Want to think like a genius? Dive deep into the mind of Richard

Feynman, the Nobel Prize-winning physicist renowned for his unique

ability to break down complex problems. In this video, we'll explore his

groundbreaking mental models and learn how to apply them to your own

life. Discover the power of play, the importance of the scientific

method, and the Feynman Technique for mastering any subject. Unleash

your inner polymath and become a lifelong learner today!

00:00:00 Richard Feynman’s Mental Models

00:04:48 Think Like a Martian

00:14:09 Feynman’s Advice - Play More!

00:29:03 The Scientific Method

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Richard Feynman’s Mental Models:

How to Think,

Learn,

and Problem-Solve Like a Nobel Prize-Winning Polymath (Learning how to Learn Book 23)

Written by

Peter Hollins, narrated by russell newton.

“Keep your eyes wide open,

approach everything with

circumspection,

don’t accept any truth without deep

thought,

expose and eradicate half truths and

demagoguery,

learn to wonder at the beauty of the

world around you and,

above all,

think!—about everything."

—Richard Feynman What do you know?

How do you know the things you know?

Could there be a better way to know,

and how could you find it out?

What don’t you know,

and how might you learn?

Could you be wrong,

and what would that look like?

What is,

and what faculties do you have to

perceive and understand it?

These are the sorts of questions that

most of us seldom get around to asking.

Epistemology is the field of inquiry

that asks about inquiry itself,

and questions the limits,

characteristics,

and sources of our knowledge.

Being able to think about how we are

thinking,

and know more about the process of

accumulating knowledge about the world,

requires a mindset shift all its own.

Nobel Prize–winning theoretical

physicist Richard Feynman is one of the

best-known and most-loved scientists of

our time.

He was involved in the development of

the atomic bomb and did pioneering work

in nanotechnology,

superfluidity,

and quantum computing.

What made Feynman so relatable,

however,

was his ability to popularize his work,

and his many books and autobiographies

captured the public imagination and

earned him a legacy in the public eye

as the face of intellectual rigor,

scientific progress,

and the powers of the rational mind.

But there is not some special access to

reality that is afforded to theoretical

physicists alone—what made

Feynman’s mindset and worldview so

compelling was how he thought,

not what he thought.

In other words,

he was consistently led to ask himself

about what he knew,

how he knew it,

and how he could do better and learn

more.

This is precisely what this book is

about.

Using the inimitable Feynman as our

guide and inspiration,

we will peer beyond the realm of

physics and engage with the underlying

nature of inquiry itself,

and how we might become students of

life,

in the very broadest sense.

Whatever your vocation,

skill set,

expertise,

special interest,

or personal challenges,

your life can be improved by learning

to learn.

No matter if you are primarily

concerned with personal relationships,

your occupation,

your life path in general,

or the grand,

overarching philosophical questions

that have teased and taunted even the

greatest minds,

you cannot help but improve your

situation by fine-tuning those

intellectual faculties that have the

sole job of orienting you in the

universe and helping you make sense of

it.

Consider this fine-tuning process a

kind of meta-skill that is transferable

to any area of life.

Learn how to observe,

to synthesize information,

to analyze,

to create,

to solve problems,

to extract meaning,

to ask questions and seek their

answers—in other words,

learning to think—and you will master

yourself and your world to whatever

extent is possible for a human being.

The ability to really think (and we

will soon see how most of us have a

complete misunderstanding of what

thinking is)

will never go out of fashion or lose

its value.

Your brain is a tool that will inspire

the elevated use of every other tool

you encounter.

It’s the kind of tool that possesses

a fascinating potential—the ability

to change and adapt itself as needed.

Like the physicists who have learned to

operate at the very vanguard of human

comprehension,

you,

too,

will be able to ask “What do I have

to be,

and how ought I to think,

to understand this?"

Think Like a Martian In an interview,

Feynman once shared a game that his

father had taught him as a child.

They’d sit at the dinner table

engrossed in discussion of a topic,

and his father would playfully ask

something like,

“Suppose we were Martians who had

come to the Earth for the first time

and were looking at things from the

outside,

having never seen them before.

What would that be like?

What would we see?"

On the one hand,

this is a simple child’s fancy,

but on the other,

it captures the spirit of scientific

inquiry.

It’s a “game” that asks us what

radically curious perception would look

like,

with zero preconceptions.

