Story 1: Science By Any Other Name
"Just
shoot the one whose shells keep on landing closest to us," Sylvia demanded.
"Which
one is that?" asked David.
Just
then one of the tanks let off a bright flash. Sylvia steadied her bat and
swung. The shell went straight up.
"Hmm,
a pop fly," she mused.
"Ok,
I think I know which one,"
David said. He drew back his bowstring. The tank was maybe a mile away. He
released it. The arrow vanished into the distance. "Missed!" David
readied another arrow. Just then the turret of the tank sheared off the main
body. "That is quite a delay.
How can anything that travels so slow fly so far, and how can it then split a
tank in half? In fact, the whole idea of me destroying a tank with a bow and
arrow is scientifically preposterous."
"What
do you mean? It's the most scientifically sound thing you could do.
Incoming!" Sylvia shouted as she deflected another shell. It flew over the
horizon. "We have a hypothesis that your arrows will destroy these tanks.
We have run experiments where the control group was not shot by arrows and it
remained intact. The experimental group of five, make that six, thanks you have
shot with arrows was completely destroyed. This supports the hypothesis.
Therefore, if you desire to destroy tanks, the scientific evidence supports
that you should shoot them with arrows. Duck!" Sylvia was interrupted by a
shell that landed just behind her. "For some reason this just happens to
not agree with all of your previous scientific models. Then again, not many
people in history have tried to destroy tanks using arrows. So, your six, make
that seven, highly successful experiments may very well constitute the majority
of research in this particular area. In the end, it all boils down to the basic
question of all science. 'Does it work?'"
"But
even if it does work it doesn't make any sense," David replied.
"Maybe
you just need to adjust your physical model to accommodate this new
information," Sylvia said as she glanced straight up. "Hmm, that shell is coming back
down." She poised herself for the swing.
"You
know, that actually is incredibly insightful, but when did you learn anything
about science?" David asked,
although he never did get a response. Sylvia swung the bat and the crack
of the bat told David it was a good swing. However, the crack of the back swing against his
head sent him tumbling out of bed.
"What
the? What a weird dream,"
he blurted out
before he remembered that Sylvia was probably still asleep. The room was dark
except for a slight green glimmer. Looking towards the source of the glimmer,
David saw a struggling pair of wings emerging from a small lab coat entangled in his
dream-catcher. Removing it from the bedpost he carried it into the kitchen and
freed the fairy into an old mason with several holes punched in the lid for
just such an occasion. David placed the jar on a shelf next many other
oddities. Hanging the dream catcher back on the post he crawled back into bed.
Sylvia
stirred and asked him,
"What are you up to now?"
David
said in an annoyed but soft voice, "Remember to call the landlord about
that hole in the screen tomorrow morning. We had a science pixy stuck in the
dream catcher."
"Well
that explains my
dream. I was running experiments on why trolls turn to stone in direct sunlight," she muttered somewhat clearly.
"What
were your conclusions?" he
asked with perked curiosity.
"I
have no clue. You know I don't know the first thing about science. Happy
anniversary, by the way," she muttered almost incoherently as she rolled over and went
back to sleep.
David shook
his head. It had now been over
a year since those two annoying unicorns had dragged him out of bed and made
him go on the quest to save the beautiful princess from the enchanted far-off
land whom he had married her almost immediately. However, many things
still did not make sense. If she was really her father's greatest treasure then
why did the palace guards let her just wander off into the forbidden woods? Who
builds a palace next to the forbidden woods in the first place? Why didn't her
father send out anyone to free her after he discovered that the evil witch had
captured Sylvia? Also, why is it that after they were married Sylvia would not
be able to return to her distant
enchanted land until after David finished Med school, and why did the herald who
bore this news look like some high school kid from the Renaissance Fair? Furthermore,
if her father, the king, were
so loaded, how come they had
to live in this run-down one bedroom apartment in one of those neighborhoods
that generally make decent folk uncomfortable at night? Yes, there were a lot
questions, but one thing was for certain: after countless magical interruptions
David finally had something that might actually assist him in studying for the
boards.
Story 2 Reason By Any Other Name
“You
have to be a little more subtle when you’re observing people. They get the
wrong idea. Do you have something to show him now?” David asked
“It’s
been tinkering with the inside of that black coffee-making box,” Sylvia replied.
“I see
it.” Turning to the man who was now gathering his coat, David asked, “Excuse me, sir. Do you see
something odd about the espresso machine?”
“Um, no
I do not.” The man glared at him. The little incident (while entirely his
fault) still stung his ego.
“Well,
take a closer look.”
The man
approached the machine slowly, and then he stopped in disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, and
looked again. Then the look of shock was complete. “I thought it was a mouse at first,
but mice don’t wear pointy hats or long beards.”
“Those
would be gnomes.
Mmm, this is good tea. Thank you, my dear.” Sylvia said, putting down her
teacup.
“But,
that is not possible,”
he said, making a
grab at the gnome.
“And yet
you are holding one in your hand,” reminded Sylvia.
Then,
the gnome piped up,
“I pardon you, my good sir, but would you please be kind enough to put me
down?”
