With respect to light, it’s a principle. If light follows a path in one direction, it can follow it in the reverse direction. Are there paths that prohibit this? Yes, near a black hole light has no reversible option. With respect to life, reversibility is also a principle, but some actions are exceptions. Suicide, for example, is a black hole that prohibits reversibility.
Kevin Hines is a survivor of a suicide attempt. In an online ABC report (April 28, 2006) and in an interview with Glenn Beck, Hines explained that within milliseconds of letting go of the railing on the Golden Gate Bridge, he regretted his decision to jump. Fortunately for Hines, his act was partly reversible. He survived the fall but suffered some injuries. Because he survived, his story survived. Unlike the story of Hines, the stories of those who successfully commit suicide fall into a black hole, their last act irreversible. Information goes in; no information appears to come out. We will never know whether or not some, most, or even all suicides experience the almost instantaneous regret Hines felt. The pathway is not a two-way street, and they cannot enlighten us.
Some pathways in life are only partly reversible, as though the light bouncing off a mirror sends back only a partial image of a face. Injury provides examples. Serious physical injuries can persist as unalterable changes even in an age of medical wonders. When injuries seem irreversible, they can engender psychological counterparts, such as despair and thoughts of suicide. In the realm of the human psyche, however, reversibility is possible. You might know someone who suffered from related physical and psychological injuries, but reversed the latter in spite of the extent or severity of the former.
Reversing psychological injury requires effort. But what kind of effort allows one to reach the goal of reversibility? Rationally planned steps rarely work because logic fails when emotions rule, a process exemplified by John Stuart Mill, the nineteenth century prodigy, when he fell into the depths of depression. Mill was the epitome of the logical, highly informed person. He believed he had “an object,” or purpose, in life, “to be a reformer of the world.” Then, in 1826, in a “dull state of nerves” he asked himself, “Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?” His answer was, “No!” Then he seemed “to have nothing left to live for.”
In his Autobiography, Mill writes, “I frequently asked myself, if I could, or if I was bound to go on living, when life must be passed in this manner. I generally answered to myself that I did not think I could possibly bear it beyond a year. When, however, not more than half that duration of time had elapsed, a small ray of light broke in upon my gloom.”*
*John Stuart Mill, Autobiography, 1865, Project Gutenberg EBook available online
Kevin Hines is a survivor of a suicide attempt. In an online ABC report (April 28, 2006) and in an interview with Glenn Beck, Hines explained that within milliseconds of letting go of the railing on the Golden Gate Bridge, he regretted his decision to jump. Fortunately for Hines, his act was partly reversible. He survived the fall but suffered some injuries. Because he survived, his story survived. Unlike the story of Hines, the stories of those who successfully commit suicide fall into a black hole, their last act irreversible. Information goes in; no information appears to come out. We will never know whether or not some, most, or even all suicides experience the almost instantaneous regret Hines felt. The pathway is not a two-way street, and they cannot enlighten us.
Some pathways in life are only partly reversible, as though the light bouncing off a mirror sends back only a partial image of a face. Injury provides examples. Serious physical injuries can persist as unalterable changes even in an age of medical wonders. When injuries seem irreversible, they can engender psychological counterparts, such as despair and thoughts of suicide. In the realm of the human psyche, however, reversibility is possible. You might know someone who suffered from related physical and psychological injuries, but reversed the latter in spite of the extent or severity of the former.
Reversing psychological injury requires effort. But what kind of effort allows one to reach the goal of reversibility? Rationally planned steps rarely work because logic fails when emotions rule, a process exemplified by John Stuart Mill, the nineteenth century prodigy, when he fell into the depths of depression. Mill was the epitome of the logical, highly informed person. He believed he had “an object,” or purpose, in life, “to be a reformer of the world.” Then, in 1826, in a “dull state of nerves” he asked himself, “Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?” His answer was, “No!” Then he seemed “to have nothing left to live for.”
In his Autobiography, Mill writes, “I frequently asked myself, if I could, or if I was bound to go on living, when life must be passed in this manner. I generally answered to myself that I did not think I could possibly bear it beyond a year. When, however, not more than half that duration of time had elapsed, a small ray of light broke in upon my gloom.”*
*John Stuart Mill, Autobiography, 1865, Project Gutenberg EBook available online
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