What we talk about when we talk about Philosophy

A Story by dklp88

Three people, one home, and a random conversation

What we talk about when we talk about philosophy

At dawn, the dreamers were already awakening; trying to hold on to those various ideas and thoughts that seemed good in the dreamer’s head, to try in vain as always. They each made their way independently to the breakfast table; they each dealt with their own problems, allowing them to stew in their head. Dispensing with the usual morning pleasantries, silence was the word of the hour for those sitting at the table. It was not unusual, as they had spent several days together, and after a while- words at the breakfast table decrease until it is non-existent. Richard, the person everyone knows whose luck has run out a long time ago, fiddled with his eggs, trying as hard as possible to look like he was eating, when in actuality he was just rearranging his plate as much as possible. Sam, short for Samantha thank you very much, indeed did the exact opposite, seemingly funnelling her eggs to the back of her throat, not caring about the potential for choking. The final inhabitant was Britain’s second type of stately pervert- the gentleman, who would make breakfast for you, even if he did not bed you the night before. The other two believed him to be a con man. Indeed, the eggs were made by the gentleman; whose given name was Verne- yet indeed the other two did not believe that to be his actual name. No matter how long they knew him.

The reason that this motley crew of three were living together at all was that each of them needed two others to pay the rent. After those advertisements went out, two people came over who met the requirements that Sam (indeed Sam was the last of previous flat mates to hang around) had placed forth. And as such, their odd life began together- a tale for a different time indeed. This tale is about what happened at breakfast that day. It was Richard who broke their self-imposed silence.

‘What’s the point?’ Richard had pushed his plate away and was looking morosely down.

‘Girl or money troubles, Richie?’ Sam cocked her head to look at Richard, forcing him into the spotlight.

‘Neither.’ Richard shelled up even more to the inquiries.

Verne chimed in. ‘How about guy trouble, then?’ The comment was ignored all around. Even Verne would not have given much credence to that particular statement.

Silence overcame them again, but it was not before long that Richard started speaking again. ‘I was just thinking about how pointless my life is- how pointless the world is. Nothing matters in the end of the day- nothing truly makes a difference. And death is worse- for at least now I can at least think cognitively.’ He slumped in his chair, looking down, then at the clock, as if trying to see if it would tell him how much time he had left. But indeed, it only told him the time.

An hour had passed since they came down for breakfast- and the sun had risen to brighten the room even more. It was Verne who spoke up next. Looking directly at Richard he queried, ‘Then why don’t you live your life to the fullest? Why don’t you go out and party all night? Me?’ bring up his favourite subject, ‘I plan for things, trying to get ahead. Why live a hard life, if you can’t get ahead through careful planning in the first place?’ Richard clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation, with his head looking down at his chest, and his eyes averted elsewhere. But Verne did not let up. ‘So, why won’t you live up your life when you believe that life sucks? How so Nihilistic of you. Hmm?’

Sam shut up Verne with a single glance, and a short statement. ‘Stop attacking him! What’s your problem that you have to attack someone else? Why can’t you just leave him alone?’

It was Verne’s turn to be the silent one of the group, to be on the defensive. But he rallied. ‘So, Sam- if Richard’s a Nihilist and I am a pragmatist, what are you? What do you believe?’

Sam spoke quietly. ‘To quote from Candide’s Pangloss: ‘Everything ends up for the best possible world in the end of the day.’’ She looked up at Verne, for Verne is a head taller than her, defiantly, asking him to challenge her.

But the challenge did not come from Verne, but instead Richard. ‘That’s not a full quote. Indeed, I think you’re paraphrasing instead of quoting. Indeed that book was a satire on the point of optimism. It indeed did not condone of it.’

Sam’s full intensity was swung toward Richard. ‘Does it matter? The point of what I’m saying still stands. I was just saying what I believe.’ She poured her usual morning martini, before dropping an olive in it- because it apparently gives it flavour.

Verne entered the fray again. ‘Now I have no problem with optimists, but nihilists do annoy me. For in the end of the day, there can’t be any point to anything you do- yet you don’t even have the decency to kill yourself. Because there is no point after death. Or some other form of bullshit like that.’ More time had passed, more light streamed into the little breakfast room.

Richard stewed for a second, maybe preparing a counter attack, but Verne kept on talking again. ‘However, in Richard’s defence, he does have a point about Candide. Don’t use something that attacks what you want to say, rather than using a work that does defend it.’

Sam, who had not cooled off yet, looked up to stare down Verne, with a martini in one hand, she started to slowly drink it, before coldly telling Verne to do something that is anatomically impossible. That silenced all conversation for over half an hour- even though no one moved away from the breakfast table, no matter how quiet and unnerving the atmosphere got. By the time that someone spoke again, the sun had almost risen to its apex. More glasses of martini got poured, each of them enjoying their own special blend. Verne was very James Bond- shaken not stirred, while Richard went straight martini, trying to get drunk as quickly as possible.

Sam was the one who started speaking again, this time looking up to the sky. ‘You guys don’t really understand, do you? The world is beautiful- I mean, look out the window. Everything is working out for the best.’

Richard was the one who rose to the bait this time, while still talking to his chest. ‘You mean that when things go to hell, it’s because everything was there is some grand scheme to improve life as quickly as possible, instead of just how much life sucks? Are you really that stupid?’

Verne ignored what had been said, and returned to his favourite topic, while looking fixedly ahead at a space that did not exist. ‘I don’t care what either of you think, I’m still going to end up ahead of everyone else.’

Then- silence again. This time, though, it is the silence of the permanent kind- the kind that penetrates what it will. While each of them looked in their odd direction, and there was no connection between people who are different, the room was flooded with light- consuming everything. And for one shining moment- each of them were blinded.