Applying the Scientific Method to Learn from Mistakes and Approach Truth

Finlay MacRitchie

• Publisher: CRC Press
• Year: 2022
• ISBN:
  9781000531404
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Teaching Science & Technology

In its simplest form, the scientific method can be thought of as learning from our mistakes and trying to correct them. True scientists try to think rationally, never adopt dogmatic opinions and are always willing to listen to opposing views. They never claim to know the absolute truth but are relentless in their search for it.

In this timely book, the author describes the fundamentals of critical scientific thinking. The book further examines the correct use of the scientific method and how to apply it to current events and scientific topics to obtain honest assessments. Current controversies discussed include climate change and COVID-related lockdowns.

Additional Features include:

• Demonstrates the use of the scientific method to assist with objective analysis of issues
• Addresses that induction plays a role but the true method for advancing knowledge is hypothesis-deduction
• Explores current hot topics within the framework of the scientific method
• Outlines common misunderstandings of the scientific method

Applying the Scientific Method to Learn from Mistakes and Approach Truth is approachable enough for the general public and recommended for university and advanced high school science educators and their students.

chapter oneThe Importance of Building Resilience

DOI: 10.1201/9781003254065-1

Early Memories

Currently, there seems to be a public perception that young Australians of today and possibly those from other Western countries (especially some males, not all) are lacking in the resilience that was characteristic of earlier generations. The term “snowflakes” is often heard. This was not a term you could imagine being applied to the pioneers who contributed to building this successful and vibrant country. Nor could it be thought to describe those who volunteered to fight in World War I or who battled the enemy in Europe and the Pacific islands in World War II. What has changed? I was a five-year-old kid when World War II started so I will have a try at answering the question in terms of what has happened since that time and will base it on my own experience.

I grew up on a dairy farm in Northcliffe, a small town in the south-west of Western Australia. The population was only a few hundred and this may have even included the cats and dogs. My parents had migrated from Scotland several years before I was born. On arrival, they joined groups of other migrants from the UK to be thrown into what was then virgin country. These pioneers were expected to clear the big-timber forest and to establish farms, which they did. The government’s group settlement scheme provided interest-only loans to enable them to purchase livestock and machinery in order to inaugurate their farms. My memories of the people of that time are of hard workers who cooperated willingly with each other and faced a daunting future with optimism. They met the obstacles that confronted them with a sense of humour and triumphed to form a successful community. An example of their self-effacing humour was that they always boasted that the town of Northcliffe was not on the map. This was true. The maps at the time showed the road and railway line from Perth going south and finishing at Pemberton, the nearest town some 30 kilometres to the north.

I recall a couple of amusing incidents when I was probably only about five or six years old. As is the custom today, children would celebrate their birthdays with parties and invite their friends. Since I lived in the country, we didn’t have next-door neighbours as such. Our nearest neighbours were at a distance of several miles. At one party I attended at a neighbour’s home some six miles away, it was quite a hot summer’s day. I saw that the children were going to a water tank to get drinks. One of the children went to this tank, filled a glass, and brought it to me. I thought the red drink that I was brought was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted and I thought “what a wonderful tank!” I wanted more of that so, a bit later, I said I was thirsty. One of the children went to the tank and filled a glass. Instead of the succulent red drink that had come out of the tank before, I was brought a glass of colourless, tasteless liquid. I was thirsty but not that thirsty. How could it be that a tank that had held this delicious red drink before had now changed to one that only produced this tasteless liquid? Of course, what I had witnessed and didn’t understand at the time was that, before going to the tank, the kids had poured a small amount of raspberry cordial into the glass.

There was another story I recall that involved the same neighbours. We always had cats as pets. One of the cats was a female tabby and she would occasionally disappear. After being absent for several months, she would return and resume her life as if nothing had changed. We happened to relate this to our neighbours. “How strange” they said, “we have a cat that does the same. It goes away and then, about six months later, it reappears perfectly healthy”. “What sort of cat is it?”, we asked. “It’s a female tabby”, they replied.

