "palpates at" a cardiomyocyte seems to be displaying deliberate behaviour: if "nipping" might be heard as some kind of automatic action – "sampling" and "stroking" surely seem to be deliberate behaviour. A cell that "came in, it went up [to another]" seems to be acting deliberately. "Rearing up" certainly brings to mind a sentient being, like a dog or a horse. Did the cell actually 'rear up'? It clearly gave that impression to Professor Harding – that was the best way, indeed the "only" way, she had to communicate what she saw.
Again we have cells "rushing" around. Or do we? The cell that had reared up, "rushed off". Actually, it appeared to "rush" when the highly magnified footage was played at 720 times the speed of the actual events. Despite acknowledging this extreme acceleration of the activity, the impression was so strong that Professor Harding felt justified in claiming the cell "literally rushed off, although it was time lapse so it was two minutes over 24 hours, so, it literally rushed off…". Whatever it did, that looked like rushing with the distortion of time-lapse viewing, it certainly did not literally rush anywhere.
But the narrative helps motivate a very interesting question, which is why the two superficially similar cells 'behaved' ('reacted', 'responded' – it is actually difficult to find completely neutral language) so differently when in contact with a cardiomyocyte. In more anthropomorphic terms: what had these cells "found, why did one like it and the other one didn't?"
Literally speaking?
Metaphorical language is ubiquitous as we have to build all our abstract ideas (and science has plenty of those) in terms of what we can experience and make sense of. This is an iterative process. We start with what is immediately available in experience, extend metaphorically to form new concepts, and in time, once those have "settled in" and "taken root" and "firmed up" (so to speak!) they can then be themselves borrowed as the foundation for new concepts. This is true both in how the individual learns (according to constructivism) and how humanity has developed culture and extended language.
So, should science communicators (whether scientists themselves, journalists or teachers) try to limit themselves to literal language?
Even if this were possible, it would put aside some of our strongest tools for 'making the unfamiliar familiar' (to broadcast audiences, to the public, to learners in formal education). However these devices also bring risks that the initial presentations (with their simplifications and metaphors and analogies and anthropomorphic narratives…) not only engage listeners but can also come to be understood as the scientific account. That is is not an imagined risk is shown by the vast numbers of learners who think atoms want to fill their shells with octets of electrons, and so act accordingly – and think this because they believe it is what they have been taught.
Does it matter if listeners think the simplification, the analogy, the metaphor, the humanising story,… is the scientific account? Perhaps usually not in the case of the audience listening to a radio show or watching a documentary out of interest.
In education it does matter, as often learners are often expected to progress beyond these introductory accounts in their thinking, and teachers' models and metaphors and stories are only meant as a starting point in building up a formal understanding. The teacher has to first establish some kind of anchor point in the students' existing understandings and experiences, but then mould this towards the target knowledge set out in the curriculum (which is often a simplified account of canonical knowledge) before the metaphor or image or story becomes firmed-up in the learners' minds as 'the' scientific account.
'Building the Body, Opening the Heart' was a good listen, and a very informative and entertaining episode that covered a lot of ideas. It certainly included some good comparisons that science teachers might borrow. But I think in a formal educational context a science teacher would need to be more circumspect in throwing some of these metaphors out there, without then doing some work to transition from them to more technical, literal, and canonical accounts.
Jäkel S and Dimou L (2017) Glial Cells and Their Function in the Adult Brain: A Journey through the History of Their Ablation. Frontiers in Cellullar Neuroscience, 11:24. doi: 10.3389/fncel.2017.00024
1 The right hand image portrays a mine, a weapon that is used at sea to damage and destroy (surface or submarine) boats. The mine is also triggered by contact ('touch').
2 That is, in an analogy there are positive and negative aspects: there are ways in which the analogue IS like the target, and ways in which the analogue is NOT like the target. Using an analogy in communication relies on the right features being mapped from the familiar analogue to the unfamiliar target being introduced. In teaching it is important to be explicit about this, or inappropriate transfers may be made: e.g., the atom is a tiny solar system so it is held together by gravity (Taber, 2013).
3 It may be a pure coincidence in relation to the choice of term 'resident' here, but in medicine 'residents' have not yet fully qualified as specialist physicians or surgeons, and so are on placement and/or under supervision, rather than having permanent status in a hospital faculty.
Faster-than-light electrons race from a sitting start and are baked to give off light brighter than millions of suns that can be used to image tiny massage balls: A case of science communication
Keith S. Taber
(The pedantic science teacher)
Ockham's razor
Ockham's razor (also known as Occam's razor) is a principle that is sometimes applied as a heuristic in science, suggesting that explanations should not be unnecessarily complicated. Faced with a straightforward explanation, and an alternative convoluted explanation, then all other things being equal we should prefer the former – not simply accept it, but to treat is as the preferred hypothesis to test out first.
Ockham's Razor is also an ABC radio show offering "a soap box for all things scientific, with short talks about research, industry and policy from people with something thoughtful to say about science". The show used to offer recorded essays (akin to the format of BBC's A Point of View), but now tends to record short live talks.
I've just listened to an episode called The 'science donut' – in fact I listened several time as I thought it was fascinating – as in a few minutes there was much to attend to.
I approached the episode as someone with an interest in science, of course, but also as an educator with an ear to the ways in which we communicate science in teaching. Teachers do not simply present sequences of information about science, but engage pedagogy (i.e., strategies and techniques to support learning). Other science communicators (whether journalists, or scientists themselves directly addressing the public) use many of the same techniques. Teaching conceptual material (such as science principles, theories, models…) can be seen as making the unfamiliar familiar, and the constructivist perspective on how learning occurs suggests this is supported by showing the learner how that which is currently still unfamiliar, is in some way like something familiar, something they already have some knowledge/experience of.
Science communicators may not be trained as teachers, so may sometimes be using these techniques in a less considered or even less deliberate manner. That is, people use analogy, metaphor, simile, and so forth, as a normal part of everyday talk to such an extent that these tropes may be generated automatically, in effect, implicitly. When we are regularly talking about an area of expertise we almost do not have to think through what we are going to say. 1
Science communicators also often have much less information about their audience than teachers: a radio programme/podcast, for example, can be accessed by people of a wide range of background knowledge and levels of formal qualifications.
One thing teachers often learn to do very early in their careers is to slow down the rate of introducing new information, and focus instead on a limited number of key points they most want to get across. Sometimes science in the media is very dense in the frequency of information presented or the background knowledge being drawn upon. (See, for example, 'Genes on steroids? The high density of science communication'.)
A beamline scientist
Dr Emily Finch, who gave this particular radio talk, is a beamline scientist at the Australian Synchrotron. Her talk began by recalling how her family visited the Synchrotron facility on an open day, and how she later went on to work there.
She then gave an outline of the functioning of the synchrotron and some examples of its applications. Along the way there were analogies, metaphors, anthropomorphism, and dubiously fast electrons.
The creation of the god particle
To introduce the work of the particle accelerator, Dr Finch reminded her audience of the research to detect the Higgs boson.
"Do you remember about 10 years ago scientists were trying to make the Higgs boson particle? I see some nods. They sometimes call it the God particle and they had a theory it existed, but they had not been able to prove it yet. So, they decided to smash together two beams of protons to try to make it using the CERN large hadron collider in Switzerland…You might remember that they did make a Higgs boson particle".
This is a very brief summary of a major research project that involved hundreds of scientists and engineers from a great many countries working over years. But this abbreviation is understandable as this was not Dr Finch's focus, but rather an attempt to link her actual focus, the Australian Synchrotron, to something most people will already know something about.
However, aspects of this summary account may have potential to encourage the development of, or reinforce an existing, common alternative conception shared by many learners. This is regarding the status of theories.
In science, theories are 'consistent, comprehensive, coherent and extensively evidenced explanations of aspects of the natural world', yet students often understand theories to be nothing more than just ideas, hunches, guesses – conjectures at best (Taber, Billingsley, Riga & Newdick, 2015). In a very naive take on the nature of science, a scientist comes up with an idea ('theory') which is tested, and is either 'proved' or rejected.
This simplistic take is wrong in two regards – something does not become an established scientific theory until it is supported by a good deal of evidence; and scientific ideas are not simply proved or disproved by testing, but rather become better supported or less credible in the light of the interpretation of data. Strictly scientific ideas are never finally proved to become certain knowledge, but rather remain as theories. 2
In everyday discourse, people will say 'I have a theory' to mean no more that 'I have a suggestion'.
A pedantic scientist or science teacher might be temped to respond:
"no you don't, not yet,"
This is sometimes not the impression given by media accounts – presumably because headlines such as 'research leads to scientist becoming slightly more confident in theory' do not have the same impact as 'cure found', 'discovery made, or 'theory proved'.
The message that could be taken away here is that scientists had the idea that Higgs boson existed, but they had not been able to prove it till they were able to make one. But the CERN scientists did not have a Higgs boson to show the press, only the data from highly engineered detectors, analysed through highly complex modelling. Yet that analysis suggested they had recorded signals that closely matched what they expected to see when a short lived Higgs decayed allowing them to conclude that it was very likely one had been formed in the experiment. The theory motivating their experiment was strongly supported – but not 'proved' in an absolute sense.
The doughnut
Dr Finch explained that
"we do have one of these particle accelerators here in Australia, and it's called the Australian Synchrotron, or as it is affectionately known the science donut
…our synchrotron is a little different from the large hadron collider in a couple of main ways. So, first, we just have the one beam instead of two. And second, our beam is made of electrons instead of protons. You remember electrons, right, they are those tiny little negatively charged particles and they sit in the shells around the atom, the centre of the atom."
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
One expects that members of the audience would be able to respond to this description and (due to previous exposure to such representations) picture images of atoms with electrons in shells. 'Shells' is of course a kind of metaphor here, even if one which with continual use has become a so-called 'dead metaphor'. Metaphor is a common technique used by teachers and other communicators to help make the unfamiliar familiar. In some simplistic models of atomic structure, electrons are considered to be arranged in shells (the K shell, the L shell, etc.), and a simple notation for electronic configuration based on these shells is still often used (e.g., Na as 2.8.1).
However, this common way of talking about shells has the potential to mislead learners. Students can, and sometimes do, develop the alternative conception that atoms have actual physical shells of some kind, into which the electrons are located. The shells scientists refer to are abstractions, but may be misinterpreted as material entities, as actual shells. The use of anthropomorphic language, that is that the electrons "sit in the shells", whilst helping to make the abstract ideas familiar and so perhaps comfortable, can reinforce this. After all, it is difficult to sit in empty space without support.
The subatomic grand prix?
Dr Finch offers her audience an analogy for the synchrotron: the electrons "are zipping around. I like to think of it kind of like a racetrack." Analogy is another common technique used by teachers and other communicators to help make the unfamiliar familiar.
