Column 6

A few weeks ago, after an article I may or may not have written possibly involving mass abstinence, bumper stickers, and former Presidents unable to ride bicycles, I was asked by a reader if I was, in fact, "an idiot." And, to tell you the truth, my first response was "An idiot? Well, I really don't know." Upon further introspection, I determined that this, in and of itself, was not a particularly good sign. Worried, I began looking back at all the decisions I'd made and views I'd claimed over the course of my existence. Lifetime member of the "Joseph Stalin: Misunderstood Humanitarian Club." Heavy investor in designer dog clothing. Firm supporter of perennial Walter Mondale presidential runs. Flash mob sympathizer. English major. Oh, my God. It's true. I am an idiot! And, if my thirteen years in Knox County public schools have taught me one thing, I would sure like to know what it is.

My first reaction: panic. Everything I know could very well probably is should be utterly erroneous! My second reaction: naptime. My third reaction: Before my second reaction, wasn't I wearing pants...? My fourth reaction: panic (revised edition). My pants are gone! Oh, wait, no they're not. Well that's a relief, I was getting kind of OH MY GOD I'M STILL AN IDIOT! Clearly, this realization would take some getting used to.

As my panic died down, I began to rationalize. I mean, Post-Modernists would have us belief that all truth is relative, subject to individual bias to the point that all true communication and understanding is irrevocably tainted by the very tool we use to convey it: language. So maybe, in many ways, we're all idiots. Some of us just misinterpret all that biased nonsense more egregiously than others!

I confer with my peers regarding my new theory. They vehemently profess that they are not, in fact, idiots. It really is just me. Well, damn.

New tactic: virtues of idiocy. Colloquial wisdom would indicate that ignorance is bliss. I can dig that, in a misinterpreted utilitarian kinda way. Except, apparently, ignorance is when you don't know stuff, and idiocy is when you not only lack the ability to know stuff, but the stuff you know doesn't make any sense anyway. So, not only am I not blissful due to ignorance, I'm also incapable of remedying the situation by learning how to not know anything genuinely not worth knowing. In other words, my case is terminal.

Now, despite the assertions of my peers, I'm sure you've probably found yourself in a similar situation. Your life is one misunderstanding after another, everything you think you may or may not know is probably a grotesque mockery of a truth that isn't actually reachable in the first place. We've all been there. The question is: what are we going to do about it?

Well, we could try to unidiotize ourselves by, oh, I don't know, genetic engineering or radiation poisoning or eating lots of snack foods or something. We could stagnate in our stupidity, writhing in existential anguish upon the realization that in our quests for truth and happiness we shall never achieve anything remotely resembling our idealized vision of success. But that jazz is b-o-oring.

Instead, we can accept our intrinsic idiocy yet still aspire to find new and better ways of misunderstanding reality. Go ahead, misconstrue that meaninglessness into some abstract, unexplainable sense of purpose. You don't even have to defend it, you're an idiot! Dare to be stupid, while never impeding others' pursuits of their own stupidities. If we're lucky, angst won't have an axiom to stand on.