FLAW
By Albert-W
- 520 reads
FLAW
If this account exists, it will mean that there is a serious miscalculation in the Professor’s theory, so please read no further. Avert your eyes.
But if there is no dissuading you, then may whichever god you worship do more to protect you than mine, as the existence of this document attests, has done for me.
* * *
Today - the date is of no relevance - I, - as nor is my name - am sitting in the Professor's study. The learned man, whose radical beliefs have estranged him from his peers, has warned me of the risk he says we are both taking, and it has been agreed that I will keep written account of the proceedings.
There is no apparatus involved, chemicals or formulae. We have, last evening, denuded the room of extraneous matter, leaving ourselves merely two comfortable chairs as, indeed, we see no cause for discomfort while we work. So it is the Professor on one side, and myself with my jotter, pen and ink on the other; both of us relaxed, both ready to begin.
I have a vague idea how he intends to conduct the proceedings. We have discussed this many times in the past, though he has not gone into detail. That is what he will do now.
First, he has asked me to clear my mind; make myself receptive to new concepts; be prepared to reject the weight of popular beliefs that have congested my outlook for so long; and even be ready to shut out the sound and proven physical principles on which the existence of matter is based. This, I must admit, I find an astonishingly tall order. But the Professor assures me that he will soon lead my reasoning down a path which, if logic is allowed to prevail, will afford me no opportunity to turn back, and at the end of which I will see the light. I am not to look so uneasy, he reassures me. It will be a gentle experience.
In phase one, I am asked to consider colour. What is colour? As best I can, I bring from memory a definition of colour as a quality or wavelength of light emitted or reflected from an object, determined by the physical configuration of the emitting or reflecting surface. Also, a sensation produced from stimulation of the optic nerve by particular light vibrations.
The Professor applauds my regurgitated textbook reference. He asks whether I can feel colour. I cannot of course, and say so.
Now he challenges me to describe perception. Again, my recall which served so well to secure a doctorate doesn't fail me. Perception, I tell him, is the act or faculty of perceiving. Philosophically, it is the process by which an organism detects and interprets information from the external world by means of the sensory receptors. And no, anticipating the next question, I cannot feel perception either.
Even before the Professor relates the connection he has drawn between these two truths, I believe I can pre-guess him. I am right; he wants me to contemplate what he calls ‘the discrepancy'; to visualise the effect of applying this logic. It is suggested I consider a piece of matter – a block of wood for example - which is painted green. This I do then, at his bidding, attempt to translate my vision into words. I say that it is an oblong. The Professor smiles and tells me that the shape is not of any importance - yet anyway - and to progress matters without undue hindrance we will accept that our individual understanding of what constitutes an oblong is, broadly speaking, the same. But what of the colour? That is what he really wants to know.
I tell him that it is deep green, as might be found on a thick cabbage or rubber plant. This, he tells me, is an evasion; a simple comparison. What he is determined to know from me is exactly what is green? What does it look like? Perhaps, he mocks, I would find it easier to describe blue or red.
It looks... green, I can find no other way to verbally frame my mental picture. But of course his point is not entirely sound I suggest, for there is no need to describe a colour which we all recognise as second nature.
He destroys my argument by suggesting I make that statement to a man who has been blind from birth.
Similarly, my attempts to relate the colour to others are dismissed. It is futile, I am told, to say that green lies at a particular place within the spectrum and can be roughly described as akin - albeit graduated in intensity - to those colours that flank it; for if I am unable to describe those colours either, then there is no reference point.
I have a feeling that I know where this is taking me but, as the Professor has urged, avoid as far as possible cluttering up my mind with superfluous data.
Will I now admit, I am pressed, that there is no evidence to indicate that what one organism, a person for example, perceives as green is in any way similar to how another sees it. All we can say with any certainty, he sums up, is that when we each look at green we, individually, recognise it as such, so are able to say to our fellow-man: "That is green." And he, through whatever sensation his own powers of perception cast into his mind, will agree. I cannot escape the validity of this premise, and phase one is complete.
Even with the seriousness of our endeavour, we find room for good humour. In phase two the Professor has invited me to describe him. He is not, by way of a momentary deviation, what one would call a good looking specimen, though it is said - as he jests himself - that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I wonder whether there is something more than flippancy intended when he makes the observation.
All right, I dismiss worries of causing offence and start by saying that he is fat. He is short in build and his face, which sits redly under a greasy crown of jet black hair, is badly pockmarked from, I presume, some severe manifestation of acne in his youth.
To my relief, he laughs and compliments my forthrightness. But he is by no means satisfied. He refers me to the blind man again, the unfortunate soul whose eyes have never worked and who, for the sake of this argument, is also physically paralysed and unable to detect shape or form through the sense of feel. What now? Would my description convey anything?
No, I have to admit; and although my error is already clear to me, I listen while the Professor questions the validity of my use of colour when referring to his hair and face, as well as the fact that my visualisation of shape might be equally subject to personal interpretation and, not least, the other major weakness in my approach, namely the use of comparison. What does short mean if one has not seen, or felt, tall?
I try, of course, to blame the inadequacies of the language for my failure to put across any satisfactory descriptions lending weight to my belief that the forms, shapes and colours which each being sees are - defects of the eyesight excepted - identical. I don’t think that I am able to even argue that they are remotely similar.
Phase two has led me to the conclusion that my view of the world, of the universe, is mine and mine alone. Given that whenever I see a leaf, I recognise it as a leaf and call it a leaf, that is as much as I can state as certainty. My fellow man might see the object in a very different way, though he recognises it as a leaf and calls it a leaf. He can even draw his version of its shape and show it to me, and I will say it is a leaf because what I see on the paper is what my mind translates to me as a drawing of a leaf; even though his mind may well be performing differently.
