A Fellow Lighter

Philosophy As The Nature Of Consciousness In my previous post, "The Fundamentals", I discuss the work of philosophy in comparison to other occupations. My main point is that philosophy has nothing to do with survival and is without economical practicality. But I also delve into the description of philosophy itself, describing it as an activity rather than a thing of study. In fact, I go on as to call it the very movement of consciousness itself, emerging from its unconsciousness and onwards to awakening. Now, here, I will elaborate. In this world, we are familiarised with two concepts of design: natural design and artificial design. Basically, a thing of nature and a thing of man. It is pretty easy to distinguish the artificial from the natural, perhaps its the easiest thing if one possesses common sense. However, just because it's easy, that doesn't mean that mistakes cannot be made. After all, man himself is a thing of nature, isn't he? But let's explore some of the differences between artificial and natural. Natural designs tend to be more complex and organic, with shapes and patterns that arise from natural processes. Artificial designs, on the other hand, are often simpler and more geometric, reflecting the constraints of manufacturing and human planning. Natural forms often exhibit irregularities and variations, while artificial designs tend to be more uniform and repetitive due to mass production techniques. Natural designs are optimized for function within an ecosystem. Artificial designs may prioritize aesthetics or specific human needs, sometimes leading to forms that appear out of place in nature. So pretty easy, right. It seems the key ability in being able to differentiate between artificial and natural lies upon understanding how man and nature work. Nature seems more occupied with balancing itself out, and man seems more occupied with advancing oneself. So it is clear whenever we come across a design that it falls under man or nature. Society is man's work. The economy is man's work. Technology is man's design. Education is man's design.. Various fields of study are man's work. But is philosophy also man's design? Philosophy requires conscious thought, analysis, and reasoning, which are distinctly human capabilities. We develop philosophical questions and systems to understand the world and our place in it. However, curiosity and the desire to understand are fundamental human traits. Philosophy might be seen as a natural extension of this inherent inquisitiveness, a way to grapple with complex questions that arise from our experience of the world. So, then, our keen interest in doing philosophy appears to be a tendency rather than a design. Which makes sense because as far as survival goes, philosophy seems more about balancing out man's ego in relation to the world as opposed to advancing him. Consciousness is a burden. For instance, unlike with other species, the awareness of our own mortality is enough to cause anxiety or fearfulness which can hinder our survival greatly. Hence it is one of those things that the plain man will rarely think about. Such thoughts don't even make 2% of one's daily thought patterns. One's mortality is an awareness so far down suppressed that only a direct questioning of it is the only thing that can bring it up into the conscious mind. And, our mortality is just one thing. What about loneliness – that awareness of one's personal world which almost guarantees that no one can ever truly know what you do. Your point of view is yours and yours alone. Or what about love – the awareness of your own longing for true companionship and the awareness of knowing that you might never really get it or truly have it. The list can go on, but I think I've made my point. There is only one way for humanity to ease this burden, and that is by doing philosophy. Which is, really, an attending to those matters of consciousness rather than the suppressing of them. By design, man wouldn't philosophise because it is a direct threat to his ego. So, then, this can only mean that philosophy is nature taking its course, a balancing of some sort. Perhaps there is the objection of classifying nature as entirely physical, having nothing to do with the mental world. But, then, man himself is a product of nature, remember? So whatever man is, nature is. In fact, who's to say that man is not an expression of nature, one of many to say the least? What if consciousness doesn't begin with man? We cannot let our egos deceive us to the point of hopelessness by claiming that real intelligence begins with man. Perhaps we are more like the waves of the ocean as opposed to the ocean itself. The movement of the ocean is nature, and the water is consciousness itself. If what we call nature is capable of expressing design, then maybe it is just as conscious as we are if not more. Or, maybe, everything begins with consciousness moving, not matter? I call philosophy an activity because I can differentiate between a man-made thing and a natural thing.

The Importance Of A Philosophical Position Before one can do any serious philosophy, it is imperative that s/he understands one's own position regarding something as fundamental as how one thinks of the world of one's experience: Is it out there, happening independently from one's mind? Or is it in here 🧠, occurring through the mind's constructive capacity? Note that I'm not simply referring to the world, but to a world of one's own experience, rather. This is because I want to make it clear what it is we're dealing with here, as some of us, if not most, will be quick to argue that they are without a position in this matter because they are not philosophical. However, you do, in fact, have a position, even though you might claim to have no interest in philosophy or down right have nothing to do with it. This is because philosophers aren't doing anything alien to the plain man when doing philosophy, as with botany or geology or any other science, the philosopher only does what the plain man will do rather unsystematically. You have a position regarding the world of experience. Everyone does, for experience is quite a universal thing in the human world, wouldn't you say? No, it is merely a matter of you not having made a distinction of your position, yet. And thus making it distinguishable from, let's say, your neighbor's or any other philosopher's position which might contradict yours should you be given the chance to discuss it. Your position on the world of experience simply refers to how you understand your experience of the world as you experience it. For example, when you're waiting in a line to a food stand, do you regard this as a personal experience or an impersonal experience. You might be quick to think that this is obviously a personal experience because you're the only one who can understand what it is like for you in that particular moment of waiting. But some will understand it to be impersonal simply because s/he is not alone, everybody else who is in line is experiencing the same thing as s/he is – waiting for food. See, no one has asked you how you're understanding the experience of waiting in line, but you are already doing it anyway. And so it can be with your position of your world experience. How you understand your experience of the world is a position of its own philosophical merit. The only difference is that no one had asked you to express it. Without a self-realised position, it may be difficult to do some proper philosophy because you have no referential framework for considering other arguments. Some folks might argue that not having a position is good because it allows you to be open minded and free to develop your own unique philosophical position. Yes, that would be true if a person in fact did not have a position in this matter. However, experience is a universal thing, and chances are that a person would have long developed a position before s/he could even reflect on it. For instance, when it comes to the question of whether there is an external world or not – just the world that we know, the world of experience: I reject the position of an external world, that is, a world external to one's experience. And, I may not be so interested in figuring out which school of thought affirms the existence of such a world as much as I would be interested in learning more from the schools that don't. This can happen, yes. However, because I am interested in doing philosophy in a careful way, I am determined in learning from both positive and negative arguments, having realized my own understanding of the world.

