An Outline of Perspectivism

Perspectivism is somewhat an amalgamation of several different preexisting philosophies and one theology, or anti-theology as it were. The first inspiration would be Objectivist philosophy as created by Ayn Rand. The ideals I find particularly appealing from that concentration are rationalization being the basis behind which all decisions are made and man being an end unto himself. I believe that the only true goal in life is happiness and the only way to achieve this happiness is to act in one’s own best interest at all times. This does not mean I condone a life of hedonism but rather a life of feeling satisfaction through personal achievement while neither taking from others or having others take from me.

My personal philosophy is, at its core, a map towards finding personal happiness and achieving satisfaction from life. I believe that the way to accomplish this is to put my own happiness and satisfaction as the goal towards which I strive. In doing this I am forced to decide things that will make me happy and the goals I truly want achieve and move toward fulfilling them. With these goals as my only focus I will not feel the emotional strain of achieving the unwanted goals of others and inversely will not hurt others by taking from them what they do not truly wish to give. I also agree with Objectivist philosophy on the idea of capitalism being the best economic system under which all are treated as equal and others are not forced to care about others but only forced to take care of themselves. Man’s only true interest is his own survival and the survival of the people he cares about. To ask him to work for survival of others has a twofold result of him not caring as much as he could about his work and therefore not producing to the best of his ability. To me, it is a fallacy that there is a limited amount to be produced. There is in fact an infinite amount to be produced. People however, can only be motivated into maximum production if what they are producing benefits them directly and honestly.

There is one place where I disagree with Objectivism. The philosophy concludes that existence is objective and man’s role is to perceive existence as rationally as he can. It further states that man’s perspective cannot alter existence, only view it irrationally. I would argue instead, as the Post-Modernists would, not that perception can change existence as it sees fit, but rather that an individual perception predicates existence. It is unimportant to me whether men look at the same world and perceive it in many different ways or if they look at very different worlds and actually perceive them all quite similarly. If it is the individual’s good that matters to the individual, then his unique perspective must be from where that sense of good originates. It does not matter whether man’s perspective creates the world or the objective world creates the man. I live through the perspective of my individual self and not through the perspective of the objective world, therefore I must see the existence of an objective world as predicated upon the existence of myself.

The second philosophy through which my personal philosophy was gleaned is Existentialism. This is a philosophy that further states that life is an end in itself. The ideas I find specifically interesting in Existentialism are that man is responsible for his actions, that there does exist a general malaise that plagues man in his natural state, and that man must either find satisfaction in his own existence or he will not find satisfaction at all. Responsibility for ones actions is tied directly into my ideal of individual perception. To take responsibility is to prove your own existence. It does not matter whether we truly exist or not, we are working from the perception that we exist, therefore to question it is meaningless. This much relates to the question of free will. Some say free will exists because it is obvious that we can do as we please. Others say that free will is an illusion created by a combination of terms set from birth and the nature of our environment.

In my opinion this is not a point worth arguing. The universe as we understand it is infinite. Even if it is not infinite we perceive it to be infinite because from our perspective as humans on earth it is. This means that there are an infinite number of natural factors that are affecting the earth and the people who live on it in an infinite number of ways. If our actions are predicated upon an infinite number of random natural factors, then we can only perceive our actions to be done upon our free will because there is no way to otherwise decipher the infinite number of random natural effect. Conversely if all of our actions are predestined then they would have had to be predestined an infinite amount of time ago creating an infinite timeline of creation into the future. The point I’m making is that because both scenarios end in the same result and neither scenario can be proven, it is meaningless to try to discover a conclusion. Do humans have free will? The answer is that it doesn’t matter whether we objectively have free will – from the perspective of the individual we have free will, so we must therefore take responsibility for our actions.

The second premise of man feeling malaise in his natural states needs to be explicated in order to be understood correctly. Man’s goal in life is happiness. If this is his goal, then he cannot exist in a natural state of happiness otherwise there would be nothing to aspire towards. This natural state that man is in would thought to be neutral in feeling being that nothing is positively or negatively affecting the individual but it is not. Man’s natural state is in a gentle malaise that presses on his unconscious. There is a thin layer of unhappiness that blankets man in this natural state, unsettling him and disrupting his equilibrium in the slightest way. This state must first and foremost be accepted consciously. It is this inherent uneasiness that encourages us to seek happiness and achievement in the first place. If man was naturally neutral emotionally, then he could be comfortable without happiness. He would have no reason to seek it again and again because he could rest comfortably in his natural state. In fact, man can not rest comfortable is his natural state. He must always strive for happiness because it inherently eludes him. My final observation in Existentialism’s effect on Perspectivism is that man must find satisfaction in his own existence.

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“But wait a minute Mr. Sloss,” said little Danny Phife. “That story doesn’t make any sense. If they were flying from Ohio to California then how did they end up on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean?”

