Back to Monism!

 

Back to monism!

That’s a nice rallying cry, don’t you think? It’s kind of like, "Let’s get back to the old-fashioned values, when we taught our kids that everything was a unity that was reducible to one substance or essence!"

Nah, I don’t see that happening, either.

But just where were we before I got carried away with Hume and Kant and how do we know what we know?

We were talking about monism.

We were talking about the first Greek philosophers, the so-called Milesian school (Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes), remember? They get called "monists" because they theorized that everything in the universe was made of one kind of "stuff," right? Thales thought it was water, Anaximander thought it was the indefinite (or apeiron), and Anaximenes thought it was aer (like air, but a little thicker, like in L.A.).

And they were all wrong, right?

Okay.

Well, actually Anaximander kind of got kind of closer to the truth than the other guys, didn’t he? I mean, he reasoned that the essential stuff couldn’t be any one particular element that you’d find in the world, right? It would have to be something that was more fundamental and indeterminate than that if it could change into everything else, wouldn’t it?

Hmm . . . What does modern science say?

Like I mentioned once before, it kind of sounds like way physicists talk about energy, isn’t it? I mean, if I understand them correctly, everything in the universe is convertible to energy, right? And energy can neither be created or destroyed - there’s always just so much out there. (Presumably just the right amount.)

Well, doesn’t that kind of sound like what Anaximander was talking about?

Of course, Anaximander didn’t say anything about energy. He never brought his theory up to a scientific level where you could test it to see if he was right, did he? Nah, he was more of what we’d call a proto-scientist. He was dealing in abstract concepts, which is basically all the guy had to work with.

So if we’re good Kantians (I presume everybody here is by now), we’d have to say that Anaximander really wasn’t dealing with "the phenomenal world" of empirical reality where you can use your senses to determine the truth, could we?

No, the apeiron was something just a little too abstract for that.

So Anaximander was dealing with what?

That’s right! He was dealing with the "noumenal world." And we can’t know anything about that, can we?

Well?

Kant says we can’t, right?

Okay, let’s take a closer look at the difference.

If Anaximander was talking about "the phenomenal world," then when he said "the world" or "reality" or "everything" (or whatever it was he said in Ionian Greek), he would have to be referring to "the physical universe that we can observe." But Anaximander didn’t know anything about "the physical universe," at least not in our sense of the term, did he? I mean, he didn’t know about star systems within multiple galaxies, forming a vast complex of a unified system that operated under universal laws, did he? Nor did he have an inkling of an idea about the miniscule world of the atom and subatomic particles, where things seem to behave a little differently. Nope.

Hey, let’s cut the guy some slack. He lived in the 6th century BCE for crying out loud!

But when Anaximander thought about "the world" (or whatever he called it), he had some sort of picture in his head, didn’t he? And though we know that the Milesians couldn’t have been thorough-going materialists (since the distinction between the material and the non-material had yet to be made clear), he seems to have thought, probably a lot more than most people did in those days, in generally materialistic terms. I mean that’s what he and the other Milesians were all on about essentially, right? Matter? Stuff? Physis? What was everything made of?

Okay, so let’s say that Anaximander was kind of scientific. He was also kind of philosophic, too.

Now, I’m not saying that he thought of "the world" as a purely abstract realm of being. He didn’t. Some later Greek philosophers thought that. Anaximander wasn’t one.

He kind of fell more in the middle of the question. Hey, it was a new question. And it was kind of vague. Once again, slack.

So when Anaximander said that everything was made out of the same stuff, and this stuff was the unlimited indeterminate (or apeiron), he wasn’t being purely scientific, and he wasn’t being purely philosophic either.

I mean, he wasn’t scientific because he couldn’t test to see if he was right about about the apeiron. And he wasn’t really purely philosophic because he never raised his theory to a formal, abstract theory about being in itself, right? The guy basically couldn’t see the difference. This is why I say he kind of fell into a crack halfway between the two.

Now, what if Anaximander had said something along the lines of, "There is such a thing as Absolute Being, and that is all that exists. And that Absolute Being is formed out of an unlimited or unbounded indeterminate, which I declare is a formal abstract principle (or arche), out which everything ultimately derives."

Well, I think then he’d definitely be in pure philosophical territory. And that’s "the noumenal world." So Kant would have to come along and tell him something to the effect of, "You may be right. But you’ll never know it."

Are we all on the same page here?

I think we all can grasp the basic difference, right? If we’re talking about observable material reality, then we can test to see if we are right. If we’re talking about a purely abstract concept, then there’s no way that we can prove it.

Right?

Okay. I basically accept that.

It just seems a little strange to me that we can look at something as vast and immense as the physical universe and meaningfully (and truthfully) say: "That thing is a unity." But we can’t look at an abstract concept like being itself and say exactly the same thing.

Well, you know the reason we can’t, right? Because being itself doesn’t have a definition that we can exhaust, that we can observe and measure. It’s just an idea, and we can’t prove that it’s anything more than just an idea!

