Abstract
The unique contributions of romanticism and romantic science have been generally ignored or undervalued in history and philosophy of science studies and science education. Although more recent research in history of science has come to delineate the value of both topics for the development of modern science, their merit for the educational field has not been explored. Romanticism was not only an obvious historical period, but a particular state of mind with its own extraordinary emotional sensitivity towards nature. It is especially the latter which we hope to revisit and reclaim for science education. After discussing several key historical contributions, we describe nine characteristics of ‘Romantic Science’ in order to focus on six ideas/possibilities that we believe hold much value for transforming current science education: (1) the emotional sensitivity toward nature, (2) the centrality of sense experience, (3) the importance of “holistic experience”, (4) the importance of the notions of mystery and wonder, (5) the power of science to transform people’s outlook on the natural world, and (6) the importance of the relationship between science and philosophy. It is argued that in view of a pragmatist/utilitarian conception of school science prevalent today the aforementioned ideas (especially the notion of wonder and the poetic/non-analytical mode of knowledge), can provide food for thought for both science teachers and researchers seeking to work out an aesthetic conception, one that complements current approaches such as inquiry science and conceptual change.
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Notes
While the First Scientific Revolution was associated with the famous names of Newton, Locke, Huygens and Descartes, but also with the founding of scientific academies (Royal Academy in London 1660, the Academie de Sciences in Paris, 1635, and the German Academie Leopoldina, 1652), the Second Scientific Revolution refers to the sudden series of breakthroughs in chemistry, biology and astronomy. And it was the English poet Coleridge who first talked about it during his philosophical Lectures in 1819 (Heringman 2003).
The word romantisch derived from the French word ‘roman’, that meant a story, and more specifically “a military tale of awful creatures, heroic knights, and chivalric love. […] It quickly came to indicate an action-filled and passionate adventure, as well as the wild, natural scenery that might be the setting for such a fanciful story” (Richards 2002, p. 20). Holmes (2009) maintains that a defining metaphor of the ‘Romantic’ is the exploratory voyage, entailing peril and solitude.
For example, Goethe was inspired and influenced by Schiller, while Schelling both inspired and was inspired by Goethe. Alexander von Humboldt also inspired and influenced Darwin. Both Goethe and Schiller had been initially enthused by the French Revolution—the new Paris Assembly even made Schiller an honorary citizen of the French Republic in 1798. Some may question whether or not Goethe should be called a “Romantic,” for he is often quoted to have said: “I call the classical healthy and the Romantic sick.” This was uttered in old age, and what the critics often fail to mention is that he also admitted that Schiller had convinced him that “I myself, contrary to my own will, was a Romantic” (quoted in Richards 2002, p. 3). Today in Germany, the life and works of Schiller and Goethe are called “Weimar classicism”, a misleading misnomer, since they sought to unite Enlightenment ideals with Greek classicism and Romantic ideas as the basis of an envisioned new humanism.
Schelling’s view was that all natural creatures were products that are purposive but without a purpose (Richards 2002, p. 162).
The German Romantics, unlike their British counterparts (i.e., natural philosophers), did not believe that there was a Creator who was considered the cause of nature’s creations. All natural creations, all teleological structures in nature, could be explained by reference to nature itself, which reflected the ideas in terms of which nature became understood (see Abrams 1971; Bortoft 1996).
For example, Sir Humphry Davy’s discovery of the laughing gas (nitrous oxide), Volta’s invention of the first battery, infrared radiation (all three in the year 1800!), as well as the theory of evolution, the placebo effect, the discovery of the carbon cycle, and the awareness of the immensity of the universe, were all fruits of the romantic age (Holmes 2009). Included is Karl Burdach, a seminal figure in the history of physiology and neuroanatomy, who first coined the words “morphology” and “biology” (also in 1800), the latter understood initially only as the science of the study of morphology, physiology and psychology of humans (Meyer 1970; Poggi 1994). Lamarck independently used the term one year later, in 1801–1802, but with a decidedly more modern connotation as “a theory of living bodies” (“le theorie des corps vivans”; Barsanti 1994, p. 56) in explicit contrast to the inadequacies of the reigning Enlightenment mechanistic philosophy. It should also be recognized that some contemporary notions as “the mad scientist” and the “diabolical genius” have their origins in the romantic period (Holmes 2009).
