(Meta-)Cognition

Ninety percent of the world's woe comes from people not knowing themselves, their abilities, their frailties, and even their real virtues. Most of us go almost all the way through life as complete strangers to ourselves.

—Sydney J. Harris, Chicago Daily News

I like to think of self-knowledge as going hand in hand with metacognition, a neology I heard from Mr. Roy once at the beginning of the year in Psych class. To be metacognizant is to think about one’s own thoughts. Analyzing and understanding why we do the things we do gives us knowledge of ourselves.

This anecdote came up a few weeks ago after one of our daily readings from Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff. Mr. Roy spends more time than most on improving his house. However, many days when he gets home from work and he sees his house, he gets upset or frustrated thinking about how little his work has paid off and how much more work he still has to do to his house. Other days, when he sees his house, he feels happy and proud of all that he has accomplished over the years.

Obviously, it’s the same house in either scenario; all that changes is Mr. Roy’s mood. It’s easy for Dr. Richard Carlson to tell us not to sweat the small stuff just because of our mood, but how often are we really (meta-)cognizant of these sorts of internal motivations—inner beliefs, moods, stereotypes, prejudices?

A firm understanding of ourselves allows us to understand why we make decisions, and to weigh their worth. In the example of Mr. Roy, knowing that something had upset him earlier that day allowed him to understand why he thought his house was decrepit, and that knowledge allowed him to realize that his perception was biased by an external event. Self-knowledge can virtually always make our relationships better and allow us to find the roots of disputes more quickly by being open about what specifically makes us upset.

Personally

“By an equal or fair amount I understand a mean amount, or one that lies between excess and deficiency.”

—(I bet you can guess who said that)

When I think of my strengths, I think of words like leadership, assertiveness, determination. Sections of the college application that I’ve spent so much time on come to mind: captain of a that sports team, an editor of this newspaper, member of that town committee, got this or that leadership award… whatever.

While my best quality may be that drive to succeed and to be a leader, that quality taken to excess is often a bad thing. If I were a character in a Greek tragedy, that determination would be my hamartia. Sometimes I can be too pushy, too controlling, not trusting of other people to do things that I know that I can do well.

As it turns out, working with people a lot is probably one of the best ways to cure any problems you might have regarding working with people. When co-editor-in-chief Abby Verney-Fink asks me how to do something in InDesign and I condescendingly push her away from the computer and do it myself, I get yelled at. When I try to impose too many rules and regulations on the section editors, I can count on Greg Swan to send me a scathing e-mail or to make fun of me in front of everyone for it. Through operant conditioning (Thorndike’s Law of Effect), I learn not to act that way, but rather to act more in moderation. For me, perhaps the mean that I am trying to achieve is balanced leadership, whereas the extremes are controlling (too much leadership; the realm I try not to enter) and apathetic (too little leadership).

Perhaps we all have two visions: an inner vision and an outer vision. Unlike Teiresias, Oedipus has a strong outer vision. His keen understanding of the world allows him to survive outside of Corinth and later even to banish the Sphinx. But what Oedipus lacks is inner vision—the ability to understand himself and to know himself. On an obvious level, Oedipus certainly does not know much about himself in terms of how he has already fulfilled the prophecy. On a more subtle level, however, Oedipus shows a lack of understanding of his inner motives when he brazenly dismisses Teiresias’ warnings, all the while scouring for clues about the very case that Teiresias could solve. The reason, I think, that many people have difficulty analyzing their strengths and weaknesses is that this inner vision is simply not a skill set that we often use, especially relative to how often we use our outer vision to inspect the world and other people. Like a muscle group, if a person’s introspective ability isn’t exercised, it will become weak.

Why be moral?

The Second Law of Thermodynamics states that the total entropy of any isolated system tends to increase over time. If human beings weren’t able to make exceptions to that law, we probably wouldn’t be alive right now. Without the structure of society and laws, violence would proliferate, schools would not exist to provide education, and scientists would not invent medicines to improve the quality of people’s lives. In a world that typically tends to move toward randomness, people reach for stability through morality.