“Hmm,” said Sloss. “I think the pilot was taking a detour to Hawaii. But that’s not really what’s important in the story.”

“Why did the pilot want to go to Hawaii?” asked little Sally Lambert.

“I think he left his keys there. You’re really missing the point here, kids. It’s about a life time bond between…”

“And you never explained why the plane crashed,” injected little Mike Bradbury. “Isn’t that important? And also why were there goats on a tropical island in the Pacific? Did the goats swim there or something? And who the heck counts jelly beans for a living?”

“Ah, you crazy kids with your AIDS and your chemotherapy,” said Sloss smiling. “The story is about friendship and discovering yourself. You can’t read into the details so literally.”

Just then a nurse came into the reading room and stopped in shock when she saw Sloss there reading to the children.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sloss?” the nurse almost screamed, to the delight of the children. “The judge told you after your last pedophilia conviction that you can’t come in here anymore. Why don’t you go home and molest your own kids. Either that or take it up to the geriatrics on the eighth floor.”

“Oh Miss Claudia,” said Sloss. “You know my children are already dead.” They both had a good laugh at that as the other children glared at each other nervously. Jeffrey waved to the kids one final time and walked out the door, never to return. Nurse Claudia sat down in the red plastic chair previously occupied by Jeffrey and grimaced.

“Ah gross, it’s all sticky,” she whispered. She settled in reluctantly and the children looked up at her soft yet imposing frame. “Alright kids, now who wants to hear a real story?”

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“I can’t do this anymore,” said Mitch bursting into tears. “I can’t hack it in the real world any longer. I’m moving back to the island.”

“Listen, I’m sorry if I was so hard on you but I’ll buy you your own tooth brush for god’s sake,” said Scolnick. “It’s just gross.”

“It’s not about the toothbrush. It’s not about my job or my wife. Life just isn’t the same since I’ve gotten back from that island. I left something of myself there and there’s only one way I’m going to get it back,” said McCulloch leaning on the chair next to the desk.

“Because I can’t pay you for that week you missed,” said Scolnick. “And I’m certainly not moving back to that island, Mitch. I’ve got a wife now and fancy shoes. I mean, look at me. I haven’t seen a jelly bean in three months!”

“I don’t want you to come with me,” said McCulloch, putting his hand on Scolnick’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend Henry, and you were always there for me. I want you to know that if I could pick any book, CD, and person to bring with me on a deserted island I would bring Absolute Power by David Baldacci, I Don’t Want What I Haven’t Got by Sinead O’Connor, and you my friend.”

The two men embraced and Mitch McCulloch raced out the door towards his destiny. That’s the craziest son of a bitch I ever met, thought Scolnick smiling, standing by himself.

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            “He’s a Christian Scientist and very sweet,” Mary said to him without a hint of shame.

            “A Christian Scientist?” said Mitch. “Like Pascal?”

            “Um, I don’t think so, but he’s very good to me and we’re very deeply in love.”

            “But what about our marriage? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

            “Listen, Mitch I really don’t want to argue about this anymore. You’re giving me a headache and you know I’m not allowed to take aspirin.”

            Dejected, McCulloch tried to go through his routine at work but kept falling off his schedule, distracted by his loss. He just couldn’t believe that his wife had left him.

“Maybe if it was one of those Nobel-Prize-winning Jew scientists I could live with myself,” he would mumble to himself at his desk, “but a Christian Scientist? What kind of world are we living in?”

Things went from bad to worse when he was called into the company president’s office. Apparently he hadn’t sold an insurance plan since he’d been back from the island and his fellow associates in the office were complaining about his constant mumbling.

“We’re going to have to let you go, Tom,” the president said.

“My name is Mitch, sir,” said Mitch, trying to hold back his tears.

“That attitude of yours is more than half your problem, son,” said the president slamming his feet up on his desk. “Doreen will validate you on the way out.”

“I don’t drive to work sir, and your secretary’s name is Hank,” Mitch sputtered.

“Say goodbye to that reference, Tom,” the president said, frowning.

Without a wife and without a job, McCulloch didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how he was going to pay his rent or how he was even going to survive. There were friends that he could ask for help but without his job they would all pity him and he would rather kill himself then have to rely on their self-righteous charity. There was only one person in the world he could possibly call. He picked up his cell phone.

“Honestly, Mary, a Christian Scientist. I don’t even think those people wear shoes. Why don’t you just marry a friggin’ Mormon or gopher and get it over with?”

“Please stop calling here Mitch,” said Mary and then she hung up the phone.

“Alright- I’ll call that goof Scolnick,” said McCulloch to the dial tone.

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            “Anytime you need anything, Henry, don’t be afraid to call,” said Mitch during their last moments in the infirmary together. Scolnick was shocked to see as he walked out of the hospital that the parking lot was full of news reporters and they were all waiting for him.

