Critical thinking is inescapable. Let me say that another way: the way we think about anything is inherently critical.  Cognitive scientists agree, roughly, that the mind operates on a number of principles. Our minds perceive boundaries between things, rhythms, associations, classifications, abstractions, and hierarchies. These principles drive the kind of questions I proposed in my previous post.

I wouldn’t argue for a direct correspondence between cognitive principles and the four critical questions. At the same time its clear that when you perceive boundaries between things, then you can start to organize them into a narrative which answers question one, “What Happened?” You can find similar exchanges between the four questions and the other principles.

Maybe this is all too esoteric. The heart of what I’m saying is that you will find those four questions in any kind of critical practice, from science to religion. Here are a few examples of those ideas in play:

1. Literary Criticism: Stanford University’s  The Literature of Crisis (link loads iTunes)

This is a great example of literary criticism in practice. The two professors who teach this course really capture S.T. Coleridge’s definition of a literary critic, which is one who teaches others how to read.

2. Theology: Ruveun Cohen’s Course on Passover

I think you’ll find little difference between a good literary critic and a good spiritual advisor. In this case, Rabbi Cohen asks basic (literary) questions about the texts that codify the Jewish holiday of Passover.

3. Policy Analysis: Marcia Angell on Reforming the US Health System (link loads iTunes)

Marcia Angell gives a startling clear analysis of the US Health system and its pitfalls. Listen closely and you’ll hear her answer the four questions we’ve been talking about for two posts now.

I’m asked to explain the work I do, now and then. Often, this means I tell a compelling story about how literary criticism and cyberspace fit together. The elevator version of the story goes:

When people use the Internet they’re not trying to talk to machines, they’re trying to talk to other people through the machine. The Internet helps connect people, the same way two telephones connect people. The Internet has changed a lot of things in the world, and there are more changes to come. The relationships people play out are insensitive to these changes. Since my job is to make technology useful for people, I use literature and cognitive science to understand how people relate to each other. I bend technology to fit those relationships.

“So you read books?” is the most frequent response. The answer depends on what you mean by read. To read is to look carefully so as to understand the meaning of what’s written. That’s a more demanding job than most people have in mind. Meaning can evade us for many reasons, but the literary critic is there to help us catch what may have otherwise gone unnoticed; to teach us to read.

The term literary criticism covers a wide range of approaches to this problem. Critics find patterns of meaning in everything from the choice of words to the place the actions happens. In spite of their differences, all approaches try to answer the same four questions:

1. What Happened?

This is just slightly more sophisticated than the book report you filed in Grade One. The difference is that the retelling of events is selected to make a point. Rather than tell the whole story, the critic will choose and arrange the narrative events that support his argument. Simple though it may be, it’s crucially important to the questions that come later.

2. How Was It Told?

The way people use language reveals things about them. Assume that you’re reading about someone trying to get some salt passed to them. Saying:

“Can you pass the salt, please?”

means something different than:

“Gimme the damn salt!”

The person could reasonably say either sentence depending on the context. What they say tells you something about where they are, who they’re talking to, and so on. My example was designed for contrast, but even a subtle change to the first sentence like “Please, can you pass the salt?” will change your understanding of what a person is doing.

Writers and critics are conscious of these kinds of differences, variously called rhetorical or poetic devices. Using poetic devices in this way is the art of what writers do.

3. Why Was it Told that Way?

This is where the majority of controversy occurs in literary criticism. Critics try to show that poetic devices are used systematically throughout a text for a particular effect. Like any argument, a strong case in favour of one view over another depends on evidence. The strongest arguments around this question are based on a lot of reading both in the primary texts themselves, and what others have thought about them.

This is also where critical theorists go wrong. I’m only exaggerating a little when I say that they would rather find a clever way to make an argument than face the more difficult and mundane task of finding the evidence to support a claim. One of my professors tells the story of one of his students who claimed she completed her Master and Doctoral degrees without ever reading a novel or poem. Whether or not its true, the sad fact is that its believable.

4. What’s Going On?

Literary studies ends, properly, at question three. This question is where literary critics, historians, philosophers, sociologists, psychologists, etc. meet to swap ideas and annoy each other. Everyone gains something from trying to answer this question.

I’ve discussed these four questions in terms of literature, but they are just as pertinent to psychological profiling, or User Interface Design. Reading in this way is a basic skill that too few people do consciously. In my case, it feeds my brain raw data from which to generate new ideas.

As work on my thesis progresses, my description of it evolves. I was happy with how simple and clear the first draft of my latest description came out. As it went through revision after revision, I became uncomfortable with how stuffy it sounded. My discomfort was soothed by my supervisor’s jabs at the nature of academic committees who job it is to review projects like mine.

I’m surprised at my reluctance to accept the yoke of the committee. I have clients who are far more exacting in their expectations, but I make revisions for them without protest (professional advice aside). When it comes to client-work, my writing is never about ego. I’m always focused on producing the best writing I can. When it comes to the academy, for some reason its gets personal.

In any case, if you’re interested in learning a little bit about a genius from 19th century Britain, here’s a gentle introduction to my thesis on John Ruskin’s works.