Laughter and Acceptance

I've been writing about my thinking lately and I've found that the writing feels much stronger when I ask questions rather than make statements. For example:

I think there is a difference between: 

Stating: "People are inherently good." 

And asking it as a question: "Perhaps, people are inherently good." 

That there is a positionality in the statement - a point of contention. It feels dogmatic. Absolute. How could I possibly know what is true? For generations, people have "known" the "truth" and this "knowing" has led to things like sexism, racism, war, and a million other sources of pain in the world. 

So, why, then, does it feel better to write about my thinking by asking questions than by making statements?

 I wonder if by asking a question, I am essentially removing myself from the equation. I'm giving the reader the opportunity to ask the question for themselves and by asking the question come to their own answer. 

"Yes," "No," "I don't know," "The Bush Administration," "Russia, 1942," "What is Homer Simpson?" Whatever their answer, it's alright. I've taking myself out of the running to be "Mr./Mrs. Super Nerd of Knowing-dom." 

I've been thinking that maybe we're are all responsible to discover the "truth" on our own. That we can have help, - and there is definitely seems to be help available - but that ultimately, we are responsible for our own positionality in the world. That we have to discover our path in life through realizing our respective truths through our own experiences in our own lives. 

I think there are two ways to accept a new truth: To laugh at it or to state it. Sometimes it's scary to accept something as true, but if you can laugh your way there, you get to trick the ego into not noticing its death.

Why does everyone like the fat, happy buddha?

Because its way more fun to laugh yourself to enlightenment than it is to starve yourself there. 

I wonder if that's also why people love comedians like Louis C.K. They help people find their truth, but the easy way.