"Oops!" by Gerald Angelo Cirrincione My name is Gerald and I'm fallible. A good friend of mine and I were looking over some skeletons recently. Marveling at their beauty and economy of design. It struck me that we are not born with the knowledge of our own anatomy and physiology. It is something that human beings needed to discover, and each generation needs to learn. Every infant explores its toes and its mother's nose with fascination. Babies are not omniscient. Neither are adults. I'm proud to say that I'm fallible. I do not claim to be, or aspire to be, infallible. Nor do I claim to be privy to, or in contact with, any omniscient beings or infallible texts. I'm fallible, therefore I think. To be omniscient means to have infinite knowledge or to know all. Similarly, being infallible means never being mistaken or inaccurate. Fallible people, on the other hand, have limited knowledge and are capable of mistakes. I am not omniscient, so there is a great deal for me to wonder about and discover. All the human beings that I know, or know of, are neither omniscient nor infallible, and therein lies their charm and their strength. Fallibility is at the center of human relationships; friendship is learning together about life. Thinking means using my senses and considering the information they bring me. As a fallible human, I have opportunity to think and to learn. Slowly, painfully at times. I live in a mixture of knowledge and ignorance. Life is a surprise because of the unknown. Humor is based on this. I can laugh because I am not omniscient. Have you had this experience? You've been thinking long and hard about a problem, making observations, asking questions, collecting all the data, looking at it from different perspectives, trying many approaches, turning it over in your mind. You're doing the necessary work, which involves time, space, and persistence, but the answer eludes you. Could the whole thing be impossible, or are you just incapable of finding the answer? Should you give up? Then, suddenly, you see or hear something apparently unrelated, and — in an instant — pieces fall into place. You glimpse the answer you've been seeking. Ignorance bursts into understanding. You feel the astonishing joy of discovery. Perhaps one of the most famous and delightful stories in the history of thinking is Archimedes' legendary dip into the bath. Water overflowed. Suddenly Archimedes grasped a principle that solved a problem he had been working on for some time. In a flash he discovered the fundamental natural law of buoyancy. Overjoyed by this insight, he leaped from the bath shouting, "Eureka! I've found it!" In his exuberance, he ran naked through the streets of Syracuse cheering, "Eureka!" The eureka experience happens because intellectual breakthroughs are not automatic, instantaneous, or guaranteed. Such elation of discovery is only possible to someone who, like Archimedes, is neither omniscient nor infallible. Would an all-knowing, unerring entity ever shout "Eureka!"? I imagine the following conversation between a gleeful Archimedes and a jaded deity. "Eureka!" exclaims Archimedes. "Of course," replies an un-curious Knower Of All Things. Fallibility is exciting. We need to be thinking all the time, aware all the time: alert. (Fallibility provides growing room. We can expand the boundaries of our knowledge.) We have much to explore, much to solve. There are pitfalls everywhere. And mistakes are important. When creating we are surprised by how things evolve. It takes many "Oops!" to make one "Eureka!" I can visualize a reader — let's call him Dr. Best — who objects, "I am outstanding in my field, I am a recognized expert, and I have never made a mistake." This may be so, but Dr. Best's knowledge is still limited, and he is nevertheless capable of mistakes. Fallibility is not a shameful thing. It is not a curse. Why try to deny, overlook, or conceal it? When we keep in mind that we are fallible, we grow stronger and more capable. When we remember that everybody else is also fallible, we acquire greater courage to weigh matters for ourselves. And when we accept that omniscience and infallibility do not exist, we gain tenacity. Paradoxically, when we admit we're fallible we become less fallible. At every moment, every individual's knowledge — and all human knowledge — is incomplete. But it is growing, continually maturing. Whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not, you face unknowns. The statement "Archimedes is fallible" is the same as the statement "Archimedes faces unknowns." There are unknowns in your life and profession. There always will be. This much is certain. The question is how you will choose to deal with them. I am too fallible not to listen to other points of view. I need always to pay attention to criticism of my ideas. Nothing is true simply because I say so. I need to work, revise, fine-tune, double-check. Suppose an omniscient oracle actually existed and were available to me. My understanding of it would still be incomplete and capable of mistakes. I cannot escape my fallibility. I alone have the responsibility for managing and controlling it. This, in a nutshell, is the human predicament. Archimedes had many superb achievements, but I love him