being shocked).
There are endless real-world examples of problems caused by appearances of inconsequentiality. For instance, the appearance that throwing out just one little piece of litter won’t make any difference (though it will, as seen when it joins everyone else’s little pieces to blanket the roadside). Or, doing something that only affects people overseas, where consequences are unseen and complaint is unheard. Etcetera. Delayed consequences are equally dangerous. Asbestos appeared to be a good, cheap insulator; it was only later on, after its particles had been inhaled and accumulated in the body, that the consequences of its use became apparent. Delayed, invisible, or silent—it doesn’t matter. Consequences still exist, folks.
To complicate things further, there is the added factor of incentives. When certain rewards and punishments are in place, it can psychologically reinforce such appearances of inconsequentiality (and their attendant perceptions), especially those which favor instant gratification and focus purely on results, without regard to long-term effects. Beware the appearance-minded contractor installing your insulation, who might think Where’s the harm? when using an inferior asbestos-like product at a premium price. After all, everything appeared fine when he installed the stuff, with no alarms sounding or electrical shocks coming his way—so all is well, right?
Right?
Sadly, when we ignore what is and side with what appears to be, all is not well, for actual reality remains in place, regardless of what we think or believe (or how many of us think or believe it). However, we don’t have to be held hostage to appearances and the distorted mentality they inspire, for we can choose to look beyond them to what is truly there. We can choose not to have faith in “too big to fail” corporations and the fairytale of their permanence. We can choose not to arrogantly dismiss the unknown, as to question that the world is flat and orbited by the sun. We can choose not to surrender to the convenience and simplicity offered by appearances, or the comfort offered by ignoring consequences when not immediately apparent. And, most importantly, we have the choice to become aware of ourselves and our minds, so that we avoid those psychological blind spots which can make skewed, appearance-centered perceptions appear valid.
We can choose to defy appearances, in pursuit of the actual reality lying beneath.
VIII. EXPLORING THE ILLOGICAL
These days, “illogical” is synonymous with “bad.” I beg to differ.
Don’t get me wrong: there is, certainly, a type of “illogical” consistent with the popular interpretation. It’s just, there’s also another kind of illogical, that defined literally, and this one brings whole new meaning to the term. Thus, to equate illogic with invalidity or insanity is assumption, and a rather stark one.
To be sure, I’m a proponent of “normal” logic, and everything represented by its sober, foursquare way of doing things. However, there is more to life than the logical, for sanity and cohesion are in no way contingent on logic, as a destination is not the vehicle of its reaching. Illogical thinking and behavior is, really, just another modality, no more or less legitimate than others. Though, this raises the question: if illogic might not be inherently illegitimate, then how can it be codified? What defines the illogical intellect, and how does such an intelligence conduct itself? And, furthermore, how might the illogical be expressed?
Welcome to art.
Despite man’s desires and insistences, reality is not logical. This is evidenced by: the vastness of consciousness; the feelings evoked by sunset; that moving poem hung on your refrigerator; that striking chord-change in your favorite song; the ineffable qualities present in any human gathering; the unknown, and the incredible possibilities posed by its existence. The illogical surrounds us, yet goes largely unseen, wrapped in its trappings of the logical and the ordinary, and further fenced-in by our restrictive preconceptions of what should and should not be (which, it bears noting, is not to be confused with what can and cannot be).
Two plus two always equals four, except when it doesn’t.
A daring exercise: imagine, for one moment, a broader reality, one that stretches beyond the cage of words and gesture to which we so earnestly subscribe. Defying language, this reality is characterized by emotion and signifier and even subtler components, that formless ghost-babble of the mind. Here, we see a place removed from logic and its paralipsis reality—a place which can be terrifying or liberating, depending on the eye of the beholder. Its beauty is disarming, and surprisingly whimsical, for time and linearity cannot thrive in such a climate. Limit is the one impossibility, and the expansiveness waxes infinite, big enough for God and spirit to dwell.
