Does the table exist after you leave the room (and no one is perceiving it)?
Such questions are what usually make philosophy notorious. Actually its not so much the question, but the answer, for in fact according to some philosophers, its more plausible to argue that the table doesnt exist after you leave the room, than to argue that it continues to exist.
I will show you in less than 10 paragraphs how to argue for that, and after this, you can show off to friends who think they know everything in the world.
First, you agree that the table exist after you leave the room? Naturally.
But what is to say that the table exist at all? Well, it means you can touch it, you can see it, smell it, lick it, sit on it, put things on it etc. The existence of the table is the sum total of these properties.
Agreed? Well, then, what happens when you leave the room (and shut the door, and no one else is in the room)? You can no longer see the table, no longer touch it. In fact, since no one is in the room, no one is perceiving the table, touching it at the moment.
So how do you know that the table exist?
It's perfectly conceivable to say it doesnt exist! If the existence of the table is exactly the sum total of being seen, being touched etc., then it doesnt exist for the same reason: no one is seeing it, touching it etc.
Ah, then you say, but the table still exists, because if I open the door quickly, there it is again, right in the same place.
But how do you know if the table disappeared during the time when you are not looking?
So you say: we've never seen any table that will disappear in our absence.
That is perfectly true. But have you seen any table in the absence of anybody at all? No one has ever seen a table when nobody is present. Everytime a table is seen, there is at least some people around, namely at least you. No one has ever seen an unseen table, so how can you predict with such certainty that unseen tables dont disappear, and reappear when someone is seeing it?
Then you say: i put a book on the table, and when i reenter the room, the book is still on the table! If the table disappeared in my absence, then the book would have fallen onto the ground rite? The book didnt fall, ergo the table didnt disappear.
Aha! So you say; but how do you know the book existed when you are not in the room? It might have disappeared along with the table, and reappear when you enter the room.
So you object: Guys guys, this is pointless, I was looking through a peekhole all along, and hey presto, the table (along with the book) didnt disappear! Therefore we know that the table still exists in our absence.
But sadly no, this is not valid an objection at all. If someone is looking at the table through a peekhole, then it means the table is being perceived. The question is whether the table exist when it is not being perceived at all. And this you cannot show.
Take a video cam and record the table "in action"?
No, the video cam might just have disappeared and reappeared with the table when it is in the room where no one is perceiving it. Just give it up, why do you want to say the table continue to exist? You got no proof that the table exists in everyone's absence.
Surely its logical to think that the damn table continues to exist. There is no special reason why it should disappear and reappear like that.
Well, I can tell you its more logical that the table NOT continue to exist when we are not perceiving it. The existence of the table means nothing more than being seen, being touched, being heard when we rap our knuckles on it, etc. (To appreciate this, imagine if I tell you that there is a table in this room, but you cant see it, cant touch it, your hand will pass through it; you will probably be inclined to say that the table doesnt exist). Since in everybody's absence, the table would be being not seen, not heard, not touched etc., there is nothing more to say that the table exist. It doesnt make sense to say it exists.
So there... the table doesnt exist when you are not in the room.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Money
Show me the money for being lonely
So many words for a broken heart
but hard to see any greenback notes
So hard to breathe
work with me, my baby
Nights and nights, so soon become
Bow and plea, I cant see the sun
Your every wish will be done
They tell me...
Show me the money for being lonely
is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
Life goes on as it never ends
Eyes of stone observe the trams
They never stay, forever coming for me
Guilty roads to an endless curve
There’s no controls(!?)
Are you with me now(?!?)
Your every wish will be done
They tell me
Show me the money for being lonely
is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
There's no where to run,
I have no place to go
So render my heart, body and soul
How can it be you're asking me to use things you never show?
Bills are piling in my yard
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
Show me the money for being lonely
Is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
So many words for a broken heart
but hard to see any greenback notes
So hard to breathe
work with me, my baby
Nights and nights, so soon become
Bow and plea, I cant see the sun
Your every wish will be done
They tell me...
Show me the money for being lonely
is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
Life goes on as it never ends
Eyes of stone observe the trams
They never stay, forever coming for me
Guilty roads to an endless curve
There’s no controls(!?)
