Refuting the External World Page 3

  Walt thinks before answering. "It must be color," he replies.

  "That’s right. When something is ‘appearing visually’ we mean that there’s color present in our experience. And since we have already established that ‘appearing visually’ is equivalent to seeing – the inevitable conclusion must be that the presence of color is what we mean by seeing."

  Walt looks skeptical. I try another angle.

  "Pretend for a moment that your eyes were removed by an evil scientist," I say, "and that your doctor isn’t giving you any hope in getting your sight back."

  Walt chuckles. "Okay," he says.

  "But then, by some miracle, the colors of the world appeared before you, just like before when you still had your eyesight."

  "Okay."

  "Everything looks exactly the same as before, except, of course, for the two gaping holes where your eyes used to be."

  Walt chuckles some more.

  "Now despite having no eyes, would anyone be able to convince you that you’re not seeing; that you must be imagining things and so on?"

  "I guess not."

  "Why not?" I ask.

  "Because the fact that I’m seeing would somehow be self-evident."

  "That’s right, because the presence of color is what we mean by seeing," I say. "Again, how would you determine that you’re seeing? If there’s color appearing, then you are! If there’s redness or blueness or yellowness or any other color or combinations thereof, their presence in our experience is what we mean by seeing!"

  "Fine, whenever color is present in our experience, we call that ‘seeing.’ I’ll grant that."

  "Good! Now then, what is color?"

  ***

  "Let’s take the color red for example," I say. "The concept of red, like all other concepts, was derived from our direct experience. That is, we saw redness and made a word for it. Yes?"

  "Sure. Go on, please."

  "The concept of red therefore derives its meaning from this experience. When we talk about it, we know what we mean by virtue of having experienced it. Does that sound about right?"

  "Yes," Walt says.

  "Now, when we’re talking about red, or any other quality or property of objects for that matter, we might be under the impression that these qualities can exist objectively, that is, outside our field of experiencing. We think that stuff can be red or round or hard, whether or not we experience them. Right?"

  "Sure."

  "But the concepts that represent these qualities were derived, not from things external to us, but from visual and tactile sensations originating in our apparatus for experiencing. And so, red, round and hard must have their meaning grounded in these sensations."

  Walt nods. "But even if red, round and hard refer to sensations," he says, "what’s stopping them from also existing as objective realities outside our experience?"

  Good question. "The perceptions from which our concepts are drawn are not given to us from outside – they originate from our sensorial apparatus, and its nature determines how they appear to us. How perceptions look, the way they feel, their shape and their form are nothing but the ways in which they are rendered apparent to us. In other words, since it’s our sensorial apparatus that determines how things look to us, the concepts that we have must refer to precisely that – namely the way in which our sensorial apparatus decides to render a particular piece of phenomena apparent – because that is all that perceptions are – their composition are entirely a product of however our sensorial apparatus decides to make them look.

  "Put differently," I continue, "it’s not that perceptions are one thing, and the way they look are another – I might have given that impression; that there are both perceptions and the way they look to us; that there's both a sensation and the way in which it's rendered apparent. But no – the way perceptions appear to us is all there is to them as such."

  "How do you mean?"

  "For example, in our experience, there isn't a color and the way it looks to us – but the way it looks to us is all there is to being a color. The way it looks to us is what we mean when referring to a ‘color’ to begin with."

  Walt nods. "I guess that’s true," he says.

  "So, again, what’s stopping a color from existing outside our experience? A color is nothing but the way it looks to us. And why can’t things be hard in and of themselves? Hardness is nothing but the way it feels to us."

  "I think I get it," Walt says.

  "This is the nature of all perception – there isn’t a perception and the way it appears to us, but there’s only the way in which it appears to us."

  "So, again," I continue, "the concepts that we have are abstracted from, and thus refer to, precisely this – the way in which perceptions appear to us as they’re rendered apparent by our sensorial apparatus. And so, there’s no way in which ‘red’, ‘round’ or ‘hard’ could exist outside our experience – what they are is simply sensations; and they can neither be, nor resemble, nor be anything ‘like’ something else outside of experience – for what makes a sensation what it is, is the way in which it appears to us – and in no conceivable way could something outside of experience ever be anything ‘like’ that.

  "Hmm, why can’t it be ‘like’ that? Can you give an example?"

  "Sure," I say. "Since how it looks to us is what we mean when we talk about to ‘red’, there’s no way in which it can exist outside of our experience. Claiming that ‘red’ could exist outside of our experience is, in effect, to claim that how it looks to us, could; which is obviously nonsensical."

  That did it. Walt springs to life. "Let me see if I understand this correctly," he says, and then sits quietly for a few seconds before talking again. "A color can't exist outside of our experience since the way in which it appears to us through our sensorial apparatus is part and parcel of what it means to be a color!"

  "Bingo."

  "Wow, it’s kind of hard trying to wrap my mind around this."

  "This may become more obvious when you realize that the same appearance is the referent of another concept. By now, you should be able to guess which one."

