A Socrates To Me

I was on my way to a training seminar when I experienced one of those encounters that calibrate expectations. I located my luggage at baggage claim, and found my way to the shuttle. As it would happen, it was just the two of us.

Now, when it’s “just the two of us” I consider myself as having two options. If the other person seems gregarious, then I’ll talk. If, on the other hand, the other person shows no sign of potential discourse, then I’ll mind my own business. I never want to talk when silence is intended, or remain reticent when a sign of communication is given. The bottom of the matter is simply I could care less either way. I don’t mind being quiet; I have plenty with which to occupy myself. But, I also enjoy a good conversation. As I step into the shuttle, it becomes readily apparent to me that conversation is in order.

The driver, we’ll call him Sam, is an older gentleman. I mention this because I’ve always had a fondness for individuals over the age of sixty. This has been the case for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with a general lack of pretension among this age group. And it seems to me; furthermore, that our most experienced individuals are many times willing to engage in casual conversation. So, casual conversation it is.

Sam starts it off with a few general questions about my training and occupation. I, feeling under no compulsion, ask him a few like-minded questions. I learn that Sam is retired from the military and enjoys his continuing service driving shuttle riders to training seminars. As he drives and reflects, I sit there enjoying the very natural, easy way that we converse. A stranger might have thought we were long time acquaintances.

Now, at some point the conversation turns to education. Sam still cherishes many a fond memory of school. In fact, he met his wife in college. “No sir,” he says, “I’m glad I did that.” I ruminate a little about my experience. Sam listens and then he asks the standard question, “What was your major?” I, without really thinking about it, say my studies were mainly focused in philosophy. With great excitement, he offers me an idea. He proposes something that I have not forgotten and don’t believe I ever will. What he proposed went something very much like this:

            “I once heard a man say that he believed we live the same life over and over again. Except, in each recurring life we make a decision other than the one that was previously made. In this way, we are given the opportunity to experience every option of each possible choice we ever encounter, along with all of the relevant results.”

            My initial reaction to this proposition was similar to what happens when I am just about to fall asleep and some noise slaps me into reality. I went from a kind of cognitive grogginess to a wide awake, “What did he just say?” The truth is such a possibility had never occurred to me. And so, my response is a little delayed by shear surprise. Once I finally gather my wits, I ask if this “re-living life’s choices” goes on without end. Do we eventually exhaust the possible choices we are presented with, or does this go on forever? We quickly dismiss the second option.

So, my enlightened guide and I roll through the night as I listen to him recount choices he’d made and his general satisfaction with the overall outcome. We arrive at our destination. I thank him for an exceptionally good ride and for the fine conversation. Since our short ride is over, he having more trainees to deliver and me having a new thought to consider, we part ways and continue on our respective trajectories.

Now, there are a couple of reasons why this ride with Sam has stuck with me. First, every once in awhile I will pick this proposition up and mull over it.  And of course, each time I pick it up I see it in a little different light. For instance, Sam and I may have been hasty by deciding that this “re-living life’s choices” (from now on referred to as RLC) does not go on forever. My first inclination is to consider the finiteness of our lives, limited by a beginning and end. So, even if it takes a large number of lives to exhaust all possible choices, it seems that at some point one will come to the last choice possible (a choice with only one option, I suppose).  In other words, since our life is finite, our number of choices in life must be as well. But, given RLC, is this correct? I’m not sure.

It’s difficult to get a clear idea of what these recurring lives might be like, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Let’s imagine my first recurring life is exactly like my original life, with one exception. My first recurring life differs in that upon encountering my very last choice, I choose otherwise than I did in the original. If we think in terms of “decisions” instead of “choices” we might say my first recurring life is exactly like the original, except when I encounter the last decision of my life I decide (and in fact, do) otherwise than I did in my original life.

