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 As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book |
| Evolution of Love Part 2 |
| In 1990, she answered a simple math puzzle. Ten thousand people—including nearly 1,000 PhDs—told her she was wrong. She was right. They were humiliated. Marilyn vos Savant wasn't used to being doubted. As the author of Parade Magazine's "Ask Marilyn" column, she fielded questions from millions of readers every week—everything from logic puzzles to philosophical dilemmas. Her answers were sharp, clear, and confident. But nothing prepared her for what happened when she tackled the Monty Hall Problem. September 1990. A reader sent in what seemed like a straightforward probability question based on the game show "Let's Make a Deal": You're a contestant. There are three doors. Behind one is a car. Behind the other two are goats. You pick Door #1. The host, Monty Hall, who knows what's behind each door, opens Door #3—revealing a goat. He then asks: "Do you want to switch to Door #2, or stay with Door #1?" What should you do? Most people's gut reaction is immediate: It doesn't matter. Two doors left, 50/50 chance. Switching or staying makes no difference. Marilyn's answer was just as immediate: Switch. Always switch. Switching gives you a 2/3 probability of winning the car. Staying gives you only 1/3. She published her answer, explained the math clearly, and moved on to the next question. Then the letters started arriving. Not dozens. Not hundreds. Ten thousand letters. An avalanche of rage, condescension, and disbelief from readers who were absolutely convinced she was wrong. Nearly 1,000 of those letters came from people with PhDs—mathematicians, statisticians, professors from prestigious universities. They didn't just disagree. They mocked her. "You blew it!" wrote one PhD mathematician. "Let me explain: After the host opens a door, you're left with two choices. That's 50-50. You should pick a subject more on your level." Another wrote: "You are the goat!" A university professor sent: "Maybe women look at math problems differently than men." The sexism was barely concealed. Here was a woman—a woman writing for a general-interest magazine, not a peer-reviewed journal—claiming that thousands of educated people, including mathematics professors, had their basic probability intuition completely backwards. The audacity. Except Marilyn wasn't backing down. Because she knew something they didn't want to accept: she was right, and they were wrong. Let's break down why the Monty Hall Problem is so counterintuitive: When you first pick a door, you have a 1/3 chance of choosing the car and a 2/3 chance of choosing a goat. That's straightforward. Now here's the key: Monty's action gives you information. He will always open a door with a goat behind it. He will never open the door with the car. He can't—that would ruin the game. If you initially picked a goat (which happens 2/3 of the time), Monty is forced to open the only other door with a goat. That means the remaining unopened door must have the car. By switching, you win. If you initially picked the car (which only happens 1/3 of the time), switching makes you lose. Therefore: switching wins 2/3 of the time. Staying wins 1/3 of the time. The math is ironclad. But it feels wrong. Our brains aren't wired for conditional probability. We see two doors and think "50/50" because that's what two equal choices look like in our everyday experience. Marilyn tried explaining this again. And again. The angry letters kept coming. Professors doubled down. Some sent elaborate "proofs" of why she was wrong—proofs that were themselves mathematically flawed. Then something remarkable happened. Teachers started running experiments in their classrooms. Students played the game hundreds of times. Switching won approximately 2/3 of the time. Staying won approximately 1/3. Computer scientists ran simulations—thousands of iterations. Same result. The New York Times covered the controversy. TV shows, including MythBusters years later, tested it on air. Every single experiment confirmed what Marilyn had said from the beginning. She. Was. Right. One by one, the doubters fell silent. Some professors wrote sheepish apologies. Others quietly updated their probability lectures. A few PhD mathematicians admitted they'd gotten it wrong initially and thanked her for the learning experience. But the damage to their egos was done. The woman they'd condescended to, the columnist they'd dismissed as not understanding "real math," had been correct while they—with all their credentials and peer-reviewed publications—had embarrassed themselves publicly. The Monty Hall controversy became one of the most famous examples in mathematics education. Not because the problem is particularly advanced—it's taught in introductory statistics courses now. But because it perfectly demonstrates how intelligent people can be spectacularly wrong when intuition conflicts with rigorous reasoning. And because it exposed something uncomfortable: how quickly people dismiss women in technical fields, even when those women are demonstrably correct. Marilyn later reflected on why the backlash was so intense. It wasn't just about math. It was about authority, ego, and who gets to be seen as credible. "The problem is how we teach thinking," she said. "Schools train people to memorize formulas and accept authority. They don't teach independent reasoning. So when someone challenges conventional wisdom—especially if that someone is a woman writing in a popular magazine—people attack the person instead of checking the logic." The Monty Hall Problem became Marilyn's most famous moment, but it wasn't her only contribution. She continued writing her column for decades, tackling everything from quantum mechanics to ethical dilemmas, always with the same clear, fearless approach. She never claimed to be infallible. She corrected herself when readers pointed out genuine errors. But on the Monty Hall Problem, she stood her ground against an army of critics—and history proved her right. Today, the Monty Hall Problem is a staple of probability courses worldwide. It's used to teach not just the math, but the importance of questioning your assumptions. Of thinking through problems rigorously rather than trusting your gut. And it stands as a reminder: intelligence isn't about credentials or titles. It's about following logic wherever it leads, even when everyone—including people with more degrees than you—insists you're wrong. Marilyn vos Savant answered a game show puzzle in a magazine column. Ten thousand people told her she was wrong. Nearly a thousand had PhDs. They were all wrong. She was right. And somewhere in that story is a lesson about humility, about the limits of intuition, and about listening to the argument instead of dismissing the person making it. Because sometimes the smartest person in the room isn't the one with the most impressive resume. Sometimes it's the one brave enough to say: "Actually, if you run the numbers, you'll see I'm correct." Even when the whole world is shouting her down. |
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