Reality: A dissenting view

Several bloggers that I read and admire (okay, Jon Schwarz and Dennis Perrin) have posted recently about the crushingly bleak nature of reality. Jon linked to this Woody Allen interview in the Washington Post where, among other things, Allen reduces life to a concentration camp. Dennis, on the other hand, describes having a massive panic attack as a result of following the current situation in the Middle East. Obviously, these two things aren't the same--Woody's straight-out insane, and has been for years, while Dennis is a victim of his own laudable intensity--but both reactions are object lessons for all us thinky types.

Here's something I've learned: knowing things is not for the faint of heart. Too much of the wrong type of knowledge can poison a mind, and we all must be the guardians of our own mental ecology. Especially now, when there is more information, and less filtering, than ever. The structure of media--as well as the structure of our brains--skews relentlessly towards exceptional things. And by exceptional, I of course mean horrific. We are wired to notice potential threats, not common pleasures.

The unbroken chain of nasty stuff (tumult, malfeasance, sickness, death) we call news is no more "reality" than a similar chain of sweetness would be. Pick any place on the globe: at this moment there is fear and death, and also happiness and life. Suffering and injury and despair is balanced by joy and health and contentment. The fear/death is larger and easier to spot--a war, explosions, injustice--while the joy/life is smaller and more personal--prosperity, natural beauty, great sex.

Acknowledging only the negative aspects of existence is a distortion, and I disagree with the idea that indulging in that distortion is somehow more realistic or more responsible. Woody Allen's whining about existence devalues not only his absurd good fortune, but also all those people who suffer more than he. And he's mistaken even if you accept his absurd view; if life really IS a concentration camp, isn't it inspiring how we all carry on? How we all struggle to wrench some happiness from our time on Earth? If Woody had said, "For me, life is a neverending orgasm," wouldn't we consider that a reflection of a distorted mental process? We wouldn't think, "He's right" or "Ah yes, Pagliacci." We'd think, "Uh, maybe I shouldn't let Woody around my six-year-old."

Which some of us already do. Feel better, Dennis.