Assigning Agency—Part 1

We humans are hard-wired to believe in agency. It's literally in our genes. Philosophers and psychologists use the term agency to designate a thing or a person that acts to produce a particular result. The word has its root in the medieval Latin word agentia, which means “doing.”

We tend to believe that things don't just happen by themselves—something or someone caused them. If I am walking through the woods at night, for example, and hear an unusual sound behind me, I'm very likely to attribute that sound to something... maybe a bear! Why do we do this? Those deep ancestors of ours who assigned agency to that sound were more likely to survive than those who ignored it and walked on. Better to have believed in a false alarm (it may have been just a twig falling from a tree), than to become a bear's meal. Those ancestors who jumped and ran at the sound survived to pass on their genes. Those who walked on perished, along with their complacent genes.

When we first began assigning agency to events, we also began to create gods. That bad storm last week? A god caused it. The lack of animals to hunt in recent weeks? Something must have caused it... something more powerful than I. Does that something (or someone) not like me? What could I do to earn its favor? Over time, our ancient ancestors engaged in rituals based on the belief that they could influence the agents (gods) of the winds, rain, and lightning. Unable to understand the truth of these phenomena, they made up a story... with agency.

We want to have causes for things. We are uncomfortable with either random events or the unknown. Life should not be accidental or arbitrary. We are impatient and want answers. Don't give me an insipid, wishy-washy reason for things; or even no reason at all. Dammit, something caused it!

This is a natural tendency for us—built into our genes by our forebears' need to assign agency. It can help me to recognize that my jumpy response to that sound behind me in the dark is natural, but maybe I could also ponder the fact that I haven't seen a bear in years around here. But then again, maybe it's a cougar or the neighbor's pit bull! Better run!

More on agency next time...

Life's Rerun

I believe that it's pretty common for people to begin a nostalgic sentence with, “If I had my life to live over...” A similar sentiment may be uttered as, “If I knew then what I know now...” We all could finish these declarations in our own particular manner, implying that, given the (impossible) opportunity to rerun my life, I'd do a much better job the next time around. We know that it's a ludicrous scenario, but we still dream, don't we?

What's going on when we have these thoughts come to mind that, given another rerun, we'd carve out a better life? Am I dissatisfied with the one I've got? Do I regret my choices? Am I jealous of the good life I see and envy in others and just know that I could do better than they, if I could only find the magic lamp and release the genie within? Hey, I'm really a better person than the other guy; I know I could really impress you, if only I had taken that other job, or married that other gal. I'd be someone special now.

These thoughts imply our having regrets about who we are and our circumstances in life, with the implication that we could do a better job, if we were granted a rerun. But is this true? First, let me put a little thought into the life I have and ponder all the good things I'm grateful for. Second, let me put some thought into the fact that I did make many good (and/or lucky) choices, and be thankful I was in a position to be able to do so. Third, let me recognize that many of these decisions (good or bad) weren't really within my purview. External circumstances were often controlling the situation, and a magical increase in wisdom on my part would unlikely have made a difference.

Then let me ponder the strong possibility that I was close to death many times, but managed to luckily squeak through. Give me a chance to relive my life and maybe I'd run my car into a ditch, rather than happily pull it out, a second time around. If so, I'd have expired, given a second chance! Maybe grace saved me then. Maybe grace would look the other way the next time around.

Why do we have these thoughts about rerunning our life? Why are we not content with what we have? Why do we want more? Why are we not more thankful for what we have? I believe it's simply human nature to do so... or maybe human laziness. With a little more effort we could put more focus on counting our blessings, rather than regret what we might have missed.

Finally, I believe that many of the regrets we have about our life are not necessarily due to dumb choices in the past, but the ongoing dumb choices we keep making. It's not the past that's the problem—it's today! Improving the past is an impossible dream. Improving the future depends heavily on what I do right now. Let me break from my daydreaming, with all its wishful thinking, and pay attention. Oops! I almost goofed up there, but I saw it coming instead and danced around that mistake.

Little Drop

A little drop of water caught in leaf buds. Click to enlarge.

Tentative Truths

We humans have a need to know the truth. Indeed, all animals do. The principle reason for all Earth's creatures to seek the truth is simply to survive. The closer a critter's perception of the truth—the more accurate its view of reality—the better its chances of living until tomorrow. That's a universal drive of all life forms. But we humans—with our high-level cognition—take it a step or two further. We not only want the truth, but we recognize that there are layers of truth. Is this thing really true? Is my truth better than yours? On such questions the foundations of philosophy rest.

Science has its own view of truth: that it is something we never fully possess; that it is elusive; and that tomorrow's truth will negate today's. Those who lean toward the established religions tend to differ; many of them consider the Truth (capital T) to have been revealed long ago and is recorded in scripture.

I had an interesting experience about truth recently. It showed me that my ingrained assumptions about what is truthful may not always be valid; or at least that they are incomplete and/or biased and can use some periodic revision. I had paused briefly (to pee, to be truthful) by the little creek that runs by the clearing and found myself idly gazing at a scrubby brush growing at the water's edge. What an unsightly little bush! Maybe I should go and get the hand saw and cut it down, so it doesn't block my view of the picturesque stream.

