Depending on who you talk to, I’m either a critical thinker, a skeptic, an objectivist, or a total smartass. Truth be told, I’m probably all four.
The thing is, I love ideas. My own, sure, but I really love to learn what others think too. It seems I’m always in the middle of a book by someone who has a whole system of ideas worked out. The first thing I do when I hear a new idea is marvel at the courage it takes for someone to share that thought with himself or herself, much less to share it with other people.
The second thing I do when I hear a new idea is try and figure out why it’s wrong. Maybe I really AM a skeptic (smartass?), I don’t know. It’s just my inclination to test the ideas I come across. And most of them, I’ve found, fail the test.
That’s not as self-important as it sounds, I promise. Most of MY ideas fail the tests, too. Doesn’t make them bad ideas, necessarily, it just means they aren’t true for me.
The real challenge isn’t to show how an idea is flawed, of course. No, the real test is to continue examining it and see if there are pieces of truth somewhere in there. My own philosophy isn’t a seamless tapestry just yet, and maybe it never will be. Instead, it’s a patchwork of ideas culled from my own mind and the pieces from others that seem to work for me.
I just finished rereading Richard Bach’s book Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah over the past couple of days. This book has probably influenced me more than any other I’ve read. Though there are many parts that don’t ring true for me, it’s inspired me to look at EVERYTHING in my life in a different way. Some of these new perspectives have, over the course of time, struck me as the right ones. In my view, that’s the definition of a good idea—one that compels you to try it out for yourself.
One scene in the book has stuck with me since the first time I read it nearly 15 years ago. In this exchange, the narrator, Richard, has just finished watching a movie with Don (the Messiah who’s recently given up the family business). Richard is trying to figure out why it was suddenly so important to Don that they see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
I thought about his odd behavior in the theater. “You do everything for a reason, Don?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why the
movie? Why did you all of a sudden want to see Sundance?”
“You asked a question.”
“Yes.
Do you have an answer?”
“That is
my answer. We went to the movie because you asked a question. The movie was the
answer to your question.”
He was laughing at me, I knew it. “What was my question?”
There was a long pained silence. “Your question, Richard, was that even in your brilliant times you have never been able to figure out why we are here.”
I remembered. “And the movie was my answer.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“No.”
“That was a good movie,” he said, “but the world’s best movie is still an illusion, is it not? The pictures aren’t even moving; they only appear to movie. Changing light that seems to move across a flat screen set up in the dark?”
“Well, yes.” I was beginning to understand.
“The other people, any people anywhere who go to any movie show, why are they there, when it’s only illusions?”
“Well, it’s entertainment,” I said.
“Fun. That’s right. One.”
“Could be educational.”
“Good. It is always that. Learning. Two.”
“Fantasy, escape.”
“That’s fun, too. One.”
“Technical reasons. To see how a film is made.”
“Learning. Two.”
“Escape from boredom…”
“Escape. You said that.”
“Social. To be with friends,” I said.
“Reason for going, but not for seeing the film. That’s fun, anyway. One.”
Whatever I came up with fit his two fingers; people see films for fun or for learning or for both together.
“And a movie is like a lifetime, Don, is that right?”
“Yes.”
Okay, it’s me again. In the rest of the scene, Don and Richard extend the analogy to include our lives, as well, positing that we choose the sum of our existence for either fun, or learning, or both. Buy into that aspect as much or as little as you like. Myself, I think there’s some truth to it. The whole world theory is hard to test, of course, but if you look hard enough you can find some evidence of it.
Think of the people in your life, the ones you have a real relationship with. What draws you to those people? A desire for companionship? (Fun. One.) Helping you figure out some aspect of your own life? (Learning. Two.) There are millions of ways to state why we seek people out, but in reality there are only two reasons. I’ve spent fourteen years trying to find a third, and I haven’t done it yet.
And what are we here for, if not to cultivate relationships? In the final analysis, I think it’s those people we’ve drawn to us that give truth to our lives.
What can be taken away from this musing? Maybe nothing—maybe it’s not true for you the way it is for me. I would suggest, though, that even if you don’t accept the two reasons as they’re stated, there are some reasons you’ve been drawn to the people in your life. Figuring out what these reasons are for you will help you define your relationships (Learning. Two.) and enjoy them (Fun. One.), too…
12 August 2001