The Scientific Method—the ability of human beings to explain phenomena via a process of observation, hypothesis, testing, and analysis—is arguably the means by which all of human technology, broadly construed, exists. We certainly wouldn’t have computers or bikes or beer were it not for this powerful means of applying human reason to human problems.
We might still, though, have acquaintances who program those computers or ride those bikes or drink that beer, and no doubt they would be the ones doing empirical testing of the proposed propositions and so, it should come as no surprise to learn that everyone’s an engineer when there’s a chance to discover whether you really can put out a hearty fire with wet driftwood.
By the time the flaming mastodon head is ignited by Duraflame logs and firestarter, anyway, it’s been proven that, under certain conditions, even in a gale, as long as you’re inside a park shelter, the fire will inexorably dry the soggy branches and add them to the conflagration.
One could quibble over the size of the test sample, but like a ride of less than a dozen, it still counts as statistically significant.
Sound experimental design would have us creating opportunities to see our hypotheses disconfirmed, and so, if upon arriving, one presumes it might be more fun to bail on the evening, it becomes incumbent to search for a counterexample and just start pedaling.
And then, when riding out the storm in the perfect park shelter to do so, amply provisioned and with endless supplies, it turns out, of combustible fuel, one ought to be perfectly delighted to be proven wrong, since after all, in doing so, new knowledge is generated.
I hypothesized the downpour was over when I left the park not needing a coat; twenty minutes later, though, there was plenty of data to contradict this view; I was perfectly happy to be proven wrong, but happier still I had my rain pants.
We might still, though, have acquaintances who program those computers or ride those bikes or drink that beer, and no doubt they would be the ones doing empirical testing of the proposed propositions and so, it should come as no surprise to learn that everyone’s an engineer when there’s a chance to discover whether you really can put out a hearty fire with wet driftwood.
By the time the flaming mastodon head is ignited by Duraflame logs and firestarter, anyway, it’s been proven that, under certain conditions, even in a gale, as long as you’re inside a park shelter, the fire will inexorably dry the soggy branches and add them to the conflagration.
One could quibble over the size of the test sample, but like a ride of less than a dozen, it still counts as statistically significant.
Sound experimental design would have us creating opportunities to see our hypotheses disconfirmed, and so, if upon arriving, one presumes it might be more fun to bail on the evening, it becomes incumbent to search for a counterexample and just start pedaling.
And then, when riding out the storm in the perfect park shelter to do so, amply provisioned and with endless supplies, it turns out, of combustible fuel, one ought to be perfectly delighted to be proven wrong, since after all, in doing so, new knowledge is generated.
I hypothesized the downpour was over when I left the park not needing a coat; twenty minutes later, though, there was plenty of data to contradict this view; I was perfectly happy to be proven wrong, but happier still I had my rain pants.
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