On Curiosity

As I feel my mind stagnating in routine and sitting passively during conversations, I find myself wishing I were more curious, more mentally active, able to find new and better ways of doing things and to stir stilted conversation into lively discussions.

We’ve likely all heard the benefits of retaining a child-like curiosity through adulthood: greater mental agility, greater observational and problem-solving skills, greater creativity and productivity, more innovation and dialog, improved health, more satisfaction with life, etc.  It motivates science and leads us down new and useful paths.  As Samuel Johnson wrote, “Curiosity is one of the most permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect.”

On the other hand, curiosity can also be imprudent in some circumstances.  For example, exploring dangerous places or dangerous materials, especially without caution and safeguards, may not be worth the risk.  (“Curiosity killed the cat,” after all.).  In the same way, exploring people’s secrets unnecessarily or pestering others with unwelcome questions can endanger a relationship, and being curious about evil—and particularly, entertaining thoughts that evil might be good—leads to a skewed view of morality, which becomes manifest in one’s actions.  Curiosity also becomes a problem when it lacks a purpose beyond self-interest.  As author Oliver Goldsmith put it, “A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher; but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is a vagabond.”

Put those two perspectives together, however, and we must still conclude that curiosity, in moderation, is vital—for an individual’s health and happiness, and for society’s betterment.  The question then becomes, how does one cultivate healthy curiosity?  Of course, the foundation of curiosity is asking questions.  What a simple solution, right?  Just ask more questions.  

Wrong.  An incurious person can’t even conceive the questions they could be asking!  These are the type of people who, if they notice a bridge is in an inconvenient place, they won’t think of asking “why was it built there?” or “what would it take to build a more convenient bridge?”  They stop at thinking, “How annoying.  I wish someone had thought to build over there.”

As if this habit of thinking were not difficult enough to overcome, an incurious person is easily derailed by a challenge.  Their curiosity may surface when they wonder if a translator captured an author’s meaning correctly or how to best remix separated coconut oil, but looking it up right away means they have to stop their activity or go to another room to go do it, and well, that’s just too much to ask.  Later, they tell themselves—but later never comes.  Or if it does, when their initial search turns up nothing—or just as bad, an intimidatingly long text—they decide the answer’s not worth the effort of searching further or reading on.  The same sort of thing happens in conversation when they’re halted by another person’s shyness or standoffishness.  

It would not be surprising if such fruitless (and admittedly half-hearted) efforts reinforce the person’s aversion to making future attempts to satisfy their mild curiosity; so much effort for so little gain, and there are always more pressing questions.  Those, we tell ourselves, we’ll research or ask when we have the need.  ...But will we?

Considering these obstacles, the advice “ask more questions” does little good without first changing the way a person thinks—from passive to active, from accepting what’s in front of them to wondering about what’s not, from a defeatist and timid point of view to an optimistic and persevering point of view.

To my mind, curiosity goes beyond idly trying a new recipe, visiting a museum, or pausing to examine a plant beside the sidewalk—though those actions can temporarily boost one’s overall curiosity, and that’s the sort of thing that most websites seem to recommend as a remedy to indifference and mental sluggishness.  

True curiosity, however, is having an innate, deep, and persistent interest in the things and people around us.  It’s seeing the obvious and immediately really wanting to know what’s not obvious, creating hypotheses and taking steps to test them until the truth can be confirmed.  It’s challenging the norm by wondering if it’s is right and good, and considering what might make it better.  Curiosity draws one beyond one’s usual comfort zone, sure, but its inherent strength renders comfort or complications insignificant in the desire to learn and understand (though we hope one heeds courtesy and caution).

Passion, of course, provides people with a natural curiosity about the object of that passion—and the reverse is also true: showing curiosity (natural or intentional) by exploring and trying to understand something or someone will make it more compelling, which cycles around again to increase one’s curiosity.  Interests naturally vary between individuals, but due to this connection between passion and curious investigation, an honest attempt to examine and contemplate an uninspiring subject or person often has the effect of rendering it less odious.  

Aside from studying (which if forced or fruitless can have the opposite effect of killing curiosity), are there other practical, concrete steps one can take to develop spontaneous interest, passion, and curiosity—to develop an insatiably inquiring mind?  I believe so, but regrettably, it requires an effort to make the first steps and then continuing persistence in the face of the inevitable obstacles until it becomes second-nature.  I’m a long way off from that, but wouldn't it be worth the effort?

First, the common-sense advice: keep stagnation at bay by creating, playing, praying, reading mysteries, breaking routines, building knowledge, bonding with loved ones, looking for the unfamiliar or unexpected in the mundane, and paying attention to “intricacies and sensations” while doing routine tasks.  And of course, maintaining a deep faith naturally inspires a greater interest in and curiosity about people and God’s creation.

