The Palaeontologist’s muse

There are two types of forces in the world. There are the explosive, fast forces like volcanoes, earthquakes and thermonuclear fusion weapons. And then there are the slow ones – the rivers that cleave mountains and the seas which batter entire land-masses into submission. In our brief, fleeting, lives we tend to recognise the fast shapers as superior in some way. But take a look at the Grand Canyon or the Himalayas – they were shaped over thousands of years (by water erosion and tectonic plates moving against each other respectively) by the slow powers that be.

The process of science parallels this aspect of nature. There are the moments of extreme insight – the ‘eureka’ moments where we make giant strides in fleeting instants. And then there is the slow process of chipping away at the barriers nature places between us and knowledge. Where we batter down the obstacles we face and achieve our ends inches at a time. This post is dedicated to that inexorable movement. For though the sprint may get us over a hill, it is the march that moves armies over continents.

I mentioned in ‘Our little friends to be’ that I’d spent the winter (of 08-09) in the US. I stayed in Washington DC for the entirety of that trip (except for two awesome days in New York). And as any geek worthy of that title would have done, I spent more than a few days running around the Smithsonian(s) grinning in delight. They weren’t as great as I thought they would be. Don’t get me wrong, they were brilliant. But they seemed to fall a way short of expectation – the dinosaurs didn’t seem as big and the sabre-toothed cats not as menacing as I thought they would in my imagination. But a few parts stood out. One of them, in the palaeontology section is what’s inspiring this post:

They had this glass room in which the palaeontologists who prepared the fossils worked. You could watch them work like any other exhibit at the museum. The room was brightly lit and the hallway outside quite dark. So, I guess, to someone inside it would seem like the quiet labs they were used to. People knocking on the glass, however, might’ve be a problem. But the hilarious sign I’ve photographed above seemed to stop most of that!

A palaeontologist digs up fossils. Fossils can be pretty large – the fully preserved hip of a brachiosaur for example. But I’m given to believe that most are small – teeth, bone fragments and the like. In any case, Palaeontologists dig them up and clean them with instruments like toothbrushes (only for heavy duty work!), paint brushes and other stuff like that. Imagine the patience it takes to sit in the mid-day heat of a desert and dig out a five tonne piece of mineralised bone embedded 20 meters up a cliff-face with a fine sable! What madness drives them!?! But scientists and engineers do that all the time. We seldom rely on leaps of intuition.

There are hundreds of famous examples of this in the history of science. Men and Women have so often made thousands of models and millions of calculations before they got things right. I myself have spent weeks varying values in a circuit trying to find an optimal configuration.

But the effort is almost always worth it. Look around you. Look at that plane overhead or the cell phone you hold in your hand. They almost surely took a massive effort to design and build. But ask an engineer who creates them or a scientist who discovers the principles they rely on and they’ll tell you that the sheer joy of seeing their work come alive is worth every drop of sweat and ever hour lost in thought.

I know this joy. And I suspect almost every creator of things does too. It is our reason. It is the thing that binds us to our lab-benches and drives us. It is our muse. The muse that inspires the palaeontologist within us all to chip away at his problem one layer of dirt at a time.