By Paul-Gabriel Wiener <pgwfolc@netscape.net>
Rated G
Submitted October 2002
Summary: Some thoughts about the "perfect world."
***
I'm cruising along, my destination for the moment only an abstraction. Over the years, I've become comfortable enough with this sort of transportation that it only takes a small part of my attention to watch what's going on, avoid collisions, and make sure I'm going the right way. Things are pretty quiet. Having nothing better to do, my mind wanders. I remember a recent conversation in which someone asked me why I go out of my way to help people, even those I hardly know. It's not something I've thought about in quite a while. It's what I do, who I am.
I decide to take the opportunity to do some soul-searching. Like many, I went through a period, back in my teens, when I did that quite a bit. Back then, I was surprised to discover that the core of my being is something that feels like a rock-solid steely ball composed of an alloy of gentleness, compassion, and generosity. It seemed a strange contradiction. I probed at it, thinking that such a personality only existed in fiction. I tried to shake it, knowing, even then, that the gifts I'd been born with had given me an annoyingly persistent streak of egotism. At long last, I was forced to accept that it was true. At heart, I genuinely am an altruist.
I also learned in those boyhood searchings that my most cherished quests are for goals I never expect to attain. For one, the quest for knowledge. The fact that I'll never know everything, or even a little something about every topic, hasn't stopped me from trying. The unattainable nature of the goal is beside the point.
The same holds true for the one quest by which I define the meaning of my life- the quest for utopia. At the root, I've dedicated myself to doing whatever I can (small or large) to making the world a better place. To me, my life will have been worthwhile if, looking back from the end, I can say that the world has been a better place, even if only by a little, for my having been in it.
Now, as I absently make my way towards the city, I'm suddenly seized with a thought- what if it actually happens? In practical terms, I realize that we're far more than a lifetime away from the perfect world- if such a world is even possible. Even so, what if it did happen? What if I found myself living in utopia?
I define my life in terms of improving the world. I define myself in terms of helping others. In much the same way as loving more means you have more love to give, I find that I gain strength by lending it to others.
In the perfect world I strive to help create, there would be nothing left to improve. There would be no one to help. There would be no one who needed to borrow strength. In such a world, I would have nothing to do. I would be of no use. My core of generosity would have no way to express itself. I could not live in utopia. There would be no place for me.
What does that say about me? It's not that I thrive on the pain of others; I'm no sadist. Yet, at the same time, I cannot thrive without it. I need to feel helpful as much as some need to be helped.
I could not live in paradise. It's a strange and disturbing thought. Of course, like I said, it's not one I expect to have to worry about for some time, if ever. Most disturbing is the realization that comes on the heels of that last thought. We're a long way from paradise, and some selfish part of me is happy about that.
I have no answer to that. In truth, it isn't even a question.
The city is close now. I put these troubled musings aside so I can focus more on the task at hand. Maybe someday, I'll figure out what it all means. For now, all I know is that "someday" isn't going to be today.
THE END