Remember, Remember, Certainty's Not Always A Good Thing

So, tonight's isn't going to be very long at all, because it is Guy Fawkes Night—or, as we call it in America, V for Vendetta Day. This means that, in addition to watching Inception later today at the campus theater, I've got to watch V for Vendetta to remain a patriotic college student. (Wait, unpatriotic—I think I declared a reclamation of that word back in like July, didn't I? Shit, it's been too long.) On the other hand, apparently Nov. 9 is Carl Sagan Day, so I'm going to try to do a good long one for that.

You know what bothers me, sometimes? My opinions bother me a lot. I'm just not nearly as firm in them as some people seem to be.

For example, take books. I'm pretty sure about the books I like. I love The Myth of Sisyphus, I hate The Scarlet Letter. But how much of that's just my own biases? I mean, I was interested in the idea of existentialism before I read The Myth of Sisyphus. Maybe I liked the idea of being the sort of person who liked Camus, and then I decided to like the book. Or, for example, take the recently-released and finally-delivered-by-Amazon book Machine of Death. For those who don't know, this book is based on an idea Ryan North of Dinosaur Comics had (posts about this book will no doubt follow when I finish the book) and he compiled an anthology of short stories by such Internet luminaries as Randall Munroe. So far, I'm about a hundred pages in, and I love it. But it's such an off-beat sort of thing—would I like it if it didn't have those, uh, big names behind it?

Alright, well, books. I'm actually not all that worried about books. I've been reading books for so long I'm pretty confident about my judgment there. I'm more worried about music or movies. Sometimes I'm pretty sure, deep down, that the only reason I like these things is that other people who I respect like them, which raises all kinds of crazy doubts about my own authenticity. I mean, how can you hold an opinion and invest time and money and thought into it if you didn't even form it of your own free will?

Actually, this problem isn't really about media at all. It doesn't matter whether or not you came up with your own opinions on music, movies, TV shows, and the like. You can still enjoy those works—and that enjoyment is just as valid if someone else gave you that capability of enjoyment. Really, I'm more concerned about my political and religious beliefs than I am about my tastes in artistic endeavors. Some of these beliefs certainly stick with me quite strongly—I've never felt swayed by arguments against evolution or arguments for racism, for example. On the other hand, sometimes I hear an argument, and even if I can fumble up a counterargument in my head, I almost don't feel convinced myself. It's not that I switch sides easily, it's that I worry that I ought to.

Thing is, I'm a debater—or an ex-debater, however you like to see it. I've played that game before. I've manipulated my words and my tone to make myself sound like a rock-solid, clearly-justified believer in a cause. Then, an hour later, I've walked into a different room with a different speech and given the same impression to different people—for the exact, literal negation of the belief I was just expressing. So in some sense, perceived certainty is less a function of actual certainty, and more a function of how skilled the person speaking is at projecting their certainty.

And, finally, there's one issue that's far more pressing. When I look at the people who are so absolutely positive, absolutely true-believers, I don't envy them. They seem so certain that it's difficult to imagine a piece of evidence or argument that would sway this person. In retrospect, I have no desire to be that certain. If I was that certain, I'd be locked in. I want to stay capable of evolving and changing over time. A Tea Partier, a Westboro Baptist, even, to hit my own side of things, a Richard Dawkins? I'm pretty sure I don't want to be those people. When you're that sure of things, you quickly find yourself incapable of discovering where you're wrong—and that's not something I want.