Tag Archives: David Cain

Learn Like Never Before

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I’ve been following David Cain’s blog since 2010. In his latest post he posits “Humans Are About to Learn Like Never Before.”

Over the last few months, I’ve been using A.I. tools, such as Claude or ChatGPT, to learn in a different way. Mostly I get primers on things I’ve always wanted (or suddenly want) to know, such as how does jury duty work, what was Hegel actually talking about, or what do tariffs do and why do people disagree so strongly about them? I can then dig as deeply as I like into the topic, down any strand of inquiry.

The conventional method of intellectual inquiry, for most topics, is to find and read a long sequence of declarative sentences published by someone who apparently knows what you want to know. This means books if you want depth, encyclopedia entries if you want summaries, essays if you want opinions, and lectures if you want lectures.

An A.I. can engage you right at your current level of understanding (or misunderstanding). If you need a definition, or more context, in order to proceed, just ask. If the explanation is too general, you can tell it to get specific. If you need a metaphor, it can provide one (or three or four) immediately. If its language is too technical, or too basic, you can adjust that.

You can tell an A.I. to answer your question in fifty words, or a thousand. You can ask as many follow-up questions as you need. If it mentions a jury-selection rule you find bizarre, you can ask it to fabricate a debate between two people for and against that rule. You can ask why they don’t just do it this way or that way. You can ask for ten different analogies until you get it. Unlike a human, an A.I. is infinitely patient with you and any trouble you’re having.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. I think it’s a safe bet, though, that one of those profound, A.I.-induced changes will be a massive increase the human capacity for learning and understanding.

Nothing Really Has A Name

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“Your life began with a kind of singularity. A personal Big Bang. Without warning, you emerged from unconsciousness into a sea of light, color, smell, faces, feelings, and other completely unexpected phenomena, and there was nothing to do but attempt to navigate it. It was the ultimate “cold open” – no context, no explanation, just things happening.”

“You can learn to see that mysteriousness in the world again, on purpose. You can practice looking at what’s in front of you as an infant might see it. It’s all just textures and feelings, that have no real names and carry no explanation. Looking at the world like that comes with a certain kind of relief to the compulsive mapper, because what’s right in front of you is never as busy as the map. […] It comes down to just looking — seeing what’s there, and nothing else, as you once did.”

Nothing Really Has A Name by David Cain

How to Remember You’re Alive

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“One way to appreciate virtually any moment of your life is to pretend that the whole thing is already over.

Your life came and went a long time ago, but for some reason you’ve just been sent back to this random moment, here in this office chair, or in line at Home Depot.

It isn’t clear why you’ve been sent back. Maybe it was a cosmic accounting error, or a boon from a playful God. All you know is that you’re here again, walking the earth, having been inexplicably returned to the temporary and mysterious state of Being Alive. Continue reading →

How life happens

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“Life is nothing but moments, and every moment is nothing but another culmination of the universe’s incalculable ripples. Out where we can’t see, they’re crossing and merging, bringing toward us new forms and experiences that are almost perfectly unpredictable. Yet the way we think about life seldom reflects that reality. We plan and worry and forecast and dread, all with an absurd sense of certainty, like we’re setting up snooker shots and we can see all the balls.”

— David Cain

Your Whole Life Is Borrowed Time

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This post by David Cain was clearly written for me personally. Note the reference to “his local high street” in the third paragraph. Unclear about his reference but I spend my mornings at a coffee shop on High Street in Jefferson City. Coincidence? Perhaps.

A man with a boring job is on his way to work when his attention is caught by some unexpected detail in his otherwise familiar routine—a peculiar insect, a pattern in the concrete, a cryptic slogan on a t-shirt.

This detail seems extremely significant to him, but he doesn’t know why.

The strange sight wakes him up from the autopilot-mode by which he has been living his life. He is suddenly aware, for the first time, how complex and interesting his local high street is, and he stops to take it in.

Around him pass hundreds of distinctly different people, each a unique individual, driven by some unseen personal motivation. Shops are filled with thousands of trinkets, tools, snacks, and books. Delivery trucks roll past, music plays from somewhere, buildings rise above him. The scene is miraculous to him.