Thoughts Are More Real Than Objects "Idealism is often regarded as a philosophy entailing that the world exists just in our heads, which is obviously false. Rising philosophical star Dr. Jeremy Dunham argues that this view of idealism is a misconception. Idealism is a much more realist worldview than we think, and more realist than its alternatives, as it does not deny the existence of the most real things there are: thoughts. This essay is the latest instalment of our The Return of Idealism series, produced in a collaboration with the Institute of Art and Ideas (IA). It was first published by the IAI on 19 April 2024." ~ https://www.essentiafoundation.org/thoughts-are-more-real-than-objects/reading/ What is idealism? Throughout history, in most cases, philosophical idealism is a metaphysical position. The idealist is concerned with reality’s fundamental nature. It is often mistakenly thought to be a reductive theory of the fundamental nature of reality. Many critics have supposed that the idealist tries to reduce reality to the subjective states of individual minds. According to this form of subjective idealism there is no world outside our minds. This view is often associated with the British empiricist Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). Famously, when told that such idealism was irrefutable, the English author Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) shouted, “I refute it thus” and kicked a stone. The idealist therefore is thought to be the one who denies. They are anti-realist, anti-materialist, anti-naturalist, and certainly anti-stones. This way of thinking about philosophical idealism is misleading. Many kinds of philosophers have both voluntarily and involuntarily been referred to as idealists. However, they are united by an understanding of idealism as a form of realism. Idealism is not a reductive philosophy. It argues for the real existence of elements of reality often dismissed. It is a realism about ideas. Even Berkeley frames his position as a realism. He wrote that “the real things are those things I see, and feel, and perceive by my senses.” Berkeley opposed his view to those who regard our rich conscious phenomenal world, the world of tastes, feels, colours, and sounds, as in some way less real than the physical world. For Berkeley, the real stone is the coloured object which we see and feel and that resists us when kicked. If Johnson kicked the stone as hard as I imagine, he entered a world of pain. For Berkeley, this world is the real world. His idealism is ampliative, not reductive. Its aim is to account for the full extent of our reality. Berkeley, then, is not anti-stone. He argued that only idealism can do justice to stones. Although idealism may refer to a doctrine that affirms the reality of our ideas in this subjective sense, there is another sense of the word ‘idea.’ This is the Platonic Idea, often referred to as ‘Form’ or ‘Universal.’ Idealism shares something in common with the modern philosophical view known as Platonism. But there are significant differences. Platonists defend the existence of universals in addition to particular properties. A Platonist about properties, for example, believes that in addition to the individual things in the world that have redness amongst their properties, such as the red pen in front of me and the red symbols on my computer screen, there is the universal redness. This universal isn’t in front of me. It doesn’t exist anywhere in space or time. It is an abstract object. An abstract object is neither physical nor mental. It is causally inert, fixed, and unchanging. Yet, when we see redness in the world, this redness is an exemplification or instantiation of that universal. Particular red things are united by the fact that they instantiate this universal. Accordingly, the modern Platonist seems to postulate two worlds. One of abstract objects and another in which they are instantiated. However, since the abstract objects are causally inert, the relationship between these worlds is mysterious. One of the most important schools of idealism in its history is that known as absolute idealism. It originates with Hegel in Germany, but flourished towards the end of the nineteenth-century with many adherents in the Oxbridge philosophy departments and worldwide. Here, the idea in idealism explicitly refers to Plato’s ideas. However, the absolute idealist attempts to bring the two worlds described above together into one. Consequently, the abstract universal is made concrete. In several places, Plato suggests that things have the properties they do in virtue of participating in the Idea (or universal). A beautiful thing is beautiful in virtue of the fact that it participates in the Idea of beauty. However, this suggests that the particulars stand in a causal relationship with the universals. Ideas are causally responsible for the existence of properties in the concrete world. Perhaps we are wrong to think of Plato’s Ideas as abstract objects after all? Abstract universals are causally inert, so whatever relationship there is between them and their instantiating particulars, it cannot be causal. This is the absolute idealist’s starting point. The universals do not exist outside of our world. They are immanent to it. They are not abstract, rather they are concrete. As Hegel claimed, since the living world is concrete not abstract, those who consider universals as abstract kill the living thing. This kind of idealist argues that our world has the structure or form that it does because of the universals immanent to it. Hegel wrote that “The universal is the essential, true nature of things” and that “through thinking these over we become acquainted with the true nature of things.” Any individual bear, for Hegel, has a universal nature. It’s that aspect of its nature it shares with any other bear and thus enables us to identify it as a bear, even if we’ve never seen this individual bear before. But it is also different to every other bear. It has particular features that distinguish it from any other bear and make it an individual. Crucially, in the case of the concrete universal, the particular features that make an individual the individual it is are not external to the universal but rather contained within it. You do not get the individual bear by bundling a bunch of extra particulars to the universal bear. Hegel dedicates much of his famous Phenomenology of Spirit to demonstrating that if you start with properties that are only externally related, it’s impossible to combine them together into the kind of unities that make up our world. A bear isn’t a bundle of qualities. It’s a self-preserving organism for which the parts depend on the whole as much as the whole depends on the parts. Its particular properties, like the thickness of its fur, are different in the winter than in the summer because they are internally related to the organism as a whole and sensitive to its survival needs. What does it mean to say that the concrete universal contains particulars within itself? It means that the individual bear becomes the individual bear not by addition, but by negation. To think the abstract universal, you abstract away all the properties that differentiate one bear from another and the universal is whatever is left. The concrete universal, on the other hand, includes all those differences. The particularisation of the bear is the process by means of which it negates the properties that do not belong to it, leaving behind just those that make it the individual bear. This is the meaning behind Hegel’s often quoted phrase: all determination is negation. ‘The true, infinite universal’, Hegel writes, ‘determines itself… it is creative power as self-referring absolute negativity. As such, it differentiates itself internally.’ This points to an important characteristic of the concrete universal: it determines the development of the individual. The universal guides the bear’s ideal development. It should develop from a cub to a yearling and then from a young adult to a mature adult. However, it develops in its own particular way. Although all bears develop from cub to yearling, only this individual cub developed in this particular way. The thought is that if you took away from the universal every particular way that the bear might develop, leaving us with the abstract universal consisting of just the features all bears share, you’re actually left with nothing. Certainly, you’re left with nothing living. You’ve murdered the living thing. According to the most prominent contemporary metaphysical readings of Hegel, such as Robert Stern’s, the concrete universals should be understood as similar to Aristotelian substance kinds. This means that there are as many concrete universals as there are individuals to instantiate them. Emily is the individual human she is because she is a self-particularising concrete universal. However, the absolute idealists who dominated the British philosophical world towards the end of the nineteenth century believed that all these concrete universals were ultimately interrelated as parts of one all-encompassing concrete universal. For the nineteenth-century British idealist Bernard Bosanquet, the perverse thing about abstract universals is that the wider their extension is, the less there is to them. This is because you get the universal giant panda when you abstract everything particular away from every individual giant panda. Then, to get the universal bear, you must abstract all the features that particularise it as one of its particular species of bear, like giant panda. To get the universal mammal you then abstract all the features that make each animal a mammal rather than a reptile, bird, or fish. The more things that supposedly instantiate a universal, the sparser the features of that universal are. On the contrary, the logic of the concrete universal, Bosanquet says, does violence to the ‘inverse ratio of intention to extension.’ There is not less to the universal animal than there is to the universal bear, rather there is more because the universal animal contains bear within it and a whole host of other animals too. It’s the most substantial Noah’s ark you can imagine. However, if bears are part of a higher universal of mammals and mammals are part of a higher universal of animals, why stop there? Couldn’t there be a universal ‘living thing’? And perhaps one above that? For Bosanquet, this is exactly right. We keep going until we end up with just one concrete universal, the absolute Idea, the world as a whole. For Bosanquet this is ‘a system of members, such that every member, being ex hypothesi distinct, nevertheless contributes to the unity of the whole in virtue of the peculiarities which constitute its distinctness.’ In agreement with the Aristotelian reading of idealism, each individual is the self-particularising of the concrete universal, but, ultimately, it’s one and the same concrete universal self-particularising in various different ways. The result of this is that we owe our individuality to a larger whole in which we are all systematically related and which relates us to each other in a fundamental way. Earlier I claimed that many people incorrectly regard idealism as a philosophy that is characterised by the things that it is against. However, here we find something that this kind of idealist really is anti: the idea of fundamental separateness. This has significant ethical implications. The most important absolute idealist of the twenty-first century, Timothy Sprigge (1932-2007), wrote that absolute idealism’s main message is that ‘we are nearer the core of things when we partly transcend it [our separateness] in cooperative ethical, cultural, and intellectual endeavours and in mutual aid.’ Idealism is a label that has been used to refer to a huge variety of different philosophical positions. I’ve focused on metaphysical versions to show how different idealism is from its common misconceptions. Idealism is not a reductive philosophy but an inflationary one. Idealism aims to do justice to the full extent of the characteristics of the world in which we live. Any thorough-going realism, any realism that takes every feature of our world seriously, must be a realism about the idea. ~ Jeremy Dunham