            “How did you survive?” barked one reporter.

            “Were you able to resist the deliciously sinful temptation of homosexuality?” barked another reporter.

            “How many jelly beans are in this jar?” barked another reporter, holding aloft a jar of jelly beans.

            “Arf, arf, arf?” barked a seal.

Scolnick couldn’t believe it. He was surrounded by media attention for weeks after the event. Meaning had finally been attributed to his life and he was riding on a wave of pure pleasure. In the supermarket he ran into a woman holding a tuna steak who recognized him from TV.

            “My name is Susan,” she said to him. “Aren’t you that guy from the plane crash who was stuck on the island?”

            “That’s me,” he said completely incredulous.

            “Why don’t you come home with me? I’m going to make you a very happy man for the rest of your life.” Scolnick was elated. He dropped his Lean Cuisine in his cart and threw his arms around the woman.

            “You smell like you know what you’re talking about,” he said rubbing his nose up against her ear.

            “Oh sorry, I think that might be the tuna,” she said. Susan grabbed his hand and they started moving towards the checkout line.

And Scolnick’s luck did not stop there. A public relations firm in San Francisco approached him to do a series of commercials for a diet program. The only problem was they didn’t have a product for him to promote. Henry suggested an island aerobic workout where willing customers were dropped on a deserted island to fend for themselves for a month.

            “It’s like Survivor but without all the other assholes!,” he exclaimed.

Not only were they interested in having him promote the idea, they were so impressed with his vision that they decided to give him a position in the company. A new job and a new woman. I’ve got to go find some faces into which this will be thrown, thought Scolnick, proud that he had learned to stop ending his thoughts in prepositions.

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“It’s just not fun if you’re not going to play by the rules,” Mitch said to Henry with venom.

In order to further stave off the boredom the men would talk to each other for hours at a time. Mitch would relate stories to Henry about his wife and his job as an advertising executive in Los Angeles. Scolnick would tell stories about things he once found in his nose, which jelly beans tasted the worst, and the time he found a jelly bean in his nose. The men laughed and worked together, becoming close friends in the process.

About a month into their excursion on an early Funday evening the men were sitting on the beach throwing stones into the ocean.

“Alright,” said Scolnick. “If you were trapped on a desert island and could only bring one book, one CD, and one movie, which ones would you choose?”

“I don’t really think I want to play this game,” said McCulloch, skipping his rock against the waves. “I have to apologize to you, Henry. I wasn’t very nice to you on the plane all those weeks ago. I can’t say this is my dream to be trapped on an island with a complete stranger, but you’re a good man and I appreciate you not killing me in my sleep.”

“It was the least I could do after you made such a big deal about it,” said Scolnick smiling. “So we’re friends then, huh Mitch?”

            “Until the day I die of this dysentery, island brother.”

            The two men decided that night to make a final pact to seal their friendship. After a quick brainstorm, they settled on matching tattoos. While Scolnick was hoping for a racecar, Mitch convinced him that a palm tree would be more appropriate. They sharpened rocks and carved the design into each other’s left arm, blood trickling all the while. The bond between the two men had been cemented.

            “Now do a racecar on my back,” said Scolnick enthusiastically.

            “Whatever you say my friend,” said McCulloch with a smile.

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“Well now no one is eating anyone.” The man, gulped water down from the lake. “We need to gather supplies together. We’ve got this lake here for water but we’re going to need to make a tent, scrape together some firewood and find something we can eat on this god-forsaken island.”

“I’m more of a jelly bean type of guy,” Scolnick said, staring down into his cuticles.

“Are you some kind of mental patient? We need to survive.”

“Well I don’t even know your name,” said Scolnick.

“The name is Mitch McCulloch. Now please try to hunt around and find some firewood. I’m going to put us together a shack.”

Without sarcasm, Scolnick snapped to attention like an army recruit with his hand tight to his brow.

“I won’t let you down Mitch.” Scolnick ran over to his new friend and threw his arms around the man. “You smell like you know what you know what you’re talking about.” He squeezed the larger man and then snapped around and with arms pumping ran into the forest.

“I’m giving search and rescue three days and then I’m disemboweling myself,” McCulloch mumbled to himself and wandered out towards the beach.

Over the next few days McCulloch and Scolnick worked together to get themselves situated on the island. Mitch made a hut out of reeds and tree branches and to show his appreciation Scolnick made them a dinette set out of bark and mud. Henry also thought to carve a calendar on the side of a large stone that he carved into with another stone. He decided however that, considering this was his calendar, he would call Monday “Funday”, Tuesday “Snoozeday, Wednesday “Friendsday” and then he got bored with the idea and called the other four days Thursday.

