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Scientists Had it Coming

Don Maurer

    Political Correctness (PC) in the United States mandates conformance to orthodox liberal opinions regarding ethnicity, religion, occupation, gender and sexual persuasion. Because PC is not universally applied an occupation providing ambiguity challenging the norms of PC is science.

    “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. The United States Home Services System (USHSS) is proud to present You be the Judge. I’m Tom Playfair tonight’s moderator. The program is sponsored by the Real American Civil Liberties Union (RACLU) which distinguishes itself from the other union which unabashedly never met a liberal cause it didn’t unreservedly support. The RACLU has no agenda other than examining both sides of an issue.”
    “Tonight’s topic was based on listeners’ polls. Do scientists deserve the protection of PC or are they fair game for foul play? As per our practice the audience will score the participants’ performances.”
    “Scientists regularly feast on global recognition and rock star acclaim associated with Nobel Prizes at the annual ego orgy in Stockholm Sweden. Still, books, movies, plays and TV depict scientists as insensitive, arrogant, egotistical, self-indulgent megalomaniacs with no social skills; obsessively seeking knowledge about arcane and obtuse processes and events; totally oblivious to obvious risks to self and others; secretly planning to overthrow the established order with their singular view of a brave new world.”
     “Supporting fair play for scientists is Dr. Woodrow Wilson Wormwood. His research area is astrotheology. He serves as Director for Life of the prestigious Institute for Scientific Credibility and Integrity (ISIC). Representing the opposing view is Mr. Maxwell Candor. He’s a freelance investigative reporter, a relentless advocate for truth, justice and the American way.”
    “Mr. Playfair. I’m disappointed you give credence to the pitiful outcry from a small group of know-nothings and jealous underachievers,” Dr. Wormwood opined.
    “There’s no basis for their petty putdowns of illustrious personages.”
    “In view of tonight’s debate that’s a rather self-serving, premature opening statement,” Maxwell Candor countered.
    Wormwood ignoring Candor’s riposte asserted. “I’m offended you’d even offer the topic for the program.”
    “Dr. Wormwood. May I remind you our audience selects the topics. Further you knew the topic when you accepted the invitation to participate in the debate.” Wormwood settled begrudgingly in his seat. “There have been some examples where scientists haven’t been all they can be. Do you remember when the Mars Climate Orbiter failed to correct units of force into metric ones?”
    Before Wormwood could respond Candor quickly asserted. “An $87 million spacecraft passed into oblivion. Men and women with advanced STEM degrees and no one correctly programmed the computer.”
    “The mission was victimized by demonic possession,” Wormwood glibly replied.
    “Demonic possession!” Playfair and Candor chorused.
    “Yes. Sometimes a nanosecond of a random electronic surge or a solar flare can play havoc with a computer. No reason to cashier the entire program.”
    “You’re reaching Dr. Wormwood,” Candor exclaimed. “Hope they don’t miscalculate the path of the next asteroid heading our way. Think Russia.”
    “Then there’s the curious case of Kurt Godel the Austrian mathematician considered the world’s foremost expert in logic,” Playfair asserted.
    “Of course I know Kurt’s work,” Wormwood smugly answered as if he had been on a first name basis with the famous man.
    Before Playfair could continue Candor interjected again. “Except Godel had this little problem. Was a hypochondriac for much of his adult life. Went paranoid and became convinced he was being poisoned. Eventually stopped eating and starved to death. How logical was this from the world’s foremost logician?”
    “Godel was victimized by shepherd pie,” Wormwood confidently responded.
    “Shepherd pie!” Playfair and Candor chorused.
    “Common knowledge that shepherd pie can carry a prion producing Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE) or mad cow disease,” Wormwood defiantly rebutted. “The latter underwent a series of foldings. Centuries of eating shepherd pie and haggis in that looney United Kingdom caused Creutzfeld-Jakob Disease. Anyone with any cultural background would know that evidence for this condition is provided by all the mad men in that consummate, plagiarist Shakespeare’s plays.” Playfair and Candor looked at each other in wonder.
    “Wait a minute Dr. Wormwood,” Candor exclaimed. “For someone who has five W’s in his name you sure ... Whatever. Godel lived in Austria eating wiener schnitzel, sauerbraten, kartoffelkos suppe and rotkohl. No shepherd pie for that boy.”
    Playfair closely following the exchange between Wormwood and Candor intervened before it got nastier. “Our first quarter audience rankings indicate a slight edge 52% to Mr. Candor.” The latter smiled modestly which was definitely against type whereas Dr. Wormwood frowned questionably.
