The Perfect Place Of Knowledge
Part Three
Gates of Knowledge
Science and Mathematics
After passing through the incredibly detailed cathedral-like gates, I half-expected to be in Science and Math Heaven. Perhaps to the scientists and mathematicians it was Heaven, built with solid, natural materials. Instead of streets of gold, a pathway of finely ground granite began at my feet then turned immediately to the right, ascending as it lengthened. After a prescribed distance, the path turned back to the left rising again to the next turn. This path was carved into the side of a mountain, much like switchbacks one might travel along in the Rocky Mountains. The path ran a good distance back-and-forth near the base of the mountain, narrowing as it climbed up the side to an eventual point at the top. Appropriately, this configuration resulted in somewhat of a triangle. A memory came to me of a Jeep adventure my husband, Craig, and I took one summer day across a pass, winding down Black Bear trail into Telluride, Colorado. That road created quite the scary excursion where this particular pathway seemed quite secure and no doubt led to more knowledge. The gravel crunched as my feet moved along the path. At one of the bends I found myself in the company of famous personages deep in discussion.
Of course, with the knowledge gained in this place I knew the pair, though one was recognizable enough. Albert Einstein (1879 – 1955) and James Clerk Maxwell (1831 – 1879), both famed physicists, were considering a question.
My dear James, if I can go through the window portal to my own time, why couldn't I travel to a different time? You well know I believe all time coexists. I should be able to go to a different time.
Pardon my skepticism, Albert, but I would not wish to go to an unspecified time without first having logical expectations.
Ha! James, you know I always say logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.
My instinct was to not interrupt these great minds at work, but they seemed to be at an impasse—at least for the moment. However, often times I have an overwhelming desire to throw in my proverbial "two cents." Stepping closer to the pair, I suggested they give the imagining and logical expecting a rest and simply step through the portal together—at the same moment—and find out what happens. Einstein and Maxwell looked at me with amused surprise. They discussed this idea at length in terminology beyond my level of comprehension. But I gathered they wondered where or when they might land—Einstein's latter years in America or Maxwell's youth in Scotland or some other "where" or "when." I found myself quoting my mother, telling these two learned men, "Hey, you'll never know till you try." Each man shook my hand gratefully. Yes, I felt the grips strongly—these spirits had substance. They turned from me and walked down the pathway in a very animated discussion, anxious to conduct the experiment. Grinning with satisfaction, I continued my way upward.
A few switchbacks later and at a somewhat higher elevation from where the path began, another pair of famous men appeared. Again, I knew who these doctors were, though this was new knowledge, not having been schooled in this branch of science. Dr. James Ewing (1866 – 1943), a New York pathologist, and Rene Laennec (1781 – 1826), a French physician, were speaking quietly. Dr. Ewing glanced at me—in his eyes I saw great wisdom. Making a quick decision, I walked up to him and asked why a good friend of mine, back on the Other Side, was stricken with terminal cancer. He placed a hand on my shoulder and calmly told a story from The Other Side.
A contented cow grazes peacefully in a pasture when a massive tornado plunges from the ominous clouds, snatching her from the ground and pulling her into the vortex. The doomed cow's breath is sucked out of her lungs by the fluctuating air pressure—the lifeless carcass discarded some distance away in the branches of a leafless tree. Another cow, on the opposite side of the pasture is startled by the tornado, but continues her grazing and lives. Disease may occur. Disease may not occur.
Laennec looked at me with compassion. He closed his eyes for a moment, then told a story of his own:
Picture a gigantic boulder high above a cabin on the side of a mountain. The cabin is near a creek and seems quite secure. This situation poses no danger to people sleeping in the cabin unless some force dislodges the boulder from its elemental perch. An earthquake might cause the huge rock to become unstable—a completely natural phenomena. Or the force might be a human being with a mighty tool—a very deliberate action. The balance of nature is disrupted by the purposeful loosening of the rock, yes, but also by the human family living on the mountain. Regardless of the cause, the boulder lumbers down the side of the mountain, crushing the cabin and the sleeping family within. Or, perhaps it rolls by harmlessly to settle into a new home in the creek. This may eventually cause the cabin to flood, but then again, no flood could ever occur. Such is cancer.
Patiently nodding, I leaned against the stone wall, grudgingly accepting the answer to my question—there is no real answer. Fate, God, chi, whatever or possibly nothing at all determines whether my friend is sick. Even further is the question of if she can survive, or, as she suspects, dies. Why our generation should be cursed with such slow and insidious diseases rather than plague or pestilence as in ancient times is a mystery to me. I vow to ask that question when the opportunity arises. But I am very sure we must value each day, each friendship, every moment and thank whatever powers there are for each of these wonderful things.
