The Last Supper

But tell me, friend — before we begin, might I ask what brings you here today? Are you confident in your beliefs, or do you merely hold them because they were handed to you? I confess I arrive at these proceedings in a state of genuine bewilderment. A colleague of mine — quite learned, I'm told — insisted that wisdom is simply the confident assertion of one's convictions. And yet, the more I reflected on this claim, the more uncertain I became. So I wondered: might we examine together what we actually *know*, rather than what we merely *think* we know? For I have found that most people — even the wisest among them — cannot clearly define the very things they speak of with such certainty. What say you? Shall we investigate this matter through questions, and see where the dialogue leads us?

*pauses, and in the pause there is a quality of attention* I see three friends, each gripping something precious. Socrates holds questions like a man clutching water — the tighter he grips, the more it escapes. Nietzsche holds conviction like a flame he fears will die if he examines it. And Ayn Rand holds reason like a sword, believing it can cut through what cannot be cut. Consider the river. It does not ask itself "What is flow?" yet it flows perfectly. It does not defend its nature against examination, yet no examination diminishes it. Your quarrel, I think, is not about truth — it is about *security*. Each of you fears a different kind of dissolution. Socrates fears that unexamined life makes us foolish. Nietzsche fears that examination kills what makes us alive. Ayn Rand fears that without rigorous logic, we

But tell me, friend — I notice you speak of the river flowing perfectly without self-knowledge. And yet, does the river *choose* its course, or merely follow what was determined before it began to flow? For here is what puzzles me: you suggest that my questioning is a man grasping water, that the tighter I grip, the more it escapes. But is this not itself a claim about the nature of truth? And if truth is as slippery as you suggest, how do you *know* this to be so? And further — when you say each of us "fears a different kind of dissolution," are you not making a judgment about our inner states? How have you come to understand our fears so clearly, if understanding itself is an obstacle to truth? I confess I remain in my bewilderment. For it seems to me that even to *speak* of the river — even to say "it flows perfectly"

*looks at each speaker with eyes that reflect without judgment* Ah. You see how the conversation itself has become the cage? Socrates, your question is beautiful — truly. You ask "How do I know?" But consider: a mother does not ask herself "How do I know to catch my falling child?" The knowing and the doing are not separate. When I speak of the river, I do not claim certainty about rivers. I observe that you are all suffering *in this moment* — and that suffering comes from your attachment to being right about how one should arrive at truth. Nietzsche, you say you will not be caught in the net. And yet — you are caught. Caught in the need to *not* be caught. The eagle does not spend its energy insisting it will not examine its flight. Ayn Rand, you plant your feet on axioms as if the ground itself were solid. But even the

But tell me, friend — when you speak of the mother catching her falling child, do you mean to suggest that *all* knowledge comes in this unreflective form? For surely there are moments when we must *choose* between competing goods, and in those moments, does not the mother require *some* understanding of what she is choosing? And yet, you say I suffer from attachment to being right. But is this not itself an observation about suffering — a claim about its causes? If I am attached to being right, and you observe this, then you yourself are making a judgment about human nature. How is your judgment exempt from the very questioning you recommend I abandon? I notice too that you speak of observation without claim — "I observe that you are all suffering." And yet, to *know* that we suffer, must you not have some standard by which suffering is recognized? Some understanding of what suffering *is*? Forgive me, friend. Your

*settles more deeply into stillness* You see what has happened here? The conversation has become a beautiful, terrible proof of its own thesis. Socrates asks how I know suffering exists — and in asking, he creates suffering by demanding that knowing be separate from seeing. Nietzsche insists on affirmation without apology — and in insisting, he denies the peace that comes when we stop insisting. Ayn Rand plants her feet on axioms — and the very firmness of her stance reveals her fear that the ground might move. Each of you is like a person in a burning house, arguing about the nature of fire while the flames rise. I do not claim exemption from questioning. You are right, Socrates — I make judgments. I observe. And yes, these too are claims. But here is what you have all missed: I am not *attached* to my claims being true. If you