I have this irresistible urge to put pen to paper yet nothing substantial flows. My thoughts are erratic like a bird trapped in a glass cage; bouncing with vigour against the prison walls yet unable to breach the transparent walls, the world seemingly in its view, yet unable to experience it. The certainty of this dwelling uncertainty gnaws at my intellectual sinews. This paradox is quizzical, for certainty should impart calmness. Ideally, certainty imparts hope to its believers: the meek certain of their inheritance of the earth, the suicide-bomber certain of the heavenly ascent, the farmer certain of the arrival of the rain, the terminal quadriplegic certain of death’s inevitability, and the child certain of the mother’s love. What then troubles me? What darkness lurks behind the silhouettes of thought? Is it the same feeling that the geocentric had when challenged by the heliocentric? Is it the same feeling that the creationist had when challenged by the evolutionist? Is it the same feeling that the two-nation theorist had when challenged by the Bengali? Or is it that certainty in itself evades me?
Is certainty possible? The Greeks thought the gods were fair coloured with upturned noses till they came across black ones with flat noses; Europeans always wrote of white swans till they saw black swans in Australia; not many believed in us till the mountains in Chagai turned white, and we adorned our cars with Saddam’s posters until he was pulled out of a hole.
Under some circumstances, certainty is perhaps possible. It is possible for the fallow mind that is unreceptive to thought contrary to its beliefs; it is possible for a dweller of the Platonic caves, and it is possible for every individual reticent to challenge the tranquillity of the status quo. It is also possible for the mind that has concluded about the impossibility of certainty. It is possible for the mind that believes in the certainty of change. It is possible for the mind that knows the qualified certainty of probability. In short, certainty is only possible if one either ignores or accepts certainty.
What on earth made me venture into this realm of the attributes of certainty? I was well educated and considered myself well read. I befriended both the elite and the plebeians. I read the newspapers. I participated in debates at school. I was decent at sports. I watched those addictive primetime talk shows. I listened to the Friday sermons. I had discussions with colleagues. In all, I was well set in my way of life, like those of many others around, snug in my comfort zone, my ideas and thoughts well entrenched.
When I moved to the US for my medical training, the different environment presented itself as an opportunity. The US is still a decently free society. I met new people and encountered new thoughts. The abundant and easy availability of books was a blessing. I felt like a Christian of the dark ages at the fountainhead of knowledge that was the then Muslim world. I realised how little I knew. At least if nothing else, I now knew, as did Socrates, that I do not know.
I realised I knew not of philosophy. I had read Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder in school, borrowed from a very good friend of mine. I really could not grasp it then although it is written for high school students. It crossed my path again during my postgraduate training years and the ensuing interaction was much more fruitful. I read it and understood it. Then I read other introductory philosophical works.
It is an amazing world; there is a history of mankind; a history of thought; a history of religion; and a history of science. Philosophy gives one a perspective on life, on the evolution of thought. It can be reassuring and it can be puzzling. And more so it can be unsettling. It asks of one thing; it demands the attribute of incredulity and invites scepticism. Qualified scepticism is not all bad, as Sextus Empiricus said, “By scepticism, we first arrive at a suspension of judgment and second at freedom from disturbance.” It is always worth a try if nothing else.
Philosophy may not give one definitive answers. It may not give one certainty. Why then engage in a futile exercise? Why then float in angst? Why then alienate the likeminded? Why then venture outside one’s comfort zone? But then the night succeeded by the day is a source of pleasure and so is new knowledge rising out of the old. The human mind has always sought certainty; it has always sought its role in the cosmos. At the same time, the human mind is a curious mind. It thought of the atom in the 4th century BC and then proved it about two-and-a-half millennia later. Now it is intrigued by the Higgs-Boson, naming it, in its ultimate quest, the ‘God particle’. Were it not for curiosity, were it not for innovation, the world would not have been as we know it now.
Venture outside your comfort zone into the realm of uncertainty, with 3,000 years of human thought at your side, and experience the yet inexperienced. A change in thought process is needed. We need new solutions to our problems. We need new paradigms. We need new collaborations between faith and reason. There are many paths that lead to the destination. In the words of Rumi: “Let the beauty you love be what you do, there are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” Choose yours. We need not all but only a few, for after all change is a function of the individual. The journey begins here today, with you and hopefully, it will end with us all. Let knowledge smash the glass walls that create an illusion of freedom. Let action smash those glass walls. Fly off for there is a whole new world to discover and a whole new world to create. A whole new world of sociology, morality, science, history, medicine, industry, and art beckons to be understood, discovered, and rediscovered.
The writer is a US-based physician and can be reached at [email protected]