Ah!

But what if we say something like . . .

"You know, since the whole physical universe is a unity, I bet that being itself is probably something like a unity, too."

Can we say that?

Well, of course we can say that. We can say anything. But does it mean something? And more importantly, is it really a valid argument?

　Hmmm . . . let's think about that for a minute. Anybody got any ideas?

Wait, what did Kant say about analogies?

I forget.

Naw, I didn't really forget. But that doesn't mean I understand what the hell he's talking about exactly. I mean, come on, does anybody?

But what if . . . I mean just think for a moment . . . what if all philosophical statements - and (hey!) all religious statements, too (come to think of it) - are actually, ultimately, fundamentally, when you get right down to it, nothing more and nothing less than . . .

METAPHORS?!!!

Well, I don't know. What if?

Let me think about it.

- petey

1965 in Music (January 15)

The Kinks: "Tired of Waiting for You" (Ray Davies) / "Come On Now" (R. Davies) [Both on UK album Kinda Kinks and US album Kinks-Size.] (January 15, 1965)

A great year for British rock got off to a wonderful start on this date, first of all, with the release of the third classic Kinks single in a row (following 1964’s "You Really Got Me" and "All Day and All of the Night). Although "Tired of Waiting for You" was more reflective and melodically sensitive than the two previous hard-rockers, guitarist Dave Davies laid down another repeating power riff that sparked magic, creating the group’s most accomplished and complex song yet. The record shot to the No. 1 spot in Britain and the No. 6 spot on the U.S. Billboard chart - the highest the group would get in America until 1983! It remains one of the Kinks’ most beloved early singles and completed their "power pop trifecta."

Ray Davies is a man to watch in 1965. Beginning here, and throughout the year, he will experiment with the unusual position he's found himself in and will endeavor to explore to uncover a hidden treasure that will eventually result in something very much resembling genius. What will finally emerge will be unlike any other voice or vision in rock history.

The B-side, "Come on Now", another Davies original, is a more simplistic (and conventional) upbeat number driven by brother Dave’s repeated guitar lick, similar in style to the Beatles’ "I Feel Fine," but not nearly as imaginative. Still, it's fun.

 

 

 

 

 

The Rolling Stones: The Rolling Stones No. 2 (UK: January 15, 1965)

The Stones had triumphed in the UK in 1964. Their first album, two subsequent singles, and an EP had all shot straight to the top of the charts, and the group appeared to be challenging the Beatles themselves for the title of the biggest band in Britain. Like its predecessor, The Rolling Stones No. 2 featured the sullen faces of five potentially threatening lads and no title or graphics other than the Decca logo. The message was plain: these guys were tough and serious, and they weren’t fooling around.

The music inside bespoke no less: these rough ‘n’ dirty blues-based Londoners were on a mission, and they were getting stronger and meaner. There was no question that they were probably determined to take over the world, not just the charts. The inherent danger and blatant sexuality of the Rolling Stones were quite shocking for the time and place (this was Britain, after all), but the group was growing even stronger and tighter in their playing, especially after their first (difficult) tour of America and their pilgrimage to Chess Records in Chicago. In traditional British fashion, their last two hits, "It’s All Over Now" and the pure blues of "Little Red Rooster" were nowhere to be found here. Instead, ravenous English fans were treated to twelve new numbers, the majority of which contained some of the cockiest and dirtiest sounds ever produced on the island.

Although there were only three original compositions here, nobody could accuse the Stones of being unoriginal. Despite all their influences, they simply sounded like nobody else, and this, their second LP would rocket straight to the No. 1 chart position immediately after its release, displacing The Beatles for Sale. And as if to demonstrate the group’s (and their fans’) persistence, it would drop to the lower spot twice before returning triumphantly to the top each time.

As for America, where the Stones were still building a following and gaining momentum, this particular album would not be seen or heard. (Strangely enough, when the group’s albums were released on compact disc in the 1980s, and both the UK and US versions were issued in the new format, this and the first album were not. The Rolling Stones No. 2 is still unavailable on CD, though it’s on Spotify and it can be purchased on download.) Yanks had already heard a few of these songs on 12 X 5 (a US-only album), and most of the rest would arrive the following months on an album entitled The Rolling Stones, Now! If you get a chance, however, you should take the opportunity to listen to the original LP the way the band intended it. It is a mother!

Track listing:



SIDE ONE

 

1. "Everybody Needs Somebody to Love" (Solomon Burke/Bert Berns/Jerry Wexler) [Long version - short version on The Rolling Stones, Now! (US).] - The Stones were not only playing the older black American forms of blues, r&b, and Chuck Berry rock ‘n’ roll, but were heavily into contemporary soul singers. The record opens with a remake of Solomon Burke’s 1964 single, which was designed as a show opener. It’s audacious in every sense of the word, as Jagger takes no hesitation to mimic Burke’s crowd-greeting patter word-for-word, but in his own haughty/naughty stage voice. The Stones sound raw and fuzzy when set against the crisp professionalism of American soul musicians. To what degree these differences are intentional at this point, and how much is simply a failure to copy well we shall probably never know. One thing is for certain - the Stones sound assured. As a matter of fact, they’re assured enough to go on for five full minutes mostly with four repeating chords and Jagger playing with the invisible audience. (This is the only place I know that you can find this version - a shorter, inferior one starts off The Rolling Stones, Now!.)

