I am stimulated by the thoughts that spin the worlds of others, and I benefit from tapping into some of that centrifugal force. A little cross-pollination works wonders. Reading is the best way to put me in touch with another person, as it helps me see the world from their point of view. I become them for a spell—it actually feels like I’m under a spell when I share their experiences. And, because I feel that the acquisition of experience is the reason for living, that can't be a bad thing.
Whether the author lives or is history is immaterial. If you enjoy a book and later discover that the person who wrote it has recently died, then doesn’t make a jot of difference to your enjoyment. I don’t need to relate to anyone in the actual flesh to appreciate what they say. In fact, reading their words is so much better than pow-wowing in real life—that's been my experience. And the corollary of that is that if you’d like to make friends with me, please don't knock on my door. But I wouldn’t ban you from sending me an essay.
Nevertheless, let the buyer—or borrower—of books beware. Don't dwell entirely within anyone's headroom, no matter how comfortable it feels when you first slip between the sheets. Don’t let yourself be completely swept away in the throes of a new love or affair lest you lose your sense of equilibrium and poise. If you are in the habit of reading books then, to act as a counterbalance, I’d strongly suggest that you write one too.
‘If you ever meet the Buddha on the road, kill him,’ goes the expression. What do you make of it? My guess is that it’s about the danger of exposing yourself to the teachings of would-be well-wishers, do-good gurus and proselytizing pimps. Killing the Buddha is therefore a pre-emptive strike. There’s nothing more dangerous than ideas, so be alert for them popping up on your radar. Echoing Feynman’s father, the Buddha told his followers: “Believe nothing. No matter where you read it, or who said it, even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.”
Using another analogy, it works like your taste in music and musicians. In that field an idea could be thought of as a riff or lyric. Now, there’s a set of artists each of us feels comfortable with and close to. For me it’s the Doors, Jimi Hendrix and Jethro Tull. In my book they can do no wrong. Then, there’s a group that I admire but who I can’t listen to all day long: The Beatles, U2 and Oasis. And below that there are other artists that I simply cannot groove to such as Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan and Van Morrison, even though they are highly esteemed. For some reason, they grate in my ears. So, what’s my point, and what’s the answer?
What it means is that everyone has a potential audience (and ipso facto a potential following). Second, everyone has to judge for themselves what sounds right. To ask, ‘Who is right?’ expecting to get a definitive answer, is . . . well . . . wrong. It’s the sort of quandary that you get into when you ask the same question about religions. There isn’t one that stands unarguably higher. It’s best to assume that, at their level, and from their perspective, every one is on track. Whether any set of ideas resonates with you is just a matter of taste.
A person's background, beliefs, world view, philosophical framework, and the stories that they tell themselves all support one another. They form a self-referential whole. A person’s decisions and actions make sense only when we realize that fact. And so, everyone is absolutely correct with respect to the views that they hold and the manner in which they conduct themselves.
Of course, that isn't much help to you. You’ll want want a means of being more discerning when you rake through the embers of other philosophies on the lookout for material to incorporate into your own way of thinking.
It’s probably best, therefore, to examine, not the set of thoughts that people have, but the principles that they are built on—the truths that they hold to be self-evident. Based upon that knowledge—a familiarity with the foundation stones underpinning their philosophical structures—you have a much better rationale for weighing up what they have to say.
In the same way that you pick and choose your friends, you need to be wise when you shop for advice. Though everyone has something valuable to contribute, you gravitate naturally towards certain individuals, and that probably says something about the relationship—or potential relationship—between you both (although I’m not sure exactly what).
This affinity that you or I feel—well, the ideal, I suppose, is that everything that you learn issues forth from within. It should not be spoon fed. People in the self-growth movement say that the answers are latent within us all, and that the most that they do is to help those answers bubble forth.
Take note, all you other gorillas. As you read these words, you’d better take that message to heart. As far as you’re concerned, I fall into that category also. My style of mental gymnastics suits me to a tee. But all you other primates had better use a filter. Get out your sun block and UV sunglasses.
Of course it would be the easiest thing in the world for you to accept everything that anyone—me for example—has to say. That would be tempting for both parties. But no, you’ll never hear me claim to have all of the answers (if I ever do, please, challenge me forthwith). Beware of anyone who assures you that they know what’s what, no question. I've been there; I’ve been done to.
