I have a coin
in my hand; on one side should be heads (H) and on the other side should be
tails (T). I just spun my coin ten times - it returned H,H,H,H,H,H,H,H,H,H - ten
heads in a row. Do you think I have a double-headed or weighted
coin? One way to enquire is to ask, what are the chances of my throwing
ten heads in a row? Quite slim actually, it is (1/2)^10. That
translates as one in two to the power of ten, which equals a 1 in 1024
chance. Before you conclude that my coin was not a fair coin, let me say
that I omitted some vital information - I actually spun my coin more than ten
times and I returned a few tails as well. Amongst the H,H,H,H were a few
Ts - but I deliberately didn't tell you about those, leaving you with the
impression that I might have had a straight off 1 in 1024 experience.
Here’s the
moral of the story. When we cherry pick data and leave out parts we don't want others
to see we can easily give the impression of something compelling or noteworthy
or unique. For years drug trials were known to be biased - medical
companies would share the findings that support the drug's efficacy and omit
the findings that call it into question. The same is true of our
perception of the aberrations in various collective environments,
as media reporters or historical interpreters often capture an extreme
situation and exaggerate it out of proportion. A few Middle Eastern dissidents
caught on camera burning a flag in the marketplace can be made to look as
though the whole city is in civil unrest; an instance of corporate malfeasance
or ignominy or sexual perversion can make it seem like the whole corporation or
political group or religion is corrupt; a few isolated incidents of perversion
of justice in the police force can make one question whether many police
officers can be trusted; and a reputed group of inquisitors or anti-science dogmatists
or heretic hunters can sometimes be felt to be representative rather than
unrepresentative of a group in some point in historical time.
Given
this pervasive problem of getting things out of proportion, or focusing too
much on headline-grabbing cases, it’s clear that caution must be exercised when
interpreting history, particularly as so much of history is written by those in
power and those on the winning side. If you'd like an analogy of what recorded human
history is like, it's a bit like the fossil record across vast geological time, and the evolutionary
relationships between taxa, in that it very much
resembles a join the dots exercise. Most of human history is not recorded, just
as most of biological evolution is not found in the fossil record. Our framework
of understanding is based on extrapolations of comparably sparse data, like a
few dots scattered on the page, and from which we attempt to join those dots to
give exhibition to a fuller picture.
The
really interesting question, I think, is to ask; what does it mean to live in a
world in which most of the events, thoughts and feelings that have ever
happened are inaccessible to just about everyone who has ever lived? Is it just
a trivial fact of life that that is how things are, or does it give us cause to
think a bit more deeply about the security of our knowledge and views?
Human
beings speak with much confidence on many subjects – but I think our
epistemology is more anaemic than we care to realise. Most knowledge a person has
outside of their own first-person sphere is far more tentative than many would care
to admit. What knowledge of human history amounts to is a set of neatly
packaged general assumptions that attempt to present a fact or an opinion by
shaving off a great deal of the additional data that surrounds it.
Take
the following events; Nero’s death, the Council of Nicea, the book Beowulf, the
Reformation, the English Civil War, the Enlightenment, Diderot's Encyclopédie, the
Scientific Revolution, Romanticism, World War 2, the film On The Waterfront and
the London 7/7 bombings. What they have in common is that if you take all the
recorded facts known about each of those events you are still devoid of a far
greater proportion of unrecorded facts or experiences, whether in people’s
minds or in surrounding events. It is only when we shave off or never become
aware of a great deal of the additional data, either by not knowing it or by rendering
it extraneous, that we have any simplified version of history at all. This
really ought to inform us not just about how we engage with history, but most
importantly, how we let our historical perceptions shape our present
interpretation of things.
Don’t
misunderstand; often our interpretations of events like the ones above are
reliable enough, or sufficiently well researched (if not by us, by others) to
reveal clarity-inducing knowledge – but often an oversimplification leads one
into too narrow a perspective that skews one’s outlook. Pick up any
semi-academic magazine – The Spectator, History Today, The Economist or The New
Scientist - and it will be replete with instances of this. Dip in to almost any
page and you’ll find sentences that contain expressions like…
“The
stone age period was a time of…”
“The
inquisitors subjected people to forced conversion…”
“The
Labour leader is trying to bring back socialism…”
“15th
century Islam was more about conquering than converting…”
“Iran is a very
unstable country…”
“Throughout
the 2nd World War the Axis powers…"
These
and many more like them are examples of what I’m talking about – the
expressions tend to over-simplify a series of events and are presented as
neatly packaged general assumptions that demand further investigation.
Now,
let’s be fair, I think such expressions are perfectly permissible within the
realms of intelligent discourse – but they must always come with the caveat
that they are a compressed version of a much bigger thing, and that the content
is unavoidably anaemic.
In
the spirit of fairness it has to be said we don’t have much of a choice when
dealing with such subjects. These pale complexion examples of presentation are not
easily avoided, because we are forced to resort to such anaemic language if we
are to have any meaningful discussions - after all, when talking about history,
society, religion, or any of the more intractable subjects, most of the data is
unrecorded, inaccessible, and patchy, and thus beyond the purview of our own
first–person comprehension of the situation. Our limitations compel us to
engage in those aforementioned join-the-dots type of picture-making.