2. "Down Home Girl" (Jerry Lieber/Arthur Butler) [On The Rolling Stones, Now!.] - Now this was just plain dirty! Jerry Lieber (of the famous Lieber and Stoller songwriting team) helped fashion this comic blues number for New Orleans singer Alvin Robinson the year before. It wasn’t a hit, but someone in the Stones heard it, and the group effortlessly inhabited it, filling all its raunchy feel and innuendo with their own sleazy hybrid. Jagger sounds downright salacious here, and Brian Jones’ slide guitar makes everything sound much nastier than the original horn section he’s copying. Just what was one to make of this kind of confection, anyway? To accuse the Stones of imitating American black musicians seems to miss the point in light of their own original sound. And perhaps more importantly, Jagger’s complete intuitive grasp of the exaggerated humor of songs like this actually move them to another level where interpretation becomes much more complex. But just listen to the mean snap of Keith Richard’s guitar and the heavy, predatory bass of Bill Wyman. There’s no question that for four glorious minutes, that this is the coolest, nastiest band . . . well, in Britain, at least. And for many an alienated youth, that was miracle enough.  

3. "You Can’t Catch Me" (Chuck Berry) [On The Rolling, Now!.] - The Stones had already established themselves as the greatest Chuck Berry cover band in the world, and they reach a kind of apotheosis here, taking Chuck’s cool, strutting 1956 car boast and transforming it into a ponderous sex machine that still rocks. Just a slightly slower tempo lets band open up all kinds of hidden meanings and hidden grooves in what’s already a classic song. These guys are rapidly imposing their will and vision on everything they touch.

 4. "Time Is On My Side" (Norman Meade) [Guitar-intro version. Earlier organ-intro version 1964 US single appears on 12 X 5 (USA).] - Yes, the Stones had already had a Top 10 U.S. hit in ‘64 with their copy of soul singer Irma Thomas’ record, but this re-recorded version is the one that’s definitive. Not only does it have that distinctive, bluesy guitar intro, but the whole group gets deeper into the groove. When Jagger steps out front in the talking section, he’s really got something to strut to. Here’s another reason you need this album. (This version does appear on Big Hits (High Tide and Green Grass) (1966) and Hot Rocks 1964-1971 (1971), however.)

 5. "What a Shame" (Mick Jagger/Keith Richards) [B-side of 1964 US single "Heart of Stone." On The Rolling Stones, Now!] - Americans who had bought "Heart of Stone" would have heard this original Jagger/Richards blues number, but it was new to England, and it fits in well here. It’s not so much that it’s an accomplished composition as it is a vehicle for the band to demonstrate just how damned funky they can sound. Richards provides a skronky guitar figure throughout, Charlie Watts’ cool sense of time is impeccable, and Brian Jones delivers some stinging slide. Wyman’s bass line slithers and Mick blows a mean harp. Cool as shit.

6. "Grown Up Wrong" (Jagger/Richards) [On 12 X 5 (US: 1964).] - Here’s another original that sounds like it was written in the 2 minutes and 5 seconds it takes to play it. And that’s not an insult. If it wasn’t for Brian Jones’ insistent slide guitar and Mick’s harp solo at the end, I’d probably call this "proto-punk." And it may be anyway. It also begins a series of songs that directly address and criticize the group’s female contemporaries. There aren’t many particulars that are worthy of mention here ("you’ve grown up all wrong," "you’ve grown up too fast," "you come on too strong," etc.), but this theme will become so prominent that it deserves notice, I think. It’s loud, insistent, with relentlessly pounding drums and bass, and it’s got a snotty attitude that makes it a good song to end the first side with. (It sounds more impressive here than it did on 12 X 5 for some reason. Context, I suppose.)

SIDE TWO

 7. "Down the Road Apiece" (Dan Raye) [On The Rolling Stones, Now!.] - Side two opens with what sounds like another Chuck Berry song, and actually Berry did record this 1940 "boogie-woogie" number as a rock ‘n’ roller, which is probably what the Stones used to base their version. While Berry’s version struts, the Stones’ goes for broke. They take it at a faster tempo, with Richards laying down dirty Berry-style licks while Jagger thrills with phrases about "chicken cooked in bacon grease." The group’s commitment to this material is absolute, and their wild, fired-up delivery reinforces their growing reputation as the hardest-rocking band in Britain. The group’s utter love for the gritty, raw feel of the Black American Experience is as powerful as their amazing ability to pull off their own authentic version of it. (Ian Stewart goes wild on the piano, too.)

