The Holy Art of Skepticism: Part I.
The Beginning of Wisdom is Overrated
You Know Things That Are Untrue
Let’s begin with a fun little game of musical fill-in-the-blank. This will work quite effectively if you are familiar with Latter-day Saint children’s music, and quite ineffectively if you are not. Do not worry too much, however, as I’ll give more examples shortly.
Shall we play?
“Give, said the little ______
Give, oh give! Give, oh give!
Give, said the little _______,
As it hurried down the hill.”“I’m small I know but wherever I go
The _____ grows greener still!”
For those not in the know, Give Said the Little Stream is a classic Latter-day Saint children’s song that speaks of a kind little stream who makes the world a little greener wherever it flows. As Elder Maxwell—a senior leader in my church—once put it, the song is “certainly sweet and motivating, but not exactly theologically drenched.” A bit simple, to be sure, but universally known and beloved nonetheless—as such, the first and second blanks are likely easy to fill in.
And what did you say for the third blank? Did you say “the grass grows” greener still? If you did, you’re in good company! That’s what nearly everyone says.
More precisely, it’s what 82% of people say.
But, and I do not say this unkindly, you (and 82% of people who think like you) are wrong.
The correct lyrics are:
I’m small I know but wherever I go, the fields grow greener still.
(I am quite sure that some of you won’t believe me, so see here for the correct lyrics, and here for the write-up that taught me all of this as published in a report of the Deseret Language and Linguistic Society Symposium, volume 26, issue 1, article 16, by one Peggy Worthen. If it makes you feel better, she didn’t believe it at first either.)
Let’s make this proposition one: you know things that are not true.
The Beginning of Wisdom is Overrated
We’ll get right back to the untrue things you know, but let’s take a quick diversion to a charming little story about Socrates and wisdom. I love this story.
Taken from this source.
SOCRATES AND THE STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WHO SOUGHT WISDOM
There is a story about a brave young man who sought Socrates with the desire to become a scholar. He turned to the great Greek philosopher and said, "Oh, illustrious Socrates, I come to you to gain knowledge."
In response, Socrates led the young man through the streets to the seashore, where they sank into the water. Then he asked the young man, "Now tell me, what do you want?"
"Knowledge, O wise Socrates," replied the young man with a smile.
Socrates put his hands on the young man's shoulders and pushed him into the water. Thirty seconds later the philosopher lifted his disciple out of the water.
"Tell me one more time, what did you say you wanted?" he asked.
"Wisdom, illustrious and wise Socrates," replied the young man with difficulty breathing.
Socrates pushed him again into the water. Thirty seconds passed, thirty-five, forty, forty-five.... Eventually, Socrates brought him to the surface. Socrates asked him again, "What do you want, young man?"He struggled to answer. "Wisdom, a wise and wonderful ..." Socrates immediately threw the young man underwater, this time holding him there for almost a minute. When the young man came to the surface longing for oxygen, Socrates asked him, "What do you want?"
"Air!" the young man shouted. "I need air!"
"When you long for wisdom as you long for air, then you will have it," came the unperturbed answer of the wise Socrates.
When I read this story as a young man, it thrilled me—and it still does. I hope it thrills you too. Taking nothing away from this story, let me clarify that it is the beginning of wisdom to desire knowledge with all your heart.
And the beginning of wisdom is utterly overrated.
How can I say such a thing about such a beloved, charming story?
Well, the first thing is relatively minor, and that’s this: we have no record of this happening. There’s no primary document suggesting that this ever happened—it’s some feel-good, faith-promoting rumor for would-be intellectuals.
But there’s something deeper still.
Let’s tell a second story.
There is a story about a foolish young man who sought Socrates with the desire to become a scholar. After his experience in the water, he was thrilled to begin learning for realsies. He turned to Socrates and said "Oh, illustrious Socrates, I come to you to gain knowledge!"
Socartes led the young man through the streets to a restaurant. It was one of those buffets—hundreds of options, steaming dishes everywhere, and your job is to pick what you like.Socrates asks the young man a question: "What do you want?"