When I was five years old, I went to a school that was only a couple of hundred yards from our home. On reaching the age of ten, this school closed because the number of students had declined below the critical value which was eight. The nearest school was then in the town of Northcliffe, some five miles away. Accompanied by my next older sister, I had to ride a bicycle to school along an unsealed gravel road, usually highly corrugated. Before starting the journey, I had to milk about four cows by hand and feed some calves before having breakfast and setting off for school. One thing that has always puzzled me was that on the way to school, it was mostly uphill and, on the way home, it was mostly uphill. I was never able to explain this topographical paradox. In winter, it could be bitterly cold in the mornings so that I could scarcely feel my hands on the handlebars. In summer, the afternoons could be extremely hot and, on occasions, we would have to fight our way through bush fires. Occasionally, we would see large snakes slither across the road. On one occasion, I saw the tail of a gigantic snake disappearing into the bush. It must have been a python. I didn’t think there were pythons in that area but I learned later that there was at least one species.

Bush fires (called wildfires in the U.S.A.) were the only natural disaster that we had to contend with. Our house was built with timber and, as it was surrounded by trees and bush, was quite vulnerable. Bushfires were regular events in summer but usually we could cope. There was one occasion, however, when we were in great danger. The seriousness of a bush fire depends on the fuel load (trees and bush), high temperature, and low humidity but perhaps the most dangerous variable is strong wind. There was one occasion when it was very windy. We saw smoke in the distance but, suddenly in the space of a few minutes, the fire was upon us. With the strong wind, it seemed to have travelled through the tops of the trees. Our defence preparations were to have buckets of water drawn from a nearby well and hessian bags that had been soaked with water. Our house caught fire in several places but we were able to extinguish the flames using the hessian bags and dousing with buckets of water. The haymaking season had just finished and we had a shed full of hay quite close to the house. Embers landed on the hay and we were unable to prevent the fire from spreading. The hay did not go up in flames as it was tightly packed. However, it smouldered throughout the night and, next morning, all that remained was a heap of ash from the hay and the shed.

While on the subject of hay, I should mention a chore that helped me develop tolerance for discomfort. In haymaking, after the grass is cut, it is allowed to partially dry and then raked into windrows. Then a pitchfork is used to pile the grass into conical heaps which we called stooks. Later, these can be easily loaded onto a cart and transferred to the hay shed. With both hands needed on the pitchfork to make the stooks, we would be subjected to clouds of bush flies that tried to land on our faces. The only way to cope was to continually shake your head to keep them off. In Australia, some people used hats with corks dangling from them to deal with the problem but we didn’t ever try that. It was a great exercise for developing endurance while maintaining our composure.

Nowadays, when I encounter ten-year-old boys, I find it difficult to imagine that they could do what I did at that time. On reflection, I suppose it was a fairly hard life. I didn’t think that it was particularly hard. I just accepted that was the way it was. On the farm, we had no running water and no electricity. We got our potable water from tanks that collected water from rain falling on the roof. Occasionally, birds would foolishly build their nests in the guttering so that when there was a downpour, the poor things would be swept into the tanks, to be discovered some time later. Our lighting was lamps using kerosene or methylated spirits. Wood was used for the kitchen stove and the living room fire during winter. We had no air conditioning so, in the hot summer nights, we would leave doors open for cooling. Occasionally, bats would enter and fly around the living room, knocking against the walls and anything else in their paths. Wood was plentiful and one of my chores was to chop the firewood for the stove and the living room fireplace.

My reason for recounting these details of my early life is not to attract accolades. It wasn’t such a hard life. We always had enough food, albeit very plain, and, as a member of a large family of which I was the youngest, I enjoyed interaction with my siblings. In the evenings, we read books, played cards and other games, listened to radio programmes, and played records on the gramophone. What I now realize and acknowledge with gratitude is that my experiences stimulated my mind and also helped me to develop resilience. This has served me later in life to face difficult situations, which everyone inevitably encounters. Many young children these days are not provided with the conditions required to build strong resilience. In addition, many of the activities in which they participate, such as using smartphones, are passive and not intellectually stimulating. Another memory I have is that, before starting school, one of my sisters gave me some lessons in reading. Looking back, I find it amazing that I picked up the skill with so little instruction. Soon, I was able to read simple texts. I know that I am not a genius so it makes me realize how easy it is for children to pick up knowledge when their minds are open.

