Not
long ago the city of Monza, Italy, banned the use of traditional goldfish bowls
because their curved sides obscured a fish’s take on reality.
Makes
me wonder, what next? Churches, with their stained glass windows? Theaters, with
their only “window” being a stage? Possibly observatories and laboratories,
with their high-powered lenses? All of these could be said to offer a distorted
view of reality!
In
their recent book, The Grand Design,
Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow use this curious anecdote as a beginning
point to contemplate whether any of us have an accurate view of reality. We all
may be looking through a curved lens, so to speak.
But,
they add, a goldfish could still accurately predict movements outside their sphere,
and that’s part of the scientific quest. They later explain that our brains are
continually modeling the outside world, despite a hole (and therefore blind
spot) where the optic nerve is attached in the middle of each retina, which emit
pixelated messages that our brain constructs into a three-dimensional whole.
The
field of vision is one place where the academic quest of deconstruction would
not be helpful to understand the whole! Notice the breadth of possibility in
this metaphor.
Last
night I watched again The Fountainhead,
based on Ayn Rand’s novel. My interest in its philosophical take on the world
has been piqued by American legislators and business leaders who share Ayn
Rand’s views on the individual, the absurdity of self-sacrifice, the
absoluteness of the self.
I
“get” the need to do one’s work, no matter the consequences. I’ve tried to do
that my whole life. That’s what keeps me focused on my writing. But I extend
that first sentence by adding, “no matter the consequences to me.” I am
constantly aware of the consequences for others, because a writer usually has
readers in mind. I care about readers,
what words may inspire, challenge, and provoke. And, as a minister, I am keen
on helping rather than hindering others on their spiritual paths, trying to
discern what’s true, good, and beautiful. I’ve been blessed by readers,
editors, copyeditors, and publishers who help me in that process.
The Fountainhead depicts an architect
who does not want his work compromised. Admirable, in a way. But then, who is
he building for? Will his structure take into account the humans who will
inhabit it? And how does he know that without consultation, both with them and
with other architects? Collaboration is key.
But
then, that’s the “collectivism” the character deplores.
Last
night I also watched the final episode of The
Newsroom, Aaron Sorkin’s accomplished depiction of cable news. In this last
season, the news network has been acquired by a young high tech mogul intent on
increasing its revenue, viewership, and appeal to younger viewers. He does so
by making every viewer a contributing “journalist” regardless of qualifications
and without checks and balances for truth, privacy, and sensationalism, wreaking
havoc.
This
is the kind of collectivism I deplore.
During
a “Big Chill” kind of weekend with former classmates, I learned that several
were surprised I didn’t go into filmmaking. We had grown up together in L.A.;
they knew I liked to take photos, make movies, and write. One told me he even
watched movie credits looking for my name. I explained that, had my calling not been elsewhere, I would not have liked writing for Hollywood because
everyone “in the industry” thinks they’re writers, and what’s on screen often
bears little resemblance to the original.
As
I reflect on my education, I wish I had been given more experience working in
teams. What has helped make up that deficit is my vocation in the church and more
broadly, the spiritual community. Spirituality is inherently collective, even
for spiritual hermits, for all of us pray and write and care as one. And we have the spiritual resources over the
ages of the many who have gone before us.
That’s a core truth of spirituality: we are not alone, we are bound to
one another. The apostle Paul thus depicted the Christian spiritual community as the
Body of Christ.
That’s
why I’m puzzled that some current aficionados of Ayn Rand claim a Christian
identity. Rand was consistent in her individualism: being an atheist, she was
not bound to a concept of spiritual relationship or community.
The
more I read and the more I watch documentaries on the scientific quest, it’s
clear we’ve gotten where we are because of collectivism in science as well. The
recent PBS/BBC series, How We Got to Now,
demonstrates this well.
To
paraphrase Saint Paul, “For now we see through a goldfish bowl dimly, but then
we will see face to face. Now we know only in part; then we will know fully,
even as we have been fully known.”
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