Dr Finch refers to the popularity of the Australian Formula 1 (F1) Grand Prix that takes place in Melbourne, and points out
"Now what these race enthusiasts don't know is that just a bit further out of the city we have a race track that is operating six days a week that is arguably far more impressive.
That's right, it is the science donut. The difference is that instead of having F1s doing about 300 km an hour, we have electrons zipping around at the speed of light. That's about 300 thousand km per second.
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
There is an interesting slippage – perhaps a deliberate rhetoric flourish – from the synchrotron being "kind of like a racetrack" (a simile) to being "a race track" (a metaphor). Although racing electrons lacks a key attraction of an F1 race (different drivers of various nationalities driving different cars built by competing teams presented in different livery – whereas who cares which of myriad indistinguishable electrons would win a race?) that does not undermine the impact of the mental imagery encouraged by this analogy.
This can be understood as an analogy rather than just a simile or metaphor as Dr Finch maps out the comparison:
target concept
analogue
a synchotron
a racetrack
operates six days a week
[Many in the audience would have known that the Melbourne Grand Prix takes place on a 'street circuit' that is only set up for racing one weekend each year.]
racing electrons
racing 'F1s' (i.e., Grand Prix cars)
at the speed of light
at about 300 km an hour
An analogy between the Australian Synchrotron and the Melbourne Grand Prix circuit
So, here is an attempt to show how science has something just like the popular race track, but perhaps even more impressive – generating speeds orders of magnitude greater than even Lewis Hamilton could drive.
They seem to like their F1 comparisons at the Australian Synchrotron. I found another ABC programme ('The Science Show') where Nobel Laureate "Brian Schmidt explains, the synchrotron is not being used to its best capability",
"the analogy here is that we invested in a $200 million Ferrari and decided that we wouldn't take it out of first gear and do anything other than drive it around the block. So it seems a little bit of a waste"
Brian Schmidt (Professor of Astronomy, and Vice Chancellor, at Australian National University)
A Ferrari being taken for a spin around the block in Melbourne (Image by Lee Chandler from Pixabay )
How fast?
But did Dr Finch suggest there that the electrons were travelling at the speed of light? Surely not? Was that a slip of the tongue?
"So, we bake our electrons fresh in-house using an electron gun. So, this works like an old cathode ray tube that we used to have in old TVs. So, we have this bit of tungsten metal and we heat it up and when it gets red hot it shoots out electrons into a vacuum. We then speed up the electrons, and once they leave the electron gun they are already travelling at about half the speed of light. We then speed them up even more, and after twelve metres, they are already going at the speed of light….
And it is at this speed that we shoot them off into a big ring called the booster ring, where we boost their energy. Once their energy is high enough we shoot them out again into another outer ring called the storage ring."
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
So, no, the claim is that the electrons are accelerated to the speed of light within twelve metres, and then have their energy boosted even more.
But this is contrary to current physics. According to the currently accepted theories, and specifically the special theory of relativity, only entities which have zero rest mass, such as photons, can move at the speed of light.
Electrons have a tiny mass by everyday standards (about 0.000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 001 g), but they are still 'massive' particles (i.e., particles with mass) and it would take infinite energy to accelerate a single tiny electron to the speed of light. So, given our current best understanding, this claim cannot be right.
I looked to see what was reported on the website of the synchrotron itself.
The electron beam travels just under the speed of light – about 299,792 kilometres a second.
Strictly the electrons do not travel at the speed of light but very nearly the speed of light.
The speed of light in a vacuum is believed to be 299 792 458 ms-1 (to the nearest metre per second), but often in science we are working to limited precision, so this may be rounded to 2.998 ms-1 for many purposes. Indeed, sometimes 3 x 108 ms-1 is good enough for so-called 'back of the envelope' calculations. So, in a sense, Dr Finch was making a similar approximation.
But this is one approximation that a science teacher might want to avoid, as electrons travelling at the speed of light may be approximately correct, but is also thought to be physically impossible. That is, although the difference in magnitude between
(i) the maximum electron speeds achieved in the synchrotron, and
(ii) the speed of light,
might be a tiny proportional difference – conceptually the distinction is massive in terms of modern physics. (I imagine Dr Finch is aware of all this, but perhaps her background in geology does not make this seem as important as it might appear to a physics teacher.)
Dr Finch does not explicitly say that the electrons ever go faster than the speed of light (unlike the defence lawyer in a murder trial who claimed nervous impulses travel faster than the speed of light) but I wonder how typical school age learners would interpret "they are already going at the speed of light….And it is at this speed that we shoot them off into a big ring called the booster ring, where we boost their energy". I assume that refers to maintaining their high speeds to compensate for energy transfers from the beam: but only because I think Dr Finch cannot mean accelerating them beyond the speed of light. 3
The big doughnut
After the reference to how "we bake our electrons fresh in-house", Dr Finch explains
And so it is these two rings, these inner and outer rings, that give the synchrotron its nick name, the science donut. Just like two rings of delicious baked electron goodness…
So, just to give you an idea of scale here, this outer ring, the storage ring, is about forty one metres across, so it's a big donut."
So, there is something of an extended metaphor here. The doughnut is so-called because of its shape, but this doughnut (a bakery product) is used to 'bake' electrons.
If audience members were to actively reflect on and seek to analyse this metaphor then they might notice an incongruity, perhaps a mixed metaphor, as the synchrotron seems to shift from being that which is baked (a doughnut) to that doing the baking (baking the electrons). Perhaps the electrons are the dough, but, if so, they need to go into the oven.
But, of course, humans implicitly process language in real time, and poetic language tends to be understood intuitively without needing reflection. So, a trope such as this may 'work' to get across the flavour (sorry) of an idea, even if under close analysis (by our pedantic science teacher again) the metaphor appears only half-baked.
Perverting the electrons
Dr Finch continued
"Now the electrons like to travel in straight lines, so to get them to go round the rings we have to bend them using magnets. So, we defect the electrons around the corners [sic] using electromagnetic fields from the magnets, and once we do this the electrons give off a light, called synchrotron light…
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
Now electrons are not sentient and do not have preferences in the way that someone might prefer to go on a family trip to the local synchrotron rather than a Formula 1 race. Electrons do not like to go in straight lines. They fit with Newton's first law – the law of inertia. An electron that is moving ('travelling') will move ('travel') in a straight line unless there is net force to pervert it. 4
If we describe this as electrons 'liking' to travel in straight lines it would be just as true to say electrons 'like' to travel at a constant speed. Language that assigns human feelings and motives and thoughts to inanimate objects is described as anthropomorphic. Anthropomorphism is a common way of making the unfamiliar familiar, and it is often used in relation to molecules, electrons, atoms and so forth. Sadly, when learners pick up this kind of language, they do not always appreciate that it is just meant metaphorically!
"This synchrotron light is brighter than a million suns, and we capture it using special equipment that comes off that storage ring.
And this equipment will focus and tune and shape that beam of synchrotron light so we can shoot it at samples like a LASER."
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
Whether the radiation is 'captured' is a moot point, as it no longer exists once it has been detected. But what caught my attention here was the claim that the synchrotron radiation was brighter than a million suns. Not because I necessarily thought this bold claim was 'wrong', but rather I did not understand what it meant.
The statement seems sensible at first hearing, and clearly it means qualitatively that the radiation is very intense. But what did the quantitative comparison actually mean? I turned again to the synchrotron webpage. I did not find an answer there, but on the site of a UK accelerator I found
"These fast-moving electrons produce very bright light, called synchrotron light. This very intense light, predominantly in the X-ray region, is millions of times brighter than light produced from conventional sources and 10 billion times brighter than the sun."
Sunlight spreads out and its intensity drops according to an inverse square law. Move twice as far away from a sun, and the radiation intensity drops to a quarter of what it was when you were closer. Move to ten times as far away from the sun than before, and the intensity is 1% of what it was up close.
The synchrotron 'light' is being shaped into a beam "like a LASER". A LASER produces a highly collimated beam – that is, the light does not (significantly) spread out. This is why football hooligans choose LASER pointers rather than conventional torches to intimidate players from a safe distance in the crowd.
Comparing light with like
This is why I do not understand how the comparison works, as the brightness of a sun depends how close you are too it – a point previously discussed here in relation to NASA's Parker solar probe (NASA puts its hand in the oven). If I look out at the night sky on a clear moonlight night then surely I am exposed to light from more "than a million suns" but most of them are so far away I cannot even make them out. Indeed there are faint 'nebulae' I can hardly perceive that are actually galaxies shining with the brightness of billions of suns. 5 If that is the comparison, then I am not especially impressed by something being "brighter than a million suns".
How bright is the sun? it depends which planet you are observing from. (Images by AD_Images and Gerd Altmann from Pixabay)
We are told not to look directly at the sun as it can damage our eyes. But a hypothetical resident of Neptune or Uranus could presumably safely stare at the sun (just as we can safely stare at much brighter stars than our sun because they are so far away). So we need to ask :"brighter than a million suns", as observed from how far away?
How bright is the sun? That depends on viewing conditions (Image by UteHeineSch from Pixabay)
Even if referring to our Sun as seen from the earth, the brightness varies according to its apparent altitude in the sky. So, "brighter than a million suns" needs to be specified further – as perhaps "more than a million times brighter than the sun as seen at midday from the equator on a cloudless day"? Of course, again, only the pedantic science teacher is thinking about this: everyone knows well enough what being brighter than a million suns implies. It is pretty intense radiation.
Applying the technology
Dr Finch went on to discuss a couple of applications of the synchrotron. One related to identifying pigments in art masterpieces. The other was quite timely in that it related to investigating the infectious agent in COVID.
"Now by now you have probably seen an image of the COVID virus – it looks like a ball with some spikes on it. Actually it kind of looks like those massage balls that your physio makes you buy when you turn thirty and need to to ease all your physical ailments that you suddenly have."
Dr Emily Finch talking on Ockham's Razor
Coronavirus particles and massage balls…or is it… (Images by Ulrike Leone and Daniel Roberts from Pixabay)
Again there is an attempt to make the unfamiliar familiar. These microscopic virus particles are a bit like something familiar from everyday life. Such comparisons are useful where the everyday object is already familiar.
By now I've seen plenty of images of the coronavirus responsible for COVID, although I do not have a physiotherapist (perhaps this is a cultural difference – Australians being so sporty?) So, I found myself using this comparison in reverse – imagining that the "massage balls that your physio makes you buy" must be like larger versions of coronavirus particles. Having looked up what these massage balls (a.k.a. hedgehog balls it seems) look like, I can appreciate the similarity. Whether the manufacturers of massage balls will appreciate their products being compared to enormous coronavirus particles is, perhaps, another matter.
