On Philosophy
1 Long & 4 Short
by
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Imagine a light bulb placed at the top of a three foot high lamp stand. The bulb is flashing at a rate so fixed, it never varies. How shall we describe that rate? For convenience’s sake, let’s say it is turned on and shining for one-fortieth of a second, is then turned off and dark for one-fortieth of a second, is then on for one-fortieth of a second, is then off for one-fortieth of a second, and so on. Therefore, in the course of each second, the bulb shines twenty times and is dark twenty times, and the duration of each of those bright and dark episodes is one-fortieth of a second. A three foot high tripod is nearby and, atop that tripod, is a camera pointed at the light bulb. This is a very unusual camera, because it has two lenses and two shutters. As with most cameras, there is a lens on the outside of the camera and, behind that outer lens, is a shutter. We can call it the outer shutter. By opening and closing, that outer shutter allows light to enter the camera and to expose the film behind the shutter. Oddly, there is another lens inside the camera. This second and inner lens is located behind, and facing, the film. Naturally, there is a second shutter behind that inner lens. We can call it the inner shutter. There is no second piece of film behind that inner lens and its inner shutter; but, there is a observer whose attention is fixed on the inner shutter which is in front of him and, therefore, between him and the film. The observer’s attention is fixed on that inner shutter because what is¾
by far!¾
of primary interest to him is what’s on the film in front of the inner shutter and inner lens. Watching the camera, we notice this: Whenever the light bulb is on, the outer shutter is open, and, whenever the light bulb is off, the outer shutter is closed. In other words, the bulb and the outer shutter are perfectly in sync with one another. At least, that’s the way it is for a while. Precisely how long does that while last? In response, all we can say for now is this: It lasts for as long as it takes for the bulb to shine 1094 successive times. As you can readily calculate, if the bulb shines 20 times a second, it will take roughly 1093 seconds for the bulb to shine 1094 successive times. So far so good! Now, assume the bulb has shone 1094 successive times. Of necessity, that means the outer shutter has opened and closed 1094 times. To our amazement, the outer lens now refuses to open for a while. Precisely how long does that while last? In response, all we can say for now is this: It lasts for as long as it takes for the bulb to shine 1094 successive times. In other words, the outer shutter is presenting us with a two phased cycle. In one half of that cycle, the shutter is opening and closing at a definite rate for a definite length of time. In the other half of that cycle, the shutter stays closed for that same definite length of time. More correctly, in one half of its cycle, the outer shutter opens and closes at a definite rate for a definite number of cycles on the part of the light bulb, and, in the other half of its cycle, it remains closed for that same definite number of cycles on the part of the light bulb. So then, the outer shutter has opened and closed 1094 successive times and is now staying shut for a while. What is the inner shutter doing? All while the outer shutter is going thru its routine of opening and closing in sync with the light bulb, the inner shutter is closed. Of necessity, that means the observer (i.e.: the soul) behind the inner shutter is aware of nothing during that half of the outer shutter’s two-phased cycle. Then comes the second half of the outer shutter’s two-phased cycle. Throughout the course of that second half, the inner shutter is open, and the observer is experiencing what’s been etched on the film in the course of the first half of the outer shutter’s cycle. In other words, every other 1094 successive flashes, the observer is experiencing what the previous 1094 successive flashes created on the film in front of the inner lens and shutter. Now comes a crucial point: All while the observer is experiencing the film, nothing on that film changes. By the same token, nothing inside the observer himself changes (i.e.: all the internal characteristics of his current act of existence remain fixed, because he is performing the same, one act throughout the course of the current cycle phase). Because nothing¾
either within himself or within his field of sensory experience¾
changes one iota throughout the course of the cycle phase, the observer has no way to determine the duration of that cycle phase. Of necessity, then, the duration of that cycle phase¾
as far as his experience of it can tell him¾
is ZERO. Though, from the standpoint of the flashing bulb, the cycle phase lasts 1094 successive flashes, the soul "feels" that cycle phase as nothing more than a durationless instant. The same can be said of that other half of the cycle during which the soul¾
because the inner shutter is closed¾
is aware of nothing whatsoever: It, too, is¾
from the standpoint of the soul’s experience of it¾
a durationless instant. Therefore, though a full cycle lasts 1094 + 1094 successive flashes by the light bulb, the full cycle has no duration whatsoever as far as the observer’s awareness of it is concerned. Just as deep sleep makes hours go by in a flash, so does the lack of change in each half of the inner shutter’s cycle make eons go by in a flash. Still, each cycle leaves an impression upon the observer’s memory and upon the internality of his soul itself. Then too, each successive experience of the film is slightly different from the previous one. As a result, the observer is aware that changes are piling up in himself and¾
