Sometimes the simplest experiments reveal the most profound truths. In May 2023, I placed two sealed jars on a shelf to see what would happen over time. In one jar, I placed a whole banana, unpeeled. In the other, only the banana peel. I never opened them again.
Two years later, the results are startling — and instructive.
Jar One: The Vanishing Banana
The complete banana quickly became a feast for opportunistic organisms. Within days, a bloom of what looked like fungus filled the jar. White filaments spread like smoke, then thickened into a fuzzy, cotton-like mass. Over weeks and months, the entire banana was consumed.
Today, after two years, no trace of banana flesh remains. What’s left is a brownish-black liquid filling about 20% of the jar. The solid fruit has liquefied into shadow. The banana is gone — consumed, digested, transformed.
Jar Two: The Snake Peel
The second jar tells a different story. The banana peel, once bright yellow, has taken on a greenish-yellow, reptilian hue. Over time, it folded in on itself, curling in ways that resemble the body of a snake. The stalk narrowed into a pointed shape like a head. At the bottom of the jar sits a thin layer of clear liquid, no more than a millimeter deep.
Unlike the complete banana, the peel has endured. It has not collapsed into liquid. Instead, it has transformed into something uncanny — a husk, a relic, a snake-like figure suspended in time.
Biology Behind the Spectacle
On the surface, this is just decomposition. The banana flesh, rich in sugars and water, provided an ideal environment for fungi and bacteria already present on its skin. In a sealed jar, oxygen was quickly consumed, leaving conditions where microbes that thrive in low oxygen took over. Their activity liquefied the fruit, leaving only dark residue.
The peel, tougher and fibrous, resisted collapse. With fewer simple sugars, microbial activity slowed. Pigments shifted, fibers folded, and the peel shrank inward, producing its serpent-like effect.
Two jars, two different substrates, two different outcomes — all under the same sealed conditions.
The Two-Year Significance
What makes this experiment more than a curiosity is the timeline. These jars have been sealed for two full years. No contamination was possible. Nothing entered. Everything observed came from within: the banana, the peel, the microbes already present, and the environment created by sealing them in glass.
The fact that these transformations stabilized over years proves they weren’t accidents of a week or two. They were final states: the banana collapsing into liquid shadow, the peel hardening into a snake-like husk.
The Deeper Lesson: Appearance Isn’t Causation
To the eye, the whole banana jar looked as though an external invader had taken over. The fungal bloom seemed like an attack. In the peel jar, the curling form looked like a living creature had emerged.
But no invader entered either jar. Both were sealed from the start. The transformations were entirely internal.
This is the crucial lesson: what looks like attack may simply be transformation under stress.
A Mirror to Scientific Assumptions
The banana jars mirror a problem in modern science. In virology, when cells in a dish round up, balloon, or detach — a process called Cytopathic Effect (CPE) — it is claimed as proof of viral infection. But just like the banana in the jar, cells under stress collapse on their own. Starve them of nutrients, overload them with antibiotics, and they fall apart without any viral cause.
If the same effect appears in cultures whether or not an “infected sample” is added, then the effect cannot be evidence of infection. It is simply the predictable breakdown of life under hostile conditions.
The banana jars remind us that morphology deceives. Fungal blooms look like invasion. Snake-like peels look like life. CPE looks like proof of a virus. But appearances can mislead unless controls reveal what is really happening.
Implications Beyond the Jar
The lesson stretches beyond science. If we mistake appearances for causes, we fall into error. In medicine, it leads to declaring contagion where none has been proved. In life, it leads to fear, superstition, and misplaced blame.
The jars teach that:
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Environment shapes outcome. The same fruit produced different paths of decay.
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Controls matter. Without the peel jar, the whole banana jar could easily be misinterpreted.
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Interpretation is everything. What looks like invasion may just be natural collapse.
Conclusion: The Parable of the Peel
After two years sealed away, the lesson is undeniable. The banana has vanished into black liquid. The peel has twisted into the likeness of a snake. Both processes were dramatic. Both seemed to suggest an external cause. But neither required one.
The jars remind us that not everything that looks like an attack is an attack. Sometimes collapse comes from within, shaped by environment and time.
In their quiet way, these jars on a shelf have become parables. Appearances deceive. Controls reveal. And truth waits, even in the dark, for those willing to see beyond the surface.
As far as I am concerned, the experiment was conclusive.
Banana Jars and the Terrain Theory of Disease: Why Germs Aren’t the Whole Story
🔗 If you found this experiment thought-provoking, you may also enjoy my companion article: The Banana Jars and the Terrain of Disease. It builds on the same two-year sealed jars but explores what they reveal about the debate between germ theory and terrain theory. Together, the two pieces form a parable about how appearances deceive, how controls matter, and how our health depends less on invisible invaders than on the balance of our own internal terrain.
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