For example, I say I care about the environment. I recycle, I buy green products, but I drive a vehicle with an internal combustion engine that spews pollutants and greenhouse gases into the air that other people must breathe.
Here's another example. I stand in front of a roomful of aspiring medical assistants, telling them to always move in the direction of their dreams, that they can have that perfect job if they just don't give up, all they need is the resume du jour, a few key words, a good answer to “Tell me about yourself,” and a life of bliss will be theirs, guaranteed. Just follow these simple steps. Bla bla bla. When I really get going, my voice will actually quiver with passion, as if I truly believe what I am saying. They stare at me raptly, nodding, desperately wanting to believe that what I claim is true, that somehow they will all find the job of their dreams. The odds are that only a couple of those MAs will find a job they tolerate, much less one they like. Six months after graduation, the rest will be working at KMart, Wal-Mart, and Food-Mart, bagging crap for cranky customers and muttering bitterly about how I deceived them.
The antidote to self-deception is self-reflection, suggests John and Ken's guest philosopher, Neil Van Leeuwen. Ken isn't buying it. He is ripping Neil's argument to shreds. Mr. Van Leeuwen stands firm, a charming optimist. Ken says morosely that self-deception won't make us happy. I'm with you, Ken. No argument from me, the chronic malcontent. The best I can say is that self-deception helps me maintain the illusion that life is worth living. It does no good to remind me that I should be counting my blessings: I have a job, I have a car, I have a life. Lucky me. Being alive is difficult when one is a self-obsessed malcontent. Don't misunderstand me, I don't want to be dead quite yet, but so far, I haven't figured out how to really live. Not without a liberal dose of self-deception.
