Archives for posts with tag: philosophy

Peter Worley is an educator keen on teaching philosophy to youngsters. One of his teaching methods is to gather together objects to create a humanoid shape, and ask his students how many things there are. You can listen to a podcast of him doing exactly this here:
https://philosophynow.org/podcasts/Primary_School_Philosophy

Now, to prove I’m smarter than a 10 year old, which my cripplingly low self-esteem demands that I do, I will offer my humble outcomes on how this thought experiment plays out.

So here is our object(s?):

Isn't it lovely? This took me two minutes and a small chance of copyright infringement to make.

Isn’t it lovely? This took me two minutes and a small chance of copyright infringement to make.

So how many things? I think most people’s gut reaction will be that there are six things, each meticulously stolen from a Google Image search. Four pencils, plus a book, plus a ball equals six things. But if you’re going to break something down into its parts, you have to realize that each pencil is going to be made up of wood, lead, paint, and whatever the hell eraser is made out of. The ball will have air, plastic, and other… ball parts, I guess. I don’t know what’s in a ball; cut me some slack. And so on with the book.

Of course, you’ll have to go further and further until you reach the atomic scale, because stopping at the materials level would simply be arbitrary. Now you’re counting neutrons, electrons, and protons, and you might as well just say fuck it and announce that there are an infinite number of things, because nobody is counting that bullshit.

Now perhaps there was a keener among you that said there are only three things. There are pencils, a book, and a ball. That makes three. Aren’t you sharp. These would be the Platonic Forms. Plato suggested that behind our perceived reality is an actual reality, and this actual reality has Forms that our perceived reality would just be variations of. So if you want to know about “pencils”, for instance, you have to study the Form of pencils, and then you can deduce on our perceptions of them. We all have an Idea as to what a pencil is, and then our perception of pencils would just be variations on that.

Unfortunately for Plato, I disagree with his theory. There are infinite variations on things, to the point where trying to define something’s “Form” becomes impossible. We project the idea of “pencil” out into the universe; there is no objective universe projecting the Form of a pencil into us.

So it’s not three. Sorry, keeners.

Maybe there were a few of you who took pity on my Clipart concoction and said, you know what? That thing is humanoid enough, I’ll say that it’s one thing. Bless you, kind sir or madam. Of course, if you claim my clearly multi-object’ed object is one, then you’ll have to say that its surroundings are one as well because we’ve already established that the Platonic Forms are nonsense. The table it would be sitting on in a non-digital example of this experiment would be part of it, as well as the floor. If this abomination of a humanoid shape is one, then the whole universe is one. Congratulations, you’re a Buddhist.

Lastly, there could be two things. The object, and the subject. Whatever is out there that I’m looking at, and the I that is doing the looking. There is something that is me that is separate from whatever is outside of me. That would be two.

So when asked, “How many things are there?” You can answer one, two, or infinite. What do each of these answers mean? Maybe you should read a philosophy book and find out, you scrub.

“When you come to think of it,  almost all human behaviour and activity is not essentially any different from animal behaviour. The most advanced technologies and craftsmanship bring us, at best, up to the super-chimpanzee level. Actually, the gap between, say, Plato or Nietzsche and the average human is greater than the gap between that chimpanzee and the average human. The realm of the real spirit, the true artist, the saint, the philosopher, is rarely achieved. Why so few? Why is world history and evolution not stories of progress, but rather this endless and futile addition of zeros? No greater values have developed. Hell, the Greeks 3000 years ago were just as advanced as we are. So what are these barriers that keep people from reaching anywhere near their real potential? The answer to that can be found in another question and that’s this: which is the most universal human characteristic? Fear or laziness?”

This is a quotation from the film Waking Life, and to me, it really explores what it means to be human. All these aspects of human life that we do in our day to day lives, even in our most exceptional days, can often be found in the animal kingdom. The film goes further in its observations of the relationship between our daily existence and the so-called lesser evolved beings:

“Excuse me.

‘Cuse me.

Hey, could we do that again? I know we haven’t met, but I don’t want to be an ant. I mean, it’s like we go through life with our antenna’s bouncing off one another, continuously on ant autopilot with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. “Here’s your change.” “Paper or plastic?” “Credit or debit?” “Want ketchup with that?” I don’t want a straw; I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to be an ant, you know?”

What it means to be human: our creativity, our intellect, our imagination, these are what separate us. For the most part, we do live our lives as an ant, with the good days being the ones where we get move slightly up the evolutionary ladder to sun ourselves on a rock like a lizard. The first quotation is actually somewhat optimistic because it assumes that all of us possess the same capacity to achieve human-level greatness, with only mental barriers keeping us from pursuing them. A more pessimistic outlook would be to assume that human beings simply aren’t as developed as we believe ourselves to be, save for the few aberrations that launch new cultural, social, and scientific paradigms who drive us forward.

