At some time when we are growing up, most of us learn the standard definition of the scientific method – make observations, make a hypothesis, and conduct an experiment. There is no doubt that this is the cornerstone of science. But when surveying the history of scientific discovery, there is often much more to science than this. It’s not always a question of just rolling up your sleeves and applying the method. There are two other factors that cannot be fitted into the formula, but have played crucial roles in discovery. These two factors are personality and serendipity.

Back in 2002, I drew attention to these dynamics relative to Barry Marshall and the discovery of the bacterial origin for ulcers. This is just one example, but both personality and serendipity played important roles in this piece of scientific history. In terms of personality, Marshall was convinced of the bacterial cause for ulcers at a time when such a conviction was not merited by the scientific approach (he only had a correlation). And as he was ridiculed by other more established members of the scientific community and failed to verify his position with standard experimental procedures, he actually resorted to infecting himself with these bacteria! When it comes to science, educators don’t normally teach their students “if you have a hypothesis that you believe is true in you guts, stick with it.” In fact, this is contrary to what they are taught. It would probably be bad for science if everyone approached things as Marshall approached ulcers, but science can both tolerate and benefit from such interesting personalities as long as the population of investigators are large enough to absorb them without being steered away from the importance of skepticism.

Serendipity was involved when Marshall’s mentor observed bacteria in stomach biopsies when he wasn’t looking for them. In other words, it was pure luck that turned one investigator down this road. What’s more, the eventual ability to culture the bacteria was itself dependent on luck.

The history of science is chock full of stories like this. Consider Edythe L.P. Anthony, a scientist who led the way in helping us to understand that the connections between the brain and pituitary gland are not the same in all mammals. In 1998, she won Paul Maixner Award for Distinguished Teaching at Rhode Island College and provides a most delightful speech that should be read by all students of science.

Anthony recounts her discovery where bat brains are wired differently than rat brains and rather than emphasize the standard ingredients for this success (critical thinking, evidence, parsimony, peer review, etc), she focuses on the neglected ingredient of serendipity, but we should also add the ingredient of personality. Anthony writes:

Many of you know that as a graduate student I studied reproductive cycles of bats, and for my dissertation I examined pituitary glands of animals collected in each season of the year. Wanting nothing to go to waste, Dr. Alvar Gustafson and I preserved many other parts of these bats, including the brains, thinking someone might have time to analyze them one day.

This is personality at play, as not everyone focused on pituitary glands is going to freeze and store other parts of the bat. Yet it turned out to be very important that she had kept some bat brains. Anthony writes:

As luck would have it, when my dissertation was complete, I moved just down the hall at Tufts University School of Medicine to start post-doctoral research with Dr. Joan King, a pioneer in the study of the hormone LHRH (luteinizing hormone releasing hormone).

Dr. King had spent years working out a technique to stain these hormone producing neurons in the brain of a rat. Once Anthony joined her lab, on a whim, she decided to apply the technique to her bat brains and got some disappointing results:

One day, just for the heck of it, I decided (with permission!) to apply her technique to some of the bat brains I happened to possess when I stumbled into Dr. King¹s laboratory. Initially, I was appalled at the results. My results looked nothing like hers. For one thing, there was a distinct difference in a critical area of the brain called the arcuate nucleus. My results indicated that LHRH-producing neurons were present there in bats, whereas Dr. King adamantly denied their presence there in rats. In another key region, the median eminence, I observed a more subtle distinction B that processes extending from LHRH neurons, which were Asupposed to be in the external zone of the median eminence (nearest the free surface), were instead in the internal zone. My initial reaction was, AI really messed up B how embarrassing! In a new lab just a few weeks and I¹ve generated data that make no sense. Worse yet, they seem to contradict the most recent publication of my new mentor!

Yet this lucky find was not dismissed:

A lesser teacher or scientist than Joan might have squelched or dismissed these results and counseled me to direct my attention to something more validating of her work B or more likely to generate grant funding! Instead, she was intrigued, and encouraged me to put these observations to the test, and if they could be verified, to ask questions about their physiological significance.

It was this find and this encouragement that would guide Anthony down the path of true scientific discovery. As she says, “Luck played a big role in making the initial observation, an observation that could easily have been overlooked or dismissed.” If she had not kept the bat brains from previous work, if she had not joined King’s lab, and if she had not decided to apply King’s technique for the “heck of it,” and if King would have steered her away from this anomaly, generated by the hands of an inexperienced practitioner, Anthony would not have enriched science on this topic and would have been speaking about something else in her speech.

