Today, let's make use of drama. The University of
Houston's College of Engineering presents this
series about the machines that make our
civilization run, and the people whose ingenuity
created them.
For some years I've recited
Lienhard's Principles of Minimum and Maximum Drama
to close friends. It's time for me to share these
two important guides to successful living with you.
Like the Laws of Thermodynamics, the first, The
Principle of Minimum Drama, is easiest to
understand and remember. It says: "The least
dramatic explanation of any situation we don't
fully understand is the one most likely to be
true."
For example, I walk down the hallway and see two
colleagues talking. As I draw close, they quit
their conversation and go into their offices. So I
speculate as to what they were doing.
- They were going to nominate me for the
university presidency.
- They were planning to assassinate me.
- They'd just finished their conversation as I came
in sight.
Now look at the dramatic content of each
possibility. The last lacks all drama, so it's the
one that's true. My colleagues really had just
finished talking as I came around the corner.
My First Principle is wonderfully useful. It keeps
me from assuming the worst. It keeps me out of
trouble. But it also bothers people. "Is life
really so dull?" they ask me.
Well no, it isn't. Let's go on to the Second
Principle -- the harder-to-understand Principle of
Maximum Drama. It says: "Once you understand a
situation, the truest explanation of that situation
is the one with the greatest dramatic content."
For example, take the old story of the philosopher
who met three men scraping bricks by the side of
the road. He asked them what they were doing and he
got three answers:
- I'm removing mortar from old bricks so we can
reuse them.
- I'm helping to build a great cathedral on this
spot.
- I'm trying to bring people closer to God.
All three answers are true, but the last
is most dramatic. It tells most fully what was going
on by the side of that road.
In 1951 I worked at the Boeing Company. One day I
passed a row of three draftsmen. I asked each what
he was doing.
- I'm designing a bracket to hold an air duct,
said the first.
- I'm creating the new B-52 bomber, said the
second.
- The third pulled a long face and said,
- I'm trying to bring people closer to God.
Twenty years later, in the late days of
the Viet Nam War, I learned how true that third and
most dramatic answer really was.
Truth and drama really are intertwined. To gain
understanding we have to shed drama and reach the
essential plainness of facts. That's called
scientific detachment. But we'll never know the
full meaning of facts without seeing them in their
full dramatic regalia. For this world really is a
richer place to live than most of us dare to
imagine.
I'm John Lienhard, at the University of Houston,
where we're interested in the way inventive minds
work.
(Theme music)