since, for his way of experiencing things, only durationless instants intervene between each change in himself¾
those changes are piling up in him rather rapidly. Indeed, since he automatically projects onto those changes the continuity of his own acts of existence (a continuity which is there because, however long a given act lasts, the passage from one act to the next is instantaneous and, however different from the previous act, each act remains an act of the same one soul), those changes are experienced as being continuous as well as rapid. Nevertheless, no matter how continuous and rapid the changes in his self and sense images might seem to the observer (i.e.: no matter how continuously and rapidly either the film in front of him or the acts of his own soul might seem to the observer to be changing), those changes are astronomically far from being either continuous or rapid. Be that as it may, the relentless piling up of memories of past differences produces what we can perhaps call an awareness of created time. By that I mean, a kind of time which, instead of measuring how long a given act endures, measures nothing more than the rate at which ch
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About the Book
There are professional philosophers and there are amateur ones. They are, in most cases, very different from one another. Professional philosophers usually have college degrees in philosophy and, to keep abreast of their profession, they rather faithfully read one or more philosophy journals. Understandably, then, for them, philosophy mostly means what some professional philosopher has written by way of a commentary upon what was lately said by some other professional philosopher in a philosophy journal. Amateur philosophers, if they have college degrees, have them in some other field. They rarely if ever read philosophy journals. For them, philosophy is a kind of recreational vehicle to which they turn because, being thinking individuals, they delight in reflecting upon several of the highly interesting questions raised in some classical books they have read or provocative conversations they have enjoyed. Because this book is written by an amateur philosopher, it is not likely professional philosophers will find anything appealing in it. Possibly, it shall appeal to amateur philosophers interested in hearing what a sixty-five year old member of their group has to say on such diverse issues as knowledge, concepts, certitude, "the unknowable," the scientific versus the philosophical method of searching for ultimate realities, relativity, time, space, matter, Zeno of Elea’s bit about Achilles and the tortoise, and paradoxical statements such as: "This statement is not true." To be sure, because amateurs are self-educated, it is difficult for them to avoid using terminology of their own making, and that necessarily means the amateur is all too often in the awkward position of speaking a tongue known to no one but himself. Curiously, though, those interested in something "off the beaten path" generally find that situation more of an exciting challenge than they do a barrier not worth surmounting. In this, as in every book written by this author, those interested in something off the beaten path will find exactly what they crave.
About the Author
Born April 13, 1936, in New Orleans, Louisiana, the author graduated from Jesuit high school, in New Orleans, in 1953. A single fruitless semester studying music at Loyola University of the South in New Orleans was followed by almost two years of floundering in a sea of confusion, and the author then joined the U. S. Air Force on Dec. 7, 1955. Honorably discharged in April of 1960, the author underwent another two and a half years of floundering so severe, he came extremely close to a mental breakdown. In desperation, he gave away everything he owned and, for thirteen years, took to the life of a wandering hermit. In search of as much time and energy as possible for inner reflection upon self, God, and the nature and purpose of reality, he criss-crossed the United States on foot four times. At first, he lived off of whatever food and clothing he could beg; but, after learning how to live on a dollar a day or less, he turned to working at various monasteries in the winter time in exchange for the two to three hundred dollars required to feed and to clothe himself during the next spring, summer, and fall of walking. The monasteries also provided access to libraries in which he could read, and extract notes from, the great writings of the Catholic Church. In the course of that thirteen-year odyssey, there was a four year period during which he refused to speak to anyone (except on very rare occasions) and communicated only by means of written notes. In August of 1975, the author’s father lost his mind, and the author’s siblings insisted he was the only one in the family with the time and ability to tend to their father in his hour of need. Thus, after thirteen years, the author’s preferred lifestyle came to an end. Dire poverty then gave way to economic independence, and total seclusion gave way to what little privacy can be enjoyed by bachelors who prefer to avoid partying and to stay home and--as much as possible--to bury themselves in as much reading and writing as the world around them will allow. After his father’s death in 1981, the author took care of his mother until her death in 1996. In this book, the self-educated author of dozens of mostly unpublished books and pamphlets seeks to share with others the avenues of thought down which his mind was lead by thirteen years of heroically intense inner concentration followed by twenty-two years of moderately intense inner concentration.