Thoughts: Fresh eyes

One of the great delights of being around children, especially the smallest ones, is their fresh and unusual way of looking at things. When one of our sons was about 4, he watched a large silver maple tossing in a stiff breeze and commented, “Look at that tree making the wind blow!” This reversal was magical—why wouldn’tyou think that the thrashing leaves and branches were causing the wind, rather than vice-versa? It’s lovely to once again have the chance appreciate reinterpretations like this as a grandparent. Lovely, and also a window into why new perspectives are so important.

What children see

Children apply creative minds to whatever they are doing: Dirt and sand mixed with water become “black butter,” an all-purpose delicacy. Piles of wood chips become Halloween decorations, cars can fly, their stomping feet turn them into monsters. The little ones’ imaginations make them natural artists, showing the people lucky enough to be with them a new way of looking at and interacting with the world. 

We grandparents can appreciate their novel perspectives, and we can follow along and see freshly ourselves. By paying attention to one of our three-year-old grandsons, I noticed details about stoplights: there is such thing as a red arrow; the stoplight down the street is crooked; and I usually miss the green light on Stevens. Another grandson started noticing pebbles, and together we studied their shapes, colors, and sheens. Soon he discovered that some dull-looking gray rocks contained crystals that glittered in the sun. I would not have observed this without his eyes, and without opening my eyes and mind to what he was showing me.

So the grandkids help me see new things, but more importantly they show me new ways of seeing. The children see in a different way than I do for the practical reason that they are closer to the ground (those pebbles!) and also because they don’t fog their vision with the assumptions and presuppositions I see through (I had never before been conscious of seeing a red arrow on a stoplight). 

Moments of truth and challenge come from those fresh eyes, too. The truth can be funny-ouch, as in, “Grandma, why are you so wrinkly?” Or it can cut deeper. On seeing the roasted Thanksgiving turkey when she was three or four our daughter announced: “I thought we were nice people!” Indeed we weren’t nice people, from the turkey’s point of view—and from the considered point of view that “nice people” don’t inflict suffering on other sentient creatures. Sure, it can be vexing and frustrating when teenagers see our actions and inactions with fresh eyes and call us out as hypocrites—and it can be a chance to examine whether or not the charge is true. And if it is, what we will do about it.

Eyes open to change 

So fresh eyes on problems, ideas, relationships—maybe on anything—are not just delightful: they are also the way into innovation, problem-solving, and resolving—or even recognizing—big social, political, and justice issues. How so? Basically, people who have been together for a long time tend to think alike. Not exactly alike of course, because they are different people with different backgrounds, personalities, etc. But people in groups tend to develop cultures. Some cultures span across a country or a religious group; others, equally intense, develop around a profession or institution like a business. People within the group share a common history, a set of expectations of themselves and others, regulations or laws, and a means of enforcing the mores of the group. When you are part of one of these cultures, steeped in its traditions, assumptions, and rules, your way of reacting to or thinking about issues tends to match the pattern followed by your fellows within the culture.

It can be very hard to break out of that mold. Bioethicist Carl Elliott’s new book, The Occasional Human Sacrifice gives examples from the field of medicine and medical research—for example, how generations of medical professors considered it normal to direct medical students to perform vaginal exams on women under anesthesia, and generations of medical students considered it normal to comply. Why? Because it was normal—standard practice. Very few students could stand outside that practice to question it or protest. Similarly in any other human institution: because of their conformity of thought, reinforced by their wish to fit in and their suspicion of outsiders, people within the institution often don’t see its flaws or errors, much less the solutions.  

Now, some people do break out of this mold, bringing clarity of vision and action—leaders of justice movements, whistle-blowers (Elliott’s book is about whistle-blowers), and similar brave and visionary souls. Some people also have experience that lets them see from more than one perspective. Feminist standpoint theorists suggest, for example, that people in marginalized groups have better flexibility in their points of view than people in dominant groups, because the marginalized people need to get along in two worlds—that shared among the marginalized people, and, of necessity, that of the dominant group. They aren’t allowed to participate fully in the world of the dominant group, but they need to understand it so they can survive in it. Both the occasional visionaries and those who have flexibility in their perspectives can reveal problems by seeing them with fresh eyes. They are the ones who finally notice, “Hey, it’s wrong to do pelvic exams without permission!” Or they can reveal a solution by asking a new question, seeing a problem from a different angle, or bringing in a new set of experiences or skills.

New perspectives, new knowledge

Ecclesiastes’ Teacher grumbles that there is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9). But there are new ways of seeing what has been there all long. That gives me hope! Over and over, I can delight in my grandchildren’s fresh eyes. And knowing how important their novel observations are, I try to acknowledge and reinforce their vision and to encourage them as knowers and contributors. More generally, while I’m no visionary or leader, I do my best to see the world’s beauties and problems from perspectives other than my own—often with the young ones’ help.