So, I was watching this program about the history of chemistry, and the narrator makes a comment that "Until very recently, people didn't know that oxygen was needed for fire, or even that oxygen existed". Which is of course obvious once it's been pointed out, but had never really occurred to me as a thing to think about.
I remember learning about the "fire triangle" in school, and I remember my first guide camp and learning how to set and look after a fire. Build a little pyramid. Don't pile too much wood on top of a small fire, or it will go out. You can make pretty colours and/or bigger flames by blowing into the fire or flapping a plate at it. I can't remember which I was taught first, because presumably I hadn't at that age made a connection between the two.
Regardless of how *I* learned these things, the human race in general, I'm pretty sure, was using bellows to make fires hotter for centuries before anyone discovered that fire likes oxygen. They probably knew they could put fire out with sand, or by stamping on it, too. You can work out all of these things by trial and error. All this practical knowledge, and no idea of why it should work that way.
Which got me thinking about education and the way that people think. I know when I'm looking after fire I'm definitely thinking of it in terms of heat and oxygen and fuel, just like I was taught in school, only with a lot more practical experience added on top to help that apply to real life. Surely, I thought, that must be normal for modern first-world firebuilders, because if you know *why* something works, that must make it easier to think through *how* to make it work. But then I remembered about tea.
You make tea with boiling water. If you have a pot, you make the tea in the pot, and then put milk in the cup before the tea so the milk doesn't burn. If you're just using a mug, putting the milk in first is an abomination, because the water won't be hot enough to brew the tea properly. I follow these rules pretty strictly, because I like good tea. I don't know enough about the exact science of tea to know *why* the temperature matters so much (I'm assuming it's all about damaging the leaves enough to let out the relevant chemicals or something, maybe even something to do with breaking down the cells of the plants? but that's really just a guess based on vaguely-remembered GCSE-level biology and a basic understanding of how heat affects reactions), or even what "burning the milk" even means. But I do it anyway. Because I know it works, even though I don't know why. And, somehow, it's never occurred to me to find out. Huh.
What's the point I'm trying to make? I'm really not sure. But it struck me as a thing that is interesting. I know people have very different thought-processes, and I know that Paul gets that slightly glazed-over look when I squee over how cool science is. So here's a question for you, oh internets:
How much does your academic training (at whatever level of understanding) affect how you do normal, unrelated things? Do you think there's a marked difference between the influence of general school-taught stuff and your chosen subject(s) of interest? Of course, it's possible I'm the only person who thinks this is interesting. Anyway. I'm off to look up tea on wikipedia.