  Walt thinks for a second and then he smiles. "Seeing," he says.

  "That’s right – a color and the seeing of it are the exact same thing."

  "Wow," Walt says.

  "More generally, a perception and the way it appears to us are the very same thing. A sound and the way it sounds to us is the very same thing – which also happens to be what we mean by hearing. A color and the way it looks to us is the very same thing – which also happens to be what we mean by seeing. We objectify these perceptions and imagine them to exist independently of our experience, but it’s precisely to be in our experience that makes them what they are to begin with. That is, the way perceptions appear to us is equivalent to what they are."

  Walt nods. He’s following along.

  "A color cannot exist independently of experience, because in conceiving it as such, we need to think away the seeing from the color – but that is to think away the very thing that the color is, namely seeing. Any thinking in which color is regarded objectively involves this conceptual sleight-of-hand that ultimately ends in a situation where we must imagine seeing to exist independently of experiencing in order to pull it off."

  This is pretty intense stuff and Walt has a lot to process, but I’m on a heater and don’t wanna lay off yet. "We don’t experience a color and the seeing of it," I continue, "they are merely different words for the same thing. In fact, a color isn’t really ‘a color’ at all in the way we usually think of it. That is, glued to objects outside our experience, waiting to be seen. Rather, the proper way to think of color is simply as an instance of, or a manifestation of, seeing. Now, since both a color and the seeing of it are conceptually equivalent—since both concepts refer to the same phenomenon, namely the presence of redness and blueness and yellowness and so on—the phrase ‘see a color’ implies a division that simply isn’t there in our experience. There’s nev
er seeing and seen – there’s just seeing! There’s never seeing of anything – rather, what we see and the seeing of it are one and the same thing. It’s one and the same happening. There’s just rednessing, bluenessing, coffee mug-ing, yellownessing – all different manifestations of seeing."

  I pause to check if Walt is following. He is so I proceed. "And now we can begin to understand why things as they are in themselves cannot have color, and why they can’t be round nor hard – color is nothing but seeing, and shape and texture and softness is nothing but feeling. An object can’t be hard in and of itself, since we by hard refer to a manifestation of feeling. Neither can it be red nor round, if we by those words refer to manifestations of seeing – which we do, since it was from seeing that those concepts were derived from to begin with." I let that sink in before I continue. "And in no conceivable way can seeing or feeling exist independently of experiencing, for seeing and feeling as such are nothing but experiencing!"

  "So we don’t ‘hear’ a ‘sound’ or ‘feel’ a ‘sensation’ either?" Walt asks.

  "No, there’s only hearing and feeling. We don’t perceive a perception – there’s only perceiving! This is the undivided nature of all experiencing!"

  "Okay," Walt says, "I understand that the thing itself cannot have color, and that it can’t be ‘hard’, but it seems to me that it can still be ‘round.’ Can you elaborate?"

  "There are two ways in which we can conceive of roundness," I say, "in the visual sense, and in the tactile sense, Right?"

  "Yes. We can see round things and we can touch round things."

  "So, can you see something that is round independently of color?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "If we were to remove all the color from a scene, in what sense would something in it still be ‘round’?"

  "Huh. I guess it wouldn’t. In fact, there wouldn’t be a way to distinguish anything in it, at all."

  "That’s right. Objects are only ‘objects’ insofar that they have apparent boundaries, which, in the visual sense, are merely colors. And the concept of ‘round’ is nothing but a particular pattern of colors, which, as I’ve demonstrated, is nothing but seeing. ‘Round’ can never mean anything other than an instance of seeing."

  "I understand."

  "Now, do the same thought experiment, but in the tactile sense. Subtract from an object all sensations of touch, which, as I’ve demonstrated, is nothing but feeling – and there is no sense in which we can call it ‘round’ anymore."

  Walt nods. "I suppose you’re right," he says.

  ***

  Walt’s now about to step through the next door – the one leading to that place where we deliver the final blow to what’s keeping it all together. Now that he understands that the shapes and the features and the appearance of the world are nothing but experiencing as such—that there’s only feeling, only seeing, only hearing and so on—he’ll have what it takes to navigate the last mile of this journey he now finds himself on. Does he know where it ends? Of course not, but standing before that door, he surely must notice the plaque hanging above, carefully engraved with the few words that read:

  "Look, there’s an error in the way in which we think about reality.

  The error is systemic.

  Things are not what they seem."

  Chapter 4 – Space

  "I’ve thought about the conversation we had," Walt says to me.

  "And?" I ask.

  "I’ve figured it out now," he says. "I admit you were right. The qualities we perceive in objects don’t belong to the objects themselves; they exist merely as sensations in the subject that perceives them. But, what does exist—what comprises the objects themselves—is physical matter that in the interaction with ourselves causes the sensations to arise in us, in our apparatus for experiencing."

  Oh boy.

  He plows on. "Reality as it is in itself doesn’t have shape or color. Rather, it’s something of time and space, in which subatomic particles exist; and these particles are interacting with our body, giving rise to the processes in our brain that make all of this experience possible. And the whole thing is governed by the laws of quantum mechanics."

