Learning Limits—Part 1 (7/5/21

The limits of human knowledge have ceaselessly been expanding, ever since our species came into existence. A major factor allowing that expansion is the fact that we discovered language and writing along the way. These unique human capabilities have taken us far beyond any other earthly creature, because they allow us to communicate and cooperate, so that our cultural accomplishments have escalated at an astounding rate. Each generation passes on its accumulated knowledge to the next.

Our accrued knowledge has been compared to the size of an island in a vast ocean of unknowing. As our erudition has grown, the island has expanded. What we've come to know today, in fact, is more like a continent than an island; yet the immense ocean of ignorance still surrounds us and still appears unlimited. The more we know—measured by the size of our continent and the length of its shoreline—the more we aware of all that we don't know.

This situation raises an interesting question: Is there a limit to the size of our island of knowledge? Will our shoreline some day bump up against a formidable ocean barrier that brings a halt to what we can know? Are there some fundamental limits to our learning?

Questions like these are often asked in the context of science, rather than theology, philosophy, or history. In theology, for example, many people have wrestled with the question of whether or not God exists. Some (theists) are convinced God is real, others (atheists) “know” there is no God, and yet others (agnostics) stake out a position that we can't know, or will never know; so they clearly feel that there is a limit to our knowledge in this realm of theology.

Some of the more thorny questions of philosophy seem to be beyond our capability to ever answer. We have struggled with them for millennia, without making much headway. There seem—so far—to be no final answers to questions such as, What is the good life? What is beauty? What is truth?

And what about history? Short of time travel, will we ever know why some events happened, but not others? Why did Alexander the Great decide to engage in some battles, but not others? What would have happened, had he made another decision? How would events have turned out differently, had Jack Kennedy chosen not to take the route that his procession took that fateful day in Dallas, November 1963? These kinds of questions can go on indefinitely, and their answers—as is often expressed—are “lost to history.” So there does seem to be a limit to our knowledge, in the context of history. There are some things we'll never know.

The limits to our knowledge in the arenas of theology and philosophy are not necessarily the same for each of us. It's more a case of relative or individual knowing. What one person knows—or believes they know—may be quite different from another person. We often are in the realm of opinion, rather than knowledge. It can be difficult—if not impossible—to characterize what the collective knowledge may be. In fact, when we ask questions about the limits of human knowledge in these fields, we even often find ourselves asking the wrong question. It may be more a matter of exploring ways to ask better questions, than struggling with the limits of the wrong question.

Next time” returning to science…

Discomforting Curiosity

I have always delighted in the feeling of curiosity. I've written about the value of curiosity several times on this blog. I've described my sense of inquisitiveness about numerous things in my immediate environment, as well as in the wider world. The dictionary's definition of curiosity is “a strong desire to know or learn something.” The word's root is the Latin word curiosus, which means “careful.” I find it fascinating that our modern usage of the word curiosity stems from being careful. I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds appropriate.

I live in the woods. I live a simple life that provides ample time for exploring the natural world around me. My scientific training predisposes me to seek explanations for things I observe in my world. Countless times I have paused to look at my environment and wondered what is really going on. How did nature arrive at the thing I'm seeing? What led to it? Why does this animal behave as it does? I find this behavior to be mysterious. How can I learn what causes it? The internet is an invaluable resource to answer many of these questions, but I also know that if I take the time to watch and be open, an understanding may come.

I have always greeted these questions with an enthusiastic feeling of interest and wonder. I wonder why that bird does that. I wonder about the meaning of life. I wonder what's going on around all those stars out there. I wonder about the cognitive differences between humans and other animals. So much wonder!

A recent scientific blog on National Public Radio by Tania Lombrozo addressed this issue of curiosity—asking, curiously, whether the feeling is a negative or a positive one. Some people, she writes, experience curiosity as a negative emotion, while others respond positively. I was very intrigued by her blog, because I've never felt negatively about curiosity.

She cited recent research that looked into why this contrasting response occurs. It turns out that those who feel positive about their curiosity tend look upon the situation with anticipation; they look forward to learning something new. Those who feel negative, however, often feel frustrated about the situation; they are unsatisfied about being in the dark.

Lombrozo points out that curiosity arises when we notice a gap in our knowledge. We want to close that gap. We want to know. So curiosity is all about learning... coming to know.

So why do some people feel negative about their curiosity, while others look forward to the pleasure of finding out why? The research shows that the main factor that divides the two camps is a function of the time it will take to satisfy one's curiosity. Those who don't like to wait will focus on their not knowing; they will focus on that gap, and they don't like it. Those who don't mind the wait focus on the anticipation of learning something new, and thus are more positive and eager.

It seems to me that a major factor dividing these two groups is that some people want to know, while others seek to learn. Those seeking to know are motivated by finding an answer and thus concluding the inquiry. They're mostly interested in answers. Those who want to learn, however, see the process of understanding as an open-ended, unfinished process. Once they close the gap and learn something, they eagerly greet the additional gaps that pop up, to continue on the endless learning curve. The inquiry for them is never concluded. There's always more to learn. I find that comforting. In contrast, some people—those who want definitive answers—seem to be uncomfortable with the gap.

