It's a Matter of Fact

The Webster stories, "Webster's Diction" , are best read in order.

This story is lecture #7, part of a series of lectures given by Professor Webster. The lectures are ordered as follows:
#1 is "The Color of God" 
#2 is "Silence in G Minor" 
#3 is "Three Hats, a Blind Man and a Dime" 
#4 is "Aristotle’s Pigeons" 
#5 is "Waiter, There is Fate in my Soup" 
#6 is "Is There a Problem Here" 

It’s a Matter of Fact

“Reality!” Webster holds his hands, palms up, as if offering a newborn to its eager mother.

“Reality is still the best place to get a good meatball sandwich.” Carlisle whispers to Cabra, who has been siting beside him for a couple of lectures now. “It’s Woody Allen - never mind.” Carlisle turns his attention back to Webster, failing to get a chuckle out of Cabra.

“Existence! What do we know about existence? I know I exist – Descartes walked us through this one - I think therefore I am. And I know that I can deduct certain truths intuitively – two plus two is four. All other truths, we’ve called contingent. We cannot know them with certainty,” Webster continues, now glancing at Carlisle, “Mr. Carlisle may prefer meatballs to chicken breast, but he may be hard-pressed to convince Mr. Cabra that either exists.”

Cabra elbows Carlisle, wishing that he had not gotten involved in Carlisle's comical diatribe.

“Dreams. You all know I am prone to the occasional nocturnal delusionary tendency. Some of you, I fear, believe my delirium does not fade with the morning light.” Webster beats Carlisle to the punch, though it is entirely unfair to suit Carlisle with all the blame on this point of speculation.

“I stubbed my toe in a dream last night. Fell right over my dead mother’s coffee table and then kept falling into a pool of fluffy white clouds and bite-sized candy bars, which did little to dampen the pain.” Webster says, biting his lip and squinting his eyes, which we all know is the universal pantomime for pain, although Carlisle thinks Webster looks a little constipated.

“When I woke up, I was rested as can be and my toes, I was glad to see, were still as white as driven snow.” Webster wiggled his fingers instead, for he arguably hadn’t seen his toes in years.

“I have, here before you, the table of which I dreamed. It belonged to my mother, and her mother before her. I apologize for it’s uncomely state. I’ve been meaning to polish it – as soon as I can prove it exists.” Webster says, tapping it with his knuckles.

“Matter. I tripped over it in my dreams. But it was gone when I woke up.”

“Perception. What do you know about perception Ms. Lauren?”

“I think perception is truth, perception is reality. Right?” Lauren says unconvincingly, though she had read Berkeley last week, as Webster suggested. “Berkeley says we have no reason to believe anything exists which we cannot perceive.”

“I think, therefore I am. Do you think I am Ms. Lauren?” Webster asks optimistically.

Lauren’s nod gives him permission to continue, “You think I am, though you cannot perceive my thoughts. If I exist only in Berkeley’s perception, then I cannot have independent thought, but only that thought that Berkeley perceives I have. To Berkeley, and his Idealists, I cannot exist unless I am perceived.”

“I think, therefore I am – I am, independent of Berkeley, I am.”

“I remember when I was a strapping young man, a fine specimen, even for Berkeley’s discerning eye. But I am now, as I am then. Though Berkeley might walk right by me in a crowded room.” Webster says, squeezing his oversized belly with both hands.

“But Berkeley does not limit existence to his own sensation,” the normally quiet Cole elicits debate, because she too is skeptical, “he posits the possibility of a collective mind, perhaps even the mind of God, as offering lasting perception – he’s a little unclear, but so am I, I suppose.”

Gupta thinks otherwise, to him she’s as clear as last Wednesday’s sky, with a slight breeze that moves only the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Berkeley was an ordained priest, and sober at that, so he had little opportunity for altered perception. Perhaps if he joined me for a cocktail from time to time, he might come to see my points of view.” Webster pretends to be a little tipsy which, truth-be-told, isn’t without practice.

“Two weeks ago the taffeta I produced was green to Mr. Cabra and, if Ms. Cole had worn it, she would think herself imperceptible against Wednesday’s sky. Though she would not cease to exist. Would she Mr. Gupta?” Webster asks, unsuspectingly.

Gupta nearly jumps out of his seat, “What do you mean, sir, I ah.”

“Can matter exist independent of perception, is what I mean Mr. Gupta? If a girthful professor falls over a coffee table, in a faraway dream, does he make a noise?”

“The idealists call it sense-data. Perception! What you see is what you get. And when you wake up, it’s not there.” Webster says with watery eyes, thinking of Muriel, as always. Muriel has been visiting him in his dreams with regularly, as of late, forever reminding him of their anniversary date – ‘ ‘till death do us part’- he thinks, as he fades into the past, - ‘I take this man, Samuel B. Webster – and I take this woman - did you ever exist Muriel, did you ever? – boy, you could think circles around me Muriel, you could think circles – I take this man, Samuel B. Webster – you were the only one who ever used the B, Muriel – Barnyard Webster – Sir, I’m Barnyard Webster and I would like to take your daughter’s hand in marriage. How we laughed at the prospect of that conversation – Sir, I’m Samuel Barnyard Webster – Professor Webster Sir, Sir’

“Sir, Sir, Professor Webster, is everything OK, Sir?” The concerned Cole felt uncomfortable with the pause.

"Oh, yes, yes, sorry, I was just thinking of how to better express myself. Well, consider this - hold a nickel between thumb and forefinger and adjust the angle just so,” Webster tilts it forty five degrees in front of his eyes, “and you will see a silver wedding band.” Webster remembers Muriel’s slender fingers awaiting its placement. “Tilt it again and, voila!, ‘In God We Trust.’ ”

“So, which is it, a ring or a nickel? – It depends. It depends.” Webster holds his hands back out in front of him, as if waiting to take the baby back.

