“Isn’t that splitting hairs?”
“No, it’s very central. Hume emphasized that the expectation of one thing following another does not lie in the things themselves, but in our mind. And expectation, as we have seen, is associated with habit. Going back to the child again, it would not have stared in amazement if when one billiard ball struck the other, both had remained perfectly motionless. When we speak of the ‘laws of nature’ or of ‘cause and effect,’ we are actually speaking of what we expect, rather than what is ‘reasonable.’ The laws of nature are neither reasonable nor unreasonable, they simply are. The expectation that the white billiard ball will move when it is struck by the black billiard ball is therefore not innate. We are not born with a set of expectations as to what the world is like or how things in the world behave. The world is like it is, and it’s something we get to know.”
“I’m beginning to feel as if we’re getting off the track again.”
“Not if our expectations cause us to jump to conclusions. Hume did not deny the existence of unbreakable ‘natural laws,’ but he held that because we are not in a position to experience the natural laws themselves, we can easily come to the wrong conclusions.”
“Like what?”
“Well, because I have seen a whole herd of black horses doesn’t mean that all horses are black.”
“No, of course not.”
“And although I have seen nothing but black crows in my life, it doesn’t mean that there’s no such thing as a white crow. Both for a philosopher and for a scientist it can be important not to reject the possibility of finding a white crow. You might almost say that hunting for ‘the white crow’ is science’s principal task.”
“Yes, I see.”
“In the question of cause and effect, there can be many people who imagine that lightning is the cause of thunder because the thunder comes after the lightning. The example is really not so different from the one with the billiard balls. But is lightning the cause of thunder?”
“Not really, because actually they both happen at the same time.”
“Both thunder and lightning are due to an electric discharge. So in reality a third factor causes them both.”
“Right.”
“An empiricist of our own century, Bertrand Russell, has provided a more grotesque example. A chicken which experiences every day that it gets fed when the farmer’s wife comes over to the chicken run will finally come to the conclusion that there is a causal link between the approach of the farmer’s wife and feed being put into its bowl.”
“But one day the chicken doesn’t get its food?”
“No, one day the farmer’s wife comes over and wrings the chicken’s neck.”
“Yuck, how disgusting!”
“The fact that one thing follows after another thus does not necessarily mean there is a causal link. One of the main concerns of philosophy is to warn people against jumping to conclusions. It can in fact lead to many different forms of superstition.”
“How come?”
“You see a black cat cross the street. Later that day you fall and break your arm. But that doesn’t mean there is any causal link between the two incidents. In science, it is especially important not to jump to conclusions. For instance, the fact that a lot of people get well after taking a particular drug doesn’t mean it was the drug that cured them. That’s why it’s important to have a large control group of patients who think they are also being given this same medicine, but who are in fact only being given flour and water. If these patients also get well, there has to be a third factor—such as the belief that the medicine works, and has cured them.”
“I think I’m beginning to see what empiricism is.”
“Hume also rebelled against rationalist thought in the area of ethics. The rationalists had always held that the ability to distinguish between right and wrong is inherent in human reason. We have come across this idea of a so-called natural right in many philosophers from Socrates to Locke. But according to Hume, it is not reason that determines what we say and do.”
“What is it then?”
“It is our sentiments. If you decide to help someone in need, you do so because of your feelings, not your reason.”
“What if I can’t be bothered to help?”
“That, too, would be a matter of feelings. It is neither reasonable nor unreasonable not to help someone in need, but it could be unkind.”
“But there must be a limit somewhere. Everyone knows it’s wrong to kill.”
“According to Hume, everybody has a feeling for other people’s welfare. So we all have a capacity for compassion. But it has nothing to do with reason.”
“I don’t know if I agree.”
“It’s not always so unwise to get rid of another person, Sophie. If you wish to achieve something or other, it can actually be quite a good idea.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I protest!”
“Maybe you can try and explain why one shouldn’t kill a troublesome person.”
“’That person wants to live too. Therefore you ought not to kill them.”
“Was that a logical reason?”
“I don’t know.”
“What you did was to draw a conclusion from a descriptive sentence—That person wants to live too’—to what we call a normative sentence: ‘Therefore you ought not to kill them.’ From the point of view of reason this is nonsense. You might just as well say ‘There are lots of people who cheat on their taxes, therefore I ought to cheat on my taxes too.’ Hume said you can never draw conclusions from is sentences to ought sentences. Nevertheless it is exceedingly common, not least in newspaper articles, political party programs, and speeches. Would you like some examples?”
“Please.”
“ ‘More and more people want to travel by air. Therefore more airports ought to be built.’ Do you think the conclusion holds up?”
“No. It’s nonsense. We have to think of the environment. I think we ought to build more railroads instead.”
“Or they say: The development of new oilfields will raise the population’s living standards by ten percent. Therefore we ought to develop new oilfields as rapidly as possible.”
