How Do I Know What I “Know?”

Have you ever played “Telephone?” Of course you have. A bunch of people sit in a circle and the one designated to be first whispers something into the ear of the second. The words are passed on in a similar fashion around the circle and then the result, as recalled by the last, is compared to the original. The differences between the two make for good laughs.

It sounds silly, but that's the way we learn. Or at least the primary way that we learn “facts.” The history books, for example, convey events as learned or remembered and passed on from one generation to another until they get written down in books which are later revised. Even if we assume that the original version of events was true – and it's a dubious assumption (Churchill wrote what many have said in on form or another: “History is written by the victors.”) – it's unlikely that the story which ultimately appears in our books reflects what actually happened.

And there are other problems. Those who write things down usually have an agenda. So they choose to understand what they have learned within the context of that agenda or ideology. Two scientists may interpret particular observations in totally different ways, and the “facts” are the views of the one better publicized. Or, as with Galileo, the “truth” may be subject to the views and agendas of those lacking any expertise in the field being discussed.

What do we know? There are a few ways we learn those things. And all have problems. Even our own observations are subject to misunderstanding and misinterpretation. We've all had the experience of witnessing something far off and recognizing what it is only to find that it is something entirely different when we get closer. And we're also subject to misunderstanding if we lack knowledge of the issue apart from what we experience. What we “know” may not be true.

There are other ways we know but I want to emphasize only one of them. The one that causes me the most discomfort is that we learn and we know what others tell us is the truth. In a way it makes sense, but the obvious problems make belief of others tell us is that may not yield factual information. What we're told by friends – whether on the street, in our homes, at a cocktail party or wherever – may be unsupported opinion, fantasy, or rumor, and lacking veracity. Yet once we have heard it, it's hard to totally forget it. A judge may instruct a jury to disregard something they have heard, but in all likelihood they won't. It may be the opinion of someone we know, or the pronouncement of a major news service. It may be an intended (to fit an agenda) or unintended misstatement. It may be what some call “fake news” or a premature assessment of actual events.

We know what we hear, whether or not it is true. We know what we learn from our parents, political opinions, habits, hygiene, nutrition, “right” and “wrong,” and all the traits that they think will help us in life. And they're usually helpful. Some were learned from their own parents; some are folk facts and remedies, and some are generally accepted truths. (It's interesting that widely separated societies, lacking contact with each other, often have the same truths and “ground rules.” Instinct, intuition? That's for another discussion.)

We know what we learn from religious leaders. What we learn – what we “know” – is ideologically based. Our clergy have an agenda, and their views of the “truth” are often contradictory. But in the right setting and coming from the right authority what we hear will always be remembered as something we know to be true.

The most significant influences, however, and sometimes the worst offenders, are our teachers. They pass on what they have heard from others, flavored by their own agendas and suited to their audiences. So early elementary school students will learn that George Washington threw a silver dollar across the Potomac River and he never told a lie. Later they'll learn how silly some of the legends are that they learned when young, but they'll never forget them. Later in school they'll be fed oversimplified ideas because that's all they're prepared to understand. And even later they'll be informed of the real stories and the accepted views according to the agendas of their instructors.

That's not to suggest that much of what they learn may not be true – whatever that means – but a lot of it is based on the views of the instructors, who choose the texts to suit their own views and make clear that their ideas are the ones to be remembered – at least if you want to do well on their examinations.

As suggested above (the previous paragraph if you've already forgotten), the choice of textbooks is an important issue, especially in lower grades. Because children will remember all their lives what they read in the books had in elementary and secondary school it's important to choose them carefully. Disputes among parents and teachers about the lessons they want their children to learn – historically, religiously, and politically for example – have affected what publishers put in their books and how they slant it. They're indoctrinating children to “know” the “right” things and, if they want to sell books, the message has to be the one desired.

In the end, however, we can turn to experts on the science of knowledge, to help us know what we know. Of course they learned from what their own teachers said, and sprinkled in their own agendas. So we have to be just as suspicious of their thoughts. They're human just like us and they only know what they “know.”

August 27. 2017

The Library

There's an article on the Billboard web page of September 1, 2015. It tells of the discovery of the only known manuscript of “Good Morning to All,” by the Hill sisters (Mildred and Patty), which you know better as “Happy Birthday to You.” It was found in the music library of the University of Louisville. The article dealt primarily with the copyright of the song, but that's not of particular concern to me. I'm more interested in the manuscript itself, a manuscript lost for a long time – over half a century – but rediscovered by chance when a librarian was looking through an old sketch book.