because of his personality — the example he provides to me of a working thinker. He was not handed clay tablets on a mountain top. He did not receive instructions from a burning bush. He worked for his knowledge. And like all self- reliant thinkers, he employed a sensitive balance of quiet observation and deliberation. When people appreciate their own fallibility, they are easier to be with. They are not touchy about gaps in their knowledge; they freely admit what they do not understand. They are ready to learn something new. They don't expect others to be infallible either. They can stay open to unusual ideas without being gullible. In contrast, when people are not at ease with their human fallibility, they are liable to pretend to know more than they do, or to delude themselves that their viewpoint is indisputable. This makes them unreliable and argumentative. They are irritated by questions and take disagreement personally. They hide their mistakes. Adamant and inflexible they tend to pontificate. They consider themselves authorities and expect to be believed. Troubled by their fallibility, they are tempted to look for a god, a guru, or a weighty tome, to settle confusing issues. Or more obnoxious, they may try to set themselves up as the god, the guru, or the infallible interpreter of a weighty tome. Such people forget that error and uncertainty are part of human life. They believe it should be condemned and punished. Adults who are uncomfortable with their fallibility may try to appear infallible to children. This is harmful for both the adult and the child. Such an adult stifles the child's natural urge to think, and is deprived of the child's unique insights. Children need not be in awe of adults or customs. When they grow up knowing that all authority figures are fallible, children won't later be disillusioned. Children can be raised to learn from mistakes. When they aren't ridiculed, punished, or rejected for "being wrong," they can risk thinking for themselves. Children will want the emotional surge of the eureka experience. But before "Eureka!" there is much work to be done. And afterwards as well. A king was so impressed by Archimedes that he issued a royal proclamation that he was always to be believed by everybody and never to be doubted. Archimedes did not want this. He said, "I require no believers. I prove my hypotheses." Archimedes can be given any of the following labels: inventor, physicist, mechanical engineer, astronomer, geometer, arithmetician. Each label would be accurate. But singly or together they miss the point. Beneath all the labels — whatever he was occupied with — Archimedes was a master thinker. Archimedes spent hours silently contemplating. He became so absorbed in thought that he sometimes forgot to eat and bathe. And when in the bath, he continued to ponder mathematical patterns by tracing them on his body with oil. Archimedes' matter-of-fact statement, "Give me a place to stand, a point to support a fulcrum, and a lever, and I will move the earth," indicates to me that he understood the power of his thinking to change the world. In the broadest sense, thinking provides the ultimate leverage. Archimedes once phrased it this way, "If there were another world and I could go there, I could move this one." This is metaphorically true; steadfast thinkers do it all the time. Archimedes — and all accomplished thinkers — take leave of their external senses and return with discoveries that move the world. A thinker lives in two worlds, an outer world of looking and listening, and an inner world of considering. The death of Archimedes illustrates his unwavering commitment. Although dedicated thinkers keep their minds open, they are determined to stay focused. Archimedes was contemplating a geometrical diagram in the marketplace, when he was confronted by a soldier. "Disturb not my circle," said Archimedes. The soldier replied by brandishing his sword. "Let me finish this one proof before I die," Archimedes But the soldier killed him. Archimedes spent his life pursuing what was not yet known. Many role models, like Archimedes, have relied on reason and creativity. When we address unknowns we become connected to them. Our task is exactly like theirs. Thinking happens beyond the boundaries of what is familiar and certain. By keeping within a small area, one can feel infallible, but this leads to boredom and suffocating routine. Rigid boundaries lead to suicide and mid-life crisis. Thinking leads to open spaces. Take the next step before you are ready. Venture beyond what you already know — even if you have convinced yourself and others that you are the authority, the expert. Go into the very heart of an unknown. You may feel vulnerable, fearful, shaky, insecure. Using your senses, make sense of it yourself. Find out. This is what the great thinkers did. Seek out your fallibility. You'll make discoveries that cause you to shout, "Eureka!" Gerald Angelo Cirrincione just keeps ooping along in Marinette, Wisconsin, where he can occasionally be heard shouting "Eureka!" Editor's note: Oops! is what I thought after I first read Gerry's piece. Oops! I wish I had this for our last issue honoring Buckminster Fuller. Bucky was a big believer in making mistakes!