What is Truth, really? Does it exist independently of perception? To paraphrase the philosophical question about the sound a falling tree makes in a forest: If a truth shows itself, but no one is there to perceive and record it, how can it exist or be shared? I do not believe that truth can exist independently of perception any more than sound exists without an ear to hear it. Furthermore, one ear might perceive the sound of a dropping tree as a crashing death, while another hears it as a soft thud marking a natural cycle; the same applies to our perceptions of truth. Thus, Truth appears to be a relative concept.
Given this philosophical theory of relativity (I nod to Einstein here), I have concluded that truth exists only in the intersection between all of our ideas. In other words, in a Venn diagram of disparate beliefs, the section where our circles overlap is the closest thing to “absolute” truth we can find. Ironically, humans have based most of our world religions on relative truths declared by prophets who received their “revelations” while alone, without numerous witnesses to corroborate and establish an intersection between their relative perceptions of the so-called “revelation.” Why do we accept one person’s perception as a basis for our beliefs? Why do we accept that someone else would be closer to God than we are, as if our own search for truth is unnecessary and meaningless because of some preexisting hierarchy of closeness with God? Are we so sure that our search for truth would only reveal the same truths revealed to some lone prophet from another time, culture, and spiritual place? Or are we lazy, satisfied to have let someone else’s search set precedents for us, without daring to overturn any outdated ideas of the “lower courts” by bringing our contemporary thoughts before the most Supreme Court of all?
In imagining this common view of a hierarchical access to God—through prophets and priests, popes and pastors, rabbis and imams, monks and nuns—I see a mathematical factor tree, with the individual believer viewed as the lowest common denominator. And then I think: but the individual, best represented by the number 1, is part of the top tier of every factor tree. Isn’t it “absolutely” true that 1 multiplied by any and every number equals itself? I don’t think that particular truth is a matter of perception, is it? One is the most important, closest factor of all. You can find it in any Venn diagram of factors, too.
The Venn diagram can thus illustrate figuratively that we, as factors in the calculations of Truth, are all One. Our Oneness is the common thread that connects each to the other. Therefore, we all should have the same power in the equation resulting in Truth, if we seek the intersection of ideas, rather than focusing solely on our own.
My goal as a person, and as a writer, is to share my perceptions, my truths, with the hope that others will find an overlapping point between their views and mine, and then share their findings with me, so that we can move closer to Truth together. That is how writers and readers come together, and how person and person come together as People.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Choosing Our Convictions Through Contrast
As the dusk defines the day, and sadness defines joy, knowing who we're not helps us define who we truly are. To fully discover and appreciate who we are as individuals, we must get to know individuals outside of our familiar social circles. Only by understanding the concepts and customs of those whose views differ from ours can we understand the meaning, and our acceptance, of the ways we call our own. We see most clearly with the help of contrast.
Contrast in our social groups enables us to see that many people's choices and actions often amount to no more than the circumstances of our births: our parents and our communities drive our earliest expressions of identity, until those expressions are challenged by contrasting expressions from very different kinds of people. And opening ourselves to challenges to our beliefs is a risky action. We risk developing doubts, or discarding our lifelong ideas. We also risk not even entertaining doubts, and stifling our thoughts with dogmatic certainty. Personally, I'd rather think, even if it does confuse or upset me; I'd rather know other perspectives to broaden my own views. I purposely choose friends who differ from me in fundamental ways, because I enjoy learning and growing from simply knowing them. That's not to say I can't experience growth with my "comfort zone" friends, who share my kind of background and beliefs; I can indeed grow with them, but not necessarily from them.
Exploring other perspectives via unlikely friendships can change us profoundly. We may reject our former identities, but that would mean they had weak foundations. On the other hand, we may discover that our own identities, by contrast, now ring much more true than ever before. In that case, we grow from knowing that we have chosen our beliefs and actions consciously and wholeheartedly, based on knowledge, rather than on social pressure or apathetic acceptance.
