To complete the first full week of NaPoWriMo, I was to write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying.
I selected a Chinese proverb which is also a quotation attributed to Grantland Rice (which is the more likely).
“A wise man makes his own decisions. An ignorant man follows public opinion.”
Indeed, following public opinion is called argumentum ad populum (Latin for “appeal to the people”) and is a logical fallacy based on affirming that something is real or better because the majority think so.
Skeptical Wisdom
The killer of dreams may be worries about
what other people think and indeed,
it matters but shouldn’t.
People have died from their own ignorance
or by ignoring the fleeing crowd. Ask why
everyone is running away, discover reasons.
Learn. Make decisions based on valid,
repeatable, tested evidence. Be skeptical,
but listen and learn, or you may fail.
Opinion polls are often wrong. Opinions change.
Neither follow the blind nor be deceived by prophets,
think and consider and ask, then ask some more.
Public opinion is not always wrong, not always invalid,
it is not always all the public. It is not thinking, but evidence
that makes the difference.
And even then, the state of scientific evidence is fluid,
changing, moving. Contrarian thought is fine. It’s fun.
But in the end, truth is an elusive chameleon.
Look both ways to be sure the path is safe.
Carefully consider all options.
Mind the gaps well lest a valid exception be overlooked.
In my lifetime I’ve been called a wise-guy, wise-ass, and a wise-you-name-it. I don’t recall denying any of it. But until I lost a significant amount of hair, gained a lot of scars (and weight), and dealt with a good bit of life’s experiences, no one has used the words wise or wisdom (without suffix) regarding me. So, as I was running through the w’s (women, walking, wine, wild, Wilde, and why) in search of an ‘a-to-z challenge’ blog topic, my wife says, “How about wisdom? You should know about that.” (Her birthday is tomorrow.)
To me, the word wisdom has much in common with the word quality. Both are generally positive; we recognize them (or their absence) when we see or encounter either. But, precise definition for both eludes us. We are willing to take on as much quality and wisdom as possible, but with one condition. We want to know the cost. What price must we pay for quality? Can we afford it? What price must we pay for wisdom? Are we willing to pay the price?
As a college student, I would walk into the Seven-Eleven store and eyeball the beer coolers. I looked only at price per six-pack. Texas Pride was 86-cents for six cans. I still can’t believe I managed to drink that horse piss, but price mattered more on my tight budget. I ignored quality. Little did I know then that years later I would gladly pay eight-to-twelve times as much for top-quality, locally brewed, craft beer. My taste and budget have both matured in quality.
I had a conversation with a friend who was a wonderful, doting, and loving mother to her children. As I listened to her rant-on one day concerning some problem that her son was having, I asked her this question. “You love your son. Why do insist on preventing him from learning life’s lessons simply because they are painful? Be there for him. Protect him from serious harm. But allow him the dignity of learning his own lessons.” Before she got over her hurt feelings about what I had said, she backed off (he owes me). Hard for her, good for him.
We are wiser when older because we have been schooled in life longer.
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