At the age of 12, I was awarded what was called an Inspector’s Scholarship. This was awarded to a restricted number of students who lived in regional areas that were not close to secondary schools. The scholarship made it possible for my parents to send me to the nearest secondary school, Bunbury High School. This was over a hundred miles away and necessitated boarding in Bunbury during school terms. My new life helped me to develop independence and self-reliance which again was part of building resilience.

I did fairly well in my studies but I should mention one subject that I took for one term and that was Latin. It is noteworthy because it was the only subject in my whole academic career that I scored nought out of a hundred in the final exam at the end of term. There was a rumour going around the school that Latin was essential if one decided to become a pharmacist. In fact, I didn’t know of anyone in the school at that time who took up a career in pharmacy. In any case, I am sure that it was possible to become a pharmacist without knowing much Latin. It was one of those rumours that typically gets spread around and swallowed by everyone without it having any basis. I realize now that such shibboleths pervade society so that many widely held beliefs have strong influences on people but are based on falsehoods.

For our first class in Latin, the teacher (a lady) burst into the classroom and screamed, “humanum est errare”. This got my attention. I thought this is different. I think I might enjoy a class with this eccentric woman. But I was to be disappointed. No sooner had she reached the desk than she began filling the blackboard with conjugations and declensions. I had never heard of these words and still don’t know what a declension is. I had come from a one-teacher school out beyond the black stump, a bit to the left. The kids from the town of Bunbury were more at home and knew a lot more than me. I lost interest immediately and reverted to making paper aeroplanes and flying them around the room when the teacher wasn’t looking. This was practically all the time as she was completely immersed in writing furiously on the blackboard.

At the end of term, we had an exam. I recall waiting outside the classroom before being ushered in to take the exam. There was one kid who approached me and seemed to be in a sorry state. He was almost in tears. He said to me “I don’t know anything for this exam”. In those days, I was a bit of a devil. I was not the nice, kind perfect human being that everyone knows me as today. I was a really nasty kid. So when this little fellow came to me with his tale of woe, I said, “Relax! There’s nothing to worry about. There’s only one thing you need to know for this exam. It’s humanum est errare. If you know that, you’ll sail through this exam”. So, he wrote it down and I explained what it meant. Then, for the few minutes before going into the room, he was busily trying to memorize this stupid thing.

For the next class, the teacher came in with the exam marks. She read out the names of everyone and their marks. “MacRitchie, nought”. “Stand up!” She made me stand up and continue standing for the duration of the class. A little later, she called out “Mills”. He was the kid who I had “coached”. I had taught him everything I knew – about Latin that is. He got nought as well and was made to stand up for the remainder of the class. While we were both standing, I happened to look across at my protégé. There were tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt terribly humiliated. I wasn’t fazed at all. In fact, I derived a certain notoriety from it and I thought that the girls in the class might notice me as I felt that they hadn’t noticed me up till then. That didn’t work however. The girls in the class were mostly goody two-shoe types. They wouldn’t dream of being associated with a kid who had got nought in an exam and been shamed by being made to stand for the whole class. For my protégé, it was different. I had done well in all the other exams. It was sheer bloody-mindedness that I didn’t do well in this one. But my protégé just didn’t have the capacity to learn and I think he was taken out of the school soon after.

As I recall this incident, I feel it was an important one in my development. I think it was one of the first times in my life up till then that I had felt compassion. I do remember an earlier incident when I killed a bird unintentionally. I was playing a silly game in a small orchard we had next to our house. The game consisted of gathering stones, whirling around and hurling them as you would when throwing a discus. On one throw, something didn’t seem right as I sensed that the stone had hit an object. When I investigated, I found a dead bird at the foot of one of the fruit trees. After so many years, I still remember the feeling of sadness I experienced then. I felt a similar sadness for my poor schoolmate. Compassion, I believe, is an attribute that is pretty much absent in young kids. It is something that we acquire during our journey towards adulthood. At least, most people do. Some don’t but that is a topic that would need to be covered in another whole book.