"The Telephone Exchange" Revised I suggest that this extract be read over carefully, not once but several times, and that the reader try to make quite clear to oneself the position of the clerk in the telephone exchange, i.e. the position of the mind in the body, as depicted by Professor Pearson, before recourse is had to the criticisms of any one else. One cannot find anywhere better material for critical philosophical reflection. As has been seen, our author accepts without question, the psychological doctrine that the mind is shut up within the circle of the messages that are conducted to it along the sensory nerves, and that it cannot directly perceive anything truly external. He carries his doctrine out to the bitter end in the conclusion that, since we have never had experience of anything beyond sense-impressions, and have no ground for an inference to anything beyond, we must recognize that the only external world of which we know anything is an external world built up out of sense-impressions. It is, thus, in the mind, and is not external at all; it is only "projected outwards," thought of as though it were beyond us. Shall we leave the inconsistent position of the plain man and of the psychologist and take our refuge in this world of projected mental constructs? Before the reader makes up his mind to do this, I beg him to consider the following: If the only external world of which we have a right to speak at all is a construct in the mind or ego, we may certainly affirm that the world is in the ego, but does it sound sensible to say that the ego is somewhere in the world? If all external things are really inside the mind, and are only "projected" outwards, of course our own bodies, sense-organs, nerves, and brains, are really inside and are merely projected outwards. Now, do the sense-impressions of which everything is to be constructed "come flowing in" along these nerves that are really inside? Can we say, when a nerve lies entirely within the mind or ego, that this same mind or ego is nearer to one end of the nerve than it is to the other? How shall we picture to ourselves "the conscious ego of each one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves"? How can the ego place the whole of itself at the end of a nerve which it has constructed within itself? And why is it more difficult for it to get to one end of a nerve like this than it is to get to the other? Why should the thing "at the other end of the nerve" remain unknown and unknowable? Since the nerve is entirely in the mind, is purely a mental construct, can anything whatever be at the end of it without being in the mind? And if the thing in question is not in the mind, how are we going to prove that it is any nearer to one end of a nerve which is inside the mind than it is to the other? If it may really be said to be at the end of the nerve, why may we not know it quite as well as we do the end of the nerve, or any other mental construct? It must be clear to the careful reader of Professor Pearson's paragraphs, that he does not confine himself strictly to the world of mere "projections," to an outer world which is really inner. If he did this, the distinction between inner and outer would disappear. Let us consider for a moment the imprisoned clerk. He is in a telephone exchange, about him are wires and subscribers. He gets only sounds and must build up his whole universe of things out of sounds. Now we are supposing him to be in a telephone exchange, to be receiving messages, to be building up a world out of these messages. Do we for a moment think of him as building up, out of the messages which came along the wires, those identical wires which carried the messages and the subscribers which sent them? Never! we distinguish between the exchange, with its wires and subscribers, and the messages received and worked up into a world. In picturing to ourselves the telephone exchange, we are doing what the plain man and the psychologist do when they distinguish between mind and body,—they never suppose that the messages which come through the senses are identical with the senses through which they come. But suppose we maintain that there is no such thing as a telephone exchange, with its wires and subscribers, which is not to be found within some clerk. Suppose the real external world is something inner and only "projected" without, mistakenly supposed by the unthinking to be without. Suppose it is nonsense to speak of a wire which is not in the mind of a clerk. May we under such circumstances describe any clerk as in a telephone exchange? as receiving messages? as no nearer to his subscribers than his end of the wire? May we say that sense-impressions come flowing in to him? The whole figure of the telephone exchange becomes an absurdity when we have once placed the exchange within the clerk. Nor can we think of two clerks as connected by a wire, when it is affirmed that every wire must "really" be in some clerk. The truth is, that, in the extracts which I have given above and in many other passages in the same volume, the real external world, the world which does not exist in the mind but without it, is much discredited, and is yet not actually discarded. The ego is placed at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves, and it receives messages which flow in; i.e. the clerk is actually placed in an exchange. That the existence of the exchange is afterward denied in so many words does not mean that it has not played and does not continue to play an important part in the thought of the author. It is interesting to see how a man of science, whose reflections compel him to deny the existence of the external world that we all seem to perceive and that we somehow recognize as distinct from anything in our minds, is nevertheless compelled to admit the existence of this world at every turn. But if we do admit it, what shall we make of it? Shall we deny the truth of what the psychologist has to tell us about a knowledge of things only through the sensations to which they give rise? We cannot, surely, do that. Shall we affirm that we know the external world directly, and at the same time that we do not know it directly, but only indirectly, and through the images which arise in our minds? That seems inconsistent. Certainly there is material for reflection here. Nevertheless the more we reflect on that material, the more evident does it become that the plain man cannot be wrong in believing in the external world which seems revealed in his experiences. We find that all attempts to discredit it rest upon the implicit assumption of its existence, and fall to the ground when that existence is honestly denied. So our problem changes its form. We no longer ask: Is there an external world? but rather: What is the external world, and how does it differ from the world of mere ideas? ~ G.S. Fullerton

