Heresy as a Virtue

It’s confession time. And I must confess … “I am a heretic.” I don’t mean I’m a heretic only in a religious sense but about life itself. And get this … I’m striving to become more of a heretic all the time.

A heretic is one who chooses. Heresy comes from the Greek haireomai, "to choose". And that choice is generally one counter to the established or widely-held belief. In religion and in science, examples abound. The Catholic Church labeled Copernicus and Galileo and John Calvin as heretics for choosing beliefs different from church teachings of the time. Einstein’s work was heretical to the scientific community at first. And those who have argued for social change – including Jesus, Susan B. Anthony, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr. found both struggle and success as heretics.

My heresy is not on a scale with these famous figures. Yet, I believe there is huge power in an individual’s ability to choose. And often, that choice will be an intentional break from the norms of society.

Few poems are more quoted or loved than Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken. Like any great piece of art or literature, it is twice-created – once by the writer or performer, again by the audience. Many take from Frost’s masterpiece that it was the fact that the traveler went down a less-traveled byway that made the difference. And I’m in no position to deny anyone the right to see it that way. I have often chosen such paths and have been richly rewarded for doing so.

My current take on the poem though is that the path didn’t matter. The essential thing was the “choice.” Frost, in fact, intentionally provides contradictory information at critical points in the poetic tale. There was essentially no difference in the paths. But there was tremendous power in his willingness to make a choice. And the choosing – the freewill act of faith and the exercise of choice – gave that decision its power.

Frost’s traveler was a heretic – regardless which path he took. But how many of us abdicate that power to choose? Do we believe that we have no choice? Do we believe that it doesn’t matter what we choose? Do we believe that we will be “burned at the proverbial stake” if we don’t continue to march in lock-step with tradition or expectations or societal norms? I daresay we all choose the comfort of “not choosing” from time to time.

And I should be clear here that choosing to not choose to be different is a choice as well. That course of inaction may never serve as inspiration for one of the world’s best loved poems, but it is a choice. I’ve known many friends who left their early childhood determined to be everything their parents weren’t. They forsook the traditions of their ancestors – politics, religion, child-rearing style and geographical community. They made that active choice. Then they went and experienced the world, reflected on it, maybe had kids of their own. Lo and behold, they realized there was some wisdom in the old ways. They then chose to embrace much of what they had previously cast off. They were heretics when they cast the old traditions off. They were heretics when the invited back in that which had meaning for them. And they were heretics -- in the truest sense of the word -- when they blended that which was best about their past with their evolving understanding of their present reality.

On a more personal level, I find myself at an important crossroad even if I’m not in “a yellow wood”. There is much about my place in life that I treasure. Yet there are paths I wish to explore. I don’t know what lies down these paths. And truth be told, I don’t know what awaits me if I stay on the same course. I do know that I occasionally feel powerless to make a change – like I’m in rush hour traffic in a sea of other cars focused only on the tail I lights before me.

What I often forget in such moments is that I have choices. I could take the next exit and blaze a new trail to my destination. I could pull over to the shoulder and take a nap and continue the journey when the traffic subsides. I could crank up the tunes or a book on tape and “go with the flow” with a different sense of appreciation for the opportunity. I could notice the people in the other cars and really mess with their minds by smiling and waving at them as if they should know me. Each choice has consequences and most of those can’t fully be predicted. But choices abound; and there’s power in the choosing.

Not all (and probably, most) choices turn out exactly as we expect. That doesn’t diminish the power of the choice. I have learned more from the choices I have made in life that didn’t turn out well than I have from those that did. These experiences served as teachers of some of my most important lessons. And whether things turned out well or not, they always have been more valuable than the choices I allowed others to make for me. Not much learning in those.

Have you ever fretted about something for weeks or days or years? Maybe it’s as simple as which brand of refrigerator to buy or as significant as whether or not to end a relationship. You wonder about it, ask friends about it, read books on the subject, and maybe stay up late playing out unlikely scenarios in your head about it. While each of these things deserves some thought (and, I daresay, a good deal more for the latter), there comes a point when the worrying is far more devastating than the consequences of making a decision – even the wrong one. And when you actually do make that decision – especially after a good solid “gut check” – how do you feel? Almost everyone I talk to tells me there is a relief, a power in the moment of decision. It’s not always joyful, sometimes there’s even a bit of sadness to it – put there is certainly power in the decision.

If you want to be more powerful, make more decisions. It’s as simple as that. Be a heretic. Choose your own path – even if it is the same path everyone else chooses. As long as you choose to take it, you will gain the power and the virtue of heresy.

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The Road Not Taken

-- by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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