How Becoming a Scientist Has Screwed Me Forever
The term “science-fiction” (or sci-fi) is a little unusual relative to the other categories of fiction, like romance, or horror, or drama. All “science-fiction” really says is that it is a story that has some root in scientific fact. Wikipedia defines it as a story that has “imaginary elements [that] are largely possible within scientifically established or scientifically postulated laws of nature (though some elements…might still be pure imaginative speculation).” But this definition gives no sense of the emotional impact of the book or film, which is often why it is coupled with another category, like sci-fi/horror, sci-fi/thriller, or sci-fi/drama. Very often the term sci-fi is clumped together with fantasy, because both leap into unknown possibilities, and the stories make their characters dance around in it. What’s the difference between the two? According to Rod Serling (Twilight Zone), “fantasy is the impossible made probable. Science Fiction is the improbable made possible.” I actually think today the line that divides them is even more blurred, even absent.
It was science-fiction of the eighties and nineties that inspired me to become a scientist in the first place. I always thought, Wow, wouldn’t it be cool to understand what Data or Dana Scully were saying? But becoming a scientist has only made me more aware of what is within the realm of possibility and what isn’t. I almost feel that just because a story takes place in space, has robots and laser beams, and has characters using high-tech buzz words, the work is immediately classified as science-fiction. When I watch all of the wondrous laser fire in Star Wars (seemingly with 99.8 percent of the lasers missing their intended targets), I can’t help but put movies like that under pure fantasy. To me, it uses imaginary elements that are no more “within scientifically postulated laws of nature” than, say, The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.
I think what’s happened is that on a subconscious level is that, as a scientist, I have narrowed my definition of what science-fiction means. I think what happens frequently is that you will have writers who really have the intention of writing something else, and end up asking a science or medical consultant to “make the science fit the story.”1 That’s just fine, but that’s very different from a story evolving from science itself. Oftentimes the former will be something else (like a horror or drama), but will have scientific jargon jammed into it to make it feel “scientific-ky.” The outcome is that it usually feels forced, like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. The latter feels more natural, because the problems and conflicts arise from the science. It is the latter that I categorize as science-fiction, and this is very rare.
I can think of only a few names that start with the science to derive their stories. Michael Crichton and Robin Cook immediately come to mind, both of who started out as physicians. In reading Crichton’s novels, even the most far fetched of his novels, there is a strong sense of legitimacy to his work. His books are creative, engaging, and exhaustively researched. The only people probably truly qualified to criticize the feasibility of say, Jurassic Park, would be the molecular biologists who are actually trying to make dinosaurs (I bet they’re out there somewhere). And likely there are only technical reasons why Crichton’s ideas in that novel are not possible, if that is the case.
There is some level of fantasy in all science-fiction, no matter how realistic it is portrayed. There has to be. There really wouldn’t be a story without some forward or imaginative leap. I should be careful in coming across like I think fiction needs to be scientifically accurate, or even all that plausible, to be enjoyable. It doesn’t. I actually very much enjoyed books like The Time Traveler’s Wife, shows like Quantum Leap, movies like Dark City, and games like Final Fantasy. None of these are all that scientifically plausible in their respective universes. But again, I don’t classify any of them as science-fiction either. They’re all just good, imaginative stories. There comes a point, I think, where you are absorbed into a story and it doesn’t matter what imaginary elements the writers use.
But there’s a type of science-fiction that just feels “made up,” and that’s where I have a problem. I hope to never be that writer, but who knows, I may find it impossible to avoid for the sake of entertainment. So where does that leave my Star Trek novel? By my own definitions, much of Star Trek is also largely fantasy. That’s fine, I still love it. Though, I try very hard to reach some sort of middle ground, incorporating elements we find in real scientific research today and mixing it with the fantastic elements of the franchise. I’ll just say that I ended up with a novel that is about thirty percent “science” and seventy percent “fantasy.” There, I said it. I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t “force” the science to fit my story either. In truth, I actually don’t think I stray too far away from some TNG episodes, which I think had a similar percentage mix and were blended very well.
Alas, when it comes to me being a member of the audience, my ability to love science-fiction like I used to is gone. I will end this post by quoting a line from Mission to Mars (2000), one of the very few films I walked out on in my lifetime, when one of the astronauts looked at a strand of DNA, and said “…that DNA looks human.”
Don’t get it? Consider yourself lucky.
NEXT: Is the Future…Alive? Exploring the fate of Star Trek and the post-Next Generation universe
1 Actually, I think shows like House, M.D. mend their stories with scientific and medical fact quite seamlessly. House, M.D. is actually one of my my favorite current television shows.
