Reductionism, Individualism, and the Fall of the Human Species

Fellow humans, your shortsightedness is showing

One of the downsides to human evolution is that we’re not very good at seeing things from outside our perspective. Simultaneously, we struggle to live in the moment, spending most of our time worrying about the past or the future. We are in our heads rather than in the world, and our time is focused on a very narrow spatio-temporal range.

Not only do we not live in the moment, but we also live in imaginary places that have already happened or are unlikely to happen. And all of these dreams are built around ourselves, ignoring that other people are involved.

At best, humans can consider events in terms of decades. Very few humans, notably scientists, ever wonder about things happening outside the past fifty years. Speculation about the future is even worse, and few of us ever think much further ahead than our retirement a few decades away.

Similarly, we can only imagine distances or spatial ranges at the community or state level. Though the Earth has become much smaller with our ability to travel, most of us don’t. We think the world is as big as our local area, as defined by the proverbial ends of our noses.

A Real World Mismatch

Time and space exist far outside the constraints of a century or a kilometer, but our ability or desire is much smaller. This is a result of our focus on the individual. What relevance do millions of miles or years have on a single human life? What value could there possibly be in considering things at these scales while wasting the near future not earning money, hoarding resources, or pursuing self-serving activities?

We have narrowed the world down to the spatial and temporal scales relevant to achieving our current goals and values. We reduce and individualize life according to the adage, ‘they who die with the most toys, win’. We compete with each other to achieve, to hoard, and to conquer. Our actions serve ourselves.

Solving the World’s Problems

I’m reminded of this whenever I hear about our difficulties solving a problem. Whether it be about economic, governmental, or relationship issues, we focus on alleviating the symptoms rather than addressing the problem. We do this to move as quickly as possible back to our primary objectives of achieving, hoarding, and winning. The competition is so fierce, we can’t afford to lose any time.

Humans want problems to go away. This works well with the short-term viewpoints that create the problems in the first place. But you can’t solve problems the same way we got into them. I think Einstein might be credited with saying that resembles insanity. And I agree.

An Example: Neurodiversity

It’s great that the field of neuroscience emerged from biology and psychology. We reduced, as we do, one of the most complex things imaginable — the human brain — to regions, parts, and correlated actions. While reductionism is great at breaking things apart, it sucks at understanding the whole system. Can we ever actually associate personality traits with certain parts of the brain? And, more importantly, do we need to?

And, yes, a reductionist and oversimplified understanding of the world helps solve problems. It led to germ theory, reduced childhood mortality, and improved battery storage. But at what cost? As we gain insight into the smallest parts, we necessarily lose sight of the overall intent. What is the goal? Why are we doing this in the first place?

As an example, I’ll offer the current trend of identifying as neurodivergent. The ‘who am I’ question has a new explanation: our nervous systems could be different. This led to categorizing our nervous systems into one group or another to identify the mechanisms underlying these differences.

In the process of understanding neurodiversity, we discover the entanglement of trauma. As we do, science then reduces these traumas into specific cause-and-effect couples to try to identify the mechanism causing whatever difference or adult behavior we want to change or understand.

In either case, the reductionist approaches lead us away from the intent of our curiosity, which is to learn how to convert suffering and discomfort into thriving or contentment. Right? Isn’t the point of understanding these things to help us live better lives? In reality, it seems the purpose is to secure the next grant, advance to a promotion, or build a career.

Instead, the reductionist approach leads to intellectual property, patents, and the development of capitalistic projects. Did you identify the part of the brain that causes autism? Let’s design a pill for that. Or a technology. You learned the exact age at which humans become traumatized? Let’s create a school system that protects our children during this influential time and charge tuition that only allows the uber wealthy to benefit.

Do you see what I’m getting at?

We’re doing this wrong.

