I noticed that in many books mindfulness is described as an opposite of being disconnected from the present moment and being lost in thoughts about the past or the future. More specifically, what is meant there is ruminating on regrets about the past or worrying about the future. I am wondering, though, whether reminiscence about the past is necessary a negative thing. For example, mentally reliving a happy memory could potentially be a nice stress relief, if nothing else. There is also a potential argument for regrets in general sometimes serving as a useful learning tool.
But I wonder if a positive case could be made for something in between these two kinds of past-dwelling. For example, considering that the definition of nostalgia is “sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations,” I think that feeling nostalgic implies feeling happy and sad at the same time. I also wonder if then, by definition, every person has something to feel nostalgic about . After all, most people probably have something with happy personal associations that is now in the past.On getting old(er)
Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about getting old more and more often. Probably, this is related to my Mom’s recent birthday, but likely also to my own transitioning through the somewhat arbitrarily-defined middle age. I certainly notice more discussions of the coming-to-terms-with-your-own-approaching-death – kind of musings in what I read (outside of work, naturally; my work-related reading could indeed bore an unprepared reader to death, but that would be just an unfortunate side effect of my research area).
I’ve just finished listening to an audiobook called “Happy” by Derren Brown. It is another modern take on the Stoic philosophy, and has an insightful section related to our (human’s, in general) relationship with the older generation throughout our lives. At any point in our lives, we generally view the old people as un-cool and implicitly think and act as if we would not be like them in a similar situation. More generally, we think in terms of “us vs. them” towards the old, even though, ironically, we will almost definitely be old ourselves (that is, if we a lucky and healthy enough to live to the old age, of course).
A line of thought that I found helpful in that regard goes like this: consider that we’ve been aging since the day of our birth and that, generally speaking, in the majority of cases, it has been a positive experience – we gradually became more capable intellectually and also developed individual character. So it probably wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume, that we will continue refining our individuality and intellectual capacity, at least up to a certain point.
Here is another neat mental exercise that I consider a worthwhile takeaway from the book. It is generally easy to imaging telling ourselves: “If I had a chance to talk to my younger self, I’d give them this advice:..” It should be possible, therefore, to a forward-projecting version of this thought experiment: “If my older self would have a chance to talk to me right now, what advice would they gave me?” Granted the hindsight is clearer than forward-seeing, but some insight could still be gained.
Curiouser and curiouser!
I’ve been listening to an audiobook called “Conscious” by Annaka Harris, and this is definitely the most thought-provoking read I’ve had in a while. She discusses many concepts that are completely new to me, and yet I realize that I’ve been bumping into them many times before in various areas of my work and personal interests.
One of them is panpsychism (from Greek ‘pan’ – ‘all’ and ‘psyche’ – ‘soul’). This is a philosophical theory that postulates that consciousness is a fundamental property, and that everything in the universe possesses it. This idea has a distinctly religious undertone, but upon closer examination, it turns out that it is, in fact, one of the simplest and therefore plausible solutions to the so-called “hard problem of consciousness”. The problem is explaining how consciousness comes into existence in a collection of matter that didn’t have consciousness initially. This problem is called “hard” to distinguish it form the “easy” problems of explaining the mechanisms of existing conscious processes and studying how the brains of animals work, etc.
Coming to terms with the panpsychism becomes less intellectually challenging if one starts thinking about the defining features of a conscious, or even alive, system. Once it becomes apparent that properties like ability to react to or communicate with an environment are not sufficiently good criteria for drawing the line between natural systems that have consciousness and those that do not, it becomes apparent that it is indeed logical to grant the possibility of consciousness (although not human-like consciousness) to systems like plants, single-cell organisms and, taken to the extreme, subatomic particles. I really liked how Annaka Harris gradually by firmly walks the readers through this reasoning process, without dumbing it down and without over-protecting it from the inherent logical challenges. Once you consider that plants and animals are not as different as we intuitively consider them to be in terms of their ability to remember (i.e. collect, store and recall information) and react to the environment, these and other properties that can be considered indicators of consciousness (even if each one of them does not qualify to be the defining property) can be propagated all the way down to the subatomic levels of matter. The consciousness is a matter of matter, as one playful quote in the book states.
This rabbit hole goes incredibly deep. Donald Hoffmann, for example, argues that panpsychism actually takes realism too seriously by granting the subatomic particles, and indeed the spacetime reality, too much of a fundamental role in the structure of the universe. To continue borrowing expressions from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, things become curiouser and curiouser!
