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Let me begin by saying this is not so much a story as a work of fiction based on a few days in the life of a character who has written a reminiscence influenced by memoirs of a series of lectures given in a philosophy class I attended at the University of Copenhagen. Take a breath. I'll begin this tale by switching into third person so you can smell the streets. For the sake of clarity, and because by now you need a good bellylaugh, let us call him John Thurd. From this you can gather he had a hell of a time as a kid::::they called him 'Turd.' And whenever the occasion arose where his friends or his girlfriend said 'You look like shit'::::it particularly stung. But as things go, his last year in high school he came to really appreciate this nickname::::less painful in many respects than the obligatory pierced eyelid or navel of his generation. He was Turd::::and that was cool enough. I'll let up with the second person clap-trap also::::oh, shit, slipped into the first there::::won't happen again.

To get into this story fully it seems the present is best::::let's go present. All this past stuff appears transparent, doesn't it? O.k. No more interventions, let's begin...

But it's that perfect beginning we seek after::::that opening which swallows whole the imagination, leaves no room for doubt about the reality. It's coming, wait, shit, no, o.k., sorry. O.k. It's coming...

The first day crossing through the threshold of the massive columned facade of the university auditorium he feels so lost::::like a coin dropped down a grated gutter. Metaphors::::I mean, what do you do with them? I have to admit I've never felt like that. Once, when I stood on the shore looking out over the great Pacific for the first time, I felt smaller, somehow. Unexplainable, indescribable::::actually, it wasn't size so much as stature::::I'm not sure if that makes any sense. And to fold up telescopically is some Hollywoodish effect::::can't write Gulliver's Travels now after seeing Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, can you? Shit, shit, shit::::sorry. O.k. Let me gather myself here. Let's dispense with all the choreography which goes into his sitting there on his first day for his first lecture::::and why not rid us altogether of such things as why Turd's first class and the course of his study he chose is philosophy. Let us just dive into the lectures, dug out from his messy notes, and see what the meat of all this is. Suffice it to say Turd is sitting there, open for anything, swimming in insecurity and excitement, with the utmost thought in his mind being how he should introduce himself, if he is to introduce himself to anyone::::John or Turd. May as well stand-out, he reasons::::he's never been in a lecture hall with over two hundred students before and it's unnerving but almost exciting, like going to the movies::::'Turd' he says audibly but no one hears because of all the noise, 'John Turd'::::but here, and it's remarkable, but the noise lowers to the point that he himself hears what he says, and several girls in the row behind his giggle and he immediately sinks.

"Capitalism is unrealizable because it does not take into account human derailment. And socialism is unrealizable because it does not take into account human achievability. So what are we left with? Welfare systems undermine capitalism and emasculate socialism. So what do we do? Give birth to a hybrid? Isn't that precisely what's going on::::is that working? No! We shall invent something wholly new, a political philosophy wholly unthought of until we create it::::here, in this class::::together::::all of us. Oh, I have my ideas, and I will shock you with them. You must counter with your ideas, break off into groups and discuss solutions to problems. There are no books::::no texts::::for this class::::we must invent the text. We are the text! You are the worms! Humankind is the fisherman on who's hook you wriggle. I am the fish!"

The questions are on grade curves and attendance and papers due. The professor shakes them off until he can stand no more and charges off the proscenium and through the black curtains to the back corridor. Amazement and light laughter. And then everyone exits even more boisterously than they'd come in, for they have almost an hour of free time. Turd overhears 'Won't give details on assignments::::bad sign, dude. He's roping us.'

Two days later, Wednesday, at the next meeting of the class, there are less than forty students scattered around the huge auditorium. The professor comes out, stands at the podium silent, then suddenly points to a front rower.
"What is the answer?"
"What's the question?"
And with that the professor turns and writes the student's words on one side of the huge blackboard and draws a vertical line down then scribbles what looks like some brief mathematical formula on the board over the line from the student's words. Then turns back.
"No. We cannot answer with a question::::as you can see. In Eastern thought, it is acceptable to answer with a repetition::::'What is the answer?'::::'What is the answer?' But from my understanding this takes a lifetime of mediation to master::::it is unavailable to us."
This time the professor asks his question to us all. The silence is tricky, not uneasy, but gives the illusion that we're lost playing a game of some sort. A happy looking fellow six empty seats to the right of Turd smiles broadly, and once the professor asks again, he grunts.
"Sex."
And everyone looses a laugh or a sigh of relief::::but not the professor, who jots the answer on the one side then begins scribbling on the other but halfway through stops, turns back.
"Well, we have here a grammatical problem. Sex is both a noun and a verb. There are so many possibilities as to the question which leads to this answer::::as either. Are we to suppose the analytical proponents who have dominated western thought for the past century are correct in saying philosophy is nothing more than clarification of the language being used?"
"Um," a serious looking female student sitting well alone in the exact center of the hall breaks the brief though thick silence, "I think I get it. Is it like Jeopardy?"
Laughter.
"Jeopardy?"
"Yeah, you know, the tv show. Like, you're given an answer and you have to respond with a question that corresponds with the answer."
"Jeopardy. I'm sorry. I don't know."
The silence now is profound::::we all sense that this student has hit on something. It's like a revelation.
"What is the answer?"
"Dasien"::::coming from a loner in the wings.
The professor writes the word::::many take out their notebooks for the first time with a low grumble and start jotting down notes::::Turd faithfully, though sloppily, copies down everything written, everything said, and has from the beginning.
The blackboard becomes overloaded with the professor's calculations::::he pulls down a second blackboard and speedily begins filling it up with what looks to Turd like Greek letters and obscure mathematical symbols and chicken scratches all mixed together. The students sweat to keep pace and after ten minutes most throw down their writing utensils in a huff and fold their arms.
The class ends with students realizing the time, getting up and leaving noiselessly::::all the while the professor continuing scribbling away wholly absorbed and unaware that everyone except for Turd has gone. Turd remains there copying what the professor scribbles for over a half hour as the only participant in the cavernous auditorium when the professor finally comes to his conclusion and turns.
"It is interesting to note we've come to a metaphysical problem after having just dismissed the analytical..."
The professor sees that no one's there. Then he sees Turd. Embarrassed, he turns back to his scribblings for a moment::::actually adds something::::as if dotting an 'i.' Turns back around and quite angrily shouts mouth foaming.
"What are you doing here!"
Turd is shocked, grabs up his stuff and fast-walks out of the auditorium.
Friday there is an official looking note taped up on the auditorium door which says the class has been cancelled by the philosophy department, and further informs that there are openings in Aesthetics and Rhetoric and Western Thought which will count to replace Philosophy 101 for first year philosophy majors.

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©2001wfairbrother