I’m Mad at Science, So I Don’t Believe in it Anymore
Who Needs Science Anyway? It’s just facts and stuff
I am a woman of science. And by that I mean, I took biology in 9th grade, barely scraped by in Chemistry in 10th, and 35 years ago, to satisfy the science requirement at my Ivy league college, took a newly offered course that was a kind of science overview designed for humanities majors. The year-long course included a half a semester each of statistics, physics, biology and genetics. The professor who taught the physics portion of the class was a Nobel Laureate who simply could not dumb things down enough for a room full of English majors. When the average on that semester’s midterm was a 57 (I got a 66, thank you very much.), the professor couldn’t have been more apologetic. “Did I do such a terrible job of explaining this material?” His distress was evident. He was sweating and mopping his brow. He clutched his chest as if in anguish. Turns out, he was having a heart attack. Luckily, one of my classmates was an EMT, 9–1–1 was called, heroic lifesaving ensued, and we all got A’s.
So to recap: I got an A in Science, from a Nobel Laureate teaching at my Ivy League college. I’m an expert.
Not only am I, by any reasonable unbiased measure, a totally sciency-type person and stuff, but I trust science. I believe that climate change is real, vaccines save…
