Convicting my convictions

Putting my beliefs on trial.

I don’t take what I write too seriously. In the same way, I don’t take what I believe at this moment too seriously either, because chances are, my beliefs will change, maybe in the next decade, maybe tomorrow, or even in five-minutes from now. I’ve come to learn that my ideas about what’s true are problematic.

I write (which to me is really just thinking out loud) to test my convictions – those beliefs and opinions I so firmly hold – so I can decide if they’re worth hanging on to, if I should revise them or toss them out.

The Latin root of the noun “conviction”, derived from the verb “convincere” means “to overcome and defeat in argument”. So when I write, I essentially grill myself as I perform philosophical spring cleaning. I am working to overcome my own biases, to determine if there are any righteous cloaks or virtuous boots in my closet that no longer fit. Conviction is also the act of determining if someone or something is guilty in a court of law. In this regard, when writing, I put my existing world views, assumptions of reality, moral values, intentions, assessments of others, and behaviors on trial, investigating their accuracy, purity, and usefulness.

In John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim's Progress”, the devil archetype, portrayed by the character of Worldly Wiseman, is thrilled when the story’s protagonist finds a piece of truth because now Wiseman can turn that “truth” into a belief, and this belief can then grow into dogma (which literally means “something that seems true” in ancient Greek).

The notion of an objective truth is flawed because individual perceptions of what’s true vary and are constantly in flux. I like Jiddu Krishnamurti’s explanation of how capital T truth, which he sees as “boundless and unreachable through any established path” gets contorted into dogma. “A belief is purely an individual matter, and you cannot and must not organize it. If you do, it becomes dead, crystallized; it becomes a creed, a sect, a religion, to be imposed on others,” he said. Indeed when an inkling of truth is held too firmly, it turns into dogma, it becomes a weapon of division. “I go to heaven, you go to hell!”

This is why I view all my convictions with suspicion. If I find myself too convicted about anything, the question I’ll ask myself is: “Why are you so chained to this particular belief?”. Often, upon scrutinizing a conviction, I notice:

1)    I have some deep-rooted fear that this conviction helps neutralize.

2)    I am unable to accept the opposite view from this conviction and need to vilify those holding the opposing view because it’s the only way I know how to mentally accept or be comfortable with my own current circumstances and reality.

3)    The conviction makes me feel superior to others, or it reduces my feelings of inferiority.

4)    The conviction makes me feel like I am a “good” person doing the “right” thing.

5)    The conviction justifies my wiring, my manners, my struggles, and my way of being in the world.

6)    The conviction gives me a false sense of certainty and security. It makes me feel like I’ll be OK no matter what.

7)    The conviction helps me orientate myself in the world – I feel I know which side I’m on.

But what if there are no sides? What if there is no superior versus inferior, no good versus bad, no right versus wrong? What if there is no certainty, no security? What then would be the point of pursuing all this assumed truth? What purpose would there be in working so hard to convince myself I am correct in holding one belief over another?

All my convictions render me a convict – which according to the Oxford dictionary is “a person found guilty of a criminal offense and serving a sentence of imprisonment”. My “criminal offense” is that I am a liar because my mind cannot be counted on for consistently delivering the truth (because truth, afterall is ephemeral, situational, ever-changing and transmuting). The sentence I serve is that of being perpetually returned to the prison cell of doubt. 

If what one believes to be true needs to be tested time and again in order for it to be proven true, why be a seeker of truth? If a qualifier of truth is that it entails doubt, then isn’t truth-seeking just exhausting and futile business? Perhaps.

But here’s the consolation for those who understand the value of convicting their convictions – their vision becomes a little clearer, and their mind becomes a little more open after each inquisition.