What would the world look like to you

if you had no pre-existing beliefs

about it,

no biases,

no prior understanding to cloud your

observations?

It’s a question that gets deeper and

deeper the more you think about it.

With fresh eyes,

everything would start to look wildly

interesting.

You would take nothing for granted.

For example,

being a Martian,

let’s suppose you never slept and had

no need for it.

You didn’t know what sleep was and

had never even imagined it before.

It was not only not a part of your

world,

it wasn’t even something you

acknowledged as being strange or

impossible.

Now imagine you came to Earth and

observed that within every

twenty-four-hour cycle,

human beings of every kind would fall

into a period of unconsciousness,

and they would close their eyes and

grow still and lie horizontal,

their breathing slowing.

You’d notice they’d get into big

pouches made out of foam and layers of

fabric,

roughly the same size as their bodies,

and stay there for a handful of hours.

Now,

if you were a scientist Martian,

you would have a load of questions!

Where would you even start?

You’d wonder what was happening and

why.

You’d be curious about what it felt

like to suddenly lose consciousness

this way,

and what purpose it was serving,

and what it meant that humans seemed to

vary in their practice of this habit.

You’d wonder what their experience

was like—what does it actually mean

to not be awake?

Does your brain still “work”?

Does your consciousness go off all at

once or does it happen gradually?

Why?

For a Martian who only knows one state

of being—wakefulness—thinking about

the idea of sleep must be like human

beings imagining some other,

third state of consciousness in

addition to sleep and wakefulness.

You have started with something

completely arbitrary,

obvious,

and kind of boring (sleep),

and in no time you are grappling with

very deep questions of what it means to

be conscious,

how we can actually know what another

person’s consciousness feels like,

and what we are really talking about

when we use an everyday word like

“awake” or “aware."

Now,

such questions can be fun if they

inspire a renewed appreciation for the

strangeness of life ...and can

certainly be good starting points for

writing science fiction!

But let’s go deeper.

Feynman gave an analogy where he

described the process of seeing a bird

in a tree.

Someone might ask you what bird it is,

and you could give its name.

Now,

does that mean you know what the bird

is?

Do you really grasp the meaning of what

is in front of you,

and can you say you have knowledge of

it?

Consider that the name you give will be

in your language.

You say the bird is a “lark,” but

an Italian speaker says it’s an

“allodola” and a Greek speaker says

it’s a “korydallos” and Hindi

speaker says it’s a “लवा”!

Maybe a Martian comes down and,

when asked what he sees,

blows air bubbles out a little funnel

on his head ... You get the picture.

Knowing the arbitrary symbols assigned

to a thing is not knowing it.

Recognizing certain patterns and

features and mapping them onto

pre-existing mental models is,

in a way,

the opposite of really knowing it.

Have you ever really seen a bird?

Look again.

What do you really see?

Imagine you have never been told

anything about birds and have stumbled,

brand new,

with a fresh and unused brain,

into the world.

There is a phenomenon unfolding in

front of you—a kind of movement of

light,

a noise,

a being.

What is it?

So,

if you were the Martian observing Earth

people sleeping,

go a step deeper and imagine that you

have no idea what “consciousness”

is,

and no pre-existing beliefs about this

thing called “the mind."

After all,

if someone were to ask you right now,

what is the mind,

do you think you could easily explain

it to them if they didn’t already

know?

The Martian question is a powerful tool

for getting beyond the limits of our

language.

Sometimes,

we think of learning as an accumulative

process—that we are ignorant,

and then we pile knowledge on top of

that ignorance,

adding to our understanding.

But in many ways,

really grasping the nature of reality

is just as much about taking away—by

peeling back the layers of assumption,

we clear our perception and look at

things afresh.

The biggest impediment to understanding

the world as it is,

then,

is the insistence that we already know

what it is.

We see someone lose consciousness in a

pouch made of foam and fabric,

and we confidently say,

“She’s gone to bed."

The language gives the impression we

have a more comprehensive understanding

of what has occurred ...but do we?

When you ask the Martian question and

try on a fresh perspective on things

you think you already understand,

you change the kinds of questions you

ask.

And that means you change the kind of

answers you expose yourself to,

and therefore the kinds of solutions

you can dream up.

You “think outside the box” because

you are able to see that there is a box

in the first place,

and you become curious about who put it

there and why,

and what it would mean if it didn’t

exist anymore.

