That is the case with a paragraph in The Week Magazine of February 6th, in its amusing “Good week for. . . Bad week for. . .” section.
The paragraph from The Week is below. Can you spot the alarming symptom? It points to the presence of a far more horrendous disease than the routine case of ISS (internet stupidity syndrome) reported in The Week
Good week for. . . just asking questions, after conspiracy theorist Candace Owens, posting on X, demanded to know why “the temperature is 30 degrees but the ice on our trees is not melting at all.” Some of Owens’ followers blamed secret government geo-engineering programs; others noted that 30 degrees is below 32 degrees, water’s historical freezing point.
Can you see it, the awful symptom?
Here’s a hint: it is in the last sentence.
Some of Owens’ followers blamed secret government geo-engineering programs; others noted that 30 degrees is below 32 degrees, water’s historical freezing point.
Do you see it now?
The dire symptom is the word “historical”.
32 degrees is not water’s historical freezing point. 32 degrees Fahrenheit is water’s freezing point. It always has been and always will be the freezing point of H²O. Water freezes at 32˚ F on Mars.
The Week is reasoned and well-written. Whoever wrote the above paragraph certainly knew that at 32˚ water turns to ice–from watching The Weather Channel, if nothing else. But evidently they were not confident enough in their knowledge to write “water’s freezing point” without a modifying adjective (“historical”) just in case.
I can imagine a writer wanting to make sure they got it right and so checking the internet. Yes – the internet affirms that 32 degrees Fahrenheit is the freezing point of water. However, as we all know, the internet cannot be 100% trusted. Hence the just-in-case-someone-thinks-it's-something-else modifier, “historical”.
If a literate, educated person hesitates over the freezing point of water, 32˚ F having been confirmed by Wikipedia or whatever, imagine what a swamp of doubt their entire mind must be. Everything they’ve learned, everything they once took for granted, everything they know: soaked in the disfiguring gunk of supposedly.