8. "Under the Boardwalk" (Arthur Resnick/Kenny Young) [On 12 X 5.] - I’ve always found the Stones’ version of this Drifters classic as unconvincing and a little silly as it appears on 12 X 5, but here, where it’s supposed to be, it actually seems to work. It’s a happy, tuneful, carefree idyll the next day after the night’s raw intensity of "Down the Road Apiece, and it demonstrates the band’s growing range. I believe that’s Brian Jones with the pretty acoustic 12-string solo.

9. "I Can’t Be Satisfied" (McKinley Morganfield) - This track alone makes it a criminal affair that this album is not available on CD in this configuration. I don’t know anywhere else you can get this beautiful interpretation of this great Muddy Waters song, and it certainly never appeared on any of the Stones’ ‘60s albums in America. And that’s a damn shame, not only because it’s a great testimony to the group’s mastery (and love) of real Chicago blues, but because it’s just so beautiful and fun. Now, of course, if you play it back-to-back with Muddy’s original, it sounds like a boy’s version of a man’s song. But there’s nothing wrong with that! Mick’s powers of vocal interpretation are growing, as he uses Muddy’s model to create his own sense of sass. And more importantly, the band gets the feel right. Brian Jones’ slide playing is not only accomplished - it’s pure, liberating joy.

10. "Pain in My Heart" (Allen Toussaint) [On The Rolling Stones, Now!] - The Stones return to Soulsville here, and it sounds great. And once again, no, Jagger cannot match the existential intensity of a master like Otis Redding, but he is creating his own persona that’s not only unique but uniquely compelling. And does the band play hard! This is a "heavy" soul that doesn’t drag. In short, it’s the Rolling Stones converting Black American music into their own ferocious form of rock ‘n’ roll. And to hear just how good they are it by this point in their career is nothing short of amazing. Bill Wyman’s bass sound is enormous.

11. "Off the Hook" (Jagger/Richard) [B-side of 1964 UK single "Little Red Rooster."On The Rolling Stones, Now!.] - Here’s one more original, and it works. That doesn’t mean it’s great, but it fits right in, and that’s saying something. Basically, it’s a silly little song with a heavy repeating riff and some Brian Jones stinging slide-work. Jagger gets to strut a little, though with his revenge story of an unanswered phone call. "Under My Thumb" it’s not, but it is fun.

12. "Susie Q" (Dale Hawkins/Stan Lewis/Eleanor Broadwater) [On 12 X 5.] - The album ends with Dale Hawkins’ swamp-boogie classic which the Stones turn into more of a garage-band rave up, with Charlie Watts pounding the drums to make the neighbors call the cops and Keith Richards going absolutely ape-crazy on his distorted Telecaster (I presume). In its own way, "Susie Q" is the band’s way of promising that they’re not going to behave, and that’s enough to make any repressed, rebellious kid stick his fist in the air and celebrate.

Once again, The Rolling Stones No. 2 is a truly great rock ‘n’ roll album, not just for its period, but period. And it’s a shame that it’s not available on CD, because it represents a critical point where the world’s greatest rock band was just beginning to hit its stride. So listen to it whole, if you get the chance. It’s a great start for ‘65 for the Rolling Stones - they may not have realized it yet, but they had one hell of year waiting for them.

   



The Who: "I Can’t Explain" (Pete Townshend) / "Bald Headed Woman" (Shel Talmy) (UK: January 15, 1965) [Both available on the Deluxe Edition of My Generation(2002)]

 

Wait, who’s the greatest rock group of all time? While the Stones were coming of age, another London band was exploding onto the scene. "I Can’t Explain" was the first single to be released by a band called the Who. (A group called The High Numbers had released "Zoot Suit"/"I’m the Face" in 1964 to no response and changed their name back again.) Pete Townshend. Roger Daltry. John Entwistle. Keith Moon. The loudest, most aggressive, insane, shattering, devastating sound ever heard on the planet. For millions of fans, this remains the definitive rock band.

And of course all the cliches about the group remain - probably because they are all so true. They waged war onstage. They didn’t complement each other like the Beatles did - they cancelled each other out. They were violent. They were anarchistic. They smashed their instruments. They were punks before there were punks. And they were British, right down to their Union Jack shirts.

Pete Townshend was the resident genius, the sensitive, contradictory composer who could make you cry or who’d throw a guitar at you as soon as look at you. Roger Daltry, the pretty-boy lead singer was actually a tough guy, a working class street kid with an attitude. Even if he was the "front man", his band-mates would always show him up. John Entwistle, tall, standing stock still and looking bored, quietly played the greatest bass lines ever heard in rock music history. And the madman - Keith Moon, the center of the storm, creating a cyclone of sound around his drum kit, a manic lunatic that couldn’t keep still, so he’d beat everything in sight. Still today, nobody knows how he played like that - it was impossible. And when these guys hit the stage, it was a four-way battle for control that somehow coalesced into the most ferocious, psychotic, cathartic - and yet somehow heartbreakingly beautiful - sound anybody had ever heard.

