Cameo: The Tree and its Shadow

The fiction written below is a very soft analysis of the Body/Mind problem, and somehow seems to be the more sceptical response to a purely materialist interpretation of the world.



It just stood there all alone. Right in the middle of a meadow sweeter than the scent of honey, prettier than the illusional rainbow, more mysterious than the moors of south England, stood a mighty tree; a magnificent tree; a majestic Sweet Chestnut tree. It was a marvellous thing. The only problem with it was this: it didn't know it was a tree.
All the flowers would whisper to it: You're a tree! You're a tree!
But it would refuse, point-blank.
All the sparrows would sing to it: You're a tree!
But the tree would not agree.
Even a man, a philsopher so-to-speak, came up to it with a walking stick and exclaimed loudly: You're a tree! I know you are a tree!
But the tree simply could not see!
How do you know I am a tree - it said - what evidence can there be? Give me proof, O quarrelsome ones, or peace! and let us quarrel no more.
What are you then - said a black-feathered rook - if not a tree?
I am a phantasm. A mere illusion. A shadow that flickers with the wind - said the tree.
So the rook asked: Where is "evidence", lovely sir, that you are what you say to be?
Said the tree: look at the sun. It is bright is it not. It's light is my spirit of life. When the sun rises I am born, then my life grows shorter, then I wilt, then I die. Do you not see me, this dark illusion on the grass?
The shadow! - they cried - that is not you, but your shadow. A mere illusion as you say. But you are a mighty tree, eternally strong and free!
Eternal? - scoffed the tree - my life is doomed. What gives me life takes it from me. When the sun ascends the skies and comes to its zenith, my life is taken, swift and sore.
But you are not who you think you are - said the philosopher, amused - you are not a shadow, but a tree.
The tree said: Inform me, noble philosopher... what is a tree?
A tree - he said - is a wooden growth.
And inform me, noble philosopher - it asked - what is a wooden growth?
It is a substance harder than grass but softer than stone. It is how we humans make houses.
The tree laughed: I am not a house!
The philosopher said: No. But you are made out of something that houses are made of. Wood!
The tree snorted and said: Where is this wood? Why can't I see any wood? Where is any evidence of wood? If there is no evidence, then there is no wood!
You are obstinate - said the philosopher - here!
And he squeezed a twig.
Aaaaaargh! What was that for?
The philosopher said - I touched you. But I did not touch your shadow.
The tree said - You did not, but your shadow touched me. That must have been the cause of pain.
The philosopher said - Tell me. What are you thinking?
The tree said - I am thinking of the pain.
The philosopher said - But I am not touching you. And your shadow shows no sign of thinking.
The tree said - just because you cannot see it, does not mean it is not there.
The philosopher said - very well. If you are a shadow, then you are.
The tree was pleased to hear this.
But the philosopher continued - just let me ask you: can you see me?
Certainly - said the tree.
Do you know why you can see me? - asked the philosopher.
No - said the tree.
The philosopher smiled, and said: Because I am outside you. Now tell me, gentle shadow (for that is your new name), if you see the world because it is outside you, how do you see yourself, for it is not?!
The tree began to think. Finally, it said: What's a wooden growth again?