You may interpret this post however you wish. If you believe I’m metaphorically writing about pseudofascism inherent in the hierarchy of fluffy bunny colonies, then that is in fact what I’m writing about. However, if you believe the meaning of the following words has something to do with college football, by all means, feel free. Both are equally accurate representations of the following content.
Okay, so Mark Harmon didn’t make a cameo in my English class at Auburn in January 2000, but you can imagine my surprise when his lookalike did. He was laid back; he was cool. He wasn’t our professor- that would feed a power structure created by The Man. No, this guy was a part of the counterculture. He was our guide.
Twice at Auburn I had professors who thought they were my spiritual guide: both English and Literature professors. Another, an economics professor, was our political conscience. He taught us what it meant to be a libertarian, then he ran for governor of Alabama. I digress…
Mr. Shoop, as I shall call my hippie English teacher (I’ve long forgotten his actual name), stood before our class and professed that all literature was open to interpretation. Everything. If it has been written, it is open for interpretation. I challenged his assertion, “So if I write something about a tree and you interpret it as being about the mechanical workings of a modern factory, then that’s okay?” He said yes. “What if I tell you that it’s about a tree? That it’s not about a factory, but simply a tree?” Mr. Shoop explained that it didn’t matter. Everything was open for interpretation.
That’s an interesting take on truth. The good news is I got an A. I guess he could have interpreted my work as an F, but I would have challenged his interpretation. I always think my work deserves an A, even if it doesn’t.
Some years ago Voddie Baucham joked that if someone approached him with the premise that “there is no truth,” he would take the liberty to punch that person in the nose. I can think of more creative methods of making the same point, all of which would be endlessly entertaining. It comes down to this: there will always be one correct interpretation, one absolute truth. If I write a poem about a tree, and I tell you that it’s about a tree and nothing less, then my poem is not open to interpretation. You may wish that I had a secondary meaning. You may even project that wish upon my poem, proclaiming that I am actually writing about factories. But the truth remains the same regardless of your interpretation. My poem is about a tree.
Here’s the point, which I’m positive any thinking individual realizes. To say that no truth exists is to make a truth statement. It contradicts itself. Even anthropologists accept that truth does exist, regardless of cultural differences. It’s not always clear what that truth is, but it exists. The goal is to find it, no matter hard it is to find. And that’s okay.
Anyway, we all know this whole post is really about those fascist fluffy bunnies.