Are you with me now(?!?)
Your every wish will be done
They tell me
Show me the money for being lonely
is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
There's no where to run,
I have no place to go
So render my heart, body and soul
How can it be you're asking me to use things you never show?
Bills are piling in my yard
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
Show me the money for being lonely
Is this the only I need to work with
Tell me why I cant be driving that car
its something I'll remember hard.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
clean
Everyone wants a sanitized version of a person for friends - people who seemingly dont have troubles at all, no personal conflicts; people who, like the heros and heroines in novels, dont have embarrassing calls of nature, who have no need to bathe and no fear of smelling bad.
They like to think that their friends are brushed-up, shining examples of mankind, who emerge from their sleep exactly like how we see them everyday - any troubles they have would have been, if they were wise, self-consciously tucked away before facing the world; it is the selfish friend who imposes his troubles on the world by wearing it on his face.
But everyone has troubles, and everyone is merely tucking them beneath the surface, hiding their weary and dying interiors away from sight. Then when something like a cough racks your body, the skin deep appearances threaten to tear, and reveal just what a wretch you have been.
It feels especially vulnerable when you are sick, when you dont know you are coughing because of the throat, or because you are coughing to cover up the frantic, confused you lurking under that hand.
I am not okay - but if you ask me, I will tell you I am fine.
They like to think that their friends are brushed-up, shining examples of mankind, who emerge from their sleep exactly like how we see them everyday - any troubles they have would have been, if they were wise, self-consciously tucked away before facing the world; it is the selfish friend who imposes his troubles on the world by wearing it on his face.
But everyone has troubles, and everyone is merely tucking them beneath the surface, hiding their weary and dying interiors away from sight. Then when something like a cough racks your body, the skin deep appearances threaten to tear, and reveal just what a wretch you have been.
It feels especially vulnerable when you are sick, when you dont know you are coughing because of the throat, or because you are coughing to cover up the frantic, confused you lurking under that hand.
I am not okay - but if you ask me, I will tell you I am fine.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
sleep when raining
Do you know that most people feel an urge to sleep in, or just sleep when it is raining? My dad, for one, sleeps like a concussed log when its raining (if logs can concuss), even though he usually have severe sleeping problems. There is probably an evolutionary explanation for this:
Those of us whose ancestors, in the cavemen era, have genes that prompted them to sleep during rain and thunderstorm probably survived better than those cavemen who went out to play/hunt in the rain. For one, the danger of slipping and bashing your brains out is lower when you are safe and dry in the cave, secondly, the risk of getting struck by lightning is infinitely lower too.
As a result of natural selection, those without the genes of sleeping-during-thunderstorms are gradually weeded out of the human species, removed by the lightnings (and in some special cases, the thunder).
So whaddaya know, the sleeping-when-raining syndrome has its uses after all. For those of you who, and whom up to this point has been protesting vehemently, dont have this urge to sleep when raining, there is only ONE explanation, and ONE word of advice from me:
You, and your ancestors, have been lucky. Very lucky.
Advice: You wouldnt be lucky for long; better develop that gene, fast.
(Incidentally, I am not one of those who felt the urge to sleep when raining; not much anyway, since I prefer to be awake to appreciate the rain.)
"Wait a minute," some of you cunning readers would exclaim, "your dad has this gene, yet you claim not to have this gene; what the hell are you talking about?"
Simple: my mum dont have this gene. duh.
Those of us whose ancestors, in the cavemen era, have genes that prompted them to sleep during rain and thunderstorm probably survived better than those cavemen who went out to play/hunt in the rain. For one, the danger of slipping and bashing your brains out is lower when you are safe and dry in the cave, secondly, the risk of getting struck by lightning is infinitely lower too.
As a result of natural selection, those without the genes of sleeping-during-thunderstorms are gradually weeded out of the human species, removed by the lightnings (and in some special cases, the thunder).
So whaddaya know, the sleeping-when-raining syndrome has its uses after all. For those of you who, and whom up to this point has been protesting vehemently, dont have this urge to sleep when raining, there is only ONE explanation, and ONE word of advice from me:
You, and your ancestors, have been lucky. Very lucky.