"The Telephone Exchange" "We are accustomed to talk," writes Professor Karl Pearson, "of the 'external world,' of the 'reality' outside us. We speak of individual objects having an existence independent of our own. The store of past sense-impressions, our thoughts and memories, although most probably they have beside their psychical element a close correspondence with some physical change or impress in the brain, are yet spoken of as inside ourselves. On the other hand, although if a sensory nerve be divided anywhere short of the brain, we lose the corresponding class of sense impression, we yet speak of many sense-impressions, such as form and texture, as existing outside ourselves. How close then can we actually get to this supposed world outside ourselves? Just as near but no nearer than the brain terminals of the sensory nerves. We are like the clerk in the central telephone exchange who cannot get nearer to his customers than his end of the telephone wires. We are indeed worse off than the clerk, for to carry out the analogy properly we must suppose him never to have been outside the telephone exchange, never to have seen a customer or any one like a customer—in short, never, except through the telephone wire, to have come in contact with the outside universe. Of that 'real' universe outside himself, he would be able to form no direct impression; the real universe for him would be the aggregate of his constructs from the messages which were caused by the telephone wires in his office. About those messages and the ideas raised in his mind by them he might reason and draw his inferences; and his conclusions would be correct—for what? For the world of telephonic messages, for the type of messages that go through the telephone. Something definite and valuable he might know with regard to the spheres of action and of thought of his telephonic subscribers, but outside those spheres he could have no experience. Pent up in his office he could never have seen or touched even a telephonic subscriber in himself. Very much in the position of such a telephone clerk is the conscious ego of each one of us seated at the brain terminals of the sensory nerves. Not a step nearer than those terminals can the ego get to the 'outer world,' and what in and for themselves are the subscribers to its nerve exchange it has no means of ascertaining. Messages in the form of sense-impressions come flowing in from that 'outside world,' and these we analyze, classify, store up, and reason about. But of the nature of 'things-in-themselves,' of what may exist at the other end of our system of telephone wires, we know nothing at all. "But the reader, perhaps, remarks, 'I not only see an object, but I can touch it. I can trace the nerve from the tip of my finger to the brain. I am not like the telephone clerk, I can follow my network of wires to their terminals and find what is at the other end of them.' Can you, reader? Think for a moment whether your ego has for one moment got away from his brain exchange. The sense-impression that you call touch was just as much as sight felt only at the brain end of a sensory nerve. What has told you also of the nerve from the tip of your finger to your brain? Why, sense-impressions also, messages conveyed along optic or tactile sensory nerves. In truth, all you have been doing is to employ one subscriber to your telephone exchange to tell you about the wire that goes to a second, but you are just as far as ever from tracing out for yourself the telephone wires to the individual subscriber and ascertaining what his nature is in and for himself. The immediate sense-impression is just as far removed from what you term the 'outside world' as the store of impresses. If our telephone clerk had recorded by aid of a phonograph certain of the messages from the outside world on past occasions, then if any telephonic message on its receipt set several phonographs repeating past messages, we have an image analogous to what goes on in the brain. Both telephone and phonograph are equally removed from what the clerk might call the 'real outside world,' but they enable him through their sounds to construct a universe; he projects those sounds, which are really inside his office, outside his office, and speaks of them as the external universe. This outside world is constructed by him from the contents of the inside sounds, which differ as widely from things-in-themselves as language, the symbol, must always differ from the thing it symbolizes. For our telephone clerk sounds would be the real world, and yet we can see how conditioned and limited it would be by the range of his particular telephone subscribers and by the contents of their messages. "So it is with our brain; the sounds from telephone and phonograph correspond to immediate and stored sense-impressions. These sense-impressions we project as it were outwards and term the real world outside ourselves. But the things-in-themselves which the sense-impressions symbolize, the 'reality,' as the metaphysicians wish to call it, at the other end of the nerve, remains unknown and is unknowable. Reality of the external world lies for science and for us in combinations of form and color and touch—sense-impressions as widely divergent from the thing 'at the other end of the nerve' as the sound of the telephone from the subscriber at the other end of the wire. We are cribbed and confined in this world of sense-impressions like the exchange clerk in his world of sounds, and not a step beyond can we get. As his world is conditioned and limited by his particular network of wires, so ours is conditioned by our nervous system, by our organs of sense. Their peculiarities determine what is the nature of the outside world which we construct. It is the similarity in the organs of sense and in the perceptive faculty of all normal human beings which makes the outside world the same, or practically the same, for them all. To return to the old analogy, it is as if two telephone exchanges had very nearly identical groups of subscribers. In this case a wire between the two exchanges would soon convince the imprisoned clerks that they had something in common and peculiar to themselves. That conviction corresponds in our comparison to the recognition of other consciousness."

The Psychologist And The External World Now, when the psychologist asks how a given mind comes to have a knowledge of any external thing, s/he finds one's answer in the messages which have been brought to the mind by means of the bodily senses. S/he describes the sense-organs and the nervous connections between these and the brain, and tells us that when certain nervous impulses have traveled, let us say, from the eye or the ear to the brain, one has sensations of sight or sound. The psychologist describes for us in detail how, out of such sensations and the memories of such sensations, we frame mental images of external things. Between the mental image and the thing that it represents s/he distinguishes sharply, and s/he informs us that the mind knows no more about the external thing than is contained in such images. That a thing is present can only be known by the fact that a message from the thing is sent along the nerves, and what the thing is must be determined from the character of the message. Given the image in the absence of the thing,—that is to say, an hallucination,—the mind will naturally suppose that the thing is present. This false supposition cannot be corrected by a direct inspection of the thing, for such a direct inspection of things is out of the question. The only way in which the mind concerned can discover that the thing is absent is by referring to its other experiences. This image is compared with other images and is discovered to be in some way abnormal. We decide that it is a false representative and has no corresponding reality behind it. This doctrine taken as it stands seems to cut the mind off from the external world very completely. And the most curious thing about it is that it seems to be built up on the assumption that it is not really true. How can one know certainly that there is a world of material things, including human bodies with their sense-organs and nerves, if no mind has ever been able to inspect directly anything of the sort? How can we tell that a sensation arises when a nervous impulse has been carried along a sensory nerve and has reached the brain, if every mind is shut up to the charmed circle of its own ideas? The anatomist and the physiologist give us very detailed accounts of the sense-organs and of the brain. The physiologist even undertakes to measure the speed with which the impulse passes along a nerve. The psychologist accepts and uses the results of their labors. But can all this be done in the absence of any first-hand knowledge of the things of which one is talking? Remember that, if the psychologist is right, any external object, eye, ear, nerve, or brain, which we can perceive directly, is a mental complex, a something in the mind and not external at all. How shall we prove that there are objects, ears, eyes, nerves, and brains – in short, all the requisite mechanism for the calling into existence of sensations – in an outer world which is not immediately perceived but is only inferred to exist? So much, at least, is evident: The man who is inclined to doubt whether there is, after all, any real external world, appears to find in the psychologist's distinction between ideas and things something like an excuse for his doubt. To get to the bottom of the matter and to dissipate one's doubt one has to go rather deeply into metaphysics. I merely wish to show just here that the doubt is not a gratuitous one, but is really suggested to the thoughtful mind by a reflection upon our experience of things. And, as we are all apt to think that the man of science is less given to busying oneself with useless subtleties than is the philosopher, I shall, before closing this chapter, present some paragraphs upon the subject from the pen of a professor of mathematics and mechanics. ~ G.S. Fullerton