  Walt looks to me, wanting me to confirm the fairy tale. But I can see that he knows deep down that this ship is sinking.

  "Oh, I see what you mean," I say. "But all of that, the assumption of particles and strings and energy and quantum mechanics – all of that depends on there being an independent physical space in which they exist. There’s not."

  Walt just stares at me. A few moments pass. "So you’re saying that there isn’t a world out there? That nothing exists?" he asks.

  Up until now, the absence of an objective reality is an idea that never rose above the level of refreshing speculation. It’s never really been a threat to Walt’s view of the way things are. But now he himself—his very own body of flesh and bones—is in question.

  "That’s right," I say. "Just these perceptions." I hold out my hands.

  "We’re in The Matrix?"

  I smile at the movie reference. "Yes, but there’s no outside."

  Walt can’t believe it. "You’re not serious, are you?" he says, shaking his head. "This is crazy."

  So far we’ve simply been juggling with interesting ideas. But now he’s threatened, and it’s about to get worse. One of those juggling balls is about to hit something vital, and once it does, Walt isn’t just going to call it a day, satisfied from having gone a few rounds of intellectual sparring. No, when the linchpin that holds life together is ripped out from under us, lying on the floor—fucking demolished—is a far more common response.

  The world as we know it is like a house of cards that depends on one single root cell without which it cannot stand. And when we dismantle that cell; when one takes apart the idea of objectivity and it becomes clear that conceiving in terms of it is no longer a valid mode of thinking, that foundation upon which the world rests inevitably disintegrates – leaving the house of cards in free fall.

  Walt’s pacing back and forth. "You see, I have thought about this since our last talk," he says. "You should know that I did consider that the actual world might not exist; but what I don’t understand is how you can be so certain about it! As far as I figure, the possibility could go either way."

  "Remember how the idea of an external world is just that – an idea?" I say. "An unverifiable assumption upon which everything is built."

  "So? Assumptions can be correct, you know," he says. "What makes you think that this one isn’t?"

  "Because I’ve found a flaw in the assumption itself."

  "How so?" Walt asks.

  "Let me give you a simile first, so that you can see exactly what I mean by that."

  "Please," he says.

  "Have you heard of square circles?"

  "I’ve never seen one."

  "Do you think they exist?"

  "I don’t know, probably not."

  "Well, some people think that they do, others that they don’t, but there’s a third position," I say.

  "What’s that?"

  "There are those who realize that square circles can neither exist nor not exist, because in even talking about them we’re involving ourselves in a logical contradiction."

  "A contradiction?" Walt asks.

  "Something can’t both have four sides and not have four sides. By definition, a circle is not square, and so a square circle is a contradiction in terms."

  Walt’s thinking. "Alright, I can see that," he says. "So in saying that a square circle exists, or that it doesn’t, we are talking nonsense, logically speaking?"

  "Precisely."

  "So what does this have to do with the external world?"

  "The assumption of its existence, or of even the possibility of its existence, is a logical contradiction – just like the square circle. Even in speaking about it, we are talking nonsense," I say.

  "So you are saying that atoms, radioactivity and electricity don’t exist? That there
isn’t a universe out there?"

  "The idea that it could is absurd," I shrug.

  "Dude, that’s crazy," Walt says.

  "Perhaps. But true!"

  ***

  "Alright, so how exactly does the assumption of the external world involve a contradiction?" Walt asks.

  "Let’s start by acknowledging that antecedent to the idea of an external world is the idea of an objective physical space. Objective meaning that it exists independently of us," I say. "We believe that there is a universe out there whether we’re watching or not, whether we exist or not. Do you agree?"

  "Sure. That’s the basic premise."

  "And would you agree that in presuming the existence of an objective space, we would first have to conceive of it?"

  "What do you mean?" Walt asks.

  "Well, if we’re claiming the possibility of an independent physical space, we must first envision what it is that we think is out there."

  "I guess."

  "No guessing. This is important. Claims of existence must be conceivable; otherwise they’re just empty words."

  "I don’t follow."

  "Okay. Let me illustrate this with an example," I say, pausing for a moment to come up with one. "I hereby declare that somewhere a chapokrafiliate exists."

  Walt’s amused. "What’s that?" he asks.

  "Exactly!" I say. "I don’t know, I just made it up. And if I don’t even know what a word means, what exactly am I then claiming to be out there? What is it that we mean to say exists? Words must have referents – otherwise they’re just sounds with no meaning. To claim the existence of something, we must first conceive of that something – if we’re not, isn’t our claim merely empty? It’s the referent of the word that we mean to say exists – not the word."

  "I see," Walt says.

  "And that’s why any statement about square circles must necessarily be bogus. Square circles are inconceivable, they are literally unthinkable, so any claim of ‘their’ existence must be merely words without meaning.

  "I get it," Walt says. "If we can’t even picture them, what is it we believe is or isn’t out there?"