Advice: You wouldnt be lucky for long; better develop that gene, fast.
(Incidentally, I am not one of those who felt the urge to sleep when raining; not much anyway, since I prefer to be awake to appreciate the rain.)
"Wait a minute," some of you cunning readers would exclaim, "your dad has this gene, yet you claim not to have this gene; what the hell are you talking about?"
Simple: my mum dont have this gene. duh.
Monday, April 17, 2006
an answer
As I looked out over the rolling hills (not many of them, but still there),
over the lush green treetops, into the blue yonder,
with the heavy mist hanging between here and there, and the distant rain beyond sight,
inhaling the crisp, fresh air that ran through me like a sudden breeze;
I wondered: who am I sharing this world with;
I wondered: if the silence that returned, is just the answer.
over the lush green treetops, into the blue yonder,
with the heavy mist hanging between here and there, and the distant rain beyond sight,
inhaling the crisp, fresh air that ran through me like a sudden breeze;
I wondered: who am I sharing this world with;
I wondered: if the silence that returned, is just the answer.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
happiness
It's weird: whats the meaning of life? Why are we born if we are to die eventually? So that we can live our lives to the fullest?
But who are we before we are born? Who are we after our death? Who determines that person that is me is to be born and to live my life to the fullest? If I werent born, it wouldnt have made a difference if I led my life to the fullest rite?
And what difference does it make anyway, to lead my life to the fullest? Who's to tell the difference? For whom does it matter? To myself? But I will be gone after I am dead, poof, nothing more. It doesnt matter a whit to me anymore if I had led a full life - not if I am not even there to be matter-ed to.
To other people? Why should it matter to other people that I lead a full life? Most people cant be bothered enough with other people to care. Other people's affairs are like stories on the newspapers: the stories hurt you when they challenge your own affairs and mortality, but other than that, they are just another story in the wind.
Perhaps we are to contribute to the universal good, make everyone better off using my own life. But why should I care? When I am dead, I certainly cant care about that, and most people certainly wouldnt care that I contributed, other than token appreciation. Even if they do care, I wouldnt be there to care about whether they cared or not - it matters not to me when I am dead.
For that matter, why do we think that a good life is a life thats full? Full of what? It can never be full of happiness, nor full of accomplishments. Does accomplishments amount to happiness? Do we even care about happiness? Why should we?
If making ourselves happy is the ultimate goal, why cant we just eat and drink and have sex all day, for the rest of our lives? Probably because we need money to do that, so does that mean we are slogging our lives away just to achieve these goals: eat, drink, and have sex?
Why does it matter anyway?
But who are we before we are born? Who are we after our death? Who determines that person that is me is to be born and to live my life to the fullest? If I werent born, it wouldnt have made a difference if I led my life to the fullest rite?
And what difference does it make anyway, to lead my life to the fullest? Who's to tell the difference? For whom does it matter? To myself? But I will be gone after I am dead, poof, nothing more. It doesnt matter a whit to me anymore if I had led a full life - not if I am not even there to be matter-ed to.
To other people? Why should it matter to other people that I lead a full life? Most people cant be bothered enough with other people to care. Other people's affairs are like stories on the newspapers: the stories hurt you when they challenge your own affairs and mortality, but other than that, they are just another story in the wind.
Perhaps we are to contribute to the universal good, make everyone better off using my own life. But why should I care? When I am dead, I certainly cant care about that, and most people certainly wouldnt care that I contributed, other than token appreciation. Even if they do care, I wouldnt be there to care about whether they cared or not - it matters not to me when I am dead.
For that matter, why do we think that a good life is a life thats full? Full of what? It can never be full of happiness, nor full of accomplishments. Does accomplishments amount to happiness? Do we even care about happiness? Why should we?
If making ourselves happy is the ultimate goal, why cant we just eat and drink and have sex all day, for the rest of our lives? Probably because we need money to do that, so does that mean we are slogging our lives away just to achieve these goals: eat, drink, and have sex?
Why does it matter anyway?
Thursday, April 13, 2006
helping?
