I'm a very smart guy. Thinking has always come easily and naturally to me.
This is something I knew at, say, age 6. And age 10. And age 20. And age 30. At each of these time-markers my understanding of my own intelligence was not fundamentally much different than at any of the other markers. I am now 33 and now it is different. But let's step back.
It is hard to say exactly why I knew that I was smart. But mostly, I suspect, it was an outcome predicated by the behavior of my parents. They told me that I was smart. More specifically, they told me that I was smarter than other people.
My self-evaluation was only minimally the result of direct observation.
I can say with a great deal of confidence that the knowledge, early on, was not very much the result of direct obsevation, in part because I have had certain specific experiences as an adult. The experiences of which I speak are ones where I have been very surprised by the slow-wittedness of my fellows, either in isolation or as a group.
Because although it may seem contradictory, I somehow, when I was younger, also held the belief that everyone was smart. This belief diminished bit by bit as I aged. It still exists, more as a cognitive habit, though, than as an explicit belief.
It existed in the first place because, although I believed that I was smarter than others, I had limited direct experience of that fact. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood, and I had available to me a large group of same aged peers to associate with. I gravitated towards those who were like me. All my friends were smart.
I went to great public schools, filled with kids from homes where academic acheivement was valued. Most of the kids in my school, regardless of natural intelligence, were very well equipped to succeed in an academic setting. And from that group, I hung out with the smart ones. And I mostly didn't hang out with any dumb ones. So I thought everyone was as smart as me. And I also thought I was smarter than everyone.
I know, I know.
I had to be pretty dumb to believe in both of two mutually exclusive ideas, but I did.
So what meaning is there to this? Where am I going with this?
Well:
I constructed my identity around this "I am smart" belief. I understood myself, at least explicitly, in terms of what I was good at. And I thought of "what I am good at" as an outcome. I thought of it as something I had earned or won. Like, I have this medal for general smartness, and this extra shiny medal for English language skills, and this medal for logic.
Because I thought of things this way, I felt hostile towards events that contra-indicated any of these medals. Now I had many more medals than the ones listed immediately above. Most were sub-medals, really. But regardless, because I had so many medals, I kept running into facts towards which I felt hostile. In fact, my default setting was, and to an extent still is, to award myself a medal in just about anything. So this default setting engendered a lot of hostility.
If I encounter something I have never done, I will usually assume, "Oh I can do that. I know all about that." For example, I am currently writing a dissertation for this woman. I took on the job with my usual, "Oh, I can do that" attitude. And, in this case, I was right. But only after some considerable research into how to do it. (I lied and said I had already done it before when I applied for the job.) (Hopefully she doesn't read this blog ;-)
But anyway, so I hated not knowing things. Because I misunderstood intelligence. And I thought it something that you had, rather than something you used. And stuff I didn't know contraindicated that I had intelligence. And my identity and self-worth were constructed upon my intelligence, so I hated stuff I didn't know.
But art taught me about intelligence.
This is how it all happened. My parents were/are very good at fighting. What I mean by this is that whenever I got into a fight with one of them, or when they fought with each other, as soon as the emotion receeded a bit - and often even in the heat of battle - they had no problem saying, "ok, you are right, that wasn't fair of me." They always admitted when evidence proved them incorrect. They always approached me after a fight and apologized for yelling or saying unfair things, where appropriate. And they rarely apologized for things that they did or said that were appropriate, even if those things turned out to be incorrect.
The final outcome to almost every fight was a determination of a consensus about the facts, and a precise description of any disagreement about the interpretation of the facts. This precise description allowed the eventual determination of correctness for each party's interpretation. Often, the act of describing each party's position precisely resulted in an immediate determination of the correct interpretation, and thereby resolved the conflict. But sometimes further data was necessary.
Thus, I learned some things.
1. I learned the difference between facts and meaning made from fact (interpretation).
2. To admit when I am wrong or incorrect.
3. To apologize when I am wrong.
(Note: Wrong is distinct from incorrect. Wrong denotes injustice. And being unjust to another is wrong, even in a context in which you yourself are the victim of injustice.)
4. I learned that it is not OK to end a dispute without resolving the facts.
A disagreement about the facts must be resolved by empirical observation, or by referencing witnesses. Disagreements about fact are very rare, unless one party is lie-ing, in which case, that party is wrong, unreasonable and disturbing. My parents didn't lie during arguments, so they rarely disagreed about points of fact.
5. It is fair and reasonable to conclude an argument without having resolved a disagreement about interpretation.
This is true so long as each party's position about what meaning ought to be made from the facts, and why, is precisely described, so as to ensure that a future resolution of the matter can be accomplished, as new data illuminates the matter further.
6. In any disagreement, the two opposing parties' positions are either mutually exclusive or they are not mutually exclusive.
If they are not mutually exclusive, there should be no disagreement. Most often, however, when it appears that two positions are not mutually exclusive, one or both positions has/have not yet been distilled to its truth, and that once this distillation has occurred, the positions will reveal themselves as mutually exclusive.
The reason for this is that if the two positions are truly not mutually exclusive, there'd be no argument in the first place. Example: If I say: jazz is good, and you say: rock is good, there should be no disagreement. If we are arguing about this, it is probably because, when we distill our statements to their respective essences, we discover that we are really saying: Jazz is better than Rock, and: Rock is better than Jazz. Now those two statements are mutually exclusive, and, given that there is an argument in the first place, more accurately represent the postitions of each party.
