I’d like to begin by congratulating my fellow graduates in the Rockefeller Class of 2015. I’m proud to be among you, and as one of your peers there’s obviously not much I can say to you by way of advice. But I can address the important people seated with you, your parents and family. If they’re like mine, they’re probably wondering what exactly their son or daughter has been doing for the past five to seven years.
Every path through a PhD is different. From a variety of experiences and educational backgrounds in Applied Physics or Zoology, we arrive here from the world over, don a white lab coat, and call ourselves scientists. Invariably, we all feel like impostors at first. Entering a busy laboratory, it is easy to feel overwhelmed, surrounded by people who know what they're doing, while you expend every ounce of mental effort trying to follow along. But this disorientation is by design. It is in truth, the first real taste of freedom. There are no departments here to define ourselves by, classes are minimal, and the support, from the Dean’s office, the library, or student housing, is so extraordinary, that your next experiment is your sole focus. You are encouraged to learn science the best possible way: by doing it, from day one, your curiosity all the fuel you’ll need.
For there is a simple truth behind what a PhD means here, and that is learning how to ask questions. And if I may, I’d like to posit that one question stands out as a key foundation, one that animates every scientist in this room on a daily basis, one that is the source of many of our adventures. It is the first question I asked here in earnest, and it is one that all of us scientist or not, can relate to. Here it is:
“How do we know that?”
I was in Bob Darnell’s office in my first year when I asked it. Bob had presented to the first year as part of the Seminars in Modern Biology. It’s one of only two mandatory courses here, and it consists entirely of Rockefeller faculty presenting their
work to students as they sort out which lab to join. I arrived mainly interested in the cell biology of viruses with the terrific capacity invade cells many times their size and make us sick, from the common cold to Ebola. How did they manage that? However, Bob’s presentation was on a disease called paraneoplastic neurodegeneration and the role of a protein called NOVA in regulating RNA splicing in the brain…he might as well have been speaking in ancient Greek. What’s worse, I’m quite sure I fell asleep. The only thing I recall was him mentioning one of my favorite books on science, Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis, which was roughly based on the Rockefeller Institute in its early days. This prompted me to write him an email, and I soon found myself in his office learning what the lab was up to at a more relaxed pace so I could understand. <Lab description> And so I asked “How do we know that?” Without hesitation, Bob fired up his computer and showed me the data. He revealed to me a new cartography of our genomes, that long list of instructions that makes a person, with stunning depth and clarity. It dawned on me that I could take the solutions in one lab and bring them to address scientific questions I was interested in. After our discussion, which lasted the better part of two hours, I asked to rotate in his laboratory. I had found a mentor.
“How do we know that?” It’s a powerful question for 5 words. It’s powerful precisely because it takes any explanation or observation and immediately, instinctively even, holds it up to scrutiny. No explanation for the workings of nature is immune to this question. And note that a satisfactory answer to this question is never “we know because I said so,” no matter who is speaking. Only verifiable experiment and careful observation can answer it. The egalitarian quality of this question contributes to a unique culture here. At Rockefeller, you’re surrounded by world-class professors, physicians, postdocs and staff, all of whom
are your immediate peers. We share this beautiful campus, run into each other on the way to lunch or a lecture, and rub shoulders over drinks at the Faculty and Student’s Club, where there is little pretense between a Nobel prize winner and a first year student. That is because you are encouraged to question and to doubt, in the service of a better verifiable explanation. This refreshing attitude pervades campus life, such that on a daily basis it’s not President Tessier-Lavigne, Dean Strickland, or Professor Vosshall; it’s Marc, Sid, and Leslie. A fierce curiosity for the natural world is the only badge that is truly required.
This curiosity led me to find the right virus to study, which brought me to Charlie Rice’s lab. And one meeting with Bob and Charlie together was all it took, I now had two outstanding mentors. Far from them balking at the idea of an untested first year graduate student taking on an independent project, bridging two laboratories, and requiring biochemical and computational skills he did not possess, they said go for it. Their trust showed me that they are as much students as I am.
By asking “how do we know that?” we jolt ourselves into thinking, both critically and creatively, because the answer is often “we don’t”. And that’s okay. In fact that’s good. That’s when “How do we know that?" transforms into “How could we know that?” which we use to test made-up explanations known as hypotheses. It’s a call to action that is usually followed by its famous cousins “I wonder what would happen if…” and later “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I know I’m not alone in saying that these questions help form the daily backbone of working on a PhD. Doubt plus curiosity is a powerful combination.
Now, contrary to what you might think, I don't want it seem as if science is an all-encompassing panacea for every question worth asking. Knowledge is not the same as wisdom. Part of the reason "How do we know that?" is such an important question to ask in
science, is because it’s easy to spot when it no longer applies. Standing in front of the many works of art that adorn this campus, this question is all but useless. It is utterly, perhaps comically, inept while falling in love.
This question makes it clear that science is a means, a way of looking at the world, and should not be confused with being an end unto itself. And here again our question has something to offer, because it is best phrased as "how do WE know that?" As a distinctly human creation, science is a great big "WE.” It is less a collection of facts and figures than a riveting history of brave souls who've asked "how do we know that?" devised an experiment, and shared the results with others. It is a history of invention and entrepreneurship, of engagement with public leadership to action, of articulating the need for research, of pointing out uncomfortable truths, and of providing life-saving cures. This is the legacy we formally inherit today, and it hinges on a great responsibility: for as much as we learn to doubt by asking “how do we know that?”, we have an equal if not more pressing responsibility to inspire everyone to ask it. What makes “how do we know that?” so special is that it is the best of Socratic doors. It’s an invitation to bring others in close, to show, to teach, and to nurture face-to-face the very human desire to know.
And so, friends and family, I have a challenge for you. Ask your son or daughter, or their advisor, or a passerby later at the reception, who’s carrying and constantly glancing at a timer. They’re probably a student or postdoc in the middle of an experiment, enjoying a brief snack. Ask them what they work on. And when they make a declaration on their subject, ask them, “how do we know that?” I guarantee that the first response is likely to be “it’s complicated,” but if you wait, the follow-up response can move you. And if they're really good, you might just want to head to the lab to ask and see for yourself.
As new PhDs graduate, I'm reflecting on the below convocation address I delivered at my own PhD ceremony about science's most essential question: "How do we know that?" Equal parts #NightScience meditation and a call to action. Sometimes we need to hear from our younger selves. #StandUpForScience