Contemplating Critters

     I recently took an online course in animal behavior from a Dutch university. As part of the lessons, we were asked to develop our observing skills by spending at least 10 minutes watching an animal. We were encouraged to take notes and to be as detailed as possible. I pondered how I might take on this assignment, given that many of my local animals would be very unlikely to stay in one spot for that long. I also felt that if I got too close to a critter, my presence would alter its behavior, and thus my observations may not be representative of it or its species.

        I love to watch birds at the feeder—which gets lots of avian traffic, but rather than stick around, each bird flits in, grabs a seed, and flies off. There's no chance of watching it for more than a few seconds. I could possibly watch a specific bird over several minutes, as it repeatedly returns to the feeder, but I can't tell one individual bird from another, so I might be seeing several different individuals.

So that brings up a question: If I were able to watch one critter for 10 minutes and wrote down my observations, how indicative of the species' behavior would that individual be? Maybe instead I could learn something about bird behavior by watching many different species of birds come to the feeder. That's one of my favorite activities anyway.  So maybe I could learn as much about animal behavior by contemplating groups of them, rather than just one.

Well, I've done this for several years now and have noted the varying behaviors of a number of different species. For instance, chickadees and titmice fly in, grab a seed, and fly to a perch, where they lodge the seed between their feet, and then bang away, breaking through the shell for the meat inside. A dove will sit at the feeder, downing one whole seed after another. A finch will pick up a seed and crack it with its powerful bill, and pick out the meat with its deft tongue. A Carolina wren will squat in the middle of the feeder, fastidiously poke at one seed or another, tossing away all but the fattest ones.

These observations have shown me over years how one species of bird behavior at the feeder differs from another species. But even within one species I see differences. For example, that goldfinch there was behaving much more aggressively than the others. That cardinal seems uncertain and slower than the others. That chickadee was far more meek than the others. That titmouse just challenged and chased off a wren, when most of the other titmice wouldn't have dared.

So what do I think about these individual differences I see? Which behaviors are species-specific and which are just the peculiar behavior of that individual bird? Like most of my observations of nature, I soon see a far more complex picture than at first. I guess I've no alternative but to put in a few more years of observation time.

Dreading Death

        Humans have been fascinated with and fearful of death for most of our existence. We are likely the only creature to be aware of the fact that the day will come when each of us dies, and so our inquiring mind ponders that fact and creates beliefs and stories of what might follow death. We are caught up in the effort to stay alive (as all animals are) and have a natural instinct to ward off our death. Throughout history people have dreamed of immortality as a way of cheating death. Our dread of dying has compelled humans to conjure up various stories of the afterlife. We don't want to believe that our existence simply ends, so we fashion beliefs of the hereafter.

        Eastern cultures have often dealt with the problem by conceiving of reincarnation, by which our soul inhabits a new body after death; thus, we do not face absolute termination. Western cultures, in contrast, have leaned towards some kind of afterlife, where our soul resides everlastingly. These different beliefs are often tied closely with religious teachings, in which some form of deity is in charge of our destiny.

The ancient Greeks were convinced that their lives—and deaths—were controlled by a pantheon of gods, who were very interested in humans. The gods played a major role in the fortunes and misfortunes of the Greeks—either favoring an individual or group, or choosing to harass them. Much of their lives were consumed by fretting over being punished by a god or rejoicing when being rewarded. Since the gods were capricious, it kept the Greeks off balance—never quite sure whether they'd be curse or blessed. The gods were also competitive with and jealous of each other, so you had to be careful not to piss off one god, as you curried favor with another.

This fear of the gods led the ancient Greeks to view the afterlife as a grim place—a place where one may be condemned to spend eternity in torment and suffering. There was a way to eventually inhabit a heaven-like existence, but most souls never got there, as the underworld gods seemed bent on abusing them. Thus, the lives of the Greeks were tainted by their dread of death.