Cultivating Curiosity—Part 2

We all possess some degree of curiosity. The key is to respond appropriately to those inquisitive feelings we get. Many people waddle through life half asleep—their minds dull and disinterested. When opportunities or novelties come along, they can be too preoccupied or dull witted to even notice them. So paying attention is crucial. As I wrote earlier, children—who have so much to learn—are naturally curious; evolution has built that into them. As we age, however, some of us lose that childlike sense of awe. We can become complacent and bored; we tell ourselves that there's nothing really new out there.

Unfortunately, modern society seeks thrills, more than learning. We seek quick, facile answers to life's quandaries; rather than taking the time to probe deeper. People are encouraged to grab hold of facts, rather than truly understanding things. As a wise person once said, “Facts are not knowledge, knowledge is not wisdom.”

Are some of us more curious than others? Sure, but is it because our genetic makeup determines our level of curiosity, or can we cultivate it? I'm convinced that we can develop our curiosity, largely because it is an emotion, rather than an instinct. Instincts cause us to behave in unconscious and fixed patterns. Emotions, however, can be changed and developed. They are flexible and can be built upon.

I did some research, consulting various essays and books on psychology and philosophy, about ways to cultivate one's curiosity. I came up with a list of eight practices that can help to strengthen one's curious nature:

1. Ask questions. Admit your ignorance and your need to learn. Acknowledging your ignorance is the best way to dispel it.
2. Don't take things for granted. Remain skeptical about what you hear or read, and then check it out. Be open to surprise and the possibility of being wrong; it's a great way to learn.
3. Don't label anything as boring or not worthy of your effort to understand. To do so just closes doors to insight and understanding.
4. Don't judge things too quickly. Keep an open mind. Have the humility to admit that you are limited and that you have a need to pause and learn. This opens the door to change and growth.
5. Read a wide range of things. Challenge yourself with new and different and unfamiliar material. Let it open your mind.
6. Gradually increase the complexity of what you do. Don't settle for facile or easy answers.
7. Seek excellence in what you do. Don't settle for shoddy or inferior behavior.
8. Pay attention; concentrate on each task at hand. Be ready to notice and pick up on anything and everything that comes along. Be mindful.

That's a great list to cultivate one's curiosity. I believe that by acting upon some of these items, we can regain that natural sense of inquisitiveness that children have. We can feel more alive and excited. Yes, unlike the doomed curious cat, curiosity is healthy for us.

Cultivating Curiosity—Part 1

I believe that curiosity is one of the most valuable attributes that we can have. And I do not mean in the sense of the old saw, “Curiosity killed the cat.” That saying tends to give curiosity a bad name, which might cause some people to be a little leery about being inquisitive. I think, however, that this quotation has actually been used as a warning to keep one's nose out of other people's business, to avoid prying into others' private matters. No, I see curiosity as a healthy attribute. Here's why.

But first, what exactly is curiosity? The dictionary definition is: “a strong desire to know or learn something.” Interestingly, its root meaning is to be careful. Well, maybe if that cat had been a little more careful, its curiosity would not have brought about its demise. So I'll stick with this definition, which describes curiosity as one's desire to learn. Kids are naturally curious, because their main function in life is to learn. Many people who seek to expand their knowledge do so by responding to their curiosity... sort of like kids do.

Returning to children: they are naturally drawn to novelty. When something new comes into their lives and they are curious about it; they have an innate tendency to wonder about it. Many animals also exhibit curiosity when they encounter something new. If it doesn't appear to be dangerous, they will check it out.

In fact, evolution has favored curiosity. Animals who have a general instinct for curiosity do better—they are more fit and thus are more likely to survive—than those who are complacent. Yes, there are dangers in the world, and it pays to be cautious, but critters who are curious usually do fare better. Their curiosity drives them to explore new things and experiences.

For example, one of the most successful species of bird is the house sparrow. Its natural bent for curiosity has enabled it to expand into new territory and learn new habits. As a result, the house sparrow is a very adaptable creature; it has spread its territory to the point that it now inhabits most every corner of the globe.

And there is no more adaptable creature on the planet than Homo sapiens. Our curiosity—like the house sparrow—has led us to spread across the Earth, inhabiting just about every environment there is. Evolution built curiosity into us, by favoring those of our ancestors who were most curious; they were better at learning new skills. When the environment changed, those with better skills could better adapt. Those who were dull or disinterested were more likely to perish when hard times came, because they had become stuck in their ways.

So curiosity is an advantageous quality to have. Those who are curious have an urge to learn, to seek answers to puzzles. They want to know why, even when there may be no immediate practical advantage to knowing. When we respond to that mental itch to understand—due to “idle” curiosity—we often find that it leads us to creative insights we never even knew existed. Our lives become richer for it. People who feel they have a very satisfying or exciting career are often those who are naturally curious and whose job allows them to explore their interests.

