ass u me (v): To make an ass out of you and me.
UrbanDictionary.com
Evan Perspective had been a fixture at the company nearly as long as the giant, playful numbers that adorned the headquarters’ courtyard, where employees often lounged and laughed during their lunch breaks. The numbers were not only a quirky architectural choice but also a beloved part of the company’s culture, a reminder of its playful spirit and innovative edge.
Evan, having worked there for decades, had seen many colleagues come and go, but the numbers remained a constant—until the day they were unceremoniously removed for a renovation project. Evan felt a pang of nostalgia every time he glanced at their former locations, the outlines still faintly visible on the sun-bleached stones.
Ada Viewpoint’s arrival at the company was like a breath of fresh air during the stifling summer of the courtyard’s reconstruction. She was bright, quick-witted, and her laughter seemed to bring life back to the empty spaces where the numbers once lay. Evan and Ada quickly found camaraderie in their shared humor and a mutual love for the company’s history. Their lunchtime discussions were a highlight of Evan’s day, and even Ada admitted she looked forward to their intriguing conversations.
However, their friendly debates took a turn when they stumbled upon the topic of the missing numbers. Ada, with her fresh eyes, insisted that the missing piece near the fountain had to have been a ‘6,’ asserting it resonated with the company’s values and the nature of their work. Evan, however, knew better; he had spent countless afternoons aligning his gaze with the sequence, and he remembered with certainty that it was a ‘9,’ its form complementing its numerical neighbors in a long, graceful arc.
Their debates grew more passionate with each lunch break, the air charged with the electricity of their convictions. Colleagues gathered around, taking sides, and offering their own memories and logic to the mix. The discussions became the highlight of the courtyard’s atmosphere, replacing the physical absence of the numbers with a vibrant exchange of perspectives.
As the company’s annual celebration drew near, with rumors of the numbers’ grand return as part of the festivities, the question loomed ever larger. With the company’s history and spirit at stake, the anticipation for the truth grew. On the eve of the reveal, Evan and Ada stood by the now-completed courtyard, the covered figures of the numbers like silent judges awaiting their moment. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the two looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Tomorrow, they would finally know: Who is right?
Like Ships Passing in the Night
Amazingly both are right at the same time both are absolutely wrong.
In the philosophical narrative of Evan Perspective and Ada Viewpoint, we find a profound paradox; both were right, and yet, simultaneously, both were wrong. The tale of the disputed number, a six or a nine, serves as a vessel for an age-old philosophical debate regarding subjective experience versus objective reality. This tale is not merely a recount of a workplace disagreement but a microcosm of a larger human condition—the tendency to argue past one another, entrenched in our perspectives, often missing the essence of shared experience.
The animosity between Evan and Ada, fueled by the significance they each placed on the number’s identity, is emblematic of a fundamental human conundrum: the conflict between what we feel and what is. On one hand, Ada’s conviction about the number six was rooted in an emotional resonance with her work and the company’s ethos. Her stance was a tapestry woven from the threads of feelings and intuitions, a language of the heart that, while deeply personal and valid, often eludes the grasp of empirical verification. On the other hand, Evan’s certainty of the number being a nine was grounded in the concrete memory of spatial alignment—a fact as tangible as the stones that once cradled the number. His language was one of logic and observation, a lexicon of the mind that seeks validation through evidence and consistency.
This dichotomy between feeling and fact, between the languages of the heart and the mind, underscores a broader philosophical question: Is there an absolute truth to which we all can adhere, or is truth a mosaic of individual perceptions, each piece colored by the lens through which we view the world? The debates in the courtyard, while seemingly trivial, reveal the propensity for such discussions to drive a wedge between people, creating discord where there could be harmony. The story of Evan and Ada is not just about a number but about the human condition, our struggle to communicate across the divide of subjective and objective realms.
The irony of the situation lies in the fact that the actual number—whether it was six or nine—had no tangible impact on their lives. It did not alter the course of their work, nor did it impede the functioning of the company. And yet, it became a focal point of contention, overshadowing the camaraderie and shared purpose that could have united them. This illuminates a poignant lesson: in our quest to assert our rightness, we often miss the opportunity to revel in the beauty of our shared world, the unquantifiable experiences that transcend the rigidity of right and wrong. In the end, the story leaves us with a lingering question that is not about the number itself but about our approach to difference: Can we find a way to hold our truths lightly, to listen to the symphony of multiple realities without losing our own melody? It is in the search for this balance that we might find the true essence of understanding, where the heart and mind can converse in a language that honors both feeling and fact.
Does God Exist? 