By Aaron Van Dyke
Scientific research is generally seen as emotionally sterile. This view originates in the scientific method which validates the observable and the rational. And yet the act of researching (verb) is animated by scientists (noun) whose lives are inevitably bound up with the affective and emotional dimensions of human life and experience. So while the scientific method rightly operates within an empirical framework, Catholic, Jesuit universities—which are, after all, committed to serving humanity—would be mistaken to separate scientists from their affective dimension.
One key example of where this affective dimension enters into scientific research is in failure, which is integral to the scientific process. Just as fire refines dross from a precious metal, failure in science can refine ideas in the pursuit of truth.
And yet, prolonged experiences of failure can cause collateral damage to a scientist. One root of this collateral damage is the neoliberal mindset that equates human dignity with productivity. In this mindset, professional success increases dignity while failure diminishes dignity. Consider, for example, the axiom, “publish or perish.” Students succumb to this mindset when they reduce their education to merely a curriculum vitae, grant funding, and list of professional presentations.
In my experience at Fairfield University, undergraduate scientists are quick to blame themselves when an experiment fails. Both in my research group and teaching labs, students reflexively jump to self-blame (known in scientific parlance as “experimenter error”) before reflecting on whether this conclusion is warranted. They quickly adopt the neoliberal mindset that a person reflects their work: If the experiment failed, then the student must be a failure.
Undergraduate students at Fairfield University (above) carry out chemistry experiments. Photo courtesy of Aaron Van Dyke, associate professor of Chemistry at Fairfield University.
Such circumstances make it all the more important that Catholic, Jesuit universities humanize STEM research. The first step in bringing about this humanization is to affirm the distinction between the scientist (person) and the scientific research (work). The tradition that undergirds our universities holds that human persons are inherently dignified. As St. John Paul II writes in the encyclical letter Centesimus annus, laborers’ “dignity does not come from the work they do, but from the persons they are.”
The second step is to understand that labor contributes to, but is not synonymous with, human flourishing. St. John Paul II writes in another encyclical letter, Laborem exercens, that through work a person “achieves fulfillment as a human being and indeed, in a sense, becomes ‘more a human being.’”
With this perspective in mind, the Ignatian examen can become a powerful tool to humanize STEM research because it understands the difference between a person and their labor as well as guides discernment towards greater flourishing.
The examen is a reflection in which a person reviews their day’s activities less in a spirit of self-critique than in a spirit of gratitude. Ignatius valued this reflection because, when it becomes habit, repetition can unlock new understanding, just as new insight is gained by reading a book or watching a film for the second time. Importantly, the goal is not ethical scorekeeping—an examination of conscience—but rather an examination of consciousness. Thus, the examen helps the practitioner to discern patterns of consolation and desolation. And regularly doing so with gratitude has the effect of underscoring one’s irreducible human dignity and laying the groundwork to courageously look at their successes and failures without judgment.
When applied to learning, and specifically to scientific research, the examen becomes a metacognitive exercise, allowing the practitioner to discern patterns of intellectual growth versus stagnation—even within the context of failure!
For the past year, I have used the examen with students to reflect on failure in chemistry research. Student beliefs range from Catholic to agnostic, and so I used a version of the examen with broadly accessible language. (Reimagining the Ignatian Examen by Mark Thibodeaux, S.J., is a free app with many useful examples to try out. My students find the version, Was I Present or Absent, especially captivating.)
By reflecting back through an experiment that yielded unexpected results, students reported times when digital devices interrupted complex laboratory tasks. At the time, they thought multitasking was increasing lab efficiency. Through the freedom of the examen, they discerned it would have been better to establish digital boundaries. In other cases, students cannot find a flaw in their protocol, and they are pushed to consider a new experimental design or a new theory to explain the “failed” result. Aptly, the last movement of the examen and the trajectory of scientific research both look ahead to the future.
My experience suggests that, through this practice, students are coming to a healthier and more integrated understanding of self (in part, as a scientist) and their work (scientific research). While this project of fostering a different kind of reflection in my courses is in its early stages, it resonates with the growing mindfulness movement in higher education. Both the examen and mindfulness practices build an understanding of self-worth, yet the examen goes further into discernment and encourages a recognition of the pattern of one’s life choices.
STEM research at Catholic, Jesuit universities is a tremendous privilege and responsibility. Superior General Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, S.J., in his address at Santa Clara University in 2000 said, “university knowledge is valuable for its own sake and at the same time is knowledge that must ask itself, ‘For whom? For what?’”
By building a habit of the examen, students become more resilient to failure, savor research success (which does occur!), even as they begin to ask “For whom? For what?” when it comes to the ultimate value of their research.
Aaron Van Dyke is an associate professor of Chemistry at Fairfield University and an alumnus of Seattle University.
The featured cover photo (above) is courtesy of Hans Reniers via Unsplash.