Principles are substitutes for an independent outlook. The owner would be lost in the ocean of events if he were not able to orient himself by these fixed bearings. Usually he is even proud of them and does not regard them as weaknesses, but as a source of strength. He hangs on to them because of the insufficiency of his own independent judgment. — Fritz Perls
I want to talk about lines.
There are countless to speak of, of course. Lines at the supermarket, or at a museum, lines on a map, lines in the sand, lines on fields of play. Or theatres of war. Lines on our foreheads and hands, lines in a song, lines on a road, lines on a yellow pad. Lines can be dotted, perpendicular, or curved. Geometric lines, engine lines, tangent lines, there are even illicit lines.
The lines I want to turn my attention to, however, are considerably less tangible. They are the lines of morality, legality, and decorum. Those that separate good and evil, right from wrong, suitable from inappropriate. Lines—or modes of behavioural conduct—encoded into the very fabric of our society. They can be drawn in the sphere of an entire culture, or exist within the private confines of a few individuals. These lines are more malleable, in flux, both emergent and entrenched. They are the lines we’ve been taught about our whole lives. The lines we’ve been warned about, cautioned against, and admonished for transgressing. They are the lines we are told not to cross, lest we face the consequences.
In many ways, we are taught to follow morals and laws alike. That is—we are told not to cross moral and legal boundaries, with the threat of punishment being the primary deterrent. However, as society continues to become ever more secular, it is the weight and value of legal punishment that many continue to extol, while moral or spiritual repercussions don’t necessarily carry the same degree of concern. After all, everybody knows that it’s wrong to steal from another, but whether you eat pork or drink alcohol, well—that’s a matter of opinion.
There is a persistent tendency to separate these two sets of lines. People will usually concede the mercurial nature of morality, but will claim that the lines in the legal domain don’t need any extensive level of scrutiny. In other words, a prevailing school of thought is that you must follow the law, but you can choose your principles of morality.
I won’t pretend to be versed in the history and development of legal and penal codes. I’ll admit that many laws aren’t as subject to interpretation, or are less susceptible to discrimination. In this regard, morality and legality may not be exactly commensurate. However, I believe the lines that govern both bodies are the progeny of the same archaic manner of thinking. One founded on restriction, inhibition, and constraint.
Allow me to explain.
The temptation to think I am calling for an end to these imaginary lines is going to be a strong one. Some have accused me of advocating for anarchy, a world of chaos rife with moral depravity. But this couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s not these systems of governance that I have a problem with. In fact, it’s not the lines themselves that are inherently detrimental (though some may very well be), but rather, it’s their rigidity.
Laws and moral principles are built on a foundation of absolutism and infallibility. That is to say, they are removed from the detailed specifics of a situation, and instead are opaquely superimposed on circumstance. Legal loopholes, the influence of precedents, and mandatory sentencing are just three instances, although the legal system is replete with other examples.
The realm of morality, of ethics, decorum, social conduct—and the lines that dictate behaviours within—operate in a similar way. As previously mentioned, the likelihood of crossing these lines is higher than those of the legal variety, and the reason has to do with the scope of potential ramifications. But the fundamental mechanism that drives this behaviour is the same.
This is the very crux of the issue—the rub—as the Bard of Avon would have it. We’ve created a system whereby thinking critically to arrive at different modalities of thought and behaviour is passed on and outsourced to another agency. We let them do the work, then abide by their rules; and it’s not very difficult to see why. Thinking (of the real kind) is difficult. It takes effort and energy. It requires patience, practice, and prudence. It’s a lot harder to try and understand a situation and determine a course of action based on its individual nuances than it is to, for instance, just say no.
We’ve stopped thinking, when in fact what we need to do is stop to think.
We need to ponder, meditate, and deliberate on our thoughts and actions. We need to contemplate the bigger picture, consider the subtleties, and take into account all the factors.
In some innocuous ways, people already do this. For example, most will agree that lying is wrong—an ethical line to avoid crossing—but in a particular instance, when a lie would spare someone’s hurt feelings, it seems to make sense. So we lie.
That doesn’t mean this will now make us liars, it’s not a prelude to punishment, and we wouldn’t have breached any fundamental, irreversible code of ethics. It just made sense.
In this case, it made sense to do it.
This example, albeit simplistic, is the blue print for how we can approach dealing with the complexities of our individual moral lives, as well as the collective legal systems of our societies. We need to learn to bend the rules a little, cross a line or two, push the envelope and break the boundaries that keep us from developing our own systems of thought. This is not done indiscriminately, of course—it’s not a call to tear society to pieces and watch the world burn—but little by little, step by step, it can be done.
Jiddu Krishnamurti said, “It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”
We can squabble about ‘profoundly’, but there can be little argument over sick. Our society is, I am disparaged to say, sick. There is an inherent, built-in hypocrisy in the way we think and behave, and one need not look very far to come up with examples.
Consider the fifth principle of the Decalogue: Thou shalt not kill.
An important line, both legal and moral. Stakes high. Punishments severe. A line we can all agree should not be crossed.
Except … when it can be, or just is. When it comes to war, or self-defence. Capital punishment, abortion, and euthanasia. ‘Kill’ doesn’t apply to poultry or cattle, certainly not to insects! And the systemic devastation and decimation of our environment? Well .. is that really killing?
To be clear, I am not an exponent of murder. But doing away with absolutism in authority can ultimately open the door for a healthier alternative: rules of thumb. These rules would inherit the minutia of the standards we have, incorporated into a rational system of decision making based on experience, advice, evidence, and the physical world. There is flexibility. Wiggle room. No rule of thumb is absolute. In fact, even the most consequential rules (ie: don’t throw infants into oceans) are not averse to breach should an extenuating set of circumstances arise.
* * *
Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.
I love this expression. It may initially come across as nothing but a witty little quip, but there is, I believe, a compelling message to be found in the drollery.
If a stopped clock can still be right twice a day, we need to stop saying that it can’t tell the time at all. It wouldn’t be advisable to keep time with one, but in unique circumstances, it could very well get the job done.
And that’s the point. The awareness of nuance, sensibility towards the specific, and a capacity for making adjustments to our thoughts and behaviours in a given situation.
Context is everything.
Yes, there are lines—dictating our conduct and behaviour—drawn across the spectra of our everyday lives and interactions.
But let me ask you this: if your line is there, and my line is here, and their line is in between, doesn’t that just mean the lines are actually in our heads?
I am reminded of a poem by Rumi:
Out beyond ideas
of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
I will meet you there.