Trust me. I’m no fanatic. I am not trying to convince you of anything. I’ve not crawled out from under the woodwork with a hidden agenda. I don’t care to talk anyone into anything—I’m not a con man. I have no stake in trying to convert people. Why would I want to?—I’ve nothing that I’m trying to sell them.This is to be no leader-and-followers act. You won’t find any proselytizing on these pages, scout’s honor. No disappointed and abandoned disciples scattered bleeding along dawn’s highway. Come along for the ride only if you are willing, and on your own terms. Bring your own water bottle and blood plasma.
I don’t hold a theological degree or PhD, but I trust that by now I’ve demonstrated that I have a penchant for philosophical matters. Since first becoming self-aware, I’ve dabbled with the nature of existence until I’ve finally figured it out. If I’m wrong, no matter! I’d be the first to admit that mistake. It wouldn’t worry me in the slightest to go back on my word. In fact I’d be overjoyed, because the only reason for me to revise my opinion would be that I’ve come up with an even better construct.
All the answers? I may not have them. But what I do have, I've worked out for myself. And it works for me. Still, I'd drop it at the drop of a hat if I had to. And I would never impose it upon or try to sell it to another. But hey, you're welcome to take a gander! But just be careful. Don't get burned. Don't become entrapped—in my web of threads or anyone else's. These strings are attached to no promises.
My willingness to drop an outmoded worldview for an improved model constitutes the best guarantee that I’m not trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes. I don’t cling—like a wet blanket—to traditions for their own sake. Belief does not glue my eyes shut to a higher heaven should I happen to sniff one out. All I’ll say is: keep watching this space. That way, neither of us misses out.
The thread that runs throughout my life is thinking. I'm a thinker, and have been one for as long as I can remember. If I have to wear a label, give me the one that reads ‘Philosopher’. Or maybe ‘Adventurer-philosopher’. That’s the field where I’d probably feel most at home: applied philosophy, or maybe do-it-yourself metaphysics. Since the earliest age, I’ve been preoccupied with gaining a clearer understanding of the nature of the universe, my relationship to it, and the meaning of life. To quote Einstein, “I want to know God’s thoughts; the rest are details.”
Did you squirm a little in your seat? If someone tells you that they regard themselves as a philosopher, you want to make sure of their sanity, right. But you can’t come out and ask, ‘Are you insane?’ That’s rather gauche. It’s also rather hard to answer. I regard it as a catch-22 type of inquiry requiring a catch-22-category response.
I am insane in the sense that I don’t go along with group thinking. That would be my short reply. Because what is it to be ‘insane’? Simply, that you don't think in the way that most other people do. And in that sense I fall into that pigeonhole (you have to watch out for them).
But hang about, you answer. That reasoning is faulty. Surely, since all of us are individuals, doesn’t everyone see things in a different light? Since there are as many ways of seeing things are there are colours and sentient beings (Thom’s six billion answers), how can you claim distinction on that score?
Yes, I see what you mean. I'd go along with you, except for the the fact that everyone else does—‘go along’, that is. People follow the crowd, you can’t deny. They think not as individuals but as as a pack. Consensus thinking is what defines them. Pack mentality s what they indulge in. So, by virtue of the fact that most people hide from one another—and from themselves—what they really feel, I’d say that they are the insane ones. To defer to the group as a matter of course is really insane.
No, but hey. That's being unfair. You ought to redefine the definition. How about: If one or a few dissenters differ from the majority view, where the majority view is more-or-less accurately represented, then it’s fair—is it not?—to label them insane.
So . . . if you are the odd man out in a conscientious-objector type of situation, say as a citizen in Nazi Germany, are you then insane to resist the mob-thinking of the Jew-haters around you? And another example: if you are the first scientist to challenge a hypothesis that everyone believes in as a Law—for example, that the Earth is round and not flat—is it reasonable for others to dismiss you as insane? That would rather stimmy the spirit of scientific inquiry, wouldn’t you say, and shut down research and original thinking.
Insanity—inschmamity. When all’s said and done, there’s no such beast. Without exception, everyone acts in a manner that is rational and sensible within the context of their background, genes, world view and what have you.
I’m not here to convince or debate. I’m not going to prop up what I say by dragging out a phalanx of previous thinkers—giants on whose shoulders I propose to stand and rant. I am not claiming to have developed—or be developing—a watertight system of thinking, or a way of apprehending reality.