Morality has a value of its own, independent of reward and punishment. Looking at Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, we see that a life without morals is a life without restraint. Man needs a logical and stable system of morals to guide his actions, or else he loses his sanity. Even if a man is afflicted as Job is while acting morally, it’s better to be afflicted and have some stability in life from retaining one’s morals than to be afflicted and to have no meaning in life.

In the Old Testament, there is no cosmic system of karma to punish evil and reward good. I like to think that, in general, a man’s reward for being moral is ultimately a life of meaning, whereas a man’s reward for being evil is a shallow and meaningless life. But these are not incentives or rebukes determined by some higher power; rather, they are general consequences of our actions. Good and evil behaviors are not uniformly punished, but people remain moral because of the stability that they gain from applying a uniform code of judgment to all of their actions.

A common misconception in the Book of Job is that God punishes Job. God does Job no physical wrong; the Adversary is the entity that causes harm to fall on Job. However, God does nothing to stop the Adversary from afflicting Job, and at times even encourages the Adversary’s actions. Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?

Who knows. Maybe, as Job’s friends suggest, Job really has sinned. Or maybe God is testing Job’s loyalty. Or perhaps God just likes to play as small of a role as possible in the affairs of people so that he can watch how they sort out their problems for themselves. When it comes to the Old Testament view of God, however, I’m a firm believer in knowing what I don’t know.

The God of the Old Testament is limitless and indefinable. “I am that I am,” God tells Moses at the burning bush. If the Old Testament portrays God as so beyond human comprehension, how can we speculate as to God’s motives for allowing Job to be punished? I would agree that allowing Job to suffer is immoral by human standards, but can God, appearing before Job as a whirlwind of power, really be held to the same moral code that humans hold themselves to?

Man's Search for Meaning

Woe to him who saw no more sense in his life, no aim, no purpose, and therefore no point in carrying on. He was soon lost. The typical reply with which such a man rejected all encouraging arguments was, “I have nothing to expect from life any more.” What sort of answer can one give to that?

Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

Man’s purpose in life is to find meaning for himself. What specifically that meaning is differs for each person, and even the same person will seek a different meaning at different times in his life. The meaning that one seeks in life is of little significance to any “higher purpose in life” that some might argue people have; all that matters is that he finds something in life that gives him a meaning to exist, in hopes that he will finally achieve his goals.

The most interesting and insightful human-interest profiles of people focus on how the subjects have brought meaning into their lives. When somebody writes about how he has brought meaning to his own life, we call that an autobiography. So, at age 17, I guess I’m going to begin brainstorming for my autobiography? Cool, Ms. Kimball. Here are a few ways I’ve brought meaning into my life (to all of you non-logotherapists: we’ll examine shortly through these examples what I mean by “meaning”).

The single aspect of my life that is currently bringing me the most meaning—at 4:15 pm on this fine Sunday afternoon—is my work on The Trident. I love reading what my friends write and sharing my feedback. As scary as this sounds, it brightens my day. And, when an issue comes out okay after weeks of toil, arguments, and missed deadlines, that’s rewarding for me personally—that’s one way that I bring meaning to my life.

Reluctantly, I must admit that the second most meaningful aspect of my life during mid-October is my college application. Like The Trident, this task gives me a high goal to work towards. But let’s talk about happier, more relaxing things. Seriously.

Photography! Of course, it’s just a hobby, but it’s rewarding. My ever-expanding experience in photography helps identify me as an individual. And, I’ll be honest, when I get a few good shots here and there, it feels good to get a bit of praise thrown my way.

Love brings meaning to my life: love for family, and love for friends. Building and maintaining relationships can at times be hard, but it is an instinctive goal in life for all human beings.

The desire to succeed in school academically brings meaning to my life. Studying for a test in hopes of doing well on it gives me something to live for, a goal to work towards with my life.

I’m the type of person who (tries to) go to sleep late and wake up early. But when that alarm is going off, sometimes it’s like my Reticular Activating System just cynically says to itself, “What’s the point? Why should one bother being awake when one could just sleep?”

On those late nights when I have to wake up extra-early the next morning, I find it helpful to put a post-it note on my alarm clock. On the note I write the reason that I have to get up early, usually something along the lines of “Finish the Trident,” “Talk to some teacher about college recommendation/essay,” “Photograph the sunrise,” “Bring sick parent hot tea and saltines before I leave for school,” or “Go in early for extra help with Coach Jacobs.”