I recall an incident when I must have been five or six years old. My father served in both World Wars I and II. In World War I, he had been in a Scottish regiment, the Seaforth Highlanders. We had a book that had the names and details of all who had served. I was fascinated by this book. My father’s name was there and next to his name was a number. While the family was seated in the living room one evening, I innocently asked, “Is that the number of Germans my father killed?” What followed was pandemonium. Two of my sisters were escorting my mother to her bedroom. Someone was running to fetch a glass of water. I couldn’t understand what was happening. “What’s all this fuss about?”, I was thinking.

I felt great empathy for my protégé. I thought it was most unfair to subject the poor kid to such humiliation. The teacher obviously failed to understand that he didn’t have the intellectual capacity required so it was cruel to humiliate him in that manner. The lesson I learned and now realize was that the capacity for compassion is an essential quality for a balanced human to develop. I also don’t wish to give the impression of denigrating Latin. I simply recount my experience at the time. Later, I was able to appreciate at least a little of the great contribution that Latin has made to Western culture.

My time at high school passed without much difficulty. One activity I should mention was that I participated in the School Cadets, which existed at that time. It included spending time on the rifle range for target practice. The rifle we used was a 0.303 Enfield, the standard rifle that had been used in World War II. In addition, camps of a week or so duration were held and included drill practice and long marches, sometimes at night. When I completed secondary school, I decided to take time off before starting university. The time off was planned to be two years but it turned out to be three because I was called up for National Service which was compulsory for 18-year olds at that time.

Pre-university Days

The three years enabled me to work and save enough money to cover my living expenses for my first year at university. I didn’t want to ask for support from my parents as they were far from well-off. I was banking on getting a Commonwealth Scholarship at the end of my first year. In a sense, I burned my bridges and this gave me the incentive to succeed. I saved just sufficient money to cover my living expenses at the university hostel for my first year. Fortunately, there were no tuition fees at the time. The University of Western Australia was claimed to be a free university and so it was. The only expenses I incurred were for minor ones such as student union fees and, of course, textbooks and the like. I took various jobs during my pre-university three years. A land settlement scheme for returned servicemen (from World War II) was in operation at the time and there were ample opportunities for work in addition to helping on my parent’s farm. One job involved using two horses to pull a heavy iron frame to level the ground after bulldozers had churned it up when clearing land by moving trees and logs into stacks prior to burning. Another source of work was caretaking of properties. Some of the returned servicemen who had been allocated farms were ill-equipped to manage them. Some had no experience of rural and farming life, were unable to cope and had to leave. My caretaking activities included milking cows by machine and looking after livestock, mainly pigs and calves until they could be transferred to other viable farms. Another source of work was on tobacco farms and this involved planting and harvesting. The tobacco industry was part of the returned servicemen’s land settlement scheme. However, this industry soon failed and had to be abandoned.

In my third year after leaving school, I was called up to do National Service training which was compulsory at that time. We could choose which of the three services to enter and I opted for the Air Force. This meant six-month training at the RAAF station at Pearce in Western Australia. The first three months were devoted to what was called Ground Combat, essentially infantry training. The idea was that, in the event of an attack on the station, national servicemen would be part of the defence. We were given instruction in the use of weapons which at that time included the 0.303 Enfield rifle and machine guns, the Bren and Thompson (Tommy gun), grenades and mortars. Parade ground drill was an important part of our activities and other training involved deactivating booby traps and participating in mock battles. Our main activity was target practice using the rifle on the firing range.

There were many anecdotes I could relate about my National Service experiences but I will mention just a few. One exercise was to use hand grenades which were thrown from a trench. A hand grenade has a clamp with a pin to hold it in place. When the pin is removed, the grenade is kept safe by firmly holding the clamp. When the grenade is thrown, the clamp is released and there is a time of a few seconds before the grenade explodes. One of the national servicemen was obviously someone who had not played much sport and didn’t have the coordination to throw (actually bowl with a straight arm). When his arm reached the highest point, the grenade simply ...