Today, British watchdogs have warned people that roast potatoes can cause cancer. The rationale seems to be that roast/burnt foods contain acrylamide, which is believed to be a carcinogen. Makes sense. But the actual science hasn’t found any link between typical levels of acrylamide in the diet and cancer. And it’s not for want of looking.
But then, you can hardly blame them for ignoring what science says. Given the antisocial, aloof stereotypes surrounding it, science is surprisingly talkative. Consider all the things it’s said recently. Science said that a coffee addiction will make you live longer. It said that watching sad movies increases your pain threshold. Science has told us that we’re working out more than we need to, and that our dairy-free diet is actually bad for our skin. It’s pointed out that saunas help stave off dementia and that trance music is good for test-tube babies.
This is all within the past week. You’d be forgiven for thinking that science has taken its own claims about coffee addiction to heart and is chaining espressos hour after hour, causing it to blurt out an endless stream of surreal claims to everyone and anyone who will listen. But then, it’s been like this for some time.
You’ll be lucky to go a single day at present without coming across some surreal, surprising claim, splashed across some magazine, newspaper or website, that begins with the words “science says…” Or, if the author is aware that science is actually an activity, a process, an intangible concept lacking a single mouth or voice, it’ll be “scientists say…”, which is essentially the same thing when all is said and done.
What’s wrong with this? If a scientific study has been conducted, and produces results that support a specific conclusion, why not tell people about this? If it’s accurate, what’s the issue?
The problem is, it isn’t accurate. Science doesn’t work like that. Firstly, how are we defining “science”? If we take “science” to mean the sum of all scientific organisations, institutions and individuals in the world who are currently working to expand the sum of our scientific knowledge, then that’s millions of people. Even if you restrict it to just people actively involved in research (not all scientists are researchers, just like how all pilots are not currently in the air), that’s still millions.
Millions of people, all highly-educated but dedicated to their own particular subject matter and theories within it, often competing for resources against their fellows. I’ve been to scientific conferences. One afternoon session included four hours of talks, all of which presented one side of a debate about where animals learn associations between two separate stimuli this way or that way. A more senior colleague assured me that “it’s like this every year”.
Point is, scientists often live to argue with each other about their chosen subject matter. What are the odds they’ll all, en-masse, agree unanimously on anything, let alone so many often-mundane things with such regularity? The only thing that the clear majority of scientists do actually agree on is that man-made climate change is real, and in a cruel irony that’s the one thing many people seem unwilling to accept. But pizza improves productivity? Of course, why not.
Another issue is that the studies often cited to show that “science says” something are often just one study, which typically is nowhere near enough to base firm, sweeping conclusions on. Even if the study does show clear, positive results, how reliable is it? Sciences like psychology are currently experiencing a “reproducibility crisis”, where attempts to repeat experiments and get the same results, results that underpin many important concepts, conclusions and theories, have not succeeded. If scientists aren’t confident that the world leaders in their field have got it right, they’d think twice about making sweeping, often ridiculous claims to the world at large. Or so you’d hope.
The problem here may be language. Attributing a claim to “science” or “scientists” is just so general as to be actively misleading in many cases. If Donald Trump or Jeremy Corbyn make some public pronouncement, it is reported as such. Nobody says “Politicians say …” or “says politics”. To attribute the words of these outspoken figures to all politicians everywhere would be ridiculous, bordering on the scandalous to many, so it isn’t done. But it is to scientists.
“Are we sure that’s right? He just wandered in off the street and he stinks of rubbing alcohol.”
“He’s wearing a lab coat.”
“... good enough. Publish it right now.” Photograph: Linda Nylind/The Guardian
This may stem from the weird way science is still regarded by the mainstream. There’s no real firm consensus on what counts as “science”, it seems that anything that looks complex enough counts (looking at you, “Blue Monday”). Also, commenters and writers, although providing an essential role in the dissemination of information, aren’t necessarily qualified/able to pick up on nuances or avoid excessive extrapolation. Of course, scientists often do this themselves via their media strategy, so it’s not like they’re blameless here.
What’s worrying is when this limited understanding or exaggeration of findings can inform genuine advice or actual public policy, like the official warnings about screen time, or the whole roast potatoes can cause cancer thing.
While a bit of filler or harmless content may seem innocuous, constantly attributing surreal or questionable claims to “science” without questioning this assertion risks damaging understanding of how things work, diluting the impact of actual evidence and research. Thus we end up with our post-truth “alternative facts” world, with dangerous fad diets running amok.
We’ve put up with this for too long, but now it’s threatening our roast potatoes, and, like many others, you will have to prise them from my cold, dead, somewhat oily hands!
Dean Burnett‘s book The Idiot Brain is available now in the UK, USA, Canada and many other countries.