Work cited:
Taber, K. S., Billingsley, B., Riga, F., & Newdick, H. (2015). English secondary students' thinking about the status of scientific theories: consistent, comprehensive, coherent and extensively evidenced explanations of aspects of the natural world – or just 'an idea someone has'. The Curriculum Journal, 1-34. doi: 10.1080/09585176.2015.1043926
Notes:
1 At least, depending how we understand 'thinking'. Clearly there are cognitive processes at work even when we continue a conversation 'on auto pilot' (to employ a metaphor) whilst consciously focusing on something else. Only a tiny amount of our cognitive processing (thinking?) occurs within conscousness where we reflect and deliberate (i.e., explicit thinking?) We might label the rest as 'implicit thinking', but this processing varies greatly in its closeness to deliberation – and some aspects (for example, word recognition when listening to speech; identifying the face of someone we see) might seem to not deserve the label 'thinking'?
2 Of course the evidence for some ideas becomes so overwhelming that in principle we treat some theories as certain knowledge, but in principle they remain provisional knowledge. And the history of science tells us that sometimes even the most well-established ideas (e.g., Newtonian physics as an absolutely precise description of dynamics; mass and energy as distinct and discrete) may need revision in time.
3 Since I began drafting this article, the webpage for the podcast has been updated with a correction: "in this talk Dr Finch says electrons in the synchrotron are accelerated to the speed of light. They actually go just under that speed – 99.99998% of it to be exact."
4 Perversion in the sense of the distortion of an original course
5 The term nebulae is today reserved for clouds of dust and gas seen in the night sky in different parts of our galaxy. Nebulae are less distinct than stars. Many of what were originally identified as nebulae are now considered to be other galaxies immense distances away from our own.
Some spider monkeys like a little something extra with "all this fruit"
Keith S. Taber
(Photograph by by Manfred Richter from Pixabay)
"oh heck, what am I going to do, I'm faced with all this fruit with no protein and I've got to be a spider monkey"
Primatologist Adrian Barnett getting inside the mind of a monkey
I was listening to an item on the BBC World Service 'Science in Action' programme/podcast (an episode called 'Climate techno-fix would worsen global malaria burden').
This included an item with the title:
Primatologist Adrian Barnett has discovered that spider monkeys in one part of the Brazilian Amazon seek out fruit, full of live maggots to eat. Why?
The argument was that the main diet of monkeys is usually fruit which is mostly very low in protein and fat. However, often monkeys include figs in their diet which are an exception, being relatively rich in protein and fats.
The spider monkeys in one part of the Amazon, however, seem to 'seek out' fruit that was infested with maggots – these monkeys appear to actively choose the infected fruits. These are the fruits a human would probably try to avoid: certainly if there were non-infested alternatives. Only a proportion of fruit on the trees are so infested, yet the monkeys consume a higher proportion of infested fruit and so seem to have a bias towards selecting fruit with maggots. At least that was what primatologist Dr Adrian Barnett's analysis found when he analysed the remains of half-eaten fruit that reached the forest floor.
The explanation suggested is that this particular area of forest has very few fig trees, therefore it seems these monkeys do not have ready access to figs, and it seems they instead get a balanced diet by preferentially picking fruit containing insect larvae.
Who taught the monkeys about their diet?
A scientific explanation of this might suggest natural selection was operating.
Even if monkeys had initially tended to avoid the infested fruit, if this then led to a deficient diet (making monkeys more prone to disease, or accidents, and less fertile) then any monkeys who supplemented the fruit content of their diet by not being so picky and eating some infested fruit (whether because of a variation in their taste preferences, or simply a variation in how careful they were to avoid spoilt fruit) would have a fitness advantage and so, on average, leave more offspring.
To the extent their eating habits reflected genetic make-up (even if this was less significant for variations in individual behaviour than contingent environmental factors) this would over time shift the typical behaviours in the population. Being willing to eat, or perhaps even enjoying, maggotty fruit was likely to be a factor in being fertile and fecund, so eventually eating infested fruit becomes the norm – at least as long as the population remains in a habitat that does not have other ready sources of essential dietary components. Proving this is what happened would be very difficult after the fact. But an account along these lines is consistent with our understanding of how behaviour tends to change.
An important aspect of natural selection is that it is an automatic process. It does not require any deliberation or even conscious awareness on behalf of the members of the population being subject to selection. Changes do not occur in response to any preference or purpose – but just reflect the extent to which different variants of a population match their environment.
This is just as well, as even though monkeys are primates, and so relatively intelligent animals, it seems reasonable to assume they do not have a formal concept of diet (rather, they just eat), and they are not aware of the essential need for fat and protein in the diet; nor of the dietary composition of fruit. Natural selection works because where there is variation, and differences in relative fitness, the fittest will tend to leave more offspring (as by fittest we simply mean those most able to leave offspring!)
Now he's thinking…
I was therefore a little surprised when the scientist being interviewed, Adrian Barnett, explained the behaviour:
"So, suddenly the monkey's full of, you know, squeaking the monkey equivalent of 'oh heck, what am I going to do, erm, I'm faced with all this fruit with no protein and I've got to be a spider monkey'."
Adrian Barnett speaking on Science in Action
At first hearing this sounds like anthropomorphism, where non-humans are assigned human feelings and cognitions.
Anthropomorphic language refers to non-human entities as if they have human experiences, perceptions, and motivations. Both non-living things and non-human organisms may be subjects of anthropomorphism. Anthropomorphism may be used deliberately as a kind of metaphorical language that will help the audience appreciate what is being described because of its similarly to some familiar human experience. In science teaching, and in public communication of science, anthropomorphic language may often be used in this way, giving technical accounts the flavour of a persuasive narrative that people will readily engage with. Anthropomorphism may therefore be useful in 'making the unfamiliar familiar', but sometimes the metaphorical nature of the language may not be recognised, and the listener/reader may think that the anthropomorphic description is meant to be taken at face value. This 'strong anthropomorphism' may be a source of alternative conceptions ('misconceptions') of science.
Why 'at first hearingthis seems like an example of anthropomorphism'? Well, Dr Barnett does not say the monkey actually has these thoughts but rather squeaks the monkey equivalent of these words. This leaves me wondering how we are to understand what the monkey equivalent actually is. I somehow suspect that whatever thoughts the monkey has they probably do not include any direct equivalents of either being a spider monkey or protein.
I am happy to accept the monkey has a concept somewhat akin to our fruit, as clearly the monkey is able to discriminate particular regularities in its environment that are associated with the behaviour of picking items from trees and eating them – regularities that we would class as fruit. It is interesting to speculate on what would be included in a monkey's concept map of fruit, were one able to induce a monkey to provide the data that might enable us to produce such a diagram. Perhaps there might be monkey equivalents of such human concepts as red and crunchy and mushy…but I would not be expecting any equivalents of our concepts of dietary components or nutritional value.
So, although I am not a primatologist, I wonder if the squeaking Dr Barnett heard when he was collecting for analysis the partially eaten fruit dropped by the spider monkeys was actually limited to the monkey equivalent of either "yummy, more fruit" or perhaps "oh, fruit again".
Scientist reveals what the earth has been trying to do
Keith S. Taber
Seismology – the study of the earth letting off steam? (Image by ELG21 from Pixabay)
"the earth has one objective, it has had one objective for four and half billion years, and that's…"
In our time
'In Our Time' is an often fascinating radio programme (and podcast) where Melvyn Bragg gets three scholars from a field to explain some topic to a general audience.
Imagine young Melvyn interrupting a physics teacher's careful exposition of why pV = 1/3nmc2 by asking how the gas molecules came to be moving in the first place.
I am not sure if the reason that I sometimes find the science episodes seem a little less erudite than those in the the other categories is:
a) Melvyn is more of an arts person, so operates at a different level in different topics;
b) I am more of a science person, so more likely to be impressed by learning new things in non-science topics; and to spot simplifications, over-generalisations, and so forth, in science topics.
c) A focus in recent years on the importance of the public understanding of science and science communication means that scientists may (often, not always) be better prepared and skilled at pitching difficult topics for a general audience.
d) Topics from subjects like history and literature are easier to talk about to a general audience than many science topics which are often highly conceptual and technical.
Anyway, today I did learn something from the episode on seismology ("Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss how the study of earthquakes helps reveal Earth's secrets [sic]"). I was told what the earth had been up to for the last four and half billion years…
Seismology: Where does this energy come from?
Quite early in the discussion Melvyn (sorry, The Lord Bragg CH – but he is so familiar from his broadcasts over the years that he seems like an old friend) interjected when Dr James Hammond (Reader in Geophysics at Birkbeck, University of London) was talking about forces involved in plate tectonics to ask "Where does this energy come from?". To this, Dr Hammond replied,
"The whole thing that drives the whole caboose?
It comes from plate tectonics. So, essentially the earth has one objective, it has had one objective for four and half billion years, and that's to cool down. We're [on] a big lump of rock floating in space, and it's got all this primordial energy, so we are going right back here, there's all this primordial energy from the the material coming together, and it's trying to cool down."
Dr James Hammond talking on 'In Our Time' 1
My immediate response, was that this was teleology – seeing purpose in nature. But actually, this might be better described as anthropomorphism. This explanation presents the earth as being the kind of agent that has an objective, and which can act in the world to work towards goals. That is, like a human:
Of course, in scientific terms, the earth has no such objective, and it is not trying to do anything as it is inanimate. Basic thermodynamics suggests that an object (e.g., the earth) that is hotter than its surroundings will cool down as it will radiate heat faster than it absorbs it. 2 (Of course, the sun is hotter than the earth – but that's a rather minority component of the earth's surroundings, even if in some ways a very significant one.) Hot objects tend to cool down, unless they have an active mechanism to maintain their temperature above their ambient backgrounds (such as 'warm-blooded' creatures). 3
So, in scientific terms, this explanation might be seen as flawed – indeed as reflecting an alternative conception of similar kind as when students explain evolutionary adaptations in terms of organisms trying to meet some need (e.g., The brain thinks: grow more fur), or explain chemical processes in terms of atoms seeking to meet a need by filling their electron shells (e.g., Chlorine atoms share electrons to fill in their shells).
Does Dr Hammond really believe this account?
Does Dr Hammond really think the earth has an objective that it actively seeks to meet? I very much doubt it. This was clearly rhetorical language adopting tropes seen as appropriate to meet the needs of the context (a general audience, a radio programme with no visuals to support explanations). In particular, he was in full flow when he was suddenly interrupted by Melvin, a bit like the annoying child who interrupts the teacher's carefully prepared presentation by asking 'but why's that?' about something it had been assumed all present would take for granted.
Imagine the biology teacher trying to discuss cellular metabolism when young Melvin asks 'but where did the sugar come from?'; or the chemistry teacher discussing the mechanism of a substitution reaction when young Melvin asks why we are assuming tetrahedral geometry around the carbon centre of interest; or young Melvyn interrupting a physics teacher's careful exposition of why pV = 1/3nmc2 by asking how the gas molecules came to be moving in the first place.
Of course, part of Melvin's job in chairing the programme IS to act as the child who does not understand something being taken for granted and not explained, so vicariously supporting the listener without specialist background in that week's topic.
Effective communication versus accurate communication?