The Martian Question in Real Life This

might seem great if you’re a

children’s author or a prize-winning

physicist,

but can it really be applied to real

life?

Do you have to reinvent the wheel every

time you want to make toast for

breakfast?

Consider the example of inventor Martin

Cooper,

the man who is credited with being the

“grandfather of the mobile phone."

He didn’t just create a fun new

gadget.

He looked at the world of telephone

communication as it was in the early

1970s,

and asked a question - “Why do you

have to always call a place—why

can’t you call a person?"

You see,

his shift in perspective was the very

idea that you could detach the ability

to make telephone calls from any

particular place—it seems obvious to

us today,

but it wasn’t back then.

He pioneered the idea of a phone as a

personal thing,

saying he wanted to create a

“personal telephone—something that

would represent an individual so you

could assign a number;

not to a place,

not to a desk,

not to a home,

but to a person."

Martin Cooper asked interesting

questions not because he was an

intelligent inventor and engineer,

or an expert in the field of

communications (he was both these

things),

but because he was able to look at the

situation with fresh eyes.

The question that defined his

career—and arguably the era of mobile

devices—was the kind of question a

five-year-old might ask.

Today,

we don’t think of this leap in

imagination as anything all that

special,

since it has become part of our world.

In the same way,

we don’t look around and see the vast

potential for ideas that we simply have

not had the insight to ask about until

now.

They are there,

though,

hiding in plain sight,

just beyond the same kind of simple,

even obvious question that Martin

Cooper asked himself.

Get in the habit of asking these kinds

of questions yourself.

What would this situation look like to

me if I knew nothing at all about it?

What assumptions,

expectations,

and foregone conclusions am I taking

for granted?

What if I remove those?

How might my life look to a complete

outsider?

To someone from a different planet,

a different country,

a different historical period?

What about a younger or older version

of myself?

When I answer a question with a term or

label,

do I actually know what this word means?

What is interesting here?

Could it be some other way?

Feynman’s Advice .- Play More!

One of the themes we will return to

again and again in this book is that of

intellectual newness,

freshness,

and lack of preconception.

This “childlike” state of mind is

not just a metaphor—children are in

many ways the natural experts of

learning,

since that is precisely what their

brains are designed to do.

Sadly,

we lose this knack for plain

perception,

curiosity,

and joy as we grow older and are taught

that learning is not about new things,

but about old,

dusty,

tried things!

When left to their own devices,

children don’t learn by forcing

themselves to sit in structured lessons

and making a big deal out of

unpleasant,

boring,

and deadly serious “school”—which

is somehow separate from the rest of

life.

Rather,

they play.

Constantly.

And in their play they learn vast

amounts about the world they inhabit.

Feynman is said to have come up with

his Nobel Prize–winning idea by

watching students spin plates in a

cafeteria in Cornell University,

where he worked at the time.

Finding a solution to a physics

question is something as mundane as

tossing plates around in a cafeteria,

which tells you just how powerful

playful curiosity can be.

According to Feynman,

“Physics disgusts me a little bit

now,

but I used to enjoy doing physics.

Why did I enjoy it?

I used to play with it.

I used to do whatever I felt like

doing—it didn’t have to do with

whether it was important for the

development of nuclear physics,

but whether it was interesting and

amusing for me to play with.

When I was in high school,

I’d see water running out of a faucet

growing narrower,

and wonder if I could figure out what

determines that curve.

I found it was rather easy to do.

I didn’t have to do it;

it wasn’t important for the future of

science;

somebody else had already done it.

That didn’t make any difference.

I’d invent things and play with

things for my own entertainment.

So I got this new attitude.

Now that I am burned out and I’ll

never accomplish anything,

I’ve got this nice position at the

university teaching classes which I

rather enjoy,

and just like I read The Arabian

Nights for pleasure,

I’m going to play with physics,

whenever I want to,

without worrying about any importance

whatsoever.

Within a week I was in the cafeteria

and some guy,

fooling around,

throws a plate in the air.

As the plate went up in the air I saw

it wobble,

and I noticed the red medallion of

Cornell on the plate going around.

It was pretty obvious to me that the

medallion went around faster than the

wobbling.

I had nothing to do,

so I start to figure out the motion of

the rotating plate.

I discovered that when the angle is

very slight,

the medallion rotates twice as fast as

the wobble rate.

