The French philosopher, Rene Descartes, is remembered among other things for his thesis: I think, therefore I am.  The notion is most commonly expressed, not in French or English, but in Latin: Cogito, ergo sum.

His premise was not, as is widely believed, that he exists because he can think; rather, it is that he is aware he exists because he is able to think.  That assumption presupposes that so-called lower forms of animal life, being non-sentient as far as we know, exist without knowing they exist.

Descartes appears not to have considered the possibility that some humans may also exist without full awareness, largely because of their demonstrated inability or willingness to think rationally.  But I digress.

In conversation with other folks, I occasionally hear them offer their opinion by beginning with the phrase, So, I think to myself…  I find that phrase redundant, because I can contemplate no other way of thinking; by definition, all thinking is to oneself, is it not?  Unless, as some would have it, a person is thinking out loud, which strikes me as verbalizing, not thinking.  Better, I suggest, to think first, speak second.

But as a counterpoint to that, people might deem praiseworthy the ability some folks have to think on their feet—to offer an opinion, receive feedback, and modify that opinion, all in the course of one conversation.  That facility is admirable, I suppose, but it can happen, of course, only if they’re standing; if they were seated, they would surely be thinking…well, on their tush, right?  And somehow, blowing it out their…you know…doesn’t seem as impressive.

I’ve long thought of thinking as a fluid process, a constant progression, a multi-directional flow, rather than as a static, linear plod from point A to point B.  And if that is so, then a graphic tracing of my thinking pattern would appear, not as a straight line, but as a higgledy-piggledy, zig-zagging line—frequently interrupted and intercepted, but always arcing upward toward higher illumination, I would hope.

As a writer, it’s my thinking that takes me far from my physical surroundings, even to the point of forgetting all about time and place.  As I wrote in haiku verse some time ago—

my thoughts, unbridled,
take me to worlds I ne’er will see,
nor have ever seen

my boundless thoughts are
like hot air balloons, slipping
bonds that tie me down

I wander freely
throughout the universe, yet
never leave my chair

There are two adages on thinking that I try to hold to, at least presently, and they both grace the résumés and bios that appear on my online, social-media sites.  The first is, Certainty is the enemy of an open mind…I think.  And the second is, Don’t believe everything you think.  Regular readers of this blog will know whether or not I’m successful in living up to those.

Certainty plagues many people after they’ve thought a subject through—or even when they have not—and then adopt a position they think is accurate or true, and stubbornly cling to that opinion, come hell or high water.  But I think every opinion we hold should be subject to periodic, critical study, the more frequently the better, in order to test its validity in the face of facts and evidence that can change from time to time.  Being overly-certain about one’s opinion can stifle that sort of examination.

The irony with this adage, however, is that I can’t be certain it’s correct, for to be so would violate its basic premise.  Like every other opinion I hold, it requires my constant scrutiny…at least, I think it does.

The notion of believing everything we think, just because we think it, likewise can lead to cognitive stagnation.  In everyday interactions, our behaviours are governed by what we think we should say or do at any given time, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  Guidelines are preferable to social anarchy.  But if, for example, I believe it’s safe to jaywalk across a busy thoroughfare just because I think it’s safe, and if I persist in that belief, the consequences to me could be catastrophic.  Better, I think, to examine my thinking in the light of facts before committing it to belief-status.

The irony with this second adage is it presents a danger that one will never commit to believing in anything.  I think that, too, could present a problem.

For those who’ve read this far, let me finish with an anecdote about two people engaged in a mild argument over some inconsequential subject.  “So, is that what you really think?” the woman asks, a touch of incredulity tinging her tone.

“I don’t think!  I know!” the man replies smugly. 

With barely a pause, the woman smiles condescendingly and says, “You know what?  I don’t think you know, either.”

And that could well be the case for all of us.  Even when we think we know, even when we are absolutely certain of it, we still might be mistaken.  The wise carpenter’s advice—measure twice, cut once—could easily be adapted and applied to our thinking process: think, rethink, then act.

I’ve done just that in this post…I think.

What say you?