One school of Greek philosophy, headed by Epicurus, took a very different stance on death. Epicurus maintained that it was foolish to experience so much anxiety and mental pain that arise from the fear of death and of the gods. He asserted that the gods were really not interested in the petty details of humans’ lives. He was, in fact, skeptical about even the existence of the gods. Regardless of whether the gods were real or not, he counseled that our life is largely under the control of each of us, and not the fickle whims of the immortals.

Thus, Epicurus maintained, if the gods do not interfere in our lives, they also would play no role in any kind of afterlife. Again, they have their own interests. Again, regardless of whether they exist or not, our life is our own responsibility... ours to make the most of, or waste. In other words, don’t blame your misfortunes on the gods. You are in control.

Furthermore, the fear of death robs us of the chance to make the most of our lives. The fear (or adulation) of the gods keeps us from fully maturing and taking charge of our lives. We are not puppets, but agents of our own destiny.

Epicurus did not come down firmly on the side of saying either the gods exist or do not, so he was not a card-carrying atheist. Rather, he said that it really didn't matter. If one lived a moral and frugal life, it would be one full of meaning and fulfillment. He also was ambivalent about the afterlife; again saying it doesn't really matter, since if you live the moral life, what happens after death—if anything—will be fine.

I find it fascinating that the human fear of death has led us to formulate stories about the afterlife—but these stories are overwhelmingly about hell, rather than heaven. The ancient Greeks constructed elaborate tales of what condemnation of the soul was like, after death. Dante's The Divine Comedy is a lengthy description of the soul's journey through hell. Why do we not have as thorough a description of what heaven is like? Is it because we are obsessed with death and dread finding our soul being subjected to everlasting torment? Fear seems to guide our lives far more than hopefulness.

Socratic Midwifery

 One of the ancient Greek philosophers that I have learned a lot from is Socrates. I know that my leanings toward him are due to some extent to the fact that I identify with his lifestyle: living simply and listening, rather than lecturing. He was very critical of the Sophists, who he regarded as pompous orators, because they used rhetorical methods to persuade their listeners to their way of thinking. Socrates was adamant that he was not wise and was not interested in impressing anyone with his erudition. Instead, his skill was to question his interlocutors—using Socratic dialog—to draw from them their innate insights. He helped them to realize truths that they then owned, rather than force upon them his knowledge.

In a dialog with a young man named Theaetetus, Socrates one day explained why he used this form of dialog. Theaetetus was complaining about how difficult it was to learn this way. It made his head hurt. Socrates replied that this was an appropriate sensation, because his student was feeling the pangs of labor, as something within his head was trying to be born.

He told his student that he is like a midwife. His dialog may indeed be driving his interlocutors to their wits' end, because he is helping them birth understanding. While midwives attend to the bodies of their patients, he is attending to their souls. Just as the most accomplished midwives were once mothers themselves, because their own experiences of giving birth helped them to empathize with a mother in labor, Socrates, as an old man, had the experience to understand the struggles of his students.

He explained that his goal was to assure them that what comes from the minds of the youths he dialogs with is true and not false notions. In fact, Socrates claimed that the gods compelled him to birth ideas, rather than teach. No, he did not deem himself wise—just one who births wisdom from others. Thus, the gods allowed his students to astound themselves, through Socrates' birthing dialogs; they did not learn from Socrates, but from themselves.

So the Socratic midwifery process is intended to be painful—just as childbirth comes with pain. He might well have been the first teacher to tell his students, “No pain, no gain.” (I doubt that rhymes as well in ancient Greek.)

Clearwing moth on rhododendron blossom

 Click to enlarge

Judging Generosity

Generosity is a quality that most everyone would agree is a noble practice, but agreement quickly gets derailed when we discuss things like (1) What motivates one to be generous? (2) Of the various ways that one could be benevolent in a specific situation, which demonstrates the real spirit of generosity? (3) Should there be a cost to generosity; should it require some kind of self-sacrifice? (4) What is an appropriate aftermath of giving—for both the giver and the receiver? (5) Can we measure generosity? (6) Is it innate or learned?

I recently took an online course on generosity from the University of Pennsylvania, wherein these and many more questions were raised and examined by professors who have taught the subject for many years. I will attempt to offer a few of their insights on the topic.