Then I thought,

‘Is there some way I can see in a

more fundamental way,

by looking at the forces or the

dynamics?’ I don’t remember how I

did it,

but I ultimately worked out what the

motion of the mass particles is,

and how all the accelerations

balance... I still remember going to

Hans Bethe and saying,

‘Hey,

Hans!

I noticed something interesting.

Here the plate goes around so,

and the reason it’s two to one is

...’ and I showed him the

accelerations.

He said,

‘Feynman,

that’s pretty interesting,

but what’s the importance of it?

Why are you doing it?’ ‘Hah!’ I

said.

‘There’s no importance whatsoever.

I’m just doing it for the fun of

it.’ The diagrams and the whole

business that I got the Nobel Prize for

came from that piddling around with the

wobbling plate."

Relaxation,

daydreaming,

creativity,

and yes,

fun are not impediments to serious

intellectual activity—they are an

important part of it.

Your mind is naturally curious about

the world.

Curiosity and playfulness are a big

part of how it survives and evolves.

But who taught us that this survival

necessarily has to be a boring,

difficult thing?

Where did we learn that the real living

of life happens only when we are

working and working hard,

and that play and joy and curiosity are

only “recreation” and don’t count

for much?

Now,

before we go further,

it’s worth saying that Feynman’s

sentiments about “serious play” are

not about being lazy,

uncoordinated,

or simply sitting and waiting for a

fully formed prize to fall into your

lap.

There is certainly a time and place for

deep work,

effort,

and pushing through challenges to grow

our abilities.

Feynman believed,

then,

that it was a balance.

Work hard,

then let go.

Then work hard again.

Think of it a little like a muscle

growing stronger.

It’s essential to challenge the

muscle to work hard,

but it’s also essential to rest,

or just to spontaneously let the body

sometimes do what it feels is best

(maybe dancing?).

Many of us who are ambitious and/or

have been indoctrinated into the

ideology of “all work and no play”

will find it difficult to let go.

Learning to trust ourselves to be

spontaneous,

relaxed,

and joyful can take some practice.

If you’re someone who is suspicious

of Feynman’s “play more” advice

and want to know exactly what makes it

different from being a lazy bum,

then consider the following - Serious

play still requires domain knowledge.

Watching the spin and angle of rotating

plates is great and all,

but you’ll notice that Feynman had a

hefty dose of pre-existing domain

knowledge,

and so his question about why the

plates moved as they did could be

answered with the skill set he already

possessed.

Perhaps if he had been a musician,

he might have used that knowledge to

explore the concept of spin a little

differently!

Just because play is important,

it doesn’t mean it’s not worth

working really hard to fill up your

intellectual inventory with tools,

concepts,

ideas,

theories,

and skills.

When you have a burning question and

are genuinely curious about something,

then you can whip out these tools and

use them—all the better if you’re

very comfortable with using them

already!

Pablo Picasso was often accused of not

being a real painter since it appeared

that his more famous works could be

created by anyone without any artistic

talent or technique.

But look at some of his earlier

paintings,

and you will see that the modern artist

knew all the conventional rules of

painting (and was indeed a very

competent and accomplished painter)

before he broke them.

Feynman,

too,

had to be fully versed in the

conventions of his field before he

started to question them,

or make his own contributions.

Serious play is still focused.

There is value in rest and recuperation.

The composer Bach often had inspiration

strike him while he was not at work,

but outside walking in nature,

letting his intellect relax and loosen.

Serious play,

however,

is not the same as relaxation.

It is not distracted and

scattered—rather,

it is deeply,

deeply focused on one task.

Watch a child as they play and you will

see this focus.

They have seemingly infinite energy,

patience,

and attention for a task they are

engrossed in.

Replicate this by spending as much time

as you can on the things you’re

interested in.

Don’t expect world-changing insights

and paradigm shifts for something you

do half-heartedly or for a few minutes

once a week.

For Feynman,

everything in his life was physics

(even within the field,

he focused on those areas he was most

interested in).

He might not have been as effective if

he had tried to apply himself over many

disparate fields at the same time.

Serious play has a purpose.

When we are “killing time” or just

seeking mindless entertainment,

it is not the same as serious play.

This kind of activity is open-ended,

curious,

and joyful,

but it also has a definite point.

It’s not a free-for-all.

Feynman was just itching to understand

why the plates behaved as they did.

