Chapter 1: The Challenge of Understanding

There’s a well-known anecdote about physicist Richard Feynman at a cocktail gathering. While mingling, he stumbled upon a group discussing a recent physics breakthrough. When he approached, the room fell silent. Feynman encouraged them to continue, only to hear one person say, “We can’t discuss that; it’s too complex.” To which Feynman replied, “You were managing just fine when no one grasped it. The issue now is that one person does understand it.”

His comment might have seemed a bit callous, but it highlighted a truth about intellectual discourse. It reveals a certain discomfort when someone with expertise enters the conversation. People often engage in half-hearted discussions about topics beyond their grasp, but when confronted by knowledgeable individuals, there tends to be a collective realization of their own shortcomings.

This phenomenon isn’t always met with humility; often, it incites defensiveness, frustration, or even hostility. In the United States, there has long been a tendency to resent expertise in favor of populist sentiments that prioritize “common sense.” This often results in individuals speaking authoritatively on subjects they know little about, yet they typically recognize when an expert is present and tend to hold back.

The internet has certainly amplified the spread of conspiracy theories and the voices of those who lack substantial knowledge. However, what’s perhaps less apparent is how our culture has increasingly normalized the dismissal of expert opinions. It’s hard to envision a similar scenario today without someone rising to challenge Feynman — often misrepresenting the very physics he was discussing.

This dynamic can be seen as a larger scale of a common issue: the struggle of marginalized voices, particularly women and people of color, to be heard over those who refuse to acknowledge their expertise. While there have been strides in some areas, many facets of our culture seem to have regressed, where expertise can be met with skepticism or outright dismissal.

Take the epidemiologist, for instance: “Don’t tell me about the infection fatality rate or why masks are essential.” Or the pharmacologist whose insights on vaccines are rejected with claims of danger. Similarly, climatologists face accusations of conspiracies, with detractors eager to argue against years of dedicated research.

Knowledge is vital, and yet, a significant portion of our society appears to be increasingly skeptical of it. How did we arrive at this point? Why is it happening?

Alejandro González Iñárritu’s acclaimed 2006 film Babel explores the interconnected lives of four families across diverse cultures, all affected by the aftermath of a single rifle shot. Each family faces challenges in voicing their experiences, and the film concludes with the poignant reminder, “If you want to be understood… listen.”

Having spent years in the pharmaceutical and biotechnology sectors, my role involved aiding scientists in the efficient development of new drugs. My experience spans over two decades of grappling with the intricacies of climate change science. Yet, I often find my expertise — and that of others — dismissed as mere conspiracy or misunderstanding by those clearly lacking foundational knowledge. This dismissal can be incredibly frustrating, leading to discussions that become polarized and tribal. Listening becomes a lost art.

The issue isn’t merely that I should disregard their views on science — these are fundamentally incorrect. Reality holds significance. However, the dismissal of expert perspectives carries an emotional weight. There’s a palpable fear that their lives are adversely affected, leading to misplaced blame directed at the very expertise that seeks to offer solutions. This breeds resentment, as they feel belittled and manipulated by forces beyond their control. In many cases, they are justified in their feelings, even if the specifics they latch onto are patently false.

How can I genuinely listen to the human experiences they’re expressing when their arguments seem so factually flawed and often disregard my own humanity, relegating me to the role of the dreaded “evil expert”? Conversely, how can they hear me when I represent the source of their pain and frustration? I’m not certain of the answer — or if one exists. Yet, I increasingly suspect that the core issue runs deeper than mere denial of expertise.

This trend is not confined to science; similar patterns emerge in discussions surrounding race, economics, sexuality, and technology. We often divide ourselves based on our interpretations of objective reality, leading to painful rejections fueled by anger and dismissal.

Babel also reminds us, “Pain is universal… But so is hope.” How do we cultivate hope when pain dominates our lives, and we struggle to communicate effectively with one another? I honestly don’t know. How do we begin to bridge this gap?

The first video, "Why there's no such thing as objective reality | Greg Anderson," delves into the complexities of perception and reality, challenging viewers to reconsider their understanding of what is real.

The second video, "Subjective and Objective reality," explores the nuanced distinctions between these concepts, prompting a deeper reflection on how they shape our interactions and understanding of the world.