What about poetry?
Exploring the divide between the two cultures, again
Back in 1959, the physical chemist turned novelist C.P. (Charles Percy) Snow published one of the most influential essays of the 20th century. Well, it had a big influence on me, at any rate. On May 7th of that year, Snow delivered a Rede Lecture entitled “The two cultures and the scientific revolution,” which was subsequently published as a short book.
Snow argued that Western intellectual life had split into two opposing camps: literary intellectuals and scientists. He observed that these groups rarely communicated, often held mutual disdain, and operated with fundamentally different worldviews. Notably, he pointed out that many educated literary figures could not explain basic scientific concepts while scientists often lacked familiarity with classic literature.
Snow viewed this separation as dangerous because it prevented society from effectively addressing major global challenges, particularly poverty and technological change, which he saw as best tackled by a combination of science and humanism. Snow advocated for a reform of education to bridge this gap, suggesting that scientific literacy should become as central to general education as literary culture.
The essay sparked decades of debate. Critics later argued that Snow oversimplified the divide, ignored the existence of interdisciplinary thinkers, or underestimated the role of class and institutional structures in creating this separation. Nevertheless, the “two cultures” framework remains a touchstone in discussions about education, interdisciplinary work, and the relationship between science and society.
One of the most famous quotes from Snow’s lecture, and my personal favorite, goes like this:
“A good many times I have been present at gatherings of people who, by the standards of the traditional culture, are thought highly educated and who have with considerable gusto been expressing their incredulity at the illiteracy of scientists. Once or twice I have been provoked and have asked the company how many of them could describe the Second Law of Thermodynamics. The response was cold: it was also negative. Yet I was asking something which is about the scientific equivalent of: ‘Have you read a work of Shakespeare’s?’”
Of course, when Snow himself crossed the divide between the two cultures, leaving behind the laboratory bench and becoming a literary author, the humanities were in charge of the university and were considered the paragon of high culture. But things were already changing rapidly, as World War II had demonstrated beyond doubt that science was the future — for good or for ill. In both contemporary academia and society at large, it is now the humanities that struggle to justify their own existence, while nobody asks why on earth students wish to graduate in biology or psychology (even though most of them do not, in fact, go on to become biologists or psychologists).
So when I crossed the same divide that Snow did, in the same direction (from biology to philosophy), I knew I was joining the losing team. But I also optimistically (okay, naively) thought that I could make a small contribution toward healing that divide, as someone with a decent reputation in both fields.
What I want to talk about in this essay is a small example of the problem of the two cultures, specifically the relationship — if any — between poetry and (scientific) skepticism. The occasion was a meeting of the New York City Skeptics which I co-organized with a good friend of mine. These gatherings are inspired by the ancient Greek symposium (or the Roman convivium): a group of like minded people get together to enjoy food, wine, and good conversation. Since I don’t have enough room in my Brooklyn apartment, we meet at a diner in downtown Manhattan.
Recently, the topic was poetry, and specifically why people who are interested in science and skepticism rarely talk about it. There are exceptions, of course. One of my best friends is both a professional biologist and a published poet (not to mention an exhibited painter). But such cases are almost as rare as the phoenix.
We structured the conversation around four sources: Ian McKellen’s recitation of “The Stranger’s Case,” Shakespeare’s monologue in a play about Thomas More, pertaining to the problem of unwanted immigration in England in the 16th century; a deconstruction of the same poem by Dame Sara, a Shakespeare coach; “When I heard the Learn’d Astronomer,” a poem by Walt Whitman; and “Tell all the truth but tell it slant,” a poem by Emily Dickinson.
I suggest you pause at this point and check out the four references. It will only take a few minutes. I’ll wait.