Positivism, as a counter-movement, emerged as a reaction or rather as a response to the inability of philosophy to solve its own philosophical problems (i.e., it rejected philosophical speculation as way to obtaining knowledge of the world). It entirely rejected metaphysics, and accepted the view that only empirical science can provide data, which will then be used to solely account for true knowledge of the world. However its own fundamental tenet—the rejection of speculation—cannot be evaluated through empirical research (see Pickering’s 1993).
In the 1920s Positivism re-emerged under the name of Logical Positivism and was linked to the Vienna Circle. This form of positivism retained the value of empirical research but logic was also added, in order to account for valid knowledge claims (see Friedman’s 1996).
Because the purpose of the ‘Romantic’ scientists was not to manipulate and control nature but to understand it as it appears to us (Abrams 1971; Bortoft 1996), without having to resort to mathematical symbols and models in order to represent it, one cannot use ‘Romantic Science’ to build an airplane, bridge, or rocket—that would require a quantitative, mechanical and mathematical approach to natural phenomena. ‘Romantic Science’, because it involves a qualitative, dynamic and concrete methodology and attitude to nature, can help one approach nature as it appears in concrete experience with all its richness.
This term (German “nature philosophy”) is associated with romantic thinkers like Herder, Goethe and Schelling who explicitly developed an organic conception of nature opposed to the mechanical ideal. This important intellectual tradition emphasized that “nature ceased to be mere product of the Creator’s designs but itself became producer—of itself” (Richards 2002, p. 11). This school of thought would later come to be narrowly confined by critics to Schelling’s philosophy of transcendental idealism, whereupon its significance for the history of science would be downplayed or dismissed. Richards’ scholarly work (and others referenced here) rehabilitates the concept for science and argues the value of romantic science (indeed “romantic biology”) as fundamentally linked with modern evolutionary theory via “romantic scientists” like Goethe, Humboldt, Oken, Burdach, Haeckel and Darwin. Yet he cautions that “all Romantic thinkers were Naturphilosophen, though not all Naturphilosophen were Romantics” (p. 516).
Kant had distinguished between the ‘noumena’, that is, the “things-in-themselves”, and the ‘phenomena’, that is, the things as they appear to us. The former can never be known. This dichotomy was not accepted by Fichte. Rather, for him the existence of Kantian ‘noumena’ implied a reality beyond the Kantian categories of human reason, and thus must lead to skepticism. Instead he suggested and accepted that consciousness cannot be grounded in anything outside of itself. Hence the source of all ‘phenomena’ is self-consciousness, that is, the activity of the ego (see Franks 2005).
See further on, in the next section the difference between the idea of “unity in multiplicity” and that of “multiplicity in unity”.
“Wechselwirkung seems to me to be one of the central topoi of romantic science, and the concept is likely to answer some more of the questions about why and how a scientific discipline such as ecology came to develop” (Müller 1994, p. 3).
Vulcanism held that primitive rocks solidified from lava during ancient times while Neptunism held that rocks emerged from out of primitive oceans when the water receded (Richards 2002, p. 366).
“The protracted nature of the debate and its ferocity cannot be explained in purely geological terms, but must be viewed at the level of clashing philosophies of history. Hutton’s Plutonism was part and parcel of Enlightenment history with its penchant for eternalism. Werner’s Neptunism was not merely a system of chemical lithogenesis, but had a consanguinity with both the traditional biblical cosmogony and the more secular view of history held by many Romantics. Goethe saw the controversy in this light, and so did men such as Blumenbach and his friend Jean-André Deluc” (Rupke 1990, pp. 251–252).
Here was another example in the history of physics when seen in hindsight that a hypothesis has borne fruit while conjectured from a mind-set with mistaken theoretical suppositions.
Scerri’s examination of the subject as it relates to the philosophical and historical development of the Periodic Table is insightful: “The reduction of chemistry to quantum mechanics has neither failed completely, as some philosophers of chemistry have claimed, nor has it been a complete success, as some contemporary historians have claimed” (2007, p. 248).
The outcome of Goethe’s ability to observe was the invention of the science of morphology. However he did study many of the natural sciences of his time like geology, botany, zoology, mineralogy, osteology, even meteorology.
What Goethe was after was the perception of unity. Unity for him was something that cannot be externally displayed, and therefore it must be understood “internally” as a mode of perception. For example, as Bortoft (1996) writes, “we can show a picture of a particular plant, but we cannot show a picture of the unity of the plant. This is something we must see but cannot depict" (p. 247). Goethe’s idea of “metamorphosis” captures the idea of “multiplicity in unity”, that is, a unity of self-difference, according to Bortoft.
