Learning skills and learning ideas

Learning a skill is not that different from learning a new idea. When we learn a skill we simply have to do it and keep doing it. We do not learn how to ride a bike, by seeing a bike, watching a video on its correct operation and taking a test on how to use it. We learn by getting on the bike and trying to ride.

When we learn a new theory or idea, the process is the same, but rather than appearing in actions it appears in words. The first is saying “I don’t know” – this opens us up to hear what the person is explaining. The next step is to ask “what does that mean?” until you find a satisfactory understanding. The second phase is about finding context. Refusing to name the idea or categorize it is the third step. In this stage, it is ideal if we can try to picture the idea, diagram it or write it in a different form. After you get used to it in the third stage, the final step is to explain the idea – sharing something with someone else is the ultimate way to practice our new understanding.

Urges are powerful, but forgettable

If we have an urge to eat, a fierce powerful urge because we haven’t eaten in hours, it is all we can think about. It ravages our mind just as we want to ravage the food. Even though we have gone through this cycle thousands of times, it is difficult to imagine that food will actually satisfy our hunger. However, after we eat, we completely forget what the hunger felt like. We are pleasant little lumps. The same goes for the sex urge. We want it, want it, want it and then we have sex and there is a calm afterward. Or, think about times when you were so hot and sweaty all you wanted was to cool off. You dream of air conditioners set at 65 degrees. Then, you go into a mall and you are freezing in minutes. You forget how hot you were, what it felt like to be that hot, and you want to go back outside and warm up. We should be thankful for our forgetfulness – the memories of our urges would overwhelm us if they swelled up every time we felt them.

“JUST” is a powerful word

In the mind-body debate, you will often hear people say that we can’t be just a bunch of neurons and chemicals. They find it difficult to see how we can be conscious, feeling organisms and just brains and bodies – a sack of bones, tissues, blood cells and DNA.

Or in the debate about evolution, people often say we are not just animals. We can’t possibly have evolved from little one-celled organisms, and we don’t look anything like elephants. We’re not just instinctual beasts.

A big part of the problem is this idea of "just". This little word evidences a powerful sentiment. It shows that we are trying to reduce something into something else, and we are having none of it! We refuse to believe that our lives can be reduced to the lives of animals, or our bodies and minds can be reduced to chemicals or meat and bones.

When used in this way, just means that we are not able to see how the thing that follows it can explain the mighty complexity that we observe. Just chemicals cannot explain the magic of the human experience. Just animals cannot explain the intricacy of human civilization and culture. This is not necessarily because we doubt that chemicals can produce tremendous complexity. No. More generally, it is because we fear making an explanation on these subjects of any kind whatsoever.

“JUST” is a powerful word

In the mind-body debate, you will often hear people say that we can’t be just a bunch of neurons and chemicals. They find it difficult to see how we can be conscious, feeling organisms and just brains and bodies – a sack of bones, tissues, blood cells and DNA.

Or in the debate about evolution, people often say we are not just animals. We can’t possibly have evolved from little one-celled organisms, and we don’t look anything like elephants. We’re not just instinctual beasts.

A big part of the problem is this idea of "just". This little word evidences a powerful sentiment. It shows that we are trying to reduce something into something else, and we are having none of it! We refuse to believe that our lives can be reduced to the lives of animals, or our bodies and minds can be reduced to chemicals or meat and bones.

When used in this way, just means that we are not able to see how the thing that follows it can explain the mighty complexity that we observe. Just chemicals cannot explain the magic of the human experience. Just animals cannot explain the intricacy of human civilization and culture. This is not necessarily because we doubt that chemicals can produce tremendous complexity. No. More generally, it is because we fear making an explanation on these subjects of any kind whatsoever.

Digging to Knowledge

Imagine living in the dark under a pile of dirt. You are trying to dig your way out, but people keep tossing more dirt on top. Of course you can’t see them, but you can hear the shovelfuls landing. Years go by. Eventually you start to see some light. You widen the hole. You poke your head out. After a bit more struggle, your whole body is out. You brush yourself off and walk down the side of the hill. You take a minute to stand there and admire the sheer size of the pile. Then, you grab a shovel and join everyone else throwing more dirt on top.

With the passing of time it becomes more difficult to learn what others have learned before us. A few hundred years ago it was possible to read every book that was ever written. Today, a person is lucky if he can read just a fraction of the books published annually in his particular field. With so much information and no less urgency to contribute, it only seems reasonable to ask for a better system of digging our way out.

Emotional Filtering

When we talk about emotions, it is difficult to distinguish them from the label. “I feel guilty” or “I feel sad” are labels for emotions so that we can communicate them to other people. But, when we do this, we have already filtered the feeling through language. We have already identified it, categorized it, sorted it and we are ready to ship.

The feeling of sadness itself is different. The actual feeling is accompanied by certain actions: crying, weeping, dejected expression, slumped shoulders, apathy, etc. This is the feeling. However, when we analytically-minded people notice a feeling is when we try to label it. When this happens, we generally look for an explanation. "Why do I feel sad? Am I depressed? What is wrong with me? Am I going to be like this forever?" And we start to do what we do with everything else: we look for causes.

However, not all people operate this way. Artistic types try to describe the feeling without naming it. Rather than looking for an explanation, like a scientist might, the artist looks for a different way of understanding it. "My sadness is a wilting rose." The artist tries to remove the layer of language and directly communicate the feeling. It is a valiant effort. However, no one, no matter how skilled, can do this. Our emotional experience is filtered whenever we put it into a communicable form. There is no way that we can put the taste of beer into words accurately enough that a person upon tasting it would say: “I knew exactly how it would taste from your description.” The same goes for communicating our sadness, joy or any other emotional experience.