Free Letters to a Young Scientist by Edward O. Wilson Page A

mystery of dark matter; detecting neutrinos and the Higgs boson; deducing wormholes and multiverses.
    G OOD A GAINST E VIL. Our stronger myths and emotions are driven by war against alien invaders; the conquest of new lands by our own people (who of course we regard as the civilized, the virtuous, the godly, and the chosen against the savages opposing us); the war of God against Satan; the overthrow of an evil tyrant; the triumph of the Revolution against all odds; the Hero, the Champion, or the Martyr vindicated in the end; the inner struggle of conscience between right and wrong; the Good Wizard; the Good Angel; the Magical Force; arrest and punishment of the criminal; vindication of the whistle-blower.
    In the real world of science, we are aroused by what we call the war against cancer; the fight against other deadly diseases; the conquest of hunger; the mastery of a new energy source that can save the world; the campaign against global warming; forensic DNA sequencing to capture a criminal.
     
    These several archetypes resonate up from the deep roots of human nature. They are appealing and easily understood. They convey meaning and power to humanity’s creation myths. They are retold in the epic stories of history. They are the themes of great dramas and novels.

Cell-surface receptor activated by a signaling molecule (agonist, top) turns on a G-protein-coupled receptor that activates the G protein (3 G’s, lower half). © Brian Kobilka.

Ten

    S CIENTISTS AS E XPLORERS OF THE U NIVERSE

    T HE EXPLORERS CLUB of New York was founded in 1904 to celebrate the geographical exploration of the world and (later) outer space. Over the years the roster has included Robert Peary, Roald Amundsen, Theodore Roosevelt, Ernest Shackleton, Richard Byrd, Charles Lindbergh, Edmund Hillary, John Glenn, Buzz Aldrin, and other famous adventurers of the twentieth century. The headquarters of the Explorers Club on East Seventieth Street are stuffed with archives and memorabilia of the world’s great wanderers. Also kept there are the famous expedition flags, carried over decades by members who journey to distant and sometimes virtually inaccessible destinations. When the explorer returns, so does the flag, along with an account of what was discovered.
    Each year an annual dinner is held by the club at the Waldorf Astoria, a grand edifice evoking an era of great wealth. Dress is formal, and attendees are urged to wear whatever medals they have received in past exploits. It is the only occasion of which I am aware in North America where the latter embellishment is practiced. At dinner the excess of display turns to merriment. For years, until a guest became ill at one of the dinners, the fare was a humorous sample of what the explorer might be forced to eat when supplies run out: candied spiders, fried ants, crispy scorpions, broiled grasshoppers, roasted mealworms, exotic fish, and wild game.
    In 2004 I was elected an honorary member, a distinction given only a score of men and women, and in 2009 I received the Explorers Club Medal, the highest award. At first this might be seen as an entirely inappropriate honor, and maybe it was. I had never suffered privation on polar ice, never climbed an unconquered Antarctic mountain, never contacted a previously unknown Amazonian tribe. The reason was science. The board of the Explorers Club had decided to expand its concept of what remains left to explore on our planet. The conventional map of the world had been largely filled in since the time Teddy Roosevelt traveled down an unnamed river in the Amazon and Robert Peary and Matthew Henson conquered the North Pole. Most of Earth’s land surface had been visited on foot or by helicopter. What remained could be examined—even monitored day by day—through satellites to the last square kilometer. What was left of importance to map on the home planet other than the deep sea? The answer is its little-known biodiversity, that variety of plants, animals,