Recently, while helping a college-bound senior evaluate her college application essay, we discussed an article offering guidance in choosing the best college for one's specific needs and desires. The article posed a guiding question about the composition of the student body: Do you prefer to live among mostly people like yourself or among those who are very different from you? The student said she preferred to be among people like her. I found my eyebrows rising, despite my effort not to judge her answer. She preferred a lack of contrast because it felt safe to her. I imagine seeing her after four years in such a homogeneous environment. She will look older, have a bit more book knowledge, maybe even some social skills she never had before, but fundamentally, she will have the same externally formed sense of her identity that she had as a teenager. The passion of her convictions will stem from fear, insecurity, and ignorance, as well as from group expectations.
To know ourselves enough to assert our convictions credibly and passionately, we must get to know a stranger or two. The brown cliff viewed against a brown sky would not inspire a painter, nor would a blue seagull skimming a blue ocean. Beauty and truth illuminate us via contrast.
Contrast in our social groups enables us to see that many people's choices and actions often amount to no more than the circumstances of our births: our parents and our communities drive our earliest expressions of identity, until those expressions are challenged by contrasting expressions from very different kinds of people. And opening ourselves to challenges to our beliefs is a risky action. We risk developing doubts, or discarding our lifelong ideas. We also risk not even entertaining doubts, and stifling our thoughts with dogmatic certainty. Personally, I'd rather think, even if it does confuse or upset me; I'd rather know other perspectives to broaden my own views. I purposely choose friends who differ from me in fundamental ways, because I enjoy learning and growing from simply knowing them. That's not to say I can't experience growth with my "comfort zone" friends, who share my kind of background and beliefs; I can indeed grow with them, but not necessarily from them.
Exploring other perspectives via unlikely friendships can change us profoundly. We may reject our former identities, but that would mean they had weak foundations. On the other hand, we may discover that our own identities, by contrast, now ring much more true than ever before. In that case, we grow from knowing that we have chosen our beliefs and actions consciously and wholeheartedly, based on knowledge, rather than on social pressure or apathetic acceptance.
Recently, while helping a college-bound senior evaluate her college application essay, we discussed an article offering guidance in choosing the best college for one's specific needs and desires. The article posed a guiding question about the composition of the student body: Do you prefer to live among mostly people like yourself or among those who are very different from you? The student said she preferred to be among people like her. I found my eyebrows rising, despite my effort not to judge her answer. She preferred a lack of contrast because it felt safe to her. I imagine seeing her after four years in such a homogeneous environment. She will look older, have a bit more book knowledge, maybe even some social skills she never had before, but fundamentally, she will have the same externally formed sense of her identity that she had as a teenager. The passion of her convictions will stem from fear, insecurity, and ignorance, as well as from group expectations.
To know ourselves enough to assert our convictions credibly and passionately, we must get to know a stranger or two. The brown cliff viewed against a brown sky would not inspire a painter, nor would a blue seagull skimming a blue ocean. Beauty and truth illuminate us via contrast.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Polite Executioner: A Summertime Poem
Standing in an unusually slow line at the drugstore,
two spray cans of ant killer in my hands,
disgruntled customers in front of, and behind me,
cursing under their breaths and aloud
(one storming out after he slams his unpurchased bottle of mouthwash on the counter),
I imagine the ants in my house having a dance party,
celebrating their stay of execution
as I wait patiently and politely, thanks to my amusing imagination,
and to the notion that this ridiculous line at the store could very well be part of some divine plan to enable a certain, special ant to escape certain death,
or simply to give my six-legged houseguests a chance for a last hurrah
before I succeed in buying and applying their chemical nemesis.
And as the cashier sighs with relief when I greet her with a friendly voice,
I smile at my own method of anger management,
and at the irony of this civilized prelude to a mass murder.
two spray cans of ant killer in my hands,
disgruntled customers in front of, and behind me,
cursing under their breaths and aloud
(one storming out after he slams his unpurchased bottle of mouthwash on the counter),
I imagine the ants in my house having a dance party,
celebrating their stay of execution
as I wait patiently and politely, thanks to my amusing imagination,
and to the notion that this ridiculous line at the store could very well be part of some divine plan to enable a certain, special ant to escape certain death,
or simply to give my six-legged houseguests a chance for a last hurrah
before I succeed in buying and applying their chemical nemesis.
And as the cashier sighs with relief when I greet her with a friendly voice,
I smile at my own method of anger management,
and at the irony of this civilized prelude to a mass murder.
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