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I HAVE been following with interest the debate about the future of science
education, for I am one of those who is at the ‘sharp end’ – no, not a teacher
but a student. Very little comment seems to have been forthcoming from this
group, so I thought that I would add my penn’orth.

It has struck me that one of the basic causes of the unhealthy state
of British science is cultural snobbery. ‘Artists’ see themselves as somehow
superior to ‘scientists’ in the academic field; those in the nebulous and
ill-defined field of ‘humanities’ tend to identify with one side or the
other, and those who are fed up with the debate go and make a lot of money
in the City (or something equally sordid). In the clannish world of the
sixth form, it is a crime not to have read Shakespeare; but no one would
chastise a student who had not the faintest idea that a Quantum Leap was
more than just the title of a science fiction series on television. The
sides form battle lines and fight for the souls and futures of those in
the centre ground. The traditional mix of physics, chemistry and mathematics
leaves little time for appreciation of the fine arts, reply scientists;
but surely English is such an easy option that you could read some scientific
works . . . and so the fight goes on. Those few who study a mixture of ‘arts’
and ‘science’ subjects are looked on as being somehow abnormal and the comment
most often encountered is ‘That’s a strange combination, isn’t it?’ (‘Crossing
the great divide’, Forum, 14 April).

This whole argument saddens me immensely. In my mind, there is no division
at all between ‘arts’ and ‘sciences’, and to this extent the National Curriculum
(which will force students to look at both) is a good thing. However, the
imbalance and lack of specialisation is not! If we look back in history,
we see the split beginning soon after the Renaissance. Certainly, in Classical
days, philosophers and scientists were one and the same; and the work of
Leonardo can convince us that even relatively recently one man could be
both an artist and a scientist. In this context, the old term ‘natural philosopher’
makes a lot of sense – practical investigations were seen as an offshoot
of the queen of arts, philosophy. The definition of ‘artist’ in the Shorter
Oxford English Dictionary contains the meaning ‘chemist’. Things started
to change when classification of human knowledge began, notably with Bacon.
The practical sciences were set on one side of philosophy, and the arts
on the other. This in itself was no bad thing; for, as the amount and depth
of knowledge available began to increase, the task of learning had to become
more specialised, and it would seem to make sense to specialise in fields
connected with each other.

The rot really started to set in when philosophy lost its prestige,
and fewer people started to study it. Then, all that scholars could see
was the divided groups of ‘arts’ and ‘sciences’, with no bridge left between
them. The greatest measure of this was the sudden appearance of the word
‘scientist’ in the mid-19th century (‘artist’ has been around since the
16th century).

The process has accelerated with the increased specialisation. Academics
are expected to be experts in only one or two tiny areas. It is very rare
that these few fields of expertise are drawn from different subjects. It
is a very hard balance to achieve, but surely broad knowledge of many fields
is required? It is strange, then, that the Institute of Physics has recommended
a cut of one-third in the contents of physics courses at university.

It is my firm belief that physics is an art form, and this applies even
more so to mathematics. Perhaps it is because the new emphasis on ‘applicability’
and ‘relevance’ has hit teaching of these subjects so strongly that the
element of inspiration required by all successful ‘scientists’ is underplayed,
and that fellow students (though not teachers, luckily enough) tend to laugh
if one expresses the notion that a certain piece of, say, mathematics has
an aesthetic appeal over and above any functional value. In a similar vein,
the vast technical and analytical skills required for success in the field
of ‘arts’ is underplayed. The result is that students feel that they must
choose between one or the other, whereas the survival of a balanced and
civilised society depends on large numbers of people choosing both.

One final thought: it may be no coincidence that most other European
countries still teach philosophy in their secondary schools, and they have
far healthier scientific communities than Britain does. The apparatus exists
for a similar course in this country (did you know that there is a philosophy
A-level?). Educationalists should aim at removing the prejudices and stereotypes
about the ‘culture gap’ between art and science, and try to show students
that the division is made purely for convenience and that there is no real
difference between the two areas. What better way to do this than including
philosophy (for millennia the subject which has unified all others) in the
traditional syllabus?

Marc Read has just taken his A-levels. He lives in St Helier, Jersey.