Bradezone

“Do not worry about your difficulties in mathematics; I can assure you that mine are much greater.”

A teenage girl had written a letter to Albert Einstein requesting help for her homework assignment. The eminent physicist replied with the desired assistance and this reassuring statement. Einstein typifies the curiosity common to every human being, but there are so many things to be curious about, and even if one limits his or her curiosity to a single field of study, one probably will never reach that “holy grail” of total mastery.

My recent casual reading about Einstein led me down a typical Google/Wikipedia learning spree, with two paramount links emerging from the rest: Time Magazine’s 100 Most Important People of the Century and Wikipedia’s List of Unsolved Problems. The Time link is a fascinating overview of a horde of luminaries, especially within the “Leaders” and “Scientists” sections. The Wikipedia link provides a handy reference of the currently unsolved problems in all the major branches of science. When I had finally had my fill of reading for the time being, I realized the common thread linking me to these various individuals is my innate curiosity. I have previously stated that the thing I value most is Truth, and what is curiosity but a search for some truth that we believe is important to us? Perhaps the quest for truth could be considered humanity’s “raison d’etre.” This seems to be compatible with most systems of belief, since they tend to present their respective precepts as “truth.” The job is left to us, both individually and cooperatively, to determine how much truth each system actually possesses.

The title of my essay has a double meaning. In the sense that I have talked about thus far, we are born with a compulsion to be curious. But another reason I am writing this relates to my status as a college student and thus one who is compelled by professors and their assignments to be curious about some particular material at some particular time. This compulsion, as most of us know, is less desirable and more stressful. The value of education depends upon the synchronization of the class material and the student’s interest in that material. I for one would love to turn this interest level on or off as necessary, but that is not how life works, right? But I prefer not to dwell on this aspect of my topic any longer.

The number 4 keeps cropping up as a means of organization in scientific history: the four elements, the four humours, and the four fields of nature, for example. I happened to notice this after I came up with four means by which I believe we obtain data, which leads to knowledge, which hopefully leads to truth: observation, emotion, perception, and reception. I just realized that if these are sorted in a different order, their first letters form the acronym ROPE. A brief summary of these follows.

Observation is simply our interactions with our material environment in the context of the passage of time. It is noticing the world as it is, unaffected by our subjective thoughts. To what extent our observation is marred by these subjective thoughts (or perceptions) is a constant matter of philosophical debate that I will not discuss here. For now I am only saying that as far as it is possible, observation is one means by which we satiate our continual and innate curiosity.

Emotion consists of our feelings, which so often seem to exist independently from our rational thinking. Entire literary and philosophical movements have emerged which emphasize one or the other and explore their relationship, so I feel no need to say more of that dynamic here. Only I am stating that emotion is an integral part of our humanity and perpetually affects how we assimilate information. It comforts, it convicts, and it colors our opinions.

Perception is synonymous with our aforementioned subjective thoughts. The conclusions that we draw from observation, emotion, and reception form our perceptions. In a sense perception is our final authority, but because no two people’s perceptions are exactly alike, should we say that truth is relative? This is a debate for all time. The fact that our perceptions are constantly changing (however incrementally) should reveal to us that none of us are likely to achieve a state of knowing absolute truth, at least in this mode of existence we currently inhabit. (Whether another mode exists is the primary concern of religion and is a subject worthy of its own separate essay.) A Christian believes one thing, an evolutionary atheist another, a pragmatic deist yet another. All may be convinced that their way is true, and all are ultimately basing their beliefs on perception, with varying degrees of importance given to emotion, observation, and reception.

Reception is our obtaining knowledge through the ever-expanding works of human expression compiled and preserved. Primarily these include writings and art, everything from the Bible to The Origin of Species to the Mona Lisa. A staggering amount of an educated person’s knowledge is gained from reception, which in many cases cannot be corroborated with direct observation. Any belief system, whether scientific or religious, demands faith where there can be no absolute certainty. Arguments rage between those whose knowledge gained through reception have led them to their respective opinions, and the sheer amount of material available for reception virtually guarantees that these arguments will continue for some time to come. But arguments are themselves vehicles for reception and are a vital means of shaping the beliefs of individuals and cultures.

These four means of information assimilation are ever cooperating and competing in order to satisfy our curiosity. Much like Einstein, we are driven by the search for truth yet frustrated by that search all along life’s way, always constrained by our current perceptions yet willing at various times to change them.

So BJU doled out our midterm grades today, and all seem fine save for my actual major courses. My current computer science classes are borderline torture, but I keep trying to tell myself that these are the last two I will have to take. I can foresee having to speak with both profs in the near future. Why do I frequently so despise my major? I truly enjoy programming for web development at my job, but getting this “general purpose” computer science degree is like being slowly charbroiled over an open flame. Sure, I might make a good burger, but the process hurts like heck.

Despite this, I am actually feeling less pseudo-depressed than I have felt the last couple of weeks. Yayness.

In other news, I have opted to be set up on my first ever blind date. Hey, everyone needs to do it at least once, n’est-ce pas?

Outside the mild afternoon rains continue to fall, while inside the relaxing whir of espresso machines fills Greenville’s latest Barnes & Noble bookstore and adjoining Starbucks coffee shop. I sit alone at a small circular table, burnt orange in hue, while reading Dostoevsky and soon resolving to write my own impressions of my immediate surroundings. My table forms part of a long line situated snugly against an ebony barrier about four feet high that divides the coffee shop from the rest of the store. A couple sits at the table next to mine playing a card and dice game, which the man introduces to his partner as the game of “Cheating.” The man is older, perhaps in his early fifties, clad in a maroon sweater and tan casual slacks, and wearing white Nike sneakers. His hair is dark gray and neatly combed, and his wire-rimmed glasses adorn an inconspicuous face. His voice betrays his refined southern heritage; it is subdued yet subtly animated as he explains the rules of the game. As their contest unfolds, he chuckles intermittently at his ever-changing predicament. The woman, who is overweight but not offensively obese, is discernibly more expressive than the man, at some points laughing mischievously and at others accusing him of bending the rules or at the very least seeming a bit too lucky. Yet her voice is ever coupled with some measure of restraint, politely conscious of the other patrons. Her back is to me the entire time; she has on dark denim jeans, stylish black boots, and a long-sleeved shirt only a shade lighter than our table tops. Her hair is mostly straight and brownish with streaks of blonde here and there. She appears about fifteen years younger than her opponent. Over the course of the game a die rolls off their table three times, and is in each instance accompanied by a brief whispering laugh from one or both of them, a silent acknowledgement of the possible disruption they have caused. At one point the woman insists that the man is cheating, but in a tone that reflects her obvious lack of any real irritation. The man responds with a playfully sinister laugh and exclaims, “I love it!” but only as loudly as the most austere fellow customer would be willing to tolerate. At intervals he tutors her on the rules of the game; likewise she audibly figures out its various aspects, finally giving her stamp of approval to the game of “Cheating.” After an hour or so they leave their table, and soon enough I do the same, hoping to read the rest of Notes from Underground later that evening.