New Year resolutions revisited
Seven years ago (it’s scary how fast the time flies, by the way), I came across this note by Bruce Lee, which he written in 1963. At the time, I wrote that it resonated deeply, and that I wouldn’t be able to come up with better aspirations for myself. It is still true today.
“…To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly;
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never.
In other words, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common.”
Intrinsic motivation
Motivation is a tricky thing. For example, it is easier to attain motivation than to maintain it. Also, motivation can be extrinsic, e.g., if what drives us to do something is the expectation of a praise or a reward, or intrinsic, e.g., when we do the thing simply because we like it, or because we enjoy the process.
To get started at something, both types of motivation would do the job, but to persevere through the task, it is important to develop intrinsic motivation. That is why psychologists say that it is counter-productive to pay children for reading, for example. If children start reading for the reward, there is a danger that they would stop doing it for fun.
This is the basis for a strategy for maintaining the motivation for practicing a complex skill like martial arts, chess, conducting scientific research, studying a difficult subject at school or playing music. The idea is to convince ourselves (and periodically remind ourselves) that we are doing it for your own reasons, e. g., curiosity and pleasure. This frees us from the expectation of an external reward in the form of gratitude, tournament victories, stellar grades or applause from the audience. Instead, we can simply do what we need to do, because we really like it.
On not giving up
“The hardest thing is to win a won game.”
— Frank Marshall
This is a popular quote in chess, and some internet sources also attribute it to Emanuel Lasker, who must have made a similar observation. It is not strictly true, of course. It is much easier to win if you have an objective advantage, either material or positional. But the point is that when you realize that you have a decisive advantage, it is easy to fall into a false sense of security and become complacent.
This is where it becomes very interesting from your opponent’s standpoint. It is useful to know about this tendency if it is your opponent who has an a superior position, and you are forced to defend. It becomes your advantage that can be exploited. If you have a losing position, it will lead to the actual loss of the game only provided that the opponent plays correctly. In practice, it is worth to put up resistance as long as possible in order to give him or her ample chances to make mistakes. The more difficult decisions the opponent is forced to make, the higher the chances of them getting something wrong.
The reigning world champion Magnus Carlsen is known for being exceptionally skilled in defending and turning around inferior positions. Of course, he is also exceptionally skilled in other aspects of the game, so he doesn’t get into inferior positions that often. But it does happen even at his level, which is what makes chess so fascinating. I remember reading (but cannot find the source) that Magnus mentioned distributing his effort of mental concentration in inverse proportion to the winning chances of the position. If he thinks that he has only 1% chance of winning, he would put 99% of energy into finding a way of doing so. Whether this is factually true or not, it is certainly an admirable goal to aspire to. It is also an illustration of warrior’s spirit, a concept that permeates chess as much as it does a martial art like kendo, which I find quite remarkable.
Re-watching old movies
“ – What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered?
– That about sums it up for me.”
— “The Groundhog Day”
I complained recently that life became so busy that I hardly ever re-watch my favourite movies anymore. Watching a good movie multiple times is something that I used to enjoy, but now it feels like such an enormous waste of time that I find it difficult to justify it. Yet, the other day, I’ve proven myself wrong by enjoying a bit of “The Groundhog Day.” This movie has a mixed affect on me. It’s funny, of course, and it’s entertainment value is tremendous. But the dialogue between Bill Murray’s character, Phil, and a town resident named Ralph, which I quoted above, hits a bit too close to home.
Still, the fact that I did watch a bit of an old movie – something that I normally wouldn’t do because of being caught up in routine – felt quite positive. That’s, of course, part of the moral of the Groundhog Day’s story – Phil broke out of the cycle starting to pay attention to things he cared about and being deliberate about what he wanted to do.
Chess as an infinite game
Playing chess is stressful. Not just each individual game, but the activity as a whole. Many grandmasters noted that those who take chess seriously typically end up less happy overall because of it. This aspect has even been documented and closely examined in the “Chess Improvement: It’s all in the mindset” book by Barry Hymer and Peter Wells. Chess is highly competitive and aggressive. After all, the objet is to impose your will on the opponent and, figuratively speaking, destroy them. Winning is riddled with psychological traps like impostor syndrome and attributing your successes to luck, and losing is simply devastating for the ego and motivation.
