Dopecentury XLII --- To Plunge
This short fiction is part of Dopecentury, an experimental project where I attempt to channel the aural aesthetics of Dopesmoker into written text. (Dopesmoker is the legendary stoner-doom metal masterpiece by the band Sleep, of which it is said: "the monotony rarely becomes tedious.") My plan is to listen to the single hour-long track of Dopesmoker while writing each of these "Dopecentury" entries. And repeat that 100 times. See the Dopecentury project page for more details.
Once more and once again, this choice before me. But who led me to the river's edge? Who stood me there and placed the power to decide my fate into my hands? Who offers compensation to go against my own will? Who wants to violate my comfort and ease? Who pressured me with cajoling or mockery, praise or reward, threats or brute force?
The essential answer is: no one. No one but myself, anyway. I stood my own damned self at the river's edge. I stand here alone and stare into the slowly-passing brown water alone because I am the one who put myself here. The buck stops with me. To put the blame on anyone else, to try to evince a cause or series of causes or a path of fate whose end point was myself standing over this flow of water, with its deep bottom and deep currents that force the very coldest water to the surface right there now before my eyes, to pin this end result onto any other intention, being, destiny, or even luck is to deny my own agency and responsibility. That I cannot do because the pending action itself only has any meaning at all if it is held to be my own free-will in action! So fie unto those who would pin the choice and the action on circumstances. The choice and the action is mine! I own it.
That is not to say that the choice and the fate before me exist in some idealized laboratory setting. I do not stand here upon a blank slate, cleansed of all prior influence, actions, or, indeed, the simple act of living life itself. I have lived! I am part of a society, a culture, and a family. Those things shape who I am, shape my choices and my fate. It would be ignorant of me to pretend I arrived here at this river's edge entirely of my own free will, unimpinged upon by any prior experience or interaction. Of course I have been shaped by the life I lead, by those I interact with, by pressures of society, character, and reputation. I make my choices and choose my fate not in a vacuum but in an environment, and that environment plays havoc with my being whether I would like it to or not.
But the many subtle and not-so-subtle threads of influence in my environment that surround me, bind, me, and pull at me are too many to enumerate or explicate, never mind following or deriving any kind of explanation of cause-and-effect from. Regardless of the strength with which a binding thread of influence might hold one — it may yet be some thick sinewy hawser that holds one's ship of being tightly against a safe wharf while a violent storm of influence blows onshore — regardless of how dragged about or thrust forward by exterior forces of one's environment one may feel, to put the responsibility for your own fate onto those forces is to deny that one ultimately controls the final choice, the fate that stands before you.
To put the cause in the environment is a particular fallacy when the fate one faces is one like I face at this river's edge: a reflection of character, an act of pride, a defining quality. To not face this fate would go against my own character. I have a reputation to uphold. See? These things: character, reputation, are external to myself. I only care about them because it of who I am in other people's eyes. Would I myself be standing here at this river's edge if it were not for the sake of my character and reputation that fundamentally belong to other people? My character and reputation are nothing but constructs that other people hold about who I am. Nothing about them makes me be here right now, standing on this river edge, looking into this slowly passing, brown, freezing-cold water.
But character and reputation are indefensible reasons at this particular moment, since it is yet early in the morning. No one else has awoken to see me here. Nobody knows that I now stand at this river's edge. I could choose a fate of simply not plunging into the river, and nobody would be the wiser. No one would ever know I stood here this morning and contemplated and wrestled with the fate before me right now. I could simply return to my bed, to my life, and later in the day say nothing. And my character and reputation would suffer nothing.
Except deep down, I would know myself, of course. That I did not have the guts to face the worst fate, to jump into that river. My character and reputation would suffer, but only in my own head. But is that not yet a stronger argument that the decision is in fact entirely my own? That I am responsible for my own fate?
This water, when I put my hand in, it numbs my fingers. My fingers ache to the very bones, the water is so cold. This sun, pale and distant in the early morning sky, hints of warmth later in the day, but it offers no warmth right now. This breeze, not stiff, but enough to blow the chill off the surface of the water and prick at my exposed flesh. My body has an opinion about my fate, and it's opinion is in conflict with my mind and my will. Why do I prioritize my conscious will over the desires of my own body? Why put the desires of the will ahead of the desire for pleasure and comfort?
There is no sense in that! Why should we give any kind of priority to discomfort our will might impose upon our bodies?! Who says one is greater than the other? Perhaps if there were long-term gain: say someone offered you a significant sum or resources in exchange for your temporary discomfort. But as I said before, that is not the case here! I stand here in tremendous discomfort, stand in the cold, for nobody and no one except myself. And contemplate a discomfort of a far greater scale.
But have I not already denied the will of my body simply by leaving my warm bed so early in the morning to stand out here half naked in the cold breeze? The conscious will has already won! Or, at least won the first major battle, to arise early and leave the comfort of my bed. Would it not be a waste now if the conscious will did not win the war?
A waste! A waste! I shall not waste the opportunity for a victory of the conscious will. I will plunge into this water, and I will survive, and I will come back out of this water. And there will be comforts in the future, perhaps in the near future, but first let the conscious will be the victor! If for no other reason than to show that the conscious will can be the victor when necessary! And also to exercise the ability to put aside comforts! Today I stand here for no reason other than my own quest to test myself, but knowing I can pass that test will empower me to make the same choice when, perhaps, more significant losses are in the balance.
Into this freezing water I go!
…Though who says I need to face this test right at this particular instant? Could it not wait a few minutes more, and still achieve the same results. A few more seconds here on this dock will cost me nothing, right? The exact moment of the choice to face my fate is unimportant. Let it wait a few moments more, then.