philosophy

Happy Birthday, Immanuel Kant

Kant would've turned 294 years old today. That's a big number, so I guess we should use scientific notation: He would've turned 2.94⋅10² today.

Kant would've turned 294 years old today. That's a big number, so I guess we should use scientific notation: He would've turned 2.94⋅10² today.

I first met Immanuel Kant in my freshman-year World Studies class; we were studying the Enlightenment philosophies that led up to the French Revolution. I wanted to read more about these philosophies, but was a bit reluctant to do so because I was a freshman and freshmen, like all adolescents stuck in the early phase of the Identity vs. Role Confusion crisis, never want to do anything. But I was interested enough nonetheless, so I scanned over the articles about these philosophies on the SEP. 

Kant's philosophy was one of these articles. My interest was piqued immediately, by his receding hairline and eyes which pierced directly through both the phenomenal world. And my soul. Just kidding—it was actually piqued by this quote:

I freely admit that it was the remembrance of David Hume which, many years ago, first interrupted my dogmatic slumber and gave my investigations in the field of speculative philosophy a completely different direction.

I really don't know why, but before seeing this, I fell into the same set of misconceptions that a lot of people have about philosophy: middle-age; middle-class; meaningless, jargon-filled platitudes written on sheets of scented paper. I didn't absolutely hate this image, which was why I still decided to explore philosophy despite having it, but that didn't mean I particularly enjoyed it, either. 

At first cursory glance, I scanned over it. Then, after I actually processed it, I paused my steady scrolling and reread what Kant wrote. A thought was planted in my head, there: "If philosophy was really just this, just a collection of people applauding themselves for their own ingenuity—how could one philosopher be so frank and humble as to lower themselves and credit another philosopher with so much?"
"How could he so openly acknowledge previous mistakes?" After all, my narrow-minded freshman brain assumed that all philosophers must have thought of themselves as infallible. 

Like most people who are proven wrong, I tried to justify my belief by thinking that the contradiction to my belief, which was Immanuel Kant, was only an exception. I guess it worked for a few days, but gradually, as I learned to understand more about philosophy, I accepted the fact that I was wrong.
It was these images and more that convinced me: the eager students Plato and Xenophon, learning from Socrates; the plain Diogenes, throwing away his water cup after seeing a child drink with his hands; Kierkegaard, referring to his teacher, Poul Møller, as the "inspiration of my [his] youth". 

I've since erased every remnant of these unwarranted, incorrect preconceptions from my personal beliefs, and this is all thanks to Kant. His attitude changed my perception of philosophy from a group of the bourgeoisie, living in self-imposed echo chambers, to an open, gently ebbing dialogue. 

Confession: I still don't fully understand a lot of Kant's ideas. But I think that's what continues to make him, along with other philosophers like him, so intriguing to me—as I evolve on my intellectual journey, I think I'll begin to understand more and more of his brilliant ideas. That's what matters to me right now. 

So, thank you, Immanuel Kant, for sparking my passion for philosophy. I think you've woken me from a dogmatic slumber. Happy birthday.

Did It Really Happen?

A short note on existence and false memories.

In the 20th century, doctors believed that babies were unable to feel pain. It wasn't until the late 1980s that they had begun administering anaesthesia while performing surgeries on them. Obvious indications of pain were displayed when the painful surgery would be performed in babies, such as crying, thrashing, violent behaviours, and other such expressions. This was ignored. 

Individuals are unlikely to remember specific events before the age of 2 and a half years. Any memory before that age is likely to be false. This phenomenon of being unable to remember childhood events is often referred to as childhood amnesia, and the average age that humans are able to create and store memories is four years.

Did the pain really exist, then? Yes, babies may have felt pain during the surgery, but if they are unable to recall it—did they really feel pain? Disclaimer: Obviously, performing surgery without anaesthetic on babies is inhumane; I'm not a sadist. 

Without memories, there would be near nothing to give proof of the existence of an event. Video cameras can give proof to an event, but, with the rising of the digital age, even videos can be manipulated.

I've often heard stories about my younger (and, evidently, more foolish and far more naïve) self, and, most of the time, I find myself in an awkward situation in which I am unable to remember any of the events that Mom would be laughing about. To me, they didn't exist—and they never will.
If all affected individuals of that event (all "witnesses") were to forget about it, would it still exist?

However, it may also be argued that most events trigger other events, causing a chain reaction known as the butterfly effect. As such, there is the possibility that an event could leave a lasting impact on the world without anyone having remembered it, thus consolidating its existence.

This is my question: If the event was neither able to nestle its way into someone's memories, nor able to trigger a chain reaction, would it still exist?