The Voice of Reason, Part 2: The Stories That We Inherit
An Essene Life Mantra
Dr. Kenn McSperitt
What if some of your deepest convictions aren't conclusions you've reached, but stories you've inherited? In this second installment of The Voice of Reason series, Dr. Kenn explores how family, culture, religion, politics, and personal experience quietly shape the way we see the world. With warmth, humility, and thought-provoking insight, this Essene Life Mantra invites readers to examine the beliefs they carry, rediscover the value of curiosity, and consider why understanding another person may be one of the highest expressions of wisdom.
Last time we asked a question that I think is worth asking over and over again:
Who's really speaking?
Is it God?
Is it intuition?
Is it fear?
Is it our ego?
Or is it simply the voice we've become so accustomed to hearing that we've stopped questioning where it came from?
I'd like to take that conversation one step further.
Because even if we learn to listen carefully...
there's another question waiting for us.
How much of what we believe actually belongs to us?
Have you ever thought about that?
I mean, really thought about it?
How many of your beliefs did you consciously choose?
How many simply arrived with your upbringing?
Your family.
Your neighborhood.
Your culture.
Your school.
Your church.
Your favorite news station.
Your circle of friends.
Most of us inherit our first view of the world long before we're old enough to evaluate it.
That's not a criticism.
It's simply how human beings learn.
Children don't begin life by researching philosophy.
They trust.
If Mom says something is dangerous...
it's dangerous.
If Dad says this is right...
it's right.
If everyone around us cheers for one team, votes one way, worships one way, or fears one group of people, we naturally assume that's just how the world works.
Again, there's nothing wrong with that.
It's where we all begin.
The question is...
Do we ever revisit those assumptions?
One of the greatest gifts we've been given is the ability to grow.
Not just physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Spiritually.
If personal evolution is the purpose of life—as I've often suggested—then changing our perspective isn't a weakness.
It's evidence that we're alive.
Think back twenty years.
Or ten.
Or even five.
Are you exactly the same person you were then?
Probably not.
Hopefully not.
You've learned things.
Lost people.
Celebrated victories.
Made mistakes.
Had your heart broken.
Fallen in love.
Changed careers.
Raised children.
Buried parents.
Life has been teaching you.
And every one of those experiences has quietly reshaped the way you see the world.
That's evolution.
But here's something I've noticed.
People are generally comfortable changing their opinions about food.
Music.
Fashion.
Even careers.
We're much less comfortable changing our minds about the things we've wrapped our identity around.
Religion.
Politics.
Nationality.
Culture.
Tradition.
The moment a belief becomes part of our identity, questioning it can feel like questioning ourselves. That's why these conversations become so emotional. They're rarely about facts alone. They're about belonging. About family. About history. About home.
I understand that.
I've lived it too.
But I also think something beautiful happens when we become secure enough to ask difficult questions. Not because we're trying to destroy what we believe. Because we're trying to understand it more deeply.
You know, one of the healthiest phrases I've ever learned is this:
"Help me understand."
Not,
"Let me explain why you're wrong."
Not,
"Here's why I'm right."
Just...
"Help me understand."
What a remarkable sentence.
It assumes there may be something I don't yet see.
It invites conversation instead of competition.
It opens a door instead of building a wall.
Imagine what would happen if that became our first response instead of our last. Imagine family dinners. Church discussions. Political conversations. Social media.
How much suffering could disappear if curiosity replaced certainty?
I've said before that I think Nature is one of our greatest teachers.
Notice something about Nature.
The oak tree doesn't argue with the pine.
The river doesn't resent the mountain.
The hawk doesn't demand that the deer become a hawk.
Everything has its place.
Everything contributes.
Everything belongs.
Perhaps we've forgotten that lesson.
Instead of asking,
"How can I understand you?"
we often begin with,
"How can I change you?"
And that's a very different conversation.
Now, don't misunderstand me.
I'm not suggesting that all ideas are equally beneficial.
They're not.
Some ideas heal.
Some ideas harm.
Some ideas build peace.
Some ideas build fear.
Discernment still matters.
Truth still matters.
But there's a difference between evaluating an idea...
and diminishing the person who holds it.
The idea can be challenged.
The person should still be treated with dignity.
That's a lesson I think our world desperately needs to relearn.
Because beneath every belief...
there's a human being.
Someone who's trying to make sense of life with the experiences they've been given.