Today when i was going to school, via Clementi Interchange, from the bus I saw a blind man with a stick milling about the interchange looking lost. When I alighted, he was still wandering around, so I approached him and offered to bring him to where he wants to go.
He said he needs to go to the MRT, so I held his hand and guided him there. On the way he asked me if I am working, and have I eaten my lunch. I replied politely in the negative to both.
When we reached the MRT, he told me that he lives in Clementi, that he had no business here (I assume he is talking about selling tissues etc.) and so he is going over to Jurong Point to have lunch and try his luck there. Then he asked me if I have some change, in Hokkien. (to my surprise, I found myself able to converse pretty well in Hokkien.)
So I was pondering if I should give him some money, then he asked again if I have 2 dollar coins. Then I said yea, and looking thru my wallet, I found a 2 dollar note and gave him that. Then I wanted to guide him up the escalator to the MRT, but he declined, saying that I am rushing for time (which I didnt say), and that he would ask another person around for help.
So okay, I left at that point. Then the aunty at the newspaper stall nearby who saw everything, told me in Hokkien:
"That guy is a conman."
"He can see, not blind."
"His father is very rich loh, a businessman who drives a Mercedes."
"His sisters also very rich one."
"He always take a cab, and wear loud orange clothes with girls in his arms." (not sure if I caught this properly, cos my Hokkien is after all, not very good)
"A lot of conmen in Clementi."
ahh... nvm loh, 2 dollar nia.
"2 dollar also alot loh. When you hungry then you short of 2 dollars, then you will know that."
That's true.
So I was wondering: who to believe? Probably the aunty, then it would mean I was cheated. But does that mean we should be cautious of helping blind/handicapped people? Maybe.
What's the moral of the story? There is no moral of the story; morals are for fiction. Reality has too many grey areas to draw any substantial morals from it. Just be cautious bah. If you ask me, maybe what I learnt is that helping people is ok, but when they ask you for money.... depends on the situation loh.
He said he needs to go to the MRT, so I held his hand and guided him there. On the way he asked me if I am working, and have I eaten my lunch. I replied politely in the negative to both.
When we reached the MRT, he told me that he lives in Clementi, that he had no business here (I assume he is talking about selling tissues etc.) and so he is going over to Jurong Point to have lunch and try his luck there. Then he asked me if I have some change, in Hokkien. (to my surprise, I found myself able to converse pretty well in Hokkien.)
So I was pondering if I should give him some money, then he asked again if I have 2 dollar coins. Then I said yea, and looking thru my wallet, I found a 2 dollar note and gave him that. Then I wanted to guide him up the escalator to the MRT, but he declined, saying that I am rushing for time (which I didnt say), and that he would ask another person around for help.
So okay, I left at that point. Then the aunty at the newspaper stall nearby who saw everything, told me in Hokkien:
"That guy is a conman."
"He can see, not blind."
"His father is very rich loh, a businessman who drives a Mercedes."
"His sisters also very rich one."
"He always take a cab, and wear loud orange clothes with girls in his arms." (not sure if I caught this properly, cos my Hokkien is after all, not very good)
"A lot of conmen in Clementi."
ahh... nvm loh, 2 dollar nia.
"2 dollar also alot loh. When you hungry then you short of 2 dollars, then you will know that."
That's true.
So I was wondering: who to believe? Probably the aunty, then it would mean I was cheated. But does that mean we should be cautious of helping blind/handicapped people? Maybe.
What's the moral of the story? There is no moral of the story; morals are for fiction. Reality has too many grey areas to draw any substantial morals from it. Just be cautious bah. If you ask me, maybe what I learnt is that helping people is ok, but when they ask you for money.... depends on the situation loh.
Monday, April 10, 2006
《斷線》
-万芳- 作詞：易家揚 作曲：陳小霞
風箏不該有名字 卒子不該過河
流浪不該有什麼方向
旅途中 寶貝你別回頭
童年不該長大 姑娘不該年老
鄰居不該在那年搬走
落淚時 情人你別掉頭
走過的路是一串深淺分明的腳印
寄出的信是一張收不回的心情
不知去向的是忘了昨天的我
愛過的是斷了線的你
This song floats into my mind every now and then. It just sounds particularly sad to me, so when the mood is in the air, I would listen to this song. I must clarify that it is not that the song lyrics speaks to whatever situation I am in now; in any case, it is a female singer, so how can it apply to me?
