The Nature of Science

A discussion on the future of science unfolds during an engaging evening gathering, reminiscent of an ancient Greek symposium, as Socrates and his friends delve into profound questions about knowledge.

Socrates: What a delightful evening, dear friends! Amidst the challenges presented by the plague, we find solace in good food and stimulating dialogue. I couldn't think of a better way to spend our time!

Xenophon: Quite so, Socrates. Would you indulge me in discussing a topic that has intrigued me recently?

Socrates: Please, share your thoughts, Xenophon.

Xenophon: I recently encountered a book arguing that natural philosophy, or what we now refer to as science, may be nearing its conclusion, which I find difficult to accept.

Cebes: Indeed, that seems implausible! What rationale could lead the author to such a conclusion?

Socrates: I've perused the book myself, but I'd prefer to explore the general concepts rather than dissect a single author's arguments. There are two main ideas to consider. Firstly, we might assert that science could eventually reach a point where the human capacity for acquiring new knowledge is exhausted. This could mean that our intellect or technological capabilities will encounter insurmountable barriers, leaving us with unanswered questions.

Xenophon: Intriguing! But what is the second idea you propose?

Socrates: The second notion suggests that we may simply exhaust the realm of discoveries, even if we maintain the means to grow our knowledge. Personally, I lean towards the belief that we will hit our cognitive limits before we deplete our inquiries, but both possibilities are worth contemplating.

Cebes: That sounds illogical! Science continues to unveil new findings regularly. What could lead anyone to think it is nearing its end?

Socrates: The assertion isn't that science is ending imminently, but rather that such an endpoint is conceivable in the distant future. I concur that any specific short-term prediction would indeed be unwise.

Xenophon: Let us then examine the first possibility—that humanity might reach its cognitive limits, whether through intelligence or technology.

Socrates: Precisely. Let’s first address the cognitive aspect. Surely, we agree that while humans are intelligent, we are not infinitely so.

Xenophon: That’s reasonable.

Socrates: Thus, it stands to reason that we may eventually confront scientific challenges too complex for us to comprehend. This is one way science could meet its conclusion. Consider the analogy of children; they face problems beyond their mental capacity at certain stages, which is why we offer education in progressive complexity. Similarly, adults often struggle with intricate problems in science or mathematics, indicating limits to our understanding. If we accept that even the brightest among us have cognitive boundaries, it follows that those limits are simply higher on the scale.

Xenophon: That makes sense to me.

Cebes: But what if we start employing Artificial Intelligence to tackle problems beyond our grasp?

Socrates: That is a possibility, though AI's current limitations and our limited understanding of its future capabilities make it difficult to predict. Moreover, if an AI solves a problem that eludes a human's grasp, in what sense would that achievement belong to us?

Xenophon: Now, what about the second type of cognitive limitation—the technological aspect?

Socrates: That argument is even easier to illustrate. Take astronomy, for instance. When Galileo advanced the telescope, each observation yielded significant discoveries. Today, however, astronomers must construct large and costly telescopes for minor advancements. We've nearly reached our technological limits with ground-based telescopes, which is why we now send them into space. Eventually, we are likely to encounter limits there too. Similarly, in fundamental physics, we have been forced to create increasingly powerful particle accelerators, yet groundbreaking discoveries have been sparse in recent decades. We are aware that building accelerators with much higher energy levels, let alone infinite energy, is unattainable—demonstrating that limits are indeed present.

Cebes: Isn’t it plausible that we could transcend such limits?

Socrates: Cebes, you often raise the question of possibility. Yes, many things are conceivable, but not all—contrary to the claims of some careless scientists. Certain things are logically impossible, like your existence as both Cebes and not Cebes simultaneously. Others are physically impossible, such as exceeding the speed of light or creating matter from nothing. The broader point we revisit is that asking whether something is possible is not particularly enlightening. A more meaningful inquiry is about the likelihood or probability of an event based on our current knowledge. Relying on mere possibility can lead to confusion and stagnation in progress.

Xenophon: You've persuaded me of the cognitive and technological limits to our understanding. What about the other concern—running out of questions? Surely, human creativity has no bounds, and we will always devise new inquiries.

Socrates: I'm not as optimistic about human imagination as you are. However, let's set that aside for now. The argument posits that there is a finite and relatively limited number of "big questions" that science seeks to answer. Questions such as: How did life originate on Earth? What are the fundamental components of our world? What constitutes hereditary material? How do geological formations come about? We have already provided approximate answers to a good number of these inquiries, and some, as we’ve noted, may be beyond our understanding.

Cebes: Yet, the trajectory of science is characterized by the emergence of new questions! For every answer, they say, ten questions arise.

Socrates: I've encountered that saying, though I doubt it holds empirical validity. While new questions indeed arise from answering old ones, the scope of these new inquiries tends to be narrower, ironically as a result of scientific progress.

Xenophon: Could you clarify that, Socrates?

Socrates: Certainly! Reflect on the history of science. The field has evolved into increasingly specialized academic disciplines. In the past, one could be broadly regarded as a scientist. Today, you cannot merely be a physicist or biologist; one must specialize even further—into quantum mechanics or evolutionary biology, for example, and then delve deeper within those realms. Much of modern scientific advancement stems from tackling increasingly specific questions. Some lament this trend, suggesting scientists are becoming narrow-minded. However, contemporary scientists are just as brilliant and capable as their predecessors; they are compelled to specialize due to the nature of scientific endeavor and the progress that has been made.

Xenophon: I understand your point. However, it remains challenging for me to accept that there exists a limited—albeit extensive—set of questions within a potentially infinite universe.

Socrates: Hold on, Xenophon. We do not yet know if the universe is finite or infinite—this remains one of the significant questions we have yet to answer. Furthermore, while you might imagine generating infinite trivial inquiries, we are discussing the kinds of questions that lead to genuine, meaningful science.

Xenophon: I'm not sure I grasp your meaning.

Socrates: Consider this analogy. We are seated in a lovely restaurant filled with chairs, walls, patrons, plates, and glasses. Now, how many facts do you think exist about this restaurant?

Xenophon: How many facts?

Socrates: Exactly. How many distinct elements can you identify that contribute to understanding the restaurant as a system?

Xenophon: It varies based on what one finds interesting—perhaps the number of plates or the dimensions of the room.

Socrates: Precisely! If I delve into trivial details, I could enumerate the color and position of every single square millimeter of the floor and walls, correct?

Xenophon: Right, but what significance would that hold?

Socrates: That’s my point! There is a limited number of substantial questions worth asking about the restaurant, such as the total number of utensils and the overall dimensions. Conversely, countless trivial inquiries could also be made. I contend that the same applies to science. Even if the universe is indeed infinite, astronomers could endlessly catalog every star, planet, and comet and never complete their task. However, what genuinely matters in science is the big picture. How many types of celestial objects exist? What is their frequency? How did they form? How are they interconnected? An infinite number of trivial questions exists, but only a small set of significant ones truly shapes scientific inquiry. The latter defines science, while the former merely constitutes trivial pursuits, albeit without disrespecting those who enjoy collecting stamps.

Xenophon: I believe I understand your argument, Socrates, but I remain unconvinced.

Cebes: I share your doubts.

Socrates: My friends, you should know by now that my goal is not to persuade you of any singular viewpoint but rather to provide us all with food for thought, allowing us to navigate the vastness of our own ignorance. Now, shall we consider dessert?