Scientifical Americans

by Sharon A. Hill

  Science Becomes Exclusive

  In human evolutionary history, people were too busy surviving to develop more than cursory ideas about how the natural world functions. The development of science required leisure time. In the days before science was an actual profession and “scientist” was a real title, fantastic stories about the world were taken at face value (Regal 2011). Naturalists appeared around the 16th century. Passionate about their subjects of study, naturalists most often held the view that the world and everything in it was created by God.

  Modern science has its roots in amateur activities prior to the 19th century (Mims 1999; O’Connor & Meadows 1976; Ziman 2000). Popular ideas about science evolved significantly since the word “science” came to be. At first, it just meant a body of reliable and systematized knowledge. That general way of referring to “a science” was in use until the early 1800s. When “scientist” became an actual profession—that is, when the complexity of the process and knowledge grew to the degree that specialized training was required—amateurs were pushed out and a unique language and specific structure of science developed. By the 1870s, scientific discussion in the U.S. had passed beyond public understanding, but the utilitarian need for scientific research was clear (Daniels 1971). In the early 1900s, scientific fields were distinguished as professional classes of participants—geologists, botanists, agronomists, chemists, physicists, etc. Science became a distinct activity unto its own. Language, credentials and institutions actively built virtual boundaries around science resulting in a sanctioned procedure and formal set of knowledge. Science as a discipline and community was established far out of reach of public understanding, yet scientists found this disconnect to be of no concern as they cared more about the approval from their professional colleagues. Peer acceptance was all that mattered.

  Constructed boundaries enhanced the reputation of science as a distinctive (perhaps “honored”) way of knowing about the world and excluded that which wasn’t science (conveniently judged by the scientists themselves). Boundaries were constructed by institutions of learning but also by science journals. Research was not science unless it was published via this specific route (Thurs 2007). William Whewell, who coined the word “scientist,” opined that amateur contributions were not valuable. Facts must be attached to theory and theory was the realm of the professionals (Lyons 2009). Academics pushed amateurs out of obtaining funding to do research. In the 19th century, government scientists picked up the research into their country’s plants, animals, rock, fossils, and historical artifacts. Those who were not associated with institutions were left out (Regal 2011). As the scientific community organized into an “establishment,” an ethos developed. Certain standards of practice were expected of a “scientist,” foremost of which was the gateway that existed exclusively through higher education.

  Scientific discoveries contributed to human societies in (mostly) positive ways; therefore, the prestige of being “scientific” grew. “Scientific” was associated with being more true and reliable. The biggest drawback of this prestige derived from the rigor and professionalism of science was that the scientific community itself and the capacity to understand how science really worked receded ever farther from the grasp of the non-science public (Denzler 2003). Being a scientist was special because not everyone could do it. Being scientific was a high standard. Science is not easy to do. Today, being affiliated with a scientific institution (or even what sounds like one) is a powerful public persuasion to being accepted as legitimate. “Scientist” has become a social class or caste isolated from the rest (Toumey 1996). Disciplinary labels like “physicist” or “psychologist,” and titles and letters after names are rhetorical flourishes of credibility indicative of expertise. Association with a scientific institution discourages questioning from outsiders. Framing of a speaker with impressive sounding affiliations works to increase their credibility, warranted or not.

  According to Daniels’ Science in American Society (1971), the American public adopted a “childlike faith” in science. Because of the lack of familiarity with the process of science, society can blindly accept any claim too quickly if coated with the patina of science. Charlatans and incompetent scientists exploit this public credence in sciencey approaches.

  On the Fringes

  More than a century of organized science has resulted in a narrowly focused research agenda for many scientists. Scientists have become extremely specialized by necessity to dig deeply into a complex and narrow subject area. Expertise in one area of science in no way guarantees competence in even closely related areas. For example, double-Nobel prize-winning chemist Linus Pauling promoted medical claims regarding ingesting massive doses of Vitamin C. Pauling was a highly esteemed scientist in molecular chemistry, but not in medicine. There is a term for those who win Nobel prizes but, perhaps due to ego, go on to stumble badly in other fields: “nobelitis” (Diamandis 2013). Knowledge in one specialized niche can fail to translate as well to another niche, especially a complex subject with as wide a scope as paranormal subject areas. Fringe topics are of a different flavor than orthodox science topics. For example, cryptozoology is not simply a branch of zoology. It is an inter-disciplinary field formed by threads of folklore, psychology, perception, history, and biology.

