Kant 2/4: Fuel for the Fire
An old man and a boy explore the 3 primary rule systems in Kant’s 1781 Categorical Framework
The sun had already descended below the tree line. Normally the adventuresome trio would have spent their evening on the porch swing, ruminating on the day’s hike. But today, the old man and the boy were busy collecting kindling for tonight’s campfire, already in progress. As always, the dog happily supervised.
Fresh tinder quickly nurtured the flame, as a wispy line of smoke rose into the canopy of tree branches above them. The boy and old man settled into their camp chairs, sipping hot cocoa as they stared into the fire.
It had been weeks since their discussion of trees. The boy didn’t have the notion of abstraction to draw on, a way to explain in one word what the man had explained in three. But ultimately, the point was made. Using notions of one, many and all, it was possible to frame a broad, comprehensive set of questions about trees, or anything really. It was helping the boy think more deeply about what we can know.
Anticipation hung in the air at the old man added more sticks from the large supply stacked nearby. He hoped there’d be follow-up questions from the boy, and he was not disappointed.
“So tell me,” the boy said. “If there are three levels of questions to be asked to gain knowledge, are there three levels of answers too?”
The man looked up with a wry smile, happy that the important ideas had taken hold. “Well, yes,” the man said, “ultimately, the answers will follow the questions. But there’s more to consider first. We have to think about patterns, and some basic rules.”
The boy was instantly intrigued, but he didn’t let on at first. He picked up his favorite walking stick that he’d stashed nearby, and poked the early coals forming at the base of the fire. There was more to this story. But he could barely constrain his curiosity. “Patterns? Rules? What kind of rules?” the boy asked.
“Ah, well,” the man said, “That has been the cause of many fierce debates, over hundreds of years.” He looked over at the dog who was sleeping through the conversation, and back to the boy, patiently prodding the flames. It was time for the next step.
“Each level of question we’ve discussed — one, many and all — has it’s own system of rules, when we think about how things are related, and how they might come to be. Some we understand well. Some we’re still getting to know.” The man paused, waiting for the boy to look up. When he did, he was ready to proceed.
“Again, let’s take each level one by one. But we’ll need a way to see them.”
Spying some medium sized branches they’d collected for the fire, he arranged three distinct piles. The first contained only one stick. The second had many, three in all, one under the other two, forming two makeshift see-saws. The third pile emerged from everything that was left in the man’s arms, dropped haphazardly. The stage was set.
“In the first pile, we have one stick. We can study it closely. We can talk about the idea of a stick, and the words we use to describe it. We make basic distinctions on what a stick actually is. To use a big word, let’s call it ‘stick philosophy.’ ”
The boy was entranced again. The old man had a way of doing this.
“In the second pile, we have many sticks, and we can do experiments to see how sticks interact. If I push down on one side of this see-saw, it pivots against the other one, while the other side rises.” He repeated this a few times, for effect. “For argument’s sake, we’ll call this ‘stick science’ ”.
This one was the easiest to understand for the boy. Playground examples aside, he’d learned about simple levers in school. But he could also see by having just a few sticks, you could try things, watch how they interact, to see what actions cause what results. It made sense.
But then he looked at the other pile. Truth be told, it was kind of a mess. He was curious if not annoyed that the man hadn’t stacked them up.
“In the third and final pile,” the old man said, “we have a random pile of sticks that interact in countless, disorganized ways. There are many single sticks. There may be some see-saws in there. But others are covered, sticking out, but overall, this pile is just plain messy. Like the world around us. Ultimately, there are too many sticks to easily see patterns. But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.”
“So what happens with those?”
The old man couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Everything,” he said. “And anything. Those sticks reflect the complexity of sticks in the world, with all their messy potential. Some could be nests for creatures. Some could be used to build bridges over streams, or to carve a walking-stick, like yours. Much depends on the situation. The weather. Who passes by. These, we’ll put to work here.” With that, the old man reached down, scooped the sticks up, and put them all into the fire.
Silence settled over the campsite, as the boy watched the fire blaze higher with the newly added fuel. Moments passed. But it was a comfortable silence. The old man could tell the boy was finding his own words.
“So for that stack of random sticks, what you’re really saying is, what happens with those sticks just depends?” the boy said.
The man looked up at the boy, as a flood of excitement flowed through him. Experiencing the moment of connection — the inception of new insight — was more powerful than he could have imagined.
Only a teacher could appreciate that moment.
“Yes,” said the old man. “That’s precisely the point. One stick let’s us see what exists, and why we come to think so. Many sticks let us see how they interact, and what happens if they do. But when we consider all sticks, we take on a world of possibility, to talk about scenarios when and where sticks are useful.”
“Did you make all this up yourself?” asked the boy thoughtfully, impressed by the simple harmony of the world, reduced to sticks.
“No.” said the man. “These are the ideas of another old man, a famous professor named Immanuel Kant. He built out this logic — he called it a ‘framework’ — to help describe knowledge of all kinds. We just added some practical ways to see his ideas in action. With our walk among trees, we could visualize the notions of one, many and all. Today, we used sticks to introduce differences across rule systems. Tell your mom we talked about ‘epistemology’ at our campfire.”
At first, only the crackling of the campfire could be heard.
“That’s completely amazing,” the boy said.
“Indeed,” said the old man.
And with that, he threw the first legitimate log on the fire, as sparks flew away into the night air. He smiled, and said, “Indeed. We cover important ground.” As significant as tonight was, more lay ahead. How would he describe inference of relationships and outcomes — the remaining two columns in Kant’s 4x3 framework?
The man’s gaze rose to the blackened outline of trees, in silhouette against the blue-black backdrop of the woodlands, at night. Forests and trees. Piles of sticks. A small fire.
Nature would show him the path.
With a careful toss, a second log landed squarely in the fire, as another shower of sparks danced into the night.
My series on 21st-Century Kant continues, exploring modern applications of the Master’s 1781 Categorical Framework. Share your thoughts! You can find me on Twitter, Instagram, and of course here on Medium, where I’ve just launched a new pub — JUST CURIOUS — exchanging insights in (mostly) 3-minute reads.