He was attacking the problem as though

it were a game,

but definitely one in which he was

trying to win,

trying to solve the puzzle.

Try to be purposeful in the same way.

A little healthy obsession is a

powerful thing!

An Unexpected Cure for Burnout

Granted,

most of us don’t want to completely

upend the paradigm we’re working in,

invent the next big thing,

or be breakout disruptors who leave a

big mark on the world (if you do,

though—great!).

Learning to play more and mastering the

kind of serious play that Feynman spoke

about is not just a way to create or

solve problems.

In Feynman’s own example,

he describes how returning to a

childlike sense of wonder and interest

was how he broke through a growing

sense of boredom and dullness in his

work.

In other words,

it was only when he could reconnect to

curious and engaged play that he broke

out of a rut and made real progress

(not,

incidentally,

in his office but while on a break in a

cafeteria).

It would be no exaggeration to say that

post-pandemic,

the world is burnt out.

Whether you are an entrepreneur or work

for someone else,

there’s a strong chance you’ve

experienced exhaustion and lack of

motivation.

It is no coincidence that messing

around with plate rotation in the

cafeteria “just for fun” is what

actually led to one of Feynman’s

greatest contributions.

He was able to work beyond his previous

limits because he’d allowed himself

to play.

If you are tired,

unmotivated,

or even bored,

it may be time for serious play to

breathe some life into your world.

You need a fresh perspective and the

energy that comes with genuinely being

excited and curious about something.

If you are legitimately fascinated and

having fun answering a question,

then you are instantly tapped into a

source of energy and power that can

never be rivaled by any other incentive.

Feynman didn’t care when fellow

scientists asked him what on earth he

was doing and what the point of it was!

That’s because he was driven from

within.

Because it was fun.

Try to play with your work again.

Whenever you want to,

in whatever direction you want to.

Give yourself permission to follow

trivial observations and ask

questions—even if they are

“useless” ones to ask.

Creative play can soothe stress,

make you more resilient,

and help you focus longer.

Too many of us appreciate the value of

hard work but completely undervalue our

own energy,

excitement,

and pleasure.

Here are a few examples to show what

that might look like even if you’re

not a physics genius -

•You’re learning the piano,

but getting demotivated and bored.

So you make sure that a few times every

week (unscheduled)

you just sit down at the piano and do

what you want.

It’s not about working through the

pieces your teacher has assigned you,

or ticking off a list of scale

exercises.

It’s just about you playing around

with the instrument.

You don’t know what you’ll do until

you try it.

When something piques your interest,

you follow that feeling of pleasure and

excitement.

You notice that even though it feels a

bit awkward at first,

you enjoy these sessions the most and

always end up playing for longer than

you thought you would!

•You’re trying to write a novel,

but continually hitting creative blocks

and finding yourself procrastinating.

You decide to start every planned

writing session with a crazy,

out-of-the-box game.

Whatever you feel like.

You write crazy dialogues between the

characters and envision them as Punch

and Judy puppets.

You put five minutes on a stopwatch and

see what happens when you write

continuously without thinking about it.

Or it seems like it would be fun to

deliberately try to write a really

awful book,

just because it would be funny and you

want to try it.

•Your job as a nurse is exhausting

and unrewarding.

You’re close to giving up and feel

desperately sad to have lost what you

thought was your life’s calling.

So you take all the pressure off

yourself,

quit your job,

and start volunteering at an old

folk’s home instead.

Money’s tight and you still have to

figure out what job you’ll do next,

but slowly,

by working more on your own terms,

you reconnect with what made you fall

in love with nursing in the first place.

Your energy stores fill up again.

You remember your vocation and passion.

When it comes time to apply for new

jobs,

your mindset has completely changed,

and you find yourself accepting a

completely different role from the one

you always thought you wanted.

Burnout is complex,

and the world of work is

complicated—not all of us have as

much opportunity to rest,

recuperate,

and play as we’d like.

Nevertheless,

if you are feeling flat about your

work,

uninspired,

or plain old bored,

then rest assured that there is always

a source of energy and motivation you

can tap into .- It’s called the joy

of curiosity,

and play will teach you how to find it

and how to re-energize yourself.

The Scientific Method According to

Feynman Learning to “see” the

world as a scientist sees it requires -

1. the presence of mind to suspend

everything you already think you know,

and 2. being able to look at what

you really observe with a sense of

childlike playfulness,

joy,

and deep curiosity.

