Category: philosophy

Where is my face?

A handsome man wakes up one morning to look at himself.
He stares at the mirror in shock:
“What’s this? Where did my real face go?”

There is a face in the mirror, but the man has already decided: it’s not his.
It’s just a reflection in the mirror. Not the actual thing.

He then takes out a camera and snaps a selfie.
Looking at the photo, he concludes: it’s not his face too.
It’s only a digital image of lighted pixels. Not the actual thing.

By this time he is in a state of panic.
For he realises what a deluded life he’s been leading all this while, believing that reflections and images are his real face when they are merely illusory representations. He has actually never seen his own real face.

“What is my real face? How is it really like? How can I ever see it?”

What kind of bird is that?

One kid says to me, “See that bird? What kind of bird is that?”

I said, “I haven’t the slightest idea what kind of a bird it is.”

He says, “It’s a brown-throated thrush. Your father doesn’t teach you anything.”

But it was the opposite. My father had already taught me: “See that bird?” my father says. “It’s a Spencer’s warbler.” (I knew he didn’t know the real name.) “Well, in Italian, it’s a Ciutto Lapittida. In Portuguese, it’s a Bom da Peida. In Chinese, it’s a Chung-long-tah, and in Japanese, it’s a Katano Tekeda. You can know the name of that bird in all the languages of the world, but when you’re finished, you’ll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird. You’ll only know about humans in different places, and what they call the bird. So let’s look at the bird and see what it’s doing – that’s what counts.” (I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.)

– by Richard Feynman

The lion still roars

View the video excerpt of Lee Kuan Yew’s first National Day rally speech on 8 August 1966.

Transcript of the excerpt below:

Never be depressed, never be deflated by setbacks. We suffered setbacks. In 1964, there were two communal riots. And we do not pretend to ourselves they were not communal riots – they were. We face facts. And this is one of the greatest strengths about Singapore: its willingness to face reality including the 9th of August. We used to celebrate 3rd of June; then, it was the 16th of September, when we promulgated Malaysia. Then, it went back to the 31st of August because other people celebrated the 31st of August. And then it had to be the 9th of August, and the 9th of August it is, not because we wished it to be but because it was. This capacity to face up to situations, however intractable, however unpleasant, is one of the great qualities for survival. A people able to look facts squarely in the face, able to calculate the odds, to weigh the chances and then to decide to go it, are a people not likely to go under. And when this time last year, before the news was broken to the world, my colleagues and I carried that heavy burden in our hearts of having made the decision on your behalf, we consoled ourselves with this thought: that whilst thereafter, the multi-racial society that we had set out to create could be implemented only within the confines of Singapore, we knew deep down that ultimately, its impact must spread far beyond its shores.

No geographic or political boundary can contain the implications of what we set out to do when we succeed. And, there is no reason why given patience, tolerance, perseverance, we should not, in this hub, in this confluence of three indeed, four great civilisations, create a situation which will act as a yeast, a ferment for what is possible, given good will, forbearance and good faith.

Every year, on this 9th August for many years ahead – how many, I do not know – we will dedicate ourselves anew to consolidate ourselves to survive; and, most important of all, to find an enduring future for what we have built and what our forebears will build up.

Transformation of things

Once, Zhuangzi dreamt that he was a butterfly – flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself, doing as he pleased…
He didn’t know he was Zhuangzi.

Suddenly he woke up.
And there he was. Solid, unmistakably, Zhuangzi.

Yet he wondered:
“Did I just dream I was a butterfly? Or am I just the dream of a butterfly now?”