It's hardly the first time a “lost,” or an unknown manuscript has been discovered by chance in a library somewhere. The manuscript may be music or text, but what is most exhilarating is the surprise associated with unexpectedly finding a remnant of the past – often documenting not only the thought expressed, but also the handwriting of an author who may have lived centuries earlier. (It may no longer be the case, but people used to write out their ideas rather than entrust them to a computer. Indeed, there were no computers. So you'll never find an honest–to–G-d undiscovered manuscript using a search engine.) 

Such discoveries tend to be the rarely received rewards of the dedicated researcher, although occasionally they result from a cleaning or an inventory; they're not the reason why most of us go to libraries. There was a time when people went to their local libraries to borrow books, but with the internet and Kindle^®, that use is diminishing. In fact, the sales of print books is decreasing rapidly. Not only that, but the lead of children's and young adults' books is most striking and disturbing. Our youth are preoccupied.

And, despite the treasured beliefs of college librarians, campus libraries are frequently of primary use as meeting places – both planned and unplanned. They're good places to find reasonably intelligent members of the opposite sex (or of the same sex if that's what you prefer).

But there are other libraries – ones of more interest to some of us older folk. (We have memories and longings too.) Perhaps I'm only describing my own fantasy, but the library in which I'd like to find myself has room after room of richly carved woodwork, and more books than I could possibly want, but which somehow provide a feeling of security and stability. The library is warm and quiet (though I can listen to classical music – harmonic and accessible, not discordant and modern – through my earphones) and the chairs are comfortable. The lighting is perfect, and nothing around me moves except for those who are intent on providing for me all the services of which I dream. They're people who exist elsewhere, but in my library their main interest would be in my satisfaction.

Librarians, for example, are not at all the way we tend to picture them. We usually view them as dowdy spinsters who have no life except telling others to be quiet. A more accurate picture is of someone who knows a lot, and knows how to find out what he or she doesn't yet know; the librarian is a person dedicated to helping us find what we seek – whether it's a specific fact or a book. And that's just what the librarians in my library do. Of course they anticipate what will interest me and have it at the ready as soon as I want it. (I'd have to find a way to browse through the books where I might find an unexpected treasure – either a random book or some other goody. An unknown Vivaldi Concerto, for example. But one way or another I'd manage to browse.) And, interestingly enough, the books they hand me, no matter how trashy the contents, are all beautifully leather bound. How much better it is to hold such a book in my hands, and to turn the pages than to simply view the contents on some sort of electronic device.

There are others I'd have in my library – mostly the kind of people who might otherwise find employment in a private club. It would be nice to have someone bring me a snack or a drink and clean up after me when I'm done. In most clubs they'd be spending much of their time delivering and refolding newspapers, rather than locating books, but I'm sure they'd learn. (And every now and then I want to read a newspaper.) You can be sure my library would also have another club feature – a dining room featuring exotic and delicious dishes (kosher, of course) however I'm dismayed at the thought that I might have to get up and walk into the next room. But there would be a way. Better, I'll have the food brought to my chair.

Another model with some of the features I treasure is a monastery (except for the kosher food, of course). Theirs, as far as I'm concerned, is an overly active life, but in a setting in which the monks have taken a vow of silence and there is no socializing I'd probably be very comfortable.

That's the fantasy. It's the dream of a hermit like me. I suspect, though, that if it were real and I had access to it, it would be hard to find the time. I'd have to leave my computer. But it would all be worth it for that dusty sketch book.

Kindle® 'im Danno

“No, don't set him on fire. Throw the Nook^® at him!”

It just doesn't sound right. And that's for good reason. It's a corruption of all we've ever learned.

But maybe what we learned needs to be changed. Not corrupted, changed. All things change, and language is one of them. It will take a lot of doing, but in this case the process has to begin. It's clear that the electronics industry has made great inroads into the fields of book publishing and distribution. So I'll have to accommodate. There's no going back. I don't yet take my iPad^® to bedⁱ but that will change. You can't stop progress, and you can't start regress – much as you might want to.

I understand. But I don't understand. The generation of people who panic at the idea that electric wires may be on a pole a block away, causing irreparable damage to them and their children by its radiation, doesn't hesitate to put electronic devices next to its members' eyes, ears, and even genitalsⁱⁱ as they all go in search of radiation in the form of the nearest “hot spot.”ⁱⁱⁱ Unless, of course, they're carrying one with them in the form of a transmitter of some sort in their “smart phone” or some other device, like a GPS.

