N.B. This is an old article, written a decade ago, but shared only informally with a few. In today’s uncertain world, it seems appropriate to share it more widely.
The news spread through the community as most things do – a whisper here, a brief allusion there. Everyone seemed to know, but nobody dared talk about it. It was an embarrassment no one wanted to admit, obvious yet unmentioned out of respect and deference, like a drunken driving arrest or a teenage pregnancy.
Some of our oldest and most respected friends had fallen on hard times. They’d been evicted and left homeless; there were even vague mutterings that they’d been run out of town for some nebulous reason.
I knew I needed to do something; I owed them a debt beyond repaying. They’d been there for me from the very beginning, and they’d never failed to help me, no matter how dark or desperate things seemed at the time. They were all the things I’d ever hoped and dreamed to be, and more. They were my mentors, my confidants, and my friends.
If I didn’t help them now, in their time of desperate need, what kind of person was I? I had to do something, if for no other reason than so I could look at myself in the mirror each morning. Sometimes, beliefs demand actions, else they are not beliefs at all.
I’d heard a few rumors about where they’d holed up, and I expected they’d left a few clues that their friends could identify. I packed some provisions (more on that later), laced up my boots, donned my heaviest winter coat, and headed for the place I thought they might be. It was one of those bitterly cold winter nights that brass monkeys fear – the wind howled, the snow flurried, the cold cut like a knife. I parked my car on the ridge, grabbed my backpack, and started hiking down the hill toward the river.
In the words of Simon and Garfunkel’s classic song, The Boxer, I knew my friends were
Running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know.
I knew I was on the right track when I spotted the first clue. On the back of a railroad sign, someone had hastily scrawled, “Never forget: modus ponens and modus tollens!” (See Just the Facts, Ma’am: Reasoning Is Not Dead, Jim.)
I hiked a few more kilometers, sweeping my flashlight across the underbrush, when it illuminated the second clue. Carved in the bark of a tree was Euler’s identity.. I traced the curves of its symbols lovingly with my fingers, remembering its power and feeling its beauty. I knew I had to be close.
I pulled my coat tighter against the wind and trudged on. As I rounded the next bend, I saw them in the distance, three figures hovering around a barrel fire under the railway overpass. They either must have seen my light or heard me, because they bolted into the woods like frightened animals.
I walked into the now vacant camp and looked around. As I did, my flashlight caught a reflection from the graffiti on the railroad bridge overhead. Amidst years of detritus was a single Latin phrase, one I knew well, “Cogito ergo sum.” The words chilled my soul more than the winter wind ever could.
There by the barrel was a brown grocery bag, carefully cut and unfolded. An article had been laboriously handwritten around the Safeway grocery store slogan (Ingredients for Life), filled with copious and careful citations to years of research studies. The article’s title was “Universal Education Stimulates Economic Growth and Improves Public Health.”
Numbly, I stumbled through the rest of the camp. On the right was a political campaign poster, face down, covered with mathematics. In the flickering light of the fire, I could read just one phrase, “iterated, stochastic prisoner’s dilemma.”
Beside it on the left was an array of Campbell’s soup cans, with an experimental protocol scratched in the dirt beside them. Though it was too dark to see clearly, I think the cans might have been filled with C. elegans.
As I stepped backward, lest I contaminate the experiment, I tripped on a tree root, and fell heavily on my side. It was then that I started to cry, not from the sudden pain, but from a deep and abiding sadness at what was and what was lost. At first, silent tears filled my eyes, then they began trickling slowly down my cheeks. Finally, I began to cry with great shaking sobs, as I pounded the frozen ground in despair.
I knew what I had to do; they’d been hurt too much. I had to show my bona fides and convince them I was one of them and a friend. I picked myself up and rummaged in my backpack. Then, I made a scientific offering, one I hoped they would appreciate and understand.
I carefully placed paperback copies of Whitehead and Russell’s Principia Mathematica, Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, and The Feynman Lectures on Physics on the ground where they’d be visible by the fire, then stepped back and kept my hands open in front of me.
I watched and waited, but nothing happened. I knew they were out there, listening but afraid. It was going to take more than scientific “holy” books to build trust. After all, I could be just baiting a trap.
