Theoretically Speaking... by Douglas S Johnson A thought which does not go on to embody or externalize itself is no thought. — Ralph Waldo Emerson   In college, I was the worst. I could sit and spit Spinoza, Plato and Epictetus all day long. Before that, I was a fundamentalist religious zealot, right out there with the rest, knocking on doors, selling my own brand of God, not having the faintest idea about what I was really saying or how I might in fact be hurting those I wished to "enlighten." And then when I took a turn at studying psychology... Oh, it's too painful to think about... That's not to say that I was academically or theologically "wrong" in what I said. I knew the theories and what they were about, but I had no idea what they really meant, or if they meant anything at all... Maybe I should illustrate what I want to say with a couple of more recent examples. A few weeks ago, my best friend, who is also a college instructor, called me from back home in Missouri and asked me if I thought "everything in life was innately political." Now older and no doubt wearied by listening to years of my own overly generalized theoretical prattle, I cringed at her uncharacteristic question and answered with something like, "Huh?" She went on to say that she and a male colleague had been talking (or, rather, he had been talking, and she had been listening), and he had gone on at great length about how "everything in life is innately political." "But what does that mean?" I said. My friend, who had apparently gotten almost two weeks of her officemate's "politico-philosophic" declamations, gave me a little of what he so hotly touted, but then had to admit that, in fact, she wasn't really sure how any of it might be practically applied in her life (or anybody else's, for that matter) or if his supposition was even remotely true. "So then what did it all mean," I asked again, "all that talking?" She said she honestly didn't know. I avoided the temptation to ask if she was sorry about all the wasted time (having in the past wasted so much of other people's time myself with similar monologues). Then a few days ago, I was reading a book, supposedly about living a spiritual life, which repeatedly, and without a trace of concrete example, instructed one to "live in the light, breathe in the light, and move in the light," so that one could ultimately become "one with the light, a friend of the light, a coexistent being with the light." After about fifty pages of this and other likewise trite phrases, I had the same sort of reaction. "Huh?" What did this mean? What light? How did I behave and act in order to get into the light? Could "the light" help me argue less with my mother? How did all of this relate to "real life"? (The book's title, after all, promised a better life.) I got very little in the way of answers to these questions as I read the following fifty pages. No matter that it was couched in very pretty and important-seeming words, it was all fairly vapid theory, and, in the end, it contained very little of real value. (Most of the philosophical principles seemed poorly copied, and then, worst of all, the theory later turned into a metaphysical [and still very vague] financial plan. One can be rich and successful beyond one's wildest dreams, it seems, if one merely befriends "the light." Nothing was ever said about genuinely improving one's life, except in the most superficial and physical ways, and even the stuff about this was very nonspecific.) *** It all got me to thinking about my college days. What had I been trying to do, lolling around in the student union, lecturing anyone who would sit and listen to my purloined propaganda? Even more, what had given me the right in high school to push my religious theories on other people, invading the comfort and privacy of their very abodes? I suspect it had a whole lot to do with my ego, and very little to do with helping anyone get any further in life. I also suspect that a good many political, religious, and philosophical theorists, of both the professional and armchair variety, function from out of the same place. Kierkegaard warns that some of the most insidious and corrupting people living are those academics and intellectuals and spiritualists who exist only to write articles and books of commentary on the articles and books of commentary of others. Such as these merely bicker and banter and swipe each other's notions, ultimately moving farther and farther into abstract theory about life and, ironically, farther and farther away from the realities of life itself. Worse still are those who try to push these juiceless propositions off on a sometimes all-too-willing public, especially in the name of "saving" them. Similarly, the Bible cautions us about meeting the slain man on the road and counseling him to "be of good cheer" (or feeding him some other theoretical equivalent, religious or otherwise) rather than actually getting involved on a real and personal level. We see this sort of thing all the time. People in every level of government (a great collection of "theory-thinkers") claim to "feel our pain" and come up with elaborate plans to