A Word Of Caution
There’s so much I yearn to share with both of you, but time always seems limited, and our chances to delve into these topics with the depth and richness they deserve are few and far between. My love for you both is immeasurable, and I recognize that some of these subjects might feel distant and unfamiliar at your age. I understand that by the time you’re ready to contemplate these matters, I might be advanced in age or even absent, unable to engage with you in these conversations. How I wish we could have endless hours to sit together, letting these thoughts flow freely from our minds.
So, I’m jotting down my thoughts on paper, envisioning a future where an AI avatar could read this and engage in discussions with you, as if I were right there beside you.
My cherished children, it's crucial to keep in mind that humanity, as a species, is far from flawless. We're marked by countless shortcomings and imperfections. One prominent flaw among many is our inclination to seek simplified narratives to make sense of the bewildering complexities we struggle to grasp. Embracing uncertainty and ambiguity doesn't come naturally to us. Swift changes in our surroundings trigger an instinctual response, as if they're immediate threats. This primal reaction, deeply rooted in our evolutionary past, likely served our ancestors as a survival mechanism, safeguarding them from potential dangers in the wild.
We can't continuously process everything around us. In reality, if we were perpetually attentive to every environmental stimulus—sounds, lights, movements—we'd expend an excessive amount of energy, potentially jeopardizing our survival from an evolutionary standpoint. Consequently, our brains have learned to simplify the world around us, focusing solely on changes in our environment—sudden increases in sound, abrupt shifts in light or motion. Apart from these sudden changes, the environment registers as normal and recedes into the background. Essentially, our brains are hardwired to seek patterns, to construct a narrative about the environment, and to ease off the alert mode. Our brains tend to be economical; they're not designed to scrutinize every input. In fact, our primitive processing centers tend to make decisions and only escalate matters to our higher-order thinking when confronted with surprises or complexities it can't simplify.
This fundamental design is why we often have an inclination to follow others. Faith functions as a way to conserve energy in a world once plagued by resource scarcity. As a child lacking food, you couldn't afford to be perpetually vigilant and anxious. You needed faith in adults and those around you. Following instructions equaled survival. Straying from the tribe or deviating from the collective path demanded considerable resources, abilities, and risk—the further you ventured from the social group, the greater the peril to survival.
This inherent tendency in our brains explains why so many people nowadays easily attach themselves to religion, figures like Trump, or other cults and movements. They willingly surrender their autonomy and control, entrusting their faith to individuals, institutions, stories, and ideologies. The attachment they form is primal and powerful. While their physical survival might not hinge on this attachment, their emotional well-being does.
As a species, we've evolved and constructed societies that provide protection and security. Your environment is significantly safer and more predictable. Nevertheless, our brains haven't completely shed their original design. They still seek to minimize effort and reach a state of peace and calm. The dilemma lies in the absence of physical threats but the presence of mental complexity. Our brains struggle to comprehend the world around us, which seems increasingly convoluted, uncertain, and beyond our control.
This lack of clarity breeds anxiety and fear. Fear propels the human brain into overdrive, and we must find ways to calm down, or we risk exhaustion. People, institutions, and movements that grasp this exploit it with ease. They concoct stories and narratives that simplify the world, dispelling confusion and restoring a sense of control to those grappling with anxiety and fear.
This phenomenon is evident among religious individuals. Their quest isn’t necessarily to uncover truth or connect with a higher power. That path demands substantial effort, unending questioning, and a willingness to embrace uncertain answers. Buddha understood this; he ceased following monks and priests because he recognized that blindly following others curbs independent thought. Instinctively, he grasped that halting one’s quest for learning and questioning equates to ceasing progress toward truth, understanding, or enlightenment. It’s a retreat into passivity, exchanging active inquiry for blind faith.
My dear Elena and Sina, within the intricate tapestry of your lives, you wield the pen that scripts your own narrative. You determine the roles you wish to embody. Alternatively, you can relinquish that pen to others, allowing them to shape your story and assign your roles. I implore you, always ensure that the roles you embrace arise from your own choice, anchored in your authentic beliefs, and above all, lead you to fulfillment. Life is a precious gift, affording you the freedom to mold it as you see fit. Whether you choose to explore the world, seek remedies for ailments, compose music, promote education, or champion justice, your pursuits hold value as long as they resonate from within. Never permit anyone else to draft your script or cast you as a character in a narrative not of your own creation.
