Yep, it’s hard to avoid getting caught up in the cultural biases of one’s own time. However, there is a way out of this trap—as Albert Einstein knew.

Adam Becker, in his book What Is Real?, explores how historical events and philosophical ideas affected theories of quantum physics over the decades. He reveals that just because nearly everyone believes in a theory does not mean it is true. Some theories stick around because of historical accidents, charismatic leaders, or philosophical trends.

Becker shows how physicists of the twentieth century tended to jump on the bandwagon instead of learning about and engaging with a variety of ideas; and he notes that this issue is still relevant today. He ends the book by endorsing Einstein’s antidote to the bandwagon trap. In 1944, Einstein wrote:

“So many people today—and even professional scientists—seem to me like somebody who has seen thousands of trees but has never seen a forest. A knowledge of the historic and philosophical background gives that kind of independence from prejudices of his generation from which most scientists are suffering. This independence created by philosophical insight is—in my opinion—the mark of distinction between a mere artisan or specialist and a real seeker after truth.”

Amen, Albert.

On starry nights, far from the technicolor of cities, when no responsibilities are boring into the mind and dulling the senses, it’s easy to romanticize the heavens. The stuff above and the stuff below seem radically different. We are earthly; they are ethereal.

We are made of dust; they are made of stardust.

But what is stardust? The word seems Shakespearean, but it’s not, having arisen less than 200 years ago. It first described the cloudlike look of masses of stars, as seen through telescopes. Then, less than 100 years ago, the word began to refer to a hopelessly romantic quality of mind.

These are very different definitions: one describes the visual semblance of objects far away, the other an intimate feeling close to home. Alan Lightman, however, in Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine, links these ideas together—the distant stars and human dreaminess—by pointing out that earthling dust and ethereal stardust are one and the same:

“It is astonishing but true that if I could attach a small tag to each of the atoms of my body and travel with them backward in time, I would find that those atoms originated in particular stars in the sky. Those exact atoms.”

And so . . . science and romanticism meet again.

It’s a match made in heaven!

And the award for Best Artistry goes to . . . again . . . the Universe!

Congratulations; but you must be weary of winning every year.

Not weary? Just ticking on as usual? I see.

Actually, to be honest, I don’t.

I love to read books like Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine by Alan Lightman, books that illuminate scientific theories and connect them to our daily lives. But there always comes a point in such books where the author admits that we are far from figuring it all out, that we’re nowhere near getting to the bottom of all the mysteries of the universe . . . and whatever lies beyond.

Lightman’s inquiry leads down the paths of science and spirituality—a fascinating journey. However, while he points out many ways in which the two intersect and remain parallel, he also confesses that most of their secrets remain beyond the ken of mere twenty-first-century humans.

Of course, I would not prefer to read a book by an author who claims to know everything!

Sigh. Well, then, instead of yearning for what we cannot have, shall we admire together the artistry of this spiral galaxy?