I was sitting at the kitchen
table of a dear friend of mine one night discussing philosophy. Not out of some deep desire to grasp the
meaning of life, or to discover any kind of universal truth. We were not engaged in some epistemological
safari into the nether regions of the human psyche. There was no grand debate occurring on the
virtue of the accepted norms of the great society in which we lived and
thrived. We were really not were not
trying to do anything special. She was
trying to figure out how to pass a History of Western Philosophy class she was
taking at a local junior college, and I was waiting for her to finish the cream
gravy I was about to pour generously over the chicken fried steak about to be
served.
The instructor she had was the
same professor I learned from in my own philosophy classes. A pretty cool guy with long hair who rode
Harley’s, smoked a little dope and, for some reason, felt that the teaching and
study of philosophy was his particular calling in life. I took several classes from him where he
mercifully gave me B’s that I probably did not deserve.
The deal we had proved
simple. She would feed me with artery
clogging, cholesterol raising southern food until I could not eat anymore, and
I would show her some shortcuts and philosophical secret decoder ring
stuff. Her main desire was for her Grade
Point Average not to suffer from her ill-advised choice to take a philosophy
class instead of the much simpler sociology class. My primary yearning came in the quest for a
free meal. Being single, I greatly
valued the benefits of a home cooked meal.
She, for some reason unfathomable to me, valued my opinion where it came
to issues of post secondary education. I
valued, for very good reason, her abilities with a cast iron skillet and a pot
full of collard greens seasoned generously with bacon.
Now, having set the stage for
this book, or for the inspiration of this book that is, as the quest for
nourishment (intellectual or physical), let me tell you what happened. Sitting down at the table, we started with
the age-old philosophical question of whether or not a tree falling in the
middle of the forest makes any sound. I
never really understood what that was all about, but sort of accepted that it
would be the best question to choose for my first essay test. Philosophy professors seem to derive near
sexual excitement from red marking essays to the point where it looks as if
someone opened an artery on the page.
One thing I learned my eight years earning four advanced degrees in
college is that you have to allow the professors to be professors and the
students to be students. If the
professor asks a question that some might find futile or stupid, then it is the
student’s duty to answer in a futile and stupid manner. As a result of this ill arrived at opinion on
this particular question, I received a “C” on that test. I never liked being called “average” and, out
of irritation or possibly a damaged sense of self-worth, have usually felt it
my duty to ridicule the process of asking a seemingly unanswerable
question. Except…that night……unbelievably…I
discovered a way to answer that most mundane of inquiries.
My friend has a bell on her
countertop that she literally rings when a meal is about to be served. This is because between her and her partner
they have seven kids. My friend is a
quiet woman who never raises her voice.
Loudness is a quite simply a accepted reality where it comes to children
and meals. The kitchen served as a focal
point for the gathering of food as well as my friend’s office. She made the children eat at the table and
she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar so that she could spread out her school
papers, laptop, telephone charger, massive insulated drink jug, cigarettes, and
food. She would sit quietly and listen
to the children tell of their day and fuss at each other while quietly
studying, eating, smoking, and solving the major disasters the two teenage
girls encountered with their boyfriends.
It seemed next to impossible that this woman would have time for
anything extra let alone a 6’4” 350-pound man with a bad attitude about
philosophy professors and an empty stomach.
Yet she sat quietly and gracefully ruling her realm with a velvet glove
covering an iron fist. She explained to
the children that she and I had business to do, and that they were all to walk
to the shopping center down the block and eat pizza for dinner. She handed the oldest some money and kissed
each child as they filed out. Four of
them, that is. The fourteen-year-old
girl dressed like a vampire and the seven-year-old boy in a Yankees hat
remained at the table. The girl was
grounded for sneaking out to meet her fellow vampires and getting drunk at the
local cemetery. The boy was allergic to
tomato sauce and cheese. The three of us
sat at the table watched my friend serve the meal and plant herself back on her
throne.
Between bites, I asked her to
read the question again. She read it
right out of the text – If a tree falls in the middle of the forest and no one
is there to hear it fall…does it make a sound?
Not caring, but needing to earn my repast, I asked her what she
thought. She stared at me and shrugged
her shoulders. I was the expert, she
proclaimed, I should answer my own question.
The girl harrumphed at that and the boy giggled. Trying not to reveal the fact that all I
really wanted was some more cream gravy, I turned to the youngsters and asked
what their little wise asses thought.
Vampirella blew bubbles through her drink straw and offered, “Who cares
anyway, man, it’s just a freaking tree.”
The surprise that day came from what the boy said…”what made it fall?”
Now I had always thought of
this question as some inane exercise the Secret Philosophy Professors Society
dreamt up to torture and defile freshman students with. It never occurred to me…not being your
standard run of the mill philosopher…that an answer had to be there. Why ask a question if there were not an
answer? My ignorance of the reason for
taking a philosophy class in your first year of college had nothing to do with
providing the instructor with a paycheck.
It was quite simply and, and most eloquently designed to elicit critical
thought in emerging minds. It served as
a tool to show them how to think beyond those levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy, and
into the realm where true education can occur.
My overweight, over educated ass needed to chill and use some of what I
learned.
Thinking about what caused the
tree to fall allows for the fact that the tree even exists. It brings up question of method and
means. Did lightening strike it? Did a huge bear run into it and bowl it
over? Was it eaten by insects to the
point where it could no longer stand?
Or, perhaps was it cut down by a deaf lumberjack?
But I digress. I did not begin this book or conceive this
book to be a juorney with no destination.
Nor did I desire to discover the a priori /
a posteriori epistemological and ontological
foundation of human thought, or to better define the quagmire associated with environmental
issues and oddities. What I fancied this
piece to become is a definitive tome on what I believe.
Academically and personally, I
am literature/history/social studies guy.
I like reading, and some science finds favor in my mind. I have always been fortunate in possessing a sufficient
level of reading comprehension which has proven both rewarding and amusing. I took philosophy to attempt to answer some
questions in my life. The class taught
me nothing that my own intellect, spiritual beliefs, and life experience could
not answer. I do, nonetheless, possess a
difficulty with one particular question.
I do not have an easy answer for the question why.
This brings me back to the
original quandary about the tree and sounds.
I never answered that question in the first place to anyone’s
satisfaction. I am not about to now. I leave that to those of greater acumen and
incentive such as freshmen philosophy students and their storm trooper
professors. I do realize one thing about
the question, however. If one was to
answer the question to their own satisfaction, or the approval of others, then
it would be contingent on the fact that they believed the tree had fallen in the first place. With belief comes faith which just might be
the answer to this and all questions, especially the absurd explorations of
Junior College level philosophers.
So tell me. What is
it to you? Could it be a statement of belief,
or might it be a necessity of faith. You
choose.
Peace
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