(featured image: allaboutfunandgames.com)
The power of a word that, despite its brevity, is verily a key to wisdom
Long ago, even before I was “age 12 to adult”, a friend of mine had a copy of the board game “Why”. Vaguely inspired by (and clearly seeking to capitalize on the popularity of) a TV show introduced by Alfred Hitchcock at the time, it taught me one of the very first English words (after “I”, “you”, and “Paperback writer”). Little did I know at the time, though, how important that little word really was.
My friend and I didn’t play the game very often, but I do remember that winning it required establishing “why” a murder was committed. I cannot profess to have any direct inside knowledge in what it takes to resolve a murder, but going by the numerous Agatha Christie and Georges Simenon novels I read in my formative years (not to mention the countless crime series on TV I have watched since), it does seem that discovering why the victim got killed is mostly instrumental in unlocking the mystery.
Small question, big scope
The question is not limited to murder inquiries, though. Anyone who has, or has ever had, access to small children will know that about one-third of everything they say starts with “why”. Sometimes the question does relate to someone’s motive or intent – “Why are you spending so much time on Twitter, dad?”, or “Why do people make rules, only to break them straight away?”*. But more often, why goes beyond the notion of a deliberate motive and is concerned with cause and consequence, for example, “Why does it rain?”, or “Why am I hungry?”.
In any case, this diminutive word embodies the curiosity that drives us towards gaining new knowledge, whether we’re a detective trying to figure out who the killer was, a 5-year-old wanting to know why a leaf floats on a stream in the wood, or a neurologist wondering why we feel pain. We find it in the powerful “five whys” technique to get to the root cause of a problem, developed by Japanese inventor and founder of Toyota Industries, Sakichi Toyoda. And it has even penetrated the world of wit, with numerous humorous riddles such as the perennial classic, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
And there is more. We can also ask why to establish on what basis certain assertions are made. Say we hear someone make an implausible proposition. We could simply dismiss it as outrageous – or we could ask why this person is making this suggestion. Do they have any particular expertise that might give credence to the idea? Do we know them as a reasonable individual, who would not make up crazy shit, but who would consciously and critically consider the facts and trends? Asking this why-question can help us arrive at a better judgement. If our buddy Frank had predicted music streaming forty years ago, we might not have been too impressed. But if we knew the suggestion was made by Frank Zappa – about whose expertise in music and the music industry there is little doubt, and who reportedly had an IQ of 172 – we may have taken it more seriously (and rightly so). He saw record companies that would put their catalogue “in a central processing location, and have them accessible by phone or cable TV, directly patchable into the user’s home taping appliances.” He even foresaw that billing and royalty payments would be “built into the software of the system”. (Venture capitalist Paul Graham describes why it is better to reserve judgement when it is a knowledgeable person who proposes a preposterous idea in a recent blogpost.)
When we see a newspaper headline “Air Pollution now leading cause of lung cancer”, instead of taking it at face value, we can ask why that would be a reasonable claim to make, and look for any evidence in the article underneath (there is none). When, earlier this week, the day after international travel was allowed again in England, health minister Lord Bethell asserted that going abroad is “dangerous”, instead of accepting his authority, we could ask why, based on what facts, that might be a sensible statement to make. Asking why a conclusion is drawn, a proposal is formulated or a decision is made stops us too easily dismissing or accepting something that shouldn’t be dismissed or accepted.
We can, of course, also ask the why question to examine the motives behind a claim or a decision. Is it, for instance, an attempt to impress, is there a particular agenda being pursued, or are they trying to gain support for a controversial view? This too will give us a better idea how we should interpret any evidence provided, or even how much effort we should put in scrutinizing that evidence.
Our inner why
If we can use that tiny word to cast a critical eye over claims we see being made around us, might we use it for ourselves too? After all, we make choices, develop views, and draw conclusions almost all the time. And often, we do so without much reflection: cognitive misers as we are, we are happy to be guided by intuition, gut feel, biases and heuristics. They may be right, but they may not be.
A little dose of why will reveal how much evidential backup we can muster. Do we have a solid case for our claim that Audi drivers never use their indicators, or for having chosen organic eggs? Or have we allowed ourselves to take the lazy route? One example of a driver failing to indicate is not really statistically significant – and by the way, was that really an Audi, or a Seat? And have we ever actually seen evidence that organic eggs are in any way superior to ordinary ones?
While we’re at it, we might as well inspect our own motives as well: why did we conclude that the ref should definitely (not) have shown that player a red card? Did the replay clearly show there was (not remotely) an inexcusable foul, or was his decision (not) what would have liked him to do? Of course, we are entitled to a biased, motivated opinion – but isn’t it better to be aware that is what it is?
Our inner why is like an annoying, but ultimately well-meaning companion. We don’t have to consult it all the time, and even when we do, we may ignore its outcome. But it’s a good thing to know it’s there.
Now, isn’t this a good moment for you to ask why I wrote this piece?
*: Authentic question posed to me by Luka (5 ½ )
Koenfucius 