The role of serendipity and personality are often underestimated in scientific discovery, as often times a discovery is made by the right person at the right time and in the right position. Scientific discovery is usually more than the sterile application of the scientific method, as this method itself is significantly influenced by personality and serendipity. For example, in his book, Serendipity: Accidental Disocoveries in Science, chemist Royston Roberts documents dozens of examples where luck has played a pivotal role in important scientific discoveries. Anthony also acknowledges this:

Anyone who has taken a science course at any level has encountered what is known as the Ascientific method ã a process by which scientific inquiry supposedly proceeds. The steps are easy enough to understand and memorize, but when students are faced for the first time with exercising this process themselves, they often get stuck right at the first step: Make an observation. They wonder, "How do I make an appropriate observation B one that is important enough to pursue and one that lends itself to formulating questions and hypotheses?" This paralysis is in part a consequence of the artificial nature of the assignment. After all, in real research environments, investigators do not start out on Monday morning saying, AOK, today I must go to the lab and make an observation so that I can do some worthwhile science for the rest of the week. Observations come in much more mysterious ways.

This statement is oh so true. Observations, useful for formulating testable hypotheses, are often something that somebody stumbles over. And therein lies the deep significance of Anthony’s lecture, as she centers everything around Louis Pasteur’s famous words, “In matters of observation chance favors only the prepared mind.” In her case, her mind was prepared by a rigorous education in anatomy and physiology:

deeper inquiry followed because of something I learned in endocrinology class B the distinction between the internal and external zones of a minute, microscopic part of the brain B the median eminence. I recognized something strange and potentially intriguing here, only because my mind had been prepared. Of course, I don¹t say this boastfully; rather it is to acknowledge the exacting teacher who prompted me to learn not only general concepts about brain-pituitary relationships, but also the specifics B right down to the nitty gritty anatomical detail. Do we as educators need to agonize over insisting that students learn content, or about needlessly filling students¹ heads with factual information? My experience suggests otherwise, because we have no way to know what bit of knowledge may change a person¹s life or the course of his or her academic development.

While this is a great message for students who complain about having to memorize a long list of facts, we can take it further than this.

Implications for Teleological Thinking

Writing in the journal Science, evolutionary biologist Francois Jacob offered some truly profound words:

To produce a valuable observation, one has first to have an idea of what to observe, a preconception of what is possible. Scientific advances often come from uncovering a hitherto unseen aspect of things as a result, not so much of using new instruments, but rather of looking at objects from a different angle. This look is necessarily guided by a certain idea of what this so-called reality might be. It always involves a certain conception about the unknown, that is, about what lies beyond that which one has logical or experimental reasons to believe.

In today’s world, teleological thinking certainly qualifies as a way of looking at objects from a different angle. But it’s more than a certain conception about the unknown or about what lies beyond that which one has logical or experimental reasons to believe. It involves a way of preparing the mind such that serendipity can offer its rewards.

Personality also comes into play. In some cases it also involves serendipity, where it’s really a matter of luck that you happen to interact with the people you do. If they provide some crucial motivation, insight, or encouragement, their contribution is substantial. From there it is up to the investigator’s personality to take over, steering the scientific method in one direction or another.

What comes from all of this is the importance of community. The larger the community of prepared minds, the more likely serendipity can fuel an investigation. One investigator by himself may not get lucky, but many investigators working as a team might. And the larger the community of investigators, the greater the diversity not simply in terms of skill and brilliance, but also in terms of personality.

When we turn to the hypothesis of Life’s Design, we must raise the issue of critical mass. If this most difficult question can only be resolved by uncovering evidence buried deeply in an ambiguous reality, perhaps its firm detection would depend on brilliant insights from several different directions and personalities. Perhaps, like so many other discoveries, it would depend on a large enough population to extract the benefits of serendipity.

This is where the various psychological and sociological forces may exert their maximum influence. If these forces prevent a subculture of investigators from developing beyond a critical mass, the evidence of design may remain forever buried. It would be difficult to successfully argue that the mind of the mainstream scientific community has been prepared to favor serendipity with regard to a teleological perspective. Observations analogous to the subtle types made by Warren, Marshall, and Anthony would never be good enough and thus easily get passed by. The mainstream scientific community needs something to shout at them – extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. And given the climate of hostility and animosity that swirls around ID, cultural forces act as selection pressures, steering large numbers away from contemplating Life’s design, thus ensuring the population that investigates is quite limited in terms of ability and personality.

Is the issue one of coming up with extraordinary evidence? Or is it about developing a critical mass of investigators?