"Accidental Sagacity" in New Discoveries

The many tales of seemingly accidental drug discoveries are often considered to be examples of "serendipity." There’s actually an intriguing story of where this word comes from, and how it reflects a kind of cognitive process that may be affected by the advent of information technology. It turns out that "serendipity" comes from The Three Princes of Serendip, first published in 1557 by Michele Tramezzino, but also draws on stories from the Talmud as well as Indian and Persian folklore.

Barham V, the father of the Three Princes in a 15th-century illustration.

Source: Az'har Tabrizi in Wikimedia Commons/Public domin

It is thought to derive from the life of the 5^th century AD Persian king Bahram V, but is presented as the story of a king of Serendip (Sri Lanka). His Highness, it seems, grew weary and wished to step down. Each of his sons, however, pleaded with him that they were not yet ready. In response, the fatigued father suggested they complete their education by traveling to foreign lands before accepting the responsibilities of the throne. Along the way, they come across unplanned experiences from which they were able to draw remarkable conclusions.

On one of their excursions, for instance, they deduced that their road was recently traveled by a camel blind in the right eye, because only the grass on the left side, which was less green, had been eaten. (Actually, the full story is much more elaborate: They determined moreover that the camel had lost a tooth, carried honey on the right side and butter on the left, and was ridden by a pregnant woman, all based on their careful observations.) For their trouble, they were accused of having stolen the camel, and barely avoided prosecution by explaining how they had come to their conclusions.

Such reasoning is thought to have influenced Voltaire in writing Zadig, a philosophical novella set in ancient Babylon, whose title character infers details about a lost horse from its hoofprints, and in consequence is charged with theft. It has been suggested that Zadig influenced Edgar Allan Poe in creating his fictional investigator C. Auguste Dupin in his 1841 tale "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." A Parisian amateur poet, he used a process which Poe called "ratiocination" to aid the police in solving mysteries in what is often considered to be the first well-known detective story (though the term "detective" was not yet in use). Dupin’s habit of smoking a meerschaum pipe, and the presence of a less perceptive companion are also suggestive of the later appearance of Sherlock Holmes.

Illustration from Poe's ' The Murders in the Rue Morgue'

Source: Byam Shaw in Wikimedia Commons/Public Domain

The origin of the word "serendipity" itself is thought to come from Horace Walpole, an 18^th century English writer and art historian, who maintained a correspondence lasting several decades with his friend Horace Mann, a diplomat in Italy. In an 1874 letter, Walpole reported that one day he had set about the task of making an insignia in honor of a visit from the Great Duchess Bianca Capello; in the process he had noticed similar features in the coats of arms of two families, and concluded that they were in fact related. When he did so, he remembered his childhood reading of the three princes, and gave the name "serendipity," as well as "accidental sagacity," to the experience. In his words: "…many excellent discoveries have been made by men who were a la chasse of something very different. I am not quite sure that the art of making gold and of living forever have been yet found out—yet to how many noble discoveries has the pursuit of these nostrums given birth! Poor Chemistry, had she not had such glorious objects in view!"(1)

In his last point, of course, Walpole was later to be proved mistaken—such things do indeed happen in chemistry. In the previous post on the value of casual conversations, we described how James Young Simpson learned about chloroform in a conversation with a visitor, and went on to develop it as a surgical anesthetic. As it happens, there is a backstory: It had actually been discovered 16 years earlier in a good example of serendipity.

Chloroform had been separately synthesized in 1831 by Justus von Liebig in Germany, Eugene Soubeiran in France, and an American general medical practitioner in upstate New York. The latter, Samuel Guthrie, was perhaps the least scientific, but undoubtedly the most colorful. He was a bit of an inventor, and was best known for developing the percussion caps which were to replace flintlocks on rifles; he also made improvements in purifying turpentine and getting sugar from potato starch. One day, in an effort to create a new pesticide, he distilled chlorinated lime and whiskey. Legend has it that his daughter was later accidentally exposed to it and became very sleepy, and he wondered if it might be useful as an anesthetic. After mentioning his idea to some physicians in New Haven, who were apparently unimpressed, he moved on to other things. Fortunately, Simpson's interest in anesthesia led him to pursue developing chloroform clinically.

Such stories lead to two interrelated points. The first is the importance of chance conversations in both scientific discoveries and in medical care. Regarding the latter, doctors have long recognized this in the time-honored process of "curbside consults," in which one physician informally asks another about suggestions for dealing with a difficult problem, often in such settings as a staff lounge. The value in scientific discovery is remarkable, and in the previous post I have described a number of cases in which random meetings or casual conversations have led to breakthroughs. One issue to consider in the future is that, due to the technological advances that have led to remote work situations and online learning, we need to find new ways to continue to make casual talking possible. Whether these are in-person or digital conversations remains to be seen; perhaps if this post were written 30 years from now, it might include serendipitous online meetings which had led to new discoveries.

The second point is drawn from Toby Burrows and Deb Verhoeven (2), who emphasize not only the wisdom of the princes, but the importance of the locations in which they made their observations. Settings, both physical and digital, can vary greatly in the likelihood of serendipitous experiences, and this is sometimes taken into account in their design. Tracking down a book in the library stacks, or perusing the shelves in a bookstore, may, for instance, increase the possibility of coming across something interesting that was not the object of the original quest. Digital search engines are traditionally designed for maximum efficiency, but along the way may potentially decrease the likelihood of chance observations. If serendipitous experiences are valued, it may be possible to design digital spaces in which the desire for efficiency is balanced with opportunities to make new, unforeseen, connections.