This is the realm of the illogical, where all is possible, and all is.
But, again, by what means can this rascally new animal be expressed? In the domain of logic, illogic can be described only in negatives, as the blind must sense the world. And this brings us to the medium in question: art. Take fictional literature, for example. For me, fiction is the means by which I give voice to the voiceless stirrings of my illogical side. Fiction is a marvelous invention, able to bridge the abyss between logic and its weird sister. When man learned to lie imaginatively via pen, the result was a valuable weapon in the war of expression, an avenue by which the illogical can be observed in a logical forum. Like all art, fiction possesses the miraculous ability to create something bigger than the sum of its parts, in defiance of the law of conservation of mass.
When fiction is outlawed, it will be for this reason.
However, just because art can express the illogical, doesn’t mean it will. It should be so simple. Before all else, the artist must first connect with that otherworld of the illogical, a feat roughly equivalent to pulling oneself up by their bootstraps. (In Illogical Land, there are guides for bootstrap-pulling.) And then, as if this weren’t tricky enough, the patrons themselves must learn to shed the shackles of logic, to see the art illogically—art’s Achilles’ heel, as it were. After all, art is only as functional as it is perceived to be, especially in this world of consensual reality and mental fiat.
To cross these bridges, I can only recommended the old koan: What’s the sound of one hand clapping? (It sounds like pastry, to me.)
But this isn’t about art, really, just as politics isn’t about politics. The implications here are far-out and far-reaching: to validate the illogical is to admit it into the horizon of one’s possibilities, and isn’t that a world-shaker. Many will resist the illogical for this reason alone, the way we do anything unfamiliar and inconvenient—a natural habit, sure, but so are violence and slavery. Yes, friends and neighbors, the illogical world can seem a frightening one, if only because its existence demands that reality cannot be evaluated by logic alone. However, this conundrum is double-edged, with a positive flipside: logic is no longer your safety net, but you don’t need a safety net, and never did. (The ground is made of down pillows, it turns out.) For example, again consider fiction of this persuasion: there need not be an arc of introduction-conflict-resolution, nor does the guy have to get the girl, nor does the girl have to have skin.
As Thomas Harris wrote in The Silence of the Lambs, “’He kidnaps young women and rips their skins off. He puts on these skins and capers around in them. We don’t want him to do that anymore.’” (Note the illogic of this quote’s placement.)
Here, we come to the inevitable question: What does all this illogical business mean for the individual, in the real world? The answer: the real world isn’t logical, as it were, and things make so much more sense when this fact is taken into consideration.
Oh, we think the world is logical. The prevailing attitude is that man is a creature of logic and sensibility, with the marvelous achievements to prove it; but that’s just not the case, for we are, at heart, greatly illogical in thought and action. As is so often in life, it all boils down to psychology: at its deepest, most fundamental level, the mind runs on illogical stuff. Sure, it might be capable of logic, as a finished product of that fuzzy, illogical thinking, the way Ev
e came from Adam’s rib; but this is mostly incidental, for being capable of logic doesn’t make one logical. Semantics, emotions, fallacious inferences, comparative thinking, perceiving as real that which has no actual reality, the magical shadow-play of appearances and the seems-to-be—these are the dominant players within the subconscious mind, and, for most everyone, they are the prime movers of our thoughts and actions. Symptoms of this condition lurk all around us: in the unlikely things we value, or don’t; in the social charades we play, and the prices we’ll pay to assimilate and belong; things selling better at a higher price because of illogical “value perception,” and other manipulative advertising techniques; in our acting confidently on the most baseless of expectations and assumptions. And that’s all just the top of the list.
Like it or not, logic is, at best, a secondary actor on the world stage, however high we might raise its banner above our goals and endeavors.
Now, we must ask the question: We are illogical at heart, but do we know it? No, and that is, really, what enables our double-mindedness on the matter. Because of the illogical nature of our thoughts, we can sincerely believe that we are logical, even as we