Rocks Have Souls?

Beliefs are created from the perception and repetition of information. How they are developed and nurtured seems in little need of further explanation, and depending on one's memory and self-awareness, the genesis of a belief can often be ascertained quite easily. Every living person has developed beliefs. While certain people have convinced themselves they are utterly worthless, others have gone about donning the facade that they alone possess the true knowledge of reality. Then, of course, we have people who believe such things as rocks have souls, the man on the moon was a conspiracy, or that Jimmy Hoffa was abducted by space aliens. You name it, it's very likely that someone—somewhere—believes it.

It is the responsibility of each individual, however, to ascertain whether or not their beliefs are warranted. That is, whether or not there is sufficient reason for us to believe that which we profess to believe. “Does my belief correspond to reality?” is a question all people should wrestle with throughout their lives. Two opposing beliefs cannot both be valid. If I believe that “rocks have souls” and you don't—we cannot both be right. Either they do or they don't. Period. Granted, it may be impossible for us to know one way or the other, but that doesn't change the fact that contradictions cannot exist simultaneously.

It seems that so few people stop to examine the reasons they believe what they believe. If someone professes a belief opposed to your own, do you silently say “they're wrong” and dismiss the issue, or do you take the time to examine the reasons they may be mistaken? If you don't know why you believe something then why do you believe it? “I don't know, I've just always thought such-and-such” is NOT a good reason. We must always remember that our believing in something does not make it true. If it is true, it should be true independent of our belief, and we should have plausible reasons to demonstrate why it is. The same standard should apply to something we believe to be false.

You can believe anything you want—but you better know why you believe what you believe.

...And The Highest You Shall Be

As many would expect, The Catalyst of Confidence manuscript is, as with most first drafts, very much different from the finalized version. Recently, while reviewing an original copy of the manuscript, I found something which caught my eye. A poem—first published in 1906 by James Allen as part of a now out of print book known as “From Poverty to Power”—was intended to be part of Lesson IV: Thought and Concentration, but during the early phases of editing, was omitted. Though it was cut from the final draft, I believe many people would nonetheless enjoy it. Hence, I have included it here:

Would you scale the highest heaven,

Would you pierce the lowest hell,—

Live in dreams of constant beauty,

Or in basest thinkings dwell.

For your thoughts are heaven above you,

And your thoughts are hell below;

Bliss is not, except in thinking,

Torment naught but thought can know.

Worlds would vanish but for thinking;

Glory is not but in dreams;

And the Drama of the ages

From the Thought Eternal streams.

Dignity and shame and sorrow,

Pain and anguish, love and hate

Are the maskings of the mighty

Pulsing Thought that governs Fate.

As the colors of the rainbow

Makes the one uncolored beam,

So the universal changes

Make the One Eternal Dream.

And the Dream is all within you,

And the dreamer waiteth long

For the Morning to awake him

To the living thought and strong.

That shall make the ideal real,

Make to vanish dreams of hell

In the highest, holiest heaven

Where the pure and perfect dwell.

Evil is the thought that thinks it;

Good, the thought that makes it so;

Light and darkness, sin and pureness

Likewise out of thinking grow.

Dwell in thought upon the Grandest,

And the Grandest you shall see;

Fix your mind upon the Highest,

And the Highest you shall be.

Many will notice, however, that the last two lines of the final stanza (Fix your mind upon the highest, And the highest you shall be.) were included on the back cover of the paperback edition. These words provide us with the essential meaning of the poem, as well as—in my estimation—The Catalyst of Confidence itself.

Perhaps this is why I couldn't scrap the entire poem after all.

Between Two Extremes

Perhaps a better understanding of the nature of genuine confidence may be had from analyzing an aspect of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, in which he discusses the concept of virtue.

According to Aristotle, a virtue exists as the mean between two extremes. For instance, temperance would be defined as the mean between the deficiency and excess of a pleasure, such as (say) consuming alcohol. Though there is nothing wrong with consuming alcohol in itself, the excess—in Aristotle's view—would be drunkenness, while the deficiency would be abstaining from alcohol consumption altogether. Thus, the virtue of temperance is the center point, the mean, or the “balance,” between two extremes (drunkenness and abstinence) of “the pleasure of consuming alcohol.”

In the same way, genuine confidence can also be understood as the mean between two extremes. Namely, between an extreme state of pride and an extreme state of humility. I use the phrase “an extreme state of” to illustrate the severity of that which I am referring. An extreme state of pride, for example, would be an attitude characterized by arrogance, vanity, or conceit. i.e., a general feeling of superiority over one's contemporaries. On the other hand, an extreme state of humility would be an attitude of inferiority or worthlessness in comparison to others. It naturally follows that genuine confidence is the mean or “balance” between these two extremes.