It turned out the island had many natural resources that the men could draw from, including a wild corn patch, goats roaming the eastern edge of the island, and trout surrounding them in the shallows along the sand. The island was not without problems however. The sun was ferocious and oppressed the men constantly. Scolnick tried to assuage the problem by slathering himself in his own feces but Mitch had a talk with him about it and in the end was able to convince him to use the lotion from the aloe plants instead. There were two wolves on the island that had to be dealt with as they were eating the goats and impolitely urinating very close to the drinking water. Scolnick, in perhaps the first brave action of his life, was able to reason with wolves, reminding them that in Robinson Crusoe the wolves did not appear until the men had escaped the island and were somewhere in the mountains of Spain. The wolves, so embarrassed at their faux pas, drowned themselves in the ocean that very night.

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“What the hell is going on here?” Scolnick screamed into the man’s ear over the hubbub.

“I thought I told you not to talk to me,” the man said quietly without looking up.

Scolnick leaned back and braced himself as he knew no matter what was about to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty. The last thought that ran through his mind before it was eclipsed by blackness was: I just can’t get it through my head that today is Tuesday.

Scolnick woke up with up with seaweed in his mouth. Have I gorged myself to the point of collapse at the Japanese buffet again? he wondered. No, he was sandy also and quite wet. This wasn’t like any Japanese buffet he had ever been to. Suddenly he got his bearings and brought himself to his knees. “The plane!” he almost shouted. Where the hell am I? He got up and looked around. White sand surrounded him on either side for about half a mile. Dark blue water stretched out into the horizon. Scolnick turned and saw a thick impenetrable jungle brush. He couldn’t believe it; A deserted tropical island. This won’t be so bad, thought Scolnick. I can get some thinking done, plenty of fresh air and sunshine. I can even bring back Oliver. As a lonely child, Scolnick had created an imaginary friend whom he named Oliver. They had had countless tea parties and pillow fights until, after two weeks, Oliver couldn’t take it anymore and enlisted in the air force.

“I can’t be fucking around with tea parties, Henry. I’ve got an imaginary life to lead here,” Oliver said as he walked out the door and out of Scolnick’s life forever. Henry later read that Oliver’s plane had been shot down over Hanoi. There were no survivors. What a senseless war, Scolnick thought, trudging along. He glimpsed a dark patch in the sand about a hundred yards down the beach. Running towards it, he was elated to see it was another person. It was always a secret fantasy of Scolnick’s to be trapped on a deserted island with a beautiful woman. Not if was the last man on earth sounds high and mighty on the mainland, but let’s see you put your money where your mouth is. He got to the body and seeing it face down, flipped it over. It was the man in blue suit! Scolnick didn’t know what to do at this point. The man looked unconscious or more likely dead. Scolnick plopped down onto the sand and tried to decide what the proper amount of grieving time was before he started chewing on the guy. He had missed the snack cart during his nap on the plane and save for the possible pack of Chex Mix washing up on shore he wasn’t sure what he was going to be doing about dinner. Scolnick decided to wait until sundown out of respect and got up to go look for a vending machine, as the sun was getting quite strong in the late afternoon and he was having a powerful craving for a Fresca. After forging into the thick brush and finding nothing but a shallow lake in the center of the woods, Scolnick sighed and sipped heavily from his cupped hands. Suddenly he heard a rustling behind him. Scolnick snapped into a karate position and waited for the wild boar or sea creature that might be approaching. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was just the man in the blue suit wandering towards the water.

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Scolnick tried to calm himself and focused his eyes on the man sitting in the aisle seat next to him. He was a tall angular Anglo-looking man with a solid jawbone and a dark blue suit. Probably some Madison Avenue executive type thought Scolnick working himself up. I bet he’s never had to pay for sex before, and if he has, I bet he didn’t have to use rolls of quarters. The suited man looked up from his Newsweek and saw Scolnick staring, scanning his eyes up and down his body.

“Are you one of these homosexuals I’ve heard so much about?” the man asked Scolnick.

“Um ah, no,” said Scolnick, gathering his dignity. “The name is Scolnick. Henry Scolnick. Jelly Bean Counters Union 4604. I’m going out to California to squeeze my sister’s grapes.” Scolnick held out his hand for the suited man to shake. The man looked down at the outstretched hand and then looked back up to Henry’s face.

            “Hey, that’s great Scolnick,” the man said. “Do me a favor and don’t talk to me for the rest of the flight?”

            Scolnick moved his hand back to the armrest and slouched down into his middle seat, dejected. He had had trouble making friends his entire life. As a boy he spent countless hours alone on the playground dressed as an Indian hoping one of the neighborhood boys would take pity on him, dress up like a cowboy, and force him onto a reservation. After hours sitting in the sandbox alone he wiped the dot off his forehead, bunched up his sari and went home. On his way back to his house he was almost accidentally married off to a 38-year-old man named Kunal, but it fell through at the last second when Scolnick’s parents decided they had no place to put 14 sheep.

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