One of the most fascinating lessons of history is how the most random story can be spellbinding.

Find a topic, a people, an event, and dive deep. Almost inevitably, the research opens up a thrilling world previously unknown to us. Such logic would lead us to believe that the extraordinary lives almost everywhere—which would be paradoxical.

In the age of mass mediocrity, it’s incredibly balsamic to feel flabbergasted by the extraordinary doings of extraordinary people. Awe must be the antidote to the slumber so many seem so determined to impose upon us.

Extraordinary everywhere

Our exceedingly individualistic society tells us that the individual can make his or her own fate, achieve anything by sheer force of will and choose where he or she belongs.

Alas, identity may prove much more arduous than a personal decision. Our sense of belonging depends as much on who we are as on who those around us decide we are. There is no us without them. It is others who define the “us” we may belong to, even as we antagonise, as a group, against “them”.

A diverse society will always boil with conflict as “us” and “them” bubbles emerge, sometimes merging into bigger bubbles, sometimes bursting altogether. Entrenching ourselves into ever-shrinking and more chauvinistic bubbles seems the surest, fastest way to getting pricked.

Identity bubbles

An approach to learning one’s craft—as an artist—may not be to focus, for a while at least, on one’s explicit influences but on those who influenced them. If we recognise five key artists as pivotal figures in the confection of our artistic identity, we should study five figures who influenced each of those artists.

If anything, we will end up with 30 artists rather than 5, which is a significant broadening of our perspective. We will also be exposed to art that we would have otherwise missed out on. Ideally, we will learn the mechanics of influence and be able to extract what makes those figures so persuasive and pervasive.

A similar technique can be applied to our processing of advice. If we hear people we trust talk about their professional and personal experiences, we may go one level deeper and consider whether experiencing certain situations was more formative than any wisdom they extracted from it. Often, no matter how much we read or listen to, we must walk in other people’s footsteps

Other people’s footsteps

At some point during the past two or three decades, the wealthiest and most powerful finally cracked the code: they don’t need the majority to believe in their tenets, the foundation of their power, or the need for them to retain the privilege. They only need the majority to be disenfranchised enough to believe in nothing other than the inviability of change.

In this sea of cynicism, nobody considers that convincing anybody of anything is a worthwhile venture. We stop making arguments, sometimes even to ourselves. In Fahrenheit 451, Bradbury wrote that the solid, unmoving cattle of the majority are the worst enemy of truth and freedom. As Montag—the protagonist—does, we may feel overwhelmed and incapable. Yet, as in the novel, we may still find our pocket in the fringes, our small, welcoming tribe, ready to withstand the end of times.

When the tide turns, as it inevitably does when the world is based on ever-widening inequality, it will be up to us to produce a different narrative.

The cattle of the majority

Horror stories about other places and people often say more about those who tell the stories than about the places and people that feature in their narrations.

All too often, they want us scared about the terror outside to keep us blind to the terror inside, frequently perpetrated by the storytellers themselves.

Horror stories

One can be sincere about one’s feelings and opinions. I may sincerely believe that sleeping on the left side of the bed contributes to a better rest, and my partner may sincerely disagree. Still, neither thought makes the importance of sleeping on a specific side of a bed any more or less truthful.

The difficulty of ascertaining the truth has led us to accept that there may be no such thing. This is nonsense. Water still boils at 100 degrees Celsius and freezes at 0. We have also come to accept the idea that truth may be personal, possessed: “this is my truth…” It’s not. Nobody has exclusive rights to the truth. The truth is a common good that cannot be privatised.

We wouldn’t allow a doctor to continue to perform surgery if their truth states that sterilisation is not essential. We just need to uphold the same standards to an ever-expanding area of reality.

Martian Thoughts

Extraordinary everywhere

Identity bubbles

Other people’s footsteps

The cattle of the majority

Horror stories

The truth cannot be privatised