Which is it? Are we lazy and afraid? Do we all have the drive to think, to create, to explore, but we don’t because we worry others might think it’s stupid? Or that no one will care? Or that we just can’t be bothered? Or do we just simply not have the capacity, and so we live our lives as bestial creatures content with mediocrity because that’s all we’re capable of? I don’t have the answer because I haven’t quite resolved the conflict between my cynicism and idealism just yet.

I don’t mean to suggest that our animal nature is inherently abhorrent. Some of our finer instincts are our more primal ones. But I think we need to prove our superiority; we need to justify our dominance over the planet. What I’m hoping for is that people will genuinely make the effort to explore their distinctive humanity and express that humanity, because fear and laziness are not an excuse to avoid the duty of our species.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine who had recently broken up with her boyfriend. It was a fairly short relationship, but it was still long enough for her to develop feelings for this person, and the reason he gave for their breakup was somewhat vague. She felt that the relationship had been a good one, but since it ended for what she perceived to be little reason and she didn’t feel as though she could learn anything from the experience, she described it as completely meaningless. If it has no value after the fact, how could it have had value at all?

I want to cycle through a bunch of thought experiments, and I want you, dear reader, to think about these examples and decide their worth.

What has greater value? A person who gets married at 25, has a great, healthy relationship for 30 years, and then the marriage ends. It doesn’t matter how, maybe their partner dies or whatever, but then that person is alone and miserable for another 30 years and dies at the age of 85. Or: A person who has a relationship for two years, then is alone and miserable for one year, then a relationship for two years, then alone for one, etc. again from the age of 25 to 85. So that’s essentially 40 years of relationships to 20 years of isolated misery. Assume that these multiple, brief relationships are mostly healthy ones.

Next, let’s look at addiction. Say someone has been an addict for 20 years, and then after 40 years of sobriety they finally slip, and overdose and die. Compare this to someone who has been an addict for 40 years, then they sober up for 20 years, and then die a non-drug-related death.

Lastly, consider success. Say a person garners great success for themself fairly early on in their life, and then accomplishes little during the rest of it. Compare this person to someone who achieves great success near the end of their long, mediocre life. Assume equal amounts of success.

What value has temporality? I think most people would agree that the 30 year relationship has more value than the sum of 40 years worth of many relationships because more meaning can be built with a single partner. Children could be born and properly raised, many great trips could be shared, etc. It’s not necessarily the length of something that gives it its worth, but the value that one finds within it.

Secondly, the end of something doesn’t necessarily determine its worth either. I think the more obvious choice regarding the addict is that the length of the sobriety trumps a sober death. It is a tragic end to be sure, but I don’t believe that the end invalidates the 40 years of a healthy life that was lived prior to it. If the addict had been hit by a bus on their way to buy the drugs, and never got the chance to overdose, would that have invalidated his life? Of course not. The end of something cannot negate the meaning of something because all things must end. Even if, for example, one were to find out that their partner had been lying to them about an affair for years, that would still not negate any happiness one had felt because in that moment that happiness was real. Being miserable and betrayed now does not make you less happy when you initially felt it.

Meaning is in the moment. And whether that meaning continues or ends is irrelevant to the worth of that meaning when it takes place. We as humans, however, can only live in the present. And looking at it in the abstract, we might think that the greatness achieved at the beginning of one’s life is equal to greatness achieved at the end of one’s life, but you also have to remember that when Robin Williams killed himself, all the fond memories his fans had of him were from over a decade ago.

Living in the present means that we don’t normally appreciate the value of meaning that we once had. If someone tells me that I’m living in the past because I’m sulking over an ex-girlfriend or something, that is untrue. The joy of the past that I am currently focusing on is not living in the past because I’m miserable about it; not joyful. I am using my present moment as a judge of past meaning, even if, when taken in the abstract, we can see that that is not its true value.

Speaking of ex-girlfriends, I have one that grew up in poverty. One of the things she told me about poverty was that when things were good, even though frugality might make things a little easier financially later on, their family would still splurge a little bit because when things were bad later, they had those good times to look back on and appreciate. They chose to bank their meaning rather than their finances, and while it may not be conventional wisdom, they still survived and probably had more enriched lives because of it.

Can we extract ourselves from the present? Can we appreciate the past as it is meant to be appreciated, and recognize the infinite uncertainty of the future which could very well hold our greatest success? Well, we can certainly try.