Whence preference? If to a flavor, melody, face, I say “I like,” how does “I” know? Is taste inherent or learned, inevitable or accidental?

                  Our grandchildren are evolving their preferences. Same parents, same circumstances, dissimilar conclusions. One favors dance, one trucks, one the cello. One happily hugs, one shies from embracing. One’s wild for games, one’s reluctant to compete. One chocolate, one vanilla. Was it genes, experience, memory, custom that weighed the evidence and issued their various verdicts?

                  We are what we prefer and what we abhor. Some know their own minds instantly, others hesitate.   How comes this assurance, this ambivalence? 

                  Humans are the choosing animal. For other species, existence is less complex. With a sniff, dog-pal Henry knows whether some food suits. No fine discriminations – no hint of rosemary or tang of citrus – only yes or no, accept or reject.

                  Surely our genes bias us before we’re born. Some people “hear” music, others noise in the same sounds. Some memorize languages lickety-split, others (my tribe) glumly trudge.  How I used to envy perfect pitch, knowing an F wasn’t a D-sharp without being told.

                  Preferences dictate direction. We opt to go where we’ll show to best advantage. We try on occupations as we do clothes, for look and fit. Retrospect may rationalize our choices, but beneath any logical explanation quivers an unfathomable mystery. How for me did the Nameless One, for example, come to epitomize Wrong?

                  Partly humans have preferences because we can discuss them. Would crimson, scarlet, vermilion, carmine, ruby, garnet, cherry, wine, burgundy, maroon, rose, coral, or any “reds” exist for us if we could not name them? Partly we prefer because we can imagine otherness: What is isn’t what must be but one of endless possibilities.

                  Art yearns toward general acceptance. About the most beautiful many concur. Who is left cold by the Hallelujah chorus or Michelangelo’s Pieta? The more beautiful the creation, the more it tattoos itself in mind, while other impressions fade.

                  The mystery of preference should humble us: let’s tolerate differences and not be too sure of ourselves.  More typically, the opposite occurs. Insecurity promotes our preferences into absolutes which all should salute. Obviously, vanilla is preferable to chocolate, Yahweh to Zoroaster, the Yankees to the Mets, etc. What everyone agrees to must be right… mustn’t it? 

                  Insecurity helps explain Yeats’ famous paradox: 

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. 

Intelligence leads a person away from certainty into doubt, which undermines conviction. Stupidity knows what it knows, no ifs or buts. 

                  I spend my mind prodding and probing my preferences to determine whether I agree with myself. I do this because I enjoy it. “Is that what you think?” I ask myself. “Is that what you really think?” I share my hunches during our time together. Where Reason buttresses preference, conviction hardens. I believe that Truth, Justice, Decency, Kindness make for a better world, because that’s the conclusion I reach each time I look. About the superiority of coffee ice cream or forest green I’m less convinced.

                  Knowing what I like, I know who I like, for we like those like us, and recoil from those whose contrary opinions discredit ours. If you don’t believe in Truth, Justice, Decency, etc., I have nothing to say to you, close the door on your way out. About the merits of a poem – or coffee ice cream – we can jaw all day – disagreeing amiably.

                  The ablest judge, wrote David Hume, combines “strong sense, united to delicate sentiment, improved by practice, perfected by comparison, and cleared of all prejudice.”

                  To this I aspire.