Other Writing
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Award Winning Prose
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KRUPNICK AWARD for Outsiderness in the Scientific Community Best Essay – 1994 And now the inspiration for the Infinity Dynamics Foundation
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DUTTON AWARD for Toady Best Short Story – 1994
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Poetry
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Islands in the Dark
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Dark Rain
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Outsiderness in the Scientific Community
 Photos courtesy NASA. |
Us versus them, me versus you, xenophobia, prejudice — these are the watchwords and phrases for division and friction. We know from experience that the more friction there is, the harder it is for things to work or move — ball bearings, engines, businesses, governments, civilization, and even science.
Cooperation is that well known lubricant for any group, while prejudice and an uncooperative spirit are the friction which can cripple a group. It might be easy to imagine blue collar workers of one ethnic group giving a hard time to a blue collar worker of a different ethnic or racial background. It is perplexing, though, how grown men and women of such education and prestige as scientists could behave so childishly, particularly how those of one scientific discipline could disparage those of another. Is this problem of outsiderness among scientists important enough to warrant a concerted effort to combat it? Two things affect the answer to our question:
- What is lost if we don't attempt to eliminate outsiderness in the scientific community?
- How much of a burden is it to address and handle this issue; i.e. is it more trouble than it's worth?
Vivian Gornick gives us the definition of our term:
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Outsiderness is the daily infliction of social invisibility. From low-grade humiliation to life-threatening aggression, its power lies in the way one is seen, and how that in turn affects the way one sees oneself.... This is what makes the heart pound and the head fill with blood. This is how the separation between world and self occurs. (54) |
However, outsiderness adversely affects not only the victim, but the perpetrator as well; it narrows one's vision and chokes off the potential fruits of discovery.
In "The Trigger Effect," the television episode which introduces the BBC miniseries Connections, James Burke entreats us to
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Take a look at the room you're in and, above all, at the manmade objects in that room that surround you — the television set, the lights, the phone, and so on, and ask yourself what those objects do to your life just because they're there. Well, that is what this series is going to be all about. It's about the things that surround you in the modern world and just because they're there, shape the way you think and behave. |
Only by being aware of the things that affect our viewpoint, our beliefs, and our values, can we begin to control our own behavior. But, because these things also affect the way we think, they will affect what is thought, and ultimately what is discovered. The entire miniseries, Connections, is based on this simple but profound idea. The more we allow value to the things around us and the more aware we are of them and of the effects they have on us, the more connections we can make in thought for potential discovery. Naturally, building barriers in thought against certain scientific disciplines robs one of the potential connections to be found there.
Division between sciences has existed on an unbelievably broad scale. In fact, entire branches of science have shunned one another. In his best seller, Chaos: Making a New Science, James Gleick quotes Mathematics Professor Ralph Abraham on one such schism:
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"...in 1960... modern mathematics in its entirety — in its entirety — was rejected by physicists, including the most avant-garde mathematical physicists.... The romance between mathematics and physicists had ended in divorce in the 1930s. These people were no longer speaking. They simply despised each other. Mathematical physicists refused their graduate students permission to take math courses from mathematicians: Take mathematics from us. We will teach you what you need to know. The mathematicians are on some kind of terrible ego trip and they will destroy your mind. That was 1960. By 1968 this had completely turned around." (52) |
What insights were missed because of this divorce? One can only conjecture that some discoveries may have been made sooner without this division — without this barrier to opportunity. It also makes one wonder if there may be other, similar barriers in our educational system and sciences today.
