Good morning.
Rocks R
Us. My late cousin Mae bequeathed to me
her rock and mineral collection. She and
her late husband Stan were avid rock hounds (Mae's term) and collected minerals
and so on from around the globe. Even
though I know almost nothing about rocks and minerals, I had always admired the
collection, and she responded by giving it to me in her will. I had no idea the magnitude of the bequest
until we hauled it all over to our house.
Kathy and I
are now surrounded by boxes and bags of rocks and minerals. Hundreds of pieces, gems (not likely valuable),
rocks, minerals of many colors, geodes, and the like. They vary in size from a grapefruit to a piece
that could be mounted on a ring. Many of
them are beautiful; Stan was skilled at tumbling and polishing. Others sort of look like items I would have
picked up on a random beach. Given their
experience and expertise, however, I imagine that none of them actually fall in
that category—presumably there's something interesting or unusual about all of
them and I just haven't the training to perceive it.
So in the
midst of a modest effort to declutter our house, we substantially
increased—overnight—our collection of stuff.
I have reached no conclusion about what to do with all these rocks. If we had a spare wall on which I could build
shelves, it would be fun to display them, at least for a time. We have no such wall, so I puzzle over what
to do.
(Of course
the rocks are not the only things that came to our house. My brother and I were her sole legatees, so
split the tangible property evenly. As a
result we have a couple more paintings to hang on the wall (for which we have
no space), a couple more vases, liqueur glasses, etc. So much for decluttering. Elliott, who has been helping us sort through
Mae's belongings, just shakes his head because he realizes that someday all the
stuff I'm accumulating will come to him.
More accurately, from his perspective, he will face an avalanche of
material goods. And I may have to start
making Brandy Alexanders for company because among the bottles of liquor I
inherited came a bottle of white crème de cacao. At least I can ensure that the liquor will be
used.)
If any of
you have ideas about tasteful uses to which one can put rocks and minerals, I'd
love it if you'd tell me. (One thought
is that we can put the larger pieces in our flower boxes. Kathy has decided that she can make pendants
with some of the smaller polished pieces of amethyst. But there is much left over after those two
uses.)
* * *
OK, this is a little bit of tooting
my own horn, which I generally dislike in myself and others, but I have to say
this is an email message that made my day.
After Nils Hasselmo died, I was in touch with his widow. She at one point wrote back to me that "I
heard so many stories from Nils about you, and he would often read sections of
the missives you wrote. He loved his
former and current interactions with you.
You were one of the stars of his life, and he told me that many times."
I told her that I was glad that I
contributed in some small way to the quality of life of someone else. It's not always easy to be sure that that is
what you are doing.
* * *
As I've
affirmed here before, I am a firm believer that intelligence—however defined—is
partly and significantly heritable. At
the same time, I agree with Bob Grant's contention that "IQ can't capture
the breadth, depth, or variety of human intelligence," the title of his
editorial in TheScientist.
Grant
maintains that neuroscience will eventually figure out the basis of
intelligence, a concept that right now is amorphous and may not yet be captured
well "by the pointed calipers of science," and he correctly inquires
whether "proxies of intelligence—such as IQ tests—really capture the
phenomenon." It will ultimately be
useful to parse the biological, environmental, and social components of intelligence
with finer instruments than we have now, but there may be other aspects of
intelligence less susceptible to the lens and the caliper.
First,
Grant argues, we should take into account specialized knowledge; it has "played
a pervasive part in human economies and societies for millennia. As our species
transitioned out of hunting and gathering and began to settle into a more
sedentary lifestyle, carving off a specific slice of the human intelligence pie
became valuable. Scribes, wheel makers, boat builders, and bakers could not only
trade on their acquired knowledge and skills, they were afforded special status
in their communities. That segmenting of human intelligence continues to this
day."
Important
as special expertise drawing on accumulated knowledge may be, I think Grant
lands on a more important point: "traits
such as honesty, kindness, and civility are born of an even more fundamental
intelligence, something that is missed by IQ tests." When we live in a world that has become
increasingly impolite, confrontational, and untruthful, the attributes of
honesty, kindness, and civility are "a strength, capable of making society
more inviting, inclusive, and peaceful. Although
being dishonest, for example, might net a human short-term gains, the breakdown
of factuality and honesty weakens the very fabric that binds together our
institutions and our civilization."
I suspect that Grant is correct
when he speculates that intelligence, under scrutiny,
begins to look less like a uniform
quality that each of us possesses to a greater or lesser extent and more like a
diverse human trait with a spectrum of variants. Sure, we need brilliant people
exercising their cerebral cortices in order to explore space, combat disease,
and increase our understanding of the laws that govern our universe. We also
need pilots, lawyers, and roofers. But if attaining lofty intellectual heights
or maintaining specialized knowledge and skill sets is not paired with progress
and thoughtfulness in the ways humans treat each other and our planet, it makes
our species seem, ultimately, kind of dumb.
I could not agree more.
And Grant's editorial reminded me again of John Gardner's assertion that
The society which scorns excellence
in plumbing as a humble activity and tolerates shoddiness in philosophy because
it is an exalted activity will have neither good plumbing nor good philosophy:
neither its pipes nor its theories will hold water.
