In His Lifetime. By Quaig.

Nicolas Copernicus offended the sensibilities of many people when he suggested the Earth revolved around the sun, and not vice-versa. People were outraged, and Copernicus and his theories became unwelcome in the eyes of many. After all, didn’t God make Man in his own image? And if God is perfect, then isn’t Man perfect? So, by that line of reasoning, why would He not put us in the center? The scientific breakthroughs that made Copernicus a social leper put forth the notion that the Earth, and the humans that inhabit it, are not that special. Our world and everything in it, in this context, will forever be associated with what is known as ‘The Mediocrity Principle.’ This principle states that everything about our planet, accomplishments and abilities is ordinary. There is nothing miraculous about us, or the world we live in. We are average at best in comparison to the rest of the Universe.

Recently, this way of thinking caused me to experience a major paradigm shift, altering my prior beliefs and thought patterns. The change was radical because I grew up believing in heroes and legends that possessed innate greatness. And, what’s more, I subscribed to the idea that those who possessed it were infinite and amazing. They were superior to you and me.

What that meant (to me and many others I know), was that value and worth was based upon accomplishments, achievements, wealth and status. Only a select few individuals with the “Right Stuff” occupied this upper-echelon of humanity; people such as Hemmingway, Picasso, and Ellington, who were triumphant in the arts. Or others like Einstein, Edison, and Ford, who made discoveries and advances in science and industry. And, of course, the likes of Babe Ruth, Muhammad Ali, Michael Jordan, all of which dominated in sports. All of these gentlemen were monumental heavyweights in their respective fields. Their names and legacies are etched in history and cared for by faithful historians. But I feel differently about these people now.

This change in thinking happened to me the other day. During lunch, I decided to wander through a museum of art. There was an exhibit that was displaying the various works of two particular Japanese artists. The modern exhibit was intriguing, but the other exhibit, by Ando Hiroshige, was stunning. It displayed woodblock watercolors from over a hundred years ago, depicting the peasant working class of Japan, toiling in their daily life. The work was gorgeous, the colors were still vivid and the images were striking. In pure Japanese fashion, the lines were simple and purposeful; there was not one wasted detail or unnecessary component to each image. It was simply breathtaking. My appreciation for Hiroshige’s work made him a superior artist in my mind. But, then it hit me. Why was I going to place another hero on a pedestal?

Furthermore, what did this mean about my feelings towards my own accomplishments? If I held all these people above myself, did that mean I would never achieve anything that I could be proud of? What of those around me? Couldn’t they be superstars, too? And if they were, would I have to resign to a life of jealousy and envy?

On further inspection (coupled with my mind-blowing revelation), a fair amount of the people I idolized were damaged and led dreadful lives. A lot of them were, sadly, human. I’ve slowly come to realize that just because these ‘legends’ managed to achieve on a level none of us ‘mere mortals’ could hope to, doesn’t mean they should be placed above us. I had spent my entire life doing the exact opposite. I had an empirical list of stars from all sorts of human endeavors, who were elite in their field, stored in my memory. This list contained the well-known names of those who had managed to strike at that ever-elusive moment where knowledge, resources, ability, and experimentation overlap. All of these people, in that moment, had (in my opinion) seized all the glory that their over-sized ego would ever need, and all the adoration little people would ever supply.

I started to run into trouble with this process as I got older, and began to realize that not only did I cling to misguided idealizations about these people as humans, but my idea of ‘great’ might differ from other peoples perception! I mean, Michael Jordan could be the best basketball player to have ever dribbled a Spalding on the hardwoods to one person, but to someone else he may have been a good player, but won his championship rings when the league was watered down from expansion teams full of undeveloped collegiate players. The real argumentative types could even retort by mentioning the prowess of Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, or even Wilt Chamberlain, during more competitive years. Still yet, others may insist NBA players aren’t that special at all! To some they’re overpaid felons.

As I stood in the museum and stared at one Hiroshige’s prints for awhile- one where villagers continue to work despite pouring rain- a couple of high school students meandered into the exhibit. They were boys: loud, arrogant, and oblivious to the art that hung in the gallery and the custom in which it’s admired. They smirked and laughed. Standing in front of one print, their goony murmuring elevated in pitch and volume, erupting into a shrieking laughter that reverberated off the high ceilings, hitting each wall, and bouncing out into the atrium.

The noise and laughter didn’t bother me; I can be just as obnoxious myself. No, what bothered me was when these kids started rating each print, judging and critiquing them, as if they held a doctorate in Art History! They weren’t simply mocking the exhibit; they were comparing it to their own abilities!

“I can do that.” said the tall, lanky one, carrying a skateboard under his arm.

“Yeah, anybody could do that! If you can stay in the lines in a coloring book, you can do that.” exclaimed the stocky one with really baggy pants, and a back-pack that barely clung to his arms.

I sat there enraged, conjuring all the strength and reserve I had at my disposal to restrain myself from turning to these kids and lashing out, saying something crushing and humiliating. You idiots could probably mimic one or two of these, I thought. But you could not make hundreds of quality prints like these with the original tools, nor would you be able to evoke the tribulations of eighteenth-century Japan’s working class! Who in the hell do you think you are?!?

I left in a huff and started back towards my office, disgruntled that these kids had ruined my solitude with their ignorance and noise. But as I ambled through the marble corridors, I had an epiphany: Who the hell did I think Hiroshige was? And who did I think I was?

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe those kids had every right to not feel inferior by the works of an obscure Japanese artist. And maybe I didn’t, either. But at the same time, I realized none of us-not me or the boys- would produce anything worthwhile in our lifetime, either. But did that matter?

Outside, in the crisp air of an unusual January thaw, I crossed through crowded courtyards displaying modern sculptures and statues of figures ensconced in regal poses. Large, brick buildings with classic architecture provided barriers that hedged off the wind. It all seemed striking, grotesque, and most of all: finite. These marvels of science and the arts, left unattended and without regular maintenance would crumble and collapse. Like, as the song goes, dust in the wind.

Hero worship is hard for me to let go of. It’s easier to do when I think of all those famous musicians, artisans, authors, and athletes as people who met their goals and imposed their will on others. I like that better than “seers of beauty and truth” or “genetic prodigies”. No one is that great or all that bad. It’s all about being honest, relevant, and in context, while showing appreciation for the effort of those who have preceded you.

It may seem pessimistic at first glance, but, really, it’s a mechanism I’ve adopted to survive in my own lifetime. You see, if the human race isn’t that special in the grand scheme of things, I don’t have to argue anymore about whom I think is the greatest this-or-that. Nor do I have to endure and contend with the arrogance of others that are the supposed heirs to the thrones of these so-called gods. I won’t let their egos fool me; the young and talented that show great ambition, and wish to follow in the well-trodden path of imitation, are merely hacks who will cannibalize each other. If, universally, Hemmingway was mediocre, it really doesn’t leave much hope for them, or us.

Many hundreds of years after Copernicus, somewhere in the middle of the last century, Ukrainian born physicist George Gamow (pronounced Gam-Off) added another log to the ‘Mediocrity Principle’ fire. He proved that even though it may seem that our galaxy, the Milky Way, is the center of an ever-expanding universe, every point in outer-space suffers from the same perspective. Maybe even a lot of us do, too.