The two doctors gazed at me for a moment to be certain their message was understood. They stepped backward, disappearing into nothingness. My eyes filled with tears. One ran down my cheek, as I turned to walk further up the granite path.
In the next turn, a man stood alone. He seemed quite content watching me approach. This was Willis Haviland Carrier (1876-1950). My tears dried, as I moved with purpose to shake his hand. Having grown up in an extremely hot part of Texas, I had always wanted to thank the smart man who made air conditioning available to the masses, and this was he. My question was how a man from such a cold climate as New York thought to create air conditioning. W.H. took me into his arms in a huge bear hug and accepted my thanks with aplomb. He merrily told me the temperature gets mighty hot in New York, too. Laughing, I waved goodbye to continue my travel up the path of Science knowledge.
At the next turn stood Benjamin Franklin (1706 – 1790) with Alessandro Volta (1745 – 1827). Each had quite a bit of experience with electricity and developing the battery in particular. Excited to be in their presence, I asked if they realized just about everything on the Other Side ran on electricity and batteries. They simply nodded. Upon receiving this rather lackadaisical response, I searched for another question. Knowing that Volta had the title of Count bestowed upon him by Napoleon, I asked what the famed conqueror was like.
He was French. Schifoso! Si, I took the title then wished the big man in a little body arrivederci!
Amused and encouraged, again I aimed a question at one of the USA's founding fathers. "Mr. Franklin, how ever were you able to accomplish all the things you did?"
By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail. I merely resolved to perform what I ought, and perform without fail what I resolved.
"Yes, I see. Say, do you know why there are many people and beings in this Place and yet there is no one besides myself from the living world on the Other Side?" Ben Franklin seemed to stifle a grin before he answered.
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
Nodding with understanding, I found myself bowing to take my leave. Franklin and Volta bowed in return, and I'm certain they were laughing as they faded into nothingness. My feet moved a bit more slowly. I felt content, happy even to be traveling up the path of Science. Around another bend sat a lone figure. Nicola Tesla (1856 – 1943), largely considered the "man who lit the world," was sitting very still and with his head hanging. The knowledge that he was a brilliant scientist, yet quite eccentric and harbored a mighty grudge toward Thomas Edison, I approached carefully. Since he was purported to be a rather volatile character (even the label "mad scientis
t" was used at times), I decided to stay away from any technical type issue and instead ask how he felt about having a hard rock band as his namesake. His head jerked up—his eyes were bright and intense.
Oh yes. Fantastic! And observe where radio has gone—into outer space!
"Yes, it has. Have you heard a Tesla CD?"
Ah, yes indeed. Mr. Russell has created a magnificent recording medium with his compact discs.
"I agree. Although, my husband and I resisted the CD age for quite some time." Tesla looked at me with surprise. "Yes, we certainly did. You see, when CD's came out, we had just gotten all our music changed over from 8-track to cassette!" The unusual man looked off into the distance.
Such is the modern world. Let the future tell the truth, and evaluate each one according to his work and accomplishments. The present is theirs; the future, for which I have really worked, is mine.
The brilliant inventor had a far-off look on his face which made me somewhat uncomfortable. He seemed to have forgotten I was there, so I quietly walked away. At the very next switchback, just around the corner, stood Thomas Edison (1847 – 1931) and Alexander Graham Bell (1847 – 1922). These two contemporaries helped shape the 20th century. After glancing backward, to be sure Tesla was out of sight, I asked Edison how he was able to come up with so many wonderful inventions.
Bah! If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves. Further, I was not discouraged because every wrong attempt discarded was another step forward.
Turning my attention to Bell, who was a prolific inventor in his own right, I asked what he thought of the modern cell phone craze.
Mr. Cooper has done the world a great service and possibly created a monster.
"I have to agree. This whole talking and texting thing is getting out of control. But never mind that. You also invented the metal detector, right? That is a big-time hobby for some folks and certain types are used to discover hidden weapons on people as they enter a secure area."
Great discoveries and improvement invariably involve the cooperation of many minds. I may be given credit for having blazed the trail, but when I look at the subsequent developments I feel the credit is due to others rather than to myself.
The great inventor smiled modestly. Sensing our interview was over, I raised a hand to wave goodbye and turned away. But Edison had a parting comment for me.
Katie, bear in mind the chief function of the body is to carry the brain around. Take care of yourself!