* * *
Sometimes
fate or chance plays a larger role in our lives than we expect or realize at
the time. Elliott discovered a message
he sent to a friend on January 30, 2014, his first semester at Moorhead State: "I am irritated that my drawing class is
forcing me to paint for my next assignment. I signed up for drawing. There is a
quite separate painting class. If I gave a s--- about painting I would have
signed up for that instead."
Now he's an
excellent painter and, I believe, only rarely draws.
* * *
There was a thoughtful and
thought-provoking short editorial in Aeon
recently about belief without evidence—by, of all people, a Goldman Sachs
executive (who has degrees in philosophy and economics), Francisco Mejia Uribe. Uribe introduces us to an 1877 essay by a Victorian
philosopher almost no one has ever heard of, William Kingdon Clifford. Clifford argued, Uribe reports, that "''it
is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone, to believe anything upon
insufficient evidence.'" Uribe
contends that while Clifford's view may have been exaggerated at the time he
wrote, over 150 years ago, "reality has caught up with Clifford."
Clifford offers "three
arguments as to why we have a moral obligation to believe responsibly, that is,
to believe only what we have sufficient evidence for, and what we have
diligently investigated." One is
the elementary
observation that our beliefs
influence our actions. Everyone would
agree that our behaviour is shaped by what we take to be true about the world –
which is to say, by what we believe. If I believe that it is raining outside, I'll
bring an umbrella. If I believe taxis don't take credit cards, I make sure I
have some cash before jumping into one. And if I believe that stealing is
wrong, then I will pay for my goods before leaving the store.
Rather obviously, if your beliefs are wrong (about matters
more significant than whether it is raining or how to pay for a taxi ride),
your survival could be at risk.
Moreover, those erroneous beliefs could also put others at risk for harm
(one example that comes to mind is the anti-vaccination parents who put their children's'
health and lives at risk).
Uribe maintains
that while Clifford's stance may have been extreme in 1877, it isn't anymore.
The most natural objection to this
first argument is that while it might be true that some of our beliefs do lead
to actions that can be devastating for others, in reality most of what we
believe is probably inconsequential for our fellow humans. As such, claiming as
Clifford did that it is wrong in all cases to believe on insufficient evidence
seems like a stretch. I think critics had a point – had – but that is no longer
so. In a world in which just about everyone's beliefs are instantly shareable,
at minimal cost, to a global audience, every single belief has the capacity to
be truly consequential in the way Clifford imagined. If you still believe this
is an exaggeration, think about how beliefs fashioned in a cave in Afghanistan
lead to acts that ended lives in New York, Paris and London. Or consider how
influential the ramblings pouring through your social media feeds have become
in your very own daily behaviour. In the digital global village that we now
inhabit, false beliefs cast a wider social net, hence Clifford's argument might
have been hyperbole when he first made it, but is no longer so today.
Clifford's next argument is that believing
things without adequate evidence makes people gullible: they are sloppy in what they believe so can
believe almost any nonsense that comes across their screen. "'No real belief, however trifling and
fragmentary it may seem, is ever truly insignificant; it prepares us to receive
more of its like, confirms those which resembled it before, and weakens others;
and so gradually it lays a stealthy train in our inmost thoughts, which may
someday explode into overt action, and leave its stamp upon our character.'" Uribe says that what this means is that we
become "easy prey for fake-news pedlars, conspiracy theorists and
charlatans." And as we harbor and
spread beliefs unsupported by data and information, the social cost can be high
because public policy is affected.
The final argument Clifford made is
that "we have the moral responsibility not to pollute the well of
collective knowledge." Again, while
his claim may have been exaggerated in his time, Uribe suggests that "reality,
once more, is aligning with Clifford, and his words seem prophetic. Today, we
truly have a global reservoir of belief into which all of our commitments are
being painstakingly added: it's called Big Data." Algorithms based on data collected from all
corners of the web lead to decisions both private and public predicated on what
may be garbage. "Add the wrong
ingredients into the Big Data recipe, and what you'll get is a potentially
toxic output. If there was ever a time when critical thinking was a moral
imperative, and credulity a calamitous sin, it is now."
What I tried to instill in my
children was the need to triangulate—look at multiple sources when confronting
a questionable claim—and consider the source (while it's not infallible,
research reports from credible institutions such as reputable universities, for
example, usually bear up under examination, even with caveats). I think Elliott has taken those lessons to heart
(and was also taught them in his research methods and statistics courses in our
Department of Psychology) and I try to remember them as I read the multitude of
news items that come before me.
The challenge for Clifford's adherents
is that many are not taught the skills needed to assess the veracity and accuracy
of what they read and hear. One of the holy
grails of university-level education is to instill "critical thinking"
in graduates. One would hope it's also
an aim of K-12 education. It's hard to
know when that goal has been achieved because it's hard to define it and hard
to know how to teach it. Clifford makes
it clear why it's important.
I'm not altogether satisfied with
how I've dealt with this look at Clifford.
I may return to him.
On that note, I wish you a good day
and week.
Gary
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