The life sciences have not been immune to this disease of division, either. Gleick explains,
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There was tension in biology departments, for example, between molecular biologists and ecologists. The molecular biologists thought that they did real science, crisp, hard problems, whereas the work of ecologists was vague. Ecologists believed that the technical masterpieces of molecular biology were just clever elaborations of well-defined problems. (78) |
Outsiderness is such a pervasive, insidious attitude that it adversely affects our thought processes and the way we view the world around us — not just other groups. The definition of one's identity, say as a scientist, can be a barrier to insight if it is held too tightly. An entire body of data can be inadvertently and unconsciously labeled "outsider" — something to be disregarded. Gleick gives several examples of such scientific prejudice. "Any experimentalist looks for quantities that remain the same, or quantities that are zero. But that means disregarding bits of messiness that interfere with a neat picture" (41). A great deal of confusion preceded the discovery of the mechanisms of chaos.
| The microscopic pieces were perfectly clear; the macroscopic behavior remained a mystery. The tradition of looking at systems locally — isolating the mechanisms and then adding them together — was beginning to break down. (44) |
The entire process of scientific inquiry depends on the ability of the scientist to look at empirical data from various perspectives.
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If you want a model that will be both physically realistic and robust in the face of small perturbations, physicists reasoned that you must surely want a stable model.... Chaos and instability... were not the same at all.... A chaotic system could be stable if its particular brand of irregularity persisted in the face of small disturbances.... It was locally unpredictable, globally stable. Real dynamical systems played by a more complicated set of rules than anyone had imagined. (48) |
Scientists had blinded themselves by their own self-definition. An entire branch of science lay on the outside of discovery because scientists weren't interested in messiness.
New ideas have always been met with some resistance. The broader the effect of those ideas, the greater the potential resistance. It may be surprising to some how much scientists resist new ideas. Gleick tells us how early researchers of chaos agonized over how to talk about this new subject:
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To some the difficulty of communicating the new ideas and the ferocious resistance from traditional quarters showed how revolutionary the new science was. Shallow ideas can be assimilated; ideas that require people to reorganize their picture of the world provoke hostility. (38) |
For many scientists who braved this new frontier, an entire approach to science was at an end, but not without some growing pains. "Uncomprehension; resistance; anger; acceptance. Those who had promoted chaos longest saw all of these" (304). The early days of chaos research were downright dangerous, as Gleick relates:
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Every scientist who turned to chaos early had a story to tell of discouragement or open hostility. Graduate students were warned that their careers could be jeopardized if they wrote theses in an untested discipline, in which their advisors had no expertise. (37) |
The Renaissance was sparked and sustained by the sharing and proliferation of ideas — largely ancient Greek ideas. However, there were divisive forces at work then, as well. The most potent example which comes to mind is that of Galileo when his insights and discoveries collided with the views of the Catholic church. Newness was condemned. Not too many months ago, an announcement was made that cold fusion had been successfully produced in the laboratory. That sent a shockwave throughout the scientific community. The widespread condemnation of the announcement and of those responsible was surprising, because it was nearly instantaneous. No time was given for the purported discoverers to prove their work. Perhaps scientists have resisted newness throughout history.
Burke, in his Connections episode, "The Wheel of Fortune," gives one of many examples to be found throughout the television miniseries which illustrates the value of interdisciplinary openness. In 1740, ships were getting lost at sea, missing their ports by miles, for the lack of an accurate time piece. Such a time piece would require a steel spring of more uniform strength than could be produced up to that date — one that wouldn't unwind at varying rates. To create the uniform steel spring required the ability to melt steel, but no metallurgist's furnace could get hot enough. While visiting a glass furnace in Sheffield, England, clock maker Benjamin Huntsman noticed that the glass makers were managing to melt old glass for recycling because they lined the walls of their furnaces with a kind of clay which reflected the heat back — and that sent the temperature way up. If Huntsman had thought of glassmakers as low class slobs, or used some other barrier in the mind to define them as outsiders, he may never have visited the glass furnace at Sheffield. It might have postponed his important discovery for years. Not only would the effect on the history of commerce have been dramatic, but the boom of the steel products industry might have occurred decades later.