"I Can’t Explain" is the perfect first-Who song, a confession of youthful confusion, an admission that there’s no way to say what’s in your heart and on your mind, but a willingness to go ahead and try to do it - as loud as you can - anyway. It was great in January of ‘65, and it was just as great and rang just as true ten years later when I saw them open their concert at the Tarrant County Convention Center with it. Even with Tommy, Who’s Next, and Quadrophenia under their belts, the Who’s ‘60s singles were the heart and soul of the band. This is the first one. Essential doesn’t even begin to say it. I don't care how you get them, but you need them all!

 



 

 

  

 

 



The B-side? "I don't want no bald-headed woman. It make me mean, make me mean!" Then an atomic explosion. They weren't much for subtlety back then.

 

 

 

 

 

More of 1965 coming soon!

- petey

 



 





1965 in Music (January 1)

 

Odetta: Odetta Sings Dylan (January 1, 1965)

The proverbial "Year of Bob Dylan" began without the man himself having to do anything at all. The mighty Odetta, whom Dr. Martin Luther King himself had proclaimed "the queen of American folk music" started things off by releasing an entire album of his songs. This act in itself should serve as ample demonstration of just how important Bob Dylan had become, not only to the folk music scene, but to the civil rights movement, and the progressive left in general. It is impossible to fully grasp the significance of Dylan’s actions and art throughout 1965 without realizing the depth and extent to which this segment of America had come to embrace the young songwriter as an icon, an embodiment of political and social struggle. The radical change in Dylan’s music, perspective and style can only be appreciated in the context of the position he had so rapidly attained.

Bob Dylan would later maintain that he in no way felt that he himself actually was this heralded "spokesman" - that all of his great reputation and fame was not only misguided and unwarranted, but it also began to act as a prison for him, both as an artist and as an individual. His recordings and performances of 1965 must be seen against this remarkable backdrop not only to be able to understand the rage and sense of betrayal that his idealistic fan base felt, but to grasp the extraordinary courage and audacity that Dylan himself displayed by his actions this year. Only by rebelling against what was becoming an enforced deification of himself, by risking everything in his career, by turning his back on the false image that his reputation had made of him, could Bob Dylan become free to become not only the greatest musical artist of his era, but to reclaim ownership of his own soul. The depth of meaning of this act would not be clear to most people in 1965 (or in 1966, for that matter). But his affect upon so many fellow artists - on the Beatles, the Byrds, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, the Lovin’ Spoonful - and countless others that would follow in the years to come - was both as immediately palpable as it was incalculable.

These future facts do not invalidate the quality and meaning of his songs up until this period, and they certainly do not challenge the glory and beauty of Odetta’s extraordinary interpretations of them. In a day and time when much of the great music of this period has been lost in the commercial shuffle of time, it is an awe-inspiring experience to return to such a monument as this extraordinary album to revisit the power, the glory and the idealism of this long-past time in American cultural history.

Odetta sings and plays guitar with a small combo featuring a beautiful stand-up bass. Her arrangements and interpretations often differ drastically from Dylan’s originals, but the power is retained, often enhanced. (There is even a little bit of electric guitar here, but it features a country sound rather than rock.) Aside from the more political leanings ("Masters of War," "The Times They Are a-Changin’," "With God on Our Side,"), Odetta includes several love songs that help round out the picture. She even concludes the set with the as-yet-unrecorded "Mr. Tambourine Man," adding her own powerful vision to these sturdy songs, half of which Dylan hadn’t released on record. This isn’t just a curio, then - it remains a vital and stirring testimony to both songwriter and performer that needs to be heard.

Track listing
All songs composed by Bob Dylan.
1. "Baby, I’m in the Mood for You"
2. "Long Ago, Far Away"
3. "Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright"

4. "Tomorrow Is a Long Time"

5. "Masters of War"

6. "Walkin’ Down the Line"

7. "The Times They Are a-Changin’"

8. "With God on Our Side"

9. "Long Time Gone"

10. "Mr. Tambourine Man"

CD BONUS TRACKS:

11. "Blowin’ in the Wind"

12. "Paths of Victory"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Categorically Imperative Sidestep

 

Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), to whom I’ve referred before, is one of the greatest and most important philosophers of all time. I mean, this guy was crazy-smart!

 

Now, not every philosopher agrees with Kant, but almost all historians of philosophy regard this German professor’s thoughts and writings as a major turning point in the history of Western thought. Kant’s greatest contribution was (arguably) in the realm of epistemology. This branch of philosophy deals with the "theory of knowledge" - that is, it is concerned with what, if anything we can actually know, as well as how we can know it. (How do you know what you know, you know?)

