The Road Taken

Robert Frost’s most famous poem (The Road Not Taken) owes its popularity, in part, to its universality: I mean, who has not stood at a crossroads, literally or figuratively, and wondered, “Which path should I take?” 10 times a day every day? Arguably, choice is the paradigmatic human experience. Bewilderment is the essence of who we are.

Frost knows where he is and where he’s going. Two paths lie before him, both going to the same destination. He can’t change where he is, and his destination is predetermined; but everything along the way is up for grabs. ‘Along the way’ is what we call ‘life’, isn’t it?

Yes…but not so fast. It’s what most of us call ‘life’; but that’s by no means set in stone. Today, we are all about the journey; we read the Odyssey. In times past, folks were more into origins and destinations. They read the Iliad and Telemachus’ History of Ithaca. 

IRL? Your status at birth used to be the principal determinant of your identity and value. First born son or third born daughter? Under the sheets…or atop them? Noble or peasant? Bourgeoisie or proletarian? College Course or Industrial Arts? Less so today. 

Or your status at death! “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.” (Shelley) Fame, legacy, progeny. “He who has the most toys wins.” (Dad) Plus, the fate of your immortal soul was not settled until your final breath. “Now and at the hour of our death.” (Ave Maria) Only then could St. Peter label your life: virtue or vice?  

All of this seems rather strange to us today. Now, we are all about the journey. We regard birth (Alpha) as a lottery and death (Omega) as Russian Roulette. An aficionado of the Ancien Regime might chirp, “Yes, but in those days the journey from Alpha to Omega was a straight line”:

A

↓

Ω

A traveling salesperson could fly direct from Boston to Seattle. Ok, but that’s only half right! The journey was a line…but it was anything but straight:

A

Ϩ

Ω

Planes grounded, our salesperson drives to Seattle and gets to see a bit of the country along the way. It’s “a long and winding road” (The Beatles) but the trip derives meaning and value from its launch and/or landing sites (Boston, Seattle). Everything on the way, the pathway itself, is irrelevant – it’s idle wandering. 

Robert Frost offers a different, but still simple, alternative model:

A

↙        ↘

x                x

↘           ↙

Ω

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”  

Frost suggests that paths are chosen, not predetermined or randomly assigned. We are all born, we all die, but what happens in between is what’s unique; it’s a function of choice, and that choice is what gives life its meaning and value. We cannot control A or Ω, but we can influence everything in between. It’s called free will. 

Still, free will is not caprice. Free or not, no one can do what can’t be done. There is a fundamental logos, Sartre calls it ‘facticity’, that governs all things (John 1: 1 – 4). Within that structure, however, events are free to evolve according to their own lights.

Planes are back in the air now but there are no longer any direct flights from Boston to Seattle; still our folks can connect through either Chicago or Denver. This is not ‘wandering’; the choice of connecting city is intentional.

Of course, Frost’s model (illustrated above) is the simplest possible representation of the interplay between causality (A, Ω) and choice (X, X). According to this minimalist model, from start to finish there is only one relevant choice and it’s a choice between just two potential paths. 

IRL, there are usually a great many intermediate steps between A and Ω and it may well be that there are more than 2 alternative paths converging at each node. Choice along the way is what gives life spice, variety, and potentially, intensity.

Perhaps, however, we can treat Frost’s ‘diamond’ as a quantum of process. It may be that the incredibly complex web of options and choices that forms the infrastructure of life can be broken down into Frost Quanta.  

So, it might be useful to see how Frost’s model evolves in slightly more complex situations. This is nowhere near robust enough to mimic real life, but it may help us conceptualize what such a model might look like. Consider the following:

A

↙        ↘

x                x

↙       ↘     ↙      ↘  

x                x               x

↙      ↘        ↙     ↘      ↙    ↘     

x                 x                x           x

↘           ↙     ↘        ↙    ↘     ↙     

x                x               x

 ↘        ↙       ↘      ↙         

x                x

↘           ↙

Ω

Every node (actual entity, event) is an inflection point. In fact, a node is defined as any point where two or more paths diverge or converge.

In this dystopian version of America, it takes 6 separate flights to get from Boston to Seattle. But on the plus side, there are 20 possible routes. With luck our salesperson will hit her quota before she even gets to Seattle. Willy Loman was born too early. 

This is not a Many Worlds Theory! Sue and Sam may begin their journeys with flights from Boston to two different connecting cities, but they will meet again in Seattle and there is nothing to preclude their meeting up for a cocktail at a common hub along the way. In this model, as IRL, chains of events converge as well as diverge. For that reason, we don’t have many worlds (Hugh Everett); we have one world with incredibly many facets.

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