COHERENCE
There is a very typical Spanish expression that says: "Consejos vendo, que para mí no tengo."
Which basically means that we are all very good at giving advice that we don't necessarily follow ourselves.
I imagine this expression must have come from a very wise grandmother who had already seen enough human behaviour to recognise someone who thinks they know everything, usually without having experienced much of it.
Anyway, someone recently suggested that I write about coherence, and I must say it has made me think quite a lot. Especially because, for once, the subject didn't come from me.
Just imagine... Here I am, writing all these posts about such beautiful human values, and some not so beautiful ones, trying to find a lesson in each of them so that we can all finish reading feeling a little more inspired, wiser, happier and generally better human beings.
And then we close the computer.
And despite having understood everything perfectly, or even feeling genuinely motivated to change something, we go back to real life and continue being exactly the same people.
With all our little conflicts between what we think, what we believe we should think, what we feel, what we believe we should feel, and finally, what we actually do.
Quite a mess, if you think about it.
One of my favourite phrases is that love is about actions, not words. I will probably repeat this when I write about love, but I think it makes a lot of sense here too.
Sometimes we say we love someone and that we want the best for them, but I'm not entirely sure we always know what we mean by that. Do we really want the best for that person? Or do we want that person to do what we think is best, mainly because it makes us feel comfortable and doesn't force us to change too much of our own lives?
Because, of course, we want them to be happy.
But perhaps not so happy that we have to reorganise our entire existence.
That would be asking a bit too much, wouldn't it?
And the funny thing is that we might genuinely believe everything we say. We might truly feel love, compassion or admiration for someone, while our actions suggest something rather different.
So where exactly does coherence live? In what we think? In what we feel? In what we say? Or in what we eventually do?
I suspect the last one deserves considerably more attention than we usually give it.
My Favourite Experimental Subject
As usual, since I like explaining things through my own experiences, I am going to use myself as an experimental subject.
Very convenient, actually. I don't need anyone's permission, and the subject has already provided an impressive amount of questionable material for investigation.
I must admit that I have been quite incoherent throughout my life, especially when I was younger. I had all these beautiful ideals in my head, but putting them into practice was a completely different matter.
Let me give you an example.
Imagine someone is behaving terribly, but you know that this person is suffering, perhaps going through a very difficult period or not thinking particularly clearly.
So you defend them in front of everybody.
"Poor thing, they're going through a really difficult time. We should try to understand."
Very compassionate of you.
Then the following day, that same person does something unpleasant to you.
And suddenly, the poor thing is not so poor anymore.
Now you're furious, offended, and probably ready to explain to them, in considerable detail, exactly what you think of their behaviour.
What happened to all that compassion?
Apparently, it was valid only while you weren't the one suffering the consequences.
I find this fascinating because the circumstances haven't necessarily changed. What has changed is our position within them.
When we observe someone else's suffering from a comfortable distance, we can be extraordinarily understanding. But when their behaviour affects us directly, our principles suddenly become much more negotiable.
And I am not suggesting that we should tolerate being treated badly simply because someone is suffering. Absolutely not.
But shouldn't our understanding of that person's circumstances remain reasonably consistent, even when we decide to defend ourselves?
Another classic example.
"How could he cheat on his partner? What an idiot! I would NEVER do something like that."
And then, years later, under a completely different set of circumstances, that same person ends up doing exactly what they once condemned.
I have always loved another Spanish expression: "Nunca digas de esta agua no beberé."
Never say you will never drink from that water.
Because life has a rather peculiar sense of humour, and sometimes, after spending years declaring that you would never do something, you end up falling straight into your own puddle.
Preferably not face-first, although I wouldn't rule it out.
I am sure we have all experienced some version of these contradictions.
But there are small incoherences, the kind that make us feel a little embarrassed when we remember them, and then there are others that can affect the direction of an entire life.
And those, I think, deserve a closer look.
The Distance Between Theory and Practice
Personally, I believe coherence is something we have to practise.
Not necessarily between what we say and what we do, because sometimes what we say is already quite far from what we actually think.
I am more interested in the distance between our genuine convictions and our actions.
Becoming aware, little by little, of the contradictions between what we believe is right and what we actually choose to do.
Of course, this is not particularly easy.
We live in a world full of different environments, people, responsibilities and circumstances. And remaining faithful to a principle in theory is considerably easier than applying it consistently in real life.
It reminds me of what happens in scientific experiments.
You develop a theory, establish the conditions, make your calculations and expect a certain result.
Everything looks perfectly reasonable on paper.
Then you perform the experiment, and something unexpected happens.
