When thirteen-year-old Erasto Batholomeo Mpemba suggested in 1963 that warmer water freezes faster than colder water, a number of his classmates and teachers laughed. To them it only made sense that water closer to the freezing point should reach freezing sooner than water farther from it. Erasto was right, and he had rediscovered a phenomenon intermittently encountered by past curious minds, such as those of Aristotle, Francis Bacon, Rene Descartes, and Joseph Black. The phenomenon now bears his name as the Mpemba Effect.
That a child should make a befuddling discovery is nothing new. Even in the questions of toddlers we can find insights. As a child visiting the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh, I saw the Apatosaurus (called Brontosaurus at the time) skeleton. I turned and said to my father, “That can’t be the right head.” My father looked up at the head on the skeleton, looked down at me, and simply smiled. As an eight-year-old, I didn’t publish anything about my observation nor did I ask the paleontologists at the museum about their skeleton, but in the 1970s, the Apatosaurus did get a different head. For decades the skeleton had the wrong head.
In Mpemba’s case, Dr. Denis G. Osborne of University College in Dar es Salaam experimented to see whether or not Erasto was on to something. He was, and later they published jointly on the effect.
Adults also run into doubt and ridicule when they make observations that seem to run counter to common understanding. I’m reminded of a lecture I heard in 1980 by a friend of the Alvarez father-and-son team that pushed the hypothesis that a 10-km-wide comet or asteroid had struck Earth 65 million years ago. The scientists in the room were rightly skeptical, but they also laughed like Erasto’s classmates and teachers.
Just as Osborne experimented to support Erasto’s claim, so the scientists at the lecture (and around the world) needed additional evidence for the Alvarez claim. The hypothesis set off a multi-decade search for definitive evidence of an impact. That led to the discovery of the 110-mile-diameter Chicxulub crater in the Yucatan and the Caribbean and additional evidence from iridium-rich ash deposits around the world. In effect, the Alvarezes had their Osbornes in Antonio Camargo and Glen Penfield, discoverers of the crater.
Skepticism is what drives confirmation in science. Laughter at a discovery, observation, or insight that runs counter to intuition, however, is simply the product of insecurity or pride. Very few people want to be told their beliefs or positions are incorrect. There are many examples of such ridiculing in the history of science, including the guffaws that American geologists shouted upon hearing Alfred Wegener, a meteorologist, say that the continents had moved away from a supercontinent he called Pangaea. That big continents could move seemed counterintuitive to early twentieth-century geologists. Besides, Wegener wasn't even a geologist. But like Erasto, the Alvarezes, and yours truly, Wegener made counterintuitive observations that proved to be correct. His “continental drift” is now known as “sea floor spreading," the cause of mountain-building, sea and ocean formation, volcanic activity, and most earthquakes.
Here’s the problem scientists have. They invest their careers in a particular science, such as the debunked science of phrenology. After years of work, someone comes along to observe, discover, or demonstrate that what has been a center of scientific attention either lies on the periphery or doesn’t even exist. Investing in a science isn’t a purely rational enterprise. As finite beings, humans so invested realize they have only so much time to achieve goals. When someone discovers that the goals are either unreachable or distant mirages, he or she suffers frustration. That’s the human part of science. Upon the realization that we might be—or actually are—wrong, we feel deceived. That’s an appropriate feeling. The word frustration derives from the Latin frustrari, “to be deceived.”
It seems as though we can’t remove our emotional response from what should be a purely rational discussion. One might infer that if the best of scientifically trained minds can’t deal with something counterintuitive without injecting personal feelings, then the rest of us are probably also guilty of laughing at what we don’t truly know.
But how does this apply to you? Have you made an observation that drew ridicule because others thought it was counterintuitive? Have you ridiculed someone who made a counterintuitive observation? Do those with whom you associate believe they have all the answers they need to have about society, politics, spirituality, and human behavior? Do you?
