The Problem with Problem-Solving

We have an obsession with solving problems in our culture. Figure it out, fix it, and move on. Medicine has tried to do this with antibiotics and vaccines. Government tries to do it with legislation. Business tries to do it by reducing “problems” to simple monetary measures. But some problems are not to be solved; they may be remediated, or reduced, or offset by good alternatives, or simply lived with. The humanities work in this vital area of meaning, interpreting, and choice-making.

We think of problems as puzzles—clearly delineated issues awaiting rational intervention. But most human problems are much more complex. They do not allow for answers, but they require understanding and determination. Disease is a perfect example. We make much of the effort to cure disease, and that is well. But the effort to cope with disease, to work around it, or through it, is not validated by research money or academic career points. Who will really help a person with diabetes to deal with her condition successfully? What does successfully mean? Longevity only? Quality of life? Or a particular range of blood sugars?

Trying to “fix” our lives, we reduce them to compulsive behaviors. Whether through drugs, or alcohol, or monitoring of disease, or hard work without reward, we feel compelled to do something about our state of emptiness and worry and frustration. We are, for the most part, do-ers in a world that has become so overloaded with information that we are left feeling helpless and unable to take meaningful action. Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death claims that the information-action ratio (ratio of information received to action taken in response) is rising so high that action seems to approach a limit of zero. And he is correct.

We need to redefine “problem” in such a way as to allow for intervention, for determined action, and for patience as a virtue. “Fixing” things and “solving” puzzles is fine. But some things cannot be fixed or solved. This is the domain of the humanities.

Literature, philosophy, and history provide context within which to make sense of, and deal with, human problems. Measurement is not helpful in this area. How mentally ill is this person? How bad is this person’s disease? How much motivation and desire does this person have? All of these questions refuse quantifiable answers. As much as we love numbers—test scores, statistics, and so on—we find that the numbers do very little for us when coping with the real problems of daily life. Stephen Jay Gould made this clear when he insisted that even though 90% of people with the cancer he contracted die within 3-5 years, he was going to be in the 10% that didn’t. And he was right.

The struggles of countries for identity and (often) supremacy, and of individuals for meaning and (often) success, are central to the stories of the humanities. Great works of literature, and art, and philosophy, and history, and psychology, and anthropology, and social science, shed light on these struggles. To be ready to deal with them ourselves, it helps to know that we are not the first or last to deal with them. We are unique, but connected to a tradition of human efforts to make meaning and to deal with suffering.

Judgment and taste are central to making choices. Science does not cultivate these traits. There is no hard empirical evidence for good judgment, but we know it when we see it. Does that mean we cannot try to teach it? There is no hard empirical evidence for recognizing patterns and valuing them, but does that mean we should not try to teach these things? “Objectivity” and “measure-ability” can actually dull our minds to the point where we are stupid and unable to make good choices. We seek proof that can never be found before taking action to change our situation. Smoking, global warming, and more follow this pattern. Proof is not the same thing as good choice-making. Which is more central to us from day to day?

In Descartes’ Error, Antonio Damasio reminds us that emotion is critical to good choices. Rationality is not enough. Isocrates (an opponent of Plato in ancient Greece) reminds us that we can’t know everything before taking action—the philosopher-king is a privileged myth. He claims that we should seek a “state of readiness” that cannot be measured except by our choices in the midst of real situations. Truly!