In addition, Todd Kashdan, in an article in Experience L!fe, recommends playing 20 questions, acting the tourist in your own town, exploring yourself and revisiting your childhood passions, making new friends, trying something iffy (such as a food you haven’t tried in years but used to hate), engaging in uncertain activities—where the outcome is unknown, such as sports or making up a recipe on the spot, and searching for new ideas and perspectives.  The article makes other suggestions designed not exactly to stimulate curiosity, but to generally engage the mind, such as turning dull tasks into a game, or ameliorating hated tasks by finding three unexpected things in it.  In other words, if you make yourself a challenge, you’ll overcome boredom, and if you look for something notable, you’ll find it.

There’s much more I’d like to explore on this topic—namely, how to conceive good questions, especially in conversation—but I’ll leave you with these ideas to percolate and will address this again in a future post.  

On Following the Line

In many ways, the Christian walk resembles biking along a white line on a shoulder-less country road.  Too far to the right, and you’ll fishtail in gravel or maybe careen into a ditch; too far to the left, and you’re more likely to be struck by a car.  The safest route is to stay solidly on that white line.

Have you ever attempted to follow that stripe?  Even with a straight line, steady hands, and a flat road, your wheels can easily stray an inch or two to one side before you correct them—especially when you put in extra effort going uphill.  Added to that, sometimes the mark is washed out, sand-covered, or otherwise obstructed.  The line may break at intersections, and then you must consider your destination and choose which white line to follow. 

I trust my readers’ intelligence to translate the metaphors.

Like many Christians, I used to feel horrible guilt whenever I strayed from that metaphorical line in my life.  Yet, with maturity, I’ve realized that it doesn’t help to berate myself each time I swerve a bit or loose sight of it.  It’s more significant that I keep trying to follow and rejoin the path.  

Think about this—excluding cross-country bikers and daredevils, no rider would slip into the ditch or the middle of the road and think, “well, I guess I’ll just ride over here from now on.”  Yet, many people slip off “the straight and narrow” and decide that very thing; they give up on following the line toward Jesus.  They go their own way, sometimes parallel, sometimes perpendicular, maybe going so far as to trespass across a pasture or splash along a creek bottom.

Those routes might be more exciting than the one along the road stripe, but they don’t lead to the One at the end of the line.  He's worth seeking.  That’s why, despite how imperfectly I follow it, I’ll keep my eyes on that narrow path and choose to rejoin it however many times it takes till my Friend lets me rest at the end of the road.  Will you do the same?

On Frivolities

Our time on this earth seems too short or too long on given days; we speak of needing to “kill” time and yet regret “wasted” time; we often have so much to do and so little time, yet choose to spend hours in some less essential or frivolous pursuit to escape those responsibilities.  What fickle people we are! 

I’m one of those people who feels guilty when she takes a day to herself.  My husband does not—he can spend entire days gaming with not a twinge of regret.  I, however, feel compelled to accomplish.... something.  The basics of grooming and seeing to meals and the dishes isn’t even enough—I need to add to it laundry or cleaning or errands or exercise or visiting people or any of a long list of projects I’m involved with on my computer.  On days I get so engrossed in a book or useless project that I neglect undesirable work of a higher priority, self-hate follows as soon as I snap out of my activity’s grip.

I’m sure that, with a skilled apologist, few pastimes could be considered completely frivolous—at least in and of themselves.  One’s perspective on them depends upon context and, perhaps, comparison.  In a context in which a person must immediately attend to a job or bills or a leaky roof or a person who would not otherwise receive care, all other activities become frivolous (not to mention short-sighted or selfish).  Yet, in a context in which a person has no other responsibilities, personal pursuits have a more positive stigma.  Even then, however, compared with rescuing victims of an earthquake or witnessing to a neighbor or studying environmental conservation, certainly a selfish activity like reading a novel seems frivolous.  Yet, clarify that the reader is stressed to the point of rudeness or tears and that the book is relaxing, cheering, and giving the reader much-needed perspective on his problem, then that person’s context renders the activity far from frivolous.  Eight hours of novel reading, though, may seem excessive to accomplish his purpose.  Where does one draw the line and say “okay, time to get back to work” or “time to do something different”?  Who decides when guilt over such pursuits is deserved or unnecessary?

I can’t answer this question for all people and circumstances, but I will identify one clear sign that frivolities must give way to something more purposeful: a decline in mental, physical, or spiritual health.  That is, if a person’s “relaxation” turns into languor or depression from feeling useless, if a person neglects nutrition and hygiene and sanitation beyond a reasonable time, if a person grows self-centered and uncivil from becoming accustomed to only pleasing himself, and if a person begrudges God his time each day—then personal activities are truly frivolous.  At the first sign of decline, one should set personal pursuits aside and set about correcting the problem, whether it is to make an effort to eat right, to exercise, to clean, to visit with people, to do something that helps others, or most importantly, to speak with God.  
("Should"... yet oh, how the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!)

"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." (attributed, among others, to Joseph Addison)