The old dictum never mix business with pleasure"" always rang true for me. History papers turn out worse if written with the TV on (even if it was the History Channel), drunk calculus isn't as much fun as it sounds, and my various attempts to write academically about video games never went well; I'd end up having to swear off both video games and academics for weeks.
When I had finally learned my lesson about video games, I attempted to write a scientific essay on love. Just about the most business-y and pleasurable things I could have picked.
Although I learned all about dopamine - the chemical the brain releases when in love, breast-feeding or eating chocolate - and even got to interview at least one hot scientist about sex, the paper itself didn't go so well.
My problem was that I tried to bite off more than I could chew. I sought chemical, biological and psychological functions to explain the sensation of ""being wildly in love."" I tried, in vain, to account for all the ephemera of human feelings and emotions by purely scientific means. Sometimes, it seems, you just can't do that. Science alone can't really do justice to some of the more complex matters in life.
And nowhere is this more obvious than in that fantastical, nonsensical, romantical realm we call love. The idea that scientists, a profession not usually known for its interest in fashion (the aforementioned hot scientist notwithstanding), have much to teach us about love isn't a common one.
In fact, if anyone could possibly factor love into its prime components, so to speak, and explain it to the last detail, we still probably wouldn't believe it. They've probably missed something, we'd figure; love is way too complex.
Now, some might see this and hear echoes of that controversial theory, intelligent design. Theories and thoughts on love often lead to the issue of new life, after all. Intelligent design, in a nutshell, posits that life is so complex that science shouldn't even bother trying to explain it. Life was designed, outright, by something, or better yet, Something. There's no way we mere humans can even come close to explaining it, so we should just accept it and move on.
As may be clear, I humbly disagree with the theories of intelligent design and its foolish supporters. I have been and continue to be a staunch supporter of science, as well as the idea that it can, eventually, explain everything, from why life arose on this planet to why I had that sandwich the other day even though I was already full. I just don't think it can explain everything completely by itself; there'll be stuff missing, some might say the most important parts, if we limit our understanding of things to the purely technical.
Of course, if we diminish this scientific understanding, as the proponents of intelligent design would like, we'd be no closer to understanding anything, and we wouldn't have electric heat or TVs either. As is so often the case, Shakespeare said it best: ""There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.""
In my training as a scientist, I learned the importance of knowing you don't know everything. If you're only looking for the result you expect, you might miss the really important discovery.
Comforting thoughts, sometimes, when we're out there in the field, testing our hypotheses about love and attraction, all too often results in experimental failures.
The marriage of the known and the unknown, the knowable and the unknowable, is what science is all about. And to help teach me, I've got a meeting planned tonight with that hot scientist. Maybe I'll finally be able to mix business and pleasure after all.
Are you a hot scientist? Do you excel at teaching drunk calculus? E-mail Bill at science@dailycardinal.com.
