Richard Bach Was Right

That might be a controversial assertion in some circles, but I stand by it 100% in this context.

The first book by Richard Bach that I read was given me by my mother, probably not long after it had come out in paperback. I remember it so well because she underlined a few passages—to my best recollection, the only book she did this in—to signify why it was more important than the dozens of others she’d bought for me. It is Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah. It profoundly changed my way of thinking, and of viewing the world. Sorry, Mom: the most powerful piece is unrelated to the passages you underlined.

The best way to understand it is for me to post the bulk of a ranty reply the messiah, Don Shimoda, gives to Richard after the former misunderstands an offhand comment by the latter as a profound statement [all formatting/punctuation in the quotations are as in the book]: “What do you mean, can I tell you one person who does. ME! I live in this world!” Then Richard blows it by clarifying his meaning: “What do you mean? Of course I live in this world. Me and about four billion other people.” That’s what triggers Shimoda’s outburst, part of which is below:

You’re sure of that. You live in the same world, do you, as…a stockbroker, shall we say? Your life has just been all tumbled and changed, I presume, by the new SEC policy – mandatory review of portfolios with shareholder investment loss more than fifty percent? You live in the same world as a tournament chess player, do you? With the New York Open going on this week, Petrosian and Fischer and Browne in Manhattan for a half-million-dollar purse, what are you doing in a hayfield in Maitland, Ohio? You with your 1929 Fleet biplane landed on a farm field, with your major life priorities farmers’ permission, people who want ten-minute airplane rides, Kinner aircraft engine maintenance and mortal fear of hailstorms…how many people do you think live in your world? You say four billion people live in your world? Are you standing way down there on the ground and telling me that four billion people do not live in four billion separate worlds, are you going to put that across on me?

The first time I read that, the metaphysical thunderclap reverberated in my body, much like the auditory variety can. It explained so much. My feeling so different from nearly everyone around me, both family and friends … how easy it can be to misunderstand another, because their conceptualization of a word doesn’t align well with one’s intended meaning/usage … how, no matter how intimate two individuals might become, they will never fully understand one another.

And later, when the successful cloning of a sheep was announced, returning to this revelation helped me recognize that viewing a clone as an identical form of the original would be wrong, because a clone by definition cannot experience the exact same environmental and internal conditions over its lifetime as the original individual had. And even later, after reading a certain Heinlein book, understanding that absent significant complex advances, grokking would likely never be possible.

This understanding made me a much better teacher, as it was an ever-present reminder that my knowledge/understanding is always different from a student’s—and to be precise here, different ≠ better. It made me a better parent, too, as I could empathize much more both emotionally and cognitively with my children’s development, and be more patient with them.

I’m far from saintly at this (once I think I know someone, it’s much harder to maintain this approach), but I do consider it a personal strength. And this understanding gave rise to a now habitual thinking pattern: whenever I meet someone and learn a little about them, I take some time later to reflect on what they told me about themselves and try to imagine what their singular world is currently like.