This first appeared as the foreward in The Glass Forest and Other Tales. Click here to learn more.
I have spent much of my adult life studying philosophy. I’ve read books (or sections of the books) written by professional and arm-chair philosophers, listened to philosophy-focused podcasts, and even watched a few online courses that run through various philosophical concepts. I took a couple philosophy classes in college, and though I did not excel at them, my love of thinking has overcome the over-intellectual, patronizing approach to philosophical ideas many writers take, and I am now able to approach the topics my own way.
In fact, one of the reasons I like fairy tales so much, is because they offer a rich playground for exploring deep philosophical questions. Whether we’re discussing the classics, like Cinderella or Little Red Riding Hood, or discovering new ones, like the tales that follow in this book, we each have the opportunity to experience the tale through our own lens, our own experiences—and as such, draw conclusions about life, love, and meaning.
But despite my love of philosophy, I have struggled greatly to overcome one issue in particular. And that is this:
What’s the point?
So much of philosophical discussion is based around “whys” and “whats” of metaphysical concepts. What is the meaning of life? What is love? Why are we here? What is art? What is morality? How do we define “good”?
I could go on.
The thing is, even if you come to a satisfactory (for you) answer to any of these questions, the question still remains: so what?
“The meaning of life is to be a good person.”
So what? Were you planning on being a bad person before you came to this conclusion? In what way does this new belief change your behavior?
“Love is a chemical reaction between two living things that stimulates their brains into believing there is more to relationship than procreation.”
So what? Does that belief change the way you practice relationships? Does it change who you seek out to meet your needs, or the ways in which you maintain long-term friendships and partnerships?
“Beauty is a subjective quality that evokes a sense of pleasure or rightness in the mind of the viewer.”
So what? Are you going to run around telling everyone they’re ugly if their physical appearance doesn’t make you personally feel good? Are you going to burn paintings by artists you don’t like?
The answer to life, the universe, and everything might as well be 42.
Now, you know I’m being deliberately annoying here, and we could go back and forth about how believing in goodness should affect a person’s behavior, or believing in love as “just chemicals” vs “meaningful engagement” should change the way you interact with the people you care about.
But does it?
How many times have you completely altered your behavior because a fundamental belief about the world changed as a result of finding a satisfactory answer to a deep philosophical question?
I have. Exactly once. It was excruciatingly painful and I don’t recommend it.
Every other major change was either a reinforcement/validation of something I already believed, or the result of a specific IRL experience I had, not a philosophical debate.
So what? What is the point of exploring these ideas and concepts? Especially since there’s little chance of finding The One True Answer to any of them.
What are the practical applications for endlessly debating and discussing and dwelling on impossible questions with no answers?
For me, the answer is compassion.
If you ask a hundred people what love is, you’ll get a hundred answers. Perhaps some overlap in responses, sure. But the reason you get a hundred answers is that love is an experience. And we each experience the world in our own unique way. Probably.
And if we (probably) experience love in our own unique way, that means we probably also experience the rest of the world in our own unique way. That’s why some people scream when they see a spider, and some people keep spiders as pets.
That’s why some people hate going to the dentist, and other people become dentists.
That’s why some people are terrified of clowns, and other people invite them to their birthday party.
If we all have our own unique experience of the world, then it follows that there is no objectively correct experience of the world. In anything.
I know, I know, some other armchair philosopher is going to come along and argue with me about pedophilia and genocide. But I’m not talking about morality and ethics here. I’m talking simply about our experience of the world.
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A few years ago, I met a woman who believed in demons. She believed she’d met one. Believed it with her whole mind. She’d also been hugged by an angel (specifically a very non-angelic looking seraphim). She told Satan that god forgave him.
This woman believed in these experiences with every cell in her body, every figment of herself, every atom of her being. She was close to 80 years old, and extremely nervous to share her story because so many people had made fun of her over the years. She cried as she shared the details.
I’d already been studying philosophy for a while at the point I heard her story, and I was in therapy at the same time. I’d been sharing about my past with my therapist, and once asked, “What if this isn’t true? What if I’m remembering it wrong?”
She told me, “It doesn’t matter if it’s technically true or not. It only matters if you believe it’s true, because that’s what you hold in your body. I will always believe you.”
So as I was listening to this woman share her story about meeting a demon, I kept thinking to myself: How do I believe her story about demons and angels and Satan, when I don’t even believe in god?
And I realized I had to believe both things at once. I had to hold onto my own foundation of belief—agnosticism, which doesn’t allow for angels and demons to be real—but create a separate space for her in my mind, where it didn’t matter whether or not her story was true; it only mattered that she believed it.
So I made the choice to believe her. And all at once I was filled with compassion for this woman who was clearly traumatized by her experiences, had lived an extremely difficult life, and was still trying to come to terms with the awful things that had happened to her. It didn’t matter in the slightest whether she’d seen a real demon or not. It didn’t matter whether she’d been wrapped in the wings of a seraphim.
All that mattered was that she believed it.
All that mattered was that this woman was just as deserving of compassion as anyone else.
It wasn’t a sudden shift that happened in my mind, but internalizing the idea that “many things can be true at the same time” has come primarily from my study of philosophy. This concept is in sharp contrast to the idea that “there is only one truth,” that christianity is built upon, and which is the belief system I was raised in.
Accepting the existence of many truths has given me compassion for many people. It has given me the ability to suspend judgement. It has given me the ability to set aside my anger.
I don’t always have to believe a person is “good” or “moral” to believe that any one singular action or behavior does not define the wholeness of who they are. I don’t have to understand why they did something or chose something different than I would have chosen to believe that there could be a reason, and that I don’t know everything or have all the answers.
Many things can be true at the same time.
And this is why I will always continue to study philosophy. Because the more ideas I can hold within me at once, the more compassion I can have for the people around me.