More on curiosity next time...

Laborious Learning

It is a common belief in educational circles that teaching people new ideas and facts works best when the learning process is made smooth and relatively easy. Teachers in schools usually assume that lessons have been successful when the concepts are easy to grasp—and today we have so many high-tech ways of simplifying learning, with computer graphics, animation, and other eye-catching techniques.

Yet current scientific research is showing that our brains respond better and learn more thoroughly when they face some difficulty. When classroom material is not easy to absorb, students tend to retain it better over the long run, as well as grasp it on a deeper level. It seems that when we force our gray matter to struggle, we actually become better learners. One experiment at Princeton University, for example, showed that students absorbed material to a greater degree when it was printed in a difficult font that forced them to work harder.

This result, of learning better when we struggle, is sometimes called “desirable difficulties,” to describe the idea that learning should be a challenge. Students at the University of Washington found that handwriting activated more of their brain than keyboard writing. Some teachers have noted that composing essays or poetry easily on computers—rather than experiencing the struggle of writing them out by hand—leads to much longer (and more boring) compositions.

Here are a few additional examples of laborious learning: The internet brings us riches of information, but it does not necessarily mean that we retain more knowledge or can express ourselves better. Hand calculators make an instant math whiz of anyone, and yet many youngsters today don't really grasp the mathematical concepts accomplished by that little whiz of a machine. Many artists find that their creativity is greater when they must struggle with the simple tools they have at hand, rather than gain access to high-tech tools. Modern recording studios offer a rich and easily accessible variety of electronic toys, which too often results in boring and pedestrian music.

When we face no obstacles—when life is easy—we are more likely to become unsure of what we really want or where we're headed. When we face distractions, however, it can cause us to dig a little deeper inside ourselves, to access greater cognitive ability. Our mind goes into high gear and we are more likely to generate unusual and creative connections, than when things are easy and our mind is on idle.

I'm an old man now. When I was a kid I remember my mom advising me that “you have to work hard in life, to get those things of value.” I guess Mom was either ahead of her time or was voicing an ancient truism that current scientific research is finding fascinating ways to validate.

We Don’t Know, But We Can Learn

I have repeatedly written about how differences between humans and the rest of the animal world are far less than we anthropocentric critters would like to think. Many of the distinctions that we humans previously believed set us apart from animals are relentlessly disappearing—and many more of them are now being understood as not unique at all, just a matter of degree.

But what does make us different from animals—even those closely related to us, such as the great apes? I won’t to try to answer that monster question here. I’ll simply note one key difference: our ability to reason, to think rationally, to look back and ponder what happened. It gives us a great advantage over the sharpest chimpanzee.

What does reason do for us? Well, countless things, but I’ll just look at one example here, for illustration: our ability to ponder our actions, after we’ve done something and to learn from the process. Most of what we do is programmed deeply within us. We’re usually not even conscious of what we’ve done or why. For example, we don’t know why we eat what we do—millions of years have taught us what foods have kept us alive and healthy, long before we thought about it. It’s the same for animals.

Our sex lives are governed by habits that we developed over eons—habits that kept our species going. We mostly don’t know why we do as we do in the sexual arena; again just like animals. We’re just driven. It’s very much an instinctual thing; behaviors that are deeply ingrained in us. Animals do the same.

These and countless other behaviors of ours are done without conscious thinking or planning—just like the animals. One might be inclined to disagree; to feel that we take these and other actions after carefully pondering them, but that’s not the case. Many clever experiments have shown that we take action first and think later. We’re more automatically programmed than we’d want to believe. For one thing, fast action (without taking time to think) is often necessary. And the majority of our actions cannot require thinking; otherwise, we’d be lost in the minutia of details and never do anything.

So how do we differ from our animal cohorts? Unlike them, after we take action, we are able to ponder what happened and gain insight into why we did it. We can ruminate over events and learn from them. That’s something that all other animals—not possessing our elevated cognitive abilities—(pretty much) cannot do. It’s how we learn.

So what are the benefits of this ability of ours to reason? Once we understand why we do something, we can see the necessity of modifying or controlling our urges, if need be. We can understand that certain inherent behaviors that drive us to consume unhealthy foods (foods that a million years ago made sense) are not what we should any longer be doing. Similarly, certain sexual behaviors that long ago were useful (such as procreating endlessly) are no longer useful.

This learning process is one way in which we forge morals. For example, if we can learn from our violent behavior towards one another—that violence is foolish—we can come to see that tolerance makes sense. If I get into trouble by following my instincts in a given situation, I can grow from the experience, adapt, and become smarter—even develop a moral sense about it. It’s given Homo sapiens a huge advantage—an advantage most animals don’t have. What puzzles me is why we seem to refuse to heed some of our obvious lessons.