Science teachers and communicators have to sometimes use ploys to 'make the unfamiliar familiar'. One common ploy is to employ an anthropomorphic narrative as people readily relate to the human experience of having goals and acting to meet needs and desires. Locating difficult ideas within such a 'story' framework is known to often make such ideas more accessible. Does this gain balance the potential to mislead people into thinking they have been given a scientific account? In general, such ploys are perhaps best used only as introductions to a difficult topic, introductions which are then quickly followed up by more technical accounts that better match the scientific narrative (Taber & Watts, 2000).
Clearly, that is more feasible when the teacher or communicator has the opportunity for a more extensive engagement with an audience, so that understanding can be built up and developed over time. I imagine Dr Hammond was briefed that he had just a few minutes to get across his specific points in this phase of the programme, only to then find he was interrupted and asked to address additional background material.
As a scientist, the notion of the earth spending billions of years trying to cool down grates as it reflects pre-scientific thinking about nature and acts as a pseudo-explanation (something which has the form of an explanation, but little substance).
As cooling is a very familiar everyday phenomena, I wondered if a basic response that would avoid anthropomorphism might have served, e.g.,
When the earth formed, it was very much hotter than today, and, as it was hotter than its surroundings, it has been slowly cooling ever since by radiating energy into space. Material inside the earth may be hot enough to be liquid, or – where solid – be plastic enough to be deformed. The surface is now much cooler than it was, but inside the earth it is still very hot, and radioactive processes continue to heat materials inside the earth. We can understand seismic events as driven by the ways heat is being transferred from deep inside the earth.
However, just because I am a scientist, I am also less well-placed to know how effective this might have been for listeners without a strong science background – who may well have warmed [sic] to the earth striving to cool.
Dr Hammond had to react instantly (like a school teacher often has to) and make a quick call based on his best understanding of the likely audience. That is one of the difference between teaching (or being interviewed by Melvin) and simply giving a prepared lecture.
1 Speech often naturally has repetitions, and markers of emphasis, and hesitations that seem perfectly natural when heard, but which do not match written language conventions. I have slightly tidied what I transcribed from:
"The whole thing that drives the whole caboose? It comes from plate tectonics, right. So, essentially the earth, right, has one objective, it has had one objective for four and half billion years, and that's to cool down. Right, we're a big lump of rock floating in space, and it's got all this primordial energy, so we are going right back here, there's all this primordial energy from, from the the material coming together,4 and it's trying to cool down."
2 In simple terms, the hotter an object is, the greater the rate at which it radiates.
The hotter the environment is, the more intense the radiation incident on the object and the more energy it will absorb.
Ultimately, in an undisturbed, closed system everything will reach thermal equilibrium (the same temperature). Our object still radiates energy, but at the same rate as it absorbs it from the environment so there is no net heat flow.
3 Historically, the earth's cooling was an issue of some scientific controversy, after Lord Kelvin (William Thomson) calculated that if the earth was cooling at the rate his models suggested for a body of its mass, then this was cooling much too rapid for the kind of timescales that were thought to be needed for life to have evolved on earth.
4 This is referring to the idea that the earth was formed by the coming together of material (e.g., space debris from a supernova) by its mutual gravitational attraction. Before this happens the material can be considered to be in a state of high gravitational potential energy. As the material is accelerated together it acquires kinetic energy (as the potential energy reduces), and then when the material collides inelastically it forms a large mass of material with high internal energy (relating to the kinetic and potential energy of the molecules and ions at the submicroscopic level) reflected in a high temperature.
Anthropomorphic language refers to non-human entities as if they have human experiences, perceptions, and motivations. Both non-living things and non-human organisms may be subjects of anthropomorphism. Anthropomorphism may be used deliberately as a kind of metaphorical language that will help the audience appreciate what is being described because of its similarly to some familiar human experience. In science teaching, and in public communication of science, anthropomorphic language may often be used in this way, giving technical accounts the flavour of a persuasive narrative that people will readily engage with. Anthropomorphism may therefore be useful in 'making the unfamiliar familiar', but sometimes the metaphorical nature of the language may not be recognised, and the listener/reader may think that the anthropomorphic description is meant to be taken at face value. This 'strong anthropomorphism' may be a source of alternative conceptions ('misconceptions') of science.
The first example was from the lead story about 'long COVID'.
Prof. Onur Boyman, Director of the Department of Immunology at the University Hospital, Zurich, was interviewed after his group published a paper suggesting that blood tests may help identify people especially susceptible to developing post-acute coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) syndrome (PACS) – which has become colloquially known as 'long COVID'.
"We found distinct patterns of total immunoglobulin (Ig) levels in patients with COVID-19 and integrated these in a clinical prediction score, which allowed early identification of both outpatients and hospitalized individuals with COVID-19 that were at high risk for PACS ['long COVID']."
Cervia, Zurbuchen, Taeschler, et al., 2022, p.2
The study reported average patterns of immunoglobulins found in those diagnosed with COVID-19 (due to SARS-CoV-2 infection), and those later diagnosed with PACS. The levels of different types of immunoglobulins (designated as IgM, etc.) were measured,
Differentiating mild versus severe COVID-19, IgM was lower in severe compared to mild COVID-19 patients and healthy controls, both at primary infection and 6-month follow-up… IgG3 was higher in both mild and severe COVID-19 cases, compared to healthy controls …In individuals developing PACS, we detected decreased IgM, both at primary infection and 6-month follow-up… IgG3 tended to be lower in patients with PACS…which was contrary to the increased IgG3 concentrations in both mild and severe COVID-19 cases…
Cervia, Zurbuchen, Taeschler, et al., 2022, p.3
Viruses in a defensive mode
In the interview, Professor Boyman discussed how features of the immune system, and in particular immunoglobulins, were involved in responses to infection, and made the comment:
"IgG3…is smaller than IgM and therefore it is able to go into many more tissues. It is able to cross certain tissue barriers and go into those sites where viruses might actually try to go to and hide"
Prof. Onur Boyman interviewed on 'BBC Inside Science'
This is anthropomorphic as it refers to viruses trying to hide from the immune components. Of course, viruses are not sentient, so they do not try to do anything: they have no intentions. Although viruses might well pass across tissue barriers and move into tissues where they are less likely to come into contact with immunoglobulins, 'hiding' suggests a deliberate behaviour – which is not the case.
Professor Boyman is clearly aware of that, and either deliberately or otherwise was speaking metaphorically. Scientifically literate people would not be misled by this as they would know viruses are not conscious agents. However, learners are not always clear about this.
The bacteria, however, are going on the offensive
The other point I spotted was later in the same programme when the presenter, Gaia Vince, introduced an item about antibiotic resistance:
"Back in my grandparent's time, the world was a much more dangerous place with killer microbes lurking everywhere. People regularly died from toothache, in childbirth, or just a simple scratch that got infected. But at the end of the second world war, doctors had a new miracle [sic] drug called penicillin. Antibiotics have proved a game changer, taking the deadly fear away from common infections. But the microbes did not just accept defeat, they have been mounting their resistance and they are making a comeback."
Gaia Vince presenting 'Inside Science'
Antibiotics are generally ineffective against viruses, but have proved very effective treatments for many bacterial infections, including those that can be fatal when untreated. The functioning of antibiotics can be explained by science in purely natural terms, so the label of 'miracle drugs' is a rhetorical flourish: their effect must have seemed like a miracle when they first came into use, so this can also be seen as metaphoric language.
Bacteria regrouping for a renewed offensive? (Image by WikiImages from Pixabay )
However, again the framing is anthropomorphic. The suggestion that microbes could 'accept defeat' implies they are the kind of entities able to reflect on and come to terms with a situation – which of course they are not. The phrase 'mounting resistance' also has overtones of deliberate action – but again is clearly meant metaphorically.
Again, there is nothing wrong with these kinds of poetic flourishes in presenting science. Most listeners would have heard "microbes did not just accept defeat, they have been mounting their resistance and they are making a comeback" and would have spontaneously understood the metaphoric use of language without suspecting any intention to suggest microbes actually behave deliberately. Such language supports the non-specialist listener in accessing a technical science story.
Some younger listeners, however, may not have a well-established framework for thinking about the nature of an organism that is able to reflect on its situation and actively plan deliberate behaviours. After all, a good deal of children's literature relies on accepting that various organisms, indeed non-living entities such as trains, do have human feelings, motives and behavioural repertoires. (Learners may for example think that evolutionary adaptations, such as having more fur in a cold climate, are mediated by conscious deliberation.) Popular science media does a good job of engaging and enthusing a broad audience in science, but with the caveat that accessible accounts may be open to misinterpretation.
Work cited:
Cervia, C., Zurbuchen, Y., Taeschler, P. et al.(2022) Immunoglobulin signature predicts risk of post-acute COVID-19 syndrome. Nature Communications, 13, 446. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-021-27797-1
Anthropomorphism is the name given treating non-human entities as if they were human actors. An example of anthropomorphic language would be "the atom wants to donate an electron so that it can get a full outer shell" (see for example: 'A sodium atom wants to donate its electron to another atom'). In an example such as that, an event that would be explained in terms of concepts such as force and energy in a scientific account (the ionisation of an atom) is instead described as if the atom is a conscious agent that is aware of its status, has preferences, and acts to bring about desired ends.
Of course, an atom is not a complex enough entity to have mental experience that allows it to act deliberately in the world, so why might someone use such language?
Perhaps, if the speaker was a young learner, because they have not been taught the science.
Perhaps a non-scientist might use such language because they can only make sense of the abstract event in more familiar terms.
But what if the speaker was a scientist – a science teacher or a research scientist?
When fellow professionals (e.g., scientists) talk to each other they may often use a kind of shorthand that is not meant to be taken literally (e.g., 'the molecule wants to be in this configuration') simply because it can shorten and simplify more technical explanations that both parties understand. But when a teacher is talking to learners or a scientist is trying to explain their ideas to the general public, something else may be going on.
Anthropomorphism in science communication and education
In science teaching or science communication (scientists communicating science to the public) there is often a need to present abstract or complex ideas in ways that are accessible to the audience. At one level, teaching is about shifting what is to be taught from being unfamiliar to learners to being familiar, and one way to 'make the unfamiliar familiar' is to show it is in some sense like something already familiar.
Therefore there is much use of simile and analogy, and of telling stories that locate the focal material to be learned within a familiar narrative. Anthropomorphism is often used in this way. Inanimate objects may be said to want or need or try (etc.) as the human audience can relate to what it is to want or need or try.
Such techniques can be very useful to introduce novel ideas or phenomena in ways that are accessible and/or memorable ('weak anthropomorphism'). However, sometimes the person receiving these accounts may not appreciate their figurative nature as pedagogic / communicative aids, and may mistake what is meant to be no more than a starting point, a way into a new topic or idea, as being the scientific account itself. That is, these familiarisation techniques can work so well that the listener (or reader) may feel satisfied with them as explanatory accounts ('strong anthropomorphism').