Like all things, however, that fear seems to have changed. Not really changed. It's just been forgotten in the glow^iv of the new technology. The reality is that it's better to accept the benefits of the radiation (especially since there's no evidence that it is harmful) than to try to avoid it, which is impossible anyway.

But the recalcitrant remain among us. And I among them. I'm not Bluetooth^® enabled. It's not that I'm overly concerned about radiation. I'm not. More to the point, though, I do believe that the technology has the potential (if it's not a reality already) for keeping a watch on us, closer than what I'm comfortable with. (It's science fiction now, but soon enough they^v are going to be implanting chips in us at birth, eliminating privacy entirely. They'll rationalize it as being for our protection, but concern for us will not be the motive.)

Not that electronics is all bad. I have a computer at home,^vi one that receives the internet, one that I take with me on an occasional trip – but I don't keep any such device with me at all times. I can live without the telephone and the internet when I'm on the subway or walking along or driving. In fact I like a little peace and quiet most of the time – a period when I'm alone and able to think, not merely react to some pocket device. Greta Garbo was right.

More to the point though, I love books. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't gamble.^vii I don't kanoodle.^viii But I buy books, and I even read some of them. It's my one addiction. I have thousands of them. I love the look and feel of a book, not a touch screen. I love to turn the pages of an octavo rather than scroll down.^ix

And there's nothing like visiting a library.^x The older and the bigger the better. To see old, carved wood shelves filled with uncountable volumes is entrancing and illuminating. “Truth is beauty.”^xi I recoil at the knowledge that libraries will be viewed with nostalgia in the not-too-distant future. I may be an old conservative who wants to return to the past, but this “advance” is going too far.

And, sadly, the “progress” in the direction of eliminating books will result in the impoverishment of our language.

Who, in the future, will know the origin of terms like “bookworm” or “bookish?” Who will know what it really means when you “book” a flight, or an act, or a criminal? Will people understand when asked if they keep two sets of books or if they “make” book? And there are numerous other expressions and idioms that will all too soon become incomprehensible.^xii Indeed, who will be able to make sense of “Facebook?”

We may be moving forward, and that may be a good thing,^xiii but parts of the past are worth keeping. Like books. I know I do.

Next episode: “There, I Said It Again” – At the risk of repeating myself ...

 

 

I        Actually, I don't even have one. I live in the past.

ii       The cellular telephone in your pocket.

iii      There's also plenty of radiation at home, including your wi-fi and portable telephone.

iv      Radiation. That glows.

v        Whoever “they” are.

vi      And I certainly wouldn't minimize the value of search engines, among many other tools.

vii      Not even the lottery.

viii    Merriam-Webster spells it with a “c” (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/canoodle) but I prefer the “k.”

ix       Though I do admit that the scroll preceded the codex.

x        From the Latin liber, book. Interestingly, it also means “freedom.” To me a pocket electronic device is more akin to “submissiveness,” “obedience,” “restriction,” or “captivity.”

xi       John Keats wrote poetry, but that, too, is “beauty.” As is fiction. There is beauty in the written word and in the works that contain them – especially if you can hold that work (and not a screen image of it) in your hands.

xii     Do children today who have only seen digital clocks really understand the concepts of clockwise and counter-clockwise?

xiii     Especially since it's inevitable.

For Better Or For Worse

                                                                                                                                                                              

According to Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose,ⁱ “the more things change, the more they remain the same.” Say “it isn't so.” It isn't so. There, I said it. But I don't believe it. Or, at least, it's not the whole story.

There are really two different kinds of realities that are in question here: one is a perception of the state of society at a given time in relation to the past and the future, and the second is the actual state of society as viewed from a historical perspective.ⁱⁱ

When I was young,ⁱⁱⁱ I was bored by history and fascinated by change – anticipating a better world in the future. I lived in the modern world.^iv Change was good, almost irrespective of what it was. That is the view of the young and represents a rebellion against authority – whether parental or governmental. It's an optimistic attitude which remains in vogue now, not just among the young but one that is shared by large segments of the population. It demonstrates both hope and a great deal of faith in human nature.

Back in the old days (and I really mean old), long before there was printing – when there wasn't even much in terms of manuscripts – there was memory. Then scribes began copying the ideas that existed, and even though they made errors they provided a kind of hard-copy which – as opposed to the individual who passed on what he memorized – didn't die when the scribe did. Originally manuscripts were on scrolls, but eventually with the introduction of the codex,^v the advantages of the more manageable new format were realized. Then came printing^vi and now there are more books than we know what to do with.^vii

I guess it's all for the better.