7. So for all intents and purposes, we can say that every disagreement is founded upon a pair of mutually exclusive positions.
(Note: An argument may come to reveal multiple pairs of mutually exclusive positions.)
8. The purpose of arguing is to resolve the truth value of each pair.
Only one of the two positions is true. The communication should always be purposeful in determining which one is true. It ought never be purposeful in defending, strengthing or otherwise supporting either position in a mutually exclusive pair. (Note: the exception to this is debate, which is distinct from arguing in that it's purposes are to be fun and to practice rhetorical skills. Note that this is in contrast to arguing, the purpose of which, to reiterate, is to resolve a disagreement by determining the true one of two mutually exclusive positions.)
9. A possible outcome is that neither position is true.
Usually, this just means that both positions are poorly phrased. In our Jazz/Rock example, neither position is true. "Rock is better than Jazz" is not true because it is poorly phrased. But it is not false and the intended meaning of it is true.
10. Provided that a position has specific intent ( ie, that it means to say something specific), and every conscious statement does have specific intent (talking in your sleep, would be an example of a statement without meaningful intent), that intent can be phrased in such a way as to make it precisely true or false.
"New art that is good is more likely to be classified as Rock than it is to be classified as Jazz," is true.
"New art that is good is more likely to be classified as Jazz than it is to be classified as Rock," is false.
Neither statement can be proven. Neither statement is especially useful, and each may be actively harmful to an artist, but the former may, in some circumstances be helpful to an artist. The latter, if believed to be true, can only be harmful.
11. A possible outcome is that the truth value of the pair cannot be resolved through language.
This is to say that the true one of the two mutually exclusive positions cannot be proved. The example in 10 is one such instance.
12. In the event of 11, both parties should nevertheless seek to determine the true position and reach consensus.
13. Interpretations are facts that cannot be proven.
14. Every interpretation, like every fact, is, nevertheless, either true or false.
Reasonable people, presented with identical data sets, can disagree about interpretations, but one or both person(s) is wrong. If both are wrong, see 9 and 10.
15. Reasonable people, presented with identical data sets, cannot disagree about facts.
They may, however, disagree about whether there is sufficient data to resolve the truth value of a fact. They may disagree about this because this matter of sufficiency is a point of interpretation. One person is right and one is wrong - in other words there either is or is not sufficient data. The truth of this matter, however, cannot be proven. So if a disagreement about data sufficiency arises, the person who asserts that the data is insufficient has a responsibilty to deliniate specifically what additional data is needed to determine the issue of fact.
The reasonableness of the criteria by which data will be called sufficient is also a point of interpretation. Whether the criteria set forth meet generally accepted standards for reasonableness, however, is a point of fact. It is a point of fact because data regarding those standards is ubiquitous and easily referenced.
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So, I learned all that from my parents, though they probably didn't know that they taught me all that. And they probably weren't trying to. And until this moment I hadn't ever worked it all out on paper. But the point is, on some level, I always knew all that. And yet, for much of my life, I also held a belief in relativism. Relativism is mutually exclusive of truth.
But because I believed all that stuff above - numbers 1 -17 - I was ready for Komputadora to teach me some things. I wasn't ready for him to teach me about intelligence. Because I still believed in those medals I was talking about earlier. And being taught about intelligence meant that I didn't know about it, and that made me mad.
But I was ready, after a specifc event, to be taught about art. For a long time, I wasn't, and I suffered a lot because I wasn't. I still believed in medals, and it was important to me that I had one for art, but because of all the stuff my parents taught me, I was objective about myself mostly, and I had to conclude that I didn't have one. Then after years of never performing (music and talking) live, I finally played an open mic. And I did fantastic. I was fully successful. And at that point I 'realized' that I had a medal for art after all. And then I was ready to be taught about art.
Sure being taught about art meant that I didn't know about it, but that was ok. Because having a medal in art wasn't about knowing (unlike having a medal in intelligence). Having a medal in art was about the perceptions of others. And I had earned one by virtue of going off when I performed, and getting big cheers and such.
So Komputadora taught me about art. And I taught him about it too, of course. And in the process of learning that stuff, I learned that the whole medal thing was bullshit - that it, in fact, prevented you from sustainably and consistently making good art, because it turned the focus away from the art and towards the artist.
And then, gradually, I started thinking the same way about intelligence. So now when I encounter something I don't know, I am interested in that thing, and I research it, and I learn shit all the time. I learn compulsively. And now, because I spend most of my time thinking about what I don't know, I consider myself actually smart. Whereas when I spent most of my time thinking about what I did know, I was actually pretty dumb.
One more thing. I have a daughter. And I hope to shape her in many of the same ways my parents shaped me. I hope to teach her objective self-criticsm and fairness and stuff. But I want to do one thing differently. I don't want to praise her for being smart. I want to praise her for being socially adept. Because social skills can be summed up simply: knowing that you're the shit, but not acting like you know you're the shit. It is not only wise to be modest and egalitarian when dealing with others, it is the only moral approach.
This is the single best skillset to encourage, because it is perhaps the only skillset that isn't self-defeating. It is a virtue that, in direct contrast to intelligence, becomes more true the more you believe in it.
And if she learns this early on, then maybe she won't have to wait until her 30's to become smart. I think I'll start by having her read this piece of writing that you have just read.
"Delilah," I'll say, "Don't write pompus and self-important columns like this. They piss people off."
mr strauss
pop goes lethal
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