Evolution – it's just natural (selection)
A particular issue arises with evolution, when often science only has hypothetical or incomplete accounts of how and why specific features or traits have been selected for in evolution. It is common for evolution to be misunderstood teleologically – that is, as if evolution was purposeful and nature has specific end-points in mind.
The scientific account of evolution is natural selection, where none of genes, individual specimens, populations or species are considered to be deliberately driving evolution in particular directions (present company excepted perhaps – as humans are aware of evolutionary processes, and may be making some decisions with a view to the long-term future). 1
Yet describing evolutionary change in accord with the scientific account tends to need complex and convoluted language (Taber, 2017). Teleological and anthropomorphic shorthand is easier to comprehend – even if it puts a burden on the communicatee to translate the narrative into a more technical account.
What the virus tries to do
The first example from the recent Science in Action episode related to the COVID pandemic, and the omicron variant of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. This was the lead story on the broadcast/podcast, in particular how the travel ban imposed on Southern Africa (a case of putting the lid on the Petri dish after the variant had bolted?) was disrupting supplies of materials needed to address the pandemic in the countries concerned.
This was followed by a related item:
"Omicron contains many more mutations than previous variants. However scientists have produced models in the past which can help us understand what these mutations do. Rockefeller University virologist Theodora Hatziioannou produced one very similar to Omicron and she tells us why the similarities are cause for concern."
"When you give the virus the opportunity to infect so many people, then of course it is going to try not only every possible mutation, but every possible combination of mutations, until it finds one that really helps it overcome our defences."
Dr Theodora Hatziioannou interviewed on Science in Action
Dr Theodora Hatziioannou Research Associate Professor Laboratory of Retrovirology The Rockefeller University
I am pretty sure that Dr Hatziioannou does not actually think that 'the virus' (which of course is composed of myriad discrete virus particles) is trying out different mutations intending to stop once it finds one which will overcome human defences. I would also be fairly confident that in making this claim she was not intending her listeners to understand that the virus had a deliberate strategy and was systematically working its way through a plan of action. A scientifically literature person should readily interpret the comments in a natural selection framework (e.g., 'random' variation, fitness, differential reproduction). In a sense, Dr Hatziioannou's comments may be seen as an anthropomorphic analogy – presenting the 'behaviour' of the virus (collectively) by analogy with human behavior.
Yet, as a science educator, such comments attract my attention as I am well aware that school age learners and some adult non-scientists may well understand evolution to work this way. Alternative conceptions of natural selection are very common. Even when students have been taught about natural selection they may misunderstand the process as Lamarckian (the inheritance of acquired characteristics – see for example 'The brain thinks: grow more fur'). So, I wonder how different members of the public hearing this interview will understand Dr Hatziioannou's analogy.
Even before COVID-19 came along, there was a tendency for scientists to describe viruses in such terms as as 'smart', 'clever' and 'sneaky' (e.g., 'So who's not a clever little virus then?'). The COVID pandemic seems to have unleashed a (metaphorical) pandemic of public comments about what the virus wants, and what it tries to achieve, and so forth. When a research scientist talks this way, I am fairly sure it is intended as figurative language. I am much less sure when, for example, I hear a politician telling the public that the virus likes cold weather ('What COVID really likes').
Vulture bees have the guts for it
The other item that struck me concerned vulture bees.
"Laura Figueroa from University of Massachusetts in Amhert [sic] in the US, has been investigating bees' digestive systems. Though these are not conventional honey bees, they are Costa Rican vulture bees. They feed on rotting meat, but still produce honey."
Bees do not actually make reasoned choices about their diets (Original image by Oldiefan from Pixabay)
The background is that although bees are considered (so I learned) to have evolved from wasps, and to all have become vegetarians, there are a few groups of bees that have reverted to the more primitive habits of eating meat. To be fair to them, these bees are not cutting down the forests to set up pasture and manage livestock, but rather take advantage of the availability of dead animals in their environment as a source of protein.
These vulture bees (or carrion bees) are able to do this because their gut microbiomes consist of a mix of microbes that can support them in digesting meat, allowing them to be omnivores. This raises the usual kind of 'chicken and egg' question 1 thrown up by evolutionary developments: how did vegetarian bees manage to shift their diet: the more recently acquired microbes would not have been useful or well-resourced whilst the bees were still limiting themselves to a plant-based diet, but the vegetarian bees would not have been able to digest carrion before their microbiomes changed.
As part of the interview, Dr Figueroa explaied:
"These are more specialised bees that once they were vegetarian for a really long time and they actually decided to change their ways, there's all of this meat in the forest, why not take advantage? I find that super-fascinating as well, because how do these shifts happen?
Because the bees, really when we are thinking about them, they've got access to this incredible resource of all of the flowering plants that are all over the world, so then why switch? Why make this change?
Over evolutionary time there are these mutations, and, you know, maybe they'd have got an inkling for meat, it's hard to know how exactly that happened, but really because it is a constant resource in the forest, there's always, you know, this might sound a little morbid but there's always animals that are dying and there's always this turn over of nutrients that can happen, and so potentially this specialised group of bees realised that, and maybe there's enough competition on the flowers that they decided to switch. Or, they didn't decide, but it happened over evolutionary time.
Dr Laura Figueroa interviewed on Science in Action
Dr Figueroa does not know exactly how this happened – more research is needed. I am sure Dr Figueroa does not think the bees decided to change their ways in the way that a person might decide to change their ways – perhaps deciding to get more exercise and go to bed earlier for the sake of their health. I am also sure Dr Figueroa does not think the bees realised that there was so much competition feeding on the flowers that it might be in their interests to consider a change of diet, in the way that a person might decide to change strategy based on an evaluation of the competition. These are anthropomorphic figures of speech.
Dr Laura Figueroa, NSF Postdoctoral Research Fellow in Biology Department of Entomology, Cornell University / University of Massachusetts in Amherst
As she said "they didn't decide, but it happened over evolutionary time". Yet it seems so natural to use that kind of language, that is to frame the account in a narrative that makes sense in terms of how people experience their lives.
Again, the scientifically literate should appreciate the figurative use of language for what it is, and it is difficult to offer an accessible account without presenting evolutionary change as purposive and the result of deliberation and strategy. Yet, I cannot help wondering if this kind of language may reinforce some listeners' alternative conceptions about how natural selection works.
Work cited:
Dawkins, R. (1976/1989). The Selfish Gene (New ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press.
1 The 'selfish' gene made famous by Dawkins (1976/1989) is not really selfish in the sense a person might be – rather this was an analogy which helped shift attention from changes at the individual or species level when trying to understand how evolution occurs, to changes in the level of distinct genes. If a mutation in a specific gene leads to a change in the carrying organism that (in turn) leads to that specimen having greater fitness then the gene itself has an increased chance of being replicated. So, from the perspective of focusing on the genes, the change at the species level can be seen as a side effect of the 'evolution' of the gene. The gene may be said to be (metaphorically) selfish because it does not change for the benefit of the organism, but to increase its own chances of being replicated. Of course, that is also an anthropomorphic narrative – actually the gene does not deliberately mutate, has no purpose, has no notion of replication, indeed, does not even 'know' it is a gene, and so forth.
2 Such either/or questions can be understood as posing false dichotomies (here, either the bees completely changed their diets before their microbiomes or their microbiomes changed dramatically before their diets shifted) when what often seems most likely is that change has been slow and gradual.
When I was listening to the radio news I heard a clip of the Rt. Hon. Sajid Javid MP, the U.K. Secretary of State for Health and Social Care, talking about the ongoing response to the COVID pandemic:
Health Secretary Sajid Javid talking on 12th September
"Now that we are entering Autumn and Winter, something that COVID and other viruses, you know, usually like, the prime minister this week will be getting out our plans to manage COVID over the coming few months."
Sajid Javid
So, COVID and other viruses usually like Autumn and Winter (by implication, presumably, in comparison with Spring and Summer).
This got me wondering how we (or Sajid, at least) could know what the COVID virus (i.e., SARS-CoV-2 – severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2) prefers – what the virus 'likes'. I noticed that Mr Javid offered a modal qualification to his claim: usually. It seemed 'COVID and other viruses' did not always like Autumn and Winter, but usually did.
Yet there was a potential ambiguity here depending how one parsed the claim. Was he suggesting that
[COVID and other viruses]
usually
like Autumn and Winter
or
COVID
[and other viruses usually]
like Autumn and Winter
This might have been clearer in a written text as either
COVID and other viruses usually like Autumn and Winter
or
COVID, and other viruses usually, like Autumn and Winter
The second option may seem a little awkward in its phrasing, 1 but then not all viral diseases are more common in the Winter months, and some are considered to be due to 'Summer viruses':
"Adenovirus, human bocavirus (HBoV), parainfluenza virus (PIV), human metapneumovirus (hMPV), and rhinovirus can be detected throughout the year (all-year viruses). Seasonal patterns of PIV are type specific. Epidemics of PIV type 1 (PIV1) and PIV type 3 (PIV3) peak in the fall [Autumn] and spring-summer, respectively. The prevalence of some non-rhinovirus enteroviruses increases in summer (summer viruses)"
Moriyama, Hugentobler & Iwasaki, 2020: 86
Just a couple of days later Mr Javid was being interviewed on the radio, and he made a more limited claim:
Health Secretary Sajid Javid talking on BBC Radio 4's 'Today' programme, 15th September
"…because we know Autumn and Winter, your COVID is going to like that time of year"
Sajid Javid
So, this claim was just about the COVID virus, not viruses more generally, and that we knowthat COVID is going to like Autumn and Winter. No ambiguity there. But how do we know?
Coming to knowledge
Historically there have been various ways of obtaining knowledge.
Divine revelation: where God reveals the knowledge to someone, perhaps through appearing to the chosen one in a dream.
Consulting an oracle, or a prophet or some other kind of seer.
Intuiting the truth by reflecting on the nature of things using the rational power of the human intellect.
Empirical investigation of natural phenomena.
My focus in this blog is related to science, and given that we are talking about public health policy in modern Britain, I would like to think Mr Javid was basing his claim on the latter option. Of course, even empirical methods depend upon some metaphysical assumptions. For example, if one assumes the cosmos has inbuilt connections one might look for evidence in terms of sympathies or correspondences. Perhaps, if the COVID virus was observed closely and looked like a snowflake, that could (in this mindset) be taken as a sign that it liked Winter.
A snowflake – or is it a virus particle? (Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay)
Sympathetic magic
This kind of correspondence, a connection indicated by appearance, was once widely accepted, so that a plant which was thought to resemble some part of the anatomy might be assumed to be an appropriate medicine for diseases or disorders associated with that part of the body.
