Imagine a world where all of humanity has been infected by a disease, the effect of which is that we lose all sense of curiosity. Suddenly, we have no interest in wanting to make sense of anything around us. It strikes me that, if we were disinterested in everything, then we would cease to live. The complete lack of engagement with sense-making suggests a kind of active disengagement from the world which sounds an awful lot to me like death. Though it's hard to even comprehend such a reality, our lack of curiosity would ultimately spell the end of our species.
So curiosity matters then, yet it seems to get a bad rap with sayings like, ‘curiosity killed the cat’ highlighting the dangers inherent in delving into matters that don’t involve us. Similarly, in a world of misinformation, information overload, click-bait and social media, there are numerous ways in which our curiosity can be drawn in and be less-than-constructive, or sometimes even wholly destructive for us.
Hard-wired with a need to make sense of the world, our curiosity is inevitable, for better or for worse, but without some moderation, we could end up getting ourselves into a bit of a pickle. So, is there some way of picking our curiosity apart? Some way of moderating the bad and embracing the good? Or is that asking too much of ourselves?
there are numerous ways in which our curiosity can be drawn in and be less-than-constructive, or sometimes even wholly destructive
The wonderful thing about the scientific method is that its process is transparent, laid bare and offered up for peer review. In pursuit of their curiosity, scientists apply scepticism and, one hopes, a degree of humility acknowledging that there is always the possibility of new data which could disprove their hypothesis. This feels like a safe space for curiosity to flourish; safety in numbers, safety in process and utter transparency for those willing to take the time to understand the language and the laws. The same can't be said for curiosity in a social context. People's agendas are less clear and all too often we’re on our own with our assertions, with very little structure or process to fall back on if we’re challenged. Yet, busy ourselves we do, constantly inquiring into other peoples’ lives.
It seems unkind to prescribe a consequentialist perspective (to understand all the consequences of our actions) on how we might curb our own curiosity. We’re only human, and the idea of asking ourselves what, as a result of our curiosity, the full list of consequences might be seems at best unrealistic, or worse, totally debilitating. However, it does seem reasonable, as compassionate members of a social group, to offer some kind of personal intervention. The need to sense-make and reach a foolproof conclusion need not disable us here. I’m just talking about moving the needle. If a few moments of curiosity could be suspended where the world stands to gain nothing from our ‘knowing’, then more time could be poured into other forms of curiosity with greater value. What if we could, rather than apply some conscious, methodical rationale, instead simply feel our way to directing our curiosity more productively?
What if we could, rather than apply some conscious, methodical rationale, instead simply feel our way to directing our curiosity more productively?
A food analogy feels apt here. When we’re eating food that is inherently bad for us, if we listen to our bodies we can usually discern the distinct feeling that, as gratifying as it is in the moment, it is not good for us in the long-term. We know it’s inherently bad and unsustainable, not because we understand the science or because we’ve been told, but because eating good, natural, wholesome food just feels more…wholesome. Equally, chemical-filled, refined and preserved foods feel, well, fake. It strikes me that if we took the time to ask how our curiosity feels in the moment, we might curtail some of our less-than-productive moments of ‘aspartame’ curiosity, leaving more room for the good stuff.
There’s something more in this analogy too. Good natural, wholesome food has a complexity and depth to it, and the reverse feels true of processed foods. Similarly, when curiosity has a relatively simple narrative around it, and with an apparently obvious conclusion we’re seeking to prove or disprove, chances are this moment of curiosity has very little value for us or for the world. When the narrative is more complex and there’s no particular outcome that we feel drawn to, then perhaps this is a curiosity worth pursuing.
To take this concept one step further, when curiosity feels complex, we can take that as a signal; a signpost to sustain our curiosity for longer, offering some humility and openness to the nature of the new knowledge we might acquire. Nowhere is this more true than with relationships. Life is complex, and human-beings are undeniably the most complex of all. Our complexity is almost infinite and our curiosity should match that as closely as we’re able.
This mode of thinking has a rather wonderful outcome and a useful counter balance for social organisms that are otherwise hardwired to make sense of the world by simplifying the complex and drawing conclusions. When it comes to human relationships, it pays to sustain our curiosity and suspend our judgment. It’s a valuable time to remind ourselves of just how little we know, especially when it comes to each other. We may think we understand one another, but if we can just separate our curiosity from the idea of ever actually knowing, and instead connect it with the excitement inherent in the creation of new ideas and endless possibilities, perhaps we’ll find ourselves judging less and caring more.
Forget about a world void of curiosity. This is a world of caring, care-free and curious beings - a world I would love to spend a lifetime continually failing to understand.
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