“Definitely not. We have to think of the environment again. And anyway, the standard of living in Norway is high enough.”
“Sometimes it is said that ‘this law has been passed by the Senate, therefore all citizens in this country ought to abide by it.’ But frequently it goes against people’s deepest convictions to abide by such conventions.”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“So we have established that we cannot use reason as a yardstick for how we ought to act. Acting responsibly is not a matter of strengthening our reason but of deepening our feelings for the welfare of others. “Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of my finger,’ said Hume.”
“That’s a hair-raising assertion.”
“It’s maybe even more hair-raising if you shuffle the cards. You know that the Nazis murdered millions of Jews. Would you say that there was something wrong with the Nazis’ reason, or would you say there was something wrong with their emotional life?”
“There was definitely something wrong with their feelings.”
“Many of them were exceedingly clear-headed. It is not unusual to find ice-cold calculation behind the most callous decisions. Many of the Nazis were convicted after the war, but they were not convicted for being ‘unreasonable.’ They were convicted for being gruesome murderers. It can happen that people who are not of sound mind can be acquitted of their crimes. We say that they were ‘not accountable for their actions.’ Nobody has ever been acquitted of a crime they committed for being unfeeling.”
“I should hope not.”
“But we need not stick to the most grotesque examples. If a flood disaster renders millions of people homeless, it is our feelings that determine whether we come to their aid. If we are callous, and leave the whole thing to ‘
cold reason,’ we might think it was actually quite in order that millions of people die in a world that is threatened by overpopulation.”
“It makes me mad that you can even think that.”
“And notice it’s not your reason that gets mad.”
“Okay, I got it.”
Berkeley
…like a giddy planet round a burning sun…
Alberto walked over to the window facing the town. Sophie followed him. While they stood looking out at the old houses, a small plane flew in over the rooftops. Fixed to its tail was a long banner which Sophie guessed would be advertising some product or local event, a rock concert perhaps. But as it approached and turned, she saw quite a different message: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HILDE!
“Gate-crasher,” was Alberto’s only comment.
Heavy black clouds from the hills to the south were now beginning to gather over the town. The little plane disappeared into the grayness.
“I’m afraid there’s going to be a storm,” said Alberto.
“So I’ll take the bus home.”
“I only hope the major isn’t behind this, too.”
“He’s not God Almighty, is he?”
Alberto did not reply. He walked across the room and sat down again by the coffee table.
“We have to talk about Berkeley,” he said after a while.
Sophie had already resumed her place. She caught herself biting her nails.
“George Berkeley was an Irish bishop who lived from 1685 to 1753,” Alberto began. There was a long silence.
“Berkeley was an Irish bishop ...” Sophie prompted.
“But he was a philosopher as well...”
“Yes?”
“He felt that current philosophies and science were a threat to the Christian way of life, that the all-pervading materialism, not least, represented a threat to the Christian faith in God as creator and preserver of all nature.”
“He did?”
“And yet Berkeley was the most consistent of the empiricists.”
“He believed we cannot know any more of the world than we can perceive through the senses?”
“More than that. Berkeley claimed that worldly things are indeed as we perceive them, but they are not ‘things.’ “
“You’ll have to explain that.”
“You remember that Locke pointed out that we cannot make statements about the ‘secondary qualities’ of things. We cannot say an apple is green and sour. We can only say we perceive it as being so. But Locke also said that the ‘primary qualities’ like density, gravity, and weight really do belong to the external reality around us. External reality has, in fact, a material substance.”
“I remember that, and I think Locke’s division of things was important.”
“Yes, Sophie, if only that were all.”
“Goon.”
“Locke believed—just like Descartes and Spinoza— that the material world is a reality.”
“Yes?”
“This is just what Berkeley questioned, and he did so by the logic of empiricism. He said the only things that exist are those we perceive. But we do not perceive ‘material’ or ‘matter.’ We do not perceive things as tangible objects. To assume that what we perceive has its own underlying ‘substance’ is jumping to conclusions. We have absolutely no experience on which to base such a claim.”
“How stupid. Look!” Sophie thumped her fist hard on the table. “Ouch,” she said. “Doesn’t that prove that this table is really a table, both of material and matter?”
“How did you feel it?”
“I felt something hard.”
“You had a sensation of something hard, but you didn’t feel the actual matter in the table. In the same way, you can dream you are hitting something hard, but there isn’t anything hard in a dream, is there?”
“No, not in a dream.”
“A person can also be hypnotized into ‘feeling’ things like warmth and cold, a caress or a punch.”
“But if the table wasn’t really hard, why did I feel it?”
“Berkeley believed in a ‘spirit.’ He thought all our ideas have a cause beyond our consciousness, but that this cause is not of a material nature. It is spiritual.”
Sophie had started biting her nails again.