 

In Kant’s massive and ground-shifting work, A Critique of Pure Reason (1781), he set out to explain the relations and limitations of reason and knowledge itself. In what was perhaps the most thorough critical examination of the process of human cognition ever attempted, Kant came up with some radically new and different ways of looking at what we call "knowledge," all of which had an enormous impact, both on our theories of science, as well as our understanding of metaphysics, or "speculative philosophy." His ideas are often referred to as "a Copernican revolution" in philosophy, and his influence in modern thought is felt almost everywhere - even where his methods and conclusions are still in question.

 

Now, this is not the time to embark on a thorough review of Kant’s philosophical analysis - though if I live long enough, I thoroughly intend to do just that sometime in the future. But I believe that in order to help us more clearly understand some of the earlier speculations in the history of philosophy, some basic principles derived from Kant can help us to keep from becoming too confused in our thinking.

 

Without going too deep into Kant’s reasoning process (which is very deep indeed), I believe that one of his most helpful concepts is his separation of reality into two different realms: the "phenomenal world" and the "noumenal world." Just what did Kant mean by the concept of the "Noumenon"? Well, to make it easy, let’s just look it up in Wikipedia see what it says there:

 

Noumenon

The noumenon is a posited object or event that is known (if at all) without the use of the senses.

 

How do you like that, folks? Pretty straightforward and simple if you ask me.

 

Or is it?

 

Now, what?

 

It is . . . an object or event . . . that is known . . . without the use of the senses.

 

Like what?

 

Angels?

 

Nah, we can’t know there are angels. In fact, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any - I mean not really.

 

But what if there are something like angels?

 

Fine, but we can’t know what they are, can we?

 

Well, then . . . what about . . . justice?

 

Oh, shut up, Socrates! We’ve still got the pre-Socratics to get through!

 

Maybe it would be helpful if we read a little further . . .

 

The term is generally used in contrast with, or in relation to "phenomenon", which refers to anything that appears to, or is an object of, the senses.

 

Okay, that puts everything in a little bit clearer perspective, doesn’t it? "Phenomenon" refers to anything that we can perceive with our senses. If we can see, hear, smell, taste or touch it, then it’s a "phenomenon". Right? Right.

 

So all the things, people and places that appear to us in our physical world are phenomena, right? Absolutely. If we can sense it, it’s a phenomenon. Birds, dogs, trees, televisions, tits, fudge, packing crates, elevators, oil derricks, pantomimists (but not what they’re holding), etc., etc., are all phenomena. It’s everywhere we look. Everything we see is phenomena. Everything we hear. Everything we taste. (Okay, you get the drill.)

 

So if phenomenon is something we can sense, then what is noumenon? Obviously, it’s something that we can’t sense. Like what?

 

Okay, I’ve got two big ones right away. What are two things that we all believe are everywhere, all the time, but we can’t see, hear, or feel them, etc.? Come on, it’s not that hard. When I tell you, you’re really going to feel silly. You ready? You sure? Okay. Here they come . . .

 

Time and space.

 

What?

 

Think about it! We can’t see time. Well, okay, we watch things happening, we listen to music. We go to work. All these things take time, right. So we observe time, literally, all the time, right?

 

Nope. Never. We can see the movement, we can hear the music, we can spend the day at work. But we’re never, ever going to observe, in any way, shape or form, time itself.

 

Why is that? I don’t know. It’s pretty weird. What the hell is time, anyway?

 

Okay, let’s leave that alone for now and let it sink in. Maybe time is something special, something unique - something that we can’t directly observe.

 

But space? Space is everywhere! We can see space everywhere we look. We feel it wherever we go. I can jump up and down in it. Surely we can observe space?

 

Nope again. We can see things in space. We can move around in space. But we can’t perceive space itself with our senses. Just try it. Uh-huh. Told you so.

 

So just what the hell are time and space? If we can’t perceive them, are they really real?

 

I’m not going to tell you yet.

 

Actually, I’m not going to tell you, ever. And the reason is that - I don’t know!

 

We can’t know. And why is that?

 

Because we can’t perceive them with our senses, silly.

 

You see, Kant sat down and thought long and hard about such fundamental concepts as time and space, and he realized that he had a real problem on his hands. Not only had philosophers speculated for centuries about "absolute" concepts like God, the nature of being, eternity and transcendence, but they had all disagreed and broken up into warring camps. Every time a philosopher seemed to have a really good argument about any of these things, it seemed that some other philosopher would jump up and give equally good reasons why he was wrong and that reality was fundamentally different from what people generally thought.

 

Philosophy seemed to be getting nowhere - and it was taking its own long, sweet time about doing it as well. Meanwhile, the relatively new intellectual project called "empirical science" seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.

 

The older philosophers believed that the senses couldn’t be trusted. The only thing that these traditional philosophers believed in, going back at least to Plato among the ancient Greeks, was in the conclusions of "pure reason." It was obvious that we couldn’t know "ultimate reality" by just looking around us. But if you could prove something using the methods of pure deductive reasoning, then you really had something!

