Truth is Colder Than Space

I am still mourning the death of Pluto as a planet, although the astronomers were at least kind enough in consolation to allow it to revel in the status of “dwarf” planet, which is to my mind not significantly better than “big chunk of ice”; I apologize to any dwarves reading this. Pluto himself is probably not too concerned about his namesake, as business in the underworld is, without doubt, booming. There is something satisfyingly Gothic about Pluto and his henchman Charon wandering the solar system’s nether regions in near darkness, but just about four years ago the International Astronomical Union optioned them to the minors for a planet to be named later and school children now have one less planet to memorize. Science marches on, but for every wonder discovered there is a comfortable fallacy destroyed and the factual underpinning of much of my childhood awe has through time fallen to ruins.

Now comes word that the beloved Triceratops, stalwart enemy of the mighty Tyrannosaur, is naught but an error in judgment; a flawed conclusion of over-tired paleontological minds. Jack Horner (who is of average stature) and John Scannella (size unknown) of Montana State University have brought forward the theory that the Triceratops is just a juvenile version of the Torosaurus. Apparently it has long been something of a mystery as to why there were no fossils of immature Torosauruses when the adult remains were plentiful. Since Triceratops and Torosaurus are found in the same geological time and places, at some point our heroes Horner and Scannella sorted out the puzzle and declared the Triceratops to be nothing more than a rebellious teenager. There is other evidence that supports the conclusion, and the paleontological community has embraced the theory, so it is probably correct, but that doesn’t make me any happier.

Frankly, the Torosaurus does not look nearly as cool as the Triceratops, although in fairness we really don’t know exactly what any dinosaur’s actual appearance was, but there sure as hell weren’t any Torosauruses in that bucket of dinosaurs I played with when I was six. There was T-Rex, Brontosaurus (also murdered by taxonomists), Stegosaurus, Pterodactyl (technically a flying retile) and Triceratops, and a few partially melted army men. Triceratops always stubbornly held his ground against the massive T-Rex and I learned at the age of six that you didn’t have to be the biggest to prevail; you just needed to have long, sharp horns with which to gore the flabby underbelly of the bully. This is the type of knowledge that can either enhance your life or send you to prison, depending on how you apply it. Even the completely bitchin’ Stegosaurus would likely not go a round with the Triceratops over some tasty grass, if grass had evolved then. Now that is all washed away by the inexorable march of truth. The Triceratops probably didn’t stand its ground at all, but rather ran home to mama, borrowed five dollars, illegally acquired a pack of cigarettes and hung out with a bunch of up-to-no-good neighborhood punks vandalizing stuff, unless it was eaten first.

Science is a wonderful process and, despite what Luddites and Baptists will tell you, it is neither evil nor false, but science does require that we remain open to new facts and willing to discard the broken ones. Science does not endorse pride because pride inhibits the admission of error and admission of error is essential to the progress of understanding, as well as to an active sex life. I don’t believe science is the answer to all mankind’s questions, just the answer to those that actually have an answer; the rest, and perhaps the majority, are the province of God. Nonetheless, I still mourn the loss of my comfortable mistakes and false facts and I sometimes wish truth were a bit more consistent with my illogical fantasies.

Anyway, I can still remember when dinosaurs were thought to be reptiles; Communism was powerful and frightening; the President and Congress were respected; there was only one Universe; the Coelacanth was extinct and the Javan Tiger wasn’t; Pluto was a planet and I was young and slim and had a full head of hair. The past is certainly flawed in many ways, but the past is where I have spent the entirety of my life, so I have an irrational fondness for it. Actually, I believe I will now subscribe to the multiple universes interpretation of Quantum Mechanics whereby all possible outcomes of an infinite set of possibilities manifest themselves in some alternate reality. There, somewhere, the indomitable Triceratops resolutely opposes the marauding Tyrannosaurus Rex, its three sturdy horns and armored frill bristling with premature death for any predator hungry enough or foolish enough to give it a go. There are no cigarette butts strewn about, no offensive graffiti, and only one solitary faded tattoo on its tough, leathery hide remains as testimony to any of the Triceretops’ youthful indiscretions.