Probably as strong an example as any for promoting the value of interdisciplinary cooperation is the story of Robert May. Some of the breakthroughs in chaos happened in the fields of biology. Gleick tells us, "May came to biology through the back door, as it happened. He started as a theoretical physicist...." (69). Graphic representation of the states of many dynamic systems showed a bifurcation, or forking, of possible states as one applies more stress to that system.
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Biologists had overlooked bifurcations on the way to chaos because they lacked mathematical sophistication and because they lacked the motivation to explore disorderly behavior. Mathematicians had seen bifurcations but had moved on. May, a man with one foot in each world, understood that he was entering a domain that was astonishing and profound. (77) |
Many breakthroughs have been achieved throughout history because of openness and a spirit of cooperation. From the few examples given, it is evident that the losses to civilization from outsiderness in the scientific community are probably substantial.
There may be some simple approaches to eradicating this attitude or at least to reducing its impact.
Itabari Njeri offers a suggestion for ameliorating the effects of divisive identification. Though borrowed from an unrelated subject, its strategy may nonetheless be applicable here. Divisions between scientific groups, as much as tensions between races might be softened by redefining identities. On the subject of racial divisions, Njeri suggests,
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We need an ongoing dialogue in every black home... and a definition of African Americans that discards overly romantic attachments to Africa and the equally ridiculous notion of ourselves as solely the products of U.S. slavery. (62) |
A dialogue between disparate groups of scientists might first focus on a similar redefinition of the roots of their separate identities.
A physicist might come to such a dialogue naming opposite sides of the chasm, "hard" and "soft" sciences. A biologist might call the opposing sides "simplistic" and "complex," respectively. Each one infers that the other's field is less valuable than their own. Obviously, each field serves its purpose and the functions performed by its people are valuable because its purpose is valuable. Bridging the chasm between groups might be as simple as focusing on what is valuable in the opposing group's discipline.
A few individuals have been brave enough to straddle two worlds — to associate with two normally opposing groups. Though the subject was one of freedom of expression in human sexuality, Jan Clausen hints at another possible direction in our attempt to handle the divisiveness which creates outsiders in science.
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Here, surging down Fifth Avenue, was a grand celebration of human diversity, an infinite shading of inclination — the diametric opposite of narrow correctness. (75) |
Clausen finds, in her own self-assessment, a way out of the bottleneck of narrow correctness, out from the stiff association with one group against another. Her view is a celebration — a redefining her conflicting halves in terms of a broader, more all inclusive view of life and sexuality. She finds a common denominator, not to label her existence, but to give it cohesion. Scientists could learn to do as much and find their inquiries into the universe much more rewarding.
Outsiderness has cost us far too much. Its solution might be as simple as adding some of the suggested approaches to the curriculum of public education, not necessarily as separate courses, but as themes built into existing subjects.
Perhaps a trend toward this has already started, but can we afford merely to hope it's being handled? I think not.
Works Cited
Burke, James. "The Trigger Effect." Connections: An Alternative View of Change. A BBC-TV, Time Life Television Co-Production, 1978.
—. "The Wheel of Fortune." Connections: An Alternative View of Change. A BBC-TV, Time Life Television Co-Production, 1978.
Clausen, Jan. "My Interesting Condition." Our Times/3: Readings from Recent Periodicals. Boston: St. Martin's Press, 1993.
Gleick, James. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Viking Penguin Inc., 1987.
Gornick, Vivian. "Twice an Outsider: On Being Jewish and a Woman." Our Times/3: Readings from Recent Periodicals. Boston: St. Martin's Press, 1993.
Njeri, Itabari. "Who is Black?" Our Times/3: Readings from Recent Periodicals. Boston: St. Martin's Press, 1993.
Toady
"eeeEEAARO-O-O-O-KKGHSHSH! You're dead." Alan Worthy knocked the gray toy soldier onto its side with a thump of his finger.
He had pulled tightly closed the curtains to make the living room as dark as possible. The battle he was waging was supposed to be at night. Closed curtains also protected him. Outside, the summer sun beat down on the small, semi-desert city — made it dangerously hot.
