FACTS OF LIFE
(Keys to Wisdom)
March 11, 2006
According to the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus, everything is in a constant state of flux. He was the dude who said you can’t step into the same river twice. For the most part I believe it. However, there are some things that are pretty much permanent, that have not changed for a very long time (and from where I’m standing now, are not likely to change). I call them facts of life, and view them as useful tools for steering your boat, or anchoring it, whichever you happen to need.
But they are also something else. If indeed they are facts (and I truly believe they are), then they are as well keys to wisdom. To understand why, just ask yourself a simple question. How wise would it be to butt heads with unassailable facts?
The following list represents the facts that I’ve come up with so far. If I think of others I will of course add them. For that matter, if you think of any, feel free to send me an email. If I agree that it is indeed a fact, I will be happy to add it to the list.
If anyone pretends to care about you (other than your parents), it's just that: pretending. Caring (about others) is simply not built into the design of the human animal, into the DNA if you will. If it were, why would we have to talk about it so much?
We are here on an essentially involuntary basis. This is not to suggest that we harbor some sort of death wish, or that we are unconsciously suicidal. It's just that we did not ask to be invited to this party. Our appearance here is involuntary. Most of us, to be sure, choose to stay for as long as we can.
The importance of pointing this out bears on responsibility. It is difficult to understand exactly how we could be responsible if we didn't ask for this duty. It is as if we were drafted into life, not like we enlisted. Since there is nothing we can do about this (short of suicide, which most of us do not want), the first key to wisdom is acceptance. Accept your fundamental presence here, no matter what the conditions.
Whether it's good stuff or bad stuff, nothing lasts forever, except (according to Heraclitus) the process.
Wisdom seems to dictate that nothing can be done about 1,2 and 3 except perhaps have as much fun as we can squeeze in. (This is the second key to wisdom.)
Having fun always implies (if not demands) that we never hurt anyone, including ourselves, maybe especially ourselves. If we're being good to ourselves, it will inevitably (and inexorably) spill over and touch others, which will make us feel even better. Charity really does begin at home.
Beyond the fact that we seem to be here (without choice), and have certain needs (like food, clothing and shelter) that we feel compelled to satisfy, we know nothing about abstract matters (like God and love) but what other human beings have told us. We should never forget that it is people who are telling us of God, not God Himself. It is highly improbable that anyone has ever had contact with non-human sentience. All talk of such is merely that: talk. This means that we only have belief, a form of opinion.
Knowledge, in other words, is limited to the physical (observable and measurable) world. We know only what we feel, and feeling is based on the physical. We may know that we have feelings about something abstract. But we do not know whether the object of those feelings is anything but a feeling.
That which we believe has the power to enslave us. We should therefore be very careful about what we choose to believe in, and never forget that it is a choice (about a purely abstract idea, remember, about which we can never have knowledge). Since no one has ever spoken with God, all conversation about Him (or Her or It) can be based on nothing but belief (i.e., opinion). Perhaps the wisest position on God is choosing not to discuss Him/Her/It, because, in truth, we have absolutely no verifiable information on the subject.
The importance of self referencing cannot be overstressed. A qualitative statement about oneself is absolutely meaningless. We may speak quantitatively all we want, describing our age, height, weight and so on. But speaking of our qualities, whether we are good or evil, beautiful or ugly, intelligent or stupid, is a complete waste of time (except perhaps to gain some sort of practical advantage in a particular social situation).
If we say, for example, that we are intelligent, it means nothing. We are saying it. Conversely, if we say that we are stupid, it also means nothing. Again, we are saying it.
Before a qualitative statement can even begin to possess some kind of meaning, it must be offered by someone other than ourselves. But therein lies the problem: so far as we know, there is no one other than ourselves! We do not know if there is a God, for example. We only believe it. If asked by anyone what God is, we use our words to concoct some sort of definition, usually saying that He is incapable of being defined, which we unwittingly wield as the very definition we assert we are incapable of forming. We (as a species) say that we are homo sapiens (man the wise). What does this mean? We are saying it. It can mean absolutely nothing. The only reason we say it is because we can.
So far as we know, we are the only species capable of speech. It just so happens that words like “man” and “wise” are included in our lexicon. We therefore use these words. It was inevitable that we would some day arrive at the particular arrangement we know as “man the wise.”
We can never be assured that we are wise until someone other than us tells us that we are. And this “someone other than us” would most certainly have to be wise in order to be able to recognize the same quality in us.
But who could this “someone” be? We can only imagine. And even if they were to tell us, how could we be sure? We would have to know what wisdom was in the first place before we could be assured that we had it. But if we knew what it was, it would imply that we already had it!
It is impossible to avoid these kinds of absurdities when dealing with any kind of qualitative issues. The closer we look at them the more we see we are wasting words whenever we attempt to build a qualitative structure. If we were to claim, for example, that such and such a person was good looking, what exactly would we be communicating? Does our statement actually make the person good looking, or do they already possess some quality that prompts us to come forth with such a statement? What could this quality be other than one which we’ve already decided upon beforehand? Suppose that we say (beforehand) that a certain symmetry inherent in the physical form qualifies a person to be “good” looking? What does this mean? Symmetry is a word that we define. If both arms are the same length, we may say that the person in possession of them is good looking. But who is saying it? We are! We are defining the words. We are defining the conditions. When we say that someone is good looking, we are not really describing what they are so much as how we feel. We are not talking about them so much as about ourselves! We’re talking about what we see when we look inside our own minds. In other words, we’re self referencing. We’re talking about conditions which we have pre-arranged beforehand. It’s almost as if we said, “If we see such and such, we’ll call it good looking,” or, “If we see such and such, we’ll call it God” and so on.
With respect to the qualitative, reasons don't matter. There are no reasons to go on living. Only desire compels us to do that. There are no reasons to believe in God. Again, only desire compels us. The same is true of not believing in God. The qualitative is not subject to the rational. Those who believe in God simply want to believe. They have no rational basis for their position. They want to believe because they want to live forever. A human being has no power of life and death in the same way a (perceived) god does. Knowing they can do nothing about their life, beyond a certain point, they gladly posit the idea of a Being who can do something about it, and irrationally cling to that belief. It is their only consolation. Conversely, those who do not believe also do not have a rationale to support their doubt. They only have their desire, and, interestingly enough, that desire is virtually the same as the believer's. They want to live, but the specter of an omnipresent Deity, a Monarch in the sky looking down on them, observing every move they make, listening to every thought, literally saps the life out of them. What is life without freedom? And what kind of freedom is it that feels itself contiually observed or spied upon?
We know of only one thing for certain of someone who we say has died: they are no longer present to our senses. To say that they have died is merely to employ convenient speech. In reality, we don’t know what has happened to them. All that we truly know is that they are no longer around.
There are countless billions who do not know us, and likely will never know us, which means, at very least, we are perfectly non-existent to them.
It is diametrically opposed to machinery, which is composed of distinct parts and may be taken apart and put together again. Machinery, in other words, is accessible from the outside, without fear of destruction or compromise to its construction. Life is only accessible from the inside, the reason that life begets life (and that modern medicine so often fails).