Like many of us, a year or two ago, my PC suddenly gave me Yahoo as a face page. Before, it had been MSN, which reported at least some of the news in near-real time, but Yahoo gives me something else - that is, everything. While I once had boned up on popular culture while standing in line at the grocery store (alien babies!), I now get to know everything that's happening in the breathless world of schlock at a glance - Kimye and Caitlin, ex-wives and divorce rumors, nipple slips and baby bumps, and something even more - I learn how to find myself.
Be it how I sleep - if on my back, I am stingy or artistic - or the length of my index finger (not what men think, alas. Supposedly, the length will tell you if you have more testosterone, which will make a man more likely to cheat), they give me the ways to find out about the most marvelous person in the universe - ME! How mysterious is this fellow living inside me! I had no idea. Tell me again - am I an artist, a recluse, a good lover? Without such tell-tale signs, after all, how could I possibly know?
My sarcasm is not hard to find here, but they are on to something. Back in my early years, there was a character in, I think, the Rocky and Bullwinkle show called Mr Peeble. Small, bespectacled and with a ridiculous mustache, he was the epitome of the humble, introverted man. Anyone could see it. But could Mr Peeble? Or was he more like James Thurber's character Walter Mitty, a hen-pecked man who imagined himself a daring hero much like Indiana Jones? Did Mr Peeble fool himself into thinking that he was something else? Would Mr Peeble have to examine how he dots his I's to find, according to the experts, that he was really only a milquetoast?
I suspect that to be true, at least in part. I have been surprised more than once to find out through the grape vine that others had commented on me in ways I didn't think possible. And I have found through introspection that the lovable self that I see has not always been lovable - or brave or squarely moral. Often this has come, from my self, as news to me. Then again, the reverse has happened. Clearly I do not know my self.
In fact, others often seem to know a lot more about us than we do. They see the swagger for what it is, a cover-up, even as we choose to believe the swagger. Although we could always ask others who know us well what they think of us, we shirk, and for good reason. Those who wish to remain our friends, in spite of everything, don't want to tell us of our foolish aspects. And so, we look to the index finger and the doted "I" for information as to our true nature. It's about as dumb as finding alien babies at the grocery store, but still we are fascinated. Who is this secret self?
At church last night, the new priest (a German with a Scottish accent) gave an interesting account of a saint ( I forget the name) in 405 AD who heard a voice from God - go to Rome! He could not refuse, of course, and he made the long trip from Anatolia to Rome on foot, at last arriving at the heart of the Western world. Wanting to understand Rome, he went to the Coliseum to see what the fuss was about, and there saw the gladiators involved in fights to the death. While others applauded in a frenzy of excitement, he was appalled, and said so. No one heard him. So he jumped into the arena saying, "in the name of Christ, stop this senseless killing!" When the gladiators found that he was not a clown for entertainment, they cut him to pieces. The crowd became silent, and then they and the emperor left. The following day, the games were decreed officially over. They had, collectively, found shame.
As the priest put it, they did not know themselves, could not see their diversions in a different light, could not understand their barbarity until it was pointed out to them. I will not get into the argument about moral relativism here. It is not the point, because the nation suddenly saw itself in a different light, for better or for worse. What had once been obscured had suddenly become clear, like a man confronted by his family and friends over his drinking.
Others see in ourselves what we do not, often more clearly. We know that we do not know ourselves. But, as a politician once put it, we often do not know what we do not know. We often have no frame of reference, unlike the Romans in this case, to mirror our true selves. We know that we are missing something, as others see us differently, and as out dreams tell us, but we are unaware of how much we do not know. There is far more to all of us than Mr Peeble or Indiana Jones. We can know this only if we leave behind our normal references, which is not easy, but which has been done. It is here where we learn that mortality, that success, that being human is something entirely different from what we have ever been told. The Kingdom of Heaven is right here, right now, if we have, as Jesus said, eyes to see. Our reference, here, is only unadorned reality itself. It shouts "this is an eternal mystery of which you are a part! This is greater than your greatest desires or dreams, if you could just stop what you're doing and SEE!" But reality does not speak to us like the priest in Rome. It references something that we know, but have made unknown. We do not know it, but we do. And like the Romans, one sight of it would clear away all the others in an instant. At least for that instant.