Alan moved back to the living room couch where the assault force was preparing to descend on the enemy. He moved the allied forces over the edge of the plateau, down the gray fabric, vertical cliff of the couch front and onto the carpeted valley.
A row of wood blocks, plus mother's rolling pin from the kitchen created a formidable barricade protecting the enemy — the ones arrayed against his own forces.
The opposing toy soldiers were the bad guys. The label was justification enough for anything he did to them, but somewhere, in the background of his mind, a picture flashed — the real reason. He wasn't aware of it. It merely loomed in the shadows and created an aura of danger. Details of the incident gave it power. It was during touch football at school. Shoestring Hayes had punched Alan in the face and shoved him to the ground. And laughed at Alan's bleeding nose. The details were buried in memory, but the hurt lingered. Others also stood in the shadows of his mind, next to Shoestring. Their pictures flashed, too.
Alan knew what he must do. As he had in crucial stages in previous battles, Alan pivoted toward the couch armrest and swung the heavy artillery till it aligned with the formidable emplacements below.
He could see the dark room light up as the explosion knocked a hole in the enemy's defensive line. Sporadic machine gun fire echoed across the valley. He saw an opening! Now was their chance. Quickly he moved the allied troops toward the breech.
Suddenly, voices from outside the living room window, transformed the battlefield — small, gray, plastic men strewn across the living room floor. Alan moved to the front window, tugged the living room curtain aside and peered through.
Aubrey Moore stood in the middle of the street with three other boys Alan didn't recognize. Aubrey was popular at school, self-confident, outgoing. Sometimes he talked to Alan. They had even shared a movie several months before — only the two of them. Aubrey might become Alan's friend, his only real friend since David Young had moved away.
Alan let the curtain fall and moved hesitantly to the front door. For a moment, he looked back at the soldiers over which he had so much control. Outside was different. He reached for the knob and slowly opened it.
Alan walked quietly to the middle of his sloping front yard, hands clasped firmly behind his back.
They didn't see him.
"Hey, Aubrey," he said.
Sounds had come from Alan's mouth. He heard them. The words moved out into the air, but evaporated in the heat. Alan fought against thoughts that taunted him — maybe the boys were ignoring him — maybe it was safer inside.
"Aubrey!" Alan repeated more loudly and leaned to one side to see if the words took.
"Oh, Alan. Hi."
The other boys looked toward Alan as he moved off the curbless front yard, into the street. One of them nodded to another, knowingly.
The largest boy was big-boned and a little fat. He tilted his smirking face back slightly and looked straight down at Alan with unblinking eyes. It made Alan sidle and look away.
The boy's hands were man-sized, rugged, with red, raw knuckles. The rest of him was well rounded, except the elbows — jagged spurs on thick limbs.
Aubrey introduced him as Dusty Anderson. "Sheldon," said Aubrey, and punched Dusty in the back, "but never call him that."
Dusty spun on Aubrey. They scuffled briefly, then both laughed.
Aubrey then introduced the other two, but the names disappeared in Alan's unfocused mind.
"Howdy," replied Alan.
"We're just going to kick around, have some fun," said Dusty. "Want to join us?"
Alan felt a tingling rush. "Sure," he replied. He opened his mouth, but words stopped somewhere behind the teeth. He wanted to ask them where they lived and why he hadn't seen them before, but he couldn't let the questions break the spell.
The five of them walked energetically — comfortably to the end of the block and turned toward the commercial district. Alan pictured them all as a guerrilla platoon, as they sauntered loosely in step, dressed in battle fatigues; Dusty led as platoon leader, Aubrey as second in command and himself as new recruit. Together, they might conquer anything.
Several blocks later, they came to an unpaved alley.
"Hey, try this," said Dusty. "See this building?" He pointed to the one next to them, two stories tall with a flat roof. "Let's see who can toss a stone onto the roof without making a sound."