風箏不該有名字 卒子不該過河
流浪不該有什麼方向
旅途中 寶貝你別回頭
童年不該長大 姑娘不該年老
鄰居不該在那年搬走
落淚時 情人你別掉頭
走過的路是一串深淺分明的腳印
寄出的信是一張收不回的心情
不知去向的是忘了昨天的我
愛過的是斷了線的你
This song floats into my mind every now and then. It just sounds particularly sad to me, so when the mood is in the air, I would listen to this song. I must clarify that it is not that the song lyrics speaks to whatever situation I am in now; in any case, it is a female singer, so how can it apply to me?
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Ool
I would like to propose a new term, a new acronym actually.
Ool - standing for Out of Love. (NOT "out of luck", mind!)
You pronounce it like ooooohh, as in the "oooohh" in "ooooh ahhh". You frequently hear me saying that (if you never heard it before, ask me for a demonstration).
This term would apply to a lot of people, including, and not limited to:
people who have a queue number (you can get a queue number anytime you approach those super chio girls),
those who are in the waiting-lists,
those who are in the waiting-lists for the waiting-lists,
those who are freshly rejected,
those who are rejected-10years-ago-yet-feeling-it-like-yesterday,
those who are secretly in love with someone but no-money-to-buy-a-rose,
those who are secretly in love with someone but-humchee
those who just broke up,
those who broke-up-to-get-into-the-Ool-club,
those who are broken-up,
those who refuse to get into a relationship,
those who couldnt get into any relationship,
those who try to get into a relationship with trees, dogs, cats, stones etc.,
and so on...
Basically everyone who doesnt have a boyfriend/girlfriend gets included. (hey I just realised something: why issit called "boyfriend/girlfriend"? When we get older, dont we have "manfriend/womanfriend"? weird.)
This is a uber cool term - Ool. (Cool enough to make those people who are in relationships so jealous that they will kill to get out of it, and adopt the name Ool.)
Whats the point of this term you ask. Well... of cos there is a point, let me think about it, and I'll tell you when I remember the point. heh.
Ool - standing for Out of Love. (NOT "out of luck", mind!)
You pronounce it like ooooohh, as in the "oooohh" in "ooooh ahhh". You frequently hear me saying that (if you never heard it before, ask me for a demonstration).
This term would apply to a lot of people, including, and not limited to:
people who have a queue number (you can get a queue number anytime you approach those super chio girls),
those who are in the waiting-lists,
those who are in the waiting-lists for the waiting-lists,
those who are freshly rejected,
those who are rejected-10years-ago-yet-feeling-it-like-yesterday,
those who are secretly in love with someone but no-money-to-buy-a-rose,
those who are secretly in love with someone but-humchee
those who just broke up,
those who broke-up-to-get-into-the-Ool-club,
those who are broken-up,
those who refuse to get into a relationship,
those who couldnt get into any relationship,
those who try to get into a relationship with trees, dogs, cats, stones etc.,
and so on...
Basically everyone who doesnt have a boyfriend/girlfriend gets included. (hey I just realised something: why issit called "boyfriend/girlfriend"? When we get older, dont we have "manfriend/womanfriend"? weird.)
This is a uber cool term - Ool. (Cool enough to make those people who are in relationships so jealous that they will kill to get out of it, and adopt the name Ool.)
Whats the point of this term you ask. Well... of cos there is a point, let me think about it, and I'll tell you when I remember the point. heh.
choice
I am a lucky bastard, and I know it.... I just hope I dont live to regret my decisions. There are always so many paths in life that leads to goodness-knows-where, and for good or for worse, we have to choose.
It's more like a kind of game, a whimsical step, an unknown fancy - a choice made.
Even if you chose not to choose, that too is a choice - one I am not prepared to make; many a times hesitation has led me down the wrong road.
I just hope I am not making a mistake - and I dont live to regret it. >.<
It's more like a kind of game, a whimsical step, an unknown fancy - a choice made.