The young man—having learned his lesson—grabs a plate. He dashes off. He loads his plate with every possible food at the buffet: salad, lasagna, some vaguely-meat-looking dish, and some ice cream.
He finds a fork, and is about to eat—to show just how much he wants his knowledge.
Socrates eyes him carefully. As he’s about to take his first bite, the master intervenes: “I’ve asked the cooks to poison half the dishes.”
I would submit to you that the second Socrates is both more kind and more discerning. He will do more good for the lad. He will make the world better, too.
The beginning of wisdom may be desire, but the next step on the path is discernment. It is learning to tell the difference between abundance and toxin.
You Are Not Wired for Truth
Why did I pick a children’s song? Because it won’t bother you. I’m picking relatively safe and anodyne and not-at-all controversial examples because, bluntly, I don’t think you’re going to like it when I get to more controversial stuff. Give it just a moment. We’ll get there.
Now, on to foundational point two. You are not wired for truth.
Perhaps an example for the visual learners out there?
As you can probably guess, the center bar looks like it changes shade, but it’s the same color throughout. If you don’t believe me, cover the top and bottom with your hands. You can also make hand binoculars.
Alternatively, you can check out the animated graphic below.
(Shout out to moillusions for this great graphic. Find their post about it here.)
One more: is the dress black and blue, or gold and white? Look closely.
If you haven’t already heard of the saga of the dress, see the wikipedia article here. When #thedress went viral, people couldn’t decide whether it was blue and black or white and gold. (I see white and gold. It is actually blue an black.)
Perhaps this image (from the same wikipedia article) will help:
Even more clear is this mind-bending image from reddit.
So you got the color wrong. Fun little optical illusion.
But ultimately, no big deal, right?
Wrong.
This is a huge deal. This isn’t a huge deal because you might get it wrong, it’s a huge deal because you can’t see it right. The point is that even when I know the optical illusion, I cannot unsee it. My brain interprets signals in such a way that I see impossible things. even when I know better.
You are not wired for truth.
The evolutionary story is simple: we’re not wired for truth, we’re wired for survival.
When it is the middle of the night and you see a shadowy figure on the chair in your room, your brain does not speak rationality and dispassion. It defaults to caution, and tells you that the shape is a threat—even when it is just laundry that you probably should have folded the day before. We have, all of us, awoken to a things-that-go-bump-in-the-dark noise and made our final peace with the universe (it’s been a good run, but now the murderer is here) only to drift off to sleep and awaken in the morning refreshed and none the worse for wear. And why? Because 50,000 years ago, my ancestor was next to his buddy and we both thought we saw something shadowy in a cave, and my ancester ran and my ancester’s buddy was dinner for a hungry bear. My very cautious genes get passed on. Buddy boy’s do not.
I know all about this, and it still happens to me regularly.
Fundamental point 1 is that you know false things. Mental anchor? The primary song about a talking stream. (Kinda weird when you think about it.) Fundamental point 2 is that you’re not wired for truth—but we need a good mental anchor.
Let’s use your blind spot.
You will find that your brain has been lying to you your whole life, and will continue to do so for the rest of your life. This is important: it is not that you cannot see in your blind spot, it is that your brain provides you with a filled-in approximation of what the brain thinks is there.
And parenthetically, it’s super trippy. Your brain is lying to you. Right now. And you can’t unsee it.
(There are plenty of ways to find your blindspot—I prefer the wiggle-your-thumb method, but the above is pretty good too. This is the cross-and-circle method from visionaryeyecare.com: “Cover your LEFT eye and stare at the cross with your RIGHT eye. Now SLOWLY move towards the computer screen while still staring at the cross with your RIGHT eye. At somewhere around 10-14 inches from the computer screen – the black circle will disappear and the area where the black circle was…will now be all white – this is your BLIND SPOT.”)
The Holy Art of Skepticism
You have come to my class from high school. You have, I hope, learned a thing or two. You have probably felt the allure of intellectualism—the life of the mind, the joy of knowledge—and are in college now to enjoy that even more. You’re filled with cliches like Yeates’, “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire."
Glorious stuff.
The quotes and cliches are precious to me because they speak to me, even if I find them utterly insufficient.