Gesellshaft Deutscher Naturforscher und Ärzte (GDNÄ). It was originally founded in Leipzig, but was refounded after the Second World War in Göttingen. Since 1983 it awards the prestigious Lorenz-Oken-Medal for outstanding research in the fields of medicine or the natural sciences as contributing to the betterment of society. Oken’s romantic notion of unity was influenced by political factors as well, for his original idea to establish a “holy alliance of noble-minded men” in 1806 (Jahn 1994, p. 82) must be seen against the background of the Napoleonic wars in Germany and the desire for national unity.
Achievement in university reforms allowed for continuities with some Enlightenment philosophical and educational arguments, especially the concern for freedom of thought and teaching autonomy. The best example is Kant, whose works and immense influence served as both catalyst and contrarian to several Romantic thinkers: “The strong continuity between the Enlightenment and Romanticism can be seen in the contribution of Kant to the reform programme of Humboldt” (Shaffer 1990, p. 39).
As the “biophilia hypothesis” suggests, our emotional bond with nature is still strong, since our technological development has been so rapid that our evolutionary adaptation to new environments has yet to develop. Human beings, according to this hypothesis, have an innately emotional affiliation to other living organisms, and therefore there is still a need to be within nature (Wilson 1986). Yet this genetic bond behind such a hypothesis may very well be a weak one, thus requiring additional learning experiences (Kellert 2002). The fact that children grow up in a highly technological environment and, more often than not, away and literally cut off from the natural environment, makes learning experiences and knowledge about the latter imperative. It is for this very reason that the school curriculum, including school science, should provide such learning experiences.
Sensory experience simply results in ‘physical knowledge’, which refers to a simple description of physical reality. Such knowledge, though necessary, is not sufficient for an understanding of reality which presupposes the construction of ‘logico-mathematical knowledge’ through certain transformations (see Piaget 1970).
Sensory experience can be passive and result in ‘knowledge as a spectacle’. This knowledge is the basis of what Dewey called ‘the spectator theory of knowledge’ (see Dewey 1966/1916).
It is admitted today one can no longer hold that students (or scientists for that matter) can have unadulterated experiences and perceptions of nature completely free of subjective preconceptions, as once Goethe, the romantics and Husserl maintained: “The possibility of ‘letting nature herself speak’, that is, of a ‘virgin’ perception, untouched by culture, history and language, is nowadays considered obsolete. Most of the inheritors of Husserl’s philosophy (Heidegger, Gadamer, Merleau-Ponty) denied this possibility, seeing all perception as necessarily enmeshed in language and determined by the horizon of the lifeworld (cf. Gadamer). Nevertheless, there is a value in not abolishing the notion of ‘nature’s own voice’, in order not to let our capacities for careful observation, intense listening to and dwelling in the phenomena dwindle” (Østergaard et al. 2008, p. 116).
According to empirical evidence, a demonstration that involved a magnet attracting and holding a paperclip resulted in a sensory experience: the students were able to observe a paper clip attracted and held by a magnet. It was only after they became aware (through questioning) that the magnet attracted and held the paperclip, in spite of the fact that the whole planet was pulling down on it, that they felt surprised and even astonished and started to wonder at and about the force of gravity. It was then that the students had a lived- experience, in the sense that they became conscious of what that simply demonstration meant. In this case, the students did not experience any contradictions in their thinking. It was just the teacher’s questions that help them transform a sensory experience into a lived experience (Hadzigeorgiou 2011).
Both phenomenological and constructivist approaches are based on the notion of subjectivity, even though in the case of social constructivism interactions between the individual and the social environment are central to developing knowledge and understanding. However, while in both constructivist and phenomenological learning subjectivity plays a central role, in phenomenological learning there is always intentionality—thought and consciousness are always involved and cannot be separated from the object of study. This last characteristic of phenomenological learning is not necessarily characteristic of constructivist learning; the purpose of learning, for example, is either ignored or downplayed by constructivist learning (Hadzigeorgiou 2005b, see also van Manen, M. 1990). The most important questions that are associated with the constructivist perspective are: (a) ontological: what do we know? (b) Epistemological: how do we know; (c) communicative: how can we communicate what we know? and (d) Technical: what can we do with our knowledge (see Osborne 1996). Without a question of purpose, intentionality is discouraged, as is the case with many constructivist approaches (Hadzigeorgiou 2005b).
