- Behind the door
- “This world to me is like a lasting storm…”
- The lot of a tree
- Apolitical Tree…The lot of a tree
- The revelation of a wound
- Hovering over the city corner at sunset
- The Putney Debates, 1647
- On July 1st 2014 Hongkong
- “The Road to Serfdom”
- The Blue Sky
- The Perseverance
- Under the dark clouds…
- A foggy morning
- The world of flower
“Your genius will not be allocated to you, but you choose your genius; and let him who draws the first lot have the first choice, and the life which he chooses shall be his destiny.”…The Republic by Plato
Taking one lemon out from the fridge, one beaker from the cupboard and one slicer from the drawer of the buffet, I started to cut the lemon into moiety. The bisection was so well done that it almost looked like symmetry, it would certainly be a dislikable job to pinch either.
I laid the slicer on the top of the beaker horizontally, reluctantly squeezed it with both of my hands. It was the juice I needed to favour the drink, excuse me, I had no other way. While I thought of how many lemons I had squeezed in my life, I pressed harder and harder.
It was out of the blue, unexpectedly the bisecting lemon slipped out from my hand and, defiantly and deliberately it flapped up to air, I tried to stretch out my left hand to grasp but failed. When it fell springing on the slicer, whether intentionally or not was still a mystery, and so caused it to bounce, on the spur of the moment, unpredictably or unluckily it chopped the inner part of my left forearm, of course fate itself would never sustain a chance to spare, as I felt the blade drew me a finer edge. Phew!
The lip was as long as a mediocre mouth slightly split into two fleshy folds. It was bleeding. I bent my left arm in order to block the vein, at the mean time, I thought, I must find something to cover it.
I really could not stop myself to loathe such incident would happen on me while all I wanted was only but a drink to fulfill my body, or more precisely, my physicality. And I also could not hold back my voice to murmur: I must be out of my mind! :(
Sitting myself down, I began to ponder what should I do next.
By seeing this ontologically existed wound, I could not pretend that I had no body as Descartes taught us in his Discourse on Method. And because I could not deny I had an existed body, I could not doubt the truth of the wound, it followed very evidently that both existed.
But how half a lemon could slip out from my hand? It seemed my body and my mind were so seemingly doing this careful action of squeezing with compatibility. I would certainly doubt if Nicolas De Malebranche (hereinafter referred as NDM), an occasionalist, asserted that it was caused by God, because it would only follow that God is omnipresence but not omnipotence. I might have a chance to free from an ordeal if the Almighty would change the course of the bouncing lemon, or at least wheeled it to abide the law of gravity, that meant making it falling directly onto the ground. Even if NDM argued that God would use this environmental happening to create appropriate experience to a humble me, but nonetheless God should remember that I’d been summoned through similar experiences for many times before in my life, unless God prepared to favour me with a bigger lesson this time in a harder way. If this was the case, would I bleed or affect in whatever form and then die?
As D.M. Armstrong (hereinafter referred as DMA) mentioned that body is constituted of a substance called matter, so when this matter of mine was facing mortality, could I hold back the distress which haunted on my mind? Although DMA further pointed out that body and mind are composed by two ontologically distinct substances, but for most of the substance dualists, based on interactionism, posit mind and body are capable of causally affecting each other, thus the distress on my mind seemed somehow like a parallelist who asserted that physical events appeared to cause mental events and vice versa.
If a decision to fulfill a desire for a cup of cold drink was considered as a mental event, then a wound on my forearm should not be denied as a physical event, especially when I felt pain! But, is pain a brain state? In one paper named The Nature of Mental States written by Hilary Putnam, he argued that pain is not a brain state, in the sense of a physical-chemical state of the brain (or even the whole nervous system), but another kind of state entirely.
I propose the hypothesis that pain, or the state of being in pain, is a functional of a whole organism.
Before my cognitive capability applied in understanding dualism seemed turning into cul de sac, the path of Locke and Hume skepticism might be able to provide a possible answer by the development of nowadays scientific method.
The pain in a physical is temporal, but in mind would surely be forever, (I truly hope Sisyphus would not disagree with this), especially when one is longing for love as Mr. Russell has once said. If love is what he is longing for, I would doubt that if he could deny as to what a dualist believes.
Before this philosophical riddles remain unsolved and due to my speculations to this matter are in fact quite narrow, may I humbly propose the following poem written by Keats as the epilogue to finish such dilemmatic contemplation temporarily until further discussion.
“Of the wide world I stand alone and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink¨
Col. Rainsborough’s famous appeal for democratic rights:
” I think it’s clear, that every man that is to live under a government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that government; and I do think that the poorest man in England is not bound in a strict sense to that government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.”
And after three hundred sixty more years, if the poorest people in HK still have not had a voice to put themselves under, at least, they should know what they should do, let’s hope.
holding your hand,
we run joyfully.
閒來可以看雲的日子究竟有多少? 何況看雲的心情各有不同, 陰晴不定, 風雲突變; 有時看了視若無睹, 有時又無動於衷, 於是錯失了很多機緣.
看雲跟看星星是兩回事, 繁星雖然密佈穹蒼, 只是她們每晚, 如果無雲, 都同樣布局, 而且每顆都有名字編號. 雲沒有, 她變化多端, 顏色繽紛, 永遠無可期望.
看見雲, 肯停下來欣賞, 適宜儘快感嘆, 然後牢牢把她載入記憶, 此後她永不再同樣, 青春都如是, 記得嗎?
最近天際不時有烏雲, 傾盆大雨, 滿街淋漓, 更多時雨絲持續如麻, 一支香已過; 外出辦事, 心情煩躁, 挺著傘橫衝直撞, 甚麼鬼天氣!
天有不測之風雲, 豈有不小心觀察之理. 那烏雲究竟是甚麼模樣? 等到有甚麼失去了, 在烏雲下, 雨點裡, 想到茫茫. 陰陽相隔永恆在烏雲裡!
沒有烏雲, 世界可會更美好? 試問天下如果只剩下甜, 沒有了酸苦辣. 為了甚麼而樂, 就為了甚麼而苦! 莫須猶疑.
烏雲十足如水墨, 可惜中國就沒有一個描繪烏雲的大師, 實中了宗頤大師的觀察.
當然, “我是天空裡的一片雲”…可以非常年輕幻想浪漫, 但最好還是I Wandered lonely as a cloud 吧, 到處去豈不更爽快!
更妙的是適逢其會, 旁邊那個人也剛在欣賞, 他微微仰頭, 眼神如見蓬萊. 他沒有告訴過妳他喜愛水墨, 更加不知他也欣賞烏雲; 他永恆有待妳去發掘. 不過此刻, 妳只想輕輕依偎著他, 偷偷在他下頷用唇接觸鬚根. 妳等那片烏雲飄來雨粉, 如果他在雨絲裡依然看得入神, 但仍然記得掀起一角外衣給妳避雨, 妳內心禁不住翻騰溫柔, 暗自向在天的烏雲誓言: 無論甚麼, 無論如何, 我只愛定了他!
在那個環境下, 妳當然不會問他也起誓了沒有. 妳等他在烏雲下, 在 raining cats and dogs 裡, 由他捉牢妳的手, 奔跑往鬧市對面不知哪個街頭裡.
The city is fresh after a long night of showering rain, but its unclear future is obscure. Unstableness is not the proper word to define. The invisible hands trying to orchestrate seemed incapable. The morning fog is heavy, so as the heart. However, the journey has to go on
With all kind of ill-treatment and wretchedness, languish in jail,
a dissenter died shortly after detention.
In this world, each kind of flower has its own beauty;
a totalitarian regime has all different kind of wickedness.