How The Plain Man Thinks S/he Knows The World Now, I am going to take up and turn over, so that we may get a good look at them, some of the problems that have presented themselves to those who have reflected upon the world and the mind as they seem given in our experience. I shall begin by asking, "Is it not possible to doubt that there is an external world at all? " It may, of course, be absurd to maintain that there is no external world. But surely s/he, too, is in an absurd position who maintains dogmatically that there is an external world, however, remains unable to find any flaw in the reasonings of the man who seems to be able to show that the external world belief has no solid foundation. And we must not forget that the men who have thought it worth while to raise just such questions as this, during the last twenty centuries, have been among the most brilliant intellects of the race. We must not assume too hastily that they have occupied themselves with mere trivialities. Since so many thoughtful men have found it worth while to ask themselves seriously whether there is an external world, or, at least, how we can know that there is an external world, it is not unreasonable to expect that, by looking for it, we may find in our common experience or in science some difficulty sufficient to suggest the doubt which at first strikes the average man as preposterous. In what can such a doubt take its rise? Let us see. I think it is scarcely too much to say that the plain man believes that he does not directly perceive an external world, and that he, at the same time, believes that he does directly perceive one. It is quite possible to believe contradictory things, when one's thought of them is somewhat vague, and when one does not consciously bring them together. As to the first-mentioned belief – there is an external world. Does not the plain man distinguish between his ideas of things and the things themselves? Does s/he not believe that one's ideas come through the avenues of the senses? Is s/he not aware of the fact that, when a sense is disordered, the thing as s/he perceives it is not like the thing "as it is"? A blind man does not see things when they are there; a color-blind man sees them as others do not see them; a man suffering under certain abnormal conditions of the nervous system sees things when they are not there at all, i.e. s/he has hallucinations. The thing itself, as it seems, is not in the man's mind: it is the idea that is in the man's mind, and that represents the thing. Sometimes it appears to give a true account of it; sometimes it seems to give a garbled account; sometimes it is a false representative throughout – there is no reality behind it. It is, then, the idea that is immediately known, and not the thing; the thing is merely inferred to exist. I do not mean to say that the plain man is conscious of drawing this conclusion. I only maintain that it seems a natural conclusion to draw from the facts which she recognizes, and that sometimes s/he seems to draw the conclusion half-consciously. On the other hand, we must all admit that when the plain man is not thinking about the distinction between ideas and things, but is looking at some material object, is touching it with one's very hands and turning it about to get a good look at it, it never occurs to the plain man that s/he is not directly conscious of the thing itself. To oneself, s/he seems to perceive the thing immediately; to perceive it as it is and where it is; to perceive it as a really extended thing, out there in space before one's body. S/he does not think of oneself as occupied with mere images, representations of the object. S/he may be willing to admit that one's mind is in one's own head, but s/he cannot think that what s/he sees is in one's own head. Is not the object there? Does s/he not see and feel it? Why doubt such evidence as this? S/he who tells the plain man that the external world does not exist seems to be denying what is immediately given in their experience. The plain man who looks at things in this way assumes, of course, that the external object is known directly, and is not a something merely inferred to exist from the presence of a representative image. May one embrace this belief and abandon the other one? If we elect to do this, we appear to be in difficulties at once. All the considerations which made us distinguish so carefully between our ideas of things and the things themselves crowd in upon us. Can it be that we know things independently of the avenues of the senses? Would a man with different senses know things just as we do? How can any man suffer from an hallucination, if things are not inferred from images, but are known independently? The difficulties encountered appear sufficiently serious even if we keep to that knowledge of things which seems to be given in common experience. But even the plain man has heard of atoms and molecules. And if s/he accepts the extension of knowledge offered by the man of science, s/he must admit that, whatever this apparently immediately perceived external thing may be, it cannot be the external thing that science assures one to be out there in space beyond one's body, and which must be a very different sort of thing from the thing s/he seems to perceive. The thing s/he perceives must, then, be appearance. And where can that appearance be if not in one's own mind? The man who has made no study of philosophy at all does not usually think these things out. But surely there are interrogation marks written up all over the man's experience, and s/he misses them only because s/he does not see clearly. By judiciously asking questions one may often lead the plain man either to affirm or to deny that s/he has an immediate knowledge of the external world, pretty much as one pleases. If s/he affirms it, one's position does not seem to be a wholly satisfactory one, as we have seen. And if s/he denies it, s/he makes the existence of the external world wholly a matter of inference from the presence of ideas in the mind, and s/he must stand ready to justify this inference. To many men it has seemed that the inference is not an easy one to justify. One may say: We could have no ideas of things, no sensations, if real things did not exist and make an impression upon our senses. But to this it may be answered: How is that statement to be proved? Is it to be proved by observing that, when things are present and affect the senses, there come into being ideas which represent the things? Evidently such a proof as this is out of the question, for, if it is true that we know external things only by inference and never immediately, then we can never prove by observation that ideas and things are thus connected. And if it is not to be proved by observation, how shall it be proved? Shall we just assume it dogmatically and pass on to something else? Surely there is enough in the experience of the plain man to justify one in raising the question whether s/he can certainly know that there is an external world. ~ G.S. Fullerton

Common Thought As The Foundation Of Autonoetism I am a naturalist, or at least, I am someone who doesn't believe in an influence which is external to the system that it is influencing, as such a thing would be unnatural or "supernatural" if you say. In philosophy, a naturalistic view is a perspective that adheres to naturalism. This means it explains phenomena and concepts solely through natural causes and rejects explanations that involve supernatural or divine intervention. In essence, it argues that the universe is self-contained and operates based on knowable principles. And I definitely don't believe in unknowable principles because by definition, that would make them outside the system. Rather let's talk about principles which we're yet to figure out. The reason why I do not believe in dualistic or unnaturalistic concepts is a simple one – I am yet to witness in real life such a phenomenon. So far, I have not come across a system with an influence which is not ultimately connected to the very system it is influencing. And to suggest otherwise without any experiential reference, is pure speculation. Everything affects everything, one way or the other. It is for this reason that I am grounding my cosmology, Autonoetism, and its development on Common Thought as opposed to any other form of thought. Common Thought will be the steering wheel with which I'll be steering the direction of my philosophical research toward a fully developed self-consistent cosmology.