Why insufficient? Because too many of you, in a hurry toward knowledge and truth, have stooped over the buffet of ideas and eagerly filled three plates heaping full of delights and delicassies and poisons and toxins all alike. You have sat down and feasted, and gobbled it all up. Then, most important, you have patted yourself on the back for it.
Discernment is a good word. Here’s my preferred phrase: The Holy Art of Skepticism.
Cranky
And now to foundational point three: we tend to get really cranky when people challenge our beliefs—even when they are demonstrably false.
Among my favorite writer/thinkers are Megan McArdle and Russ Roberts, so every time they talk together I simply have to listen. In this podcast episode, McArdle talks about Walter Freeman, the physician and psychologist who believed that labotomies were the best way to treat people with severe mental illness. It’s not that he was wrong. It’s that he was incapable of realizing that he was so profoundly wrong.
Are you the same way? I think you are.
(You should listen. Warning: the discussion of labotomies is graphic and horrid. You have been warned. Also, if you are in my class, it’s one of the readings you can choose for week 1.)
https://www.econtalk.org/megan-mcardle-on-the-oedipus-trap/
“The first principle is that you must not fool yourself, and you are the easiest person to fool.”
I mentioned visual learners earlier, and I have to admit to doing so tongue-in-cheek. Of all the myths students come to me with, perhaps the most pervasive is the learning styles myth: the notion that we are hard-wired as visual or kinesthenic or auditory learners. This is one of the most repeatedly debunked ideas out there—and also one of the most stubborn to finally die.
Now I happen to think that a belief in learning styles is detrimental (and I’m in good company) but it’s ultimately rather tiny. It’s still all ‘grass’ vs. ‘fields’ to me. It just isn’t all that important.
What is?
The haunting statistic about learning styles is not 90% (the percentage of teachers who still teach it) but rather 32% (which is the number of university faculty who still teach it after having been shown evidence that it is false).
In other words, I have to get to my education students, and fast—before they are taught untruths. The Planck Principle, named after Max Planck, holds that:
A new scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it ...
An important scientific innovation rarely makes its way by gradually winning over and converting its opponents: it rarely happens that Saul becomes Paul. What does happen is that its opponents gradually die out, and that the growing generation is familiarized with the ideas from the beginning: another instance of the fact that the future lies with the youth.— Max Planck, Scientific autobiography, 1950, p. 33, 97
Or, in other words, "Science progresses one funeral at a time.”
I don’t just care about molding students into people who have better ideas. I also want to teach people how to look at the evidence and shift their ideas when appropriate. I want you to learn how to self-correct, because you—no matter who you are—hold to ideas that are far more damaging than wrong primary-song lyrics.
My wife believed in learning styles. (I did too, mind, but my wife has the better story.) She was in graduate school pursuing a doctorate in audiology. Her roommate was pursuing a PhD in educational psychology. Her roommate told her that learning styles were bunkum.
My wife, brimming with righteous indignation, replied:
“But. I. Took. A. Quiz!”
My wife’s response was not to update her priors, but to become *angry.*
Now perhaps you think my wife is unusually ornery or particularly stubborn. No dice. She’s forbidden me from ever giving long nauseating diatribes about how much I adore her, so suffice it to say that she’s on the easy-going and gracious side of humanity—and particularly in comparison to her cantankerous husband. That’s precisely why there is power in using her as an example: she isn’t flawed. She’s a rather above-average human, but she is still human. Even someone as deliberate and meek as my wife got angry, because that’s what we do.
What is the mental achor? Perhaps its learning styles and the quiz my wife took. Maybe it’s frontal labotomies and the Oedipus trap. But the point is simple.
We don’t like it when people challenge our beliefs. Any of us.
(And while the point isn’t about learning styles, if you are unconvinced, here’s an accessible video to make the point. Yes, you learn better from visuals—we all do. But the learning styles myth has been repeatedly investigated and found to be a humbug.)
You believe things that are not true. You are not wired for truth, but for survival. And you will get cranky when someone points it all out to you.
Desire is the beginning of wisdom—but discernment is the second step.
(Part two of the series continues here. Part III and IV at the respective links.)