Because I had a moment or two to be with my thought (about as long as it takes to empty my bladder), I began to question my assumptions about the plant's unappealing appearance. Is it really ugly? Can I choose not to see it's drabness? Isn't ugly in the eye of the beholder? Who am I to christen one plant as pretty and another as plain? What's the truth?

I have often pondered which plants to nurture and which to cull. In the first few years living out here I leaned toward importing so-called desirable (read: cultivated) trees and shrubs. I soon discovered, however, that most of them soon became undesirable—when they succumbed to diseases and various critter assaults, or required exceptional coddling. I soon came to appreciate many of Mother Nature's trees and shrubs—plants that may have looked unattractive in the woods, but when transplanted to the clearing where they had little competition for sunlight, became gorgeous. Besides, they had long ago adapted to the local environment and all its challenges and didn't require coddling.

So what is a weed? What's not a weed? To some extent, it's truly in the eye of the beholder. We decide. The dictionary tells me a weed is “a wild plant growing where it is not wanted and in competition with cultivated plants.” Well, that sure captures some of our prejudices! I decide where it's not wanted. I decide when it's in competition with a cultivated plant. I even decide what's cultivated and what's not. It makes me wonder: when I transplant a homely little sapling from the woods into the sunny clearing and prune it, does that make it a little bit cultivated?

We humans disrespect weeds, while Mother Nature has given them a critical task: quickly and vigorously to reclaim an area that's been wiped clear of vegetation, before the soil washes away; in the wake of forest fires, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and such other natural calamities. Weeds even rapidly reclaim human-caused disasters, such as warring fields.

Now, that said, if we are going to have a successful vegetable garden here on the homestead, we need to “weed” it. When we humans clear a patch of ground, fertilize it and keep it well-watered, weeds are going to out-compete our tender vegetables. Since most weeds taste bad or are toxic, we can't eat them. I'm afraid the result is that we kill and commit violence in the garden. It's us or them.

But where do we draw the line between a weed and a tomato? We have many natural plants growing around here. Some people would consider all of them weeds, but we've come to appreciate many of them for either their appearance or utility. “Jewel weed” has a pretty blossom, and juices in the plant can clear up poison ivy rashes. Pennyroyal is a tiny, homely plant whose dried leaves repel ants. Spring beauty is a wildflower (about as hardy as a “weed”) that has become one of my favorites. Autumn olive is a scrubby, invasive bush tree that grows even faster than most weeds, yet yields a good-tasting berry that possesses more lycopene than a tomato. Wild plum trees do poorly in the woods (crowded out by larger trees), but when transplanted to the clearing they become bonsai-like beauties that fill the spring air with intoxicating perfume.

I can create a lot of unnecessary work for myself if I get overzealous in my definition of a weed, which then forces me to expend much time and energy trying to eradicate or tame them. Why not put that effort into other things and let some of the weeds be? Can I find ways to encourage their natural beauty? They are finding ways to teach me to let go of some of my prejudices.

Moon from Appolo 17

Click to enlarge

Communication Casualties

I value good communication. It was a key factor in my scientific career a few decades ago. If I didn't communicate clearly with fellow researchers or our sponsors, I could soon find myself out of work. The results of my findings had to be passed on to others, or else my career ground to a halt.

I no longer do scientific research. My communication these days is mostly on a personal basis, with friends, family, and various organizations. I find that effective communication is often lacking in these exchanges. I find myself frequently wondering, for example, why I have received no response to a message I've sent.

A big part of my disconnect with others, I believe, is that I'm rather old fashioned. I'm just not “with the program.” A few decades ago I mostly communicated with others (when not using the telephone) via what now is dubbed as “snail mail.” I'd send a missive in the form of a card or letter. I had confidence that the postal service would deliver my mail. I knew that my recipient would then have something tangible in hand (a letter) that would be placed on their desk, to remind them over the ensuing days to respond. I did not expect a quick response; after all, this was snail mail! Most every time, I'd sooner or later get a reply, but in the meantime, I didn't hold my breath.

Then email entered the communication arena. We now compose a message, and at the speed of light it is delivered. If the recipient happens to be at the computer (or now, smart phone) when the missive arrives, I may get a reply within minutes. So much faster! We have come to expect speedy responses.

But there's a couple of major differences between snail mail and email, that dramatically changed the game. First, my recipient's email box may contain dozens, if not a few hundred messages, bedsides mine. Thus mine can easily get lost in the crowd—as it no longer sits conspicuously and singularly on their desk, demanding attention. Second, I cannot have as much confidence that my email message will arrive and be acknowledged, as I could in the old, snail-mail days. Email is simply not as reliable. Some emails vanish in the ether. Some get sent to my recipient's junk mail box—after having been selected by some algorithm as being rubbish, with no knowledge of this action on either of our parts. We are at the mercy of algorithms!

And now many people live in the world of text messages. They make email look slow. Texts must be brief, thus they can be composed in a few moments. Send a text and people expect a response within matter of a couple of minutes.

