Heroes Not Zombies

As I was walking in a forest the other day I came across this –

I often feel a kind of thrill seeing new growth like this. It’s the emergence of Life on Earth. This little seedling might well grow up to be one of the great trees of this forest. How does it do that? How does this one little seed begin to sprout, begin to reach upwards through the decaying leaves on the forest floor, and seek out the sun, the air, and the rain?

And then a little further on, I find this tree….

Don’t adjust your screen – it’s the right way up!

Look at these twists and curves and corners, as the tree reaches first this way, then another. Who could predict which way any of these branches would grow? Who could predict what this tree would look like today if they were seeing it back when it was one of those little seedlings pushing its way towards the light?

I see this everywhere.

I saw it every day with every patient I ever met. Who could have predicted how this person would be today, what life they would be living, and how they would be experiencing it?

Nobody.

That’s what gets me about the irrational arrogance of those who claim to know. Those who claim certainty. I am never convinced by those who claim they know what the results will be of a particular treatment for a particular individual. They can throw the term “evidence based” about as much as they like, but if they think that label gives them some magical ability to predict the future for individual human beings, then they are quite likely to be mistaken.

I don’t like the irrational arrogance of certainty in any area. I don’t like it in politics, matters of belief, wordview (religious, atheistic or scientistic), in economics, or any other human domain. Life is not predictable. Living organisms cannot be properly understood if represented as mere objects. All living forms are dynamic, open, complex systems. All are unique and together they are diverse. Commonalities matter, but so do differences.

If there is one thing I always doubt, it’s certainty.

But then, like Montaigne, I’m fond of saying “mais, que sais-je?” (“but what do I know?”)