We’re born holding a box with a thousand pieces inside, all mixed up, and there’s only one way to make them fit together.
And we’re separated from the directions. We have to find them or figure the puzzle out for ourselves.
I read once that to believe the wrong thing is to be closer to the truth than to believe that there is no such thing as the wrong thing. The man who adheres to his erroneous belief, insisting that it is the truth, at least believes that there is a truth.
If a man thinks the sky is red, as least he allows that the sky is a color. A man who says murder is right is still admitting the existence of right and wrong. To believe firmly that water is poisonous is to believe firmly that there is such a thing as poison.
Some people find a set of false directions and they follow them, doggedly trying to make the pieces fit. They may try their whole lives, or give up in disgust. They may realize the futility of the attempt and go in search of the truth. Or they may manage to jury-rig the puzzle into something that makes more or less sense, although it is not the thing of perfect interlocking beauty that the puzzle maker intended.
These men may never put the puzzle together. But they have one thing right. They know one part of the truth.
They know that truth exists.
It is the agnostic who says the sky is not a color, that there is no right or wrong, and no such thing as poison or antidote, that is the furthest from solving the puzzle. He is denying the existence of the pieces, because he can’t figure out how to make them fit.
That’s why I think it makes more sense for someone to have a wrong belief than for someone to say that no beliefs are wrong because all beliefs are right.
That’s like saying there is no puzzle. And if there’s nothing to put together, nothing to do and nowhere to go, what’s the point of life itself?