First, let's consider the definition of generosity, so we can begin looking at the issue from the same perspective. My dictionary defines it as “the act of giving more of something such as money or time than is strictly necessary or expected.” Some definitions go on to insist that the receiver of the generous act must actually benefit from it. I believe this last point is a crucial addition, because it requires that the giver put some effort into ensuring that their act is really needed and will improve the lot of the receiver—not just make them feel self-righteous. 

We often respond to a solicitation for a donation from organizations that seek funds in ways that are often adept at pulling on our heart strings; making it easy to give, without much of any assurance that our donations will actually provide what is needed. For example, jillions of tee shirts are often donated to groups in Africa, when people there have other crucial needs and already have too many tee shirts.

So, what constitutes a generous act? The above dictionary definition suggests generosity as the giving of time or money. However, are there not other forms of generosity? Can giving one's attention be an act of generosity? Can a simple smile be an example of generosity?

Another important factor is one's intention or motivation, when acting generously. Why does one's motivation matter? If your sincere intention was to do good, does it matter if its impact fell short of helping the receiver? And to whom does it matter... the giver or the receiver? When we give, how much of our motivation is due to our wanting to feel better about ourself? We often get a “warm glow” from being generous. How important is that to us? Does the size of my gift (whether measured in money or time) matter, or is the spirit of giving (or the sacrifice to me) the key? The Bible reports that Jesus valued a penny's donation from a poor widow far more than large donations from rich people.

And then there's the manner in which one gives. Do I expect or want something in return... if even only some form of appreciation or a thank you? Do I want others to know that I am giving? Do I wish my name to be listed as a donor someplace, or to get a free tote bag for my donation? Do I expect or want a tax incentive for my donations? Do I require an appeal to prompt me to donate, or am I self-motivated to do so? Should I try to control the use of my gift—such as give food to a homeless person, rather than money?

One of the interesting findings of the researchers who presented this course was that religious people give significantly more time and money than nonreligious people. Moreover, religious people who also regularly attend services are the most generous. It was suggested that there are several reasons why this is so: (1) generosity is a core tenet of all religions, (2) one is often encouraged by religious leaders to give, (3) one's religious peers also encourage, as well as model generosity, and (4) the belief that what we have in this world is given to us by God and is not ours, so be generous with it.

The last point above can be expanded upon, as the thought that, if we are among the more fortunate people, don’t we have a duty to use our skills and advantages to help others less fortunate? The point is that we don't really own our talents and strengths; they are not entirely of our making—they are a gift to us. Instead, we are shepherding them, and we are obliged to pass the gift on.

I find it interesting that a significant factor in religious people's generosity is the frequent reminders they get from their peers and leaders. I wonder if this is why I get so many repeated pleas in the mail for donations—indicating that those organizations know that if they are persistent in their requests (or offer a cute tote bag or tax deduction), they are more likely to get a response? To what degree do we need the push, or can we be self-motivated? Again, is generosity innate or learned?

Probing Polarization

Polarization is quite possibly the greatest problem facing American society today—as well as many other countries in the world. For various reasons, polarization has grown worse in recent years, to the point that it has extinguished most of what little common ground society once had. We have retreated into our isolated silos and enclaves, as we have come to view those in other silos as enemies, and refuse to listen to them or grant any validity to their beliefs. We engage in cultural wars that aim to utterly defeat the other—giving no quarter. Society seems to have descended into a zero-sum game, wherein one side triumphs while the other is thoroughly vanquished.

Years ago I was involved in conducting various types of nonviolence trainings. The core of the concept—when two parties find themselves locked in conflict—was to seek some common ground, come together on that ground, and then gradually build a cooperative framework to move forward together, for the common good. Those trainings were predicated on the willingness of conflicting parties to engage with each other, in order to work on a community problem that both agreed needed to be resolved—as well as to collaborate in a search for that common ground.

