I, Science

1/12/2005

Science is being taught in a way that stifles creativity and the sciences are suffering as a result, argues Katherine Nightingale.

“You dropped science, I would guess, because it was doled out to you in spoonfuls of distilled boredom.”

The author David Lodge got to the root of the problem with science education in his recent novel Thinks. Is the way science is taught in our schools, and the way science is perceived in general, putting off creative young minds?

The number of students taking A Levels in science subjects is dropping. This has knock-on effects in the science departments of universities. Applications for degree courses in the physical sciences, along with maths and engineering, have fallen by as much as 30% in recent years.

Perhaps one of the problems facing the education of science is that science itself is so embedded in the facts. Its very purpose – to find out about the world – is often translated into a dull, fact-laden subject in the classroom. The parrot-fashion learning of chemical equations, for example, is not exactly stimulating. National Curriculum time constraints can make it hard to emphasise the investigative and pioneering aspects of science.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the principle of evolution by natural selection, illustrated by my GCSE biology teacher roaming the classroom pretending to be one of the first fish to take a gasp of air, complete with slurping noises and a look of wide-eyed confusion. Explaining the principles behind the science in just such a way would surely be more rewarding than the repetition of facts. Spoonfuls of distilled boredom my biology classes were not.

The objective nature of science can make it appear detached and dispassionate, an immediate turn-off for students who think of themselves as creative and want a connection with their subject. I certainly remember feeling bewildered at having to write up science experiments in the passive voice. In trying to emphasise the objectivity of science, and laying down the guidelines for the experimental rigour that is undoubtedly the basis of ‘good science’, science education almost deceives its students. There is no talk of the motivations and passions of scientists, save the most famous historical figures. It seems strange that we can learn about Darwin and Einstein as humans, yet rarely do the same for contemporary scientists. This detachment from human activity dissuades some students from pursuing science further; many give it up for more humanities-based subjects at the first opportunity, subjects in which they perceive there to be more personal freedom and creativity.

Yet there is a great deal of creativity in scientific research, it is simply rarely talked about. While the creative process itself is an important part of the arts and evidently impregnates the final product, in science the most important aspect is the end result. Science has created a culture for itself where emotion is frowned upon and any admittance of a creative, personal journey in the process of scientific research would undermine the final product.

There is no use in denying the personal and creative exertion a scientist can go through in order to gain results. Alan Lightman – both a physicist and novelist – claims that the feeling of the creative moment in both scientific research and fiction writing is the same: “a stunning surprise joined with a feeling of rightness and inevitability”.

It has been said that the ultimate aims of the artist and scientist are alike; both are trying to understand and represent for others the reality that lies beyond appearances and both have the ability to look at situations in a different way to an established norm.

Acknowledging the more creative aspects of scientific research could lead to a deeper understanding not only between science and the arts, but between science teachers and the scientists of the future. Whether this could ever be addressed in our education system remains to be seen.