    Playfair diverted Candor’s recent salvo at Wormwood as quickly as possible. “Albert Einstein belongs to the panthenon of physical science greats including Galileo and Newton. Still the Danish physicist Niels Bohr haughtily referred to Einstein as an alchemist. How big an ego do you have to possess to do that?”
    “Bohr was no shrinking violet himself,” Wormwood knowingly replied. “He recognized no peers which became very boring.” Wormwood was disappointed Playfair failed to acknowledge his clever pun.
    Playfair finally recovered home court advantage before Candor could start another polemic. “Perhaps the next example might persuade you that scientists can error. A researcher requested a permit to study the civet’s last known habitat in the Keralia Forest in New Delhi, India. Experimental design called for a viewing time from 0600 to 1800 hours. To the dismay of all civet lovers none were reported.”
    Shrugging his shoulders Wormwood snidely inquired. “How many civet lovers can there be?” Candor promptly fielded this question. “But civets are nocturnal. There would be no trace of them during the day. A little embarrassing for an ecologist studying natural history.”
    “A small glitch for a minor study which barely qualifies for science these days. You’ll have to do better than that Mr. Playfair.” The latter grimaced at Wormwood’s put down. He was rapidly losing any sympathy for his lame defense of the night’s proposition.
    Playfair continued. “Gentlemen a purloined copy of a study secretly transmitted from India found its way to our purview. The study revealed that six out of ten Indian men have the world’s smallest penises.”
    “What’s that you say?” Wormwood’s interest peaked. “Imagine that!”
    “What’s even more amazing than embarrassing is that researchers were found to measure them,” Candor offered.
    “Were the researchers men or women?” Wormwood innocently asked.
    “How relevant is that Wormwood?” Candor snapped derisively dismissing the former’s honorific. Wormwood ignored his query.
    Barely managing to implement the night’s topic Playfair plodded on. “Here’s a hypothetical scenario on the experimental design. Scene: A local tavern. “Hey guys. India’s getting a bum rap about its lack of success in Pakistan. And we all know what happened with Kashmir. Frankly men we’ve been charged with a lack of cojones. We need to change that image. The India Department of Defense has sponsored a study measuring the size of our penises. We want to demonstrate we can hang in there with the best of them. Hold our own with anyone. No pun intended. This is no laughing matter. This is for truth, justice and the Indian way. Okay guys. Line up. Drop your drawers. I’ll just get out my steel calipers ...Oh! This isn’t good. Several volunteers fainted on the spot.”
    Unfortunately the results of the study did not support the researchers’ expectations.
    “The experiment wasn’t for the faint-hearted or the undeveloped,” Wormwood defensively exclaimed. “Should’ve been a psychological screening process and control group.”
    “Psychological screening process!” Candor erupted. “What sentient being would volunteer for such a debasing and absurd experiment? Control group? Who are you going to compare intromittent organs with? No other nation in the world would tolerate such an invasion of privacy or private parts.”
    Playfair, who was jealous of Candor’s more delicate selection of intromittent organ over the more commonly used word penis, gathered himself. “Gentlemen it seems this last study has pricked a lot of interest from our audience.” Candor could barely refrain from laughing whereas Wormwood produced the mother of all scowls.
    Hiding his embarrassment from his unintended Freudian slip which was a fait accompli Playfair gamely motored on. “The phones are off the hook. We’re inundated with e-mails, twitters and texts. Right now Mr. Candor’s percentage has risen to 58%.”
    Wormwood shook his head in disbelief.
    “Wormwood you showed some interest in the study of Indian intromittent organs,” Candor charged continuing to commander the debate.
    “What nonsense. I categorically deny that,” Wormwood righteously answered. Playfair blanched at the acrimony generated during the night’s debate. The program was receiving an all time high audience response but at the risk of alienating USHSS and losing sponsorship from RACLU and the loss of his position because of the open antagonism between the two participants.
    “Wormwood since your area of research is in astrotheology, this next topic should be of interest to you and your colleagues,” Candor inserted. “By the way you and none of your colleagues from prestigious ISIC are listed in Who’s Who in Science.”
    “A careless misprint in the edition you examined. We’ve already sent a letter of complaint to rectify this oversight.”
    “How did he know what edition I reviewed?” Candor mused. Aloud. “Perhaps you’re familiar with Wilhelm Reich’s Doctrine of Orgone Energy?”