Others, or handwriting, or how we sleep may tell us what we do not know - or hide - about ourselves. Small potatoes, this self. That other self, which no one can see in us if they do not see it in themselves, exists in the everlasting stars, as well as in the grain of sand. We DO have the eyes to see. What we lack, but can have, is the vision. FK
Be it how I sleep - if on my back, I am stingy or artistic - or the length of my index finger (not what men think, alas. Supposedly, the length will tell you if you have more testosterone, which will make a man more likely to cheat), they give me the ways to find out about the most marvelous person in the universe - ME! How mysterious is this fellow living inside me! I had no idea. Tell me again - am I an artist, a recluse, a good lover? Without such tell-tale signs, after all, how could I possibly know?
My sarcasm is not hard to find here, but they are on to something. Back in my early years, there was a character in, I think, the Rocky and Bullwinkle show called Mr Peeble. Small, bespectacled and with a ridiculous mustache, he was the epitome of the humble, introverted man. Anyone could see it. But could Mr Peeble? Or was he more like James Thurber's character Walter Mitty, a hen-pecked man who imagined himself a daring hero much like Indiana Jones? Did Mr Peeble fool himself into thinking that he was something else? Would Mr Peeble have to examine how he dots his I's to find, according to the experts, that he was really only a milquetoast?
I suspect that to be true, at least in part. I have been surprised more than once to find out through the grape vine that others had commented on me in ways I didn't think possible. And I have found through introspection that the lovable self that I see has not always been lovable - or brave or squarely moral. Often this has come, from my self, as news to me. Then again, the reverse has happened. Clearly I do not know my self.
In fact, others often seem to know a lot more about us than we do. They see the swagger for what it is, a cover-up, even as we choose to believe the swagger. Although we could always ask others who know us well what they think of us, we shirk, and for good reason. Those who wish to remain our friends, in spite of everything, don't want to tell us of our foolish aspects. And so, we look to the index finger and the doted "I" for information as to our true nature. It's about as dumb as finding alien babies at the grocery store, but still we are fascinated. Who is this secret self?
At church last night, the new priest (a German with a Scottish accent) gave an interesting account of a saint ( I forget the name) in 405 AD who heard a voice from God - go to Rome! He could not refuse, of course, and he made the long trip from Anatolia to Rome on foot, at last arriving at the heart of the Western world. Wanting to understand Rome, he went to the Coliseum to see what the fuss was about, and there saw the gladiators involved in fights to the death. While others applauded in a frenzy of excitement, he was appalled, and said so. No one heard him. So he jumped into the arena saying, "in the name of Christ, stop this senseless killing!" When the gladiators found that he was not a clown for entertainment, they cut him to pieces. The crowd became silent, and then they and the emperor left. The following day, the games were decreed officially over. They had, collectively, found shame.
As the priest put it, they did not know themselves, could not see their diversions in a different light, could not understand their barbarity until it was pointed out to them. I will not get into the argument about moral relativism here. It is not the point, because the nation suddenly saw itself in a different light, for better or for worse. What had once been obscured had suddenly become clear, like a man confronted by his family and friends over his drinking.
Others see in ourselves what we do not, often more clearly. We know that we do not know ourselves. But, as a politician once put it, we often do not know what we do not know. We often have no frame of reference, unlike the Romans in this case, to mirror our true selves. We know that we are missing something, as others see us differently, and as out dreams tell us, but we are unaware of how much we do not know. There is far more to all of us than Mr Peeble or Indiana Jones. We can know this only if we leave behind our normal references, which is not easy, but which has been done. It is here where we learn that mortality, that success, that being human is something entirely different from what we have ever been told. The Kingdom of Heaven is right here, right now, if we have, as Jesus said, eyes to see. Our reference, here, is only unadorned reality itself. It shouts "this is an eternal mystery of which you are a part! This is greater than your greatest desires or dreams, if you could just stop what you're doing and SEE!" But reality does not speak to us like the priest in Rome. It references something that we know, but have made unknown. We do not know it, but we do. And like the Romans, one sight of it would clear away all the others in an instant. At least for that instant.
Others, or handwriting, or how we sleep may tell us what we do not know - or hide - about ourselves. Small potatoes, this self. That other self, which no one can see in us if they do not see it in themselves, exists in the everlasting stars, as well as in the grain of sand. We DO have the eyes to see. What we lack, but can have, is the vision. FK
RSS Feed