Conceptualization Ad Infinitum--my struggle.

Did you catch that title? "Conceptualization Ad Infinitum"--this is my problem.

If you are a part of the general population (those less weird than I and my philosophy cronies), you probably don't know what I mean. Here it is, laid out for you: I am often accused of--"thinking too much"--end quote.
Depending on the occasion, I am willing to challenge this--"Do I really? Or, is it possible that you think too little?" I offer this thought, not as a challenge, but as an honest question. I am convinced that most people are far too content with their boxed-in worlds. They sit, placid and safe, refusing to engage troublesome ideas that lurk outside their comfort zones. I rarely make an stand to point out this error, but occasionally I encounter people who claim to know the real world yet refuse to engage honest questions. On these occasions, I pepper them with left jabs before landing my right hook. (Joking, mostly.)

In all truthfulness, though, short-sighted attempts to explain life and God exasperate me. Life is a beastly animal; we must not think it tamed, or it will soon get the better of us. Those who believe that they have it figured out are the quickest to see discordant data destroy their paper towers of certainty.

My college studies did away with my paper towers of certainty. Yet, as philosophy has introduced me to new, critical tools and systems of thought, I have begun to use them to understand my life (and faith), much like adding weapons to an arsenal. These have shaped the way I process the information that life presents to me. Some people employ rigid structures that interpret life for them; my approach is much more fluid. Over the years, many people have paid compliments to me on the wisdom that I exhibit. I credit this, mainly, to one specific tool that I use in understanding life--conceptualization. I break things down to root causes and motivating factors. If I have a disagreement with someone, I ask "why?" What caused that? Why was that result the outcome? The benefit of my habit comes in my ability to understand “the big picture.” When most see the immediate situation, I am pondering about weeks or months or years down the road.

Conceptualization happens, also, when it comes to decision making. If you ask me to do something with you, I can guarantee that I will weigh the options, outcomes, long-term possibilities, and the effect that a slight northwesterly breeze would have on our plans. I will ask, “What is the big picture? What are the implications, and what is at stake here?”

Now, before you think I’m too weird, I offer my defense. I don’t think I’ve ever actually thought “I wonder what he really means by ‘Are you going to eat that?'….Hmm….What are the implications here?’”
I must plead guilty, however, to looking for the bigger picture, a larger idea, an all-encompassing principle. This semester, I began to see the drawbacks to this form of thinking. Two references pop into my head; they are very similar sources. One—C.S. Lewis. Two— James Taylor. (So maybe they're not exactly similar.)


C.S. Lewis, in The Abolition of Man, speaks brilliantly of the end goal of man. He paints a picture of modern man, looking past the view in front of him in order to see the bigger picture behind it. The difficulty comes, however, when man ceases to see the larger picture, attempting to look through it as well.

(The parallel between my situation and Lewis’ argument isn’t exact, but I think of it often when I “find myself careening.”)

Lewis’ book ends with this reality—seeing past the immediate setting is only helpful if it allows one to see the bigger picture. But if we continually look through for the next Bigger picture, we eventually see through everything, which is the same as not seeing.

That is my problem. Sometimes in my attempts to 'figure life out', I look through everything, and suddenly (in all my wisdom) I see nothing. --Proverbs 3:7, I suppose--

James Taylor sang, in Something in the Way She Moves,

“Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning, And I find myself careening Into places where I should not let me go.”

I often remember this line— finding myself “careening,” and looking for “the things I lean on.” Once I've looked past all of the realities in front of me, I'm soon lost and looking for things to lean on.

I haven’t figured out what to do with my discovery—perhaps it is best to do nothing at all, perhaps it is best to listen to critics and “stop thinking so much.” Life presents us with many paradoxes, and this is certainly one. My greatest strength—my ability to discern wisely—somehow is my greatest weakness—my inability to live in light of the realities before me.
For now, I propose this solution: If you see me, feel free to remind me that the big picture is significant solely because it is the sum of little pictures, and I will politely point out that the smaller pictures gain meaning and purpose in light of the bigger one. I suspect that we all have room to improve.