The extreme kind of polarization that permeates society today, however, prevents either side from even considering coming together—except to confront each other. They either do this while screaming at each other over social media, or while being filmed by media, as individuals get in each others' face, engaging in a shouting match. Psychological research has shown that, under these circumstances, each party simply hardens their perspective, with the tragic result that the gap is widened. The parties walk away from these clashes with even more deeply entrenched beliefs, and any possible common ground increasingly vanishes. The level of distrust of and alienation of the other side simply heightens.

Polarization was once confined mostly to the political arena. It has spread, however, and is spilling over into a number of other areas, such as personal relationships, medical advice, hiring decisions, vaccines, etc. As an example of the deleterious impact of polarization on society, progress is hindered on such critical problems as climate change, inequality, and immigration. The two warring sides cannot even agree on what the problem is, let alone find common ground to deal with it.

So, is there any hope for achieving progress on dealing with these issues? Psychological research also shows that there indeed may be a way: polarization can be decreased through what is termed  “mechanistic reasoning.” Very often people conveniently latch onto a viewpoint either because it's simplistic or because they wish to feel a part of a group that holds that viewpoint. We can be lazy... rather than logically arriving at our own thought-out perspective, we grab an easy explanation of something or adopt the perspective put forth by a group ensconced in a specific silo. We cannot really understand the issue this way, but we become convinced that we're right, because the group fervently believes so. When challenged, our certainty just hardens.

That certainty hides the fact that, because our grasp on the issue is shallow, we often don't really understand how it works. Furthermore, false confidence allows us to ignore alternative perspectives or ideas. For example, we may readily attribute the lack of governmental effectiveness in dealing with immigration to one simple factor or another. Those on each side of the issue will seize upon a shallow explanation that fits their preconceived perspective. They then engage in vehement battles based upon those simplistic explanations. Neither side fully understands the complexity of the problem.

Research shows that false confidence can be decreased through a remarkably simple process: ask the person to explain the details of how it works—not their reasons for their belief, but how it works. Ask them to explain how they arrived at their belief by detailing and explaining the issue. What often happens is when they try, they come to understand that they understand less than they thought. And when they can't explain how it works, their certainty decreases and they become less extreme in their view.

A simple example of this idea—from a mechanistic perspective—is that most people think they understand how a bicycle or a refrigerator works. Ask someone to explain the mechanics of a bike or fridge, however, and they often quickly see that they really cannot offer a mechanistic description. Their mind may then become open to learn more about the subject and to change their attitude. When we come to accept the fact that we can't know it all, we can admit to a little humility and begin to listen to others. We may even discover we do have some common ground.

Surveillance from Space?—Part 2

I often think how much more technologically advanced in space humanity could be, had we not invested so much time and energy on warfare. The US space program, for example, consumes a tiny fraction of the money that the military receives. I find it frustrating that Americans often criticize the space budget as being exorbitant, while quietly accepting the enormous amount of money expended on weapons and the military. 

NASA has achieved many impressive feats in space. Some of them have attracted lots of public attention, such as planting human footprints on the Moon, but the more meaningful (and less popular) accomplishments have been in the space science realm—the tremendous telescopes (like Hubble and now the James Webb scope), the geological surveys of Mars, and the lengthy missions to Jupiter and Saturn and their moons. These NASA programs have given us invaluable information about our solar system and outer space—that will inform and allow future space flight and the ongoing understanding of our cosmos.

But these peace-time space science missions of humans are far less interesting and sexy for citizens. How many movies can you remember about the boring aspects of space science? How many news articles have you read about peace-making activities? In contrast, have there not been a plethora of violent movies on space? Think Star Wars or Independence Day. Do the media not feature many articles about human activities on the International Space Station, while they ignore the complex—if not mundane—scientific experiments done there?

When we read about UFOs or advanced outer-space civilizations, it is easy to become fearful that we may be threatened by these advanced societies. Maybe this is an inappropriate response. If we could manage to eliminate our aggression towards each other, maybe we could be allowed to join the Intergalactic Union. Maybe they are waiting to see if we awaken to the truth and discard our war-like behavior.