IN WHICH THE HERO EXPOSES MOTIVE

Posted by Erik Frey Thu, 10 Mar 2005 05:23:00 GMT

It was a few years ago that I first became fascinated by anything that had the property of being epic. I found heroes everywhere in classic literature, in popular culture, even among my workmates; there was a narrative playing out that involved exploring undersea rifts in the Pacific, or perhaps simply swashbuckling one’s way through an onslaught of IT paperwork. Whatever the task, it was something that seemed worthwhile, that produced a strong, satisfying narrative, and I placed great value in that. Applied to myself, the voice in my head became the narrative, and in the vacuum of perception, I was the protagonist in my own story. It was a kind of realization.

This realization, sort of a “Narrative Flip-Out”, occurs all the time in movies. The hero experiences some kind of break in reality, or crack in the facade: Keanu Reeves discovers he’s stuck in the Matrix, Bill Murray realizes he’s living the same day over and over, Jim Carrey figures out he’s trapped in a television show. As soon as the hero sees an outer context, his own world becomes a play place; he is free to do anything he desires. It may seem like a kind of make-believe (or is it?), but for some reason, this sort of mild disassociation from reality is really helpful in making decisions more significant than the routine take-out-the-trash variety.

But it’s a work in progress. I’m not naturally a very bold or daring kind of guy. I can take some pretty small steps. I can take such small steps that they barely register sometimes as no bigger than an atom, defining nothing but the empty space between each step. I can take such small steps that in the empty space between each step one might find even smaller steps, and one might find even smaller spaces between those smaller steps, and so on, until all the steps are arranged like pages in a flipbook that produces the illusion of movement called free will.

So, somewhere in that mess, it would seem like I make decisions and perhaps even hold some measure of control over my own destiny. But what counts as a decision? Is paying bills an exercise in choice? How about the decision to drive to work in the morning? How about any number of routines that occupy most of the day?

When exactly am I exercising free will?

Am I a soulless drone? Surely not!

After all, I can choose between beef and chicken at the drive-through window.

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