And is it just perception that influences these matters? The Professor suggests not. Might it be, he adds to my confusion, that to each single living creature, all objects, shapes, beings - in fact, all masses of matter - are not simply different in appearance but actually different in reality.
He is not adamant that I swallow the possibility yet, but he has, as I have to acknowledge, prised open my mind; ready, as he tells me, for the subsequent phases when it will need to be at its most receptive.
The Professor has clearly given deep consideration to this method of promulgating his theory, for now I come to appreciate the subtlety of the opening phases. Already, I have closed some doors in the corridor; admitted and accepted the logic of his hypotheses. I will not be able to reopen them.
Consider now, he resumes, the existence of matter which is not being perceived. We are to begin at a simple level he tells me, though I am immediately suspicious of another trap being baited. For simplicity, I am to visualise the green block of wood again, and this time the Professor will accept the mutual interpretation of what green is. The block of wood is in a room. There are no windows though there is a light. There is nobody in there with it; no living thing. It is not being perceived. Now, what colour is the object?
Green is what I am compelled to suggest.
I am then asked to refer back to my definition of colour: quality or wavelength of light emitted or reflected from an object. This seems straightforward. But then he asks me to introduce perception into the equation as this, after all, is the only means by which the existence of colour or light can be acknowledged; and perception, as I have said, is the act or faculty of perceiving; the act by which the mind refers its sensations.. yes! He is quite right.
How can a colour, I ask myself - which depends upon being perceived for its very existence - manifest itself in any way when it is not being perceived? And what is more, given that each individual may well see green quite differently, how could an abstract, unintelligent emitter know how to present itself for perception when there is no receptor? The Professor points out that this argument applies equally to any surface reflecting light, so I have to agree that, in these circumstances, the block of wood is not green. What is it then?
Now we are applying this principle to not only colour, but solid matter. The Professor talks about the block of wood sitting there in the room, nobody to see it or feel it; not even, as he would accept as a bona fide perceiver, an automatic camera to capture its image. Solid matter, he maintains, is only as solid as it relates to other solid matter; in simple terms, matter which is three-dimensional and contained within its own boundaries. Its existence can only be substantiated when it resists the force of other matter attempting to proceed through the space it occupies, as though it did not exist. And the reaction experienced when such a resistance is offered is, we can no longer deny, nothing more certain than a sensation relayed to our brain by our perception. So with nothing to perceive the block of wood, does it actually exist? Do the walls ceiling and floor of the room exist? Can we, without introducing ourselves and our perception into the arena – an action that would defeat the object - claim that it does?
My head, as yours I suspect, is beginning to reel, and I am pausing for rest.
There are only two more phases to go, I am told. In the next, I will see the first rays of light at the end of the corridor; in the last... well, who knows?
We begin by revising. I have had to eventually concede that it is possible nothing exists unless we are observing it, feeling it or sensing it in some way or other. So what, we come to the point of the exercise, of ourselves and each other? I maintain that these principles cannot apply where living sensing beings are concerned - and that includes all forms of life which are so equipped. By definition anything which is capable of perception cannot be subject to the rule for it is in a permanent state of perception - even if only perceiving itself.
I am wrong, I am told; and running perilously close to closing my mind which now, of all times, I must not do. I am to ponder the block of wood being replaced by a man. Yes, he can perceive himself, as well as the walls, the floor the ceiling and even the block of wood if it is still in the room. Those objects exist for him. But his scope for perception has been reduced to the confines of his environment. He cannot perceive us, anybody else nor, in fact, anything from the vast universe which he imagines still surrounds him. So apart from his wishful thinking, we are to all intents and purposes nonexistent as, indeed, he is to us. Now it cannot be that we each come into existence and go out of it again countless times a day as others perceive and stop perceiving us. The Professor tells me that as far as he is concerned he exists all of the time, and I have to admit that I have a similar conviction regarding myself. Yet we both know that the minute one of us leaves the orbit of perception of the other, we cannot reliably exist for the other, nor the other for him.
So what is the answer? I need to know.
We have, he points out to me, already touched upon that some while ago. Everybody has their own world. In mine, it is only I who truly exist; all else is purely an illusion. But in the Professor's world, it is I who is the projection; I and everything else which comes into it. It is all so elementary now that I understand, and the Professor has said that phase five will proceed when my logic has reached the proper conclusion as to what it should comprise; what we should be attempting.
It has done so.
There are, before we commence, a couple of fringe issues which I feel obliged to record. As I have warned you, the very existence of this document after the final phase will indicate that somewhere along the line we have overlooked a crucial point, for if I survive I will destroy it before it can be read. If, on the other hand, it is the Professor who remains, then the document, like myself, will never have existed.
Another matter is how, if one believes in him, God would figure in the equation. He must, I feel sure, but that really does remain to be seen. In any case, I am praying to him, and suspect you will do likewise now that you are committed to follow me in taking the final step; entering phase five.
The Professor and I are drawing our chairs close to, but still facing each other. I now know that what we are about to do will require a faculty which we must all still have within ourselves, yet stays dormant through disuse. We have shaken hands, said our farewells and agreed to allow a few moments for contemplation. So that there is no question of unfair advantage, we will only begin when the clock strikes the half-hour.
It is chiming now.
I am concentrating hard, as is the Professor. We both have the power within us if we can only summon it. I feel I am beginning to do so, though am starting to feel too weak to write much more.
I’m wondering wh...
* * * *
© Albert Woods (2014)
My e-book crime thriller novel, ‘EIGHTEEN to TWELVE’, is available on Amazon
and my comedy – ‘THE PRICE of FISH’
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