‘Now, it’s easy to assume that
perception gives us direct access to the world.’ The professor looks around,
for signs of assent. ‘Right?’
Everyone avoids making eye
contact. The baseball-capped student in the front row slumps a little further
down into his seat. Hides his eyes behind the brim.
‘But in light of various
skeptical arguments, we can doubt if this is really the case. After all, the
visible world could just be a grand illusion.’
The student glances over to
where he left his skateboard propped against the wall, as he came in. It’s
still there. He looks back.
‘We could all be systematically
deceived, all the time, by some kind of evil genius.’
The girl in front of me scrolls
slowly down the page on her Internet browser. ’16 Christian dating principles,
part 1’, it says. ‘Maximise your singleness for God.’ She cranes her neck,
peering at the screen.
‘So even though I seem to be
able to see the world, I might not actually be perceiving anything. I might
have no access to the world whatsoever.’
The young man next to me is
texting, behind the screen of his laptop, seemingly unconcerned with the
prospect that the entirety of his perceptual experience could be an illusion.
The phone vibrates. He shoves it in his pocket, takes a sip from his plastic coffee mug.
‘I might not actually be seeing
any objects at all.’ The professor is pacing now. ‘I might not be seeing
chairs, tables. Trash cans.’ She taps the table, indicates a chair. Points at
the wastepaper bin in the corner. Looks around, for more examples of things we
might all be robustly failing to see. I’ve done tables, I’ve done chairs, trash
cans…
‘Hairdos,’ she announces.
Hairdos?
Is a hairdo an object of
perception? Is it not some kind of property of somebody’s hair, rather than an
entity in itself? What does it take for one’s hair to constitute a hairdo? Is
even the most unkempt barnet a hairdo, or does it require some kind of
intention, some kind of design? Some pruning?
And what about the absence of
hair? Does a bald patch count as part of a hairdo? If so, is such a hairdo
partially constituted by a characteristic absence?
Might this mean that absences be
directly perceived?
I can’t shake off the image.
Could a hairdo exist on its own?
Might there be some vagrant
hairdos wandering around campus, roaming around the corridors, emancipated from
their human bearers? Little fringed shrubs, perhaps, blonde and brown, red and
black, bustling industriously to class. Disembodied afros, bouncing about
merrily, or rolling to and fro like tumbleweed. Mullets, sliding around the
walls of country dance-halls.
Coiffed bobs, nodding
energetically in assent, in the front row of lecture theatres.
The discussion has moved on, but
it’s a lost cause. What would happen if you passed a hairdo in the corridor?
You would stand back, aghast.
Point, finger trembling.
‘Jesus Christ! What the hell is that?’
‘Oh, it’s a hairdo.’ A passing undergraduate shrugs. ‘But don’t worry, you might not be seeing it.’
‘Jesus Christ! What the hell is that?’
‘Oh, it’s a hairdo.’ A passing undergraduate shrugs. ‘But don’t worry, you might not be seeing it.’
I finally manage to turn my
attention back to the discussion. Hopefully I haven’t missed too much.
‘And that’s it for today, folks. See you on Thursday.’
‘And that’s it for today, folks. See you on Thursday.’
I pack up my books in defeat.