  A few credentialed scientists exhibit interest in and research paranormal topics. Sykes’ experiences with the Bigfoot community (2016) provides an illustration of the nuances and pitfalls that academic scientists fail to recognize in amateur researchers. While the scientific community generally berates those members who venture into these fringe fields, they view contributions from entirely outside their community even more suspiciously. The amateur will have great difficulty presenting their views in academic circles where a conferred PhD degree is a prerequisite. By default, outsiders’ views are considered inferior and may be ignored entirely (Beveridge 1957), especially if they relate to topics that are not part of the accepted sphere of science (Marks 1986). Amateurs face high hurdles to be taken seriously. That does not stop many from trying. ARIGs move their ideas in public, directly and willingly interacting with people who have strange experiences and appealing to their communities and local media. They readily seek out connections to individuals and families who have had their strange story publicized by the media. Many live the mantra “We’re here to help,” a welcome tone to people who have a need to unburden themselves with what they think may be supernatural stories. A disparate group, ARIGs are not organized under any ideals or principles or societies (like scientists or tradespeople). They maintain a culture of beliefs, not a body of established knowledge. Their subject is “real” because many people experience it. Unlike scientific research, these fields of study are not necessarily about objective truths about nature.

  ARIGs are like scientists in that they have a passion for finding evidence (Jenzen & Munt 2013) but starkly different from scientists in their quest for “proof” and the need to “prove” that their idea about what is happening is as they say it is—there are actual ghosts (remnants of the past), Bigfoot, and mysterious sky craft. Absolutes and secure knowledge are comforting. Science, on the other hand, can frustrate with its uncertainty, probability, and tentative conclusions. An audience may be more amenable to a presentation from ARIGs that states they have “absolute proof” even though they have not established this in a scientific sense. Many ARIGs frame their evidence as suitable or even overwhelming for a court of law. Science findings aren’t like legal findings. Science deals in probabilities, not absolutes. Scientists strive to conclude that a certain view is “well established” or “highly likely” but we can never have definite truths about conclusions because we don’t know everything. The use of the word “proof” (other than in mathematics) acts as rhetoric suggesting strength of the evidence. It’s not unreasonable to say I have proof that something weird happened here, and cite the outcomes that support that statement, but anyone who says they have “proof” of ghosts or Bigfoot must be prepare
d to put on a parade of high quality, robust evidence. Even then, they need to be prepared for an onslaught of nitpicking. The strength of the claim depends on what it looks like after going through a scientific gauntlet. Proof is not for one person or group to declare as definitive.

  The Scientific Ethos

  Though there is no cookbook-like, easily definable “scientific method,” scientists do subscribe to fundamental ideas and well-established methodologies that define how they work and the reliability of knowledge produced. Robert Merton (1942) wrote on the scientific “ethos” as defined by ideals or norms in behavior that scientists feel bound to and that makes science a unique way of knowing (Ziman 2000). Components of Merton’s ethos consisted of: communalism (or communism, which is often misinterpreted), universalism, disinterestedness, and skepticism. When unpacked, these practices are revealed to be sensible rather than anything special to science.

  Communalism means that the knowledge and the supporting data are shared. Science produces public knowledge. Scientists provide sufficient information about what they did and how they did it so that others can attempt to reproduce or falsify the work to make sure it is correct. This tenet also requires that scientific knowledge is archived and organized for others to access. Secrecy and obscurity makes scientific work useless. Only a communal effort can reveal biases and mistakes as well as provide confirmation of results. Originality is stressed so that work is not duplicated. This requires that the researcher be fully aware of what others have already found. Science is very much a community effort, building upon the work of others and not at all like the lone researcher seeking that “Eureka” moment. Because of the interconnectedness of the scientific community, strong objections are inevitable when findings from outside the community of science or outside traditional channels are touted (Ziman 2000).

  Universalism represents the ideal where the social context of knowledge is not important; no one authority can dictate what is acceptable. No one observer is privileged over another. The observations should be obtainable by all under the same situation. This can be contrasted with “revelation” or intuition where only one person has access to information, or being the “chosen one” that can only see perceive something. Science must be for anyone with the same setup to do.

  Disinterestedness is the state of being not overly invested in the outcome. Financial, professional or even emotional bias can too easily lead to poor or useless data. Most researchers will assert, “I was completely objective and unbiased during this research.” But, bias works in subtle ways that are hard to recognize in ourselves. This bias infiltrates our experiments, observations, and conclusion in major ways. Scientific protocols aim to eliminate that subjective bias. Complete elimination of bias is impossible but many processes can be used to minimize egregious bias that could prejudice one outcome over another. Another outcome of disinterestedness is the reliance on referencing others’ work, not your own, to show you are not promoting your own agenda but supporting your conclusions with the body of public knowledge. Disinterestedness caused the unfortunate habit of scientific publications being written in difficult-to-read objective, passive tense.

  Skepticism, as a core practice of the scientific community, is the ability to weigh the evidence in response to the claim being made. This is reflected in the process of peer review where the work is presented for fair criticism and professional debate. It is a critical component to judge the validity of the research and to advance intellectual progress. All scientists must get used to inevitable criticism and learn to handle the response appropriately.

  We can also add originality to this list, which requires that you make an effort to know what has already been done and build upon that. Imagination is required for progress, within reason. Effort should be put into finding out something new or enhancing existing information, not running over the same ground, which is an intellectual and economic waste.

  The reality of scientific work means adhering to a commitment to testing, checking and disclosure (Haack 2003)—presenting your work openly, being subject to constant criticism, and facing rejection from peers and anonymous reviewers. Your work is expected to make sense, integrating with how the rest of the world works and its natural laws. If the work contrasts against an accepted model of nature, it will face vehement objections. If it doesn’t fit with the processes inherent in the scientific ethos, it will be summarily and handily rejected (Pigliucci 2010).