Without well ordered self-love (pride) a person becomes a worm. But by the same token, without an awareness of one's limits and shortcomings (humility), a person becomes an egomaniac. Neither extreme is desirable in any form whatsoever.

As such, it is the mean or “balance” which our sights should be set upon.

Acting Man vs. Spectating Man

At the end of Lesson III: Goals and Dreams, U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt is quoted at length:

It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.

Criticism is something which must be confronted and tolerated by anyone who would do—perhaps—anything. As the saying goes “if you're not being criticized, you're probably not doing anything.”

If you have ever observed something as a spectator and then, been able to participate first hand in what you were spectating, you know full well that it is far easier to “point out how the strong man stumbles” or “where the doer of deeds could have done better” than to be the “man who is actually in the arena.”

Things are easier said than done. But it is only through doing (acting) that things may actually be accomplished.

If you have ever striven “valiantly,” or came “up short again and again,” you know full well that there is “no effort without error or shortcoming.” For all action holds the possibility of wrong action, but let this not discourage you, for all wrong action holds the possibility of right action, and through such a process you will learn and grow and come to know the “great enthusiasms,” and the “great devotions,” and spend yourself for a “worthy cause.” “In the end,” knowing the “triumph of high achievement,” and if not, never being with those “cold and timid” souls who knew neither “victory nor defeat.”

It is easy to come to believe that “winning” is the point. But it is through the process of wanting to win, through the process of striving, that we learn the most—whether or not we attain the “triumph of high achievement.” For this reason, it is not the “critic who counts,” but the “man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood.”

Dead At Age 20

The following quotation appears in the Selected Quotes section at the end of Lesson III: Goals and Dreams:

“Most men are dead at age 20 and 

wait until age 70 to be buried.”

-Benjamin Franklin

Few statements raise more eyebrows—and questions—than this particular quote. What on earth was dear old Ben Franklin talking about? Perhaps getting struck by lightning wasn't such a very good idea after all? Fortunately for the reader, however, the context of the lesson, which the quote has been placed in, should provide some valuable insight.

In the aforementioned quote, Benjamin Franklin is referring to nothing less than the aspirations of an individual. Dreams, in fact, give life and vitality to a person. Without an objective to direct one's life toward, a person is essentially dead, that is, they are seeking nothing beyond their own survival. Sure, they are alive, in the sense they are physically living and breathing, but the true fire and spark of life has been extinguished from their eyes.

When people are young, they often have great dreams. But, unfortunately for most, few dreams survive the onslaught of young adulthood—a time when many “learn” to be more “realistic” about things. As a result, the majority of people abandon their dreams (die at age 20) for more plausible alternatives, unconsciously resolving to wander aimlessly through life until they physically die (buried at age 70). I use the word unconsciously because no one knowingly decides to “wander aimlessly” through life.

Such mental states are merely the result of a lack of purpose and direction.

HELP—SOMEONE—HELP!

Since their inception, roller coasters have been considered by many to be the mainstay of the modern amusement park. In terms of height, speed and sheer thrill-power, few rides (if any) can compare to the contemporary roller coaster. Indeed, if you have ridden one, you need not be convinced.

I was first introduced to the world of roller coasters when I was seven or eight years old. My dad, hoping I would share his love and admiration for the amusement ride, took me to Sandusky, Ohio, home of the Cedar Point amusement park. As the self proclaimed “roller coaster capital of the world,” Cedar Point boasts some of the tallest and fastest coasters on earth. Needless to say, I was thrilled beyond myself.

My first roller coaster ride was on Cedar Point's classic Blue Streak, which also happened to be my dad's first ride when he was a kid. Built in 1964, the nostalgic looking Blue Streak is a wooden coaster which stands a massive 78 feet, has a maximum speed of 40 mph, and sports a ride time of 1 min., 45 sec. It's obviously nothing to brag about, but I couldn't wait. I remember jumping into the car, fastening my seat belt and impatiently waiting to get to it. My life was about to change.

I can perfectly recall the trains “pulling out of the station.” There was a short stretch of track which we freely passed through until making a left turn at the base of the first hill, which we had to climb. I was ready, the trains had only been moving for 10 sec. and I already loved it. The climbing chains connected with the first train and slowly began pulling us up the massive 78 foot hill. But for some reason I wasn't nearly as excited as I had been. The chains were loud, much louder than I expected, and the incline we were ascending was much steeper than I thought. I remember looking down and noticing how high we were getting. Suddenly it dawned on me, we were going to the top, and then down the other side. To put it mildly—I lost it. I began screaming like a banshee, “stop!” “stop!” “dad I don't want to do this anymore!” “get me off this thing!” “HELP—SOMEONE—HELP!” There was nothing anyone could do, we were strapped in, we were going up, and we were going down. I continued my “freak out” session throughout the remainder of the climb. At the top of the hill there is a little “blue house” that the trains pass through before the descent. I vividly remember passing through that blue house with everything moving in slow motion. As we crested the hill—to my abject horror—the path down was revealed to me. Our car seemed to hang there forever as we began the free fall, and with everything moving in slow motion, I was given plenty of time to dwell on my young and untimely death. Filled with terror, I was about to get my first practical lesson in physics.

