While our current society often regards doubt as an unhealthy way of thinking, doubt can sometimes be the most efficient way to gain insight. An individual’s capacity for doubt can also be a mark of maturity. Questioning a statement presented as fact reflects an awareness of distorted truth. People often lie, especially to themselves, and doubt is vital to determining the validity of a person’s statement.
For the longest time, parents of teenagers have complained of their children’s newfound skepticism. The teenagers’ flat-out rejection of traditions usually irritates the parents. On the other hand, several teenagers who go through a “rebel phase” may become as square or squarer as adults than their own parents. The rebellious teenager needed to simply test the validity of the parents’ truths. Are drugs lethal? Does crime have consequences? Is studying a good use of one’s time? Such rebellion is even a necessity if the parents’ beliefs are false. The parent may be a bigot who has accepted degrading stereotypes as fact. In questioning their parents’ narrow-minded viewpoints, teenagers acquire the freedom to find the truth of their own accord. Disagreeing with a parent, of course, can involve sacrifices, most importantly a loss of blind faith in the parent’s point-of-view. The parent, the teenager has learned, isn’t always in the right.
Distrust in a parent can be heartbreaking and often tragic, a theme reflected in the oldest surviving stories. A well-known example is the Story of Adam and Eve. The traditional Judeo-Christian interpretation corresponds with a common stance on doubt. Doubt poses a danger to one’s well being, and therefore, one must resist the temptation to doubt. The traditional interpretation of Adam and Eve teaches that questioning the authority of a parent, which is manifested as God, is sin. According to this reading, neither Adam nor Eve had reason to doubt that eating from the Tree of Knowledge would reverse their fortunes. They were wrong to disobey their father, or mother. A specifically literal interpretation, furthermore, makes the story appear misogynistic, suggesting that the first woman was responsible for the world’s troubles. However, I think that Eve may very well be the unspoken heroine.
In contrast to religious interpretations, I interpret the snake as a necessary catalyst, and Adam and Eve’s banishment as a necessary sacrifice. Before the Fall, they were basically robots who possessed the intelligence of young children. Honestly, who’d find Adam and Eve pre-the Fall in any way interesting? It was the Fall that humanized them, transforming them into well-rounded characters.
The story seems to be an extended metaphor for the painful transition from childhood to adulthood. The point that the author may have been making, in fact, is that we must leave the Garden, which, even according to traditional interpretation, is a symbol of innocence. The Fall, of course, is the loss of innocence, and in my opinion, it represents Adam and Eve’s awkward adolescent stage. We cannot function on this planet as children forever. Doubting the values of our parents at least once is vital to our survival. Can we know the consequence of eating the fruit until we take the risk? The risk, which entails the loss of innocence, is essential to furthering our development as human beings. Adam and Eve would’ve forever been children dependent on the Garden otherwise, and the Fall was what forced them to become independent adults. Some interpretations would say that fate determined Adam and Eve’s Fall. As someone who doesn’t believe in fate or God, I’d argue that Adam and Eve chose to break the rules, ultimately for their own good.
Adam and Eve never doubted anything before the arrival of the snake, and I consider their doubtlessness a characteristic of innocence. Several children whom we would consider content are hardly ever doubtful. I was one of those children. I was happy, waking up in the morning with excitement about the day ahead. I’d ask questions about life matters, but I never questioned life itself.
Furthermore, I believed that I was entitled to making high demands, which made me arrogant and aloof. For example, I was an irrationally picky eater and would refuse to eat dishes I didn’t like, not caring for the time and effort the cook may have been put into making it. I realize now that this is not untypical behavior for several children, whom we’d call “brats.” I was a brat. I had a solipsistic mindset. Everything existed for me. Nothing was more important than my specific preferences, and I would throw a tantrum if nothing went my way.
Furthermore, I was never aware of how irritating I could be. I was horrible at reading most people’s emotions, and I wouldn’t know I had annoyed people until they openly expressed their frustration. I’d be so aloof that their expressions of disapproval always came as a surprise. I’d never linger on the uncomfortable moment, however, not even thinking I might’ve made a faux pas. The simple assessment would be, “This person’s upset with me,” without any questions why.
As far as being a person with specific preferences, I’ve changed very little, and I’m a snob in many regards. One thing that has changed drastically about me, though, is my level of self-esteem. As a child, I used to not worry about looking like as an asshole. I’d be unfriendly to people, nonverbally communicating, “Leave me alone.” I still behave this way with certain strangers, usually on the grounds that they were assholes to me first. The difference is that I now ask myself, “Was I the asshole?” I often worry as to whether I’ve made a bad first impression. If someone treats me unfavorably, my automatic thought will be, “That person’s an asshole.” However, the following question is usually, “What did I do wrong?”
I became doubtful of myself during my adolescence. I suppose I had a natural albeit irrational fear of people, but the fear grew once I’d think, “Am I doing anything to make this person hate me?” Consequently, my self-confidence decreased. Another question that typically comes up is: “Am I making this person upset? Or have I already done that?” Take note: such thoughts are usually my own paranoia. The person I’m afraid of may not have any problem with me. I just now have the bogus assumption that anyone I talk to will be inevitably mad at me. Such negative thinking has its consequences. I become self-defeating, and I’ll unconsciously do or say things to upset someone, fulfilling a prophecy.
Naturally, I’m often awkward, wearing my lack of self-confidence on my sleeve. While I was even more awkward as a child, I was also fairly self-confident. In retrospect, I realize that I was never shy, simply quiet. Shy people have a fear that the people they encounter will not accept them. I had no such fear. I wanted to be accepted, but I didn’t care if someone rejected me. Whether they didn’t like me was their business. It was as simple as that.
I’d say I’m a shy person now, though. I will accept another person’s invitation to a conversation, believing that ignoring the person would be rude. The lack of self-confidence is partly a result of my belief that I’m a hopelessly rude person. There is nothing I can do or say to change that about myself. I’m still not overly fond of meeting new people. Even if I try to be polite, I’m riddled with the fear that people will catch my bluff. They’ll sense my inclination to be unfriendly. The big difference is that I now feel shame, shame for my antisocial nature and shame for my shortcomings as a human being. Politeness is important to me, even if it’s nowhere near as convenient as being rude.
In acknowledging my contempt for socializing, I doubt my goodness as a person. Good people, I believe, want to improve the lives of others. Having a strong dislike for being with others, how can I make any kind of positive impact? And if I can’t make an impact, what use do I have on this planet? Am I simply a “Parasite,” to reference Nick Drake, who drains resources and has nothing to offer in return?
As a child, I never worried whether I had any value. I now contend that it’s an important matter, and the fact that I’m concerned about whether I’m benefiting others means that I’m not a total sociopath. However, the constant doubt that I’ll ever be a better person doesn’t help. Doubting, like any chemical substance, is ultimately harmless if one applies it in moderation. However, every addiction is destructive, and doubting—as an addiction of mine—has become detrimental to my self-growth. I know that I’ll never improve if I continue to believe I won’t. Nevertheless, I have no idea of how to stop the self-doubt, and what’s worse, I doubt that it ever will stop.
Nathan Franklin 