Related to: Rationalization, Meditation on curiosity, Original Seeing.
Why aren’t you learning faster?
For me, one answer is: because I’m not asking questions. I blunder through conversations trying to “do my job”, or to look good, or elaborating my own theories, or allowing cached replies to come out of my mouth on autopilot. I blunder through readings, scanning my eyes over the words and letting thoughts strike me as they may. Rarely am I pulled by a specific desire to know.
And most of my learning happens at those rare times.
How about you? When you read, how often do you chase something? When you chat with your friends -- are you curious about how they’re doing, why their mouth twitched as they said that, or why exactly they disagree with you about X? When you sit down to write, or to do research -- are you asking yourself specific questions, and then answering them?
Are there certain situations in which you get most of your useful ideas -- situations you could put yourself in more often?
Lately, when I notice that I’m not curious about anything, I’ve been trying to interrupt whatever I’m doing. If I’m in a conversation, and neither I nor my interlocutor is trying to figure something out, I call a mini “halt, melt, and catch fire” (inside my head, at least), and ask myself what I want. Surely not stale conversations. If I’m writing, and I don’t like the sentence I just wrote -- instead of reshuffling the words in the hopes that the new version will just happen to be better, I ask myself what I don’t like about it.
Thus, for the past six months, several times a day, I've interrupted my thoughts and put them back on an “ask questions” track. (“Grrr, he said my argument was dishonest... Wait, is he right? What should it look like if he is?”; “I notice I feel hopeless about this paper writing. Maybe there’s something I should do differently?”) It's helping. I'm building the habit of interrupting myself when I'm "thinking" without trying to find something out, or taking actions that I expect won't accomplish anything. As a human, I’m probably stuck running on habits -- but I can at least change *which* habits I run on.
Curiosity is a drive to know. I love the feeling of being driven to know. It gets you off your butt, right? Metaphorically speaking. Like this kitten at wikipedia which illustrates the curiosity article. The kitten isn't curled up dozing, it's on its hind legs peering into the flowerpot. It's active. Being active is why we're animals, why we have muscles, so if we lose the drive to activity, it's like we're losing the drive to be.
The activity of exploration is very different from the activity of directed activity built around a specific purpose. An example of the latter would be stalking and chasing prey. The animal who is stalking its prey isn't terribly curious.
Curiosity seems closely allied with play (play often satisfies what-if curiosity, play is often simulation), and play is characterized by lack of important immediate goal (it has the more distant goal of training the animal for life). Play is frivolity, as contrasted to the purposefulness of stalking. Small wonder that both curiosity and play are associated with the young, who are not useful (yet) and who have plenty of time to play, explore, be curious. The adult has no time for these things. Adult behavior is characterized by purpose. Child behavior is characterized by lack of (immediate) purpose. So curiosity seems to stand at an opposite extreme from purposeful behavior, when looked at in this way.
However, the lack of curiosity in the adult is poorly adapted to our rapidly changing world. A lack of adult curiosity is doubtless well-adapted to the largely unchanging world of our distant ancestors, but in this day it's a liability. So it makes sense to try to cultivate curiosity, play, exploration. We should probably resist our natural tendency to lose curiosity. This may be one situation where we need to struggle against our own nature, just as overweight dieters struggle against their nature, by for example resisting the lure of sugar.
It might not be that easy to cultivate genuine curiosity, just as it's not easy to ignore sugar.
But here's hope. I notice that when I read novels, the better writers, the writers whose work I want to read again, are the ones who want make me read what happens next. This criterion may be "low class", but the point is that the page-turners successfully cultivate the reader's drive to know, and this is pleasant. Yes, the reader's brain is being tricked, because the reader isn't actually learning anything, the novel is all lies, all fantasy. But the psychological point remains, that writers are managing to cultivate in the reader a desire to know. Which suggests that it may be possible to cultivate the desire to know. Literary suspense may not be exactly the same thing as curiosity, but I find it subjectively to be a similar experience, because here too I get off my butt, I make the effort to read more (and for me reading is a struggle if I don't care about what happens next). The pages fly by when I want to know. Time passes and I don't notice. I'm not bored.
Excellent!
I would summarize what I think is the most essential insight of your comment as: 'Curiosity is playful exploration. Chase is directed pursuit. Do not confuse the two'
However, you seem to be too big a fan of curiosity. Most of us intellectually curious types are probably too unconditionally curious for our own good. Your enthusiasm for your favorite novels is a good example. You admit it artificially cultivates in you a desire to know what will happen next, via clever plot trickery. Unfortunately reality and your goals are such that following your... (read more)