True, that is the direction in which I want to head, but all I wish to do here is document my journey. I don’t see it as my job to make my discoveries fit in with what has gone before and thereby satisfy the conventional view. I won’t take it on because I don’t consider that my brief. I’ve enough on my plate as it is. Others may have a go later. That’s up to them, and they’d be welcome. By all means, if anyone out there is that way inclined, take up the cudgels on my behalf and run with them (it’s supposed to be good exercise).
As for me, I’m grappling at the limits of my strength with ideas that, for me at least, lie at the highest possible heights of comprehension—the Everest of what is humanly possible without oxygen. You take a step then rest five minutes. Lurch forward another pace and rest some more. It may seem as if I have it altogether, but that’s an illusion. I can only only hold a line or two of this text in my head at any one instant (this book is a manual for me to read and learn from just as well). But in saying that, I’ll pretend that I know what I’m talking about—which I do, just not everything at once—and I’ll do my best to present this narrative as best I can.
I’ll illustrate the above with an example that may be trivial, but it makes the point. One of the ways in which I resist the pressure of my peers is by not wearing footwear. I wouldn’t say exactly that it’s a matter of ‘integrity, spirituality and morality’, but when I march barefooted, I’m step to the tune of my inner drum.
And then society sticks in its oar. “Where are your shoes?” I get asked. How strange! I don’t ask what colour underwear they have on, and so I reply, “Don’t worry, I always wear shoes . . . whenever it’s necessary.”
Really, though, footwear isn’t the issue. What people really want to know is why you are behaving in an unconventional manner. Who does that person think he is to be bucking the system? He’s a threat. It’s our job to get him back into line.
I behave differently to most other people because I must. I insist on doing so. Aside from the reason that it’s fun to provoke a reaction, I must be myself. I behave differently because I think differently. It’s as simple as that. And I bare my toes as fair warning: man with a mind of his own approaching.
At birth we’re dealt a hand of cards. You stand to gain the greatest personal satisfaction in life when you play it out with skill (retain a trump or two for the end play is my tip of the day). You do that by playing to your strengths. And naturally, your sphere of activity ought to be determined by your inclinations.
My peculiarity is a compulsion to figure out what life is all about. I’m a man after the metaphysical meat in the sandwich. For me, there’s nothing more enjoyable than to engage in philosophical reflection. I want to experience and explore existential enigmas, and thereafter live in accordance with my conclusions. My particular bunch of aptitudes spurs me to ask: What’s it all about (. . . Alfie?).
Internal forces niggle at me to poke into the innards of existence. I desire to fathom the plumbings of the universe in my veins. I derive great joy from that delving. I love a heavy set of tennis for the brain.
My forte isn’t fancy footwork, and I can’t serve, smash, lob or volley to save my soul. The only string to my racquet is insight; I have a gift for grasping the human condition. And the technique that I employ is a certain kind of thinking.
I must confess that I'm suspicious of rhetoric, scientific method, philosophical rumination, religious dogma, emotional manipulation and the like. In my opinion, they’re largely gimmicks. They don’t impress or convince me. Sure, I use logic as and where it’s appropriate—in the right hands it’s a powerful tool—but not exclusively, or even mainly. I mistrust the way people wield it (to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail). Even common sense doesn’t do it for me.
No, I’m not a linear rational dimwit. Instead, I suspect that I’m a multivariant and multidimensional thinker, which means that I use both hemispheres of my brain together with the brain stem. This gives you balance. It confers the gift of testing your thoughts for distortion, confusion and dishonesty.
How I’d describe it in real terms is that it makes me heft every hypothesis a hundred times before I’m happy. I need to weigh it, toss it around, taste it, test it and try it on for size. In short, I need to fully grok it (thanks, Heinlein, for that term). This requires heaps of window-gazing time. Decades. This probably explains why it has taken so long for my ideas—and for me as a personality—to Victor Mature.
My way of pondering mirrors Stephen Hawking’s movements. You’ve seen how the world champion of slow pokes painstakingly twitches the cheek muscle under his eye. Letters drip until there are enough of them for his voice synthesizer to drone forth. Me too—it’s as if enlightenment dribbles into me drop by hesitating drop (I must lose a lot through evaporation).
So no, I'm not a quick thinker, but I don't think that it’s possible to act in haste and yet be sure of your conclusions. I suggest, therefore, that you don’t hunt me up for some scintillating face-to-face. I wouldn’t measure up. Rapid-fire debate is not my thing.
