Quest for the Soul: 2
Having a bit of a vision
Free Will: we’ve all heard stories of this elusive creature, we all think we’ve encountered it, but when we examine each incident, it sidles off into the undergrowth of indecision and we are left with a mystery – was it there or not?
If it wasn’t, we have the uncomfortable suspicion that we might be machines who act robotically according to programming or habit. Now, a certain of amount of robotic behaviour is probably fine by most of us. For instance, I’d rather be programmed to make romantic liaisons with humans than, say, gerbils or waste paper baskets. And I’d rather be habituated to putting my wallet in a specific drawer than, say, a sink or waste paper basket.
But where’s the free will in all this? Is the shy beast lost in a wilderness of programmed interactions with work, food, sinks, waste paper baskets and technological toys? Let’s try to spot it in action. Let’s head off into the jungles of the human psyche, taking our wildlife filming crew. Let the Cameraman and Sound Recordist set up their equipment, camouflage it carefully, and wait for a useful incident.
How about this? Could it be a sighting? Let me tell the tale. You see, I was about to take a trip into York when my Achilles tendon developed a sudden tweak. So the question was whether to go – or stay at home and protect it. Good opportunity for Free Will to step forward and show itself.
First of all – here’s the rustling of the undergrowth – there came the shillying and shallying. On the one hand, I debated, random pains tend to hang around a few days then disappear. So nothing to worry about: I should go. (Trees and bushes rustle optimistically.) On the other hand, Achilles tendons are stroppy blighters and if angered, can hobble you for weeks. Maybe I’d better not. (Agitated rustling of undergrowth.)
At this stage I was about to cancel the trip with scarcely any appearance of Free Will. Up till then the debate had been more or less automatic. No originality. Any programmed computer could have done it just as well. But then, just as the crew were about to pack away the equipment and say “Nope, there’s no Free Will in this part of the jungle” the foliage parted and out it strode. “I’ll go,” it said. (Or, rather, I did).
Now, how did that happen? I had a vision, that’s how. And the vision was like this. I saw – in a vague and semi-abstract way – York looking full of life and hope; and I felt – in a vague and semi-abstract way – me being full of life and hope. That was it. I’d take the trip. Why? Because there was more life in going than staying.
And the Achilles tendon? The full-of-life-and-hope feeling told me it wouldn’t play up too much.
Which it didn’t.
Well, what am I to make of that? Am I to say that Free Will consists of some vague species of envisaging and some even vaguer feelings of life and hope?
And the answer is yes. Take this article. Why am I writing it? When I started (quite a while ago) I’d intended working on something entirely different (about poetry, I think) so why divert to this? Because I saw the idea of the article, that’s why. I saw it and it glowed with life and hope. And we humans tend to be greedy for life. Give us more, we say. And if we see hope of it we grab at it.
When I ransack my memory for instances of choice I always come up with the same answer. I chose because there was life and hope in the choice. If we humans choose to go on a holiday, or buy some furniture, or write a book, or propose marriage, or embark on a career, or learn a musical instrument, or try some adventurous cookery – the reason is always the same. We do it because it looks good. We envisage it, in a vague and semi-abstract way, and what we envisage seems to shine with life and hope.
Ah but, you might argue, what about those necessary but unpleasant choices – tidying the kitchen, buckling down to marking (a brain-killer, I assure you), the duty visit, the tough but necessary conversation? Well, I’d say the vision of life and hope is somewhat muted there but not entirely absent. After all, the kitchen will look a whole lot better once it’s been sorted. And as for the other jobs, consider the alternatives – slobbing on the sofa, going out for a bit of indulgence – they look pretty dodgy in context. Dodgy, in the sense of dodging reality.
And so it’s time to pack away the filming equipment. What do the crew think to our day’s work – have we spotted the rare beast or haven’t we? There’s some shaking of puzzled heads. “That ‘envisaging’ stuff,” mutters the Cameraman, “it’s far too vague. I mean, life and hope, how can anyone get a clear image of that?”
“Yeah, and how much sound was there for me?” asks the Recordist. “You said ‘I’ll go’ – and that was it. Hardly counts as a great wildlife adventure.”
Ah.
I scarcely dare tell them what creature we’re chasing next. Discernment. An entity so scarce that people rarely agree a name for it...
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May I invite you to make certain purchases? (I may? Why, thank you...)
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(a) The Salamander Stone (by my most excellent and trusty pal, Mrs Me) from one of these outlets:
Direct from the publisher, Burst Books: click here
Amazon UK: click here
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(b) The Two Worlds of Wellesley Tudor Pole (by Mrs Me’s most excellent and trusty pal, Me):
Amazon UK: click here
Amazon.com (US): click here
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(You’ll be getting both of them? Well, that is an admirable choice, if I may say so...)
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