This strategy really does work much of the time, and I find myself sleeping through my alarm less often when I use the post-it method for waking myself.

For some reason, it’s a lot easier to wake up when one has a reason to wake up. And, it’s a lot easier to live when one has a meaning to live. Frankl describes a “fatal condition” of what American POW’s referred to as “give-up-itis”—when a man sees no hope of ever accomplishing a worthwhile goal, he will either die of this disease, or the symptoms of the disease will drive the man to kill himself.

In the post-it note example, motivators like the several I mentioned are the thoughts that give me strength to get out of bed each morning. From a wider perspective, these motivators are my meaning in life; they cause me to want to live each day.

Schedule some chill time

Upon graduating from Amity, Emily Chadbourne wrote in my yearbook:

I guess all that I have left to say are my words of wisdom to you. Don’t forget to have fun your senior year. It only happens once and you should enjoy it. Yes, I agree that school is important, but so is keeping your sanity. So, make sure you schedule some “chill time.”

Emily was a second-semester senior already accepted to multiple colleges, and I was at the end of my junior year, visiting schools and keeping my grades up as much as I could. While Emily was fussing over her dresses for our senior and junior proms, I was hard at work studying for four AP tests. It’s hard for me to think of a bigger contrast in CalAmity High School than a second-semester junior and a second-semester senior. But, for better or for worse, that contrast illuminated parts of my life that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise.
I wouldn’t say that the attitude of a second-semester senior is one that I’m looking to adopt right now. As Emily suggested, there should be some concept of moderation in life, balancing fun and school. The fun-loving senior’s attitude and the work-addicted junior’s attitude are the two components that represent what my friend Ceili Brennan calls the method of “compartmentalization.” Ceili’s life-diet allows for both fun and work in one’s life, but mixing them together isn’t kosher.

When I compartmentalize my schedule into time to work and time to relax, I find myself being more productive. I sometimes find that I can get more work done if I go over a friend’s house one night and work the rest of the weekend than if I try to work the whole weekend straight. The human mind is more functional after it has been temporarily de-stressed. Gradually, one’s increased productivity will reduce the constant amount of stress on the mind.

The strategy of compartmentalization requires one to separate his or her time into work time and play time. Most overly stressed people have no problem slating their work time, yet many seem as though they feel guilty taking time to relax, and don’t consider the personal benefits that one reaps from the occasional Saturday-night movie, or from just plopping down in front of the TV after a long week. So, as you plan out your work schedule for the next few days, make sure you remember to schedule some chill time.

"Ferris Beuller, You're My Hero!"

Joseph Campbell believed that the journey of a literary character to become a hero can be interpreted as a cycle, as shown on to the right. The mythologist argued that all journeys of mythological heroes were exactly the same when stripped down to their most basic elements.

In this journey, the hero crosses the threshold into some sort of underworld as he gathers friends to aid him in his goal and is tested by higher powers (the gods, for example). In the midst of this scary and unfamiliar place (Hades, the Death Star, Mordor, or whatever), he finally succeeds in completing the task that he set out to do at the beginning of his heroic journey, and can finally return home to his world, where he is usually able to add something to his society learned or obtained through his journey.

In real life, the formation of a hero can't be as cut and dry. Nobody I know has made a quick trip through Hades to return after several years to kill off 100 suitors and reclaim his throne. And nobody that I know has killed his father in a lightsaber duel and blown up the Death Star with the help of a little green Muppet.

In the ideal world of literature, all of the points of the heroic cycle help reveal the hero's character and emphasize his change. Real-life heroes don't usually adhere so closely to Campbell's ideal mold of the tragic hero. If a single mother doesn't acquire helpers like Athena or R2-D2 on her journey to raise her kid, I'd still call her a hero (just somewhat less interesting of a hero for it). In defining a real-life hero, I break the heroic circle into what I see to be its two main elements.

I define a hero as anyone who meets two criteria: (1) the person was challenged by a dire conflict, and (2) the person reacted to the conflict by doing his or her best to remedy the situation.

