The basic structure of a novel, or really any story, requires a change. The characters go through some process and come out the end different than they were in the beginning. Usually this is experiential, meaning something happens, resulting in a new knowledge or mindset. This is the core of the story.
The role learning plays in this change is central but usually implied. For example, "growing up," does refer to learning about life, but more directly it refers to the social and physical experiences that transform a child into an adult. The experiences are what one focuses on because the learning derives from them.
I'm interested in the nature of learning. What the process itself means and does to the human mind. I guess this is called epistemology. I tend to stray from formal terms like that, though, because I feel they can complicate ideas that are simpler and more universal. Philosophical texts seem to do that often. Maybe it's just too dense for me. I prefer fiction as a way to examine such topics.
My friend recommended Flowers for Algernon years ago, and I finally got around to reading it. In this book, learning itself is the star of the show; it is the act of gaining knowledge, not as a repercussion of other events but as its own endeavor, that drives the character's changes. A retarded man named Charlie undergoes a procedure that makes him a genius. He becomes a voracious learner and the purpose of his life becomes acquiring and contributing to human knowledge. EQ begins to lag behind IQ, and he becomes more dissatisfied with his circumstances as he learns more.
In a recommendation from another friend, Persepolis, an upper-class Tehrani girl grows and watches and learns in the 1980s through pre- and post-revolutionary Iran. This happens in the empirical way of a classic coming-of-age story. Eventually she outgrows the bounds of conservative culture and has to leave the country, her progressive stubbornness threatening her sanctity under the Ayatollah's regime.
Her intellectual growth, in conjunction with emotional growth and maturity, was part of her loss of innocence. The more she learned about all facets of life, the more dissatisfied she became with the state of Iran. It was a sad rift between an individual and her home played out in graphic novel form, which I'd never read before.
I found it striking that both protagonists, as different as their stories are, became more cynical, a touch more arrogant and vindictive, and I think unsatisfied in a deep, non-material way, as they learned more. Not that ignorance is better (though this is something both ruminate over)--but the parallels brought me to "epistemelogical" questions.
Why does knowledge seem to breed this sense of disappointment? Is it because life is fundamentally tragic? Do people develop a nostalgia for an earlier time when optimism had more legitimacy because knowledge allows for more precise identification of faults? Is it the infinite room for improvement of self and environment? Does this sadness fade over time as one becomes attuned to the imperfections of existence? As if plotting the shape of knowledge to contentment returns a U-shaped parabola.
Of course it must depend on the person. But there appears a connection between learning and disillusionment. My friend who recommended Persepolis told me last we met that he sometimes wishes he knew just a bit less so he wouldn't be as jaded. Does it have to be this way?
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One of the lessons we can gain from recognizing that to change is to learn and vice versa is that this is always an option for us. We aren't stuck in a certain attitude or inescapable circumstance. We can push ourselves to learn more, explore, gather knowledge, and in this way we can change and so will the world around us, which we know is perceived through the filter of our intelligence. And even if that knowledge results in an uncomfortable transition of cynicism and frustration, learning more is the only way out. Keep moving forward.
I don't think anyone regrets knowing more than they did before, even if the saying grants bliss in ignorance. In my opinion, overcoming the challenges of the mind through learning ends up being the most rewarding thing. The confusion and hurt that comes with it is a necessary hurdle, and it helps make knowledge the sweetest of all fruits.
