But what about the world itself, Sophie? Do you think it can do what it
does? The world is also floating in space.
Sadly it is not only the force of gravity we get used to as we grow up.
The world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. It seems as if in the process
of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. And in doing so,
we lose something central—something philosophers try to restore. For
somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery.
This is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the
thought.
To be more precise: Although philosophical questions concern us all, we
do not all become philosophers. For various reasons most people get so
caught up in everyday affairs that their astonishment at the world gets pushed
into the background. (They crawl deep into the rabbit’s fur, snuggle down
comfortably, and stay there for the rest of their lives.)
To children, the world and everything in it is new, something that gives
rise to astonishment. It is not like that for adults. Most adults accept the world
as a matter of course.
This is precisely where philosophers are a notable exception. A
philosopher never gets quite used to the world. To him or her, the world
continues to seem a bit unreasonable—bewildering, even enigmatic.
Philosophers and small children thus have an important faculty in common.
You might say that throughout his life a philosopher remains as thin-skinned
as a child.
So now you must choose, Sophie. Are you a child who has not yet
become world-weary? Or are you a philosopher who will vow never to
become so?
If you just shake your head, not recognizing yourself as either a child or
a philosopher, then you have gotten so used to the world that it no longer
astonishes you. Watch out! You are on thin ice. And this is why you are
receiving this course in philosophy, just in case. I will not allow you, of all
people, to join the ranks of the apathetic and the indifferent. I want you to
have an inquiring mind.
The whole course is free of charge, so you get no money back if you do
not complete it. If you choose to break off the course you are free to do so. In
that case you must leave a message for me in the mailbox. A live frog would
be eminently suitable. Something green, at least, otherwise the mailman
might get scared.
To summarize briefly: A white rabbit is pulled out of a top hat. Because it
is an extremely large rabbit, the trick takes many billions of years. All mortals
are born at the very tip of the rabbit’s fine hairs, where they are in a position to
wonder at the impossibility of the trick. But as they grow older they work
themselves ever deeper into the fur. And there they stay. They become so
comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. Only
philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of
language and existence. Some of them fall off, but others cling on desperately
and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness, stuffing themselves
with delicious food and drink.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” they yell, “we are floating in space!” But none of
the people down there care.
“What a bunch of troublemakers!” they say. And they keep on chatting: