Sunday, September 21, 2025

Living with Provisional Truths: Why Our Models of Reality Are Only Maps, Not the Territory


We humans have an uncanny confidence in our senses. We assume that what we see, hear, and touch reflects the actual nature of the world. The solid feel of a rock, the blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of a fire—these seem unquestionably real. Yet, as cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman argues, our perceptual systems did not evolve to show us the truth. They evolved to keep us alive.

Evolution’s Priority: Survival, Not Truth

Natural selection rewards organisms that survive long enough to reproduce. That’s it. The evolutionary “scorecard” has no bonus points for uncovering the fundamental nature of reality. Our senses evolved to highlight features of the environment that mattered for fitness—food, mates, threats—not to deliver a faithful representation of the world “as it is.”

A spider perceives vibrations through webs, a bat echoes landscapes through sound, and a bird sees colors invisible to us. Each species lives in a bubble of perception tuned to its survival. Why should humans be different? Our senses provide a user interface, not a God’s-eye view.

A Forest Lesson with Princess

I recall one morning in the peat swamp forest, walking with Princess, the young orangutan who I had adopted as my daughter and who become both student and teacher to me. The air was heavy with humidity, the kind that makes every step feel deliberate. My eyes darted to the shadows, wary of snakes or unseen roots that might trip me. To me, the forest was an obstacle course of mud, terrestrial leeches, fire ants 
and tangled vegetation.

Princess, by contrast, moved with a calm assurance. She paused often, gazing up into the canopy with that long, thoughtful “fruit stare” I came to know so well. At first, I thought she was simply daydreaming. But then I noticed how her gaze lingered on a cluster of leaves I hadn’t noticed—leaves that, to her, signaled ripening fruit. She was reading the forest in a language I barely understood.

In that moment, we inhabited the same physical space but lived in radically different perceptual worlds. My reality was filled with hazards; hers was filled with opportunities. Neither was the “true” forest in any ultimate sense. Each was a provisional model, tuned to our survival needs, guiding us through the complexity of the same swamp.

That lesson stayed with me: reality is filtered, framed, and sculpted by the perceiver.

Provisional Working Models

If our perceptions are survival tools, not truth-revealing instruments, then our beliefs built upon them must be handled with humility. What we think of as “reality” may be more like a desktop interface on a computer. The little blue folder icon is not “truth”—it is a useful representation that hides the messy complexity of code and circuits. Likewise, our belief systems are models—provisional guides that help us navigate life.

This means our cherished concepts—time, space, causality, even matter itself—may not reflect ultimate reality. They are scaffolding that allows us to orient ourselves in the flow of existence. They work until they don’t, and when they don’t, we revise them.

The Value of Provisionality

Seeing our beliefs as provisional does not mean falling into nihilism or relativism. It means cultivating openness. Science advances precisely because models are treated as temporary approximations, subject to refinement or replacement. Personal growth, too, often requires loosening our grip on fixed ideas, allowing room for new insights to emerge.

Provisionality also nurtures compassion. If others’ truths are also models shaped by limited perception, then disagreement need not be threatening. We can meet each other with curiosity instead of hostility, recognizing that all of us are fumbling toward understanding.

Living the Question

As Hoffman suggests, perhaps reality is not built of objects in space and time at all, but of deeper structures—networks of conscious agents, fields of potentiality, or something we have yet to imagine. Whether or not such theories hold, one lesson endures: we should carry our beliefs lightly.

Living with provisional truths allows us to live with questions, to adapt, and to wonder. It acknowledges our limits while still empowering us to act meaningfully.

In the end, reality may be far stranger than we can grasp. But perhaps our task is not to “know” it fully, but to dance with it wisely—with humility, curiosity, and care.

Sunday, September 7, 2025

The Life Dance: Balancing Being, Doing, and Planning



 We often speak of happiness as though it were a destination: somewhere we’ll finally arrive once the right conditions line up. Yet, in truth, happiness is not a place but a rhythm—a dance that requires us to balance three essential steps: Being, Doing, and Planning. Each of these is vital, and neglecting one can throw the whole rhythm out of sync.

Being: The Stillness of Presence

Being” is the quiet, grounding state where we step out of the stream of activity and simply exist. It is meditation, mindful breathing, a quiet walk, or simply sitting with loved ones without distraction. In being, we reconnect with our deeper selves, our values, and the sheer wonder of life. Without moments of being, our days risk becoming mechanical, hurried, and devoid of meaning.