And maybe...
just maybe...
they're doing the very best they know how.
You know, one of the things I enjoy most about traveling is that it reminds me how small my own world really is.
Not insignificant...
just small.
Every place I've visited has introduced me to people who were absolutely convinced about things I had never even considered.
They ate different foods.
Celebrated different holidays.
Raised their children differently.
Prayed differently.
Solved problems differently.
And here's what struck me.
Most of them weren't trying to be wrong.
They were simply living faithfully within the story they'd inherited.
That realization changed me.
It made me much slower to judge.
Because I began asking myself,
"If I had been born where they were born... raised by the people who raised them... taught what they were taught... would I believe exactly what I believe today?"
Honestly... I don't know.
And I think that's one of the healthiest answers we can give.
"I don't know."
Not because truth doesn't exist.
But because humility reminds us that our journey to truth is always unfolding.
One of the things I've noticed throughout history is that nearly every generation believes it's finally arrived. "Now we've got it figured out." Then a few decades pass. Science advances. History uncovers new evidence. Cultures change. Languages evolve. And suddenly yesterday's certainty becomes today's curiosity.
It's happened over and over again.
Which is why I try very hard not to confuse confidence with infallibility.
I've been wrong too many times for that.
Maybe you have too.
One of my favorite questions to ask is this:
"What if I'm only seeing part of the picture?"
That question has saved me from a great deal of unnecessary certainty.
It doesn't weaken conviction.
It softens pride.
There's a difference.
Because here's something I've come to believe.
The Source isn't threatened by honest questions.
Truth never fears investigation.
Only fragile ideas do.
If something is genuinely true, it can withstand scrutiny.
It can survive curiosity.
It can endure examination.
That's why I've always encouraged people to ask questions.
Not rebellious questions.
Not cynical questions.
Sincere questions.
Questions born from a genuine desire to understand.
I think that's what children do so naturally.
They ask,
"Why?"
Again...
and again...
and again.
Somewhere along the way, adults become embarrassed to ask.
We start pretending we understand things we don't.
We nod politely.
We repeat ideas we've inherited.
We become defenders of conclusions we've never personally explored.
And that's unfortunate. Because personal evolution requires participation. No one else can grow for you. No one else can ask your questions. No one else can wrestle with your doubts. Those belong to you. And that's a gift. Not a burden.
Because every honest question moves us one step closer to wisdom.
Now let me be clear about something. I'm not encouraging people to abandon their faith. I'm encouraging them to deepen it. There's a world of difference.
A faith that has never been questioned is often inherited.
A faith that has survived honest questioning becomes your own.
The same is true of philosophy.
Politics.
Science.
Relationships.
Even your understanding of yourself.
Everything worthwhile grows stronger when it's refined.
I've noticed something interesting over the years. The people most comfortable asking questions are often the most peaceful people I know. Why? Because they no longer feel responsible for defending an identity. They're simply seeking truth. And seekers tend to listen better than defenders. That's one of the reasons I believe curiosity is one of the highest expressions of love.
Curiosity says,
"Your experience matters."
"Your story is worth hearing."
"There may be something you can teach me."
Imagine approaching every person that way.
Not as someone to convince...
but as someone to understand.
Would disagreements disappear? Probably not. Nor should they. Different perspectives help us grow.
But hostility...
that might begin to fade.
Because the goal would no longer be victory. The goal would be understanding. And understanding has a remarkable way of building bridges where certainty often builds walls.
Next time, we'll bring this series to its conclusion.
Because after we've learned to question inherited stories...
after we've learned to listen more deeply...
one question still remains.
If every voice deserves examination...
how do we recognize the one that consistently leads us toward truth, wisdom, peace, and love?
That's where we're headed next.
Dr. Kenn Challenge
For the next seven days, choose one belief you've held for many years.
Don't try to prove it wrong.
Don't try to prove it right.
Instead, simply ask yourself:
"Why do I believe this?"
Trace it back. Was it your parents? Your culture? A personal experience? A teacher? A book?
Then ask one final question:
"If I were born somewhere else, would I still believe this?"
Don't fear the answer.
Let it deepen your humility.
Because wisdom isn't found in never questioning. Wisdom is found in questioning with honesty, humility, and an open heart.
These are the teachings of the Ancients.
Timeless in origin.
Endless in application.
Dr. Kenn
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