These are not methods so much as

mindsets.

However,

when a certain mindset becomes natural

for you,

you can’t help but develop a method

for how you tend to approach the

project of learning,

understanding,

and making meaning.

This curiosity and open-mindedness is,

in fact,

the birthplace of what is arguably one

of mankind’s best inventions - the

scientific method.

The first thing to know about the

scientific method is that it’s not

really about science.

Rather,

it’s a way to structure our thinking,

and our approach to observation,

gathering data,

making predictions and theories,

and inching our way closer to truth and

understanding using reason and

empiricism.

Physicist Brian Cox once spoke to

students at Manchester University about

black holes,

and showed them a video clip from a

1960s lecture by Richard Feynman.

Cox introduced the clip by saying it

was simply the best explanation he had

yet encountered about the spirit of

science and what the scientific method

was all about.

The clip easily laid it all out in

under a minute.

According to Feynman,

“Now I’m going to discuss how we

would look for a new law.

In general,

we look for a new law by the following

process.

First,

we guess it.

Then we compute the consequences of the

guess,

to see ...if this law we guess is

right,

what it would imply,

and then we compare the computation

results to nature,

or we compare to experiment or

experience,

or compare it directly with

observations to see if it works.

If it disagrees with experiment,

it’s wrong.

In that simple statement is the key to

science.

It doesn’t make any difference how

beautiful your guess is,

it doesn’t matter how smart you are

who made the guess,

or what his name is ...If it disagrees

with experiment,

it’s wrong.

That’s all there is to it."

You can probably see why Feynman was

regarded as such a charismatic teacher

and communicator!

Let’s take a look at what he is

really saying about the scientific

method.

Step 1 .- To look for a new law,

first guess it.

Step 2 .- Compute the consequences of

the guess.

Step 3 .- Compare the computation

results to nature.

Step 4 .- If the results disagree with

nature,

then our guess is wrong.

Step 5 .- Repeat!

(Optional.)

So,

the scientific method is nothing more

complicated than making a guess about

reality and observing reality in many

different ways,

and if our observations don’t support

what we observe,

we can say something about our

guess—that is,

it wasn’t right.

If what we guess about reality turns

out to match what we observe (say,

in experimentation),

then we have reason to believe that our

guess holds some water.

We continue asking questions,

making observations,

and designing ways to test whatever we

guess next.

In more formal scientific terms,

the “guess” Feynman is talking

about is a hypothesis.

It can be based on what we already know

or what we have observed,

it can emerge because there are obvious

gaps in what we know,

or it can be driven by nothing more

than curiosity.

For published academics,

the name of the game is to look for

hypotheses that are relevant and

original.

But luckily for you,

as a layperson,

you are not beholden to such limits!

You can ask whatever question you

like—bearing in mind that making a

hypothesis is just a way to ask reality

a question.

Imagine that reality is a little like

one of those Magic 8 Balls that can be

shaken to reveal an answer to a

question.

Let’s say that this Magic 8 Ball only

has three possible responses to any

questions you ask - it can say yes,

no,

or try again.

The try again response could mean a few

things—your question is phrased

incorrectly,

there’s been an error along the way,

or you need to,

well,

try again.

Your guess might be true,

it might be false,

it might be both,

it might be neither.

When you ask a question of this great

universal Magic 8 Ball,

then,

you cannot ask it “Why do some people

not die of this virus that is killing

everyone?” or “What medicine will

help people infected with this virus?"

The ball will only tell you that any

one guess is correct,

incorrect,

or undecided.

You could ask “Do the people who

survive this virus have higher serum

bilirubin levels than those who

don’t?"

Now this “asking” can take the form

of an experiment.

You set up a research design where you

get three groups—people who have died

from the virus,

people who have the virus but have not

died from it,

and people who have not had the virus.

You then look at the blood work of all

three groups and ask what their serum

bilirubin levels are.

Since you have thousands of people to

measure and observe,

you use statistics to help you crunch

the numbers.

You put everything together and notice

a pattern—the people who have the

virus but are not dead do indeed have

higher bilirubin levels than both of

the other groups.

This result is essentially the Magic 8

Ball saying,

“Yes,

this is a pretty good guess."

But that doesn’t mean that that’s

the end of the story and we have

conclusively proven something forever.

It just means we have discovered some

evidence and support for our guess.

