Tonight while driving home,
I saw two cats by the side of the street
And it wasn’t a busy street
I stopped and just looked at them
And found myself smiling
When they looked back at me

When I read parts of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self Reliance, I did not predict how very life-altering some of his philosophies would prove to be within the frame of my existence. This is the story of consistency and public approval.

The book I had was a dreary, cheaply photocopied anthology that had the bleakest black to its letters, and some shadow as well. The words were wobbly and seemed uneven, although that was only an illusion and nothing more. The pages had not been photocopied by a man kind to his machine, and he was evidently in a hurry, too. The whites did not match the blacks, and the lines were not straight. It was as if that book had been crafted by the clumsiest devil in hell.

I mistreated the book, I must confess. In my frequent manifestations of exaggerated self-importance, and possibly narcissism, I scribbled Tololy on almost every page, in every corner, and on the cover in large, purple letters. When class was in session against my will, and that happened often, I sat in my chair and drew little intertwined curves and swirls and circles, and then again scribbled my name under the incoherent art.

Sometimes during class, I would be so absorbed in reading some unvisited parts of the book that I would almost hear the words talking to me. Sometimes I would imagine the writers talking to me or narrating their stories exclusively to me, and sometimes I would see the events played out in front of my mind’s eye. It was a good thing I was never a fecund participant in most class discussions (although I was famous for some strange opinions expressed rather aggressively when the situation demanded) and so I was never interrupted while my imagination was at play.

I had that special connection with Emerson’s attitudes. I was both stimulated and entertained by his ideas and stands on things, and particularly by his take on consistency. At the time, I was going through a formulative stage of character-building and yet I was held back by the want to be consistent and by the socially-influenced desire to be simpatico with everyone. So Emerson’s rhetoric was my “Why didn’t I think of that?” moment of enlightenment.

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesman and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Emerson’s argument on consistency is that it really isn’t necessary as it is just another unseen restraint to creativity and authenticity. If you want to be consistent, you will not change your opinions or grow up intellectually. If you want to be consistent for fear of being judged by people as having no true opinion, then you are doomed to live with your treasured “consistency” and social approval until your character completely erodes into a mold of everyone else, and you end up being another average nobody.

I have changed my mind frequently over the years on a number of major issues. These ranged from god to seafood, from the conflict in the region to creative writing, and from porn to shoes. It’s fascinating but I am not the same person today as I was yesterday, let alone the person I was a year ago.

Emerson also believed in experimentalism. He said “All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.” Now if you have been following this blog for a while you will know that anyone swearing by experimentalism is my idol. I deeply believe in, and outwardly practice the cult of experimentalism (except in food, I’m neophobic), and there is not another way I would choose to live.

So for at least two excellent points Emerson made, on consistency and experimentalism, he has my undying admiration. Of course, until I change my mind.

From Act I of Waiting for Godot by Beckett; read and think of what the lines mean. Remember, we are not told who Godot is and why the two main characters Estragon and Vladimir are waiting for it/him/her:

Pozzo: You took me for Godot.
Estragon: Oh no, sir, not for an instant, sir.
Pozzo: Who is he?
Vladimir: Oh, he’s a . . . he’s a kind of acquaintence.
Estragon: Nothing of the kind, we hardly know him.
Vladimir: True. . . we don’t know him very well… but all the same
Estragon: Personally I wouldn’t even know him if I saw him.

I found the play quite revealing and deep. Evidently, people have different opinions on what it means and who the characters represent. It certainly helps to give it an existentialist reading; perhaps Godot is God, perhaps he will never show up, perhaps we humans so need to believe in a supernatural power that we create it, imagine it, and then wait for it to intervene in our lives while it simply cannot be bothered.