A Philosophy to Journey - Part I: Why We Must Journey
A View from Pinnacle Mountain, Arkansas
“The universe is change, life is understanding.”
There are no fixed points in this reality we find ourselves amidst. Our universe is in constant flux and has been for as far back as we can measure. Earth wobbles, rotates, and revolves and we humans have adapted to the motion sickness. So much so that we forget that words like “static” and “stationary” only exist as theoretical concepts. We can’t remain still, even if we wanted to. Dynamism is our nature and we must journey into the world to better understand this nature.
Embarking on a journey takes time and resources. Bread must be won and Zs caught, leaving a finite number of sunny hours to make hay. Even so, there is ample opportunity to explore this pale blue dot hurtling through space and better understand the dynamics of our life upon it. What is to follow, is an examination of our predicament and a philosophical approach to journeying as a means of achieving dynamic work/life balance. This five-part series will provide a “why” and “how” to embark on a journey.
This is Part I: Why We Must Journey
Statue of Theseus
From Ancient Greece the myth of the hero Theseus was handed down through generations. His Six Labours were so famous that his accompanying ship was preserved long after his death as a sign of tribute. For years, the ship was tended to and kept evergreen, having all its pieces replaced when they succumbed to rot. And from this preservation came the philosophical thought experiment: “If all the pieces of Theseus’s ship have been replaced anew, is it still the same ship?”
Humans are like the Ship of Theseus. Our bodies's cells regenerate in anywhere from two days to ten years. Meaning, the person you saw in the bathroom mirror this morning is almost an entirely different person than the one you saw a decade ago.
“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
Our constitution perpetually changes, similar to Theseus’s ship, but our vessel fulfills multiple definitions of “tribute.” Like a tributary stream, the preceding versions of ourselves and their experiences flow together to form our current selves. Additionally, we pay tribute to those prior selves through the wisdom gained from life’s labours. This dichotomy is the makeup of our character and our body is the vessel that carries us down our stream of consciousness towards the River Styx.
Death certificates, obituaries, and eulogies give a sense of a departed person’s character. But none of us, save for Tom Sawyer, will be around to read or hear such pronouncements. A eulogy is a tribute that should be accessible post- and pre-mortem. After all, if we strip away all the physical pieces of ourselves, our character is what remains.
“Character is who you are when no one is watching.”
Discovering what that character is, is the principal labour for each of our journeys.
To find you have to search. Your car keys were in the last place you looked because you exhausted all other possibilities. Thomas Edison’s viable light bulb came at the end of a long line of non-viable searches. To find our character we need to look outside our beaten path and distance separates us from the ever-deepening ruts of the two-track running through our familiar trappings. A journey is the travel required to provide this distance. It’s the exhaustion of all possibilities of our character, leading to what remains.
“You need a story to displace a story.”
The Ship of Theseus was preserved because of the exploits of its captain. Had it just been another ship then it wouldn’t have mattered if the pieces were replaced or used for kindling. The pieces of us that are regenerated are inconsequential compared to what we do with those pieces. So, we must set our vessel to sail. We must face our fears, pursue what is good, seek beauty, and navigate through the labours that come our way. The world is ours for the wandering and out there, somewhere so far away from our routine and our piecemeal degeneration is the story of ourselves. The tributary that will persist after the rest fades away.
But to get there, we must bravely journey into the unknown.
“Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain.”
Coming soon: Part II: Why We Fear the Unknown