When it comes to hypotheses,

scientists always frame their questions

so that they can be disproven.

For example,

they make a claim (“bilirubin

protects people from the virus”)

and then set up an experiment so they

can observe if this guess matches up

with what really happens in the world.

Either they conclusively prove the

statement false,

or they find tentative evidence that it

might be true.

So,

we seek to find out whether a

hypothesis (guess)

can be rejected or not.

We advance in our knowledge about the

world,

in other words,

by ruling out what definitely isn’t

true,

with the goal of gradually and by

degree approaching what is true.

We begin with speculation,

and putting that speculation out into

the real world,

we see how it performs.

Then,

based on our results,

we can make another experiment,

and our next guesses and speculations

can be a little smarter than the

previous one.

Naturally,

real experimental science has strict

protocols to follow and its own logical

rules that help formalize this process.

Scientists have a whole range of

activities that count as

“observation,” and there is a

difference between theoretical and

applied sciences,

between different kinds of observations

(for example,

in the social sciences versus in

medicine),

and between different approaches that

use tools like mathematics,

statistics,

software,

or technology to extend and expand the

normal powers of human perception.

But in the end,

it all comes down to Feynman’s basic

recipe - make a guess,

observe what reality is actually doing,

compare the two,

rinse and repeat.

Another important thing to remember,

and Feynman does approach this in his

simplified explanation,

is that there is no ego in the

scientific method.

If we make a guess that turns out to

not explain reality in the way we

thought it might,

this isn’t a problem.

We haven’t made a mistake,

and that doesn’t mean we’re bad or

wrong or stupid.

Making “wrong” guesses is Doing

Science in the exact same way that

making “right” guesses is.

They both take us closer to the truth,

and therefore they both have value.

In the same way,

a guess is right because that’s what

it is—not because it’s been made by

someone who is good or intelligent or

has been right before.

A guess can be right and still be

something we don’t like,

and vice versa.

Finally,

a true scientist asks a question for

one reason and one reason only .- They

want to know the answer!

They don’t ask it because they want

to confirm that what they already

believe is true.

They are not looking for “proof”

that will permit them to continue

holding on to what they suspected was

the case all along.

Their first duty is to find something

that is true and correct.

If the process that leads them there

entails dozens of wrong guesses,

then so be it.

If human beings were doing science in

this way,

you would expect them to regularly

publish findings in which their

hypotheses were shown to be rejected by

their observations and experiments.

In reality,

though,

academic publishing contains an

improbably high level of papers showing

that the researchers’ guess just so

happened to be correct.

In 2005,

John Ioannidis,

a professor at Stanford School of

Medicine,

argued that the majority of papers

published in medical journals were

likely false positives (that is,

found evidence where there was none)

and could not be replicated.

The way the researchers were using

hypothesis testing,

and processing their results

statistically,

meant they tended to get exactly the

kind of response that was most

desired—i.e.,

support for their hypotheses.

In academia,

there is considerable pressure to

produce a certain kind of knowledge in

certain high profile and lucrative

research domains,

and the Great Replication Crisis showed

just what happens when we seek only to

find evidence for what we want to

believe is true,

rather than asking outright what is

true.

Questionable research practices,

“publish or perish” culture in

universities,

political pressure,

and the rampant misuse of statistics

are all impediments to what Feynman

would have considered truly

scientific—but that doesn’t mean

the principle itself is not sound.

On a smaller scale,

we are all at risk as flawed human

beings of succumbing to our blind

spots,

biases,

prejudices,

and pet theories.

We can convince ourselves we’re

encountering truth when we’re really

just creating something we like and

naming it truth because it’s

convenient.

Let’s zoom out and consider an

example from the non-scientific,

non-academic everyday realm.

Let’s say your car is acting up.

You don’t know much about cars,

but it’s been making a weird noise,

and one day you see a light on the

dashboard—one you don’t recognize,

with some weird circles and a cross

through them.

You look in the car’s manual to see

what the symbol means .- It says

“brake lights."

But what does that mean?

Your hypothesis - the brake light is

broken.

How do you test this hypothesis?

You could step outside of the car and

look with your own two eyes.

But then you see something

curious—both brake lights appear to

be working.

Okay,

time for a new hypothesis .- The brake

light is itself broken!

Now,

how are you going to test that?

And how can you determine whether this

phenomenon is connected with the noise

you’re hearing?