Science is great. Compared to pulling ideas out of our collective rear ends, a standardized system to answer questions is much better. But we’re letting the tail of science wag the dog of reality. Like any dogma, the ecosystem of science now depends on the loyalty and obedience of supporters who won’t question the scientists or their findings. Doesn’t that directly disagree with how science works?

We’re letting the tail of science wag the dog of reality.

Without strict adherence to peer review, the minimization of bias to the highest degree, freedom of thought, and the absence of incentives beyond our human need to understand, science becomes like any other mass-organized system of thinking. Like religion, education, or, let’s face it, any other dogmatic cult.

And, yes, I blame reductionism. The belief system that we must break reality apart into its smallest and simplest components to truly understand it is completely misinformed. Maybe, maybe, if this structure included and amplified the currently missing element of then converting the reduced parts back into a systematic understanding, it might be a useful tool. But that’s not what we do. We identify a quark and give the scientist a Nobel prize for helping us understand the world. But what does it matter? How does understanding one small element of a huge and complex system move us closer to human flourishing?

Should (Publicly Funded) Questions Matter?

And maybe that’s my problem. Asking questions makes our lives better. In graduate school, I got into an argument with an esteemed emeritus faculty member over this issue. My young, naive, and not yet disillusioned with the academy proclaimed that science ought to have a human-centric motivation. If we are spending public funds learning about things, those things should have some relevance to human needs. And isn’t human flourishing a great example of an important human need?

Anyway, his position was quite the opposite. He chided my ignorance and explained that it was perfectly admirable for scientists to let their interests guide the questions they asked, whether or not they had any relevance to something as seemingly meaningless as human flourishing. To him, questions were motivated more by his academic peers than any real need. It was more of a genital measuring contest of wit than an altruistic effort.

Science deniers get this, of course, but science supporters often forget that scientists are people, too. And the academy is a corporate system, just like any other. Science is not special in its ability to resist normal and very selfish human temptations. Many factors influence scientists. They are not unbiased. They vary in their capacity to do good and honorable science. They lack effective peer groups to challenge their work. My observation of the academy is that it is no different than any other echo chamber, and the mechanisms intended to insulate science from human weakness are ineffective. As a result, scientists deviate from many assumptions necessary to conduct good science as the general public understands it.

So What?

The pendulum shift from faith in religion to faith in science only solves some of our problems. However, reductionist science, as the dogmatic God of knowledge, is not going to help humans persist. We have reached a point where science has largely exhausted its potential, providing the bulk of the benefits we are likely to gain unless we start doing things differently.

In the most reductionist way, we have isolated the ways humans answer questions to the point of total isolation. Our curiosity, creativity, and confidence have often been dismissed as mere opinions. Intuition is laughable. We have come to require authoritative degrees and certifications before we will even consider each other’s ideas.

Science is a tool. Personally, I want to have an average-sized tool bag featuring all the necessary implements to help me solve problems. I would never work on my car with just a screwdriver any more than I would write an article with just a piece of paper. I wouldn’t prepare dinner with only silverware. In fact, I would never approach any solution without first understanding the system, and not just a few of the parts.

I certainly don’t want to rely on science to solve the severe human problems we face now. Climate change. Homelessness. Poverty. Inequality. Social justice. None of these can be addressed without considering many, if not all, of the interactive elements within the system. Everything is connected, and everything must have a seat at the table if we hope to understand what is going on enough to change it.

Cliff’s Notes and Future Effort

Understanding systems is difficult because the systems are complex. We will have to work together across disciplines and outside our siloed towers and offices. Working together is complex because, since the time of Copernicus, we have separated ourselves from one another to the point where we have forgotten how to interact.

The solutions to complex problems are simple. We have to go back and act like we did before we got so smart. Communication, cooperation, compassion, and curiosity are natural human talents we have forgotten how to use. Mostly because they aren’t incentivized in a capitalist way. When we can pull our heads out of our reductionist ostrich holes, we give ourselves a chance to look around and see what we already know.