“OHHHH NOOOOOO!” could be heard as we gained speed in the decline, which was promptly followed up by a serenade of consistent prepubescent sheiks and screams which continued throughout the next approximate 1 min., 45 sec. I have no idea how many people behind me were hit squarely in the face by my tears, but I would guess quite a few.

To my shock, I remember getting off the Blue Streak thinking “that actually wasn't that bad,” and oddly enough, I continued riding roller coasters that day, with only a few more tearful breakdowns occurring. It seemed the more I rode them, the more I liked them, and the more comfortable I became. Today I'm one of those “nuts” who fancies the very front seat of a roller coaster as “the only way to ride.”

Many people have had similar first experiences with roller coasters. What is unique about the “roller coaster” experience is that it describes the path nearly all people take in overcoming their fears. As explained in Lesson VI: Fear and Action, action conquers fear. In other words, if we do the very thing we are afraid to do, eventually, our fear of doing it will disappear altogether. In my case of being afraid while riding a roller coaster, I was scared to death, but because I was literally “strapped in” I had no choice but to confront my fear, and though I may have screamed and cried at first, I found that my fear wasn't as bad as I thought. This is often the case. We may literally freak ourselves out over doing something, but through the process of doing it (acting despite our fear) we find that our fear mysteriously disperses. It may take more than one “ride” to dispel our fear, but so long as we persist in acting, despite our fear, it will eventually disappear.

Student A and "I Fail at Life"

As a follow up to the previous post Joe, Basketball and Accurate Thought, I would like to make some additional comments.

Over the years I have had the opportunity to teach many teenagers, some of which, at times, have provided me with rather breathtaking examples of inaccurate thought. For instance, say Student A is talking with his or her friends during a break and (for some reason) explains that, while driving a car, it is legal to pass a “slow-poke” on the right-hand side and cross over into the shoulder of the road. Some other students (who perhaps have their drivers license?) quickly reply that, far from being legal, such a maneuver would be, in fact, illegal and quite dangerous. Consensus quickly rises in the room and many other students nod their heads to agree that so-and-so is right and passing on the right-hand side of the road is definitely illegal. Perhaps some even jest that “maybe it is legal—in England!” Laughter ensues and Student A grudgingly accepts that they were wrong.

Now, I would not consider this to be a good example of inaccurate thinking (though, strictly speaking, it would be inaccurate to think that one could legally pass a car on the right-hand side of the road) in and of itself. What often happens next, however, would be considered one of the best examples I can conjure. In situations such as these, where a so-called “Student A” is proven wrong (often by mere popular vote), many students will respond to their mistake by saying something like “oh well, I fail at life.” The first time I heard this I almost stabbed myself with one of my dry-erase markers, I was aghast.

“You what?—you fail at life?—because you thought it was legal to pass on the right-hand side of the road?”

In the loving and forgiving world of logic, there exists a term known as the non sequitur. Latin for “it does not follow,” a non sequitor describes a conclusion which does not follow from its premises. The response outlined above, “I fail at life,” is a non sequitur. In other words it is an entirely unjustified conclusion and yet, sadly, is one of the most common “teen-age” responses to challenges and mistakes. It is also one of the most profound and agonizing examples of inaccurate thought. Those saying such things may as well say something like “triangle x is isosceles, therefore I fail at life” or “the sky is blue, therefore I suck.”

When asked, students quickly point out that “I fail at life” is just a “harmless saying” and when they say it, they really don't mean that they literally “fail at life,” but rather, that they simply made a mistake. At first this may seem like a harmless conclusion, but imagine saying such a thing to yourself every time you made a mistake. Imagine developing the habit of communicating such a thing to yourself. It seems that eventually such a “harmless saying” would begin to take on a life of it's own in our minds, and would soon begin reminding us of our failings and shortcomings until such things dominate our thought life.

It is a known law of psychology that we come to believe that which we repeat to ourselves. Beliefs, as we have learned, determine our perception of reality, govern our actions and limit or unleash our potential. It appears that many teens have been communicating “I fail at life” to themselves for years in their internal dialogs. Imagine, if you can, adopting the belief that you-fail-at-life. How much faith would you have in yourself? How would you act?

Probably a lot like many of our so-called “teens.”