Knocking on Heaven's Door - Lisa Randall [189]
In the past few years, I’ve been fortunate to have had a variety of opportunities to meet and work with creative people in different walks of life, and it’s interesting to reflect on what they share. Scientists, writers, artists, and musicians might seem very different on the surface, but the nature of skills, talents, and temperaments is not always as distinctive as you might expect. I’ll now round up our story of science and scientific thinking with some of the qualities I’ve found most striking.
OUTLYING TALENT
Neither scientists nor artists are likely to be thinking about creativity per se when they do something significant. Few (if any) successful people sit down at their desks and decide, “I will be creative today.” Instead, they are focused on a problem. And when I say focused, I mean single-mindedly, can’t-help-but-think-about-it, intently-concentrated-on-their-work focused.
We usually see the end product of creative endeavors without witnessing the enormous dedication and technical expertise that underlie them. When I saw the 2008 film Man on Wire, which celebrated Philippe Petit’s 1974 high-wire walk a quarter of a mile up in the air between the twin towers of the World Trade Center—a feat that at the time captured the attention of most New Yorkers like myself, but also many others around the world—I appreciated his sense of adventure and play and skill. But Philippe doesn’t just bolt a tightrope into two walls and wiggle it around. The choreographer Elizabeth Streb showed me the inch-thick book with the many drawings and calculations he did before he installed a wire in her studio. Only then did I understand the preparation and focus that guaranteed the stability of his enterprise. Philippe was a “self-taught engineer,” as he playfully described himself. Only after careful study and application of known laws of physics to understanding his materials’ mechanical properties was he prepared to walk his tightrope. Of course until he actually did it, Philippe couldn’t be absolutely sure he had taken everything into account—merely everything he could anticipate, which, not surprisingly, was enough.
If you find this level of absorption hard to believe, look around. People are frequently transfixed by their activities—whether of small or great significance. Your neighbor does crossword puzzles, your friends sit mesmerized watching sports on TV, someone on the subway is so absorbed in a book she misses her stop—not to mention the countless hours you might spend playing video games.
Those who are preoccupied by research are in the fortunate situation where what they do for a living coincides with what they love—or at the very least can’t bear to neglect. Professionals in this category generally have the comforting idea (albeit possibly illusory) that what they do might have lasting significance. Scientists like to think we are part of a bigger mission to determine truths about the world. We might not have time for a crossword puzzle on a particular day but we will very likely want more time to spend on a research project—especially one connected to a bigger picture and larger goal. The actual act might involve the same sort of absorption as engaging in a game or even watching sports on TV.70 But a scientist is likely to continue thinking about research when driving a car or falling asleep at night. The ability to stay committed to the project for days or months or years is certainly connected to the belief that the search is important—even if only a few might understand it (at least at first)—and even if the trajectory might ultimately prove