rescue everyone, but their actions rarely consecrate their high notions. Perhaps there should be a special note made at this point concerning religion, for it is, of all the theoretical forms, probably the one most abused (and therefore the one most often mistakenly maligned). We can also use it to illustrate that theory is not to be thrown out the window; it simply isn't to be used in lieu of real living and communication. Religion is a fine and useful thing, when it is handled correctly, that is, mostly lived and rarely spoken; but as good as it is at helping us get ourselves through life, when it is mishandled, it can bring out the absolute worst in people. George Carlin used to say, "Never trust anyone who makes reference to Jesus more than 46 times a minute." For all I know, Carlin did in fact intend this as a slam against Christianity, but it can also be understood to say, "Shut up and live the life; there are a lot of theoretical Christians in the world, but very few alive ones." One good way to know that you are an alive religious person rather than just a theoretical one is to spend as little time as you can telling people what you think and as much as you can showing them who you are. Don't be a Muslim, a Confucian, a Christian, or a Buddhist peddling a lot of this-and-that doctrine. (People will ask for the particulars if they want them.) Simply be a good and giving person as all of these faiths instruct, and for the love of whatever God you worship, don't stand on street corners and theorize about how to be a good person; get out in the wide world and be one! (Often enough, this entails not saying anything at all. Listening can speak much louder than words!) *** Maybe all of the above appears to be an overly dramatic proposal on my part, a bit of humanistic windmill tilting. But it must be known that if we become charmed by "theory-thinking," we can get caught up in life-sapping illusion just as much as we would if we began following the things of the physical world as an ultimate end. This is true because, in the same way, it can rob us of the deep, human connections that make life worth living. Perhaps we could be more straightforward and intimate with each other if we were to heed the following: Read abstract theory occasionally; write of it only when you must; and speak of it almost never. During verbal intercourse with someone, speak to and of the person, as a person, not of your politics and your philosophy, as would one academic machine to another. Write honestly and simply and as practically as possible. Let your best and most productive theories be at the back of your words and concerns, but when you come to another, be personable and speak of life, and not merely of theories of life; for people who pontificate are usually in hiding and will not help anyone. Let me be clear. This is not to condemn my friend's colleague who says he thinks "everything is political" or anyone else who likes to doodle out loud from time to time or who occasionally passes a lunch hour "shooting the bull." We all do that sometimes. The point is that we don't get to the place at which we no longer know the difference between empty, profitless intellectual talk and the kind of personal communication that keeps us human. If our true goal is to help others, we must never subtly use what we say to distance ourselves from people rather than to draw nearer to them. As writers and students of philosophical or religious theory, we can sometimes, in our fear and egotism, become spiritual or intellectual snobs, defeating our whole purpose in studying the ways of the mind and the spirit in the first place. We can avoid this in three ways. First of all, we need to remember that a theory's meaning is based solely in its direct applicability to real, human, personal life; otherwise, when we speak of it, we do but make a lot of useless vibrations in the air. Secondly, we need to dismiss any remaining ideas of superiority or power over others, and to the best of our ability, leave behind their outward manifestations. Thirdly, we need to know that once we make a thought into an inflexible program, we may build its funeral pyre. Christ, Camus, and King were pioneers, originals, profitable because they did not follow theories, but rather made the dominating programs and propaganda follow them. Hold to your most cherished theories (there are many good and meaningful ones, as we have said), but be ready to release them the very minute they are no longer plastic and flexible or when they cease to answer to that small, guiding voice inside you; for it is then that they become dangerous and harmful to everyone. Remember: Be an original, not a poor product of theoretical xerography. Also, remember that you were not put upon this earth to be an authority or an intellectual, but rather a human being with something real and lasting to offer to other human beings. My best friend says that "irony rules the world," so, to prove her correct, here is my theory about theories. I hope that maybe I am a little better than I was in my high school and college days and that something here will be helpful — and thus, meaningful.