Both Martin Heidegger and Maurice Merleau-Ponty criticized and disputed Husserl's transcendental phenomenology because the latter’s approach to phenomenology was to seek invariant and transcendental structures in the realm of consciousness. In other words, speculative reflection, on which Husserl based his transcendental phenomenological method, could not adequately describe human lived experience (see Merleau-Ponty, M. 1985, chap. 2; Valle, R. and Halling, S. 1989; van Manen, M. 1990).
Michael Matthews, in writing about the critics of science, including the phenomenological philosophers like Husserl, pointed out that “the rich world of human experience cannot be captured by the colourless point masses of Newton, or the emotion- and feeling-less mechanical world of the New Science” (Matthews 2015, p. 157).
It is interesting to note that Østergaard et al. (2008), in discussing philosophical, anthropological and romantic (Goethe’s) phenomenology, and pointing out their differences, choose to address three separate aspects of the phenomenological approach to science education: (a) phenomenology of science education; (b) phenomenology in science education; and (c) phenomenology and science education integrated.
Apparently a lived experience cannot be associated only with students’ everyday world. Any experience involving real life situations, that is, authentic contexts, even contexts far removed from their everyday world, can be a lived experience (e.g., an adventure trip in Alaska where students investigate topics of interest).
Perhaps a strong argument against starting from students’ lived experiences is that such experiences may very well help develop and reinforce certain naïve conceptions or misconceptions. We are both certainly very aware of the extensive research on this subject. This, however, is not or should not be a problem, because such misconceptions can be dealt with right at the beginning of instruction. If the source of the development of such misconceptions are students’ personal experiences (e.g., with heat, motion, forces, sound, etc.), then it is “instructionally” reasonable to start the teaching of science with exactly those personal experiences. Another argument may be the empirical treatment of nature, which presupposes a dualism between epistemic subject and object of study. This argument, which owes its legacy to positivism and the ‘scientific method’ is also under attack, especially when it comes to education (see Elkana 2000; Witz 1996, and especially Dahlin 2001, for a phenomenological critique of science education).
Such an alienation is reinforced by the obstacle of scientific language use in both classroom discourse and texts, termed by Lemke (1990) the “mystique of science” in his insightful pioneering study on the role of language in science education.
Goethe’s phenomenology is indeed grounded in the fundamental idea of phenomenology, that is, Husserl’s idea of “returning to the things themselves”, since his aim was to start from experience and ‘stay with experience’. Yet whether his special approach to nature is closer to that of transcendental or existential phenomenology is not easy to establish. Heidegger’s notion of “being in the world” appears to be fundamentally linked to Goethe’s methodological approach. On the other hand, Goethe's way was that of seeing all nature as one, with the aim to discover a principle of continuity running through the whole, from a flower and a geological rock to animals, humans, and the processes of aesthetic creation (see Seamon and Zajonc 1998; Spiegelberg 1982).
The best known examples of flyers (with rotating wheels) are the fruit of the maple- and the lime-tree, and the seeds of coniferous trees.
According to Burnard (1989, p. 14) what defines an experiential learning activity is: (a) action, in the sense there is not passivity, (b) reflection, that is, learning takes place only after the action has been reflected upon, (c) a phenomenological dimension, that is, the student creates and assigns meaning to what is going on, without the teacher’s attempt to force meaning on the student, (d) subjectivity, that is, how the student him/herself views the situation.
The word derives from the Greek work ‘holos’, meaning ‘all’, ‘whole’, or ‘total’. According to the Ancient Greek philosopher Parmenides, the world is characterized by a changeless unity. He had argued that “All is One”, an idea that Spinoza seems to have adopted. Indeed, for Spinoza all the differences and the divisions we see in the world are just manifestations of an underlying single entity or substance, namely, God or nature.
Such connections help a person develop morally, emotionally, physically, intellectually, and spiritually (Miller 2007).
Almost all of his writing on education illustrate his quest for unity and his rejection of dualisms: School and Society, The Child and the Curriculum, Experience and Education, Democracy and Education.
Dewey describes ‘an experience’ as follows: “Often times, however, the experience had is inchoate. Things are experienced but not in such a way that they are composed into an experience. There is distraction and dispersion; what we observe and what we think, what we desire and what we get, are at odds with each other…In contrast with such experience, we have an experience when the material experienced runs its course to fulfilment. Then and only then is it integrated within and demarcated in the general stream of experience from experiences. A piece of work is finished in away that is satisfactory; a problem receives its solution; a game is played through; a situation, whether that of eating a meal, playing a game of chess, carrying on a conversation. Writing a book, or taking part in a political campaign, is so rounded out that its close is a consummation and not a cessation. Such an experience is a whole and carries with it its own individualizing quality and self-sufficiency. It is an experience” (Dewey 1934, p. 35).