Maybe my last decision, in the original life, was to walk across the road without looking. Thus, I am struck by an oncoming vehicle and die. In my first recurring life, I decide to look before walking, and in doing so see the oncoming car and live to cross the street another day. Now I have a little more time and, thank goodness, more decisions to encounter. This scenario brings up an interesting insight. Each different decision made potentially brings about more possible decision making opportunities. So maybe, RLC can go on forever, just as long as each new decision brings about more decision making opportunities. But, again I’m not sure. The fact is, someone with skills I don’t posses will have to determine one way or another.

Be that as it may be, there is another thought I have about RLC. At first blush, there is something freeing, something liberating about the whole idea.  If I get it wrong this time, I will have another chance in some recurring life to do it differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that job. No worries, I’ll not take it in some recurring life. So RLC seems to relax some of the anxiety that might accompany the decision making process. But, I think, this easing of decision making anxiety may come at a cost. The fact is, if in fact RLC is true, I am determined to make every possible decision related to every choice that I ever encounter. My freedom disappears in a thought.

That being the case, there is something morally numbing about the whole idea of RLC. It seems to me that one of the conditions that make moral decisions significant is that I cannot go back and undo them. Nor does it seem, at least prior to meeting Sam, that I will re-do them in some future recurring life. As it appears now, once a moral decision is made and acted upon, it becomes part of concrete reality: the present. There it is and there’s nothing I can do, except ride the consequences to their end. But, if RLC is the way things actually work then my moral decisions are relatively unimportant. If I live a morally good life, then it follows I won’t in some future life. If I don’t live a morally good life, then I will.  So, my decision making anxiety is relieved at the cost of moral responsibility. Or, so it seems to me.

Let me offer one last thought on RLC. There is a question about how personal identity is to be maintained in any meaningful way throughout these lives? How is Chad the same Chad through all these Chad lives? In one life I do what I would not. In another I don’t do what I would. Is that me? Maybe, these radical moral shifts as regard inclination change over a number of lives. So that, if I am a virtual saint in my original life; there will considerable recurring lives separating the original and its exact opposite. In other words, these radical moral shifts would occur over many recurring lives. But, who knows?

Oh well, so much for RLC. I don’t think it’ll become a member of the framework through which I see the world. But, I may pick it up again. Why? At the very least it may sharpen my skills, and I’m certainly in need of that. But also, it may help clarify the way I, in fact, do see the world. So, that’s me.  What about Sam? I’m not so sure RLC is Sam’s view of the world. He presented it as “I once heard a man say…” That is not a statement of one’s belief. That’s philosopher bait.

There’s a second (and more important) reason I think this encounter has stuck with me. Upon reflection, it seems there is something Socratic about the whole experience. Now, I have a particular image of Socrates in mind when I say that. I am thinking of Socrates as a midwife: someone who assists while an expecting mother gives birth. In fact, Socrates uses this very image as a reflection of his work as a philosopher. Socrates says,

            “Now my art of midwifery is just like theirs (i.e. midwives) in most respects. The difference is…I watch over the labor of their souls, not of their bodies. And the most important thing about my art is the ability to apply all possible tests to the offspring, to determine whether the young mind is being delivered of a phantom, that is, an error, or a fertile truth.” (Plato, Theaetetus 150c).

            “My business is to attend you in your labor” (Plato, Theaetetus 157d).

Sam, in a few moments, functioned as a Socratic midwife to me. He helped, and is still helping me deliver and examine my thoughts. Sam’s question was a sign of our common humanity. He came out swinging with RLC. Why? It is my assumption that all humans have an innate tendency to ask a few general questions. What am I? Is this it? What should I do? How do I know? There are others, but not many. Sam, seeing the opportunity, breached the superficial barrier.

It is tempting to be disappointed in my initial reaction to Sam’s proposal. But, that would be a low estimate of the lasting effects of good conversation. Even so, I am calibrating my expectations. I never again want to assume that this encounter will be just another one. No. Let every encounter be a potential Socrates to me.