Perhaps a substance reacts with a component of the air when you open the container. Perhaps an external variable you hadn't considered changes the result. Perhaps the experimental conditions weren't as controlled as you believed.
Suddenly, your beautiful theoretical prediction and the actual result are not quite the same.
And you have to investigate why.
I think something similar happens with our values.
We have a theoretical model of the person we believe ourselves to be, but every time we interact with the world, new variables appear.
Fear, anger, love, ambition, insecurity, social expectations, money...
And sometimes hunger.
I personally wouldn't recommend testing anybody's moral principles before breakfast.
The important thing, I think, is not expecting perfect results every time, but recognising when the outcome differs from our original convictions and trying to understand why.
Which brings me to quantum physics.
Quantum Coherence: When Everything Is Related
We have already talked about quantum decoherence in previous posts, and how interactions with the environment can affect the behaviour of a quantum system.
So I won't bore you with exactly the same explanation again.
Although, considering how easily we humans seem to lose our personal coherence when exposed to certain environments, I must admit that I find the comparison rather tempting.
But there is something else about quantum coherence that I find even more interesting.
In quantum mechanics, coherence is not about all the components of a system being identical or behaving in exactly the same way.
It is about maintaining definite phase relationships between the different components of a quantum state.
And those relationships are what make quantum interference possible.
Imagine a quantum particle that can travel along two different paths.
According to quantum mechanics, when the paths are not distinguished by a measurement or other interaction, the probability amplitudes associated with them can interfere.
Depending on their relative phases, they can reinforce or cancel one another, producing an interference pattern.
What fascinates me is that the result depends not only on the individual possibilities, but also on the relationship between them.
And this made me think about something.
Perhaps being coherent as a human being doesn't necessarily mean that everything inside us has to agree.
We can feel angry with someone and still love them.
We can be frightened of something and genuinely want to do it.
We can believe that compassion is important and still need to defend ourselves when somebody hurts us.
These things are not necessarily contradictions.
They are simply different parts of a rather complicated human being.
The important question, perhaps, is whether we are capable of recognising those different parts and making decisions that respect what we genuinely believe.
Because sometimes we confuse coherence with consistency, and I don't think they are exactly the same.
We can be very consistent in our behaviour and still be completely disconnected from our values.
In fact, we can spend years behaving in exactly the same way simply because we have become accustomed to it.
Very consistent.
Not necessarily very coherent.
There is another aspect of quantum mechanics that I find particularly interesting here.
When an isolated quantum system evolves according to the Schrödinger equation, its evolution is unitary. This means that the evolution preserves the inner products between quantum states, and therefore preserves the relevant relationships that allow coherent quantum behaviour.
The state can change enormously over time without coherence necessarily being lost.
I love that idea.
Because perhaps personal coherence should not be about remaining the same person forever either.
We grow, change our minds, discover new things and sometimes completely reconsider what we thought we knew about ourselves.
And that doesn't necessarily make us incoherent.
Sometimes it is precisely what allows us to become more faithful to ourselves.
Of course, the evolution of a human personality has absolutely nothing to do with unitary quantum evolution in the mathematical sense.
Unfortunately, we are considerably less predictable.
And probably much more difficult to model.
But I like the analogy because it reminds me that coherence doesn't have to mean immobility.
It can also mean evolving while maintaining a meaningful relationship with what matters to us.
And perhaps that is what we should be paying attention to.
Not whether we are behaving exactly as we did ten years ago, or whether every emotion we experience agrees perfectly with every thought we have.
But whether our decisions still make sense in relation to the person we genuinely believe ourselves to be.
Because there is a difference between changing as a result of learning and changing simply because we have gradually stopped questioning the direction in which we are going.
And I think recognising that difference is something worth practising.
Especially before we wake up one morning and discover that we have become extraordinarily successful at being someone we never intended to be.
The Day I Almost Became My Own Character
My greatest lesson in this particular kind of decoherence came through a professional experience.
Some years ago, I accepted a position that required me to become a very cold, analytical and emotionally detached person.
Now, I have nothing against analytical thinking. Quite the opposite.
And I understand perfectly well that certain professional environments require discipline, objectivity, emotional control and the ability to make difficult decisions without allowing every feeling to interfere.
But over time, I began noticing that the person I was becoming at work was moving further and further away from what I personally believed it meant to be a good human being.
At first, I didn't pay much attention to it.
It was my job.
I had responsibilities.
I had to adapt.
And, like most people, I was perfectly capable of finding very reasonable explanations for my behaviour.