But then came the electronic media and now anyone can publish whatever tripe he wants.^viii Books have also been digitized and now you can read on screen anything that interests you. Libraries are becoming outmoded along with all of their books.

However I like books. I like to held them in my hands and turn the pages, not push buttons. And I like libraries – especially if there are comfortable leather chairs and carved wood shelves, trimmings and embellishments. I love frippery. I live in the past. The past that left me so cold when I was young is now my sanctuary and, if they still existed, I would retreat to its institutions and they would be my hermitage.^ix I think that's because I'm a hermit.^x

That, however, is beside the point. At issue is the question of whether things change, and there is no question that they do. At least from the perspective of the particular “thing.” It's not always for the better,^xi and there are times when the rate of change is wrong – indeed, bewildering. Before you've left the store with your new electronic device, it's obsolete, and most of its software has been replaced with new versions.

When I was young, everything was great. (Everything is perfect in our youth – at least in retrospect. It's said that retrospect is 20-20. If so, nostalgia sees with rose-colored glasses.) But though some may dismiss it as self-serving and beautified, not all of what we remember of our past is wrong. In our youth, we want to be “modern.” We see change as invariably desirable.^xii As we^xiii age^xiv, the “traditional” perspective, with what seems to be a greater reverence for at least selected parts of the past, gains ground. Some may carry this philosophy too far,^xv but the concept itself should not be judged on the basis of those who pervert it.

There was a time when history moved slowly. Things remained the same from decade to decade, and even from century to century. Whether it was medicine, religion, prices, farming techniques, or communications, things were likely to be little different on the day you died in comparison to the one on which you were born. But over time there were changes – slow changes. And many of them were good. Indoor plumbing, penicillin, the Big Mac.^xvi

As time continued to moved forward, however, so did the changes – explosively. And that's the problem. We cannot keep up with them. Not just the technological ones,^xvii but all of them.^xviii Unmarried parenthood in the US reached an all-time high in 2013, with an estimated two out of every five births being to unwed mothers;^xix new words and phrases have expanded language faster than we can learn them; our legal system cannot keep up with new concepts of ethics; the weather and climate are changing faster than we can – or will – take any action;^xx prices are rising faster than we can deal with them. There's no time to breathe. Things are moving too fast.

But in one respect, Karr was right. We're the same. Whatever changes may occur in our perception, or in the perspective of history, people are the same as they've always been. Human nature – and that's the third reality^xxi – remains the same. The more things change, the more they remain the same. Not better, not worse – the same. Unfortunately we can't slow down the world around us to a rate that we humans can deal with. Our reach exceeds our grasp – or, as my^xxii mother put it, our eyes are bigger than our stomachs. That will never change.

Next episode: “The Greater Of One Elvis” – Whether or not it's true is beside the point.

 

 

I      1849. In Les Guêpes. See Wikipedia.

ii      Actually there is a third, but I'll deal with that presently.

iii    Bear with me. I know that nothing bores you more than someone else's maudlin nostalgia, but it won't last long.

iv    At least it was modern then.

v     Around the first century CE. Or maybe a little earlier.

vi    1455. But you know as much about Gutenberg and Fust as you care to already.

vii    “... of making books there is no end ...” Ecclesiastes, 12:12

viii   As evidenced by what you're reading.

ix     Figuratively, of course. I think I live in the past. But I guess that's what all people do as they age.

x      And, if I could arrange it, the past would be my heritage as well. But the problem with heritages is that they're always part of the past and they're usually dismissed as such.

xi    For example, antibiotics are good, but the resistant organisms for which we're responsible, by irresponsible use of those antibiotics, are not.

xii   We ignore the possibility of unintended consequences in our zeal to make the world better. And if what we do doesn't work, it's simply because we didn't change enough. So we up the ante and try again. The principle of change, after all, is right irrespective of the outcome.

xiii   Actually, I speak only for myself, but I suspect that this view is shared by others.

xiv   As we grow up and, perhaps, mature.

xv    All change is harmful, according to them. Things should be as they've always been.

xvi    Not everyone agrees on the last of these.

xvii   For example, the ones involving electronic devices and software that I mentioned earlier.

xviii  I'll list a few, but the “advances” are uncountable.

xix    WiseGeek. (http://www.wisegeek.com/how-common-is-unmarried-parenthood.htm) June 19, 2013

xx     “Everyone talks about the weather ...”

xxi    And, ultimately, the most important.

xxii   Everyone's.