I couldn't help but look back and giggle a bit. Who would have thought such accomplished men would be so humble and funny? But at the next turn I became a bit uneasy, sensing the Mathematics zone was ahead. Always a dreaded subject, for me math was an anathema. Perhaps that is a harsh attitude, but algebra, or the lack thereof, actually shaped the course of my life. My high school required one year of algebra, then one of geometry. The second year of algebra was optional. I passed freshman algebra by the proverbial skin of my teeth. Certainly it was not out of the goodness of the teacher's heart—he was awful. Sophomore geometry and the teacher were much more to my liking and successfully completing that course satisfied the mathematics requirement for high school. The unfortunate, or fateful, result of the omission of Algebra II from my curriculum was to not be accepted into Texas A&M University. Understandably, I was quite hesitant to enter the realm of higher knowledge in this particular subject. Nevertheless, I was there to learn and walked further up the path, though much more slowly. Suddenly, to my pleasant surprise and comfort, Dennis appeared with his Elvis sneer, walking beside me.
Not having much formal education in math, I called on the general knowledge of this Place and recognized the person before me. One of the greatest mathematicians of all time, Carl Gauss (1777 – 1855) purportedly jested he could "figure" before he could talk. The notion he had a sense of humor caused me to pause and take a chance on relaying something I had heard somewhere.
"Sir, I believe it is a fact that horses have an even number of legs. They have two legs in back, and in front—fore legs. The result is six legs, which is certainly an odd number of legs for a horse. But the only number that is both odd and even is infinity. Therefore, horses have an infinite number of legs."
The interminable Gauss chuckled quietly and happily gave his answer:
We cannot assume this theorem to be true as there is an incorrect assumption within. I refer to the iniquities of language—a subject we do not handle in this department.
He exclaimed "Fore legs!" before fading into the shadows while his laughter still filled the air. I was quite relieved at the joke's success and so hurried the short distance to the next bend. Dennis slapped me on the back and began limping while he walked in a Walter Brennan imitation. Both of us chuckled.
The path was shorter between bends now—much shorter than below. The top was near and I feared it. Certain my intellect and capacity for mathematical information was reaching beyond points previously imagined I cautiously approached the next two personages. A woman, obviously gently bred and of high social status, smiled warmly at me. She was one of very few women who were active in the early days of mathematical enlightenment. In later year, she might have had an even greater influence than she had in the mid 1800's. Lady Lovelace nee Ada Byron (1815 – 1852), the daughter of Lord Byron the poet, put both writing and analytical talents to use in manuscripts that led to machine computing. Standing with her was another prominent mathematician. Jon von Neumann (1903 – 1957) passed away the same the year I was born. Lady Lovelace's peaceful presence and the coincidence with von Neumann caused me to grow bolder.
A question had bothered me for years and years. It seemed a good time to ask. I gathered my courage and spoke to the two famed authorities.
"Why is it, try as I might, I simply cannot understand higher mathematics? My mom taught me the multiplication tables in our dining room. Thank goodness for the solar calculator. Because beyond that, I just don't get it. Why is that?"
Lady Lovelace smiled ever so slightly and looked to von Neumann. He placed a hand on my elbow in an informal gesture of compassion and guided me to a ledge against the stone wall. We sat. His words sounded familiar, like a quote on an educational poster.
In mathematics you don't understand things. You just get used to them.
My eyes blinked hard as the words sunk in. Aware than von Neumann had risen and was walking away, I contemplated his statement. In one way this concept should be a relief to the confusion which had been harboring in my mind for so long. Yet, in my personal opinion, understanding should be the foundation for any learning. Just accepting "things" didn't seem logical or an acceptable starting point on which to build knowledge. Rising from the stone seat, I nodded to the pair in thanks. Dennis grinned at me, then moved over to stand with them. He asked if I could remember Casa Magnetica at Six Flags Over Texas just before all three stepped back into the shadows and out of sight.
This thought came to me: understanding there are many "things" one cannot comprehend is itself a learning achievement. Further, I believe accepting things rather than understanding them must be second nature to the great minds, one of which I certainly am not nor will ever be. I simply cannot "just get used to" the "things" I cannot understand.
Alone at a blank stone wall, the path ended. Knowing there was much more to experience in the higher realms of Science and Mathematics did not bother me at all. Even contemplating the science of the Casa Magnetica, where gravity was defied was too much for me at this point. The wall marked the end of the path for me in these subjects both literally and figuratively. Or perhaps it was simply as far as I could go—this time.