I know and now so do you

At the end of the middle ages, somewhere between the 15th and the 16th centuries, one person could aspire with certain legitimacy to hold essentially all that knowledge that existed at the time. Leonardo da Vinci, was probably close that definition with his extensive understanding of engineering, physics, chemistry, medicine and even art. However science has evolved so much in the intervening 500 years that not only it has become impossible for one person to cover all realms of knowledge, but even covering just one has become a daunting (and probably impossible) endeavor. Furthermore, with the amount of hours devoted to research in almost every topic, it has become increasingly difficult to become a world-renowned investigator unless you dig really deep in one particular direction, and that naturally leaves many other aspects that, even in your own field, are somewhat neglected.

The most direct consequence of this deepening is that knowledge, which never was very helpful as a pure commodity to be hoarded, has now become utterly dependent not only on our own ability to apply it, but more and more on the means and opportunities to share and exchange it with others. Given the necessarily narrow focus of most investigations these days, the only chance to make good use of the recently acquired knowledge is to integrate it in the frame of a multidisciplinary team with capabilities that complement and support our own.

Photo: Special Collections Toronto Public Library

Furthermore, considering the undeniable role that public funding plays in keeping many scientific institutions running, the moral obligation to share clearly exceed the professional domain and in fact many distributors of grants (e.g. NASA) have started to require certain minimum allocated fraction of the grants to education and public outreach activities, whereby the general public gets to experience our investigations first hand without having to wait for a decades-long project to bear fruit. And perhaps even more important than the content of the research is the spread of the spirit that drives us all as scientist, the curiosity that keeps us at work sometimes way longer than our designated hours, the sustained effort that we show week after week of grueling work in the lab or at the computer, the wonder of the discovery whenever it happens. We might not be able to find usable knowledge, but we will always be able to inspire the new generations to follow our path and continue the work that we have left unfinished.

Fortunately, my institute is well aware of this need to communicate with and inspire the new generations, so we regularly (COVID-19 permitting) devote one day every year to visit the different schools in town and give first-hand lectures to the students. After a necessary pause last year, today I have had again the chance to visit two schools and engage with the students there, share a bit of my knowledge, take the pulse of their curiosity and, hopefully, encourage one or two of them to pursue careers in science or engineering. And it has been, as usual, terribly interesting.

The talk I have provided the last few years is just entry-level space science, so it can be easily adapted to different proficiency levels depending on the audience. I normally start with a basic review of the principles of stereoscopy and how we need the images from both eyes to have a true perception of depth. Holding a finger in front of them and closing one eye at a time they get to verify that, indeed, they get two different views even if they do not move their hand or their head. Next I go quickly over the layout of the Solar System, with the Sun, the planets and the asteroid belt, before I dive into the exploration of the asteroids by means of a huge number of photographs, that allow us to reconstruct their topography. The highlight of the talk is a small set of red-blue anaglyphs that allow the confirm that we have been able to find the valleys and the mountains, the ridges and the craters on the surface of these bodies.

But to me the real interesting part is their reaction to the slides I show and the questions I pose. Some of them are immediately captivated by the subject, be it because they have a historical interest or because it piques their curiosity. Others realize how far the subject is from their comfort zone and pull back or even disconnect completely from the talk. Most try to find an opportunity to shine, trading of their insecurity with the odd question where they might be able to concoct a not-so-uniformed answer. At any rate, most teachers report that they are surprised with the level of attention that the class has been able to dispense me, because it is not so rare that the "unruly one" gets engaged in the talk and stops being a nuisance.

It would be dishonest from my side to say that I do not enjoy these occasions, but that is not my primary objective when I agree to participate. I know that, for many kids, life is filled with routine and repetition, so it is a great pleasure for me to be able to break that monotony and give them a somewhat memorable day. The whole experience is quite taxing all in all, since it requires paying a lot of attention to the students, trying to be receptive enough  to their comments that they will continue to listen for the whole length of the talk, but it is indubitably very rewarding. I pity to some extent (and scorn) those scientist who prefer to stay in their ivory towers with the excuse that "it is what they are good at", because of course nobody is born knowing how to teach and, unless they get some practice, they will never learn. In the meantime, I can only say that I will continue to take every opportunity to give this kind of talks, so that not only I know about this science, but so does everyone else. Have a nice evening.