Writing is for me (and for everyone?) a scattered, fragmented business. To stitch multiple thoughts into a coherent, linked sequence actually goes against the grain; the best that you can hope for, eventually, is a patchwork quilt. So I don’t worry about an overall structure. Nothing so formalized. I reason that if an overall gestalt is to materialize, then it will arrive later—in due course and in good time.
What I did was write a little every day. I made it a habit, devoting a year or two to the task, coming up with maybe a couple of hundred vignettes. I wanted them to be short enough to be read at a sitting. I set out to accumulate not a stream of consciousness but a good number of thought-splashes: free-standing yet loosely connected brain farts. I felt that this approach mirrored the nature of my cogitation, which is to muse upon one random point at a time.
I freely flung upon the page whatever surfaced in my consciousness. Willy-nilly, onto the screen I heaved it. I plunged in, purged my inner self, and then stirred the mess around. I looked for meaning in the tea-leaves and entrails. I recorded anything and everything that left an imprint on my brain, and tried to make sense of it. Lifting myself by the bootstraps, I educated myself into a higher plane of learning.
Having daub-slapped onto the canvas my mental deliberations, I left them to mature—that was my system. Later, I returned to tweak, rewrite and delete. Sometimes, if I felt that I was onto something, and I’d expand that section afterwards. All very loose and fast.
By now, I’ve probably convinced you that I’m different, not just what I think about, but how I do that thinking. But why should that be? Is it a deliberate thing? Do I do so out of contrariness? Am I being perverse, or is it my default setting—that is, is it the way that I’m wired?
To be honest, I suppose that it’s probably a little of both. I instinctively resist the predominant operating system of this culture. I often find myself jumping the rails of the conventional straight and narrow. I don’t buy into the basic assumptions that most people happily accept unchallenged. They appear delusional to me—the assumptions and the people. To me, they don’t make sense, and I refuse to have anything to do with them.
This keeps me safe, unsullied, unspoiled, and safeguarded from being infected by what I feel is aberrant thinking. I dislike falling into the trap of linear, rationalistic and reductionist reasoning, and try not to. I think things through on my own terms. I look critically at unchallenged assumptions:
- That death is real.
- That there’s such a thing as progress.
- That logic is the only useful cerebral technique, and that this way of thinking is to our advantage.
- That human beings are superior to other life forms.
- That enlightenment is as grand as it is made out to be.
- That the brain is the be-all and end-all of thinking.
- That adults ipso facto are wiser than children.
- That life exists in certain places but not in others.
- That one’s self, friends, family, ethnic group and countrymen are more important than the outsiders occupying the periphery.
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Frankly, I don’t believe in anything. I don’t ‘believe’, full stop.
By definition, when you believe in something, you hold something to be true regardless of any contrary evidence. In fact, the stronger the evidence against your belief, the more tightly you clutch fast to it, as if this is some sort of test of faith. “Dumb, dumb and dumber,” say I.
Only a dope elects to close off her mind against any future change or growth. Why do so? Is it to stave off the discomfort of having to amend one’s worldview? Is it to hold at bay the unease of being uncertain? The Nobel Prize-winning scientist, Richard Feynman, a gentleman that I have a lot of time for, loved to be in a position of not knowing. It spurred him on in his inquiries and made life interesting for him.
To me, investing ‘faith’ in some authority figure’s story is nothing but a cop-out, I've always felt. The only thing that prepackaged philosophical narratives offer is a ready-made excuse not to think for oneself, but then you give up that power to some group, or to a theocracy.
So I will not ‘believe’. I won’t blindly accept any unsubstantiated proposition (which is not to say that I’m materially-minded, and that I limit my thinking to objects that I can sense, or that I confine myself to musing upon the mind-figments derived from logical and philosophical machinations). All I’m saying is that to kow-tow willy-nilly to any historical or mythological celebrity is not my scene. I don't swallow any particular line, and I don't expect you to swallow all that I say either.
But I do believe that you’ll find pearls of wisdom most anywhere. That said, here’s where I do my version of a literature review, and mention a few influences on my thinking. But before I do so, I’ll offer a word of warning.
It’s certainly true that I have benefited from reading what others have to say, but that has mostly been supplementary. Ultimately, I'm accountable to myself only. I must use the manner and style of thinking that suits me best. Just like Feynman, for the most part, I’ve felt it necessary to isolate myself from others' philosophies. I didn't want to risk being steered off track.