One way to side-step this pitfall is to consider chess not as a finite game (the object being to end the game as quickly as possibly by checkmating the opponent’s king), but as an infinite one (played to keep the game going indefinitely), to borrow the terminology from James P. Carse, the author of “Finite and Infinite Games“. So if you play to keep improving, rather than to win matches, you’ll feel better.
Research in education shows that In order to improve at anything (chess, mathematics, art, kendo, etc.) it is important to engage with the activity on a regular basis. The good news is that it doesn’t matter how exactly you engage with it, at least at the beginning and intermediate levels. In other words, if you do anything related to chess – solve puzzles, read books, watch instructional videos and even lose some games – you will be getting better by improving your understanding of strategic principles and tactical sense. Whatever you do – it will lead to improvement, even though it might not be the most efficient route. Of course, quality od practice matters too, not just quantity. Nut nobody really knows what the most efficient route is, so it is all fine anyway – almost anything you do would be better than nothing.
Sense of adventure
I’ve recently come across an argument made by an established neurobiologist, Dr. Andrew Huberman, that it is generally beneficial for one’s mental health to maintain a sense of adventure in one’s life by consciously introducing new experiences. Apparently, those don’t have to be front-page-news worthy adventures all the time. In fact, the new experiences could be completely mundane from everybody else’s perspective. The dopamine system that is responsible for subjective perception of joy is positively reinforced by exploring new territory.
Curiously, the new experience doesn’t even have to be a “success” in the conventional sense of the word to have a positive affect on one’s well-being. Suppose, you take a new course as a student or pick up a new hobby as an adult, and it turns out to be a boring drag, which you are sure won’t be of any practical use for you in the future. Arguably, the experience could still be good for you, both in the short- and the long-term, simply because of its novelty.
I notice that children are naturally positively inclined to trying new things. It is not surprising, I suppose, since learning is what they are programmed do all the time. I should mention here that my observations are mostly based on a sample size of one – my nine-year-old daughter. For example, even though she knows (and even I know) that a fruit smoothie is her favourite item on a dessert menu, she would eagerly try a Root Beer float or something along those lines. And even though she would immediately decide that it is not her thing, she would still be happy that she tried it.
“Hokusai says”: philosophy of the artist
I came across a poem by Roger S. Keys called “Hokusai says” a couple of weeks ago. Among other things, it’s an illustration of the principle that I keep telling my students, who work on their papers and theses – even though, objectively, most of the writing out there is actually re-writing of someone else’s thoughts or findings, there is value in re-wording and summarizing those thoughts again. The very act of re-processing and condensing the “old” information adds something new to it and makes it more accessible to others.
The poem is about Katsushika Hokusai – a monumental figure in the history of art. To me personally, it is fascinating how he was both influenced by and had a strong influence on the Western art. Somehow, he seems similar to Leonardo da Vinci in his incredible skills of observation and distilling the essence of phenomena simply by looking and thinking.
Hokusai’s writing is less known than his art, but he left some incredible bits of wisdom over the course of his long life. And this is what Roger Keys talking about in his poem. It’s a fantastic portrait of Hokusai, the philosopher. Curiously, I couldn’t find much info about Roger Keys himself after some casual poking around online, besides the fact that he is a scholar of Japanese art and has some association with Brown University.
Here is the poem. Enjoy.
Hokusai says
Hokusai says look carefully.
He says pay attention, notice.
He says keep looking, stay curious.
He says there is no end to seeing.
He says look forward to getting old.
He says keep changing,
you just get more who you really are.
He says get stuck, accept it, repeat
yourself as long as it is interesting.
He says keep doing what you love.
He says keep praying.
He says every one of us is a child,
every one of us is ancient
every one of us has a body.
He says every one of us is frightened.
He says every one of us has to find
a way to live with fear.
He says everything is alive —
shells, buildings, people, fish,
mountains, trees, wood is alive.
Water is alive.
Everything has its own life.
Everything lives inside us.
He says live with the world inside you.
He says it doesn’t matter if you draw,
or write books. It doesn’t matter
if you saw wood, or catch fish.
It doesn’t matter if you sit at home
and stare at the ants on your veranda
or the shadows of the trees
and grasses in your garden.
It matters that you care.
It matters that you feel.
It matters that you notice.
It matters that life lives through you.
Contentment is life living through you.
Joy is life living through you.
Satisfaction and strength
is life living through you.
He says don’t be afraid.
Don’t be afraid.
Love, feel, let life take you by the hand.
Let life live through you.
— Roger S. Keyes