The man
placed the gnome on the table and slumped into a chair. “This is some kind of
trick, or I am losing my mind,”
he said, as he
watched the gnome shuffle around the volumes on the table looking for what was
only known to him.
“Why do
you say that?” asked Sylvia.
“Because
gnomes do not exist, and if they did run around coffee shops, people would
notice them. No one else notices him. Be reasonable,” the man said, regaining his composure.
David
paused, as if he was gathering his thoughts. It was not necessary, but it made
a good effect, and lent credibility to that which he was about to say. This
sort of acting in conversation was a learned behavior from being around Sylvia,
but he accepted it as one of the hazards of marriage. “Reason is only as good
as the premises on which it is based. We all tend to base our thoughts on the
same premises. For
instance, we assume that we can reliably observe the world around us, and
that our minds are not manufacturing experiences.”
“Excuse
me ma’am, may I have this?” the gnome quietly asked Sylvia as he held up a loose staple.
“Yes, go
ahead and take it,” she said in a hushed and hurried voice. The gnome bounced
off the table onto a chair. Then he scurried towards the espresso machine power cord, which he used
to scale back to the counter from which he was removed.
“From
these premises, you take your observations, and come up with the conclusion
that gnomes do not exist, simply because you have no recollection of observing
them.” David continued, “Now, you see something which contradicts your
conclusion, and instead of assuming that your conclusion was wrong, you start
to question the very premises that led to your original conclusion. In essence,
your no-gnome conclusion has become the new premise, and your sanity and
ability to observe are now dependent
on whether or not you see gnomes.”
“I would
not consider it a new premise as much a sanity check, in this case in the most
literal sense of the word,” replied the man in a form familiar to him, even
though the conversation was not entirely comfortable.
“It
really depends on your definition of sanity,” said David. “If sanity is going
with what you observe, then it would be insane to not acknowledge gnomes. If
sanity is going with what would appear to be universal conclusions, then it
would be utterly ridiculous to acknowledge gnomes.”
“You are
painting it rather subjectively,” said the man.
“Logic
is based on subjectivity,”
said David. “Don’t look at me like that. While logic may be a cold, clear, and
unvarying path from one idea to another, the starting point is entirely up to
the thinker. Since logic is a cold clear path, where one terminates is entirely
dictated by where one begins. If you start with the no-gnome premise, then
logically, you cannot trust your senses or mind in this situation. If you start
with the premise that you can trust these observations, then you must conclude
that gnomes exist. Why others don’t appear to see them, is something that I
have yet to determine. Either way, the choice of what to believe is yours.”
The man
just looked at him, preparing a retort, if not logical, then at least witty,
when a whistling came from the espresso machine - a bad whistle. David contemplated how it sounded
like a steam engine about to explode. That was one of the two sounds that
things made in
movies before exploding. The other sound was a beeping noise. Why someone would take the
time to put a beeper on a bomb was beyond David. David was lost in thought when
Sylvia, without changing her gaze from the machine, said, “My dear, I would
like a piece of that chocolate cake, the one on the bottom shelf, please.” She
followed the request with a quick jab from her elbow to shift David’s focus
back to her. David approached the counter, and asked the barista who was
leaning against the machine, seemingly oblivious to the horrid sound it was
making, for the item which required her to put herself further into the cabinet than any other
item. To make the whole maneuver take even longer, David bent over and took his
time selecting just the right piece of cake. Just then, the espresso machine
exploded in a burst of mostly steam and a little bit of shrapnel, the largest
piece being a steam-cleaned gnome. The barista pulled her head up (after
hitting it on the counter, of course) cake in hand. “You saved my life.”
“I just
ordered cake. Are you alright? I am a doctor,” David replied.
“I’m
fine,” she uttered. Then in a louder voice, “Is everyone okay?” looking over a
shop full of shaken patrons. “Here, take the cake, it’s free.”
David
returned to the table, placing the cake in front of Sylvia. “How did you know?”
“There
are some advantages to
being a princess raised in a magical land. However, that was not supposed to
happen.” She took a bite.
“You’re
right. Those machines don’t explode like that,” David interjected.
“No,
that is not exactly to what I am referring. That box was working perfectly when
I arrived here not three hours ago. Yet, as soon as the gnome began to tinker
with it, it began to misbehave. Now, it has destroyed itself in a most
dangerous fashion.”
“But,
gnomes don’t destroy things. They fix them, and they never put people in danger
while they do it. Would you agree that was a gnome?” asked David.
“I most
certainly would agree that to my senses it appeared to be a gnome. Furthermore, to my
recollection there is no such thing that so closely resembles a gnome. This is
most disturbing.”
At this
point, the gnome was regaining consciousness, and, after shaking himself off, he made a hurried
exit from the premises.
Sylvia
jabbed David again. He began again, “You still have a choice: accept that what you
saw today was just your senses not behaving correctly or that you have been incorrect all of these years.
Don’t feel bad. We now have to cope with our own disillusionment. Don’t you
think that it is funny that disillusionment is seldom welcomed, but usually beneficial?”
Sylvia
interrupted, “David, you are getting off-topic, again.”
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