 

The problem was, philosophers kept right on philosophizing this way, using "pure reason" to get at the truth. Only they all seemed to come up with different answers that contradicted one another. Was there something inherently wrong with the way that philosophers went about conducting their business?

 

Well, by Kant’s day, there was a whole new breed of philosophers - mostly from England (yes, the land of Francis Bacon) - who decided that trying to figure out reality by deducting from pure reason wouldn’t get you anywhere. The only way you could actually find out something was to actually "look at it" - that is perceive it, in some way or another. This new group of philosophers called themselves "empiricists" because they believed that the only way knowledge could be attained was through the use of the senses.

 

Well, this new approach went pretty well, to say the least. And when the advocates of "empiricism" started applying their ideas to the world of physical science, they got big results. Finally, this whole movement seemed to reach a peak by 1687, with Isaac Newton’s publishing of his groundbreaking, all-encompassing Philosophia Naturalis Principia Mathematica ("Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy").

 

Everything was moving along quite nicely there for awhile, but suddenly someone dropped a huge turd into the punchbowl. In 1739, a Scottish philosopher named David Hume (1711-1776) published a little book called A Treatise of Human Nature. In it, Hume argued not only that we did not have any innate ideas that could allow us to reason about reality in general. We couldn’t even be sure of all of the basic assumptions that we carried around us that made empirical science - and even simple "common sense life" - possible.

 

 

All we have are sensory perceptions, Hume argued. That’s the only place we get knowledge. And if we look hard and square at ourselves, we had to admit that all that we really knew was that even we, ourselves, were just big bundles of perceptions. What gave us the right to assume that we were subjective beings, let alone "souls"?

 

Hume really hammered after it. Two of the really big assumptions that took it on the chin from him were the ideas of "induction" and "causation." Now, you’ve got to have those two things working for you if you’re going to have any sort of knowledge at all. But let’s take a look at them a little more closely.

 

"Induction" is the kind of reasoning upon which science (and common sense) is really based. It is the name for the process by which we observe particular things around us, and go on to make more general conclusions about those things and other things. Now, in order for induction to work, we have to be sure that everything in nature is going to go on consistently behaving like it always has. But, since it was quite conceivable that nature could change tomorrow, we really didn’t have any proof. Of course we could say it was more likely that it would continue to be consistent, but just on what exactly were we basing that presumption? That it always has in the past? Well, that’s the very thing that we were trying to prove - hence, we were arguing in a circle. Induction really couldn’t be justified.

 

Closely connected to the idea of induction was the idea of "causation." Now, we are in the habit of saying that we see one thing "cause" another, and while that may be a reasonable enough assumption, the fact remains that we don’t really see any causes at all. We see one thing happen, and then we see another thing happen. We just assume that the first thing causes the second. All we really see are sequences.

 

Now of course, David Hume was no idiot. He wasn’t seriously arguing that there isn’t such a thing as cause-and-effect, nor was he arguing that we couldn’t reasonably predict the future based on the past. He was merely pointing out that our capacity for real knowledge was severely limited. If we couldn’t even be absolutely certain about about inductive reasoning and causation, how on earth did we think we could construct grand metaphysical systems that actually proved anything about ultimate reality? Hume argued that we should forget about all that kind of speculation and stick to what our senses can tell us about the world.

 

When Immanuel Kant, being a German philosopher in the rationalistic tradition, read Hume’s critique on knowledge, he announced that "the scales had fallen from [his] eyes." Kant realized the devastating implications of Hume’s radical skepticism and took him quite seriously. After all, if we cannot be certain even about our most basic assumptions concerning the world around us, how could we possibly possess any true knowledge of things that transcended our observation?

 

After thinking over Hume’s objections long and hard, Kant finally had a breakthrough idea. What if, along with the capacity to receive sensations, our minds had a built-in way of organizing those sensations? Kant finally came to the conclusion that Hume hadn’t been looking at perception on a deep enough level. Sensations not only came to us through our senses, but they were filtered through the structure of our minds themselves! Induction and causation weren’t things that we observed - they were how we observed and the way we understood reality itself. Likewise, we didn’t see space and time. We experienced everything in space and time. All of those notions were already in our heads before we ever got any sensations whatsoever!

Kant called these built-in ways of understanding "categories of thought, and he argued that they were a kind of "a priori knowledge" - that is, they were a kind of knowledge that was hard-wired right into our brains themselves. The more Kant analyzed the way that we perceived, thought and reasoned, the more convinced he became that these a priori categories of knowledge had to be there, working all the time. Otherwise, there would be no explanation for how we could know or understand anything!

 

This created a little bit of a problem, though. Since everything we knew about the so-called world around us were actually sensations that were filtered through conceptual principles that were in our brains themselves, how could we know that what we saw and thought corresponded to the world outside of us?

 

Kant’s answer?

 

We couldn’t. Period.

 

What?

 

Here we go.

 

According to Kant, the only world of information to which we have any actual access whatsoever is "the phenomenal world." That is, the world of phenomena that we perceive with our senses and analyze with our innate categories of understanding.

