Sadly, though, a theory of that kind is not what Hawking means. Read
on a bit and it turns out he is simply talking about a unified theory that
would bring together the general theory of relativity and quantum mechanics.
This would indeed be an achievement, but it would shed very little light
on languages, microbes and man, and nothing at all on falling in love! ÐÓ°ÉÔ­´´s,
it seems to me, are rather prone to making extravagant claims. This is a
pity because, although I am sure most scientists are much too intelligent
to take their own claims completely literally, society at large seems much
inclined to take them at face value and really to believe that science can
provide an answer to every question. Perhaps scientists should be more careful
about the words they use? Hawking’s statement about the ‘single theory’
is an example of a particular kind of claim that is especially prevalent:
the claim that by reducing something to its simplest components you have
somehow completely explained or described it. Here is another example from
the same book: ‘Because the partial theories that we already have are sufficient
to make accurate predictions in all but the most extreme conditions,’ Hawking
writes, ‘the search for the ultimate theory of the universe seems difficult
to justify on practical grounds.’

Think about this statement. Do we really have theories that are sufficient
to make accurate predictions in all but the most extreme conditions? Are
these theories capable of making accurate predictions about, say, the changes
in Eastern Europe, or the winner of the Grand National? Would they be useful
to a marriage bureau trying to find the perfect partner? Are they even able
to make accurate predictions about a purely physical phenomenon such as
the weather? Of course, I realise that I am wilfully misunderstanding what
Hawking meant (and I do not in any way want to rubbish an interesting book
or to decry the intellectual importance of a unified theory). What I am
trying to demonstrate however, is that when Hawking talks about a theory
that would describe the whole Universe, what he actually means is a theory
that would describe only a small corner of it (and not a very important
corner either, at least from the human perspective). The unified theory
would not help us to resolve the dilemmas with which we struggle in everyday
life. It would not even be of much help to other scientists – such as biologists
– operating at different levels of explanation.

Levels of explanation are the key. Medieval philosophy spoke of a Great
Chain of Being, stretching from simple undifferentiated matter to God himself.
Above the level of inanimate matter, in the medieval scheme of things, is
the level of vegetative life which is made of matter but can grow and reproduce
in a way that simple matter cannot do. Above that is the level of animal
life, which possesses the essential qualities of vegetative life, but can
also move and act. Above that is the human level of being, which has all
the properties of matter, of vegetative life and of animal life, but in
addition has a soul – or self-awareness.

Such a way of looking at things is, I know, very alien to modern scientific
ways of thinking, but it does encapsulate a rather obvious truth that otherwise
tends to get lost. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts: you cannot
explain away something at one level by reference to a lower level. It is
inconceivable that anyone could ever explain the works of Shakespeare in
terms of physics, or explain animal behaviour in terms of subatomic particles.
Each level is real in its own right and no one has a right to say that the
world is nothing but subatomic particles, or behaviour is nothing but brain
physiology, or any of those other ‘nothing but’ statements which are the
basis of science’s most extravagant claims.

The truth is that science can answer only certain types of questions.
It is at its brilliant best at the lowest ‘levels of being’: simple matter
and energy and the basic building blocks of which they are made up. Science
goes on doing pretty well higher up the scale too, though it loses some
precision with each successive layer as its climbs through chemistry and
up into biology. By the time we get up to psychology, let’s face it, science
is rather less spectacularly successful (it remains useful, of course, but
general theories and precise predictions have been left far, far behind).

And then we get to the levels in which we actually live out our lives:
our human relationships, our aspirations, politics (micro and macro), personal
choices, moral dilemmas . . . And at this level (the most important one,
after all, from a human perspective) science has no precise answers, no
complete descriptions at all. At this level we have to find other ways of
thinking about the world, and all that science can offer is useful metaphors
and perhaps a certain open-mindedness and willingness to consider the facts
. . .

Science is wonderful indeed but it has its limitations. It will certainly
never ‘explain’ the Universe.

A little more modesty, ladies and gentlemen, please!

Chris Beckett is a social worker living in Cambridge.

‘I am helping to expand the total sum of human knowledge,’ you might
say, or you might point to some more practical benefit: ‘I am helping to
feed the world,’ ‘I am discovering newer and faster ways of communicating,’
‘My work will help doctors to save lives.’ Many of you, of course, will
be involved in the defence industry, and thus, in a sense, in the business
of shortening human lives, but no doubt you are contributing to the common
good all the same, in that you are helping to strengthen the cause of democracy
– or communism, or Islam, or whatever – which, of course, isin the long-term
interests of all humankind.

