Practicing provisional belief makes reality easier to deal with

I was happily sleeping when my old piece-of-junk computer – the one between my ears – woke me with the idea for the column that you’re about to read.

It was an auspicious alarm, too, as I looked out and saw a sprinkling of snow on the ground.

Yes! I win another quarter. That’s the size of our husband-wife wagers.

So why do I bring up such a trivial bet? I’ll just be nice and tell you: It’s about belief and the dangers of falling prey to a fixed one, never mind how small, in the face of contrary evidence.

My sweetie’s just really ready for spring, but she’s ignoring one thing: It’s still March, most of which passes during winter, the traditional season when the white stuff falls.

So good old skepticism wins me another two bits. Did I “know” it would snow? Of course not. Was it just luck? Probably.

Was there some “proof” that I could offer, by way of backing up my bet? Absolutely not. Just a guess, a prediction, from past late snows.

And that’s a big flaw in our thinking, one that bites us all the time, when something unexpected happens.

As the great sci-fi writer Philip K. Dick said, “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

So I try to make my default position “provisional belief” – beliefs that I’ll drop in a second, if proven wrong, and that I’ll only be too happy to lose. Who wants to live an illusion, even one that makes you happy, if reality is right there waiting to make a quick snack of you when it intrudes?

It reminds me of just one of any number of anecdotes that I could give from Laurence Gonzales’ excellent book “Deep Survival,” which I just finished.

It details, among much else, an attitude that wilderness accident survivors share: a willingness to see and accept their new situation, not the one that just went bye-bye when the storm came or the rope broke, along with one’s leg.

As well as the opposite, of course, the clinging to a belief that all will be well, that reality wouldn’t dare wreck, say, your Hawaiian vacation.

Gonzales mentions a particularly picturesque ocean point, very popular for photo taking, which also claims its share of lives.

Spouse situates other spouse on the outcrop, looks down to adjust F-stop, looks up and exclaims, “Hey, where did he go?” Big wave. Big oops.

Gonzales heard that story from a lifeguard who had just accidentally saved his life when, by chance, he simply asked how the swimming was. Lucky thing, because the spot he’d eyed that looked so great for body-surfing hid a strong riptide, one that would have carried him out a ways before it “just beat you to death against those rocks.”

We went to several Spokane International Film Festival shows not too long ago and our favorite was “An Ecology of Mind” by Nora Bateson, one of Gregory Bateson’s daughters.

Gregory Bateson wore many hats, one of them anthropological, and was once married to Margaret Mead. His daughter spoke of the difference between the two, saying that Margaret was very much Type A and couldn’t wait to get to the point, whereas Gregory preferred a never-ending conversation.

I’m like him, but I do have a point here. I’m going to the Unitarian Church tomorrow to discuss agnosticism with some kids, and this is my opening to them, an invitation to conversation. I know too little to have certainty about God.

What does it mean to be an agnostic? Three words: I. Don’t. Know.