It should be noted that even though Dewey’s aesthetic philosophy (Dewey 1934) is not explicitly phenomenological, its potential to make a contribution to the literature concerning the phenomenological approach to learning science needs to be acknowledged. One could talk, for example, about a ‘phenomenological/aesthetic’ approach to science as a holistic approach, which, on the one hand, places primacy upon ‘lived experience’ and not simply upon sense experience (e.g., listening, observing), and on the other, considers the qualities of an aesthetic experience. In other words, such an approach includes sense experience, emotions, somatic reason and also the appreciation of the beauty of science and its ideas (especially the role that aesthetic perception plays in the construction of knowledge). Thus, it provides students with opportunities for “careful and exact attention to all the qualities inherent in sense experience” (Dahlin 2001, p. 454, emphasis ours). We choose to talk about ‘a phenomenological/aesthetic’ and not about ‘the phenomenological/aesthetic’ approach to science, because, while the phenomenological approach to science teaching and learning is based primarily on Husserl’s work, and the aesthetic approach on Dewey’s notion of holistic/fulfilled experience, there may be some slight differences in their implementation (see as examples, Dahlin 2001; Hadzigeorgiou 2005a; Pugh and Girod 2007; 2006).
Pugh and Girod (2007) have developed an aesthetic pedagogy based upon Dewey’s notion of aesthetic experience and recommend the following ideas in order to facilitate an aesthetic experience: (a) crafting ideas out of concepts; (b) restoring concepts to the experience in which they had their origin and significance; (c) fostering anticipation and a vital, personal experiencing; (d) using metaphors and “re-seeing” to expand perception; (e) modelling a passion for the content; and (f) enculturating students into ways of valuing and experiencing science ideas.
Dahlin’s (2013) recent work on the “poetization of childhood” can help with the development of a ‘Romantic’ vision for childhood, and hence with the development of ‘Romantic’ early childhood science education, including such elements as freedom, creativity, joy, and wonder.
Understanding the difference between “unity in multiplicity” and “multiplicity in unity” is key to understanding Goethe’s approach to the study of nature. The main difference lies in the fact that human perception derives unity from multiplicity. "For example, when we see the leaves of a plant we just see the generality "leaf" and do not notice the particularity of any one leaf or the differences between the leaves. Attention does not go into sensory experience, but remains on the level of mental abstraction. This is the condition of automization, in which the particular is "tuned out" and only the general form of what things have in common is registered. This is our habitual state of passive awareness, which is reversed by the process of active seeing in Goethean science" (Bortoft 1996, p. 249).
Understanding a phenomenon (e.g., a sunset, a rainbow) philosophically, scientifically and poetically, according to the Romantics, involves “unity in multiplicity”, so it is not holistic like the idea of “multiplicity in unity”. In the case of “unity in multiplicity”, the dualism between subject and object is maintained. Current interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary approaches help students experience “unity in multiplicity”, and this is certainly much more easier than to help them experience “multiplicity in unity”, that is, the truly holistic approach to the study of nature.
The pedagogical value of wonder in the context of science education, according to two empirical studies (Hadzigeorgiou 2011; Hadzigeorgiou and Garganourakis 2010), is that (a) it can encourage involvement with content knowledge, (b) it can be the source of students’ questions and (c) it can even make students view natural phenomena and science, as a school subject, differently after their experience of wonder. These two studies have provided evidence that not only spectacular phenomena but science ideas can be real sources of wonder.
Curiosity is associated with reductionism. In The Star Thrower Loren Eiseley (1978) speaks of two kinds of practitioners in science. One is the “extreme reductionist who is so busy stripping things apart that the tremendous mystery has been reduced to a trifle” and the other is s/he “who still has a controlled sense of wonder before the universal mystery whether it hides in a snail’s eye or within the light that impinges on that delicate organ” (p. 151). For Dawkins, however, even scientific reductionism did not take away anything from the “poetry of science”; it did not diminish the beauty of the natural phenomena. The rainbow, for example, did not lose its beauty when Newton reduced it to prismatic colours. Light, in general, does not lose its beauty when it is refracted, reflected and digitized. The poetry and the wonder are still there. What Dawkins says is crucial, since it has implications for science education: the wonder of natural phenomena can indeed co-exist with mathematics and empirical treatment. But students need to be helped to experience wonder, exactly because wonder, more often than not, needs to be explicitly evoked.
