At school, we would often be told who discovered a chemical element or invented a mathematical algorithm. The focus on names confused me: why did it matter so much who did these things long ago? It seemed to me all that I needed to know was the fact of the discovery, and not the history behind it. Much later I realised that there is real value in knowing the context behind a discovery or invention: why, for example, was it made at that point in time and not earlier?
Slowly I came to realise a common lesson behind all the discoveries or inventions of note: they create a dividing point in time. Before, there was, at least in one area, darkness; afterwards that area is at least dimly lit. Over time, we tend to find ways to increase the light further. Soon it becomes impossible to imagine that we ever lived in the darkness.
Let me use a concrete example in an area you might not expect. For many years, it seemed impossible to run a mile in under 4 minutes, with the record standing at 4:01 in 1945. John Landy managed to do it in 4:02 several times in the 1950s but came to think that “someone may achieve the four-minute mile the world is wanting so desperately, but I don’t think I can.”
Roger Bannister was that someone: he managed 3:59 in May 1954. It was a difference of two seconds, and something that people celebrated in its own right. What’s less known is the effect this had on other people. Astonishingly, John Landy – the man who thought he could not breach 4:02 – managed 3:58 just 46 days after Bannister broke the 4 minute mark.
What changed Landy was Bannister’s first: it had shown, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what had seemed impossible was in fact possible. Bannister didn’t suddenly make Landy physically more capable of running fast, but he made Landy realise that it could be done.
Defining a “first” can be surprisingly difficult, even in seemingly factual fields such as the sciences. Was Democritus the first to “discover” atoms in 430BCE? His hypothesis was, we now know, correct, but he had no evidence to support it. I would say that only thanks to the experimental and theoretical work of the 19th and 20th centuries can one say that the first – the discovery and understanding of atoms – was truly achieved.
Similarly, Darwin wasn’t the first to posit evolution as an explanation for how the natural world had come to be — but he was the first to provide the voluminous, irrefutable evidence and is therefore associated with the first.
As this suggests, firsts come in different flavours: Bannister’s first marked a clear dividing point against a simple metric; Darwin’s, in contrast, shows that a first might result from proving something that was previously suspected but for which we lacked evidence; and there are clearly other flavours too. What they all share in common is that the world after the first is a different place than before: our knowledge, or beliefs, are fundamentally changed.
As this suggests, I think that “first” is a high bar. Why, then, do we not venerate the concept more?
Partly it’s because almost as soon as something is shown possible, we take it for granted, forgetting all the effort leading up to the first. I have seen people denigrate scientific firsts because “it’s obvious”. Of course it’s obvious now!
Partly it’s because firsts often require significant follow-up work for their effect to be fully realised. Steam power was a known concept before Newcomen and, particularly, Watt made it practical. Without that work, the “first” of steam power risked staying an irrelevance1.
This causes us to underinvest in the things that have the potential to lead to true firsts. Of course, such work – whether in science, engineering, or the arts – is risky, expensive, and often seemingly wasteful. Even worse, it is impossible to define precisely what is likely to lead to a first. Instead we have to use good judgment and taste, something which is at fundamental odds with the fixed processes modern institutions seem drawn to.
I still don’t really care what the name of a discoverer or inventor is, though they are useful labels in explaining what happened and why. I do, however, have a much deeper appreciation of how important firsts are to our civilisation and how much effort each requires. It has also made me realise that we all have a part to play, whether it’s encouraging risky work, or even being part of a team actively working towards such a goal. After all, firsts are rarely accomplished alone.
Footnotes
Not all follow-up work is relevant. Indeed, sheer repetition, unless truly necessary to prove that something is not a one-off, has rapidly diminishing returns. The first time Everest is climbed is a significant achievement; the second time much less so; and the third time barely at all.
Not all follow-up work is relevant. Indeed, sheer repetition, unless truly necessary to prove that something is not a one-off, has rapidly diminishing returns. The first time Everest is climbed is a significant achievement; the second time much less so; and the third time barely at all.