Invariantly Variable: The Stuff That Makes Us Human

People are invariantly variable. Not only do individuals differ from one another, we change from time to time, moment to moment. It’s this capriciousness that I find so comforting. It’s this inconsistency that I find so endearing.

Often we lose sight of our inherent fickleness, and sally forth seeking broader, more universal truths about our nature. And invariably, though we may pretend otherwise, find them wanting. The random atoms bombarding in space, the rambling molecules firing and misfiring, and the fortuity that is each one of us, make us unexceptionally unique.

Small wonder then that social science research typically achieves scant explanatory power. It’s not unusual for elaborate social science models to only explain 20% of the variance. In other words, despite onerous and highly rigorous efforts, most studies on humans are unable to explain 80% of what’s happening. One would hesitate to buy a TV that works only 20% of the time, I’d imagine.

Recently The Wall Street Journal observed that boys learn by bumping into things, while girls learn by sitting and reading. Hang on. Really? Surely something is amiss in this simplistic model of learning styles, right? I was never one to learn by bumping into things, and my wife is most certainly not the sitting-down type. Or are we the only ones? Outliers, perhaps, as researchers like to label anything that doesn’t fit their model.

Anyway, that article got me thinking about learning styles. Some people are visual learners. Some like words. Some like touching things. And I’m sure there are many other approaches that people adopt. I, for one, am a words person. I remember when I was in school, I could never understand what diagrams were telling me. Elaborate and detailed charts and figures don’t do a thing for me. I need to read the text. Yeah, I know, I’m weird like that. Back when I learned computer programming in uni, a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I had to write the program first before I drew the flowchart. And to this day, I cannot work with outlines when I write.

Each in our way, we do what we do. Perhaps we strive for a similar goal, for example, to graduate from uni. To do our jobs properly. To be a good spouse. To be a nurturing parent. Whatever. But the process by which we attempt to achieve our end can be wildly different. And that’s not because we also have unmanageably divergent objectives, as well as myriad environments and circumstances in which we operate.

Backward though my approach may be, I went through computer programming with flying colours. Mastered three computer languages with ease. Even became a teaching assistant in programming when I was a graduate student. This coming from a guy who writes the program and then draws the flowchart (just because they require the damn thing). We make do. We deal with our idiosyncracies, and we manage.

The thing is, I love cartoons! Snoopy is my fave. I am a huge fan of paintings from the Victorian era, in particular the works of Frederic Leighton (Lord Leighton as he was known). And I’m into photography. So what gives? I must confess I don’t know. I guess I just can’t learn visually. And I am okay with that. For, as the saying goes, there are many ways to skin a cat (with apologies to cat lovers). I don’t need a universally sanctioned way of learning to inform how I know things. To each his/her/their own, that’s my motto.

This brings me back to my beef about how social science likes to talk the talk of natural science, but the act can only take them so far. Not suggesting that all social science take a positivist spin, of course, but enough do. I’m sure they do great work. It’s just not for me. Even as I, in the spirit of full disclosure, gladly admit to being one of its practitioners.

Humans are fun (sometimes) and interesting (always) because we are so enigmatic and unpredictable. We voted for Boris Johnson and regret it. We love our mobile phones and are environmentally conscious. We acknowledge unceded indigenous land and refuse to give it back. For we are human. If we have one thing that is truly universally in common, it’s that we are uniquely uncommon. Perhaps we should accept and relish that. We should embrace our idiosyncrasies and move on.