The experience of wonder, as a holistic experience, facilitates the experience of “multiplicity in unity”.
The specific characteristics of “romantic understanding” make it a quite distinctive kind of understanding, which is not to be confused or conflated with narrative understanding in general. Bruner (1986) first made a distinction between “paradigmatic” and “narrative understanding”. The former derives from the paradigmatic (or logico-mathematical) mode of thinking, which is associated with the formation of hypotheses, the development of arguments, and with rational thinking, generally. The latter derives from the narrative mode of thinking, which is associated with “verisimilitude,” that is, life-likeness and the creation of meaning. Although these two modes of human thinking are complementary, they are irreducible to one another.
Observing, for example, a rainbow or a waterfall and becoming aware of their beauty and feeling a sense of mystery about their origin is different from observing a battery always running out of energy, each time it gets connected to a circuit, despite the fact that the battery was always fully charged. In the first case, the sense of mystery has its source in the aesthetic perception of the rainbow or the waterfall. In the second case there is mystery simply because there is an unexplained situation. In both cases there is a sense of wonder. However, while the first case is associated with a wonder-at and a wonder-about attitude, the second case is associated only with a wonder-about attitude, or simply with curiosity. (Hadzigeorgiou 2014; see also Goodwin 2001, Milne 2010).
Philip Phenix, in stressing the role of imaginative engagement in the process of meaning making, indirectly pointed out the crucial role of mystery: Ordinary, prosaic, and customary considerations do not excite a vital personal engagement with ideas. One of the qualities of good teaching is the ability to impart a sense of the extraordinary and surprising so that learning becomes a continuous adventure. According to this principle, ordinary life situations and the solving of everyday problems should not be the basis for curriculum content. The life of meaning is far better served by using materials that tap the deepest levels of experience (Phenix 1964, p. 12).
Mystery presupposes the familiar or unfamiliar, but also extraordinary and unexplained phenomena and situations that make one wonder at and about such phenomena and situations. A sense of wonder, without doubt, can also arise from taken-for-granted, familiar, and very ordinary objects, entities, phenomena and situations.
Apparently, such a programme should simultaneously train student-teachers with the ability to perform ‘careful observation’.
According to empirical evidence, a demonstration that involved a magnet attracting and holding a paperclip initially meant nothing to the students, who saw only two ordinary objects, namely a paper clip and a magnet. It was only after they became aware (through questioning) that the magnet attracted and held the paperclip, in spite of the fact that the whole planet was pulling down on it, that they felt surprised and even astonished, and started to wonder at and about the force of gravity. As one female student commented: “Although I knew that gravity was the weakest of all forces and I could see that in the numbers on that table about the relative strength of all forces in nature, it was after that simple, and very easy-to-do experiment that I understood it better […] It is really remarkable and very strange now that I know that the force of gravity is very-very weak” (Hadzigeorgiou 2011).
See Girod et al. (2003), Hadzigeorgiou (2011), Hadzigeorgiou et al. (2012a, b), and Pugh (2004, 2011). Richard Feynman (1968, p. 320) has been explicit about the potential of science to help change the way we perceive the world: “The world looks so different after learning science. For example, trees are made of air, primarily. When they are burned, they go back to air, and in the flaming heat is released the flaming heat of the sun which was bound into convert the air into tree. [A]nd in the ash is the small remnant of the part which did not come from air, that came from the solid earth, instead. These are beautiful things, and the content of science is wonderfully full of them. They are very inspiring, and they can be used to inspire others”.
As examples, the ideas of evolution and the heliocentric system, although they did not have an immediate practical significance in people’s daily lives, they did have a profound emotional significance, since they both shook the foundations of the human soul; they both made people see themselves in new light. By the same token, quantum theory and relativity theory made people view light, particles, space and time quite differently than before, even though those theories did not have any immediate practical impact on their everyday life. The Milky Way and the idea of infinity—indeed two ideas without any practical significance in daily life—had also an immense emotional significance for people, in the sense that they became aware of the immensity of space and, simultaneously, aware of the insignificant size of the planet on which they live (Hadzigeorgiou 2005b).
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Hadzigeorgiou, Y., Schulz, R. Romanticism and Romantic Science: Their Contribution to Science Education. Sci & Educ 23, 1963–2006 (2014). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11191-014-9711-0
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/s11191-014-9711-0