Be kind, and wash dishes together

Lots of people have written and spoken about the importance of being kind to each other. The people that immediately come to mind are Jesus, Mahatma Gandhi, and Mother Theresa. Then contemporary writers George Saunders and Maria Popova. I’m sure there are many others. What they neglected to mention was the importance of washing dishes together.

About a week ago, I met with a kind woman who was feeling broken hearted. Her boyfriend of many years had left her. We washed dishes after a group dinner next to each other, and she shared this lesson:

Be kind to each other. Treat each other as special, even when habituated.

Do chores together — like washing dishes — so you can talk together about things you’ve noticed.

She seemed optimistic in the face of feeling very sad. She had broken up with the man before, and they’d gotten back together, but she said that things had gotten “gross.” I took that to mean that that the dirty dishes were stacking up, or they were not treating each other with the full respect they’d shown initially.

I feel grateful to have this word of warning about the importance of working to maintain respect and freshness in relationships.

I’m amazed by the importance of washing dishes for a harmonious household. I can’t believe I just wrote that. It sounds like something a 50s housewife would say with a fixed smile. I suppose what I mean is this: sharing dishwashing can help establish an equitable household.

A fellow teacher shared a study about the benefits of mindful dishwashing on lowering stress. I found the full passage by looking up the study online. By reading the passage before washing dishes, participants experienced positive, stress-reducing effects. The control group, given only a description of how to wash dishes, did not see the gains of the group who read the passage. Get out your sponges and scrubbies, and glimpse “the miracle of life while standing at the sink.” But first, here’s the magic passage:

While washing the dishes one should only be washing
the dishes. This means that while washing the dishes
one should be completely aware of the fact that one is
washing the dishes. At first glance, that might seem a
little silly. Why put so much stress on a simple thing?
But that’s precisely the point. The fact that I am standing
there and washing is a wondrous reality. I’m being
completely myself, following my breath, conscious of
my presence, and conscious of my thoughts and actions.
There’s no way I can be tossed around mindlessly like a
bottle slapped here and there on the waves.
 
If while washing dishes, we think only of what we
would rather do, hurrying to finish the dishes as if they
were a nuisance, then we are not “washing the dishes to
wash the dishes.” What’s more, we are not alive during
the time we are washing the dishes. In fact we are
completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life
while standing at the sink. If we can’t wash the dishes,
the chances are we won’t be able to drink our tea either.
While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking
of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands.
Thus we are sucked away into the future — and we are
incapable of actually living one minute of life.

n=1

[This is a post I typed up during the summer, after a talk at the Unitarian Church by astronomer Dr. Michael West. This post only peripherally touches upon his discussion, at least at first, but it was definitely prompted by it.]

I was chatting with biologist Ola Fink —  who studies ephemeral creatures, the mayflies — and she mentioned how one biologist she knows is a staunch Episcopalian. A very literal-minded one at that. For instance, he believes in The Virgin Birth. When she had worked up enough courage to ask him how he could possibly reconcile such a literal belief with his training as a scientist, he answered, “n=1.”

In other words, for him, if something happens only once, then something we don’t understand could be going on. Even a miracle.

I’d never heard that argument before, and although I found it dubious, I also found it captivating. Dubious because you could say n=1 about anything that doesn’t make sense, and dismiss an investigation into the underlying mechanism. Captivating because… well, perhaps because the n=1 argument touches on what we can know and how we can know it.

Parsimony is the simplest explanation for something. The more simple and elegant the explanation, the more likely it is to be the right one. Parsimony is embraced by science. But sometimes the simplest explanation isn’t the correct one. I’m oversimplifying parsimony here probably, not giving it the credit it deserves. Parsimony offers a great guideline for making elegant theories for how the universe works.

What can you say about something that only happened once? Well, not much… the sample size is too small to make any larger claims about how the world works.

But, according to Dr. Fink, one scientist actually went out to survey people to ask if virgin births occurred in the population. Okay, you might already be thinking, how could the survey tell whether people were telling the truth? Before, we cover that component, let’s look at some real life examples.

There is a phenomenon in biology called “parthenogenesis” in which a female essentially clones herself, giving birth to a female without ever having been fertilized. I have heard about this occurring in komodo dragons. (Perhaps people knew that the female was not fertilized by another komodo dragon because she was kept in captivity.) The sample size for parthenogenesis in komodo dragons is greater than one. Okay, but what about human beings?

In the survey, the scientist found many women who claimed to have had a virgin birth. Out of half of the women who claimed that, however, they had given birth to sons. Which doesn’t happen in parthenogenesis. The female always gives birth to another female. So clearly, according to what we know in modern science, people were lying.

But… whether a miracle occurred, or a metaphor, I still find this n=1 argument fascinating, kind of like Hume’s critique of induction: Just because the sun rose yesterday doesn’t mean it will rise again tomorrow.

What’s the word for climbing a mountain and looking from a higher perspective on the way something works, and then descending the mountain so you’re back in it? That’s the word I’m looking for to describe a kind of logic that transcends parsimony and induction. Is it deduction? Or something else? What about wisdom? If you know a word for this, let me know… for now, let’s call this wisdom of the hills, or misdom. Mountain wisdom. It’s got a touch of the mystical in it. Hill climber wisdom.

Wisdom is another discussion. Is there a concept of wisdom that is not anthropocentric? It seems that wisdom is almost always associated not only with knowledge but with compassion, which includes but is not limited to human beings. Kind of like the recognition Michael West touched on today in his talk that we are made from the ashes (or atoms) of stars, and that when we die, we diffuse back into the environment. We aren’t separate from it.

N = 1. Whenever there’s something that only happened once, it’s hard for science to tell us much about it. I’m not saying I believe in a literal Virgin Birth. But there’s something to the n =1 argument.

Two book recommendations from Dr. West’s talk:

Sum, by David Eagleman

Accepting the Universe, by John Burroughs

And a concept coined by Eagleman:

“Possibilianism”

From the NY Times article by Burkhard Bilger:

Eagleman was brought up as a secular Jew and became an atheist in his teens. Lately, though, he’d taken to calling himself a Possibilian—a denomination of his own invention. Science had taught him to be skeptical of cosmic certainties, he told me. From the unfathomed complexity of brain tissue—“essentially an alien computational material”—to the mystery of dark matter, we know too little about our own minds and the universe around us to insist on strict atheism, he said. “And we know far too much to commit to a particular religious story.” Why not revel in the alternatives? Why not imagine ourselves, as he did in “Sum,” as bits of networked hardware in a cosmic program, or as particles of some celestial organism, or any of a thousand other possibilities, and then test those ideas against the available evidence? “Part of the scientific temperament is this tolerance for holding multiple hypotheses in mind at the same time,” he said. “As Voltaire said, uncertainty is an uncomfortable position. But certainty is an absurd one.”

Bach Prelude

Yo Yo Ma practices it every morning to start the day

The way that some people practice drinking coffee

with closed eyes, appreciating with the entire soul

the warmth, the aroma, the power, the recognition

that without water there would be no coffee

as without music there would be no Bach

as without love there would be no you.