Reflection on Philosophy

    In modern philosophy since Descartes it has been a problem: where do you begin? What is the starting point? With a self-evident proposition about reality on the basis of which you can make further deductions? With axiomatic propositions about how we come to know anything? With propositions about the possibility of ‘making sense’ in language? From moral convictions? All are interconnected. If I think reality is a meaningless play of matter and energy, if I further think that all value is a human projection onto a blank screen, and if I think nothing is to count as knowledge unless it is empirically or otherwise scientifically verified, then a world follows, one in which I will not be interested in philosophy.

 

 

  I agree that all thinking starts from propositions taken as axiomatic, which however, unlike the propositions of mathematics, depend on ideas (concepts) that are interpretations of the beings of the phenomena and of being (existence) itself. So to illustrate, consider this proposition: “The early blossoming snow drops are beautiful.” The first term is clear. Is the proposition true or false? That depends on how you interpret the physical world and beauty. If you think the physical world possesses no inherently spiritual qualities like beauty, that beauty is something subjective that we project onto the indifferent screen of nature, is our construct only, our representation of something that itself is neither beautiful nor ugly, then you will deny the proposition. If your idea of the physical world is such that beauty can be a part of its being, you will affirm it. The truth of the proposition thus depends on the understanding of the idea – in this case, what a snow drop qua physical being really is and what beauty really is. Thus at its root philosophy is interpretative (hermeneutic).

       Conceptualization, the “seeing” of ideas of the phenomena (i.e. literally “that which appears to us”), is the “starting point”. We do this from childhood on. Language itself is thus and only thus made possible. It is a process that can be potentially infinitely deepened relative to our finite, conditioned, and fallible minds and hearts.

   To illustrate this ability to deepen an idea, an example. Imagine a child encountering fire for the first time. She sees the bright flickering flames and is curious. Reaching out, she feels heat and recoils – perhaps she even burns her fingers. From this experience, she begins to form ideas: "hot," "burning," "fire," "pain." She may not yet have the words for these, but the experience itself brings her to a first conceptual understanding. She has encountered a phenomenon – something that appears to her – and has already begun the process of basic interpretation.

    Now consider how this interpretation deepens over time. As she learns language, she translates what she has experienced – and all analogous experiences – into symbols, words. ( "That is fire. Fire is hot. Fire burns." These statements, which seem simple, actually involve deep conceptualization. They assume an underlying unity to the phenomenon – that this shifting, flickering thing is "one" fire. They assume continuity (universals): all fire will be hot and will burn, not just this particular instance. They assume causal relationships: touching fire leads to burning, and burning causes pain. She is already engaging in a fundamental act of philosophy, or rather, an act that philosophy is built on, one the stupidest human being can do. A kind of implicit ontology (study of what is real and what only seems to be real) and epistemology (study of the idea of knowledge, of what we can know, and what transcends us) – “folk metaphysics” – grow directly out of such primitive experiences. She is interpreting the nature of fire as something real and as something that causes certain effects. She is seeing beyond the raw experience to the meanings implicit in it. And this process is not merely psychological – it is conceptual. The moment she utters a word or forms a thought about fire, she is engaging in an interpretation of being.   

      As the child grows and engages more deeply with the culture around her, her primitive idea of fire begins to acquire metaphorical dimensions. The initial notion of "fire" – a phenomenon defined by heat, light, and potential danger – gradually intertwines with cultural narratives and symbolic systems. It’s role in the formation of humanity is part of this. In one cultural context, fire might be seen as a symbol of purification and renewal, embodying the cycle of destruction and rebirth, while in another, it could represent unbridled passion or the chaotic forces of nature – as in Robert Frost’s poem “Fire and Ice.”

 

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

 

Here fire is a metaphor for intense human emotions, particularly desire and passion, evoking their potential for destruction. While fire is universally recognized across cultures, its symbolic meanings can vary significantly, potentially influencing how different cultures interpret the poem's figurative language. In many cultures, fire holds spiritual and symbolic significance. For example, some Indigenous cultures view fire as a sacred element, integral to rituals, land management, and the maintenance of ecological balance. These practices demonstrate a deep respect for fire's life-sustaining properties and its role in cultural traditions. Thus individuals from such cultures might find Frost’s use of fire unintelligible.

 

   The metaphorical meanings of basic ideas flow as does water from a spring, expanding it beyond immediate sensory impressions to include layers of emotional, ethical, and existential significance. Thus, the child's original ideas about fire are not static; they evolve as they absorb cultural stories and symbols, which in turn shape and deepen the interpretative framework through which they understand the world.

   Scientific inquiry can further deepen the idea by shifting our focus from mere subjective experience to objective analysis and empirical validation. As the child grows and learns that the flickering flames result from specific chemical reactions, science unveils the underlying mechanisms that govern fire's behavior: e.g. combustion, energy transfer, and thermodynamic principles. This not only refines the initial sensory impression but also integrates it with a broader understanding of natural laws, offering predictive and explanatory models. By connecting the observable phenomenon with a rigorous framework of experimentation and theory, science enriches the concept of fire, bridging the gap between metaphorical symbolism and physical reality, and illustrating how our interpretations can be both culturally nuanced and empirically grounded.

