Episode Details

Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening, depending on when you happen to be listening. This is the Paul Truesdell Podcast, and I am Paul Grant Truesdell—the Elder, Senior, or the oldest of the two with this name.
Today I want to talk about something that sits at the heart of everything I do and, frankly, everything you should expect out of people who claim the title of scientist, professional, or even advisor. I want to talk about the scientific process. Not science as dogma, not science as politics, not the COVID-19 pseudo science that was pushed with government scare tactics and, yes, in many cases, outright criminal behavior. Not the kind of “research” that comes out of gender studies departments where biology gets bent to fit ideology. Not the woke science and DEI mandates that elevate slogans over data. And certainly not taxpayer-funded studies on the mating habits of extinct dodo birds. What I am talking about is science as a living, breathing system of thinking.
Let me begin with something Garry Nolan, a Stanford professor and one of the brightest minds in cancer and immunology research, said in a way that I think is worth repeating. He said, “Good science is being right today and wrong tomorrow.” Think about that. “Good science is being right today and wrong tomorrow.” Here’s the root of many problems. You, me, we, and the man in the moon often want certainty, we demand conclusions, we crave the final answer. And we want it now, with little if any effort, at no cost, and with maximum benefits. But the truth is that science, when done correctly, is provisional. And by provisional, I mean temporary—it’s the best working answer we have at the moment, subject to change as new facts roll in. It is about being as right as you can be with the data you have today, knowing full well that tomorrow better data, better instruments, or better insights might prove you wrong. And that is not a weakness—that is the strength of science. It’s well worth remembering a famous statement by former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, who said: “There are known knowns; there are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns; that is to say, there are things that we now know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns—there are things we do not know we do not know.”
If you take nothing else from what I am saying today, take this: the scientific process is not about winning arguments or propping up egos. And that’s a problem. A problem that has always been around, but one that has gotten entirely out of control in the academic world, regardless of the academic or scientific discipline, both hard and soft science—but far worse in the soft sciences. It is about curiosity. It is about constantly looking for the piece of data that does not fit—the anomaly, the result that sits off the curve. I have always used the phrase “connecting dots.” It’s a simple two words with powerful impact if you think about it, and those are three words that I also use repetitively. Now speaking of Garry Nolan—he said it directly: “The advances in science come from the data points that don’t fit the model.” That is where discovery happens. If you only ever pay attention to the averages, you will never see the breakthroughs.
Now, how does that process actually work? Let’s strip it down to the basics. Here are the key words: observe, hypothesis, test, repeat. That is the cycle. That is the engine that drives discovery.
First, you observe. You notice something in the world that is worth asking about. It might be a pattern, a behavior, an outcome—anything that raises a legitimate question.
Second, you form a hypothesis. This is your tentative explanation, your best guess based on what you know at the moment. It is not truth; it is a proposal.
Third, you test. You stress that hypothesis against data, against experiments, against reality. And when the data breaks it—as it often does—you throw the hypothesis away.
And then come