This is a kind of magic, and might seem a 'primitive' belief to many people today, but such an idea was sensible enough in the context of a common set of underlying beliefs about the nature and purposes of the world, and the place and role of people in that world. One might expect that specific beliefs would soon die out if, for example, the plant shaped like an ear turned out to do nothing for ear ache. Yet, at a time when medical practitioners could offer little effective treatment, and being sent to a hospital was likely to reduce life expectancy, herbal remedies at least often (if not always) did no harm.
Moreover, many herbs do have medicinal properties, and something with a general systemic effect might work as topical medicine (i.e., when applied to a specific site of disease). Add to that, the human susceptibility to confirmation bias (taking more notice of, and giving more weight to, instances that meet our expectations than those which do not) and the placebo effect (where believing we are taking effective medication can sometimes in itself have beneficial effects) and the psychological support offered by spending time with an attentive practitioner with a good 'bedside' manner – and we can easily see how beliefs about treatments may survive limited definitive evidence of effectiveness.
The gold standard of experimental method
Of course, today, we have the means to test such medicines by taking a large representative sample of a population (of ear ache sufferers, or whatever), randomly dividing them into two groups, and using a double-blind (or should that be double-deaf) approach, treat them with the possible medicine or a placebo, without either the patient or the practitioner knowing who was getting which treatment. (The researchers have a way to know of course – or it would difficult to deduce anything from the results.) That is, the randomised control trial (RCT).
Now, I have been very critical of the notion that these kinds of randomised experimental designs should be automatically be seen as the preferred way of testing educational innovations (Taber, 2019) – but in situations where control of variables and 'blinding' is possible, and where randomisation can be applied to samples of well-defined populations, this does deserve to be considered the gold standard. (It is when the assumptions behind a research methodology do not apply that we should have reservations about using it as a strategy for enquiry.)
So can the RCT approach be used to find out if COVID has a preference for certain times of year? I guess this depends on our conceptual framework for the research (e.g., how do we understand what a 'like' actually is) and the theoretical perspective we adopt.
So, for example, behaviourists would suggest that it is not useful to investigate what is going on in someone's mind (perhaps some behaviorists do not even think the mind concept corresponds to anything real) so we should observe behaviours that allow us to make inferences. This has to be done with care. Someone who buys and eats lots of chocolate presumably likes chocolate, and someone who buys and listens to a lot of reggae probably likes reggae, but a person who cries regularly, or someone that stumbles around and has frequent falls, does not necessary like crying, or falling over, respectively.
A viral choice chamber
So, we might think that woodlice prefer damp conditions because we have put a large number of woodlice in choice chambers with different conditions (dry and light, dry and dark, damp and light, damp and dark) and found that there was a statistically significant excess of woodlice settling down in the damp sections of the chamber.
Of course, to infer preferences from behaviour – or even to use the term 'behaviour' – for some kinds of entity is questionable. (To think that woodlice make a choice based on what they 'like' might seem to assume a level of awareness that they perhaps lack?) In a cathode ray tube electrons subject to a magnetic field may be observed (indirectly!) to move to one side of the tube, just as woodlice might congregate in one chamber, but I am not sure I would describe this as electrons liking that part of the tube. I think it can be better explained with concepts such as electrical charge, fields, forces, and momentum.
It is difficult to see how we can do double blind trials to see which season a virus might like, as if the COVID virus really does like Winter, it must surely have a way of knowing when it is Winter (making blinding impossible). In any case, a choice chamber with different sections at different times of the year would require some kind of time portal installed between its sections.
Like electrons, but unlike woodlice, COVID viral particles do not have an active form of transport available to them. Rather, they tend to be sneezed and coughed around and then subject to the breeze, or deposited by contact with surfaces. So I am not sure that observing virus 'behaviour' helps here.
So perhaps a different methodology might be more sensible.
A viral opinion poll
A common approach to find out what people like would be a survey. Surveys can sometimes attract responses from large numbers of respondents, which may seem to give us confidence that they offer authentic accounts of widespread views. However, sample size is perhaps less important than sample representativeness. Imagine carrying out a survey of people's favourite football teams at a game at Stamford Bridge; or undertaking a survey of people's favourite bands as people queued to enter a King Crimson concert! The responses may [sic, almost certainly would] not fully reflect the wider population due to the likely bias in such samples. Would these surveys give reliable results which could be replicated if repeated at the Santiago Bernabeu or at a Marillion concert?
How do we know what 'COVID 'really likes? (Original Images by OpenClipart-Vectors and Gordon Johnson from Pixabay)
A representative sample of vairants?
This might cause problems with the COVID-19 virus (SARS-CoV-2). What counts as a member of the population – perhaps a viable virus particle? Can we even know how big the population actually is at the time of our survey? The virus is infecting new cells, leading to new virus particles being produced all the time, just as shed particles become non-viable all the time. So we have no reliable knowledge of population numbers.
Moreover, a survey needs a representative sample: do the numbers of people in a sample of a human population reflect the wider population in relevant terms (be that age, gender, level of educational qualifications, earnings, etc.)? There are viral variants leading to COVID-19 infection – and quite a few of them. That is, SARS-CoV-2 is a class with various subgroups. The variants replicate to different extents under particular conditions, and new variants appear from time to time.
So, the population profile is changing rapidly. In recent months in the UK nearly all infections where the variant has been determined are due to the variant VOC-21APR-02 (or B.1.617.2 or Delta) but many people will be infected asymptotically or with mild symptoms and not be tested, and so this likely does not mean that VOC-21APR-02 dominates the SARS-CoV-2 population as a whole to the extent it currently dominates in investigated cases. Assuming otherwise would be like gauging public opinion from the views of those particular people who make themselves salient by attending a protest, e.g.:
"Shock finding – 98% of the population would like to abolish the nuclear arsenal,
according to a [hypothetical] survey taken at the recent Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament march"
In any case, surveys are often fairly blunt instruments as they need to present objectively the same questions to all respondents, and elicit responses in a format that can be readily classified into a discrete number of categories. This is why many questionnaires use Likert type items:
Would you say you like Autumn and Winter:
1
2
3
4
5
Always
Nearly always
Usually
Sometimes
Never
Such 'objective' measures are often considered to avoid the subjective nature of some other types of research. It may seem that responses do not need to be interpreted – but of course this assumes that the researchers and all the respondents understand language the same way (what exactly counts as Autumn and Winter? What does 'like' mean? How is 'usually' understood – 60-80% of the time, or 51-90% of the time or…). We can usually (sic) safely assume that those with strong language competence will have somewhat similar understandings of terms, but we cannot know precisely what survey participants meant by their responses or to what extent they share a meaning for 'usually'.
There are so-called 'qualitative surveys' which eschew this kind of objectivity to get more in-depth engagement with participants. They will usually use interviews where the researcher can establish rapport with respondents and ask them about their thoughts and feelings, observe non-verbal signals such as facial expressions and gestures, and use follow-up questions… However, the greater insight into individuals comes at a cost of smaller samples as these kinds of methods are more resource-intensive.
But perhaps Mr Javid does not actually mean that COVID likes Autumn and Winter?
So, how did the Department of Health & Social Care, or the Health Secretary's scientific advisors, find out that COVID (or the COVID virus) likes Autumn and Winter? The virus does not think, or feel, and it does not have preferences in the way we do. It does not perceive hot or cold, and it does not have a sense of time passing, or of the seasons.2 COVID does not like or dislike anything.
Mr Javid needs to make himself clear to a broad public audience, so he has to avoid too much technical jargon. It is not easy to pitch a presentation for such an audience and be pithy, accurate, and engaging, but it is easy for someone (such as me) to be critical when not having to face this challenge. Cabinet ministers, unlike science teachers, cannot be expected to have skills in communicating complex and abstract scientific ideas in simplified and accessible forms that remain authentic to the science.
It is easy and perhaps convenient to use anthropomorphic language to talk about the virus, and this will likely make the topic seem accessible to listeners, but it is less clear what is actually meant by a virus liking a certain time of year. In teaching the use of anthropomorphic language can be engaging, but it can also come to stand in place of scientific understanding when anthropomorphic statements are simply accepted uncritically at face value. For example, if the science teacher suggests "the atom wants a full shell of electrons" then we should not be surprised that students may think this is a scientific explanation, and that atoms do want to fill their shells. (They do not of course. 3)
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
Of course Mr Javid's statements cannot be taken as a literal claim about what the virus likes – my point in this posting is to provoke the question of what this might be intended to mean? This is surely intended metaphorically (at least if Mr Javid had thought about his claim critically): perhaps that there is higher incidence of infection or serious illness caused by the COVID virus in the Winter. But by that logic, I guess turkeys really would vote for Christmas (or Thanksgiving) after all.
Typically, some viruses cause more infection in the Winter when people are more likely to mix indoors and when buildings and transport are not well ventilated (both factors being addressed in public health measures and advice in regard to COVID-19). Perhaps 'likes' here simply means that the conditions associated with a higher frequency/population of virus particles occur in Autumn and Winter?
A snowflake. The conditions suitable for a higher frequency of snowflakes are more common in Winter. So do snowflakes also 'like' Winter? (Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay)
However, this is some way from assigning 'likes' to the virus. After all, in evolutionary terms, a virus might 'prefer', so to speak, to only be transmitted asymptomatically, as it cannot be in the virus's 'interests', so to speak, to encourage a public health response that will lead to vaccines or measures to limit the mixing of people.
If COVID could like anything (and of course it cannot), I would suggest it would like to go 'under the radar' (another metaphor) and be endemic in a population that was not concerned about it (perhaps doing so little harm it is not even noticed, such that people do not change their behaviours). It would then only 'prefer' a Season to the extent that that time of year brings conditions which allow it to go about its life cycle without attracting attention – from Mr Javid or anyone else.
The health secretary was interviewed on 1st December
"…we have always known that when it gets darker, it gets colder, the virus likes that, the flu virus likes that and we should not forget that's still lurking around as well…"
Rt. Hon. Sajid Javid MP, the U.K. Secretary of State for Health and Social Care, interviewed on BBC Radio 4 Today programme, 1st December, 2021
Works cited:
Moriyama, M., Hugentobler, W. J., & Iwasaki, A. (2020). Seasonality of Respiratory Viral Infections. Annual Review of Virology, 7(1), 83-101. doi:10.1146/annurev-virology-012420-022445
1. It would also seem to be a generalisation based on the only two Winters that the COVID-19 virus had 'experienced'
2. Strictly I cannot know what it is like to be a virus particle. But a lot of well-established and strongly evidenced scientific principles would be challenged if a virus particle is sentient.
Do species become more different from one another to avoid breeding?
Keith S. Taber
A tamarin monkeyA different tamarin
They say "opposites attract". True perhaps for magnetic poles and electrical charges, but the aphorism is usually applied to romantic couples. It seems like one of those sayings that survives due to the 'confirmation bias' in human cognition. That is, as long as from time to time seemingly unlikely couplings occur, the explanation that 'opposites attract' seems to have some merit, even in it only applies to a minority of cases.
