Science and the Role of Awe

    I took a trip to the Ontario Science Center today, as part of the week's relaxing Christmas holiday. It had been quite a while since I had been there, and I notice that a lot has changed. I was particularly impressed by the fact that there is an entire wall of placards which display the contributions of Canadian inventors and scientists, in particular the exhibit about Inuit inventions. Many of the placards suggested the debt that scientists owe to others in their local and scientific communities, in the realization that science is never a solitary pursuit, but is part of an unfolding collective of knowledge.
   Probably the most interesting part of the exhibits for me was a series of aquariums which demonstrate two very different ecosystems: one related to the Atlantic coast, while the other related to a tropical coral reef. The people who had put this exhibit together seemed quite sensitive and attuned to how species interact together to create an optimal survival condition, making sure throughout the process that the species are introduced slowly and gradually. The analogy described in the accompanying video was that of introducing a family to newcomers. The good way to introduce newcomers, according to this video, is to carefully observe how all the existing family members (or species, in this case) are surviving and coping with the new element. Care is made to ensure that there are no shocking changes that might disturb the ecosystem that has already been built up. This exhibit impressed me in particular because it showed me how science is not necessarily about creating anything 'new', entirely from scratch. It can be about preserving the delicate balances of what already exists in nature. One other thing that impressed me about the aquariums is that they have a timed release of water which is supposed to imitate the movement of the tides, which also replenishes oxygen and water circulation throughout the tank.
     It strikes me that doing good science must require a sense of awe in beholding the natural balances that exist in the world. And there is this ceaseless need to keep questioning and digging deeper in into the given subject. There are said to be many 'magic' numbers in the universe, such as the proportionate distances between proton and neutron. But most things also have magic when one sees them with openness. I almost tend to think of it as a sense of excitement and adventure: there is always something new in the phenomena one is observing that can be discovered. Even with the most tight experimental design, there needs to be room for entertaining fresh new questions. I wonder: when proposals for experiments are being approved, how much openness is there in the learning community to redesign the experiment at a later time, based on a very new or unexpected discovery?Are researchers pressured to stick with their original plan, or is there room to redesign or rethink the experiment using new variables and even new questions?
    What I am realizing recently is that a lot of the quandaries of doing research can apply to many situations in life itself. There is a spirituality to research, just as there is spirituality in anything. Some of the points I am working out in my own life include 1) having the courage to abandon 'best-laid' plans when a more interesting question emerges; 2) not presuming to know something before it's been deeply and 'messily' investigated, using whatever means are available; 3) drawing from other, often unrelated traditions and disciplines to enrich the base to inquire into a subject; 4) persevering (sometimes doggedly) with a particular broader vision of good; 5) never believing that there is ever a final 'finishing' point in research, as it is a going-concern. Well, I am sure that I can think of others, but the point I am hinting at is how research can become a spiritual practice. In fact, trying to fathom how knowledge is constructed and reconstructed after inevitable disintegration, is an interesting facet of the research process, which I would consider to be a spiritual journey of building, losing and building again.