As the academic endgame begins, we're all going to be surrounded by lecture notes, study guides, academic papers and - if we're really lucky - long, poorly written books of questionable relevance and dubious interest. In those works will be far too many facts to memorize, models to learn and arguments to understand. For those writing a thesis, this process has long since begun, as has the inevitable question of "Why am I doing this again?" And after a few weeks, it's going to seem as if this work has lost all its purpose, and indeed, all of the joy which genuine academic learning can so often provide.
But when that happens, it's worth remembering the simple wonders of what we study and how it can elegantly explain the world around us.
In the last week, the journal Nature announced that a team led by Olaf Bininda-Edmonds had completed a study on the history of mammalian evolution. They looked at the DNA sequences of over 4,000 different species, and by comparing the differences between organisms, were able to determine that our little segment of the tree of life dates back over 160 million years - deep in the age of dinosaurs - and far longer than had been generally conceived. Step back, and consider the implications of that study: By using our own genes and those of cats, kangaroos and rats, scientists are able to tell that our ancestors have been on Earth for many more millions of years than previously thought. A little bit of our history, of our past, suddenly becomes clearer - and that's a beautiful thing.
Let's say that 100-million-year-old genetic sequences aren't your cup of tea, and perhaps more recent history is more to your interest. Two hundred and fifty-four years ago, a building was constructed in the city of Philadelphia. In the intervening years, American independence would be declared within its walls, and a Constitution, still in use today, would be debated, written and signed. All of these facts are well-known today, perhaps so well-known that they have lost much of their meaning. But if you actually go to Independence Hall and stand only a few feet away from the table where the United States began or the chair where George Washington sat, if you're very lucky, you'll be able to feel a visceral connection to history - that the trajectory of the country we now live within changed irrevocably within those walls. Rarely can the past and the present so clearly intersect - but when it does, it proves an important reminder that knowledge is not merely a passive thing to be studied but an active reality to be lived.
Finally, for those with an astronomical bent, who have grown tired of learning azimuth angles, consider this: Scientists have long known that planets circle stars beyond our own sun and that our solar system is far from unique - a stunning fact in its own right. But researchers have recently reported evidence of planets orbiting a double star, a solar system with two suns, which suggests that planets may in fact be far more common than previously thought - and perhaps even the norm - rather than a curious exception as was once thought. Our own world, our own collection of eight (or nine) planets, may only be a single, somewhat staid, example of the universe. Think about this the next time you look up at the stars: Orbiting around those pinpricks of light is a collection of dust clouds - and, perhaps, a planet. We don't yet have the technology to know if those worlds are comparable in class to Earth. But in 20 years, we likely will. And that is far more inspiring than a basic calculus exam ever could be.
Will the time between the end of spring break and the end of exam season be filled with these sorts of discoveries? No, and I imagine that the search for coffee will be far more important than the search for wonder. But I hope that we can take just a little bit to look at the material we're studying with more than a purely test-taking eye - to discover the meaning and the joy that underlies its findings and implications. At the very least, it will make the hours in the SciLi more bearable, and it has the potential to make the work we do within those walls far more meaningful and far more powerful.
Joey Borson '07 procrastinates by asking himself the big questions.
