“The human capacity to to convince oneself of something one wants to think true is virtually bottomless.”

Jon Meacham, “American Lion - Andrew Jackson in the White House.” 

So Meacham described President Jackson’s attitude toward the merciless removal of the Cherokee Nation from Florida to land west of the Mississippi River—mid-1830s.

Jackson “wanted to think” his many warm words to the native Americans would be fulfilled. In reality, of course, we have the history of the Trail of Tears. In his farewell address to the nation, he said his policy of removal would place that ill-fated race “beyond the reach of injury or oppression;” that the “paternal care of the General Government will hereafter watch over them and protect them.”

“Did Jackson believe this?” asked Meacham. Jackson convinced himself that a fiction was fact. He held what political theorist, Hannah Arendt labeled, “Frozen Thoughts.” 

“A frozen thought is any deeply held idea or principle that has had time enough in our brains to become an immovable, unquestioned belief.” Jackson was a master. Natives, slaves, abolitionists, states’ rights; his own opinion rang true to him, like my favorite, late uncle, Jiggs, who was immensely careless about the difference between opinion and fact. Jiggs frequently said, “The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it.” 

“That would be lovely, Uncle Jiggs, if the church through history, if the church current, if Believers of every ilk throughout time, agreed that ‘This’ is what the Bible says.’ You know, definitively. I mean, there are differing opinions, you know . . .” would say I.

Uncle Jiggs dug in, he dished out; he didn’t hang around for discussion. He didn’t cotton to listening, or to the opinion of others. Like Jackson, he stubbornly refused to be wrong. He depended on frozen thoughts to feel comfortable, to feel secure, to feel powerful, to feel justified in his beliefs about culture, about justice, about morals, ethics, ownership, about spiritual things, about politics.

And here I am today, shortly after the noisy Fourth of July; here I am, hoping not too many panicked dogs and cats fled their home, hoping not too many birds died of shock, not too many horses broke down fences and bolted as Americans threw colorful noise into the sky. 

Here I am, thinking about how frozen thoughts appear to be the operative political weapon fired back and forth among those of us who this past week noisily celebrated the American Revolution. Oh wait—who among us thought about a past Revolution?

Frozen thoughts inhabit the brains of humans. It’s a normal condition. Cold blocks of certitude belong to political liberals and conservatives, the religious, spiritual, agnostics, and atheists; scientists and philosophers, artists, technicians, parents, teachers, columnists and commentators, radio and television networks, workers of art and writers of books. It’s a normal condition. 

The problem is this: rather than sharpening or correcting our thoughts by vigorous critical thinking, by engaging conversation; rather than carefully listening to opposing ideas to find what is good in them, we of frozen thoughts avoid learning. We select information that reinforces our prior opinions (we all do; its a proven thing)  . . . it only takes a dose of time to have our opinion become immovable and unquestioned.  You know, frozen.

Then, once secure in prejudices, we band together with the like-minded. We wave the right flag, we wear the right cap, we shout sour slogans, we gather in gangs of sameness, we loathe the Other—you know, members of our American family with different opinions. We all are apt to turn brain temperatures way down in order to safely store frozen ideas. Patriots and Loyalists of a new sort we seem to be, siblings divided by destructive digging-in and dishing-out. 

No question. I’m speaking to myself in this blogpost. I want to avoid the condition I’m describing. I’ve pulled an old favorite book off the shelf, “A Whack on the Side of the Head,” by Roger von Oech, Ph.D.

“If you have only one idea, you have only one course of action open to you, and it is quite risky in a world where flexibility is a requirement for survival. 

“An idea is like a musical note,” he said. “In the same way that a musical note can only be understood in relation to other notes (either as a part of a melody line or a chord), an idea is best understood in the context of other ideas. Thus, if you have only one idea you can’t compare it too anything. You don’t know its strengths and weaknesses. I believe the French philosopher Emilè Chartier hit the nail squarely on the head when he said, ‘Nothing is more dangerous than an idea when it is the only one you have.’ For more effective thinking, we need different points of view.” So ran the advice of von Oech.

I’m thinking about this . . .

“The human capacity to to convince oneself of something one wants to think true is virtually bottomless.”

But, von Oech is right. It’s quite risky in a world where flexibility is a requirement for survival.”