My snail mail experiences have become virtually obsolete. My preferred means of communication are vanishing. It feels more and more as if people no longer communicate very well at all—despite all the available social media. There is a mistaken assumption that speed and frequency promote communication, when in fact, like the juggler who has put too many balls in the air, a few are bound to be dropped. The quantity of messages does not imply quality.

Science Struggles—Part 2

There's a related struggle that is going on—primarily in academia—that illustrates another misunderstanding that the public has about science. It also stems from too many science educators teaching science as a simple sequential series of facts. I believe this is why so many students dislike and even dread the most basic science subject: physics.

I taught physics at the university level for a few years and was taken aback by the fact that many students were very anxious and were fretting over a subject that I loved. I soon realized that the physics text that the college had selected before I arrived was filled with intimidating equations and expected students to memorize those equations and their associated facts, with little emphasis on gaining any insight into their meaning. The second year of teaching I switched to a delightful physics text that stressed the concepts behind the equations, while minimizing their manipulation. I was delighted to see that many students now responded with far more receptivity to this most basic science. Class time now included lively discussions that had not been there before.

Without realizing it at the time, I was introducing a little of the philosophy of physics to my students. I have since become much more aware of the relevance of the philosophy of science—a subject that is even more misunderstood than science itself. Many people—particularly college students—are resistant to including a philosophical perspective to science. After all, isn't science a very tangible and concrete subject, while philosophy is fuzzy and mostly a matter of opinion?

It is a mistake to treat science mostly as a dry, objective study of the nature of things. Unfortunately, many scientists seem to encourage that kind of thinking, but it can lead to the perception that science has nothing to do with emotions, ethics, and moral choices. This may be partly why the public looks upon scientists as self-involved, introspective, and out of touch with the real world—and possibly even contributes to public distrust of science.

There is a lively field of study called the “philosophy of science,” that too many people—including a fair number of scientists—are either unaware of or distrust. But this field asks crucial questions that we all should be asking. It addresses questions that mere facts alone can't. It probes the understanding of science, rather than just its knowledge. It asks how we know these things, and are there some things we can't know? Is our understanding valid? Can our scientific knowledge guide us ethically or not? When we feel that we've improved our knowledge about a subject, how do we know that? How do we evaluate the improvement? What are the limitations of science? How do we discern true science from pseudoscience? These are important philosophical questions to be asking. If scientists were more open to them, it's possible that the disconnect between scientists and the public could be repaired some.

So there are many reasons why science is struggling in the eyes of the public. At a time when scientific discoveries are coming at a speedy pace and technology (the application of science) is rushing onward, this is not the time for poor communication between scientists and citizens; let alone mistrust and misunderstanding. The near future will be bringing many serious challenges to humanity. Those challenges need to be met by a robust science community working with a scientifically literary populace.

Ant on Pear Blossom

This ant was searching for sweet goodies on a pear bud about to bloom. Click to enlarge.

Science Struggles—Part 1

Having had a career in science a few decades ago, I continue to find that I am very interested in news about science and often read books on the subject. This field of discipline is critically important to humanity today, as it brings an increasing understanding of the world around us and our place in it. But science is struggling... particularly in the US. Americans are becoming progressively illiterate about science, and I find that worrisome.

Our educational system—both secondary schools and universities—do not do a very good job of either educating scientists or the general public. Our elected politicians and public policy makers do not understand science, and are even often hostile to it. The most egregious example of this is Washington's current war on the science of global warming. In addition, an anti-science bias frequently creeps into much of society's discourse on subjects such as vaccinations, space research, antibiotic use, energy use, nutrition, etc. It is sadly ironic, because the public enjoys and benefits from the developments of science, as people simultaneously denigrate it.

Tania Lombrozo recently wrote about this struggle in her science blog on National Public Radio. She makes the point that many researchers are working hard to increase the public's scientific literacy. In doing so, however, there is often confusion on their part over the difference between the public's knowledge of science and their understanding of it. Not only are many Americans uninformed about science—if not biased against it—but many who do try to acquaint themselves with the subject simply come to know a few facts, but really don't understand science.

What is the difference between knowledge and understanding? I may know that photosynthesis is the process of plants using sunlight to synthesize foods from carbon dioxide and water, but if I understand the process I can appreciate why plants are the source of oxygen and how they help to combat global warming. Thus I'll be more likely to advocate for halting the warming process, because plants can't keep up. I may know that NASA has sent several spacecraft to our solar system's planets, but if I understand a little of the science of the space program, I will be more supportive of these missions, not just for the cool pictures that they radio back, but for the gathering of crucial scientific information that will help scientists comprehend similar natural processes here on Earth; maybe even to better combat global warming.

Scientists know that they need to help the public to become more scientifically literate, but even they often fail to appreciate the important difference between scientific knowledge and understanding. Science educators know that they need to do a better job at countering the public's uninformed and biased opinions. Given the current struggles, there's a lot of work to do.

More on the struggle next time...

Froggies in a Tug of War

The green against the brown.