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Is there really Life on the other side?

I read somewhere that occasionally referring to yourself as ‘you’ rather than ‘me’ (or ‘I’) can be helpful for making more objective decisions. I wonder, though; when I do that, it almost feels like a schism, a break with the ‘me’ who is sceptical about trying it out: a false belief that I was inhabited by two people. I must have gotten the thrust of the argument I’d been reading wrong.

I recognized this the other day when I was brushing my teeth before going to sleep; I know that some have called it the witching hour, but I was just trying to get it over with so I could read for a while in bed. But things didn’t seem quite right. The reflection of my face in the bathroom mirror was staring at me rather disappointedly, as if to ask why I was staring at it that way (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the other way around). Whatever, it kind of scared me; you’re not supposed to have to justify yourself to a reflection.

Or feel embarrassed that it insists on meeting your eyes. In real, nonreflective life, I am usually only comfortable with the eye-thing when it is someone I care about, or consider them a friend. I mean a reflection is a reflection; I no more ‘care’ about it than I do about my wrist watch, or the door to my house -come on, eh? We’re talking different Magisteria here. It has no agency except what it has borrowed from me.

Uhmm, do I sound weird, or is that where most of us who think we’re in the middle of the Bell curve actually live? Agency in animals -fine; maybe on occasion I am even willing to accord agency to plants -okay perhaps some plants- but a mirror? No way! Well, if I’m being honest, I have found that if I smile at a mirror, or at a reflection of any sort, I actually see myself differently; I see myself as happy… But that’s  not agency is it…?  Anyway, I try to avoid eye contact…  

*

Three of us were huddled over the dregs of a bottle of wine in the local pub. Well, two of us, because Peter felt the urge to visit the washroom. As soon as he left though, Janine winked at me and launched into a philosophical query while her partner, an associate Philosophy professor, was conveniently unavailable to contradict our naïve opinions about Life.

“I’ve been wondering about agency, G,” she said glancing nervously towards the washroom. “I mean what actually constitutes agency?”

The three of us were like that: close friends from university who still loved to question things just as we used to late at night in the rather tolerant dorm. Janine was now a lawyer, though; I felt totally outclassed by the two of them, although I did deliver their two children years ago when I was still in practice as an Ob/Gyn. Does that even count anymore in the scheme of things?

“I’m worried about Peter,” she said, swirling what little wine remained in her glass.

I sat back in my chair; Peter was the truly biblical Rock: steadfast, reliable, and considered things deeply before he expressed an opinion; a perfect philosopher, I’d always thought. “What’s he done now, Jan?”

Her eyes did a characteristic roll, like in the old days. “He’s started talking to the bathroom mirror, G! At least when he thinks I’m not around…”

I shrugged. “Why would he do that?”

She sent her eyes over to attack my face. “I’m asking you, G! Obviously I don’t know.”

I sighed deeply as I pretended think about it. The subject was a bit too close to my own concerns for me to offer a hasty opinion. I decided to detour away from her unstated fears. “I… I smile at my mirror… sometimes.”

She shook her head. “You said you always do that, G.” She canvassed the empty bottle on the table, no doubt wondering whether we should order another. “But do you accord it agency? I mean that’s just weird, eh?”

For a moment, I was relieved; I didn’t talk to my mirror. “Do you think he’s just practicing a lecture for his class?” It was just a wild idea; Peter didn’t need to practice talking; he was a master at thinking on his feet. His lectures were wildly popular on campus -well, I mean as far as Philosophy could ever claim to fill a lecture theatre more than once.

“Anyway,” Jan continued, “It got me wondering whether mirrors -reflections, at least- could ever be said to have autonomy. At the very least, I think agency requires autonomy, don’t you?”

I thought about that for a moment. “Well, a mirror can reveal things to you; I mean without a reflection or the observations of another person, we would have no idea what our faces looked like.” I held up my hand for a waiter to bring us another bottle.

“But surely that’s not agency is it?”

“Not unless you realize that the mirror is doing what it was designed to do.” I thought about that for a moment, my mind already frizzled by the wine; of course that was when the ideas of the three of us were the most fruitful, the most productive, unconstrained by ordinary cause- and-effect logic. “I mean if you trip on a rock, isn’t it the agent of your fall? Maybe it didn’t intend to trip you- it’s only a rock after all, but it did… So what is that action?”

“Whoa, that’s weird, G… Surely to demonstrate agency, there has to be intentionality -whether or not it’s goal oriented,” she added to make sure I didn’t think she was a flake.

“What do you call it if a sperm swims towards an egg, Jan? Does it know what an egg is? What fertilization is? How to enter it if and when it reaches its goal…? Somehow that is very much an autonomous purposive act; there is intentionality, of course, but does –can– the sperm look at it that way?”

She thought about that for a moment -well at least until the waiter brought us another bottle. “Peter would think we’re such naïve amateurs at arguing things. A lawyer’s legal arguments seem so different…”

I poured myself another glass of wine and refilled Jan’s.

“Peter’s probably arguing with the mirror in the bathroom as we speak,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her about my adventures with my bathroom mirror. And anyway, I’d never thought about it too deeply; too long a doctor, I had learned to supplement my diagnoses by analysing what I observed; words can only convey so much. Over the years I’d come to realize that appearance, gestures, and bodily expressions are just as important.

Peter understood things through words; I had learned to be patient and observant. Different domains, perhaps, but both equally valid, I suspect. And as I had a few more sips of the wine, I was beginning to feel more comfortable with my mirror; and so was Peter when he arrived. I could tell from his expression that his argument went well with his encounter with the strange mirror.

We’re all different, aren’t we? Three people crossing a bridge are actually three people crossing three bridges…

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