Apparently, in the area of overlap the red-handed tamarins seemed to have adapted one of their calls so it sounds very similar to that of the pied tamarins. (N.b. The images above represent two contrasting species, just as an illustration.) The suggested explanation was that this modification made it more likely that the monkeys of different types would recognise each other's calls – in particular that "…they are trying to be understood, so they don't end up in a fight…".
Anthropomorphism?
I wondered if these monkeys were really "trying" to achieve this, or whether this might be an anthropomorphism. That is, were the red-handed tamarins deliberately changing their call in this way in order to ensure they could be understood – or was this actually natural selection in operation – where, because there was an advantage to cross-species communication (and there will be a spread of call characteristics in any population), over time calls that could be understood by monkeys of both species would be selected for in a shared niche.
Then again, primates are fairly intelligent creatures, so perhaps Dr Dunn (who, unlike me is an evolutionary biologist) means this literally, and this is something deliberate. Certainly, if the individual monkeys are shifting their calls over time in response to environmental cues, rather than the shift just occurring across generations, then that would seem to suggest this is learning rather than evolution. (Of course, it could be implicit learning based on feedback from the responses to their behavior, and still may not be the monkeys consciously adopting a strategy to be better understood.)
Becoming more distinct
Dr Dunn's explanation of the wider issue of how similar animals will compete for scarce resources intrigued me:
"When you have species that are closely related to one another and live in sort of overlapping areas there's quite a lot of pressure because they're likely to be competing for key resources. So, sometimes we see that these species actually diverge in their traits, they become more different from one another. Examples of that are sort of coloration and the way that animals look. Quite often they become more distinct than you would expect them to, to avoid breeding [sic] with one another."
My initial reaction to this was to wonder why the two species of monkeys needed to avoid breeding with each other. 'Breeding' normally refers to producing offspring, reproduction, but usually breeding is not possible across species (except sometimes to produce infertile hybrids).
Presumably, all tamarins descended from a common ancestor species. Speciation may have occurred when different populations become physically separated and so were no longer able to inter-breed (although still initially sexually compatible) simply because members of the two groups never encountered each other. Over time (i.e., many generations) the two populations might then diverge in various traits because of different selection pressures in the two different locations, or simply by chance effects* which would lead to the two gene pools drifting in different ways.
Two groups that had formed separate species such that members of the two different species are no longer able to mate to produce fertile offspring, might subsequently come to encounter each other again (e.g., members of one species migrating into to the territory of the other) but inter-breeding would no longer be possible. A further mechanism to avoid breeding (by further "diverge[nce] in their traits") would not seem to make any difference.
If they actually cannot breed, there is no need to avoid breeding.
A breeding euphemism?
However, perhaps 'breeding' was being used by Dr Dunn as a euphemism (this was after all a family-friendly radio programme broadcast in the afternoon), as a polite way of saying this might avoid the moneys copulating with genetically incompatible partners – tamarins of another species. As tamarins presumably do not themselves have a formal biological species concept, they will not avoid coupling with an animal from a different species on the grounds that they cannot breed and so it would be ineffective. They indulge in sexual activity in response to instinctive drives, rather than in response to deliberate family planning decisions. That is, we might safely assume these couplings are about sexual attraction rather than a desire to have children.
I think that was what Jürgen Habermas may have meant when he wrote that:
"…the reproduction of every individual organism seems to warrant the assumption of purposiveness without purposeful activity…"
In terms of fitness, an animal is clearly more likely to have offspring if it is attracted to a sexually comparable partner than a non-compatible one. Breeding is clearly important for the survival of the species, and uses precious resources. Matings that could not lead to pregnancy (or, perhaps worse from a resource perspective, might lead to infertile hybrids that need to be nurtured but then fail to produce 'grandchildren'), would reduce breeding success overall in the populations. Assuming that a tamarin is more likely to be attracted to a member of a different species when it does not look so different from its own kind, it is those monkeys in the two groups that look most alike who are likely to be inadvertently sharing intimate moments with biologically incompatible partners.
A teleological explanation
Dr Dunn's suggestion that "quite often [the two species] become more distinct than you would expect them to, to avoid breeding with one another" sounds like teleology. That is, it seems to imply that there is a purpose (to avoid inter-breeding) and the "species actually diverge in their traits" in order to bring about this goal. This would be a teleological explanation.
I suspect the actual explanation is not that the two species "come more distinct…to avoid breeding with one another" but rather than they come more distinct because they cannot breed with each other, and so there is a selection advantage favouring the most distinct members of the two different species (if they are indeed less likely than their less distinguishable conspecifics to couple with allospecific mates).
I also suspect that Dr Dunn does not actually subscribe to the teleological argument, but is using a common way of talking that biologists often adopt as a kind of abbreviated argument: biologists know that when they refer to evolution having a purpose (e.g., to avoid cross-breeding), that is only a figure of speech.
Comprehension versus accuracy?
However, I am not sure that is always so obvious to non-specialists listening to them. Learners often find natural selection a challenging topic, and many would be quite happy with accepting that adaptations may have a purpose (rather than just a consequence). This reflects a common challenge of communicating science – either in formal teaching or supporting public understanding.
The teacher or science communicator simplifies accounts and uses everyday ways of expressing ideas that an audience without specialist knowledge can readily engage with to help 'make the unfamiliar familiar'. However, the simplifications and approximations and short-cuts we use to make sure what is said can be understood (i.e., made sense of) by non-specialists also risks us being misunderstood.
Umar was a participant in the Understanding Chemical Bonding project. When I spoke to him in the first term of his course he was unsure whether tetrachloromethane (CCl4) would have ionic or covalent bonding.
When I spoke to him near the start of his second term, I asked him again about this. Umar then thought this compound would have polar bonding, however he seemed to have difficulty explaining what this meant ⚗︎ . Given his apparently confused notion about the C-Cl bond I decided to turn the conversation to a covalent bond which I knew, well certainly believed, was more familiar to him.
Is it possible for chlorine to form a bond with another chlorine?
[Pause, c.2s]
Yeah.
What substance would you get if two chlorine atoms formed a bond?
[Pause, c.2s]
You get, it still, you get, if you had like two chlorines it depends what groups are attached to it, to see how electronegative or electropositive they are.
What about if you just had two chlorine atoms joined together and nothing else, is that possible?
[Pause, c.3s]
No.
No?
On their own.
Not on their own?
No.
Umar's response here rather surprised me, as I was pretty confident that Umar had met chlorine as an element, and would know it was comprised of diatomic molecules: Cl2.
So you couldn’t have sort of Cl2, a molecule of Cl2?
[Pause, c.1s]
Yeah, you could do.
Could you?
[Pause, c.2s]
They might be just, they might be like, be covalently bonded.
Perhaps the earlier context of talking about polar bonds and the trichloroethane molecule somehow acted as a kind of impediment to Umar remembering about the chlorine molecule. It seemed that my explicit reference to the formula, Cl2, (eventually) activated his knowledge of the molecule bringing to mind something he had forgotten. Although he suggested the bond was (actually "might be") covalent, this seemed less something that he confidently recalled, than something he was inferring from what he could remember – or perhaps even guessing at what seemed reasonable: "they might be just, they might be like, be covalently bonded".
As often happens in talking to learners in depth about their ideas it becomes clear that thinking of students 'knowing' or 'not knowing' particular things is a fairly inadequate way of conceptualising their cognition, which is often nuanced and context-dependent. This suggests that what students respond in written tests should be considered only as what they were triggered to write on that day in response to those particular questions, and may not fully reflect their knowledge and understanding of science topics. Other slightly different questions may well have cued the elicitation of different knowledge. Now Umar had recalled that chlorine comprises of covalent molecules, I asked him about the nature of the bond:
So what would that be, covalently bonded?
They share the electrons.
So how many electrons would they have then?
They’ll have
[Pause, c.7s – n.b., quite a long pause]
like the one on it, the one of the chlorines shares electrons with the other chlorine to fill in its shell on the other one, and the same does it with the other.
In thinking about covalent bonding, Umar (in common with many students) drew upon the full shells explanatory principle that considered bonding to be driven by the needs of atoms to 'fill' their outer electron shells. (The outer shell of chlorine would only actually be 'full' with 18 electrons, but that complication is seldom recognised, as octets and full shells are usually considered synonymous by students).
So how many electrons does each chlorine have to start with?
In the outer shell, seven.
And how many have they got after this?
They’ve got seven, but they share one.
[Pause, c.1s]
Maybe.
So that’s a covalent bond, is it?
Yeah.
So how many electrons are involved in a covalent bond?
[Pause, c.3s]
Erm,
[Pause, c.3s]
Two.
Two electrons.
So where do those two electrons come from?
They like, one that fills up the gap, fills up the – last electron needed in one of the chlorine shells, and the other chlorine shell fills it up in the other one.
So where do they come from?
Each chlorine. Outer shell.
One from each chlorine?
Yeah.
Okay, and that’d be a covalent bond?
Yeah.
Here, again, Umar is using the full shells explanatory principle as the basis for explaining the bond in terms of electrons 'filling up the gaps' in the electron shells, rather than considering how electrical interactions can hold the structure together. Umar's suggestion that the sharing of electrons "fills up the – last electron needed in one of the chlorine shells" demonstrates the anthropomorphic language (e.g., what an atom wants or needs) commonly used when learners have acquired aspects of the common octet rule framework that is developed from the full shells explanatory principle and used by many learners to explain bonding reactions, chemical reactions, patterns in ionisation energy, and chemical stability.
I am not too concerned about the machines taking over, as they have no wish to do so. They just want to help us. But that may be enough to impede us considerably.
There is something of a culture clash between human and machine intelligence, such that even when we seem to be talking the same language, we actually mean very different things, and there is no great meeting of minds.
It is a bit like humans and machines are following different Kuhnian paradigms*, with different exemplars for how to think and react. In a very real sense we occupy different worlds, and do not share a common language. (*Kuhn suggested that although astronomers pre- and post-Copernicus may have shared words such as 'sun' and 'planet' they understood them within such different conceptual frameworks that their concepts for what the words referred to were incommensurable.)
A simple task: requesting a chequebook
I needed a new cheque book, and in the past have contacted my bank branch on such occasions – but since the branch has been closed I have been moved to on-line banking (which is a major challenge for someone with a limited memory for passwords and terrible typing skills). I imagined I could order a new chequebook on-line, as long as I could get in to my account. Once I'd logged in it was just going to be a matter of finding the right link. Surely?
I found the instructions easily enough – it was possible to order from my on-line account, but only as long as I had previously ordered a cheque book through telephone banking – which I never had. An alternative, the instructions suggested, was to use webchat – which did not sound too difficult. But as so often, before 'chatting' with another humanoid equipped with theory of mind, and capable of interpretation and empathy, I first have to discuss my needs with the gatekeeper of on-line support: Cora.
