The whole picture

 I had a conversation with a good friend today that made me ponder some things. Things like:

How can two people have such polarized views, yet both be steadfastly convinced that their perspective is the true one?

(Adding to that, isn’t it a miracle how two people can be so strongly opposed to each other, yet still remain good friends after such a long and controversial discussion? Or maybe it’s precisely those disagreements that enable us to BE better friends.)

Where do individuals get their ideas of what is true and what is arbitrary construction?

More importantly, are humans even capable of discovering the truth purely by their own merit? And if so, how could we quantify said truth, or measure its validity against that of another person’s? How could the ultimate truth be realized? Is that even a thing?

Complications abound.

Because if I carefully observe and conclude that the sky is, in fact, purple, but you are staunchly convinced that the sky is actually green, and despite disparity, both of us remain irrevocably persuaded of the validity of our own viewpoint, we might come to the ultimate conclusion that both of us are right, in our own way, and that each individual is responsible for his or her own truth, and that nothing (yet everything) is certain.

I get confused just talking about it.

Which is why I am convinced that there has got to be something else.

I mean, indulge me for a second and imagine a world in which everyone has their own personal truth. And you have to choose your own. You have to trust yourself–who can’t even manage to remember what you ate for breakfast this morning, who really hasn’t even been on the earth all that long–to hold the entire spectrum of existence in your hand and choose from a menu some version of the truth that suits you. And everyone else is either right or wrong, and you might never even find out.

I ask you, what kind of existence would that be? How could you get up in the morning with that weight of responsibility on your shoulders? I couldn’t do it. I’ve tried.

So the natural conclusion is, there has got to be something else. Something that burns inside of us, driving our desire for truth, inspiring curiosity and creativity, engraving love on our souls.

Creativity. Love. How could such beautiful and paradoxical things originate from the minds of humans so small, so shortsighted?

That thing inside of you that screams for expression, that unwritten itch that moves poets and musicians, that fountain of purpose and longing, cannot be credited to tired, colorless beings such as ourselves.

The only explanation is that there exists some great cosmic absolute. An Author who wrote the truth, and impressed it on our hearts, so that we would be inspired to look for it.