Answering Zen Analytically
May 9th 2008 04:14
I propose, in typical mode of unencumbered confidence, to solve a Zen paradox without resorting to silliness or losing my ego/rational mind. I like my ego and my rationality and see no good that could come from losing them.
‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?’
This is a koan and, unless I am mistaken, it is supposed to be so paradoxical, to scale such heights of the human intellect, that at it’s mere contemplation rational categories and analysis flee like mist and reveal the true Buddha-nature that warbles sweet
within us all. That is a caricature of course, but how am I supposed to win if I don’t misrepresent my opponents?
Now, the first time I heard this koan, there were about five seconds where I thought, This is obvious, of course it makes a sound! then a further few where I wondered But perhaps… Just as I was about to follow this ‘perhaps’ into realms of bliss unimagined by even the most blandly nirvanacised monk, I realised that the answer, after a little analysis, was a clear No. If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear, it DOES NOT make a sound. In fact, my little unenlightened brain went on to conclude that no tree falling in any forest anywhere, anytime ever made a sound. That might sound stupid to you, in which case you are probably stupid…no that’s not what I meant…hold on. Ah, yes!
That conclusion might sound strange to you, in which case I offer an explanation, such as I can give without resorting to violence. First, we should analyse the question itself: ‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ The important terms in this question are ‘no one around to hear it’ and ‘sound’ – when we start to question the interaction between the hearer and the heard, between some “one” and some ‘sound’, we begin to see the solution to this problem.
Next, we should clarify what the important terms mean* - ‘no one around to hear it’ can be broken down into two terms that we must define: ‘no one’ and ‘hear’. ‘No one’ clearly refers to living organisms, not specifically humans – or we would read ‘no people’ – nor specifically lawyers – or we would read ‘no scumbags’ – but simply ‘no organisms’. ‘Hear’ is a key word in this question, it’s inclusion means that if a deaf man were present at the proverbial falling, then he would not change the situation, as he could not be ‘around to hear it’. Thus we have no organisms with the power to hear present when the tree falls – this is important.
‘Sound’ is the other key term, the crux of the solution actually. It is the ‘sound’ in the question that causes problems – surely, we think, if a tree falls it must make a sound, even if no-one hears it. The tree falls and it hits the ground – BOOM – the sound is there. But here’s the problem: by putting ourselves in the situation we automatically screw up our thought experiment because no one should be there, it’s as if we had sneezed all over a stool sample of the mind. I think there is a solution to this problem, though: a situation in which we can put ourselves without sullying the laboratory. We have all been to a fireworks display, and I’ll hazard a guess that most of us have often found ourselves a long distance from the main event. When I watch fireworks I love trying to decipher which sound belongs to which explosion because, as you have no doubt noticed, there is a significant delay between seeing each lovely burst and hearing the sharp pop that makes so many infants cry like soldiers in their mother’s arms. Now, imagine that the space between you and the explosion of the fireworks was devoid of any other people, of any birds, of any wombats, of any walruses, of any ‘one’ that ‘hears’. In that case, between the explosion of the rocket and your hearing it, there would be nothing that we could comprehensibly term ‘sound’ between you and the explosion, only vibrations in the air, the air that has no ears. For sound, like vision, is an emergent property, not intrinsic to trees falling, rockets bursting or any other cacophonous happening, but only evanescing when the vibrations created by such events reach an organ capable of apprehending them as sound – ‘sound’ is not something floating around ‘out there’, but is the subjective qualia of hearing. When we have realised this, we can see that it is not the tree falling that makes the ‘sound’, but our own ears and brains - we can substitute ‘can it be heard’ for ‘does it make a sound’ (as they are essentially the same thing) in our koan – making the ludicrous sentence:
‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, can it be heard?’
I submit that this is a fair analysis of the question, and that the ludicrous nature of the sentence above is merely the revelation of sophistic trickery in the original koan. The koan relies on the fact that it is difficult to think about the question without putting oneself in the situation thus sullying it, and on the ambiguity of meaning in the word ‘sound’. We speak of sound as travelling to us, but this is only because we know that we will hear the vibrations referred to as sound when they reach us – if, however, one were deaf it would be easier to see that the vibrations are not sounds until they are heard. I further submit that, as this is the case, then at least to this koan we can say ‘We beat you Buddhists’ and stick out our naughty little tongues.