Cosmology And Philosophy Cosmology and philosophy have interacted throughout history, each informing the other. Philosophers have pondered fundamental questions about the universe's nature, origin, and existence for millennia. These inquiries delve into metaphysics, exploring the nature of reality and existence itself. From the beginning, philosophers have grappled with the nature of reality. Cosmology provides a lens to examine these questions on a grand scale. Is the universe eternal or did it have a beginning? What is the fundamental nature of space and time? Philosophical pondering on existence extends to the universe itself. Does the universe exist objectively, or is it simply a product of our human minds? Is our universe the only one, or is there a multiverse? Modern cosmology reveals a universe far grander and older than previously imagined. This challenges philosophical ideas about humanity's place in the cosmos. Are we simply insignificant specks in a vast universe, or is there a deeper purpose to our existence? The concept of a beginning of time as suggested by the Big Bang theory pushes philosophers to grapple with the nature of time itself. Did time always exist, or did it come into being with the universe? The Fine-Tuning Argument suggests that the universe's physical constants seem suspiciously fine-tuned for life to exist. This has led philosophers to debate whether this is evidence for a creator or can be explained by other means. The possibility of multiple universes raises profound philosophical questions. If other universes exist, what are the implications for our understanding of reality, existence, and our place in the cosmos? In essence, cosmology and philosophy form a symbiotic relationship. Philosophy provides the questions that drive cosmological inquiry, while cosmological discoveries challenge and refine philosophical ideas. This ongoing dialogue fosters a deeper understanding of the universe and our place within it.

Philosophers often use common sense as a starting point for their investigations. They ask questions like, "Where does everything come from?" or "What is the nature of reality?". This is the most natural form of thought as it reflects the world's cause-and-effect cohesive patterns as well as its systematic correspondence identified as ecosystems or biological systems and so forth. There are also instances where a man will have a counterintuitive thought regarding the same matters of the world, a thought which goes against the experiential framework of the common man. We see this with skepticism where a philosopher questions everything, even the most fundamental beliefs we take for granted. This constant questioning, often through inquiries like "what if?" and "how can we be sure?", can reveal weaknesses in our understanding of the world, prompting us to seek more robust knowledge. And sometimes, usually in the absence of evidence, our thought pattern can take on a speculative form where speculation is the driving force behind the creation of grand philosophical theories that attempt to explain the nature of reality, knowledge, and existence. These all-encompassing theories, while not definitively provable, offer frameworks for interpreting the world. Reflective thought is the engine that drives philosophical inquiry. Philosophy is a historical conversation. Philosophers reflect on the works of past thinkers, critiquing and building upon their ideas. This ongoing dialogue fosters the development of knowledge over time. And philosophers are open to revising their own views in light of new evidence or arguments. This openness is crucial for the advancement of philosophical thought. However, in rare instances and usually in the absence of a query, our thought patterns can take on a dualistic form where one's thought patterns are observed by the same mind that is generating them. This is when your thought pattern has taken a metacognitive form, and questions such as, "How do I know this?" or "How did I learn this?" are eminent.

The Pentagon Of Thought There are exactly five most basic forms of thought from which all other forms are established upon. They are as follows: Common Thought which refers to the prevalent way of thinking about things using the framework of common experiential knowledge. It highly involves deductive reasoning and is highly empirical. Counterintuitive Thinking which refers to the direct challenging of common thought in the exploration of ideas. Elements of skepticism are often demonstrated here. Speculative Thinking which refers to the creative generation of ideas and formulating hypotheses without necessarily having all the information. It mainly uses abductive reasoning. And often makes use of thought experiments. Reflective Thought which refers to the analyzing and evaluating of one's own thoughts, experiences, and beliefs. Metacognition which refers to the awareness and understanding of one's own thinking processes. It often makes use of critical reasoning. These five forms of thought are foundational because they represent the core cognitive processes that underlie all higher-order thinking. These forms of thought can occur independently, unlike more complex forms that often rely on a combination of these. For instance, we can engage in common thought without necessarily needing to be reflective or vice versa. These thought processes are fundamental to human cognition and are observed across cultures and disciplines. They form the bedrock upon which more specialized or domain-specific thinking is built. Identifying these five forms of thought is crucial before engaging in any philosophical inquiry and research. Recognizing your thought patterns helps you approach questions from a more objective standpoint. It is especially important to know when it is appropriate to employ a certain form of thought. Ultimately, all of philosophical inquiry takes place within this pentagon of the basic forms of thought. However it is important to identify the driving force of your particular philosophical inquiry because that thought form essentially functions as the foundation upon which your philosophy is built. And consistency is the most subtle but equally important thing to maintain for a solid development. Of course all other thought forms, including the complex forms, might get involved in developing your philosophical research. But it is important to recognize that which establishes the trajectory of your philosophical research as to not get lost in the abyss that is your own mind and ultimately failing to demonstrate the validity of your philosophical science. Engaging in philosophical inquiry is a continuous process that fosters intellectual curiosity, challenges our assumptions, and broadens our understanding of the world and ourselves. Philosophical research involves delving into historical and contemporary philosophical works, engaging with different schools of thought, and considering diverse perspectives. This strengthens the foundation for inquiry and helps refine arguments. Philosophy is the most complex and most sensitive of fields which demands nothing less than perfect in order for its true value to be acknowledge-able. By understanding the thought form behind your inquiry, you can tailor your arguments and evidence accordingly. For instance, common thought-based arguments benefit from strong empirical backing, while speculative thinking might rely on thought experiments. In summary, by establishing a foundation for your philosophical science, you are providing a framework for, not only yourself, discussing a complex issue, or a range of complex issues, within which you can engage in a respectful dialogue with others.