 

. . .

      

Words can stand for ideas. The English “fire” and the German “Feuer” are two different words symbolizing the same idea. They logically express one concept, though the full range of meanings at some level may involve differences. The meaning of these two words is the idea/concept “fire.” Language thus opens up the world.

    This is why philosophy must begin with interpretation rather than mere logical deduction. Deduction requires premises, but premises are already interpretations of experience. The child does not start with a self-evident truth that "fire is hot"; she starts with experience and formulates the concept. But even this experience is never simply raw – it is always already meaningful. (A big part of the meaning comes from the fact that we are bodily creatures.) Our very ability to "see" fire as something, rather than as a meaningless blur of color and warmth, presupposes a conceptual and interpretative engagement with reality.

      With philosophical ideas like real, true, good, and beautiful the process can take on new depth as these ideas, in a way, control all others. Consider the concept of the "real": initially, it might emerge from our direct sensory engagement with the world—the unmistakable presence of a tree, the sound of the wind, the solidity of the ground beneath our feet. I heard a child say: “If you can’t see it, it’s not real.” However, as our understanding deepens, this basic notion of the "real" begins to accumulate layers of meaning. Metaphorically, "real" comes to represent an ideal of authenticity and permanence against which all else is measured, serving as a criterion that distinguishes mere appearance from genuine substance. This criterion is not universal but is colored by cultural narratives: in some traditions, what is deemed "real" might be intertwined with spiritual or moral dimensions, while in others it is closely aligned with empirical evidence and rationality. Abstract entities such as numbers and geometric forms further complicate our conception of the real by revealing that existence includes abstract entities accessible only to the intellect.  Although not directly observable, mathematical and geometrical ideas provide the underlying structure to both our natural and conceptual worlds. Even imaginary beings have reality of a sort. The unicorn would never be confused with a troll. Some representations of unicorns are more real (authentic) than others. By what standard can we judge that if not an idea.

      Metaphorical language, by the way, is not merely ornamental – it actively discloses layers of reality by linking abstract ideas with concrete experiences. For instance, when we describe truth as a "light," the metaphor doesn't merely provide a poetic image; it suggests that truth, like light, has the power to expose and clarify, thus shaping our understanding of what is real. Thus the Book of John’s powerful use of this metaphor to help his readers understand the advent of Christ (the Incarnation):

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

 

Plato’s use of the sun – sunlight – as his primary metaphor for the Idea of the Good is another example.  The metaphorical use of light discloses aspects of both the abstract concept of truth and the tangible experience of illumination in the physical world. These examples illustrate that metaphors bridge the gap between subjective experience and the objective: they reveal the internal structure of concepts while illuminating the inherent qualities of the realities they describe. This dual disclosure invites us to see that our interpretations of the world, far from being arbitrary, are deeply intertwined with the very fabric of reality itself.

     The idea of the "real" thus expands from a simple perceptual datum into a complex, interpretative framework that anchors our entire system of values and beliefs, controlling and giving context to our ideas of truth, goodness, and beauty. I will never forget my first experience of Red River Gorge in Daniel Boone National Forest through two contrasting ontological lenses – the feeling of beauty and wonder. I could only think of Tolkien’s forests in Lord of the Rings as a kind of analogy. My experience of joy and wonder opened me up to see the forest as an intimation of Creation, the idea of nature as the work of a sublime Creator.  It made me a bit of a Romantic.

         For unidimensional man who holds a dogmatic scientific ontology, however, the forest is primarily a repository of data—every rock, tree, and stream is an empirical testament to natural laws. This observer views reality as defined by what can be observed, measured, and quantified; the majestic arches and intricate rock formations are appreciated as physical phenomena that reveal geological time scales, ecological interactions, and the predictable order of nature. The forest, in this view, is experienced as a grand experiment where beauty arises from the inherent mathematical and physical structures of the world, leaving little room for interpretations beyond those that science can validate. Though he would consider the beauty a subjective reaction that disclosed nothing about the place itself.

    In stark contrast, a certain kind of Calvinist Christian who dogmatically sees nature as a fallen creation due to original sin might experience the same landscape as a deeply moral and symbolic realm. For this individual, the towering trees and rugged cliffs are not merely objects of empirical inquiry; they are imbued with spiritual significance that reflects divine intent and human frailty. The interplay of light filtering through the leaves might evoke biblical imagery of divine revelation while the chaotic growth and decay within the forest underscore the narrative of a world marred by sin. Here, the aesthetic qualities of nature are intertwined with moral lessons—the natural world becomes a living parable, where every aspect of the landscape speaks to both the original perfection of creation and its subsequent corruption. This dogmatic religious ontology conditions the observer to experience the forest not only as a physical environment but as an arena for spiritual reflection and moral reckoning, where abstract truths are made palpable through the symbols of nature.

