A young man, in the confusion and embarrassment of youth, was walking
across the campus of a great university on the way to his philosophy
class. At the previous meeting, the professor had posed the
question, "If we do not know the purpose of something, how can we
know whether any aspect of it is good or bad?" This question,
together with the problem for the day, "Does man have a purpose?" had
taken complete occupation of the young man's mind, not because of any
intrinsic interest, but because the professor was in the habit of
calling on students and expecting a thoughtful response. So deeply
meditative was the young man that he neglected to observe his path
adequately, with the result that he soon bounced his head off an
unhappily placed tree in the middle of the lawn.
Picking himself up and dusting himself off, the young man looked
around to see if anyone had witnessed his inadvertent folly. The
only people nearby were two men, who, although they were just a dozen
feet away, were completely oblivious to the young man's accident, for
the reason that they were engaged in a somewhat heated argument.
Whether to obtain some sympathy for his bruised head, or to excuse his
inattention, or perhaps simply because they were standing near a wheel
barrow and looked for all the world like gardeners, the young man
interrupted them with the slightly exasperated question, "Excuse me,
but what is that tree doing there, anyway?"
Now it so happens that these two men were not gardeners at all. They
were, in fact, tenured professors of philosophy, the very subject the
young man was struggling to understand. They turned to him at once
and condescended to admit him to their conversation.
"Well," said the first philosopher, pushing his glasses up the bridge
of his nose, "see here. This is a tree." And pointing to the tree
the young man was already too-intimately familiar with, concluded with
apparent satisfaction, "As Circumplexius has said in the fourth book
of his De Scientia, 'An example is the best definition.'"
"I know that is a tree," replied the youth, rubbing his forehead.
"What I want to know is, Why is it there in the first place?"
"You see," said the other philosopher to the first, "the dance of
the blind with the senile." Then, momentarily stroking his beard, he
turned to the young man and continued, "A tree means what it is. The
concept of treedom does not subsist in some fortuitous, exogenous
hyle--that is the doctrine of carpenters, not of philosophers. As
Herman of Rimboa has aptly remarked, 'Inner eyes must perceive beyond
what the outer eyes see.'"
"And as the Chinese say, 'The flies buzz in the wind, but men drink
their tea,'" added the one with glasses. "Here, son," he went on,
pointing again, "this is also a tree. Compare them and deduce
treehood by subtracting the anomalous from the universal."
"Certainly you have read Dohesius On the Nature of the Universe in
the last twenty-five years," the other philosopher said with some
indignation. "Don't you recall his dictum that 'a second example is
not an explanation'? How do you pretend to instruct the ignorance of
youth when you have never instructed yourself? 'The canvas remains
blank when the artist has no paint,' says Hugo de Brassus. Go back
to your books."
"And as de Roquefort says, 'To sit on a cheese and eat whey is the
destiny of fools.'"
"See here, young man," said the beard, ignoring his colleague,
"treeness is a life process displaying the aspiration of matter
toward hierarchy, order, and structure. It finds analogues and
even homologues in life systems everywhere."
"The frogs croak at night, but the sky remains dark," said the
glasses, smirking slightly.
"Nonsense," replied the beard. "What I have said is self-evident.
Sir Humphrey Boodle even noted it."
"But Boodle has been refuted these three hundred years."
"Well, Calesimon said so, too."
"Hah!" cried the glasses with a laugh of forced incredulity.
"Calesimon! Calesimon was an idiot!"
"Argumentum ad hominem."
"Oh, come on. The man was institutionalized."
"And genetic fallacy, too. My, my."
"Ignore him, son," said the glasses to the youth. "He's not been
very well since his wife laughed at his last paper. A tree--"
"She did not laugh," interrupted the beard.
"--is a woody plant containing specialized structures, larger overall
than a bush and often, as you see here [pointing] having only one
trunk rather than many."
"And is this the effect of dotage or of primordial ignorance?"
"False dilemma, Mr. Logician."
"Surely you were there that day in bonehead English when they
distinguished between 'definition' and 'explanation.' You are familiar
with the English language, aren't you? The young man has asked for
an explanation."
"Well, as Frabonarde says, 'The whole is known by its parts.'"
"The doctrine of those who pull the wings from fruit flies."
"Yes, it would be too straightforward for someone who needs six
hundred pages to discover that he doesn't know what he is
talking about."
"A classic example of the projectionist error. Not everything you
don't understand is a problem with the text," said the beard, tapping
his finger to his temple.
"If I may be permitted one last allusion to Oriental wisdom, I would
note only that the Chinese have said, 'Men hurt their eyes seeking
a water lily in a rock garden--even in a large rock garden.'"
"I thought you knew that the Poems of Chen had been exposed as a
product of nineteenth-century Europe. Don't make it a habit to go
around quoting hoaxes. It gives philosophy a bad name."
"Excuse me, sirs," the youth interjected, "but I have to go now."
"Very well," said the beard. "Only remember, with the knowledge
you attain, seek to achieve understanding."
"Oh, so now we are quoting the Bible!" cried the glasses with
triumphant scorn. "The rest of the department will be interested
in this."
"I was not quoting the Bible. I have never even read the Bible."
"Why don't you ask God to bless him while you're at it?"
"Listen, don't you think I know that your doctrine of cosmic mental
states is just a front and that you're a closet monotheist?"
"And may I remind you that slander is an offense punishable by law?"
"And is this the state of a wise man?" asked the beard, looking at
the sky, "to threaten his friend for speaking truth?"
"Now he's even praying! I can't believe this!"
"'We cannot see around corners,' says Germulphius, 'so what is left
to the man who refuses to see in a straight line?'"
"Someone like your wife," answered the glasses. "No doubt by now
she's found twelve more insupportably ridiculous assertions in your
paper on aperceptual phenomenalism."
"Well, at least my wife reads my papers. At least my wife can read."
"My wife is an avid reader of literature."
"Since when did the television listings become 'literature'? That's
the most transparent semantic ploy I have ever heard."
"Are you accusing me of owning a television?"
"He who can see the maggots need not ask if the dog is dead."
"'Ignore the shadow cast by a passing vapor,' says Phonetes."
"You've always been sloppy with bibliography, haven't you?" demanded
the beard. "Phonetes would have been utterly embarrassed to have
said that."
"No matter. Truth needs no ascription."
"That statement is obviously the product of extensive reading and
protracted thought. With a little more effort, no doubt you'll be
able to announce that the sun shines on a clear day."
"I suppose you have never read von Hoch: 'I had always known what he
said, but I did not live it until I heard it spoken.'"
"I reject that statement together with its sordid implications. It
smacks of the grimy hands of utilitarianism. In a minute you'll be
insisting that philosophy have practical consequences for berry
pickers and children. Perhaps you would be happier as some sort of
mechanic where you could get your hands on things, rather than as one
who pretends to instruct youth."
"You and Sir Peter Poole, who was proud that he couldn't tell a hoe
from a rake."
"Well, what of that? My profession is philosophy, and I look for truth,
not for mud."
"Even the sun cannot be seen through a silver coin."
"I have never accepted money for anything I've published," said the
beard hotly.
"'Beware of those who look to the right and walk to the left,' says
della Corta."
"How dare you accuse me--" At this point they were interrupted. A
young man, deeply preoccupied with thinking about the purpose of
mankind, had just bounced his head against a tree and--ah, but this
is where you came in.