I had an interesting car cionversation while driving with a friend. I was eagerly expressing some of my views about how the greatest story teller wins, and some of my deeper story based philosophies.
We got into some of the real truth about lies, and it was disturbing to her. I have perhaps lost her trust because she believes I think telling lies is fine and just. That wasn’t quite my point, but to a certain extent there are many ways to look at life and society, but on a grand scale, like from a 100 or 1000 year persopective, reality and the truth are indeed irrelivant.
I point to a street sign. That sign is not a story today. It is a physocal object,however if I am explainint it to a man in Africa as part of a story, it’s isn’t vital that I get the details right.
In 1000 years, everything we se will only exist in the stories, and whether the sign was red or green won’t make much differece, even in a historical sence. Certainly consistency is important, and that’s why lies get found out.
ANything you say can be the truth if you’re alone. If more than on person has a version of the story, then the truth has a place. Some p[eople wil know the truth.
1000 years from now, the best story wins.
I use the example, Santa is the truth, until he isn’t. This is true with every story. Anything I say can be the truth, until a better story comes along.
The world was flat. That was the truth. Everyone acceopted it.
Then, a better story came alongm, and at first, they wanted tio hang the guy and discredit hime. Big lies often want to stay in power. Churches have been killing off other stories for ecnturites to remin the best story. Absolute stories don’t work when there are more than one person telling them.
Eggs are good for you.
Eggs are bad for you,
The average person has no idea if egge are good for you or bad for you, so we pick a story that suites us and declare it our ytruth. If you really like eggs, you pick the one that lets you eat it in peace.
At this stage in my life, I don’t listen to food stories if I can. Sometimes my Facebook feed is filed with stories telling me the things I love are bad for me. I choose to igniore them, and go with the older story. They were fine for me last week. I’ll believe that story is the truth.
Many people still smoke, not fully believing the new story that it will kill them. They clking to the word “may”. Lost of 90 year olds smoked all their life.
We change our story all the time. This year I learned Vikings never wore hats with horns on them and that story was invented by some Opera in Sweden. Some of us believe the new story, some will die believing Vikings wore horns.
As an extra to that, I made up the part about teh Sedish Opera origin story… maybe. I don’t really know. I remember it might be true. I know it was made uop by somebody in a movie or something, but I tell the story with authority to make it a good story. The basics are true… or maybe not. Maybe the story about the fake story is true, or a story.
The point is – does it really matter if we know what the Vikings wore? Even if we-retall a false story to friends and they tell two friends and so on and so on. Does any of it matter.
Deeper still, we don’t undertand so much about our universe, we like to believe some things are true. It comforts us to trust. Our entire society is based on the fact that when people say things,m they are supposed teo be true, and we can only function when we believe this.
So much fraud and crime takes advantage of this, and our fear is based often in whether the stories we’re being told are true or not. I have trouble with trust, and it ruins many things for me because I understand trust is a concept too, and if the other person knows the power of stories, then anything and everything could be fake.
I could never live that way. I need to believe that when I meet people and talk to them the thigs they tell me are true… even though I know they might not be, and hve dire cioncequences if they are not.
My morals keep me honst, and my trut in morals keeps me sane. The people I deal with are true… even though they might not be.
I can not be certain the earth is round and rotates the sun. I have not taken time to work out the science to myself.
Perhaps that is a bad example, as the science seems pretty strong. Another example might be history itself.
All of our existance in this universe has already happened, and is just the story we’re told. We live in the reactiona d realization of a now that has since passed. Everything is a story. I choose to believe most of it is true, but to be honest, I do not know if I was turned on yesterday with these memories and I am really a robot. I do not know if today is the first day of my life. I do not know the world existed yesterday, or that thius world is what it seems to be.
I do know that Geairge Washington never cuit diown a cherry tree, but when I was five, that was a true story. An apple didn’t hot Newton on the head, and in fact, he was a drunken idiot everyone nhated. As I grew older the story changed. I don’t know whether Newton invented anything, or even existed.
None of it matters. I live in this universe of stories and get to choose what I believe. I get to choose what I tell.
I write my own story, from bith to death. I am the author of my unievsre, and although it may offend you, facts only matter if I get caught, or if a better story ciontradicts me.
I can tell you a different story than I tell that person there, if I’m good enough to keep track. I have to be aware the same hold true for you.
I must be ciontent in my own universe. In the end, I’l be dead and only my stories will remain. If I’m lucky, or did well, my story may live on for 100 or 1000 years. If not, perhaps a generation. I have no children.
I live on through my lessons, not my offspring.
My lesson is, we write our own stories. We are the authior of our universe. It is a mighty superpower, but always remember – so does everyone else. The ones that figured it out are winning.