The Fundamentals Philosophical inquiry and research are the cornerstones of philosophy, a discipline that seeks to understand fundamental questions about knowledge, reality, existence, ethics, and more. But before one can even begin to do philosophy, it is unexpressably crucial to understand what it is exactly that you are doing as well as how you are doing it. Why? Because unlike any other field of study, or any other discipline, or any other type of investigation, whether it be scientific or social, in fact, unlike any other thing that you've come across before: the problems which the philosopher occupies oneself with are, in the most blunt sense of the word, real problems which present themselves unavoidably to the thoughtful mind. This is because contrary to other occupations, or whatever, the philosopher doesn't busy oneself with the problems of the world. To the philosopher, those problems are about as trivial as the problems of a child when it reaches its impulsive stage. No. The philosopher busies oneself with problems that are terrifyingly much more closer to home than those that have to do with survival, s/he busies oneself with the problems of consciousness. It is a natural response for many to shrug of such statements about man's problems as nothing more than mere rant. Sure, it may not seem like it now, but just as rivers run and the winds blow, the average man is more burdened by one's consciousness than s/he is by one's need to survive. Of course, this is not something that s/he might admit under groundless circumstances. It is more likely that s/he hasn't even begun to realize this, let alone suspect it. But it is not that difficult to realize, just difficult to want to realize it. After all, to simply begin, you'd only need to wonder why people commit suicide. What is so burdensome to the extent of overcoming one's most fundamental of extints – survival? The truth is – philosophy is not a discipline – philosophy is discipline. It's not something that you study either, the only thing we can study is its history and other people's impressions of it. But the true philosopher has never been a student of philosophy, s/he has only ever been a plain man who does philosophy. Philosophy is something that you do. And to the philosopher, the problems of consciousness aren't problems, they are simply matters of consciousness which only becomes problematic if ignored. So what is it that the philosopher does when s/he does philosophy? Does s/he ask questions? Is philosophy asking questions? That's what other occupations seem to think. Philosophy seeks to understand the fundamental questions, right? The dictionary describes it as an investigation. And they are not wrong, its process can be described as investigative. Yes. But is that what philosophy really is? Questions? They only recognize the questions, never mind their source. Because such is the mentality which sees itself fit to define to the world what philosophy is. We ask questions all the time, we ask questions because it's necessary for our survival. But then why bother with the fundamental questions when there's no direct reward for knowing the answers? One's social or economic circumstances don't change from doing philosophy. And if there's ultimately no way of proving yourself right in anything you might come up with, then what's the point? This is the reason why the average will not bother oneself with such a regardless endeavor, for s/he only ever concerns oneself with things, not being. Philosophy is being, in that it is true being, not the falsehood of "human being". It is an action, not a reaction. It is initiative, it is pro-activity. Philosophy is the very movement of consciousness itself emerging from that dark place which is its own unconsciousness. It is the most natural, most unsuperficial, most authentic, activity that one can engage in. Yes. Philosophy is something that you do. Philosophy is thought itself. How consciousness moves, is through thought. But not just any sort of thought, it must be disciplined thought and not stimulated thought – an action, not a reaction. It's not just about questions. If it were, we would have accepted that we simply cannot know and moved on to engage in practical matters with the rest of the world, leaving philosophy in the past where it belongs. At least, that's the assumption. The fundamental questions aren't just questions. They are our fundamental thoughts, like the stars by which the less significant bodies orbit. Which means, though you might not be aware of it, every other non-fundamental but 'serious' questions you've ever asked ultimately leads back to the much bigger questions, and are discovered if followed through, which the average man doesn't. It's one of those things that s/he will do carelessly until a career can be made out of it, like with botany or geology or economics and etc. Then when s/he finally does follow through, actually studying the methods of philosophizing rather than doing it as carelessly as the common man does, s/he is called a philosopher. A question is never really a question if it is without an answer. The mind itself knows that much about its nature. No one makes a request of anything s/he doesn't suspect that s/he can receive. Its a ring that calls itself. Consciousness calls for its own development. At least that's what the fundamentals suggest: "who am I?", "what is the meaning of life?", "what is the nature of reality?".

Metacognition As The Foundation For Philosophical Inquiry Metacognition is the awareness and understanding of one's own thought processes. The term literally means above cognition, and is associated with often associated with planning, monitoring and evaluation. Now, there is a possibility of confusing metacognition with reflective thought if one is not accustomed with the term. But there are key differences which make it easy to tell apart these two thought forms. They are as follows: Reflective thought focuses on the content of your thoughts and experiences. You examine your own thoughts, feelings, and actions, asking questions like "Why did I react that way?" or "What does this experience mean to me?" Metacognition focuses on the processes of your thinking. It's about being aware of how you think, not just what you think. You ask questions like "Do I understand this material?" or "Am I using the most effective strategy for this task?" Basically with metacognition, you are thinking about how you're thinking. The goal of reflective thought is to gain a deeper understanding of yourself, your motivations, and your values. It helps you learn from past experiences and develop your personal growth. The goal of metacognition is to regulate and control your thinking processes. It helps you choose the most appropriate strategies for learning, solving problems, and achieving your goals. Reflective thinking can be a more open-ended process. It might involve journaling, introspection, or simply replaying events in your mind to gain insights. Metacognition involves actively monitoring and regulating your thinking. It can involve planning your approach, evaluating your progress, and revising strategies as needed. Imagine watching a movie about yourself. You're reflecting on the plot (your experiences), the characters (your emotions), and the overall message (your learnings). This is what's seen as reflective thought. Now imagine being the director of the movie. You're aware of the filming process (your thinking), you can adjust camera angles (thinking strategies) to capture the scene effectively, and you can even rewrite the script (revise your approach) if needed. This is metacognition. There is some overlap between the two. Reflective thought can lead to insights about your thinking processes (a form of metacognition). Conversely, metacognition can help you analyze your reflections more effectively. Both reflective thought and metacognition are valuable tools for understanding ourselves better. Reflective thought helps us understand the "what" of our experience, while metacognition helps us understand the "how" of our thinking. Now, there are those non-mainstream views or 'takes' on what metacognition essentially is and its unexplored potentials. This thought experiment raises interesting questions about the nature of metacognition itself. It asks, "Who is doing the metacognition?". If we have a part of our mind reflecting on our thinking, does that part also need its own metacognition, leading to an infinite regress? Some explore how metacognition might be affected by meditation, psychedelic experiences, or other altered states of consciousness. Do these states enhance or hinder our ability to reflect on our thoughts? Metacognition is a powerful tool that empowers philosophers to approach their inquiries with greater self-awareness, critical thinking, and a commitment to rigorous reasoning. It allows philosophers to be strategic learners. They can identify when they need to gather more information, consult different sources, or explore alternative perspectives to strengthen their inquiry. Metacognition can help philosophers refine their initial philosophical questions. By reflecting on their own thinking processes, they can ensure their questions are clear, well-defined, and address the core issues they're investigating.