Promptly, Dusty snatched up a stone from the ground and hurled it into the air. Knick-a-knick, it clattered across the unseen tar on the roof.
"Har, har," sneered Aubrey. "My turn."
For several minutes, each took turns tossing stones for the quietest landing. None of them, however, were quite soundless.
"Not so easy, huh?" said one of the others and snorted a short, shallow laugh.
"You guys are great," tittered Alan. "This is fun."
"Oh, yeah?" asked Dusty, then took Alan to the ground and pinned him.
Alan was too stunned at first to move, then struggled fiercely. He couldn't break free.
Finally, Dusty got up and brushed himself off.
Alan slowly recovered, picked himself up and looked angrily at Dusty.
Alan, as he laughed, didn't see Dusty start toward him. At the boy's second step, the distance was too short — the momentum too great — for Alan to avoid or resist. He felt a sharp, thudding shove in the middle of his chest. An unnoticed force displaced his left foot. He curled forward to protect his head. Then impact.
Alan gasped for air, but grimaced at the foreign breath which gushed at him from inches away. His body suffered the full, crushing weight of Dusty's bulk. Those beefy hands pinned his arms firmly against the ground. His wide eyes tried to suck up some sense to what was happening. Those forceful eyes stared back at him from under tightened, angular brows. Those grinning lips — parted above clenched teeth — suddenly told him more about Dusty than he cared to know.
Alan rubbed the pain in his chest where Dusty had elbowed him. He shook his head and refocused his glare at the one who had bruised him.
"We're going to have to toughen you up," said Dusty.
"You want to join our group?" someone asked.
Alan glanced to Aubrey who grinned back easily.
Alan swallowed, then nodded.
"Well," said Dusty, "You've got to be tough. You've got to be tested."
"You ready?" asked Aubrey.
"I—I don't know what you mean." Alan's face burned. He took one small step away from them and tensed involuntarily.
"You've got to kill something," said Aubrey.
"You want to be part of our group, don't you?" asked Dusty. His intimidating stare drilled right through Alan.
"Yes," said Alan. His eyes fluttered, unfocused.
Aubrey added, "No bugs or spiders. They're too easy."
Alan's attention jerked from one boy to the other. They stood in a semi-circle in front of him, arms folded firmly, or fists slightly elevated at their sides. Suddenly, Alan felt dizzy and confused.
"Like what?" asked Alan. He looked down and turned his face slightly away.
"A cat," offered Aubrey. "Any living animal."
"A dog or a bird," said Dusty, then laughed. "It doesn't need to be a cow."
In the distance, Alan saw something run into the bushes along the edge of the alley. He didn't get a clear look at it, but from the way it moved, he knew what it was — there were so many of them.
"Could it be a horny toad?" asked Alan.
"Sure," said Dusty.
"How?" asked Alan and swallowed hard.
"Choke it," said Aubrey.
"Stab it, boil it, fry it in the oven — whatever," said Dusty and snickered. "It's up to you."
Alan blinked, then pursed his lips at the thought of squeezing the life out of something. He looked down the alley, away from the others, as far away as his eyes could focus. Crumpled metal trash cans unevenly lined the dust filled corridor between residential and commercial halves of the block. Some of the fences were tall, weather worn redwood, grayed from lack of care. Others were chain link. An old convertible with tail fins turned into the alley and moved slowly away, farther into the distance. The still, hot air tried to suffocate him.
"But you got make up your mind now."
Alan turned from side to side, and looked for a sizable rock. One, half buried, lay a short distance away. He stooped and tried to pry it loose. It was stuck.
"Here," said Dusty and held out a stick.
Alan reached for it, but Dusty waved him impatiently away. Alan stood nearby while Dusty scored the hard-packed dirt along the side of the stone. Soon, it was loose.
"Here," said Dusty, and hefted the rock to Alan. It was heavy, but could be grappled in one hand with effort.