Alberto continued: “According to Berkeley, my own soul can be the cause of my own ideas—just as when I dream—but only another will or spirit can be the cause of the ideas that make up the ‘corporeal’ world. Everything is due to that spirit which is the cause of ‘everything in everything’ and which ‘all things consist in,’ he said.”
“What ‘spirit’ was he talking about?”
“Berkeley was of course thinking of God. He said that ‘we can moreover claim that the existence of God is far more clearly perceived than the existence of man.”’
“Is it not even certain that we exist?”
“Yes, and no. Everything we see and feel is ‘an effect of God’s power,’ said Berkeley. For God is ‘intimately present in our consciousness, causing to exist for us the profusion of ideas and perceptions that we are constantly subject to.’ The whole world around us and our whole life exist in God. He is the one cause of everything that exists. We exist only in the mind of God.”
“I am amazed, to put it mildly.”
“So ‘to be or not to be’ is not the whole question. The question is also who we are. Are we really human beings of flesh and blood? Does our world consist of real things—or are we encircled by the mind?”
Sophie continued to bite her nails.
Alberto went on: “Material reality was not the only thing Berkeley was questioning. He was also questioning whether ‘time’ and ‘space’ had any absolute or independent existence. Our own perception of time and space can also be merely figments of the mind. A week or two for us need not be a week or two for God ...”
“You said that for Berkeley this spirit that everything exists in is the Christian God.”
“Yes, I suppose I did. But for us ...”
“Us?”
“For us—for you and me—this ‘will or spirit’ that is the ‘cause of everything in everything’ could be Hilde’s father.”
Sophie’s eyes opened wide with incredulity. Yet at the same time a realization began to dawn on her.
“Is that what you think?”
“I cannot see any other possibility. That is perhaps the only feasible explanation for everything that has happened to us. All those postcards and signs that have turned up here and there... Hermes beginning to talk ... my own involuntary slips of the tongue.”
“I...”
“Imagine my calling you Sophie, Hilde! I knew all the time that your name wasn’t Sophie.”
“What are you saying? Now you are definitely confused.”
“Yes, my mind is going round and round, my child. Like a giddy planet round a burning sun.”
“And that sun is Hilde’s father?”
“You could say so.”
“Are you saying he’s been a kind of God for us?”
“To be perfectly candid, yes. He should be ashamed of himself!”
“What about Hilde herself?”
“She is an angel, Sophie.”
“An angel?”
“Hilde is the one this ‘spirit’ turns to.”
“Are you saying that Albert Knag tells Hilde about us?”
“Or writes about us. For we cannot perceive the matter itself that our reality is made of, that much we have learned. We cannot know whether our external reality is made of sound waves or of paper and writing. According to Berkeley, all we can know is that we are spirit.”
“And Hilde is an angel...”
“Hilde is an angel, yes. Let that be the last word. Happy birthday, Hilde!”
Suddenly the room was filled with a bluish light. A few seconds later they heard the crash of thunder and the whole house shook.
“I have to go,” said Sophie. She got up and ran to the front door. As she let herself out, H
ermes woke up from his nap in the hallway. She thought she heard him say, “See you later, Hilde.”
Sophie rushed down the stairs and ran out into the street. It was deserted. And now the rain came down in torrents.
One or two cars were plowing through the downpour, but there were no buses in sight. Sophie ran across Main Square and on through the town. As she ran, one thought kept going round and round in her mind: “Tomorrow is my birthday* Isn’t it extra bitter to realize that life is only a dream on the day before your fifteenth birthday? It’s like dreaming you won a million and then just as you’re getting the money you wake up.”
Sophie ran across the squelching playing field. Minutes later she saw someone come running toward her. It was her mother. The sky was pierced again and again by angry darts of lightning.
When they reached each other Sophie’s mother put her arm around her.
“What’s happening to us, little one?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie sobbed. “It’s like a bad dream.”
Bjerkely
…an old magic mirror Great-grandmother had bought from a Gypsy woman ...
Hilde Moller Knag awoke in the attic room in the old captain’s house outside Lillesand. She glanced at the clock. It was only six o’clock, but it was already light. Broad rays of morning sun lit up the room.
She got out of bed and went to the window. On the way she stopped by the desk and tore a page off her calendar. Thursday, June 14, 1990. She crumpled the page up and threw it in her wastebasket.
Friday, June 15, 1990, said the calendar now, shining at her. Way back in January she had written “15th birthday” on this page. She felt it was extra-special to be fifteen on the fifteenth. It would never happen again.
Fifteen! Wasn’t this the first day of her adult life? She couldn’t just go back to bed. Furthermore, it was the last day of school before the summer vacation. The students just had to appear in church at one o’clock. And what was more, in a week Dad would be home from Lebanon. He had promised to be home for Midsummer Eve.