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I  love science. I think of science as a pathway to wonder, with that path of discovery and learning leading us to a deeper understanding of who we are and how we relate to the rest of our universe. I’m a proud English major, a poet, a minister with more education in mysteries than proofs, but the fact that humans go exploring to understand how things work, where things started, how things change—I love that.

Which is not to say that I’m always happy about what science tells us. The fact that something is true doesn’t make it wonderful. Or at least it doesn’t make it likeable. For instance, the more science teaches us about climate change, the less happy I am. The news is somewhere in between grim and devastating, and I’d kind of rather not know—except that knowledge, and the willingness to act on it, are crucial for our survival.

But there are other things that science has shown us to be true that are just really annoying. Take, for instance, the Dunning-Kuger effect. Psychological studies have demonstrated that people who have very low abilities tend to think that they are experts in subjects they know nothing about. The less capable you are, the less ability you have to recognize just how little you know and how poorly you are likely to do. Being bad at things actually makes you think you are good. This effect has  become much better known lately because of a president who regularly declares that he knows more than anyone else about military tactics or climate change or a wide range of subjects on which he has no expertise.

I find the Dunning-Kruger effect annoying not just in my frustration with how it’s being played out on a political level. No, what really gets to me is the question  How do I know if this is me? After all, there are some subjects (OK, very few) on which I think I know quite a lot. But what if my thinking I’m an expert really means that I’m deluding myself? What if I don’t know that I don’t know? Remember, the inability to recognize your limitations is the hallmark of the Dunning-Kruger effect.

But it isn’t just me. How does any one of us move through the world in a way that isn’t basically a declaration of our ignorance? It seems like maybe our choices are either to assume false modesty and pretend to know less than we really do, or to act like an expert and maybe prove (or have people believe) that we know far less than we think we do. You understand my frustration?

But I think there is a way out through that thorny thicket—a kind of magical password that can get you through. That magic phrase is I wonder…. The willingness to wonder takes us out of the realm of arrogance or false humility and into a world ruled by science, which is, after all, the systematic application of wondering. When we start with wondering we are never wrong. How many times has a teacher told
you that there are no bad questions?

I wonder how we might change our lives to lessen the effects of climate change…. I wonder what is the most effective way to deal with the threat of  North Korea…. I wonder how the person I’m arguing with came to their conclusions…. I wonder what my crying child really wants…. I wonder whether my pasta sauce would be better with cream in it….

Declarations are right or wrong, true or false. And when we disagree with someone then either that person is wrong or we are wrong ourselves. Which is not to say that no one should ever commit to believing any particular truth. But science has a grand work-around for this problem of whether we are able to declare the truth. Science, after all, is looking for the opportunity to declare things as true. But you start with a particular kind of assertion of truth—a hypothesis.

A hypothesis is a declarative statement: The earth is round. Measles is caused by a virus. Birds migrate to find food. There are multiple universes. But what makes the statement a hypothesis is that it is presumed to be surrounded by a cloud of wondering. How can we test this statement to see if what we observe matches up? How does this statement mesh with other things we know? What might be other explanations, and how might we find out which explanation best fits with what we see?

For Unitarian Universalists, these hypotheses, these statements wrapped in wondering, extend beyond the realm of science and into the world of questions that cannot be definitively answered. I wonder what God might be like…. I wonder what my life means…. I wonder what I owe my fellow human beings—and the non-human beings of this planet…. I wonder how I can come to the end of my life feeling that I have fully lived…. Each one of these questions deserves a hypothesis, a statement of belief that exists within a cloud of wonder, a field of exploration.

No religious statement we might make will ever be proven beyond a reasonable doubt—that’s the nature of religion. But the beauty lies in our capacity to wonder, to ponder, to try to work our way toward an understanding that feels whole and holy, that allows us to see the wonder that is all around us.

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Rev. Dr. Lynn Ungar

Unitarian Universalist Minister and Poet at Lynn Ungar

Lynn is the author of two books of poetry, Blessing the Bread and Bread and Other Miracles. In her free time she trains dogs for competition in obedience, agility and canine musical freestyle (dancing with dogs). She is also an avid singer and contra dancer. Lynn lives in the pacific northwest with her two Australian Shepherds.

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