The next day,

you notice two things .- The brake

light is off,

and the noise has stopped.

Now,

this does offer some support for the

idea that the light and noise are

somehow connected.

But you haven’t proven it yet!

If you’re not a mechanic and can’t

get to one,

you might simply conduct an

“experiment” that consists in you

noticing whether the two phenomena ever

occur together.

Every time they do,

you gather more evidence for the idea

that something is going on,

and these two events have something to

do with it.

When one day the noise occurs without

the light being on,

you reason that they could in fact be

two independent phenomena ...

Sometimes,

the spirit of the scientific method

simply reveals itself in our ability to

stop ourselves from saying,

“It can’t be done,” so we can

instead actively ask,

“Can it be done?

How can it be done?” or even better,

“What is being done right now?

What do I observe and why is it

happening?"

The scientifically minded person has an

attitude of experiment—they don’t

make pronouncements and leave it at

that.

They frequently think,

“I wonder what will happen if....”

and follow through.

If something is unanswered,

mysterious,

or unknown,

they don’t shrug their shoulders or

choose the “answer” they like best

and cling to it.

They say to themselves,

“Let’s find out!"

While such examples of trial and error

and logical common sense seem almost

too obvious,

the fact is that we cannot really

arrive at knowledge and understanding

by any other way.

The same applies to things outside the

five senses.

In C. B. T. (cognitive behavioral

therapy),

counselors often advise people to test

their theories of reality,

rather than just assume that their

knee-jerk interpretation of events is

always correct.

If someone frowns at you on public

transport,

you could quickly conclude that

you’re weird and unlovable and

everyone knows it.

Or you could seek the most likely

explanation that requires the least

number of assumptions .- The person was

unhappy for some other reason that has

nothing to do with you.

But you don’t necessarily have to go

on faith.

You can test your “unlovable”

hypothesis the next time you go on

public transport.

Is what you observe in line with your

theory?

In other words,

is everyone you encounter frowning at

you or behaving as though they dislike

you?

If people are just minding their own

business and being perfectly neutral

about your presence,

you can safely conclude that your

original hypothesis was just plain

wrong.

Remember what Feynman said - “It

doesn’t make any difference how

beautiful your guess is,

it doesn’t matter how smart you are

who made the guess,

or what his name is ...If it disagrees

with experiment,

it’s wrong.

That’s all there is to it."

In our example,

it doesn’t matter how right your

hypothesis feels,

or how much your guess seems like it

fits your pre-existing worldview (that

is,

the one in which you are pretty sure

you’re unlovable).

It doesn’t matter how right you want

to be—if observation doesn’t align

with reality,

then your guess about reality is wrong,

and that’s all there is to it.

Summary

•Feynman was a brilliant scientist

because of how he thought,

not what he thought.

Whatever your vocation,

skill set,

expertise,

special interest,

or personal challenges,

your life can be improved by learning

to learn.

•To see the world anew and without

stale old misconceptions,

try to look at it as though you were a

Martian arriving on Earth for the very

first time.

What do you see?

What would the world look like to you

if you had no pre-existing beliefs

about it,

no biases,

no prior understanding to cloud your

observations?

•Knowing the arbitrary symbols

assigned to a thing is not knowing it.

Look beyond language.

•Relaxation,

daydreaming,

creativity,

and fun are not impediments to serious

intellectual activity,

but an important part of it.

Your mind is naturally curious about

the world.

Curiosity and playfulness is a big part

of how it survives and evolves.

Work hard,

let go,

then work hard again.

“Serious play” still requires

domain knowledge and is focused and

purposeful.

Burnout can be helped by this kind of

play.

•The scientific method is a way to

structure our thinking and our approach

to observation,

gathering data,

making predictions and theories,

and inching our way closer to truth and

understanding using reason and

empiricism.

•First make a guess about a new law.

Then compute the consequences of the

guess,

then compare the computation results to

nature.

If the results disagree with nature,

then your guess is wrong,

if they agree,

you have support for your hypothesis.

What you want to be true is irrelevant;

a scientist asks a question because

they want to know the answer,

not because they want to confirm what

they already believe is true.

This has been

Richard Feynman’s Mental Models:

How to Think,

Learn,

and Problem-Solve Like a Nobel Prize-Winning Polymath (Learning how to Learn Book 23) Written by

Peter Hollins, narrated by russell newton.