    “Where’s he taking this now?” Playfair said to himself.
    “Orgone was featured in Reich’s The Function of the Orgasm. Title’s a real attention getter. Audiences love the topic.”
    “I’m not familiar with that work,” Wormwood indignantly and too quickly denied.
    “According to Reich orgone is the fundamental motive force of the universe.”
    Candor persisted. “Neuroses were the result of the individual’s inability to achieve a satisfactory orgasm. Too little orgone would reduce having a successful orgasm. A lot of disappointed people out there.” Playfair secretly agreed with this notion but also feared that officials of RACLU may be monitoring the program.
    “Moreover, orgone energy occurred not only in the bodies of sexual organisms, but throughout the universe,” Candor asserted. “It’s main source being the sun and the stars. I’m kind of surprised a professional astrotheologian isn’t familiar with orgone.”
    By this time Playfair was frantically signaling the cut throat sign to the video man calling for an impromptu advertisement. The latter missed the sign, busily chatting up one of the many obligatory, slithery, willowy or full bodied weather women passing by. He would’ve scored better if he called them meteorologists. Still he was committed to determining whether their orgone levels were simpatico.
    Candor marched on. “Reich sought a way to concentrate natural orgone energy.
    The result was his famous orgone box – or more properly the Orgone Accumulator. The box was large enough to hold a seated human.”
    “Mr. Playfair can we move to something more relevant and meaningful,” Wormwood pleaded nervously.
    “There’s little more relevant and meaningful than a successful orgasm,” Candor insisted which tells us more about the investigative reporter than we want to know.
    “In fact I’m not sure you’re leveling with us about Reich’s work.”
    “What are you insinuating Mr. Candor?”
    “Not insinuating anything. Isn’t it true that some years ago you reviewed The Function of the Orgasm for the Journal of Really Aberrant Psychology. You concluded that Reich’s research should be supported by all responsible scientists. Further you recommended extensive experimentation of a delicate nature which he might perform.”
    “Mr. Playfair. I don’t have to listen to Mr. Candor’s baseless ramblings and outrageous accusations. Regain control of your program.”
    “Too late for that Wormwood,” Candor chided. “I have a picture of you being fitted in the Orgone Accumulator. Do you deny that it’s you?” Candor passed the photograph to Playfair who in turn showed it to the TV audience.
    Desperately treading water Playfair stated. “It’s a very good likeness Dr. Wormwood. Indeed you’ve never looked happier.” Before Wormwood could answer Candor, Playfair found some hidden reserve of temerity. “Gentlemen the RACLU enthusiastically embraces differences of opinion civilly expressed equally eschewing rancorous confrontations.” Clearly ignoring Playfair’s weak attempt to promote harmony Wormwood and Candor openly glared at one another. Playfair filled the verbal void.
    “Did you know that Cambridge Massachusetts awards Ig Nobels in its Annals of Improbable Research for accomplishments that can not or should not be reproduced.”
    “It’s certainly reassuring that our best and brightest are pursuing such cutting edge research,” Wormwood affirmed. Candor rolled his eyes at this absurdity.
    “The physics prize for patience was awarded to a team monitoring one drop of sticky black pitch dripping through a funnel every 9 years since 1927?”
    “A worthy project to be sure Mr. Playfair,” Wormwood solemnly intoned. “Perseverance is necessary in science.”
    “Maybe the best and the brightest could persevere to learn to accurately predict the day’s weather,” Candor complained.
    “The chemistry prize was awarded to a team determining that people can swim as fast in syrup as in water,” Playfair offered.
    “Useful information generated by creative and productive scientists,” Wormwood asserted.
    “Yeah! Michael Phelps will be reassured. The next time you fall into a vat of maple syrup, no problem,” Candor replied. “If you can swim, you can make it in syrup.” Wormwood was uncertain whether Candor was supporting him or being sarcastic which tells us more about him than we want to know.
    “Seriously Dr. Wormwood science has to do a better job disseminating its findings to the public to earn their financial support,” Playfair suggested.
    “Maybe the lack of social skills cited at the outset impedes the process,” Candor gleefully added.
    “Biased ignorance from liberal arts students,” Wormwood answered.
    Playfair doggedly pushed on. “One team blew away all competitors. They calculated that penguins build up 450 mm mercury of pressure in their bellies to expel excrement the consistency of olive oil away from their nests.”
    “Imagine that!” Candor exclaimed.
