TREASURE ISLAND

A SPONTANEOUS BARRAGE OF EXPLETIVES rang through the air, bringing my coworkers scrambling over the hill. Madagascar's sweltering midday heat no longer mattered. There before me, beneath a clod of freshly dislodged sediment, were four shining teeth, exposed to the light of day for the first time in more than 65 million years. Most kids could have confirmed that these sharp, recurved, chocolate brown objects, each topped with fine serrations, once lined the mouth of a meat-eating dinosaur, a theropod. Best of all, these teeth were still attached to a jawbone. Further digging revealed a complete and undistorted jaw, with every tooth in place. over the next couple of days we found more bones of the same, exceptionally preserved skull—part of the eye socket, another jaw with teeth, a gnarly bone from the nose region. Soon it became clear that most of the skull was buried here, although the individual bones had fallen apart and now lay strewn over several square meters. We could barely contain our excitement. Field paleontology relies as much on serendipity as on know-how and hard work, and the fates had smiled down upon us. Yet, as more and more bones of the ancient predator were unearthed, we began to get nervous. A key portion of the skull remained missing, leaving a mystery unsolved.

In Lewis Carroll's classic tale, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, Alice gazes into a mirror to find a world similar to her own yet distinctly different. Her view of this reflected world varies dramatically depending on where she stands and how she holds the mirror. And Alice dreams of actually stepping through the looking glass to experience firsthand the wonders beyond. Like Alice, paleontologists attempt to gaze through the looking glass of time in order to catch glimpses of other, distant worlds. We, too, find that our perspective is always limited, changing considerably depending on how we hold the mirror and indeed which mirror we choose. And we, too, dream of witnessing these worlds firsthand. The ongoing efforts to open windows into ancient landscapes and their inhabitants comprise the science of PALEONTOLOGY, the study of ancient life.

Dinosaur paleontology, my particular specialty, is a peculiar profession. After all, how many people can claim to have a job that is the envy of most 6-year-olds? Telling others that you're a dinosaur paleontologist often results in the usual questions. "How do you know where to dig for them? What was the biggest dinosaur? Why do you think dinosaurs went extinct?" Of the most common queries, the one that I find most amazing and dismaying is "Don't we already know everything about dinosaurs?"

People tend to think of science as the gradual, steady accumulation of facts that has been ongoing for centuries. So it's often imagined that today we scientists are merely adding insignificant grains to an enormous, established mountain of knowledge. This view could hardly be further from the truth. The vast majority of nature's secrets have yet to be revealed. In the evocative words of biologist and environmentalist David Suzuki: "It is as if we are standing in a cave holding a candle; the flame barely penetrates the darkness, and we have no idea where the cave walls are, let alone how many caves there are beyond. Standing in the dark, cut off from time, and place, and from the rest of the universe, we struggle to understand what we are doing here alone." Rather than being daunted by our overwhelming ignorance, I am inspired by the multitude of new discoveries that patiently await us, entombed within the earth, carefully preserved in museum drawers, and tucked away in the corners of our imaginations. It's an exciting time to be a paleontologist.

If the overriding aim of science is to understand and describe as accurately as possible the workings of nature, certainty turns out to be a scarce commodity. To speak of "scientific facts" is to border on using an oxymoron. Most scientists would agree that there is a single, physical reality to comprehend. To borrow the slogan of a recent popular television show, "the truth is out there." Yet the best we can offer are successive approximations of that truth, formulated as alternative explanations, or HYPOTHESES. The scientific method involves sorting among these various alternatives. Consequently, testability is an integral part of the process, and only the strongest THEORIES, like gravity and EVOLUTION, withstand decades of testing and become accepted as fact.

But how can paleontologists test ideas? Like geology, paleontology is a historical science, concerned predominantly with understanding and interpreting past events. Historical sciences differ in at least one fundamental way from nonhistorical fields such as physics and chemistry. Paleontologists cannot test a hypothesis through direct experimentation for the simple reason that it is impossible to reproduce past events. For example, barring the highly unlikely cloning of a dinosaur from its DNA or the invention of a time machine (even less likely), we clearly can't investigate the metabolism of Tyrannosaurus rex directly. Similarly, geologists cannot observe the rifting and collisions of ancient continents. Given the strong emphasis on reproducibility—the ability to run the same experiment multiple times in order to test for similar results—some have even argued that the inability of historical sciences to reproduce results should disqualify them as scientific disciplines.

Yet the historical sciences are able to circumvent the conundrum of time's arrow, at least to some degree, through an elegant loophole. Although the inexorable march of time prohibits actual reproduction of past events, it's possible to observe multiple examples of such events. If these examples are consistent with a stated hypothesis, it gains support. If not, the hypothesis is falsified or at least brought under closer scrutiny.

Take evolution, for example. Darwin's theory states that all organisms past and present share common ancestry and that life evolved from simple, single-celled beginnings. Thus, we predict that the order of appearance of particular groups of organisms should mimic the branching pattern of evolution, with a trend toward increasing complexity through time. Convincing evidence against evolution would be the discovery of any animal that lived long before its supposed time of its origin—say, for example, the fossilized remains of a rabbit (or human or dinosaur, for that matter) dating to 400 million years ago. With hundreds of...