Philosophy of existence
Philosophy of existenceMy thoughts on tables.
Since I have decided to do a university course on Philosophy, I thought that it was worthwhile doing some research into the subject, which I knew, or perhaps still know, little about. Philosophy takes the questions which are asked every day and look closely at them, closer than I have ever tried to do, and work out if there is, of ever can be, a pertinent answer to them.
Is there any knowledge in the world that is so certain that no one could reasonably doubt it? This question, which at first sight might not seem difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can be asked. When we have realized the obstacles in the way of a straightforward and confident answer, we shall be well started on the study of philosophy. What I have found during my period of immense seclusion and research is that philosophy is merely the attempt to answer, not carelessly as we do in everyday life, but critically, after exploring all the possibilities that a question of this sort entails, and after recognising all the vagueness and confusion that underlie most normal thinking.
In daily life, we assume loads of things to be completely certain, which, upon closer scrutiny, are found to be so full of contradictions that we have to think hard about what we really knew in the first place. In my search for certainty, it makes sense to begin with what we really know, and knowledge must be derived from this. But anything, which I used to consider to be definite, I can now begin to doubt. It seems to me that we are all now sitting on chairs, at a table of a certain shape, on which I see sheets of paper with print. By turning my head, I see a blacked-out window which I am fairly sure is hiding a grass lawn, London, the moon and even further than that, the sun. I believe that the sun is about 100 million miles from the earth (give or take), that it is seriously hot and much bigger than the earth and that, due to the rotation of the earth, it rises every morning, sets every evening, and continue to do so for quite a long time in the future. I believe that if anybody else looks at the table which I am now looking at, he or she will see the same chairs, table papers and candles which I see, and also that the table that I see is the same as the table which I feel my arms resting on. All these things seem to be so obvious that I clearly don’t need to explain this to an intelligent group of people, except when I am replying to someone who doubts whether I know anything. All of this may be doubted, and all of it requires some very careful discussion before we can be positive that what I have said is completely true.
To simplify our questioning, I would like to focus on the table. When we look at it, it is rectangular, brown, slightly shiny, to the touch it is smooth and cool and hard; when I knock on it, it gives out a wooden sound. Anyone else who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with this description, so that it might seem that no difficulty could possibly arise. However, as soon as I start to be more precise, we begin to encounter some difficulties. Although I think that the table is essentially the same colour all over, the parts that reflect the light look brighter than other parts, and in the day, some parts look white because of reflected light. I know that, if I move, and to other people, the parts that reflect light will be different so the apparent distribution of colours on the table will change. It follows that when we are all looking at the table at the same time, no two of us see exactly the same distribution of colours, because no two can see it from exactly the same point of view, and any change in the point of view, makes that way the light is reflected inherently different.
For practical purposes, these differences don’t really matter too much, but to a painter, for instance, they are very important. The painter has to untrain himself into thinking that things seem to have the same colour which common sense says they “really” have, and to learn the habit of seeing things as they appear. This, as I have discovered, is one of the biggest problems of philosophy – the distinction between appearance and reality, between what things seem to be and what they are. The painter wants to know what things seem to be, whereas we all apparently want to what things are. The painter, although he has to change his everyday thinking, in fact has a much easier task.
So, if I might return to talking about the table. It is evident that we have now found: there is no colour, which appears to be the colour of the table, or even for any particular art of the table. And there is no reason to regarding some of these colours as more ‘really’ the colour of the table. And we know that the colour of the table will appear different to a colour-blind man, or a partially sighted man, or when wearing blue glasses, while in the dark, there will be no colour at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be unchanged. This colour is not something, which is inherent in the table, but something depending upon the table and the viewer and the way the light shines on the table. When, in ordinary life, we discuss the colour of the table, we only mean the sort of colour that the table appears to have when looked at by a normal spectator, under normal light from an ordinary point of view. But the other colours that appear under other conditions have just as strong a claim to be considered real; and therefore, to avoid favouritism, we are forced to say that the table does not have one particular colour.
The same thing applies to texture. With the naked eye, one can see the grain, but otherwise the take looks smooth and even. If we looked at it through a microscope, we would see roughness and hills and valleys, as well as other things, which would escape the naked eye. Which of these is the ‘real’ table? I am quite tempted to say that the one through the microscope is more real, as it is a closer view, but then a more powerful microscope would change perception. If, then, we cannot trust what we see with the naked eye, why should we trust what we see with a microscope? Thus again, the presumed confidence in our senses is deserted.
The shape of the table is no better. We are all in the habit of saying that an object has a real shape. But, in fact, as I found out when I learnt to draw, a given thing looks different in shape from every point of view. If this table is ‘really’ rectangular, it will look, from almost all points of view, as if it had two acute and two obtuse angles. If opposite sides are parallel, they will look as if they converged to a point away from the viewer. These things are not commonly noticed in looking at a table, because experience has taught us to construct the ‘real’ shape from the apparent shape, because, as practical people, we are more interested in the real shape. But the real shape is not what we see; it is what is inferred from what we see. And what we see constantly changes appearance as one moves round the room, so once again the senses only give us the appearance, and not the truth about the table.
Similar difficulties arise when we consider the sense of touch. The table always seems hard, and it resists pressure but this depends on how hard we press the table, and with what part of the body. Thus the table cannot be said to have any specific feel because the various senses cannot be supposed to reveal any definite property of the table. These are, at most, indications as to some property of the table, but not actually certain properties, which everyone can recognise. The same can be said when talking about the knocking sound which is made when one bangs the table.
Thus, it becomes obvious, that the real table, if there is one, is not the same as what we immediately experience by sight or touch or hearing. The real table, if there is one, is not immediately known to us at all, but is an inference from what is known.
This analysis led me to believe that, primarily, Philosophy could well drive completely mad at university when I begin to consider whether a lamp-post is really a lamp-post, or whether this printed page actually exists. It will then begin to get me depressed as I realise that a lot of these questions cannot be answered and finally it will lead me to theft, as I realise that nothing actually exists.