Science and Art

I grew up thinking that there was a clean dichotomy between science and art. There were the science types—analytical, objective, data-driven, left-brained, and methodical. And there were the art types—intuitive, subjective, emotion-driven, right-brained, and spontaneous. I even went to a college where the campus was physically divided by scientific and artistic disciplines: the south campus housed the school of engineering, mathematics, chemistry, physics, and biology, and the north campus housed literature, humanities, sculpture, dance, and music.

I’m not the first to notice this dichotomy. Most famously, British scientist C.P. Snow published a Rede Lecture titled “The Two Cultures” back in 1959. The essay title was intended to draw attention to what Snow saw as the profound cultural gap between scientists and arts-based humanities practitioners, a separation that he felt had grown increasingly counter-productive in the 1950s. Snow argued that the lack of communication between these two groups was one of the principal obstacles to progress, and the lack of mutual understanding between them was increasingly becoming a source of friction. He proposed that both cultures should be reconciled. Since its publication, “The Two Cultures” speech has become a cornerstone of debates about the relationship between the sciences and the arts. 

As I developed my appreciation for both the sciences and the arts, I not only learned that there is a false distinction between the two, but that they are not even alternative disciplines. In fact, many of the most impactful scientists I know have the strongest artistic tendencies, and many of the most captivating artists have traits that are typically associated with scientists.

I recently completed a certificate program from Cornell University on Digital Photography. I was stunned to learn how technical, exacting, analytical, and methodical the process could be to get the best artistic result. The artistic work was expressive, captivating, moving, and emotive, yet the process to attain these outcomes required complex light engineering, precise apertures and shutter speeds, careful positioning of tripods, and nuanced lens selection.

I also recently completed a Craft Brewery certificate program at Cornell University, which was remarkably rigorous on analytics and exacting the precision required to brew truly delicious beer. It’s no surprise that the likes of Noble Laureate Sir Paul Nurse began his illustrious career as a technician at a brewery, and English physicist James Joule was a brewer. When it comes to beer, is the taste in the science, or the science in the taste?

What of DaVinci? Was he an artist or a scientist? Or was he really an amalgam whose art was scientific and whose science was artistic? What of the spectacular avian renderings of John James Audubon? Did you know that Samuel Morse, the inventor of the Morse Code, also painted the Gallery of the Louvre? Might his talent that led to both achievements be more convergent than divergent? Santiago Ramon y Cajal, the father of modern neuroscience, was an expert draftsman whose twin scientific and rendering skills reinforced each other so critically that it’s hard to differentiate his scientific inclinations from his artistic tendencies. And more recently, Columbia University biophysicist Joachim Frank won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry but finds some of his greatest satisfaction in writing and photography.

Many of the best scientists develop a deep intuitive sense of what might work. They incorporate an aspect of “feel” into their work. They veer off the course of data and try to find previously unrecognized patterns. The often-ignored reality is that the stereotypical image of a scientist sitting in a lab reflexively mixing various potions with exacting precision is not the substance of great discovery.

Instead, if we are to excel at our discipline, whatever it may be, we are best advised to embrace the prototypical elements of what is historically associated with both art and science. Writing is a creative process, an art form that expresses ideas with a palette of words. At the same time, writing without structure, overarching themes, and the incorporation of atomic elements often fails to convey its message. Similarly, science without imagination, creativity, passion, and expressive content often fails to transform our lives.

One of the most unfortunate drawbacks to the false distinction between art and science is that it misleads young people into thinking they should belong to one camp or the other. I decided at a young age that I was better at math than drawing, and that steered me toward an identity as a scientist rather than an artist. Yet art has so many mediums for expression, as does science, that deriving false conclusions is far too easy. Instead, we should teach kids that we are all scientists and artists. 

We just need to find our medium. If we find our artistic medium more quickly in music or sculpture, fantastic. We were quick to the punch. And we’ll likely find our scientific edge soon. If we’re quick to pick up math and frustrated by playing the guitar, no problem. We’ll find our means of artistic expression.  

Challenging ourselves to see the necessity of both elements in all facets of life expands our resourcefulness. What might it be like to parent as both an artist and a scientist? We would prioritize individual expression and exploration, while also promoting rigorous analysis and systematic assessment. What about approaching our careers as both a scientist and an artist? We may carefully weigh our strengths and weaknesses, and assess them using metrics, yet dig deep with our intuition to find what we’re meant to do.

Entrepreneurship is certainly as much art as science. The most important realizations I’ve had relating to how to structure key elements of our business came through creative thinking, often while on long walks. During these walks, I find myself thinking expansively, intuitively, and passionately about opportunities and challenges. Only after developing a creative image of what might be possible do I apply rigorous analytic tools to ascertain the details of how to incorporate a new insight.

Let’s make it explicit: math is an art form. Physics is an art form. Business is an art form. Painting is a scientific endeavor. So are music, sculpture and photography. Most mathematicians and physicists I know see enormous beauty—and even spiritual wonder—in their work. Many musicians I know find profound gratification in the sense of rectitude and resonance in their work.

Try an experiment. If you are a writer, let people know that you are a scientist whose discipline is writing. If you are a physicist, let people know that you are an artist, whose discipline is physics. Blur the lines, defy conventional limits, embrace the art of the possible and the science of transcendence.