The others looked for a horned toad and soon found one underneath a nearby bush. Intruding footwork forced the little creature out into the openness of the alleyway.
Each time, as Alan mechanically moved closer, the toad scurried farther away — boy and lizard, partners taking turns in a ritual dance — a dance of death. The other boys quietly stood guard along side the alley to keep the toad from escaping to safety.
"You gotta be sneakier," said Dusty. "Move up on it quiet like."
Alan tiptoed, walked sideways, then tried other steps. None of them worked. Finally, he took slow, short steps and found himself close enough to strike. He knew he might have only one chance and he wanted this to be over.
He struggled to lift the massive stone high and to keep it balanced in his hand, then forced it downward.
Bang! It was done.
"All right!" acknowledged Dusty.
The stone had bounced a few feet away. The victim lay there — stopped by a rip in its universe.
Alan's mind couldn't grasp the final image — it kept hurtling from view.
The stone felt heavy in his hand. The quiet footfalls of the toad left a familiar pattern in the soft dirt. Those dark eyes looked up at Alan. The stone's weight pushed back on Alan's hand, but was ignored by Alan's hurried intent. Then the hurtling stone easily pushed the air aside.
Alan wished the air had offered more resistance. He stared at the quivering toad — one side split — a dark wetness spilled into the powdery dirt. Dark little eyes blinked shut, then slowly opened.
The toad, with solitary purpose, scurried crookedly across the dusty ground. Its dark eyes closed once, then caught the meteor as it started to block the sun. Its pronged head and delicate armor stiffened at the stone's approach.
Alan looked up to the boys.
"Come on, Alan. We're going to the store."
The mountain whispered downward, split time in two — before time and after time. Between them, a dangerous vision.
Alan took one step toward the other boys, then looked back at the horned toad. Delicate, little legs shook in tiny gestures. The throat pulsed once in a final, slow spasm.
Alan's face felt hot and his cheeks tingled. His world seemed dark despite the sun. The noise of death was loud in his ears — the sounds of heavy artillery and sporadic machine gun fire. The air he breathed suddenly burned his nostrils.
The other boys ran down the unpaved alley. Aubrey stopped about twenty yards away and yelled back. He seemed a hundred miles away. Distant. Unreal.
"You coming?"
Alan ran a few steps and stopped. His friends now seemed small in the distance — insignificant by apparent size — and vulnerable.
Alan tried to swallow, but couldn't. He grabbed his throat and massaged a sudden sharp pain.
The image of the quivering horned toad stayed in the background of his mind. Now, however, he couldn't dare look.
In the distance, the others had paused for Aubrey to catch up. Alan couldn't hear what Dusty told the others, but two of them looked back and shook their heads.
Alan stood there for a minute feeling the hot sun burn into his dark hair, mercilessly pounding waves of heat into his head. He breathed the hot air cautiously. Slowly, he turned and walked past the dark spot. His eyes remained carefully level.
Alan remembered the time before all of this, when he had reveled in the battlefield filled with toy soldiers — the strategy, the conquest, the killing. He shuddered.
He'd be home, soon. He couldn't wait to get out of the bright, hot day — into the cooler shadow of his own room.
Islands in the Dark
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Warm fingers of light Rake gently along my body As I lie on bed of green. Senses delight in sway of comfort, Adrift in mind.
Thought descends through dizzy swirl
From heaven's perch I dangle near
Much farther below
Oasis in breathless void
Hyacinth air shocks my lungs
Oak and eucalyptus caress me.
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 Photo composite. "Ireland" courtesy PDPhoto.org. Jovian moons courtesy NASA. |
Dark Rain
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Hushed, I hold my breath, But thought rebels.
Eyes spark across narrow space.
I caress your fragrant strands
Pulse fills the air
Tongues parry and thrust
The room spills,
Visions fade. Eyes open.
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 Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org |
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