Be an Erasto, or consider seriously the ideas of an Erasto. To discover a reality or truth, an Erasto doesn’t have to be a certain age, have a certain education, look a certain way, or belong to a certain like-minded group. Erastos have open minds. They might be wrong, however. So, if an Erasto approaches you with an observation, be an Osborne. What is counterintuitive might be less funny than true.
That a child should make a befuddling discovery is nothing new. Even in the questions of toddlers we can find insights. As a child visiting the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh, I saw the Apatosaurus (called Brontosaurus at the time) skeleton. I turned and said to my father, “That can’t be the right head.” My father looked up at the head on the skeleton, looked down at me, and simply smiled. As an eight-year-old, I didn’t publish anything about my observation nor did I ask the paleontologists at the museum about their skeleton, but in the 1970s, the Apatosaurus did get a different head. For decades the skeleton had the wrong head.
In Mpemba’s case, Dr. Denis G. Osborne of University College in Dar es Salaam experimented to see whether or not Erasto was on to something. He was, and later they published jointly on the effect.
Adults also run into doubt and ridicule when they make observations that seem to run counter to common understanding. I’m reminded of a lecture I heard in 1980 by a friend of the Alvarez father-and-son team that pushed the hypothesis that a 10-km-wide comet or asteroid had struck Earth 65 million years ago. The scientists in the room were rightly skeptical, but they also laughed like Erasto’s classmates and teachers.
Just as Osborne experimented to support Erasto’s claim, so the scientists at the lecture (and around the world) needed additional evidence for the Alvarez claim. The hypothesis set off a multi-decade search for definitive evidence of an impact. That led to the discovery of the 110-mile-diameter Chicxulub crater in the Yucatan and the Caribbean and additional evidence from iridium-rich ash deposits around the world. In effect, the Alvarezes had their Osbornes in Antonio Camargo and Glen Penfield, discoverers of the crater.
Skepticism is what drives confirmation in science. Laughter at a discovery, observation, or insight that runs counter to intuition, however, is simply the product of insecurity or pride. Very few people want to be told their beliefs or positions are incorrect. There are many examples of such ridiculing in the history of science, including the guffaws that American geologists shouted upon hearing Alfred Wegener, a meteorologist, say that the continents had moved away from a supercontinent he called Pangaea. That big continents could move seemed counterintuitive to early twentieth-century geologists. Besides, Wegener wasn't even a geologist. But like Erasto, the Alvarezes, and yours truly, Wegener made counterintuitive observations that proved to be correct. His “continental drift” is now known as “sea floor spreading," the cause of mountain-building, sea and ocean formation, volcanic activity, and most earthquakes.
Here’s the problem scientists have. They invest their careers in a particular science, such as the debunked science of phrenology. After years of work, someone comes along to observe, discover, or demonstrate that what has been a center of scientific attention either lies on the periphery or doesn’t even exist. Investing in a science isn’t a purely rational enterprise. As finite beings, humans so invested realize they have only so much time to achieve goals. When someone discovers that the goals are either unreachable or distant mirages, he or she suffers frustration. That’s the human part of science. Upon the realization that we might be—or actually are—wrong, we feel deceived. That’s an appropriate feeling. The word frustration derives from the Latin frustrari, “to be deceived.”
It seems as though we can’t remove our emotional response from what should be a purely rational discussion. One might infer that if the best of scientifically trained minds can’t deal with something counterintuitive without injecting personal feelings, then the rest of us are probably also guilty of laughing at what we don’t truly know.
But how does this apply to you? Have you made an observation that drew ridicule because others thought it was counterintuitive? Have you ridiculed someone who made a counterintuitive observation? Do those with whom you associate believe they have all the answers they need to have about society, politics, spirituality, and human behavior? Do you?
Be an Erasto, or consider seriously the ideas of an Erasto. To discover a reality or truth, an Erasto doesn’t have to be a certain age, have a certain education, look a certain way, or belong to a certain like-minded group. Erastos have open minds. They might be wrong, however. So, if an Erasto approaches you with an observation, be an Osborne. What is counterintuitive might be less funny than true.
RSS Feed