The most interesting studies are at the intersection of two or more fields.

Where did I hear that maxim? I was thinking I had read it in a certain book more than a decade ago; but scanning through it today, I could not find a reference to the idea. Perhaps it’s in there somewhere. Or perhaps one of my university professors mentioned it, and reading the book years ago reminded me of the idea. (I’m thinking of Collapse by Jared Diamond—definitely a synthesis of ideas and evidence from different fields.)

Anyway, the idea has been rolling around in my mind for years, and I noticed that I’ve been writing about it recently, here in the blog.

I wrote posts on the intersection of cosmology and spirituality and the intersection of math and poetic wonder.

I wrote posts on the intersection of quantum physics, history, and philosophy and the intersection of science and history.

And stay tuned for my next blog post: about another intersection!

If you are in college or planning to enroll, or know someone who is, do not doubt the value of a double major (or a major plus a minor with substantial credits, or a major plus a serious hobby or alternate vocation). It’s not necessary to choose just one field of study or interest, and doing so may even restrict one’s mindset and career prospects, in ways that are hard to quantify, but very real.

Where do you see intersections?

This is a photo of me meditating. My usual place of meditation is on a prayer mat on a picturesque wooden balcony in Bali.

Just kidding. That’s not me—though the photo really is of a woman doing yoga in Bali.

In reality, I sometimes meditate in an awkward cross-legged position on my rumpled bed, in the dark in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. Other times I meditate, um, not at all.

I would like to meditate more often. My trouble is, I often tense up while meditating. The more I try not to tense up, the more tense I get. By the time the session is over, I often have a headache and muscle pain and feel awful. And yet, I have, on rare occasions, had blissful sessions that leave me feeling relaxed, refreshed, and at peace.

It’s easy to diagnose my problem: I’m trying too hard. The solution is harder to come by. Robert Wright, in his book Why Buddhism Is True, notes that meditation presents a paradox:

“You can best achieve success at meditation by not pursuing success, and achieving this success may mean caring less about success, at least as success is conventionally defined.”

Wright points out that meditation teachers tend to discourage students from thinking in terms of success and failure, advising them to avoid judging a meditation session as good or bad. At the same time, it’s obvious to him (and to me) that a session in which anxious thoughts race around at high speed (or in which muscles tense up in full panic mode) is not really what the meditator is going for.

The goal is to stop caring about success, whereupon it might arrive. I’ve tried this, with mixed results—probably because I tried something in the first place. It seems that my anxieties are preventing me from using meditation as an anti-anxiety technique. Tips, anyone?

I seem to remember reading, years ago, a book in the “for Dummies” series (or was it the “Idiot’s Guide to” series?) that began by informing the reader—me—that I was no dummy.

What a relief it was to learn that!

I had plucked the book off the shelf because of its witty title. Hey—it was witty the first time I saw it, though the books have been around long enough that the wittiness has rubbed off. Anyway, the witty title got the book in my hand, but if the author had written the thing with the assumption that I actually was a dummy, well, of course I would have felt insulted and slid it back on the shelf.

I had a similar experience recently, upon noticing the book Why Buddhism Is True by Robert Wright. That’s a bold claim! Curious but skeptical, I flipped through the first pages. And what I found there caused me to buy the book.

Why Buddhism Is True begins with a highly nuanced, five-part disclaimer on its title. This made me laugh. I also appreciated the thoughtfulness that went into the disclaimer; it reveals that Wright is a critical thinker who knows that most subjects are more complex than can be conveyed in a simple statement like “This is the truth!” However, he (or his publisher) recognizes that “This is the truth!” is better at grabbing attention.

The point is, marketing works; and reflective writing matters, too. Why construct an intricate argument, or create a work of art in language, if no one finds the book’s exterior funny or interesting or lovely enough to pick up in the first place?

*The title of this blog post should be read with the utmost nuance. The word awesomest is slang and not acceptable in formal writing; my use of it is ironic or jocular, and the reader should not take it seriously. Also, by the awesomest I mean "one among many" and by truth I mean "possible interpretations."

The boss said to the inquisitive one, “How’s it going with the thingamajig project? Will the thingamajig you’ve been working on be complete by Thursday?”

“The thingamajig project is going great,” replied the inquisitive one. “Yes, I will have the thingamajig ready for you by Thursday.”

“Great,” said the boss. “The thingamajig is very important.”

“I agree with you about the importance of the thingamajig,” replied the inquisitive one.

So then the inquisitive one resumed working on that one thing, and on Thursday the boss was pleased.

Yep, it’s hard to avoid getting caught up in the cultural biases of one’s own time. However, there is a way out of this trap—as Albert Einstein knew.

Adam Becker, in his book What Is Real?, explores how historical events and philosophical ideas affected theories of quantum physics over the decades. He reveals that just because nearly everyone believes in a theory does not mean it is true. Some theories stick around because of historical accidents, charismatic leaders, or philosophical trends.

Becker shows how physicists of the twentieth century tended to jump on the bandwagon instead of learning about and engaging with a variety of ideas; and he notes that this issue is still relevant today. He ends the book by endorsing Einstein’s antidote to the bandwagon trap. In 1944, Einstein wrote:

“So many people today—and even professional scientists—seem to me like somebody who has seen thousands of trees but has never seen a forest. A knowledge of the historic and philosophical background gives that kind of independence from prejudices of his generation from which most scientists are suffering. This independence created by philosophical insight is—in my opinion—the mark of distinction between a mere artisan or specialist and a real seeker after truth.”

Amen, Albert.