For
that reason, it doesn’t mean that the way we tackle complex subjects is not
meaningful and that it lacks practical utility – but it should be realised that
we only handle these subjects with wisdom when we realise that many historical
opinions we hold are mere epigrams that leave out the majority of the full
picture. We make statements about various religions and political groups in
certain periods of time in history as though we are only talking about a few people;
we speak of a nation of millions of people as though the description is
amenable to straightforward epigrammatic adjectival terms – terms like
“oppressive”, “backward”, “liberated”, “draconian”, “prosperous”.
We
all do it; we talk of North Korea as being ‘oppressive’, or of America as being
‘liberated’, or of China, Brazil and India as being 'increasingly prosperous’ –
and those succinct descriptions serve to convey our perception of them. But if
we are being strict - how can a nation of people be any of these things? It can’t – a nation is too large, complex,
diverse and multi-faceted to be amenable to such singular descriptions.
Similarly, you’ll see this candid examination cropping up all over the
political sphere too; how can a political party be “progressive”, or “right
wing”, or “liberal” except in terms which severely comprise the vastness of the
subject or object of study under scrutiny?
In
saying all that, one can of course also recognise a sense in which ‘oppressive’
does aptly describe Iran,
and “liberal” aptly describes facets of a political party. The point is, it’s
ok – that’s what we humans do. There’s no harm in doing it, so long as we are
able to see a picture that extends beyond our compressed descriptions.
A similar thing applies to an
interpretation of people
Clearly
we find the same thing occurring when describing people too. How easily we try
to reduce a person to a few simple adjectives – happy, generous and kind, or
mean, uncaring and pessimistic, or moody, discontent and dismissive – or
combinations of all these things. But
that’s sometimes fine too – there are some people for whom the words ‘kind’ and
‘generous’ are apt compliments, and arguably some for whom terms like 'wretched'
and 'insane' paint a pretty accurate picture too.
All
we must always be aware of is that when we have views, opinions and beliefs, we
are shaving off lots of external factors, and that much of what we intuitively
feel about a belief system, a nation, or a person, is merely an intuitive focal
point on which we have chosen to concentrate our gaze. This is part of our
adaptive unconscious, and it requires the short-cutting of lots of key data to
enable the mind to harbour succinct ideas about the world (as per the image of
the join-the dots epistemology).
Such
is human personality, of course, that even if you were to focus on just one
person you know – a neighbour or a work colleague or a friend – you could not
justifiably reduce them to a few dozen simple statistics. To get anywhere near to
‘knowing’ that person you would have to spend a considerable length of time
with them; you would have to see them happy, sad, at ease, ill at ease, under
pressure, vulnerable, confident, upbeat, dejected, successful, unsuccessful, in
mourning, pursuing intelligence, in the company of many different people, and
in and out of their comfort zone. And even if we grant that that can happen
over several months or years – you know as well as I do how much a person
changes throughout their life – so even that level of scrutiny tells only a
fraction of the picture. You have, I imagine, had situations where you’ve
peered into a corner of someone’s life and felt a sudden acceleration of
awareness about their character – perhaps from seeing their book collection for
the first time, or seeing them with their parents or children for the first
time, or seeing them lose their temper for the first time, or seeing them get
drunk for the first time. There are obvious tell-tale signs that help us put people’s
views into perspective – but they are not the full picture.
If
that is the case with just one person – you can, I hope, now see (if you
couldn’t already) how foolish it is to think you know enough about a person or
group of people or a nation or a historical epoch from just a few quotes or
articles or books about them by people who never met the individuals in
question, or people who did but were, as we all are, selective in what they
recorded.
Always be on guard
Be
careful out there; so many people rashly think they have nailed a subject, or
they hastily develop a worldview based on a few isolated and often
decontextualised bits of information. It
may be the best we can do with the tools we have, and that is fine, so long as
we show epistemic humility when dealing with knotty subjects that require
plenty of untangling. One of the key steps to wisdom is to understand that we
must always hold views and profess knowledge with it in mind that most subjects
outside of our realm of first-person experience are hugely intractable, and
that our knowledge of those subjects is sparse and fragmented.
Finally,
you may now be wondering, if what I've said is the case, how can we justifiably
hold religious beliefs, political views and other ideas containing complex
data? We can hold them, but we must do so with our old friend epistemic
humility. Part of that epistemic humility is in admitting that we are only
doing what the psychologists call ‘thin-slicing’ – which is the ability to find
patterns and formulate tentative knowledge based on only ‘thin slices’ of
experiences. When we assess a situation
and say that Iran is unstable
or that North Korea is
totalitarian or Britain
is too liberalised, we are attempting to compress the data into a succinct form
of expression – but at an accelerated and exaggerated rate. We end up with what
we feel is a fairly sophisticated judgement of something far more complex than
our precipitations have accounted for.
The
reason complex situations can be decoded with some aplomb is, I think, down to
the fact that once we package a lot of data together we find that the sociological
world has stable patterns. Hence, one can read about a country (or better still
visit it) and use words like ‘unstable’, ‘totalitarian’ and ‘liberalised’ as
pattern distillations that aid us in forming an compressed impression of
complex situations. Realising we do this all the time is not just one of the
first steps to wisdom, it is one of the first steps to correcting many of the
faults that stand in the way of the clear thinking that engenders wisdom.