I would be willing to bet, though, that not many would think of saying
this: ‘I help to create myths.’ And yet the creation of myths is one of
the most important functions that scientists and technologists perform in
the modern world. Religion once provided the myths that helped people to
make senseof the world and their place in it, butpeople are increasingly
turning elsewhere. Where better than to scientists, with theirwealth of
explanations, their spectacularachievements, their proven mastery ofmany
apparent mysteries? If you doubt that scientific and technological achievements
are the stuff of mythology, consider heart transplants. These were – and
continue to be – the focus of an enormous amount of media interest. Is this
because a large number of people have a particular interest in the technical
problems involved? Of course not. Nor does the level of interest reflect
the number of lives saved, which is really quite small. No, what makes heart
transplants and other ‘medical miracles’ so compelling is that they touch
in such a vivid and dramatic way on some of the great eternal themes of
myth and story: the struggle between life and death, the soul snatched back
heroically from the edge of the abyss . . .

There are probably more cost-effective ways of spending money to save
lives, but that doesn’t matter. We want heart transplants and the like to
continue because we need these powerful mythological dramas to continue
to be enacted for us.

To take another example, perhaps the most famous one of all, consider
the landing of a man on the Moon. As has often been pointed out, the actual
scientific value of a manned Moon-landing was almost zero. Very little could
be learnt in that way that could not be learnt much more cheaply and easily
by other means such as unmanned probes. But to measure the success or failure
of the Moon landings in such terms is to miss their point completely. The
Moon landings were not about gathering dataor testing hypotheses; they were
abouttheatre, about the enactment of myths.

What were those myths? Well, in large measure they were myths of national
pride: America is the greatest country on Earth! We are invincible! Nothing
is impossible for us! But that is only one of many mythical themes that
were fed and nurtured by such a spectacular event. It was about the power
of humankind, the power of technology, our ability to overcome the apparently
impossible and to conquer not just Earth but the whole Universe. And yet
at the same time it was about the smallness of humankind, our vulnerability,
the fact that we inhabit a single small planet, surrounded by emptiness
. . .

In suggesting that Moon landings and such are about myths, I’m not saying
that this invalidates them. (We need myths – so why should the enactment
of myths be any less valid a motive than the advancement of knowledge?)
I’m simply drawing attention to the fact that projects that are ostensibly
scientific and technical may also have this completely different function.
And it is not only the very spectacular achievements such as heart transplants
and Moon landings that are involved in this. In one way or another the whole
body of scientific and technological endeavour is constantly feeding into
the myths by which we live. Moon landings and heart transplants are just
particularly obvious examples.

What about the myths themselves? They are rich, diverse and mutually
contradictory. Some of them flow out of the theories and discoveries of
scientists (think of the stream of images that have come out of biology:
images of webs and chains and homeostatic systems on the one hand; images
of struggle, competitiveness and individualism on the other). Others flow
out of the spectacle of the scientists themselves. With their awesome and
unprecedented powers, scientists are constantly fascinating. Sometimes they
are cast in the role of heroes, high priests, saviours; at other times in
the role of destroyers, necromancers, enemies of life . . .

Which mythical themes come to the fore is a matter over which scientists
could perhaps exercise some control, partly by choosing what kind of project
they become involved in, but also by giving some thought to the way that
science is presented to the rest of us, as some of the myths arise from
simplifications and misunderstandings.

Here are a few of the mythical themes that are propagated most frequently
in KK the name of science. (If you don’t like theword mythical, you could
call them lessons – or notions about the world – that are commonly drawn
from science.) These themes are not necessarily explicitly stated, but they
are implied in the way that scientific issues are presented – in popular
science books, in TV documentaries, in newspaper articles. Some of these
lessons are valuable, some dangerous, but take your pick!

(1) ÐÓ°ÉÔ­´´s and technologists can solve all our problems. We can
leave everything to the experts.

(2) Science has unleashed forces that should have been left alone. It
has made us the agents of our own destruction.

(3) Humanity is part of a delicate living web. We can alter the balance
only with great care. We cannot stand alone.

(4) We are automata. We are the slaves of our chemistry and our environment.
We cannot change ourselves. We have no free will. Our sense of possessing
a ‘soul’ is illusory.

(5) Science gives us unlimited power. The Universe lies at our feet.
We can overcome all the apparent limits to human existence, including death.

(6) Human beings are part of the order of things, just as much as animals,
mountains, planets. There is only one world . . .

Science, of course, often comes into conflict with mythologies that
derive from other, nonscientific, sources (such as fundamentalist religion:
witness the struggle between creationism and evolutionary biology). But
more and more the struggle is not between scientific and nonscientific ways
of thinking, but between rival scientific myths. Consider the spectacle
of ecologists staging a sit-in outside a nuclear power plant. Both sides
would claim the mantle of science for their cause, just as in wars gone
by both sides would claim the mantle of true religion.

And this is a measure of the pervasiveness of scientific thought in
the modern world – and of the power scientists wield.

Chris Beckett is a social worker living in Cambridge.