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In a way, I envy people who don’t have personal
philosophies. I don’t wish to and couldn’t imagine being like that, but I guess
it’s probably one less thing to worry about in life. But then, what sort of
life are you having not caring about things?
I positively
struggle with my personal philosophies. I find myself constantly shifting
definitions, sifting through them, adjusting them to find what best suits me. I
often find myself on the line between camps of ideas, and I suppose this sort
of searching, compromising, and readjusting can look like indecision, as my
friend said like I’m looking for something. I am, but she mistakes a
questioning nature for a lack of conviction. The wondering wanderer (or the
wandering wonderer) plagued with doubt is typically the sort of person the
church gobbles up.
That’s
not me. Though I’m constantly redefining what I am, I know what I am not.
I’m
not a humanist in the strictest sense. I once thought so, because as a rational
man I’m all for the celebration of humanity’s accomplishments. I find myself
rooted in the thinking of Renaissance Florence, not First Century Judea. And
yet, I’m not a strict atheist, and only looking at the accomplishments of
humanity ignores the artistic and philosophical triumphs of the spirit, and
their monuments that so enthrall and confuse me. As someone smarter than me
once said, “Atheists ain’t got no songs.”
I
suppose I see myself as more of an individualist, but that’s a term we must be
careful with because it’s one as misinterpreted and misaligned as agnostic. As
an individualist, I am not a Randian objectivist or a libertarian. I’m
suspicious of both of these philosophies for they are essentially dangerous or
at the very least anti-social, and I am a very social (and often socialist) being.
I’m
an individualist in that I strive to make myself a better person, the best
person I can be. An individualist celebrates the accomplishments of others as
well, celebrates others who succeed, push themselves, make themselves better.
Something evolved, something elevated. But not at the expense of anyone, and my
moral code has me celebrating when this individual accomplishment can benefit
others in some way, even just through inspiration. Can one be as oxymoronical
as a socialist individualist? Not to sound hipster, but maybe there’s no term
for my philosophy . . .
Back
to the beginning. If I enter the architectural triumph that is a cathedral and
I find peace and I am able to elevate myself, I may also feel a desire to
celebrate the people who created the place.
Those
that dreamed it, those that built it. Not those who hallowed it or the god and
saints to whom it’s dedicated. Some view such places as wasteful, but they
grant peace and elevation of the self, even on the heathen level.
And
very often I leave them with a better sense of who I am and what I think.
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