Reflective Thought As The Foundation For Philosophical Inquiry Enough has been said in the preceding sections to make clear that the vagueness which characterizes many notions, which constantly recur in common thought, is not wholly dispelled by the study of the several sciences. The man of science, like the plain man, may be able to use very well, for certain purposes, concepts which s/he is not able to analyze satisfactorily. For example, the scientific man speaks of space and time, cause and effect, substance and qualities, matter and mind, reality and unreality. S/he certainly is in a position to add to our knowledge of the things covered by these terms. But we should never overlook the fact that the new knowledge which s/he gives us is a knowledge of the same kind as that which we had before. S/he measures for us spaces and times; s/he does not tell us what space and time are. S/he points out the causes of a multitude of occurrences; s/he does not tell us what we mean whenever we use the word "cause." S/he informs us what we should accept as real and what we should repudiate as unreal; s/he does not try to show us what it is to be real and what it is to be unreal. In other words, the man of science extends our knowledge and makes it more accurate; s/he does not analyze certain fundamental conceptions, which we all use, but of which we can usually give a very poor account. On the other hand, it is the task of reflective thought, not in the first instance, to extend the limits of our knowledge of the world of matter and of minds, but rather to make us more clearly conscious of what that knowledge really is. Philosophical reflection takes up and tries to analyze complex thoughts that men use daily without caring to analyze them, indeed, without even realizing that they may be subjected to analysis. It is to be expected that it should impress many of those who are introduced to it for the first time as rather a fantastic creation of problems that do not present themselves naturally to the healthy mind. There is no thoughtful man who does not reflect sometimes and about some things; but there are few who feel impelled to go over the whole edifice of their knowledge and examine it with a critical eye from its turrets to its foundations. In a sense, we may say that philosophical thought is not natural, for s/he who is examining the assumptions upon which all our ordinary thought about the world rests is no longer in the world of the plain man. S/he is treating things as men do not commonly treat them, and it is perhaps natural that it should appear to some that, in the solvent which s/he uses, the real world in which we all rejoice should seem to dissolve and disappear. I have said that it is not the task of reflective thought, in the first instance, to extend the limits of our knowledge of the world of matter and of minds. This is true. But this does not mean that, as a result of a careful reflective analysis, some errors which may creep into the thought both of the plain man and of the scientist may not be exploded; nor does it mean that some new extensions of our knowledge may not be suggested. ~ G.S. Fullerton Reflective Thought involves taking a step back from our immediate thoughts and experiences to examine them from a different perspective. It's about analyzing our own assumptions, biases, and thought processes. Reflective thinking can lead to deeper understanding, personal growth, and a more nuanced perspective on the world. Reflective Thought can occur at different levels of depth and complexity. Simple reflection might involve replaying a recent conversation in your head and analyzing what you said. Deeper reflection might involve examining your core values or beliefs and how they influence your actions. For instance, it can involve some level of introspection, where we turn our attention inwards and examine our own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. We ask ourselves questions like "Why did I think that way?" or "What emotions am I feeling?". Imagine a detective investigating a crime scene. Reflective thinking is like the detective taking a step back from the initial observations and questioning their own assumptions about the case. This critical self-reflection allows them to consider alternative explanations and arrive at a more accurate understanding of the situation. Before philosophers can engage with complex arguments or analyze the world around them, they need to be aware of their own thought processes, biases, and limitations. Reflective thinking provides this self-awareness, ensuring a more grounded and objective approach to philosophical problems. In fact, while some might argue that curiosity or a sense of wonder could be considered the initial spark that ignites philosophical inquiry, followed by reflective thought to guide further exploration, others could even argue that reflective thinking is the bedrock upon which philosophy itself was built. Yes, philosophy begins with a spark of curiosity, a questioning of the world around us. This curiosity can stem from observing natural phenomena, pondering our own existence, or encountering different beliefs and values. However, curiosity alone wouldn't necessarily lead to philosophy. It's reflective thought that takes that initial curiosity and transforms it into a systematic inquiry. By reflecting on our observations, experiences, and questions, we can begin to identify patterns, analyze assumptions, and formulate reasoned arguments. Reflective thought allows us to move beyond simply wondering "why?" and delve deeper into the "how?" and the "what if?". It helps us formulate clear questions, consider different perspectives, and critically examine potential answers.

Mathematics As A Systematic Form Of Speculative Thinking Mathematics is inherently speculative. It is built upon a foundation of abstract axioms and further developed through logic. These axioms aren't proven true in the traditional sense, but they are accepted as the building blocks for constructing a consistent and logical system. This combination of abstract axioms and systematic reasoning is what sets mathematics apart from mere speculation. By relying on abstract concepts, mathematics transcends specific contexts and becomes applicable to a wide range of problems and phenomena, from physics and engineering to computer science and economics. The emphasis on systematic reasoning ensures the internal consistency and reliability of mathematical results. Theorems and proofs are not based on intuition or guesswork, but on a logical chain of reasoning grounded in the initial speculated axioms. Within this rigorous framework, mathematicians can still engage in exploration and discovery. By systematically exploring the implications of axioms and existing theorems, new possibilities and groundbreaking discoveries are constantly being made. Imagine building a house of cards. You select the cards themselves (axioms) based on certain assumptions (they seem sturdy and can be stacked). This selection has a speculative element. But once you start building (logical deduction), you follow rules (based on how cards interact) to ensure the house doesn't collapse (maintain consistency). The success of the house doesn't depend on the absolute truth of the cards being the strongest material, but on how well they fit together according to the rules. In essence, mathematics leverages an initial speculative element (axioms) to build a rigorous system for exploration and discovery using logic. So, unlike pure speculation, the focus in mathematics is not on whether the axioms are absolutely true, but on whether they lead to a consistent and non-contradictory system. Mathematicians are primarily concerned with building a logical framework where theorems can be rigorously proven based on the chosen axioms. And within this consistent framework, mathematicians can engage in a form of logical speculation. They explore the consequences of the axioms, propose new concepts, and develop conjectures. These conjectures can then be proven or disproven through rigorous scientific methods, thus carefully bringing them into the world of common thought. Therefore, in summary, here's why mathematics is inherently speculative: Mathematics doesn't operate in a complete vacuum. It has a set of axioms (assumed truths) and established rules of logic. However, within this framework, mathematicians engage in a systematic exploration of possibilities. They ask "what if" questions and explore the consequences of those assumptions. Mathematical concepts are intended to be universal and independent of any specific physical realization. Abstract axioms help achieve this by focusing on relationships and properties rather than concrete objects. Mathematicians don't necessarily "prove" these axioms to be true in the traditional sense. Instead, they are considered self-evident truths that form the foundation for building logical structures within mathematics. Examples of Systematic Speculation in Math: Non-Euclidean Geometries: Euclidean geometry was the established framework for centuries. Speculative mathematicians like Riemann explored the possibility of alternative geometries with different axioms, leading to groundbreaking discoveries in general relativity. Imaginary Numbers: The concept of negative square roots initially seemed counterintuitive. However, mathematicians systematically explored the implications of imaginary numbers, leading to the development of complex analysis, which has numerous applications in physics and engineering. Abstract Algebra: Abstract algebra emerged from attempts to solve polynomial equations. Mathematicians systematically explored the relationships between mathematical structures, leading to powerful new tools and applications in cryptography and coding theory. In essence, mathematics is a continuous process of systematic speculation. Mathematicians explore possibilities, develop new concepts, and rigorously justify them within the established framework. This ongoing exploration pushes the boundaries of mathematical knowledge and leads to groundbreaking discoveries that impact various fields.