The Philosophy of Never Changing

​Change is fascinating.

The belief that there is an ability to alter our being beckons questions of fate, brings assumptions about biology, and requires a reconciliation of accountability, free will, and the uncontrollable forces that influence our becoming. Change implies malleability and disassembly. It raises questions about what creates us and what defines us. Is our character, our actions, beliefs, and behaviors tied to a physical body- to an anatomy? Or is it a product of something more? It is likely a combination, but that is a discussion for another day.

Anatomy changes. Our body, and what we have always known it to be, can suddenly become an unrecognizable amalgamation of skin, bones, tissues, and veins. Change can happen at the drop of a hat, or at the speed of a faucet, that only drips, filling a cup. It can be slow and meticulously nuanced, or it could rage and run, maybe even falter and revert. There are so many paths that a body can pursue when on the brink of, or fully immersed, in change. Good health slips into a life destined for terminal illness. The perpetually sick may be healed by the strength of a miracle. It is quite incredible the way the body has, will inevitably, and does, change. If not with sudden anomalies, then by the promise of age. Shall we consider the potential that these alterations to the body are fated? What appears as change may actually be the product of a story written centuries before physical existence. A result of narratives decided life times before our own. A time when the manifestation of our bodies, in all of their tangible glory, came to be. This idea is not necessarily comforting. The implication that there is no effort one could make to avoid an unfair, or despairing fate, is unexciting. It suggests that there are some lives pre-written to endure tragic ends. This design of existence borders on evil, presenting itself in a sort of disturbing way. How could a person be destined to face pains that are beyond comprehension? I cannot deny, however, the consistent burn of fascination that comes with this perception.

But when I speak of change, I do not speak of this.

I speak of the switch from all-consuming rage to incomparable kindness, the leap from vehement blasphemy to unwavering religious devotion. I speak of sweetness turned bitter, and bitterness turned sweet. I speak of the shift- the saving grace- of considering the self last to the commitment of honoring ones self first. I think of the intangible, the jumps made from one invisible intrinsic trait to another. Do we, truly, swap out self-concepts? Was a literal modification made? An active switch of one piece of our puzzle for another? Do we seek out something new, something clean and cleansed to replace what is unwanted? This implies that if we no longer want to inhabit the things which have become us, we must actively search for something other to replace us. If so, we must discard the undesired parts. We must cast aside these fragments, which have made us, to make space for these newly sought-out pieces. If this be the case, honor these parts lost. Thank them for being a fraction of the reason someone was unable to stop themselves from loving you. They contributed to the non-recreatable collection of characteristics that made you exceedingly unique.

It is an exhaustive cycle, this change. It is a mountainous effort of never-ending self-assessment, a constant rotation of deconstruction and restoration. It is learning to re-sew the self together, to stitch the skin that has been broken open for new pieces to be put inside. The question is, where are these new parts found? Are they stolen from the experience of others? From pictures on TV? From the enthralling and vivid descriptions of people who live in pages? Where have they come from, if they have not come from us? I do not understand how we can fill ourselves up with things that we are not already. If they are known by us, then they must be us. They must already be engraved in the being which we were born. How can we know of things that are disconnected from our self? These soul concepts that are simply floating in the ether of collective consciousness? I would say these things are not found somewhere else, they are found within the only world we have access to. Our own. We must not be changing, then. We must be understanding. The self, I suppose- we must be better understanding the self. What void is there to fill? If we are born whole, which I reckon to be the case, then there must be immense labor required to break and remove essential parts of the being- to attempt these alterations with surgical precision in hopes of not cutting out the bits you love. I detest this idea that we can change, that we do change. It seems as though it makes life a whole lot harder.

I reject the belief that there is fate defining our bodies, and I reject the idea that it is possible to change- but isn’t change necessary if we are not to be fated?

The body exists outside of the self. I recognize the initial paradox this presents, however, there is no part of the body which shows the non-physical place where our consciousness takes place. Ah, the tried and true mind-body problem. Such an endless exploratory idea, isn't it? The body is a collection of cells that lets us live in a tangible world. We may influence this physical form because it can be touched, therefore it can be moved around and altered. Sometimes at will, and sometimes not. This change is a product of our mind, and the decisions we make in the untouchable world of consciousness. This anatomy, however, cannot account for the world which exists in this consciousness- the individual experiences and subjective thoughts. The body can be seen, it can be felt and modified, but it cannot be heard for all of what we are. Whether it be an aptitude for humor, a striking capability for compassion, a spot on intuition, or an uncalled-for temper- these are the ways in which we can be known. These are the ways in which, if lucky, we can be understood. They affect how the body may change as well. These characteristics influence our self-expression. Through outlandish fashion, an affinity for piercings, or maybe a love of modesty, we can alter this alterable manifestation of the greater self- but it is this intrinsic, unseeable soul that allows us to live a life beyond what is visible. Therefore, I argue that it is not change we experience, but growth. Growth, one may argue, requires change. For the thing which once was is no longer. I would say otherwise. The thing that once was has simply evolved, but it does not erase the innate tethers that form our original foundation. As a result, the thing that is growing is no more than a re-arrangement of what has always been.

We do not abandon the parts of ourselves that once were, we reshape them.

We roll them out. We stretch these traits into something larger, or maybe we mold them into something new. Appearance is not what matters, it is the matter itself. It has been recycled and re-understood, but not released. This is how we learn, this is why we remember. It is the retaining of these fundamental parts that allows us to grow without forgetting. If we undo these parts of ourselves, we would no longer remember what it was to be them. In this case, we would never know the self. We would never know how to define our being. If we do not hold on to what we have been, how can we be anything other? In the future, we will become different variations of the self through rearrangement of these initial parts, but this will not make us anything other than what we have always been. We are an amalgamation of many things. Experiences, memories, and marks from birth. This amalgamation does not ask to be torn apart in the name of change. It does not ask to have its bonded body separated and filled with foreign organs. We are defined by our ability to remember and to grow. Our perceptions may change, along with parts of our intangible personality, but this is driven by the fact that we will always stay the same. We change in theory, in a loose and non-literal sense of the word, but it is only a reflection of growth. However, if the word change gives you a greater sense of power, of control over the self, I implore you to use it. Cling to the concepts that bring you peace. This is all just philosophical nonsense, anyways.

A seed is made of the same material on the day it is planted as it is when ten feet tall. We do not need to exhaust ourselves by tearing out what we do not like in the hopes of filling ourselves with something different. This is hard, this is all-consuming. It is debilitating, it is an existence impossible to win. How can we live if we must forever endure the fatigue of trying to change? There is no more, and there is no better, than what you are. You are as you were meant to be, and what a wonderful thing that is. What you want to be, you already have. If you didn't, you would never want for it, you would have no idea of it. Instead, these parts you yearn for sit inside of you, waiting to be found.

I like this view. It comforts me to believe that I do not need to rip myself apart in search of other-selves. I know, though, that I may be wrong. This philosophy could be entirely contradictory and incoherent- as it likely is- and that is okay. It is the peace I find that matters most. Consistency is not always key. I am okay with a little instability if the exchange is contentment.

To grow, we simply must exist. It is inevitable that as we learn, we rearrange. It does not ask for all we have, it only asks that we be.

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