 

As for the world beyond "the phenomenal world" - the so-called "noumenal world" - well, we had no access to it!

 

Kant referred to the "noumenal world" as "the thing-in-itself." That is, whatever is was, in real reality, in all its glory, as it actually is. We can’t get to that. Only a hypothetical "mind of God" could reach there. As for us, we’re stuck right where we always have been - in the "phenomenal world."

 

Now, did Kant mean to imply that the "phenomenal world" - everything we sensed and understood - only existed inside our heads?!!

 

Nein!!!

 

Okay, hold on. I’m going to try to explain this as best as I think I understand it.

 

Kant reasoned that it was a rational assumption that there were actual objects that existed in the world external to us, and those things were were the things that we were perceiving. And not only that, but those things probably actually existed - at least to some degree - in the way we perceived and understood them.

 

But that’s all we could say about them. What they were really like, what their ultimate nature or reality was in all of its glory, we would never be able to know. We couldn’t know "things-in-themselves". They were noumena. And noumena was off-limits for limited human beings, with their limited capacities of perception and categories of understanding. We were stuck in the "phenomenal world," and we had to be satisfied with that!

 

As far as Kant was concerned, however, that really wasn’t that bad of a thing. Actually, he was quite relieved. And this was because he believed that his theories about a priori categories of thought had "saved" both the physical sciences, as well as ordinary, everyday thought from the extraordinary challenges that had been hurled at them by David Hume. Those really were some quite serious problems that Hume had brought up, and whether one agrees with Kant or not about his solutions (philosophers, as always, are divided in their opinions), I think you’ve got to admit that his system was a pretty thorough and brilliant response. So if we agreed with him, we could go on quite confidently in our assumption that we could at least know the "phenomenal world."

 

But what about speculative philosophy? What about metaphysics? What about all those "ultimate" questions that we all really want to know, like the existence of God, the nature of Being, the problem of free will, eternity, infinity, and (like we were thinking about before), absolute unity?

 

We couldn’t know shit.

 

That stuff - if it existed at all - was all in the noumenal world.

 

And we couldn’t get in there!

 

In the conclusion to his fantastic little book, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics (1783), which Kant wrote (thankfully) since his Critique of Pure Reason was too long and complicated for us ordinary folks, he points out some neat little observations about human reason. You see, according to Kant, reason has its limitations, or as he liked to say, it was bounded. Human reason was constructed in such a way that it could comprehend "phenomena." But the human mind didn’t know when to quit. So it kept on trying to comprehend "noumena" without realizing that it was impossible. Philosophers had just been chewing on air, so to speak, for hundreds of years. The "ultimate" questions of metaphysics are simply out of our reach - there’s no way we can actually "know" them, because we can’t see or touch them - they’re cut off from us.

 

We’re in the dark.

 

But, wait, Kant said. That’s not so bad. By the very fact that we recognize that there is a boundary to our knowledge, it is perfectly rational to go ahead and assume that there really is something beyond that boundary! Just like we couldn’t have access to "things-in-themselves" but we could reasonably assume they were there, giving us our sensations, we could likewise very well assume that there could be something very much like a Supreme Being. We just couldn’t know if it were true or not.

 

So there. That just about wraps it up for speculative philosophy, doesn’t it?

 

Well, yes and no. With Kant’s "boundary" on pure reason, it is true that we can’t reach any absolute answers about "ultimate reality" like Plato, Descartes, Spinoza, and so many others had attempted to do. (So it was no surprise that all these great minds had come to different conclusions.) But it doesn’t mean we still can’t think about them.

 

What did Kant mean? Well, what he maintains in his book, is that we can still reason analogically about such matters. We can be rational and logical in thinking in terms of relationships of such ultimate terms as "God" to ourselves and the world - we just couldn’t prove that such a term like that actually existed or what it was really like.

 

And whether you want to go along with Kant’s entire philosophical structure or not, I still think he has a very valid point. We can sit and conceptualize and theorize about these "ultimate questions." We can even clearly rationalize about them analogically - in a kind of "what if" way. We just can’t ever completely know whether we’re right or not. We may think we are getting closer to the truth (and who knows, we might?). But we’re never going to know if we’ve got the right answer.

 

And in the last analysis, we have to be satisfied with that.

 

Ah, that’s not so bad, is it?

 

Like I said before, we would have to have the mind of God to actually understand and know all of ultimate reality. And I’m not sure how smart we really are, but one thing’s for sure: God we ain’t!

 

So now that we’ve taken this little detour to try to get our bearings - to find out just what we can know and what we can’t - we can go back to thinking about the Pre-Socratics and monism, and even pantheism and all kinds of fun things without losing our minds trying to figure out who’s right and who’s wrong.

 

‘Cause if Kant’s right - and I think he just might be - we ain’t never gonna know for sure!

 

NEXT: Back to monism, unity, pantheism, and all sorts of fascinating stuff!

 

- petey