Even if you chose not to choose, that too is a choice - one I am not prepared to make; many a times hesitation has led me down the wrong road.
I just hope I am not making a mistake - and I dont live to regret it. >.<
Saturday, April 08, 2006
exams
Ah ahH AHH... This sem forgot to start exams preparation yet. omg. 2 more weeks...
Same rule again, as is always. 10pm is the limit.
Same rule again, as is always. 10pm is the limit.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Unicorn
Just finished my essay which is due on 6th apr, 12midnight.... braindead now. Chanced upon a short story while doing research on the paper, had no idea what relevance the story have to anything at all... but I'll just transpose it here, since its funny.
A man finds a unicorn browsing among the tulips in his garden. He informs his wife, who, remarking with scorn that the unicorn is a mythical beast, summons the police and a psychiatrist, to have him certified. She tells them what he said and they asked him to confirm it. 'Of course not,' he replies, 'the unicorn is a mythical beast.' So they shut her up in an institution and the man lives happily ever after.
This story was taken from Martin Hollis' article "The social destruction of reality", who in turn took it from James Thurber's Fables for Our Time.
Dont ask me what the moral of the story is... I didnt bother to read. Its not important. I just thought it interesting.
A man finds a unicorn browsing among the tulips in his garden. He informs his wife, who, remarking with scorn that the unicorn is a mythical beast, summons the police and a psychiatrist, to have him certified. She tells them what he said and they asked him to confirm it. 'Of course not,' he replies, 'the unicorn is a mythical beast.' So they shut her up in an institution and the man lives happily ever after.
This story was taken from Martin Hollis' article "The social destruction of reality", who in turn took it from James Thurber's Fables for Our Time.
Dont ask me what the moral of the story is... I didnt bother to read. Its not important. I just thought it interesting.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Habit
I have a habit of fingering my chin lately, especially when I am thinking. It's not exactly a pretty habit to have: for one, I look like one of those lewd guys lusting after gals while having lewd thoughts. Also, it doesnt help at all to notice myself fingering my chin while really looking at girls. =p
Of course you shouldnt be mistaken. No one will actually come out and admit that he is lewd and having lewd thoughts while lustily looking at girls. Certainly clement is not one who will admit to that. It is just a habit that I've formed, and I noticed it especially when I caught myself accidentally glancing at girls. It is psychological ya? You only notice things when you dont do them. heh
So yah, I finger my chin while thinking, and accidentally glancing at girls. Which isnt very good for me, since I appear lewd despite my innocent and pure heart.
Henceforth, I have decided to develop another habit to override the existing one. Some posture suitable for thinking, and definitely not to be mistaken for lusting after girls when I am actually accidentally glancing at them. This would require more thinking, but I got a rough idea of what might be good... somewhere along the lines of resting my head on the tips of my fingers while looking down. That would convey the impression that I am hard at thinking.
And it would be cool~
Of course you shouldnt be mistaken. No one will actually come out and admit that he is lewd and having lewd thoughts while lustily looking at girls. Certainly clement is not one who will admit to that. It is just a habit that I've formed, and I noticed it especially when I caught myself accidentally glancing at girls. It is psychological ya? You only notice things when you dont do them. heh
So yah, I finger my chin while thinking, and accidentally glancing at girls. Which isnt very good for me, since I appear lewd despite my innocent and pure heart.
Henceforth, I have decided to develop another habit to override the existing one. Some posture suitable for thinking, and definitely not to be mistaken for lusting after girls when I am actually accidentally glancing at them. This would require more thinking, but I got a rough idea of what might be good... somewhere along the lines of resting my head on the tips of my fingers while looking down. That would convey the impression that I am hard at thinking.
And it would be cool~
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Understanding
For so long we worry about not understanding other people, that we didn't see how hard it is to even understand ourselves.
Worse, if we couldnt even understand ourselves, how can we hope to adequately understand other people when they couldn't even understand themselves.
We are just milling, and bumping about, in a myriad of confused meanings we created ourselves.
Worse, if we couldnt even understand ourselves, how can we hope to adequately understand other people when they couldn't even understand themselves.
We are just milling, and bumping about, in a myriad of confused meanings we created ourselves.
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