Hatred is, and always has been, an important motivational force in science. The feeling that you would, not only gladly kill, but that it would actually arouse was the foundation to many of the most amazing discoveries throughout the ages. Data has clearly demonstrated that the greatest scientists have always been recently spurned lovers, sufferers of bipolar disorder, rape victims or some combination of those.
Einstein spent most of his mid-twenties in constant fear that he would be anally penetrated by the director of the patent office that he worked at. This fear, realised almost daily, drove Einstein on to create The General Theory of Relativity, The Special Theory of Relativity and the lesser known Overly Specific Theory of Relativity which applied only to one particular apple that Einstein kept in a box in his study. Without this constant threat that he would be asked to come in to the office for a “deep body search” many believe that Einstein would never have realised his full potential.
Louix Pasteur discovered pasteurisation because of his desire to transform cow’s milk into something that, although almost indistinguishable from the original, would afford calves no protection from disease by killing all of the antibodies from the mother.
Clive Sinclair invented the 2CV to realise his desire to make people look like twats.
And Robert Oppenheimer’s work is pretty much self explanatory.
My interest in science also grew from anger and an internal rage that stemmed from a series of mutilations carried out upon my body by a series of disturbed doctors in my early thirties, when I volunteered for a course of experiments into what the advertisement described as “research on the expansion and elasticity of anal sphincters through the insertion of flesh based rods of varying solidity, viscosity and dimension”. An advert which, in hindsight, gave more of a hint of the details of the experiment than I had appreciated at the time but, as a struggling writer, the temptation of twenty-five pounds a day had clouded my judgement somewhat.
Over the following eighteen months I dutifully returned to the laboratory and spent the few moments of lucidity I had wondering about the nature of things such as “why do salty substances taste the way they do?”, “why does this laboratory look so much like a residential building?” and “why aren’t the scientists writing anything down?”
On the day that I returned to the laboratory to find that it had been closed down, due to some kind of legal issue that the police surrounding it were unwilling to expand upon, I realised that science was not only about the painful repetition of experiments, that may seem to the lay person utterly pointless, it was also about walking the fine line of discovery without falling foul of the increasingly strict regulations that strictly regulate the actions of those simply wanting to make the world a better and more technological advanced place, in which it is possible to accurately predict the amount of anal slack produced for any specific girth of object introduced for an extended period.