As he surveys the street, he witnesses something surreal: another version of himself is walking away from him, towards his usual bus stop, evidently not having had this same moment of self-awareness. For reasons he is never told, at that moment his life had apparently split in two.

However, his double does not make it onto the bus: as he waits, an air conditioning unit falls from a window above, killing him instantly. In a very unexpected and unstorylike way, his life ends.

The man has no idea what has happened, and never receives an explanation. The authorities never identify the person beneath the air conditioner, and the man never tells anyone what he witnessed because nobody would ever believe it.

There is nothing to do but carry on with his life. But he is a changed man.

Every morning he is amazed to find another whole day awaiting him. Every meal, every phone call, every greeting from his doorman feels like an undeserved gift, as though he’d mistakenly been given the honeymoon suite at a hotel. He feels grateful even for his problems.

None of the details of his life have changed, except one thing. He now lives with an awareness that he was never truly entitled to be alive; he just happened to be, and still is.

His ability to breathe, see, feel, and make choices now seems to him like an unearned, arbitrary status—one that he may freely enjoy, but which can be revoked at any time without explanation.

He hopes he never loses this sense that his life is essentially a bonus round, consisting entirely of borrowed time, not just from the day of his strange experience, but from the beginning.

There’s more to Mr. Cains post and it’s worth a read.

How to slow down time

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There’s a character in the novel Catch-22 that spends his days playing horseshoes. He hates pitching horseshoes but doing it slows down time and makes his life longer. At least that’s the way I remember it. David Cain recommends mediation. “Lengthening our years by deepening our days.” And he calls “bunk” on the notion that time moves faster as we get older because we have less time remaining:

“You’re not accelerating towards your grave. It’s just a series of compounding illusions that tend to happen when we habitually ruminate about time. And there are things we can do to see through those illusions.”

I have little doubt that time — as we experience it — is an illusion. But it is a powerful one. Mr. Cain offers valuable insights in how to manage this imaginary resource.

Age of Offlining

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Another thought-provoking post from David Cain. Once again he perfectly articulates a feeling (can you articulate a feeling?) I’ve had for some time. Like his take on social media: The phrase “social media” itself has become mostly pejorative, code for time-wasting habits, superficial relationships, and the mob mentality.

It’s become too much. Way too much “online.” But I think a shift is happening. It’s becoming more obvious that always-on connectivity is having some serious side effects on our minds and our society. More of us want less internet. […] I think, or maybe just hope, we’re on the cusp of an “Age of Offlining,” an era characterized by a conscious mass departure from using the internet in such reflexive, uncontrolled ways.

Internet connectivity will always be a vital part of our infrastructure, but its services don’t need to be hyper-connected and endlessly distracting. […] I want to go down to the basement after work, put my messages and my writings into the box, take other people’s messages and writings out, and read them in my easy chair. And I want a big mechanical switch to shut it all off when I’m done with it.

I’ve been hearing versions of this from some of the most thoughtful people I know.

Go deeper, not wider

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Another brilliant insight from David Cain at Raptitude.

I keep imagining a tradition I’d like to invent. After you’re established in your career, and you have some neat stuff in your house, you take a whole year in which you don’t start anything new or acquire any new possessions you don’t need. No new hobbies, equipment, games, or books are allowed during this year. Instead, you have to find the value in what you already own or what you’ve already started. You improve skills rather than learning new ones. You consume media you’ve already stockpiled instead of acquiring more. You read your unread books, or even reread your favorites. You pick up the guitar again and get better at it, instead of taking up the harmonica.

Every paragraph in this post seemed to be written just for me. We’re coming up on a new year, a perfect time to attempt a Depth Year. Do I have the will, the determination, the focus? Unlikely.

When You Can’t Stop Looking Ahead, Look Backwards

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More wisdom from David Cain:

This is the ephemeral nature of human experience, and remembering the gist of it can really take the edge off our current worries. So when it seems like you can’t stop looking forward, look back. They all came and went, and few of them seem to justify the worry we suffered over them.

Because we overlook the ephemeral, passing quality of the events in our lives, we engage in this habit of obsessing over the latest uncertainty, stretching its potential pain into days or weeks of guaranteed pain, in the form of worry. By perpetually trying to guarantee for ourselves a painless future, we are perpetually creating a painful present.

When You Can’t Stop Looking Ahead, Look Backwards