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Wipond is flatly wrong when he urges us to “...live a life based on continually learning and discovering, and not on accumulating beliefs of any kind.”  The first part of that recommendation can’t ever happen if we follow the second part.  Learning must be a process of accumulating beliefs.  If we examine evolutionary systems, we’ll understand why.  The greater part of evolutionary “effort” involves the preservation of its constituent parts.  In biological evolution, for example, a more efficient hunter may arise out of chance mutation, but then natural selection must repeat that pattern in succeeding generations in order for the adaptation to be preserved in time.

A constant churning of genetic mutations will evolve nothing of consequence.  You will merely wind up with genetic drift.  Without the power of preservation, a potentially useful biological novelty will be buried under a blizzard of succeeding changes and will be lost to the ages.  No further adaptations can be built on any earlier adaptation.  No arrow of evolutionary change in time will ever gain a definite direction.

Thus the development and maintenance of scientific conservation in an apparently radical age.  The ratchet effect of doubt and insistence on corroborating evidence for any new hypothesis preserves the vast, interlocking systems of thought and discovery, better known as scientific theories, against the fluctuating fads of any given period of history.  Such old systems succumb only to constant, determined pressure of streams of new data and newer, more illuminating interpretations of that data.  Conservative science works as well as it does because it forces young scientists to work hard and think brilliantly in order to overthrow the work and thought of their elders.

Wipond’s heroes didn’t make the cut.  Timothy Leary revealed little curiosity about what LSD was really doing to the brain.  To him it was just a good trip.  It took scientists such as Candace Pet to explain why drugs give us “good trips.”  She and her colleagues discovered that drugs mimic natural endorphins produced and deployed by the brain.  Linus Pauling took his vitamins in megadoses without bothering to address the double danger of overdosing and rising tolerance levels.  It is one thing to be on the cutting edge of science; it’s another thing entirely to wholly grasp that edge without cutting yourself.

There is a certain amount of irony involved in the use of a phrase such as “conservative science.”  One would assume that any system that “conserves” or “preserves” would be old and stodgy, stubbornly resistant to any and all change.  And yet, conservative science has utterly revolutionized and secularized our understanding of the world of nature and ourselves.  In so doing, scientific theory guides the development of powerful technologies that have utterly transformed our way of life.  If you don’t believe me, consider the following: Most of us modern Americans live better lives than medieval kings.  We could never live so well unless our scientists managed to attain a solid understanding of the true ways of matter and energy, and made this knowledge available to inventors and engineers.  Science and technology are bound together in a learning curve leading ever-upward.

Conservative science is at once the detonator and conservator of the true cultural revolution.  The same ratchet effect that prevents slippage also preserves.  Perhaps this metaphor will help explain this apparent paradox:  You need a good, sturdy floor on which to dance.

                                                                
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Be a young merchant of ancient Troy.  You stand upon the wharf while your first ship laden with trade goods and treasure bound for all the known world sets sail.  It is a clear, calm day.  The ship’s blazing white sails shimmer in the Mediterranean sunlight.  You are proud of your excellent eyesight.  It permits you to watch as your ship appears to grow smaller and smaller in the distance.  Perhaps in a minute or two it will become so small, it will appear as a mosquito, then a gnat, then disappear from view.

Wrong.  Astonished, you stare as the ship reaches the horizon, then
descends behind it. First, the bow, then the lower mast, then the top sail.  Your ship appears to have slipped beneath the water.

For a moment you’re alarmed.  Are the ship and men lost?  Did the Great Middle Sea devour them?  Then you remember.  When you were very young, you stood beside your father on this very wharf, watching his ship appear to sink in just that way.  He was untroubled.  He smile and said, “We sail upon the ever-turning wave of the world, the Great Orb, Pendant of the Gods.”
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