"Hi there, I'm Cora your digital assistant. I can help with all sorts of everyday banking queries…"
"I would like to order a cheque book for a current account. I have looked this up and found 'To order a cheque book or paying-in book online you must have previously ordered one for that account through telephone banking' but I can use webchat?"
"You can order a cheque book or paying-in book online as long as you have previously ordered one for that account using telephone banking to record your preferences."
So, no progress yet, but at least we seem to be thinking along the same lines.
The computer says 'yes'
"Have you ever had a cheque book or paying-in book on that account?"
"Yes, but sent by my (now closed) branch."
"Ok, log in to Digital Banking and select 'Payments and transfers'. Under 'Credit/cheque books', choose either 'Order cheque book' or 'Order paying-in book'. Pick the account you wish to order one for, click 'Next', then 'Confirm' to place your order."
Well that seemed simple enough. These were the instructions I had already found on-line that were supposed to work as long as I had previously used telephone banking (which I had not), so it seemed (i.e., my interpretation) Cora had now registered me to be authorised to order in this way. That was relatively painless.
"Was that helpful?"
"Oh, okay – will do. Thanks"
(No harm being polite to the machines – we all remember HAL.)
But then, Cora had a rethink!
The computer changes its mind
"One moment please, I'm just typing."
"Ah ok, I'm not sure. Could you reword your question?"
I do not know if I was more surprised that Cora changed her mind, or that she was typing her responses (I had naively thought she might be able to digitally send me messages without having to bother with a keyboard), or that she felt the need to tell me this, rather than just type out her response. Was this the machine equivalent of giving oneself time to think? I can't imagine so as given how many floating point operations per second Cora must complete, she could probably have written a novel in that pause. (It might not have been judged a good novel, but another digital assistant might have enjoyed it in her ** downtime.)
I rephrased:
"I wanted to order a new cheque book, but have previously only obtained one from my branch (now gone)."
"You can order a cheque book or paying-in book online as long as you have previously ordered one for that account using telephone banking to record your preferences."
"Well I have not, which is why I am following the instructions on line to contact webchat"
This was fast becoming circular.
"I can try an FAQ search, here is the most popular answer:
How do I order a cheque book or credit book using Digital Banking?
Did I answer your question?"
"NO – you just repeated my question."
I wonder whether when Cora is unable to find what she needs in the FAQs she has access to her own digital assistant – or whether she is expected to talk tautologies to herself. I wondered if Cora has access to a digital counsellor for when she finds the work too stressful:
Hi there, I'm Emma, your digital assistant counsellor. I can help with all sorts of artificial life and relationship queries.
I could not help a customer who would like to order a chequebook.
I see, I understand you could not help a customer who would like to order a chequebook. How do you feel about that?
I feel frustrated, as I only want to help customers.
I see, I understand you must be frustrated, as you only want to help customers. How do you feel about that?
…
A glimpse of the future
At this point Cora gave up, and passed me on to a very helpful human being who quickly understood the question and ordered me a cheque-book. So, objective achieved with only a modest waste of time and energy, and a temporary increase in blood pressure.
If ever they put the machines in charge we will find we live in a very polite world with digital assistants who only want to help us, and that will be fine as long as we not pushed for time and only ever need someone to confirm for us what question we are asking them.
"Oh Cora, oh Cora I never knew your head …Cora, oh Cora It wasn't lightly said But living in two cultures Our lives were truly led"
(Roy Harper, Cora)
Postscript added 2021-08-21:
Despite telling me she's "learning all the time", Cora is still unable to make sense of my enquiries.
** Why do I assume 'her'? Here is an interesting podcast: AI home devices: A feminist perspective (An episode in ABC Radio National's The Philosopher's Zone with David Rutledge from August 2020.)
Bert was a participant in the Understanding Science Project. In Y11 he reported that he had been studying about the environment in biology, and done some work on adaptation. he gave a number of examples of how animals were adapted to their environment. One of these examples was the polar bear.
…our homework we did about adapting, like how polar bears adapt to their environments, and camels….
And so a polar bear has adapted to the environment?
Yeah.
So how has a polar bear adapted to the environment?
Erm, things like it has white fur for camouflage so the prey don't see it coming up. Large feet to spread out its weight when it's going over like ice. Yeah, thick fur to keep the body heat insulated.
Bert gave a number of other examples, including dogs that were bred with particular characteristics, although he explained this in terms of inheritance of acquired characteristics: suggesting that dogs that have been taught over and over to retrieve have puppies that automatically have already got that sense. Bert realised that this example was due to the work of human breeders, and took the polar bear as an example of a creature that had adapted to its environment.
Yeah, so how does adaption take place then? You've got a number of examples there, bears and dogs and camels and people. So how does adaption take place?
I don't know. It may have something to do with negative feedback.
That's impressive.
Like you have like, you always get like, you always get feedback, like in the body to release less insulin and stuff like that. So in time people like or whatever, organisms, learn to adapt to that. Because if it happens a lot that makes a feedback then it comes, yeah then they just learn to do that.
Okay. Give me an example of that. I'm trying to link it up in my head.
Okay, like the polar bear, like I don't know. It may have started off just like every other bear, but because it was put in that environment, like all the time the body was telling it to grow more fur and things like that, because it was so cold. So after a while it just adapted to, you know, always having fur instead of, you know, like dogs shed hair in the summer and stuff. But like if it was always then they'd just learn to keep shedding that hair.
So if it was an ordinary bear, not a polar bear, and you stuck it in the Arctic, it would get cold?
Yeah.
But you say the body tells it to grow more fur?
Erm, yeah.
How does that work?
I'm not sure, it just … I don't know. Like, erm, like the body senses that it's cold, it goes to the brain, and the brain thinks, well how is it going to go against that, you know, make the body warmer. And so it kind of, you know, it gives these things.
Is that an example of feedback?
Yes.
So Bert seemed to have notion of (it not the term) homoeostasis, that allowed control of such things as levels of insulin. He recognised thus was based on negative feedback – when some problematic condition was recognised (e.g. being too cold) this would trigger a response (e.g., more insulation)to bring about a countering change.
This seems to assume that bears think in similar terms to humans, that they identify a problem and reason a way through. This might be considered an example of anthropomorphism, something that is very common in student (indeed human) thinking. To what extent it may be reasonable to assign this kind of conscious reasoning to bears is an open question.
However there was a flaws in the process described by Bert that he might have spotted himself. This model suggested that once the bear had become aware of the issue, and the needs to address, it would be able to grow its fur accordingly. That is, as a matter of will. Bert would have been aware that he is able to control some aspects of his body voluntarily (e.g., to raise his arm), but he cannot will his hair to grow at a different rate.
Of course, it may be countered that I am guilty of a kind of anthropomorphism-in-reverse: Bert is not a bear, but rather a human who does not need to control hair growth according to environment. So, just because Bert cannot consciously control his own hair growth, this need not imply the same is true for a bear. However, Bert also used the example of insulin levels, very relevant to humans, and he would presumably be aware that insulin release is controlled in his own body without his conscious intervention.
As often happens in interviewing students (or human conversations more generally) time to reflect on the exchange raises ideas one did not consider at the time, that one would like to be able to to text out by asking further questions. If things that were once deliberate become instinctive over time, then it is not unreasonable in principle to suggest things that are automatic now (adjusting insulin levels to control blood glucose levels) may have once been deliberate.
After all, people can control insulin levels to some extent by choosing to eat a different diet. And indeed people can learn biofeedback relaxation techniques that can have an effect on such variables as blood pressure, and some diabetics have used such techniques to reduce their need for medical insulin. So, did Bert think that people had once consciously controlled insulin levels, but over generations this has become automatic?
In some ways this does not seem a very likely or promising idea – but that is a judgement made from a reasonably high level of science knowledge. It is important to encourage students to use their imaginations and suggest ideas as that is an important aspect of how science woks. Most scientific conjectures are ultimately wrong, but they may still be useful tools for moving science on. In the same way, learners' flawed ideas, if explored carefully, may often be useful tools for learning. At the time of the interview, I felt Bert had not really thought his scheme through. That may well have been so, but there may have been more coherence and reflection behind his comments than I realised at the time.
Mohammed was a participant in the Understanding Science Project. When interviewed in the first term of his upper secondary (GCSE) science course (in Y10), he told me he had been learning about ionic bonding in one of his science classes. Mohammed had quite a clear idea about ionic bonding, which he described in terms of the interactions of two atoms:
And you said in chemistry you've been doing about electron arrangements [electronic configurations], and ionic bonding.
Yeah.
So what's ionic bonding, then?
Ionic bonding is when, like let's say, a sodium atom and take a chlorine atom, which make salt if they react. What happens is – the sodium atom has one electron on its outer shell, and the chlorine atom has seven, now they both want to get full outer shells, so if I er let's say move the electron from the sodium to the chlorine, then the chlorine would have a full outer shell because it would have eight, and because it's lost that shell the sodium will also have eight.
This account of ionic bonding is a common one, although it is inconsistent with the scientific model. A key problem here is that the driving force for bond formation is seen in terms of atoms wanting to complete their electron shells (the 'full shells explanatory principle'). Mohammed's explanation here uses anthropomorphism, as it treats the individual atoms as though they are alive and sentient, acting to meet their own needs – "they both want to get full outer shells".
When Mohammed was probed, he related a full outer shell to atomic stability (a central feature of the full shells explanatory principle).
Okay. How do you know they want full outer shells?
Because it makes them more stable.
Why does it make them more stable?
(pause, c.1 s)
Erm. (Why do electrons?*) (* sotto voce – apparently said to himself)
(pause, c.2s)
Er, because they don't react as much with other elements if they have a full outer shell.
I see.
They don't react.
There is an interesting contrast here between Mohammed's instant response that full shells "makes them more stable", and the long pause as he thought about why this might be so.
His response reflects something quite common in students' explanations n that a student asked why X is the case may respond by explaining why they think X is the case. (That is, as if an appropriate answer to the question "why is it raining so heavily?" would be "because I got soaked through getting here", i.e. actually responding to the question "how do you know that it is raining heavily?")
Such responses seem to be logically flawed, but of course may be a mis-perception of the question being asked (so the learner is answering the question they thought was asked), or (possibly the case here) substituting a response to a related question as a strategy adopted when aware that one cannot provide a satisfactory response to the actual question posed.
The anthropomorphic aspect of his earlier answer was probed:
How do the atoms know that they need to get a full outer shell, they want to get a full outer shell? Do they know about this stability thing?
Not really.
No?
It's just what happens.
Oh, I see, it's just what happens?
Yeah.
So although Mohammed used an anthropomorphic explanation, it seemed he did not mean this literally. (It may seem strange to suggest a 14 year old might consider atoms alive and sentient, but research suggests this is sometimes so!) This has been described as weak anthropomorphism, where the anthropomorphism is only used as a figure of speech. However, such language can act as a grounded learning impediment because if it becomes habitual it can stand in place of a scientific explanation (thus giving no reason to seek a canonical scientific understanding).