Well, hope some of you bore (no pun intended) with me and enjoyed that little bit of Western philosophical priggishness. If you don’t agree with me go to hell, but on your way offer me some counter-arguments and critiques so that we can debate openly and think freely all the way to our damnation.
*I have not included “If a tree falls in the forest” as an important part of the question, because it could just as well be “If a pool ball falls in a toilet” – any event we associate with noise will suffice.
‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?’
This is a koan and, unless I am mistaken, it is supposed to be so paradoxical, to scale such heights of the human intellect, that at it’s mere contemplation rational categories and analysis flee like mist and reveal the true Buddha-nature that warbles sweet
Now, the first time I heard this koan, there were about five seconds where I thought, This is obvious, of course it makes a sound! then a further few where I wondered But perhaps… Just as I was about to follow this ‘perhaps’ into realms of bliss unimagined by even the most blandly nirvanacised monk, I realised that the answer, after a little analysis, was a clear No. If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear, it DOES NOT make a sound. In fact, my little unenlightened brain went on to conclude that no tree falling in any forest anywhere, anytime ever made a sound. That might sound stupid to you, in which case you are probably stupid…no that’s not what I meant…hold on. Ah, yes!
That conclusion might sound strange to you, in which case I offer an explanation, such as I can give without resorting to violence. First, we should analyse the question itself: ‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ The important terms in this question are ‘no one around to hear it’ and ‘sound’ – when we start to question the interaction between the hearer and the heard, between some “one” and some ‘sound’, we begin to see the solution to this problem.
‘Sound’ is the other key term, the crux of the solution actually. It is the ‘sound’ in the question that causes problems – surely, we think, if a tree falls it must make a sound, even if no-one hears it. The tree falls and it hits the ground – BOOM – the sound is there. But here’s the problem: by putting ourselves in the situation we automatically screw up our thought experiment because no one should be there, it’s as if we had sneezed all over a stool sample of the mind. I think there is a solution to this problem, though: a situation in which we can put ourselves without sullying the laboratory. We have all been to a fireworks display, and I’ll hazard a guess that most of us have often found ourselves a long distance from the main event. When I watch fireworks I love trying to decipher which sound belongs to which explosion because, as you have no doubt noticed, there is a significant delay between seeing each lovely burst and hearing the sharp pop that makes so many infants cry like soldiers in their mother’s arms. Now, imagine that the space between you and the explosion of the fireworks was devoid of any other people, of any birds, of any wombats, of any walruses, of any ‘one’ that ‘hears’. In that case, between the explosion of the rocket and your hearing it, there would be nothing that we could comprehensibly term ‘sound’ between you and the explosion, only vibrations in the air, the air that has no ears. For sound, like vision, is an emergent property, not intrinsic to trees falling, rockets bursting or any other cacophonous happening, but only evanescing when the vibrations created by such events reach an organ capable of apprehending them as sound – ‘sound’ is not something floating around ‘out there’, but is the subjective qualia of hearing. When we have realised this, we can see that it is not the tree falling that makes the ‘sound’, but our own ears and brains - we can substitute ‘can it be heard’ for ‘does it make a sound’ (as they are essentially the same thing) in our koan – making the ludicrous sentence:
‘If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, can it be heard?’
I submit that this is a fair analysis of the question, and that the ludicrous nature of the sentence above is merely the revelation of sophistic trickery in the original koan. The koan relies on the fact that it is difficult to think about the question without putting oneself in the situation thus sullying it, and on the ambiguity of meaning in the word ‘sound’. We speak of sound as travelling to us, but this is only because we know that we will hear the vibrations referred to as sound when they reach us – if, however, one were deaf it would be easier to see that the vibrations are not sounds until they are heard. I further submit that, as this is the case, then at least to this koan we can say ‘We beat you Buddhists’ and stick out our naughty little tongues.
Well, hope some of you bore (no pun intended) with me and enjoyed that little bit of Western philosophical priggishness. If you don’t agree with me go to hell, but on your way offer me some counter-arguments and critiques so that we can debate openly and think freely all the way to our damnation.
*I have not included “If a tree falls in the forest” as an important part of the question, because it could just as well be “If a pool ball falls in a toilet” – any event we associate with noise will suffice.
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