My collegiate career began in the so-called hard sciences. Alongside my double major in pre-veterinary medicine and biology, I minored in chemistry. I was that strange student who actually enjoyed organic chemistry, even working as a tutor in chemistry as well as in mathematics.
I was not just good at memorizing facts and formulas; I had a knack for understanding the reason things operated the way they did. I could mentally see the relations between things. For example, when a chemistry professor noticed once that the textbook handled a particular practice problem in a different way than the previous problems, he said something like, “I see what they did, but I’m not sure why.” So, I raised my hand and offered the reason I saw for handling that question differently. He replied, “You are correct, and you have a future in engineering.”
In a way, the professor’s words to me partially predicted my future. I did, in fact, decide to drop pre-veterinary medicine and instead envisioned getting a PhD in biomedical science or some other closely related discipline. I had decided I did not just want to learn a bunch of knowledge and apply it; I wanted to come up with new solutions to existing problems.
I hit a bit of a snag, though. At the end of my third semester, just before Christmas break, I learned that, even with my scholarships and grants, I was $500 shy of meeting my tuition, room, and board fees for the spring semester. Unfortunately, the university could not find any way for me to return, not even via loan. Thus, I packed up all my stuff, left for break, and did not know where I would be going for my education—if anywhere—three weeks from then.
I ended up transferring to a different college, but I continued to major in biology and to study organic chemistry. However, another classroom encounter began to shift my outlook a bit. In a cell biology lecture, we were discussing the possible applications of genetic testing. The professor brought up a scenario in which a father (let’s call him “Tim”) gets diagnosed with Huntington’s disease in his mid-forties. The professor stated that Tim’s children could get a genetic test alongside their spouses to determine the odds that their future children would contract the genetic disease—and thus make an informed decision on whether or not to conceive.
Instinctively, this whole outlook seemed fundamentally wrong to me, as it was based on some faulty premises. In a moment of boldness, I raised my hand and asked, “Should Tim never have been born?” Quizzically, the professor looked at me and said, “No, I’m not saying that.” I responded, “Then why shouldn’t his grandchildren be born just because they might also have Huntington’s disease?” The professor was confused about the point I was trying to make and requested we discuss it further at a later time.
If our scientific and technological capacities continue to grow exponentially while our collective ability to reason morally continues to decline, then we are headed for disaster.
At our follow-up meeting, I explained, “There are two sentences that contain the exact same words but in a different order. This order completely changes the meaning of the words. First, ‘I do not want children to be born with Huntington’s disease.’ This is laudable. Second, ‘I do not want children with Huntington’s disease to be born.’ This is horrific. The first wishes to prevent a disease out of concern for children. The second seeks to prevent children so as to avoid dealing with a disease.”
Much to my surprise, the professor still expressed incomprehension, stating simply that we would just have to agree to disagree. It struck me that, not only did we have different conclusions based on different reasoning processes, but we could not even have a conversation. It dawned on me, in that moment, that even some highly educated professors working in the hard sciences may not understand the basics of moral philosophy or are otherwise incapable of grasping human sentiments that lie outside of their particular area of expertise. Apparently, this fact does not stop some from lecturing about possible applications of their knowledge that involve ethical questions and judgments about human values.
The world often holds medical doctors, science professors, and other terminally degreed STEM professionals as the smartest and most intelligent members of our society. Yet, they can fail to comprehend basic points about morality and what constitutes humane versus inhumane perspectives. (Dr. Josef Mengele is an extreme but real-world example.)
Long story short, I changed my major to theology and wrote my undergraduate thesis on the theological and moral implications of genetic research. I took a cue from just war theory and covered the right to study genetics, the right in studying genetics, and added a third category: the right application of genetic knowledge already obtained.
Several serious points in this area need to be addressed. At the risk of oversimplification, scientific study gives us greater knowledge about the physical universe. In turn, it makes us capable of inventing new technologies that can be used to manipulate matter and processes, giving us greater power and control—which can be used for good or evil purposes. The same knowledge and sometimes one and the same technology can be used for either morally good reasons or morally heinous ends.
If our scientific and technological capacities continue to grow exponentially while our collective ability to reason morally continues to decline, then we are headed for disaster. One could reasonably argue that we are already in such a state of emergency and have been for a very long time.
This is why, I think, required study of the humanities is essential, especially for STEM majors and professionals. Unless and until they understand moral reasoning and other aspects of what makes human life valuable, they may be misguided about how to judge the moral character of the application of their knowledge and inventions.
Even more fundamentally, I often ask myself: Why is it that courses in logic are not required in every high school and university core curriculum? Watching contemporary political debates reminds me of middle school cafeteria feuds. Social media interactions are littered with poor reasoning, as we often recognize in others’ posts but not our own. Learning about valid arguments and logical fallacies could greatly help our everyday discourse, let alone help us to have productive conversations at higher levels.
We think we are so advanced because of all of our technology (whether we personally understand how any of it works or not), but thirteenth-century teenagers going to university (e.g., St. Thomas Aquinas or St. Bonaventure) were expected to study logic and rhetoric before they could go into higher fields, such as theology, law, or medicine. No wonder they were able to craft arguments with such precision in ways that make many present-day academic papers seem comparatively mindless.
In conclusion, STEM students and professionals need to study the humanities for at least two reasons: 1) to become more human and 2) to benefit and protect society at large. It could be tremendously beneficial to expose STEM practitioners to valuable works of art, literature, philosophy, and theology that open up ways of seeing the world and of expressing ideas that go beyond mathematical calculations and chemical manipulations. Furthermore, society needs their knowledge and power to be guided by higher principles, lest they be employed in ways that make the world less humane rather than more human. The value of the hard sciences and their potential effects cannot be determined apart from a grasp of human values. Numerical values are, in themselves, meaningless. Moral, human, and cultural values are not grounded in mere scientific facts. They require a level of perception and understanding that is at once more fundamental and more profound—that is, higher and deeper.
It is my contention that if STEM fields are to benefit humanity rather than destroy it, then they must be informed by the humanities. (Of course, this presupposes that the humanities studies are themselves conducted well. That’s a different—but no less important—matter for a different day.) Far from being a waste of time, good humanities courses could make all the difference in societal effects generated by the STEM fields.