  This quote from Dolby (1975) is illustrative of how scientific knowledge develops:

  Every science develops by piece-meal changes, each of which has to be presented in such a way that it is made acceptable to experts who work within the prevailing system of understanding. For routine work, with few implications, all that is really necessary is that the scientist should show that he understand the literature leading up to his own contribution, and that he has carried out his own research competently (in so far as this can be shown in words). More unexpected innovations must be presented with a fuller argument which gives greater plausibility to the novel claims made, and which shows that the new understanding they provide presents clear advantages over the old viewpoint.

  Good intentions and valiant efforts are not enough to produce solid conclusions. That depends on adherence to a rigorous (and sometimes unpleasant) process and rigid framework, justifying what has been concluded and correlating it to existing knowledge. ARIGs often are unaware of or reject the tenets of science, but they keep the shallow appearances of science work to maintain credibility.

  Image of Science

  Science was institutionalized by the end of the 19th century (Daniels 1971). Then, scientists could attain prestige as elite researchers and professionals in society (National Science Foundation 2009). The growing sophistication and increasingly demanding requirements of formalized science meant that the public began to recognize science as an authority where non-experts and amateurs were excluded (Thurs 2007). This exclusionary nature of science is an important characteristic in the discussion of ARIGs.

  When the non-scientist thinks about science, what comes to mind? National surveys (National Science Foundation 2009) show that people associate science with three characteristics—having a systematic method, taking place in a special location (a university or a lab), and, to a lesser degree, obtaining knowledge that is in accordance with “common sense” and tradition (Gauchat 2010). The community of science, viewed by laypersons, is characterized by symbolic paraphernalia (white lab coats, test tubes, electronics) and the end products of study (wordy reports, graphs, and displays) (Toumey 1996). The scientific community is also almost exclusively associated with white males, especially historically famous figures like Galileo, Newton, Darwin, and Einstein. We get an over-simplified and over-optimistic representation of how scientists work by depictions from television, movies, comics and literature (Pigliucci 2010) which use these tropes and symbols to reinforce the producer’s ideals of science.

  In the post-war 1950s, science popularity was high. Pop-culture scientists pushed buttons, used gadgets, and consulted computers. They utilized technology they created. Science appeals to an audience that also has similar higher education and income levels.

  The public has little opportunity to see inside the day-to-day workings of a lab, to go on field assignments to collect data, to write grant requests, or submit a manuscript to a journal. Scientists don’t typically meet patients, customers, or clients like other professionals. They collect data alone or with colleagues. With publicity about the project held until the end products or conclusions are reached, the public receives no information about the rigorous process undertaken to get there. The press writes little about the actual nature of the research, emphasizing results and value instead. The media presents science as a condensed series of dramatic events, sometimes with premature enthusiasm or high expectations. How often have you seen science portrayed in the media as a years-long effort in collection of data, preceded by writing grant applications and proceeded
by the effort of drafting and getting a final paper published? Science is a long, tedious effort to get to a result, but the public rarely, if ever, sees that gradual nature (Nelkin 1987).

  Science and the involvement of scientists is used in various ways to lend confidence and authority to an activity or viewpoint (Agin 2006; Thurs 2007). Toumey (1996) refers to “Old Testament style” respect without comprehension. “Scientific” is used as a label of honor, a term of praise that carries the characteristic of being “strong, reliable, and good” (Haack 2003). This “honorific usage” of science is common in our society and reveals a ubiquitous problem—inappropriate mimicry of science. Not everything or everyone who claims to be scientific is so. The manner, language and procedure of science are frequently imitated to appear technical, specialized, and credible (Degele 2005). The “magic stamp of ‘science’” (Daniels 1971) has been utilized since the invention of the scientific process. Charlatans pepper their ads and promotions with the word “scientific” to sell products. Thurs (2007) states science was used as an “incantation” in early America; that it was synonymous with the engine of progress. Speaking “scientese” is an easy-to-spot ploy used by advertisers who may be making claims without substantive empirical evidence to support it, appropriating the credibility of science with “high falutin’” big words that sound impressive (Haard et al. 2004). The public takes these as cues of sophistication and expertise of the source suggestive of knowledge and reliability. Advertisers appeal to these consumer mental shortcuts regularly today with blatant use of scientific jargon and images to sell everything from food to shampoo, medicine to makeup (Dodds et al. 2008). Use of science can be an effective marketing strategy (Pitrelli et al. 2006). Since the population viewing these advertisements is likely to not have a high degree of science literacy, they fall prey to a science deception that perpetuates confusion and misunderstanding. How can the average non-science-trained person determine science from sham? It’s tricky business to determine if a claim was investigated through an actual scientific method or through a slap-dash imitation process. It is too easy to hijack representations of science. When non-experts play pretend science, it warps science’s unique worth as the most reliable way of knowing (Toumey 1996).