In desperation, I spoke in a clear but quiet voice with words that I hoped would offer comfort.
“The MMR vaccine does not cause autism.”
“Survey data of the cosmic microwave background show it has been 13.8 billion years since the Big Bang singularity.”
“Global warming is real.”
“The Entscheidungsproblem is unsolvable.”
Finally, I heard a rustling in the underbrush as Science stepped tentatively into the light. I wasn’t surprised that she was the first to emerge; she had always been the most curious one. But I gasped as she got closer; her lab coat was dirty and torn, one eye was blackened, and her face was bruised and swollen.
Moving slowly, lest I scare her away, I said, “Trust me, please! I’m a friend,” as I reached for my backpack again.
I pulled out my copy of the year-end issue of AAAS Science, the one that summarizes the “breakthrough of the year” discoveries. Science snatched it from my hands and read greedily by the fire. As she did, I pulled out a set of fresh laboratory notebooks and pens, watching her all the while. Slowly, Science began to relax, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile. (See Nature Cannot Be Fooled.)
Science’s brother, Logic, hobbled out next, supported by a crutch cut from a tree branch. Being a device to convert coffee into theorems, he immediately reached for my thermos. Reason, the mother of both, malnourished and skeletally thin, stepped out last. Like any mother, it was clear she’d been giving most of her meager rations to her children. There was no doubt that all three were homeless, cold, hungry and afraid, struggling to survive the winter.
As I pulled the last of the sandwiches and a second thermos from my backpack, I knew I needed some answers. “What happened to you? How did you wind up here?” I asked.
Logic spoke first, “When I pointed out that correlation does not imply causation, the crowd turned on me and broke my leg.” Science quickly added, “I was beaten bloody for asking scientific questions with testable hypotheses.” (See The Epistemology of Science.)
“That’s madness!” I cried. “Deduction, hypothesis and experiment, and scientific theory are the cornerstones of discovery. You are our heroes, the best of our humanity; our society depends on you.” You are civilization itself!
In a desperate frenzy, I started gathering my things, while urging, “Come on, let’s get you out of here and back to where you belong. I’ll protect you and defend you.”
It was then that Reason put her hand on my shoulder. As she looked into my eyes with an ancient sadness that defied description, I heard her say, “My friend, thank you for coming, but you don’t understand. We can’t leave here until the people want us.”
“New knowledge brings opportunity, but it also brings danger and ever accelerating change. Extinction events are real.”
In response, I could only nod dumbly. I knew she was right, but the pain of understanding was deep.
She continued, “We get driven into hiding like this when people are angry and afraid. It’s been that way since before history, and nothing has ever changed it. From a thousand different societal collapses, the pogroms; the oppression; the disenfranchisement; the European Dark Ages or Asian culture loss, it has always been the same. Eventually, people come to their senses and realize that causation is real; that rationality matters, and that new knowledge is essential. Yet each time the darkness of anti-intellectualism falls, the risks grow.”
“It’s like an infection; either the fever breaks or the organism dies. I only hope that my brother, Wisdom, can help us find a cure. Meanwhile, we can only hide here in the woods and wait,” she concluded.
With that, Reason grasped my arm, pressed the remainder of the sandwiches into my hands, pointed up to the ridgeline and said, “Our cousins, the Arts and the Humanities, are living up there in the caves, foraging for roots and berries, writing, singing, and drawing. They need your help, and we need them too.”
“They are the context and conscience for discoveries and understanding; the history that illuminates the future; the insights that shape us; the beauty that inspires us; and the joy that lifts us. They give meaning to all our lives. When they suffer, we suffer alike. Make no mistake, Donne was right; this bell tolls for all of us,” she said. (See Renaissance Teams: Reifying the School at Athens.)
Reason then hugged Science and Logic tightly and implored, “Now go, tell the people that both natural philosophy and the arts and humanities are still here. We always will be!” (See The (Scientific) Good News.)
As I turned to walk away, there was a brief break in the clouds, and just for a moment, I could see the stars. In the distance, I thought I heard a brief strain of Appalachian Spring. Then the voice of Science called, plaintive but defiant, “E pur si muove,” just as the clouds closed again, and it began to snow.
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