“But truth never depends. Quite the opposite, I’m afraid, quite the opposite.” He thinks about Muriel, forever fading, as his dreams give way to daylight.

‘A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.’ Gupta says to himself, unintentionally flashing Cole a hint of a goofy smile, and then losing the expression on his face, having surprised himself that he is getting it. “Sir,” Cole’s reflective smile gives Gupta courage, “are you saying that perception is an interpretation of truth?”

“Yes, Mr. Gupta, truth has intrinsic qualities which exist quite apart from perception. Consider the following: Two men row a boat across a rugged river. They bring replacement planks in tow. Throughout the trip they are periodically forced to replace each plank, such that, by the time they reach the far bank, they have replaced every plank. Tell me this, Mr. Gupta, did they end their adventure in the same boat in which they started? If not, at what point did the original boat cease to be?”

“There is truth beyond perception. Remember, two halves always make a whole, and infinity is always out of reach.”

Webster places the coffee table in the aisle and covers it with a white sheet, “Now, be sure not to trip over it on your way out.”

Gupta’s Notes:

Gupta waits patiently on Cole under the black arthritic trees of winter. The undisturbed soft cover of snow beneath his feet and the snow veiled branches around him are a striking contrast to the full, dark head of hair that needed to be cut weeks ago. He is frustrated at the defeat he was served at the hands of Professor Randolph, not only could he not get the answer to the logic problems, he could hardly get Cole’s attention. He is convinced that Cole has chosen a math major only to attend Randolph’s class with regularity. There is a hole in the pit of his stomach which seems to be drawing his chest inward. His face is as long as the drooping willow branches around him.

“Perception is reality.” He says to her, as she sits next to him, closer than he might have expected.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She truly couldn’t hear him, her ears wrapped in a stark white woolen head-band, looking to Gupta, against the snowy background, as if the top of her head was detached and hovering above her.

“Oh, nothing, I was just talking about the lecture, you know, perception is reality.” Gupta repeats, sounding even more dejected, still sitting on his hands.

“So, what did you make of Webster’s dream.” Cole tried to draw him out, thinking his mood a result of the weather. She runs her hand across his unkempt hair, lifting the otherwise limp curls straight in the air and, with it, his entire spirit.

‘Is there anything more delicate than a woman’s long slender fingers unexpectedly running through your hair,’ he thinks not.

He nearly fell out of his seat when she followed it with a peck on the cheek. “Well, I think Webster was telling us two things, really.” He says, recapturing his composure.

Cole was surprised, because she had only thought of one.

Gupta continues, removing his hands from under his thighs, “You see, by falling over his dead mother’s table, in his dreams, he tells us two things, you know. First, he wants us to consider that he perceived the table, it was real, but when he woke up, it was gone. He sets up the Idealist view that only what you perceive can be real. But matter exists, not because you perceive it, but you perceive it because it exists. Reality is not conditional on perception, or sense-data, as he says. Reality is conditional on intrinsic qualities. When he woke up, he was not hurt – there was no rational cause and effect to the substance over which he tripped, meaning it really did not exist. What he is telling us is that reality is not subject only to perception, but it must also pass a reasonableness test. When we perceive or interact with objects purported to be real, there must be some cause and effect which we can naturally infer from our interaction. This natural quality relates to the subject’s intrinsic nature.”

Cole tries to interject, “That one I understand, but what about…”

Gupta continues unabashed, “He also says it was his dead mother’s table. If the table was real only because it was perceived, then it would have stopped existing when his mother died. It was her table, she perceived it with her sense-date, but you can’t hand down sense-data, now can you.” Finally, Gupta inhales and Cole remains silent, lost in his frosty white breath.

“Wow, Gupta, what did you eat for lunch today, you’re so right, wow.” Cole is truly taken back by his perceptivity. “What about this ‘I am now, as I am then,’ what did you make of that?”

“Huh?” Gupta’s is still trying to figure out exactly what it was he just said. “Oh, he is trying to say that perception and reality are not the same. You see, Webster has changed over the years, but he still is who he is. And you can still trip over a table, even if its covered from your senses – there is tableness under the sheet. There is an intrinsic nature to truth which is not open to perception, like thoughts, I think. ” Gupta is a little uncomfortable with knowing what he knows, because he’s not quite sure how he knows it.

“Like the boat, right? Cole wants to contribute. “The boat is still the same boat, because it has the same intrinsic nature, the same purpose, the same truth, if you will. The truth of an object is in its purpose, its place in the space in which it is perceived, its place in time, its relation to other substance around it, its cause and that which it affects. No truth stands on its own.”

‘Beauty is truth, and truth is beauty.’ Gupta thinks of Keats, ‘this truth about you stands utterly alone.’ Gupta feels closer to Cole now than ever. As she re-appears through a thin veil of breath, Professor Randolph seems as transparent as the first words she spoke.

She continues, “Substance is perceived because it exists. It doesn’t exist because its perceived. Matter exists independent of perception. Perception is an interpretation of truth. I thought the taffeta was blue, Cabra thought it was green. Webster told us we were both right. The taffeta was symbolizing truth, it existed in some intrinsic way, but we each saw it somewhat differently. This is the basic argument between realists and idealists, isn’t it?”

She waits for an answer, but Gupta is no longer paying attention, choosing instead to float on the tiny crystals which seem to emanate from deep within her.

The next lecture is "Webster and the Case of the Missing Link"