      Later Calvinists such as the New England Puritans came to view forests and nature as a whole rather like Starbuck (himself a Quaker) in the film version of Melville’s Moby Dick viewed the great white whale.

 

It is our task in life to kill whales, to furnish oil for the lamps of the world. If we perform that task well and faithfully, we do a service to mankind that pleases Almighty God.

 

Supported in the novel by such passages:

 

I am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of Death too, Captain Ahab, if it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but I came here to hunt whales, not my commander’s vengeance. How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee even if thou gettest it, Captain Ahab? It will not fetch thee much in our Nantucket market.

 

Vengeance on a dumb brute!" cried Starbuck, "that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.

      

Captain Ahab, in stark contrast, imbues Moby Dick with intense symbolic meaning. For him, the whale embodies all evil and is a personal nemesis. Ahab's obsession transforms the whale into an incarnation of the malevolent forces he believes govern the world. He is convinced that tangible objects are mere facades for deeper truths: "All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. Some inscrutable yet reasoning thing puts forth the molding of their features."

Ahab's monomaniacal pursuit of Moby Dick reflects his belief that by conquering the whale, he can confront and overcome the underlying evil he perceives in the universe.

     In all my examples, how a person lives as well as his most significant words and actions are informed by what they take to be real – their interpretations of nature, the universe, reality. They are not philosophers working on metaphysics but life embodies an implicit metaphysics. I could multiply these examples of implicit ontology – what we think can be real – conditioning experience.  I think of the differences in ideas of reality as translations of the same poem. I believe all translations may reveal some aspect of the original – there is inevitably a lot of overlap. Some reveal much more than others. Some conceal or distort more than others. But this means that I think that dogmatism (meant in its pejorative sense) – the attempt to close the concept of the real in a theory or constrictive dogma – is incompatible with philosophy. It is trying to make a concept like literature, which is open to further exploration and discovery, into a concept like Greek tragedy, which is closed. Similarly, I see all great philosophers as revealing and/or concealing some aspect of the mystery of Being, some more than others. (I think of am writing in the spirit of Heidegger on this point, but also of Wittgenstein.)

 

   Our ideas of particular beings or Being as such may be superficial or profound, ideological or truthful, commonsensical, or counter-intuitive, concrete or abstract. We inherit a matrix of ideas from our families, communities, countries, and historically changing cultures – and go from there. The quality of one’s interpretations depends on the depth of one’s own life, education, and thinking. Whether they agree or disagree, it shouldn’t matter philosophically to someone who loves philosophy (truth) what opinions have the millions of people whose minds are not much more than a construct of some social media empire (the giant capitalist form of social media). It may matter a lot personally or politically.

     My last point is that philosophy cannot escape the interpretive dimension because all connection to reality starts with ideas, and we cannot just stipulate a definition of a term and thing we all share the same concept. We do share much of our ideas of things. In my example of “fire” much of the experience of the child is universally human. Our conceptual differences are like the visible iceberg and the conceptual agreements like the mass of ice below the surface that we take for granted but are not aware of. Our interpretations and conceptual disagreements cannot be free of this massive mountain of overlapping agreements (fire is hot, fire burns, fire gives off warmth and light, etc.). If philosophy has a foundation, it is this.

     Modern philosophy since Descartes – including contemporary analytic philosophy – has sought to build knowledge on clear, distinct, and seemingly objective premises – attempting to establish an indubitable ground for truth. This overlooks the interpretive process that underlies all human understanding. Although we might agree that fire is hot, burns, and gives off warmth and light, these commonalities are just the submerged mass of shared experience, much like the bulk of an iceberg hidden beneath the surface. The visible differences in how we articulate and interpret "fire" arise from individual and cultural nuances, yet they are invariably anchored in that vast, unspoken consensus of experiential understanding. Thus, rather than a sterile set of definitions, the true foundation of philosophy is this dynamic interplay of ideas – a continuous, interpretive engagement with the world that resists any attempt to be reduced to a single, universal definition. And yet all thinking presupposes axioms. Perhaps philosophy is the tension created by these axioms we live by, our life experience, and the world of philosophy and literature, if we are engaged in that.

    I love logic. Enjoy doing it and teaching it. But the implication for logic is that its effectiveness hinges on the shared, often tacit, agreements we have about the meanings of our terms (which represent concepts). Logic functions well when we operate under a consensus definition – a kind of common ground. However, when we recognize that these definitions arise from interpretative processes and are always open to further insight (or forgetfulness), then logic must be seen as a tool that works within the bounds of our current shared experience rather than as an absolute, immutable foundation of knowledge. In other words, while logical reasoning can rigorously structure our thoughts, it ultimately depends on the underlying, and sometimes fluid, agreements we hold about what our terms mean. We must therefore continually examine and negotiate our definitions, acknowledging that the precision of our logical conclusions is only as robust as the shared conceptual groundwork they rest upon.