Hello everybody,

This week we’re looking at shallow and deep solutions.

The tap and I had an understanding.

The Americans call it a “faucet,” and my editor and I usually have a kind of cat-and-mouse battle about these kinds of things. How many Britishisms can I slot into a newsletter edited by an American? We shall see. Because for all the rubbish bins, pavements, car parks, trousers, crisps, torches, and trainers in the world, I’m going to insist he keep “tap.”

The tap in the shower never worked properly. The on-off side was fine, but the hot-cold one lived by its own chaotic rulebook. It could technically turn 180 degrees either way, but there was really only one spot you could have it in. A fly’s push one way and you’d be cold plunging. A strong wind the other way and you’d be off to the minor burns department.

And so, over the years, I had mastered the art of finding that oh-so-perfect sweet spot. I enjoyed waiting to hear guests’ yelps or curses. I took pride in how artfully I could position that tiny, well-worn knob.

But then, one day, we had a plumber come around to fix our toilet. Big James we called him because he had large biceps. Sexy James, our cleaner called him.

“You know,” Big and Sexy James said, “I could get you a new shower tap for about £20.”

We bought the tap, dear reader. James put his arms to use, and our shower was fixed for less than $30 plus labor. No more freezing. No more skill required. It even had a safety button to prevent you from scalding yourself.

For years I had managed to cope with my dodgy tap. For years I had been happy with a “shallow solution” to my ablutionary needs. All it took was for one plumber with a well-used gym membership to show me a deep solution.

This week we look at why that difference is important.

Go well,
Jonny

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The deep thinking space

I’ve always found the idea of a “game space” interesting.

The game space is a hallowed ground, set apart from the “normal world” where certain rules, laws, and instructions apply. On the rugby field, you have to pass backward. In an RPG, a wizard cannot wear heavy armor. In chess, a bishop can’t move straight. And so on.

I wonder if there is also a kind of game space when it comes to thinking. For example, if you were to join me for a Mini Philosophy seminar next month, the rule would be that we talk about things in a philosophical way. We’d unpack ideas, we’d reference books, we’d dive into the mysterious depths of why we do what we do. But when I talk to a friend over brunch or in the pub, the rules are different. This is a social occasion. It’s a light catch-up. There is a time and place for “shallow,” and there is a time and place for “deep.” No politics at Christmas. No penis jokes in a newsletter.

But what happens when we confuse our spaces? When we try to bring deep thinking to a shallow setting, it can often be funny or eye-rolling but very rarely problematic. If I try to unravel the underlying psychodynamic motivations behind my need for constant validation at a kids’ birthday party, my friend will probably just tell me to stop. Have a day off, Jonny.

The problems come when we offer only shallow thinking in a deep space.

Imagine you’re sitting in the car driving with your friend somewhere, and they say, “I’m really unhappy, mate. I’ve not been happy for years.” Now, the game has begun. The rules are in place. This car, this moment, has become a sacred space that demands deep thinking and deep conversation.

“Ah, cheer up, mate,” you say, “let’s go get a drink.”

Now this is a solution of sorts. No doubt a drunken revel capped by an early-morning McDonald’s distracts your friend from their pain, but it doesn’t resolve it. They’ll wake up the next day just as unhappy as before but now with a hangover and a sesame bun sticking to their face. You offered a shallow solution where a deep solution was wanted.

This week I spoke with Jack Maden about his new book, The Philosophy Prescription. (Mini Philosophy Members can hear our full interview at the end of this newsletter.) And Jack started talking about Arne Næss’s distinction between shallow and deep thinking. Because for Næss, our governments and leaders have been dealing only in shallow solutions to problems that really need deep thinking. If there is ever a “deep space” it ought to be the corridors of power. Instead, we’ve been getting successive administrations scattering about vote-winning quick fixes. We’re plastering the cracks of a building that’s wobbling. These are the examples Jack gave:

“So, a shallow response to say famine would be to send food. These people are experiencing starvation, let’s send them food, problem solved. A deeper response would be to question why has the famine occurred in the first place? What’s driving the famine? How can we make structural changes to ensure famines don’t happen again in the future?

“Arne Næss basically says, in the context of the environment, that all of our responses are shallow, they’re all reactive. They’re all driven by this idea that we should prioritize human production. So, if an earthquake happens, we need to rebuild the area so that it can start producing again. If pollution is affecting fishing, then we need to kind of remove plastic from the ocean so that we can fish again. And he wants us to go deeper in our questioning and say, ‘Well, is placing human production on this pedestal really leading to lives worth wanting?’”

It might be, of course, that we disagree with Næss on this one. It might be that we do think we ought to prioritize human production over a more ecologically mutual position. But the point is that we need to ask ourselves why these problems keep happening, rather than offering shallow, fix-the-symptom solutions. We need something more root and branch. We need to look at the systems, values, and structures underpinning our entire worldview. But to do that requires us all to enter a deeper thinking space and to play by different rules. And not everyone wants or is willing to play that game.

Jonny is the creator of the Mini Philosophy social network. He’s an internationally bestselling author of three books and the resident philosopher at Big Think. He’s known all over the world for making philosophy accessible, relatable, and fun.

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