But eventually, I realised that the distance between what I was doing every day and who I believed I was inside had become enormous.
It felt a little like wearing a theatrical mask.
Every morning, I would put on the mask, become the character and perform the role expected of me.
Nothing particularly unusual about that. We all play different roles depending on our environment.
The problem was that I had been wearing the mask for so long that I was beginning to forget the face underneath.
And that frightened me.
Because I realised that if I continued for long enough, perhaps one day I wouldn't need the mask anymore.
I would simply have become the character.
Permanently.
I think this is one of the most dangerous forms of incoherence.
Not the one between what we say and what we do, but the one between our hearts and our actions.
There is a famous expression by Blaise Pascal: "The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know."
I have always found that sentence beautiful.
Not because I think we should abandon logic and start making every decision according to our emotions. That would probably be a complete disaster, at least in my case.
But because there are things we feel very deeply that are not always easy to explain through rational arguments.
And learning how to respect those feelings while still behaving responsibly is surprisingly difficult.
The world teaches us to be logical, disciplined, productive, responsible and emotionally controlled.
And all of those things are important.
But has anyone actually taught us how to remain faithful to ourselves while doing all of that?
How do we know when adapting to an environment is a sign of maturity, and when it means we are slowly abandoning something essential about ourselves?
I don't think the answer is always obvious.
Sometimes we need to make difficult decisions, sacrifice things and behave in ways that don't feel particularly comfortable.
Being coherent doesn't mean doing whatever we feel like doing.
But perhaps it does mean recognising when the sacrifices we are making are no longer compatible with the person we want to be.
In my case, I had to admit that I didn't particularly like the character I was becoming.
And that was enough to make me reconsider the experiment.
The Astronaut and the Office Chair
There is another kind of incoherence that I see quite often, and I think it can have even more serious consequences because sometimes we don't notice it until many years have passed.
Imagine that your dream is to become an astronaut.
You have always wanted to explore space, understand the universe and experience what it feels like to look at our planet from somewhere very far away.
Wonderful.
But then reality begins introducing complications.
Perhaps you weren't born in a country that gives you easy access to the astronaut programme you wanted to join.
Perhaps your engineering abilities are rather limited.
Perhaps you discover that your body doesn't particularly appreciate high G-forces because you already get dizzy on a children's carousel.
Not ideal, I admit.
And so, little by little, you begin adjusting your plans.
You choose a slightly different academic path because it seems more realistic.
Then you accept a job that isn't exactly related to your dream, but it's a good opportunity.
Then another opportunity appears.
You move somewhere else.
You acquire responsibilities.
You adapt to your new circumstances.
And every time your original trajectory becomes slightly more difficult to follow, you adjust your objective to fit the situation in which you now find yourself.
Until one day, perhaps twenty years later, you realise that instead of floating somewhere above the Earth, you are sitting in an office chair.
Spinning around.
Well.
At least you have managed to experience some rotational motion.
But I doubt that was exactly what you had in mind.
Now, before anyone misunderstands me, I am not suggesting that changing your dreams is a failure.
Not at all.
Sometimes we discover new interests, develop different priorities or simply realise that what we wanted when we were younger no longer makes sense to us.
That is perfectly reasonable.
And sometimes circumstances genuinely prevent us from following a particular path, no matter how determined we are.
But what interests me is something different.
What happens when the dream hasn't actually changed?
What happens when, deep down, you still want exactly the same thing, but you have spent years making decisions that gradually move you further away from it?
Not because you consciously decided to abandon it, but because every small deviation seemed too insignificant to worry about.
This reminds me of another interesting aspect of quantum physics.
Small Phase Errors, Big Differences
In quantum mechanics, the relative phase between components of a quantum state is essential to determining how they interfere.
In a controlled quantum operation, the evolution of these phases has to be managed carefully.
If an unwanted interaction introduces a small phase error, the result may differ from what was expected.
And if systematic errors accumulate through a sequence of operations, the final state can end up significantly different from the intended one.
What I find interesting is that you don't necessarily need one enormous mistake to produce a substantial difference.
Sometimes a series of small deviations is enough.
Of course, this depends on the system and the type of errors involved. Some errors can cancel, and quantum error-correction techniques exist precisely because physicists have spent considerable effort trying to deal with these problems.
But the analogy is useful.
Imagine that your original dream represents the result you are trying to achieve.
Every important decision is another operation along the way.
And every time you make a choice that moves you slightly away from that objective, you introduce a deviation.
One small deviation probably won't change much.
You can correct it.
But what happens when you don't?
What happens when you keep adapting your destination to justify the direction in which you are already travelling?