Doing: The Energy of Action

Doing” is the active expression of our lives—the projects we complete, the conversations we have, the meals we prepare, and the service we give. Doing gives us momentum and a sense of accomplishment. It is the outward expression of our talents, our responsibilities, and our commitments. Yet without the anchor of being, doing can easily turn into overdoing, leaving us exhausted and hollow.

Planning: The Compass of Intention

Planning” is the bridge between being and doing. It’s the act of looking ahead, setting priorities, and charting a course that aligns with our deeper values. Planning ensures our actions are not just reactions to circumstances but conscious choices moving us closer to our desired life. Without planning, doing risks becoming scattershot and ineffective. Too much planning, however, can trap us in analysis, keeping us from the joy of action or the peace of presence.

The Dance of Balance

True happiness and success emerge when we allow these three movements to flow together in harmony. Being nourishes the soul, doing fulfills the will, and planning provides direction. Together they form a life dance—dynamic, alive, and adaptive.

When we feel stressed or unfulfilled, it is often because one of these steps has been neglected. Too much doing without being? Burnout. Too much being without planning? Drifting. Too much planning without action? Stagnation.

A Practical Rhythm for Daily Life

  • Morning: Begin with Being—silence, gratitude, or a mindful ritual.

  • Daytime: Engage in Doing—focused, purposeful activity aligned with your values.

  • Evening: Turn to Planning—reflect, learn, and set intentions for tomorrow.

Over time, this rhythm becomes not just a schedule but a way of life.

Closing Thought

The Life Dance is not about perfection but flow. Each day, we may falter, but each moment also offers a chance to return to balance. When Being, Doing, and Planning move together, we discover a happiness that is not fleeting but rooted, and a success that is not shallow but deeply satisfying.

Monday, September 1, 2025

Princess, the Quantum Orangutan

I am often asked: “How is Princess the orangutan?”

The truth is, I don’t know. The last time I saw Princess was in late October 2011. I saw her on an ecotour for just a day. She was lean, clever, and carrying on her life in the forest. She remembered many of the signs I taught her.

After that last visit, both Princess and Putri were relocated to a release camp on a different river system to prevent Princess from being attacked by aggressive females at Camp Leakey, her home since I adopted her in 1978.

Since then, I’ve only received scattered reports—one being that her daughter, Putri, came to the release camp alone, without Princess, looking agitated. Some suspected Princess might have died. But during fruiting periods, orangutans are known to avoid feeding stations, preferring to spend months in the forest foraging on wild fruit.

But beyond those glimpses and possibilities—silence.


A Life in Quantum Balance

And in that silence, Princess exists in a peculiar way: both present and absent, both living and perhaps gone. She is in what I like to call a quantum state, much like Schrödinger’s famous cat—simultaneously alive and dead until we open the box, until someone brings proof one way or another.

“Until someone collapses the uncertainty with evidence, she remains alive in my heart and imagination.”

This is not just an intellectual trick. It is how we cope with uncertainty in the wild. Orangutans, unlike humans, don’t leave obituaries. They slip away into the forest, sometimes never to be seen again—even though they may live for decades more.


Choosing Hope

I prefer to believe Princess is still alive—clambering through the trees, searching for wild durian, perhaps even pausing to reflect in those quiet, contemplative ways orangutans so often do.

Princess’s quantum state also speaks to something larger: the fragility of the orangutans’ existence itself. They hover on the edge between survival and extinction, depending on our actions.

  • If we do nothing, the wave function collapses toward loss.

  • If we act—with education, protection, and compassion—the future opens wide with possibility.

So I, the Orangutan Dad, keep Princess alive, not only for myself but as a symbol. She reminds me that while science demands proof, hope requires faith. And in that liminal space between the known and unknown, Princess the Quantum Orangutan endures.


Postscript: A Quiet Choice

During a film shoot a few years later, I heard about an aggressive male orangutan who had been harassing the females around the release station. When I thought about Princess, I began to imagine her quietly making a choice.

She had already brought five young ones into the world and devoted years of her life to their care. Perhaps, sensing the dangers of another pregnancy and the very real risks of childbirth for an older orangutan, she decided to slip away.

I like to think she moved inland, closer to Camp Leakey—seeking peace, freedom, and the dignity of living life on her own terms.