My definition of a hero fits all of the Odysseus's and Aeneas's of classical literature, the Luke Skywalker's and Superman's of the movies, and the courageous firemen and sang-froid single mothers of society.

My definition does not discriminate based on gender, and I hold both males and females to be real-world heroes. However, while the real world has many every-day heroines (the most noteworthy being Ms. Kimball), the literary and movie worlds are lacking in this regard. Queen Penelope and Princess Leia are heroines, but their heroic roles were eclipsed by the macho-man heroes like Odysseus and Luke Skywalker.

This inequality is due in part to the relative abundance of male writers (or movie producers) as compared to their female counterparts, and males generally tend to feel more comfortable featuring their own sex in their writing. Plus, even if a male writer had written an epic about a female warrior's adventures, wouldn't that have seemed a little unrealistic to ancient peoples? A female warrior? And from the standpoint of a physical journey, what ancient woman's story could rival that of a soldier fighting to conquer Troy? Campbell's model of the classical heroic journey would have to be stretched into a metaphor so as to feature a strong housewife as a hero. Plus, if the people of a society don't view women as heroes but instead define heroes to be strong and brave in battle, then wouldn't some rogue male writer be out of business and out of an audience if he tried to create an independent heroine? I'm not sure that I could blame Homer for featuring Odysseus and pushing Penelope off to the side.

A few millenia ago, female writers didn't exist to write about female heroes. Not until relatively recently in the history of the world have women gained prominence as writers, but their works are helping to tip the gender scales back toward equal. Also, now that women are portrayed in our society as more equal to men, some female heroines have been glorified in the same way that males traditionally have (Wonder Woman, Elizabeth Bennett, and heroines from modern-day novels written by both men and women).

Although our definition of heroes has been expanded since ancient times, the purpose of a hero remains the same. Heroes serve as examples. We look up to heroes and try to emulate them—to be them, even. I would be happy to be half as fair and righteous as Atticus Finch of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird or half as introspectively capable as Marlow from Jospeh Conrad's Heart of Darkness. In literature and in real life, heroes present to the reader a standard of how to live and the inspiration that if he lives that way, he will ultimately have as much meaning in his life as he perceives that his hero does. Although people may not realize it, everyone has heroes that they admire. We need heroes in society to give us something to strive for, an example of how to live.

But what happens when the good guys aren't good anymore? In literature, heroes often suffer from a hamartia that leads to their ruin. For example, Macbeth is a tragic hero whose "vaulting ambition" was the hamartia that drove him to regicide (he wasn't such a great role-model for the youngans after that). Even Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker followed the heroic cycle away from the Force and to the Dark Side, before finally emerging from his journey to redeem himself at the end of the saga.

In Bertolt Brecht's The Life of Galileo, an exchange occurs between a student of Galileo and the astronomer himself, his scientific research suppressed by the oppressive Catholic regimes of the Inquisition:

Andrea: Unhappy the land that has no heroes.
Galileo: No. Unhappy the land that needs heroes.

Given Brecht's life and times during the rise of Fascism and Naziism, he is most likely using the term "hero" to refer to an oppressor who misrepresents himself to be a heroic savior — a Hitler, a Mussolini, a Stalin (indeed, unhappy is the land that looks to those sorts of people to save it). However, Brecht makes an important point about heroes. While having heroes is important so that people have models to emulate and figures to inspire them, a man must never hand over full control of his life to one person whom he believes to be a hero or a savior, no matter how tempting the opportunity may be. Unlike the usual every-day heroes like one's parents or teachers, popular heroes may misrepresent themselves to garner influence over those who look up to them. Sometimes, those whom we look up to as heroes are corrupted by the power imbued upon them by their heroic status.

As the impressionable youths that we Humanities students are, our minds like sponges ready to soak up whatever seeps through the cracks of our thick skulls, it's important to take this hero thing in moderation. Ferris Beuller may be one of my personal heroes, but I shouldn't regard him as my personal savior and embrace his entire lifestyle. When choosing heroes, be prudent not to try to incorporate a hero's whole persona into yours. Instead, view your heroes like an all-you-can-eat buffet: take a little from here, and a little from there.

Redemption

I'm hoping that Ms. Kimball will forgive me soon for being such a slacker and add my blog to her list...