After returning from the extremely rejuvenating break from the college life, my wending journey through this thing called life recommences. We sail forth from port, looking back on the friends I've left behind, passing the land of monogamy and polygamy, skirting the rock of the Sirens with beeswax stuffed into ears, and gazing upon the island that houses Azkaban. What's that ahead? I can't see anything for a few days; I know something's coming, I just can't tell what.
Squinting through the mist, I realize where we are heading, minutes before we get there: the whirlpool of truth. Questions I generally avoid thinking about, even when in the comfort of my own mind, in my own bed, late at night when no one cares what I'm doing as long as it's quiet, spring up next to me. I look around, and it doesn't seem like everyone is affected. Quite contrarily, only a few people look as uncomfortable and preoccupied as myself. Maybe the others are so close-minded they haven't thought through it, or maybe they don't see it as worth their time.
My humanities class has phrased some of these questions better than I can, and this is the springboard from which I postulate. Is dishonesty the root of moral issues, as Hobbes claimed? Not only dishonesty to others, but also to yourself? It leads to distrust of others, especially if they find out that you frequently are dishonest to yourself. And being dishonest doesn't necessarily mean lying; it also means not thinking through things you need to think about. Things you avoid thinking of, because they are too hard, or make you question other views you hold dear, ones that define who you are. It may challenge your self-perception, and if you can't even trust yourself, who can you trust? It may very well be that dishonesty is at the root of moral issues-it seems like most other issues spring from it. Sex is bad-that's a dishonest generalization. Sometimes it can be. You can generalize almost anything, which in turn is dishonest.
The question that bothered me the most, and that is still bothering me, is whether or not people are genuinely true to themselves. Can you be true to yourself if you don't know all the facts? For example, you make a choice based on what you know, but what if you didn't know all the facts? You later find out about them, and realize what you once thought was a lie. Does that mean you are true to yourself? Maybe you were when you first made your decision. What if your choice is an action, and you don't regret the action, even after you find out the truth, and you know if you had known the truth you wouldn't have done it? Is that a lie?
The reason it's been bothering me so much is because to run from the truth, to run from thinking about whatever is on your mind, because you don't want to think about it, means that you aren't being true to yourself. And me, I've been avoiding this for quite some time. Thoughts pop into my head, unbidden and unwelcome, and instead of thinking about them, or why I have them, I ignore them. I change the subject in my head. And if I can be in company, if I'm somewhere I can talk to someone, I just start talking about something random, because otherwise I have to face it. If I'm alone, at night trying to sleep, I force myself to think of the next day. I can't face the truth. My truths are too painful to examine; they hurt not only me, but others as well. They must be kept hidden. Only twice have they come out, and to two different people who don't really know those involved.
This is a place I both want to linger in, and one I want to flee, never return. For now, I must return to my ship; there seem to be no supplies in this place. Away from these thoughts being forced upon me, maybe I can think clearly and determine what course of action I want to take.
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