    “The team missed the 2012 meeting because they couldn’t obtain visas to attend the awards ceremony. They hoped their failure to receive visas had nothing to do with the explosive nature of their work.”
    Candor looked quizzically at Playfair and mused. “Was he unwittingly committing another Freudian slip or was he really a clever punster?”
    “We should thank the Department of Homeland Security for averting a potential disaster,” Wormwood ponderously proclaimed.
    “Not to worry Doctor. The penguin paper cited above served as a catalyst for additional research.”
    “A keystone attribute of science is that one scientist stands on the shoulders of their predecessors,” Wormwood pompously announced.
    “Gentlemen the award winning penguin research established a safe distance between avian zoo enclosures and visitors. This work prompted other workers to ask whether penguin calculations could be used to protect transmission lines damaged by defecating vultures.”
    “And just how many vultures would that be Mr. Playfair?” Candor incredulously asked. “You’re saying that defecating vultures are a threat to national security?” “How did I ever get conned into this ... pitiful debate,” Candor mused. “Have to get a new agent.”
    “Playfair indomitably continued. “The new research determined that a safe distance from penguins was one meter whereas that for high perching raptors demanded a wider berth.”
    Wormwood noticed Candor’s hesitation to co-opt the conversation and did so himself. “The next time you visit avian enclosures here’s a useful rule of thumb. Ground birds don’t splatter more than a meter / high flying birds are much less neater.” He waited expectantly from Playfair for appreciation of his clever mnemonic. He waited in vain.
    Candor was no fan of Ig Nobels. They merely supported the view how snotty and elitist scientists can be trying to be so clever wasting time.
    “Gentlemen Mr. Candor’s score is now 85%. Dr. Wormwood you’re going to have to rally a bit in this last quarter.” Candor recognized that beating Wormwood in a debate wouldn’t be much of an achievement and certainly wouldn’t advance his career.
    Trying hard to re-engage the scientist’s lost interest and tepid participation in the night’s debate Playfair posed the following question. “Dr. Wormwood. What’s your take on global warning or climate change as some people prefer? Some scientists strongly support the process. Others vehemently deny it.”
    Wormwood immediately warmed to the question. No pun intended. “I’m not sure you’re aware of this research Mr. Playfair and I’m sure Mr. Maxwell Candor isn’t.”
    The latter ignored the put down.
    Wormwood continued. “When herbivorous mammals belch, they provide measurable amounts of methane. A powerful green house gas. Driving large herbivores like mammoths, mastodons and other megafauna to extinction, deprived earth 10 million tons of methane per year that had been contributing to the natural green house effect of trapped carbon dioxide. Minus those mammoth-size burps, climate would’ve cooled.”
    Even Playfair, who had tried to be the voice of reason and objectivity for the debate, was taken aback by Wormwood’s defense of science’s probity.
    “Still the world readjusted back towards the last Ice Age as per Milankovitch’s calculations.”
    Stonewalling both men Wormwood exclaimed. “Researchers concluded that human hunters influenced methane flows and accordingly climate. This occurred long before agriculture and industrial activities. Natural processes (mammoth burps) other than the industrial revolution warmed the earth.” Playfair and Candor looked at one another shaking their heads in wonderment. Wormwood was very pleased with himself for putting both of them in their place.
    Playfair broke the silence. “At this time I’d like to thank tonight’s participants,” struggling to find the right words, any words, “for this ... this very provocative and singular ... edition of You be the Judge. Listeners awarded Mr. Candor 100% for his position that scientists do not deserve the protection of political correctness and therefore are fair game for satirists and nay sayers.”
    Candor surprisingly assumed a gracious posture acknowledging Playfair’s announcement. In contrast Wormwood nearly swallowed his tongue, frightening the moderator who didn’t look forward to emergency mouth to mouth resuscitation for the shocked scientist. Candor reasserting his usual alpha persona had to have the last word. “I think Dr. Wormwood and scientists in general would benefit from a regular regimen of Reich’s orgone. You be the judge.”
    After this program Dr.Wormwood was stripped of his title as Director for Life by his outraged and not so prestigious ISIC colleagues for his pathetic performance.
    Tom Playfair never presided over another program sponsored by the RACLU. He was last heard subbing for the regular agriculture announcer reading pork belly forecasts in Cheesehead, Wisconsin. In contrast to Candor’s earlier misgivings he made out very well joining a team of judges evaluating TV dancing, singing and comedy routines. He was obnoxious enough to unequivocally challenge even the most self styled celebrities posturing on these shows.

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