Eventually, the difference between your original intention and your actual life may become so large that correcting it seems almost impossible.
And perhaps the most disturbing part is that every individual decision might have seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.
I find this particularly interesting because we often imagine that our lives are transformed by enormous decisions.
Changing countries.
Getting married.
Having children.
Starting a business.
Leaving a job.
But sometimes the most important changes happen through hundreds of apparently insignificant choices.
The things we postpone.
The opportunities we don't investigate.
The conversations we avoid.
The little compromises we make because correcting our direction would require effort, courage or simply admitting that we are not where we wanted to be.
And suddenly, after years of small adjustments, we look around and wonder how we ended up so far from our original intentions.
Perhaps we were never really following a straight line.
Perhaps we were simply changing the destination every time the path became uncomfortable.
I think this is where responsibility becomes particularly important.
Not responsibility in the sense of blaming ourselves for everything that happens to us. Life is far too unpredictable for that.
But responsibility for recognising which decisions are genuinely ours and which deviations we still have the possibility of correcting.
Because I don't believe coherence means following an old dream blindly for the rest of our lives.
Sometimes the most coherent thing we can do is abandon a dream that no longer represents who we are.
But I do think there is an enormous difference between consciously choosing a new direction and gradually giving up on something simply because we stopped taking responsibility for the path.
One is a decision.
The other can become a habit.
And habits, as we all know, have an extraordinary ability to turn into entire lives.
Becoming More Coherent
So, what do we do with all of this?
I don't think the objective should be to become perfectly coherent human beings.
That would be a rather unrealistic experiment.
We are emotional, contradictory, influenced by our environments and constantly discovering things about ourselves that we didn't know before.
And sometimes our contradictions are precisely what help us grow.
But I do believe we should make an effort to recognise them.
To question ourselves when our actions don't correspond to our convictions.
To notice when we are defending a principle in somebody else's life that we conveniently ignore in our own.
To recognise when we are saying that we love someone while behaving in ways that mainly protect our own comfort.
Or when we keep telling ourselves that we want something, despite making no real effort to move towards it.
And perhaps, most importantly, to notice when we have become so accustomed to playing a role that we no longer recognise ourselves without it.
I think coherence is closely connected to honesty, something I have already explored in another post.
Because before we can act according to what we genuinely believe, we have to be honest enough to recognise what those beliefs actually are.
And then comes the difficult part.
Acting accordingly.
Even when it is inconvenient.
Even when nobody is watching.
Especially then.
I have come to believe that being a decent human being has much less to do with the beautiful things we say than with the decisions we make when those beautiful things become difficult to practise.
It is very easy to defend kindness when everyone is being kind to us.
Very easy to defend honesty when the truth has no consequences.
Very easy to talk about courage when there is nothing to lose.
And very easy to give advice when somebody else is the one who has to follow it.
My Spanish grandmother would probably have something to say about that.
So perhaps we should pay a little less attention to what people claim to believe, including ourselves, and a little more attention to what their actions actually demonstrate.
Not because actions always tell the complete story. Sometimes people behave badly despite having good intentions, and sometimes circumstances force us to make decisions we would rather avoid.
But over time, I think our actions reveal much more about our values than our speeches ever could.
And that is probably the kind of coherence worth working towards.
Not being the same person forever.
Not refusing to adapt.
Not becoming so rigid in our convictions that we are incapable of learning anything new.
But making sure that, as we change, our actions continue to honour the person we genuinely want to be.
I would much rather be someone who occasionally recognises a contradiction and corrects it than someone who spends an entire life defending beautiful principles they never actually practise.
After all, there is very little merit in having a wonderful theory if we never dare to test it.
And perhaps we should be a little more careful about the advice we give.
Especially when we haven't yet managed to follow it ourselves.
One Last Secret
Before I finish, I want to tell you something.
Remember that astronaut I mentioned earlier?
Well...
I wanted to be one.
For a few years, I moved quite far away from that dream.
And yet, lately, I have started wondering whether perhaps I am finally finding my way back.
Who knows?
Maybe I am actually on my way to becoming an astronaut after all.
I won't say much more for now.
But at least I can assure you that I have been experiencing G-forces almost every day lately.
Whether that means I am getting closer to space or simply that my life has become a rather intense centrifuge, I suppose we will find out.
In the meantime, I will keep trying to make sure that what I do is a little closer to what I believe.
And perhaps that is enough for today.
After all, I wouldn't want to finish this post giving you too much advice that I still have to follow myself.
My grandmother would never forgive me.
;)