 the only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder...

sophie was sure she would hear from the anonymous letter writer again. she decided not to tell anyone about the letters for the time being.

at school she had trouble concentrating on what the teachers said. they seemed to talk only about unimportant things. why couldn't they talk about what a human being is--or about what the world is and how it came into being?

for the first time she began to feel that at school as well as everywhere else people were only concerned with trivialities. there were major problems that needed to be solved.

did anybody have answers to these questions? sophie felt that thinking about them was more important than memorizing irregular verbs.

when the bell rang after the last class, she left the school so fast that joanna had to run to catch up with her.

after a while joanna said, "do you want to play cards this evening?"

sophie shrugged her shoulders.

"i'm not that interested in card games any more."

joanna looked surprised.

"you're not? let's play badminton then."

sophie stared down at the pavement--then up at her friend.

"i don't think i'm that interested in badminton either."

"you're kidding!"

sophie noticed the touch of bitterness in joanna's tone.

"do you mind telling me what's suddenly so important?"

sophie just shook her head. "it's ... it's a secret."

"yuck! you're probably in love!"

the two girls walked on for a while without saying anything. when they got to the soccer field joanna said, "i'm going across the field."

across the field! it was the quickest way for joanna, but she only went that way when she had to hurry home in time for visitors or a dental appointment.

sophie regretted having been mean to her. but what else could she have said? that she had suddenly become so engrossed in who she was and where the world came from that she had no time to play badminton? would joanna have understood?

why was it so difficult to be absorbed in the most vital and, in a way, the most natural of all questions?

she felt her heart beating faster as she opened the mailbox. at first she found only a letter from the bank and some big brown envelopes for her mother. darn! sophie had been looking forward to getting another letter from the unknown sender.

as she closed the gate behind her she noticed her own name on one of the big envelopes. turning it over, she saw written on the back: "course in philosophy. handle with care."

sophie ran up the gravel path and flung her schoolbag onto the step. stuffing the other letters under the doormat, she ran around into the back garden and sought refuge in the den. this was the only place to open the big letter.

sherekan came jumping after her but sophie had to put up with that. she knew the cat would not give her away.

inside the envelope there were three typewritten pages held together with a paper clip. sophie began to read.

what is philosophy?

dear sophie,

lots of people have hobbies. some people collect old coins or foreign stamps, some do needlework, others spend most of their spare time on a particular sport.

a lot of people enjoy reading. but reading tastes differ widely. some people only read newspapers or comics, some like reading novels, while others prefer books on astronomy, wildlife, or technological discoveries.

if i happen to be interested in horses or precious stones, i cannot expect everyone else to share my enthusiasm. if i watch all the sports programs on tv with great pleasure, i must put up with the fact that other people find sports boring.

is there nothing that interests us all? is there nothing that concerns everyone--no matter who they are or where they live in the world? yes, dear sophie, there are questions that certainly should interest everyone. they are precisely the questions this course is about.

what is the most important thing in life? if we ask someone living on the edge of starvation, the answer is food. if we ask someone dying of cold, the answer is warmth. if we put the same question to someone who feels lonely and isolated, the answer will probably be the company of other people.

but when these basic needs have been satisfied--will there still be something that everybody needs? philosophers think so. they believe that man cannot live by bread alone. of course everyone needs food. and everyone needs love and care. but there is something else--apart from that--which everyone needs, and that is to figure out who we are and why we are here.

being interested in why we are here is not a "casual" interest like collecting stamps. people who ask such questions are taking part in a debate that has gone on as long as man has lived on this planet. how the universe, the earth, and life came into being is a bigger and more important question than who won the most gold medals in the last olympics.

the best way of approaching philosophy is to ask a few philosophical questions:

how was the world created? is there any will or meaning behind what happens? is there a life after death? how can we answer these questions? and most important, how ought we to live? people have been asking these questions throughout the ages. we know of no culture which has not concerned itself with what man is and where the world came from.

basically there are not many philosophical questions to ask. we have already asked some of the most important ones. but history presents us with many different answers to each question. so it is easier to ask philosophical questions than to answer them.

today as well each individual has to discover his own answer to these same questions. you cannot find out whether there is a god or whether there is life after death by looking in an encyclopedia. nor does the encyclopedia tell us how we ought to live. however, reading what other people have believed can help us formulate our own view of life.

philosophers' search for the truth resembles a detective story. some think andersen was the murderer, others think it was nielsen or jensen. the police are sometimes able to solve a real crime. but it is equally possible that they never get to the bottom of it, although there is a solution somewhere. so even if it is difficult to answer a question, there may be one--and only one--right answer. either there is a kind of existence after death--or there is not.

a lot of age-old enigmas have now been explained by science. what the dark side of the moon looks like was once shrouded in mystery. it was not the kind of thing that could be solved by discussion, it was left to the imagination of the individual. but today we know exactly what the dark side of the moon looks like, and no one can "believe" any longer in the man in the moon, or that the moon is made of green cheese.

a greek philosopher who lived more than two thousand years ago believed that philosophy had its origin in man's sense of wonder. man thought it was so astonishing to be alive that philosophical questions arose of their own accord.

it is like watching a magic trick. we cannot understand how it is done. so we ask: how can the magician change a couple of white silk scarves into a live rabbit?

a lot of people experience the world with the same incredulity as when a magician suddenly pulls a rabbit out of a hat which has just been shown to them empty.

in the case of the rabbit, we know the magician has tricked us. what we would like to know is just how he did it. but when it comes to the world it's somewhat different. we know that the world is not all sleight of hand and deception because here we are in it, we are part of it. actually, we are the white rabbit being pulled out of the hat. the only difference between us and the white rabbit is that the rabbit does not realize it is taking part in a magic trick. unlike us. we feel we are part of something mysterious and we would like to know how it all works.

p.s. as far as the white rabbit is concerned, it might be better to compare it with the whole universe. we who live here are microscopic insects existing deep down in the rabbit's fur. but philosophers are always trying to climb up the fine hairs of the fur in order to stare right into the magician's eyes.

are you still there, sophie? to be continued . . .

sophie was completely exhausted. still there? she could not even remember if she had taken the time to breathe while she read.

who had brought this letter? it couldn't be the same person who had sent the birthday card to hilde moller knag because that card had both a stamp and a postmark. the brown envelope had been delivered by hand to the mailbox exactly like the two white ones.

sophie looked at her watch. it was a quarter to three. her mother would not be home from work for over two hours.

sophie crawled out into the garden again and ran to the mailbox. perhaps there was another letter.

she found one more brown envelope with her name on it. this time she looked all around but there was nobody in sight. sophie ran to the edge of the woods and looked down the path.

no one was there. suddenly she thought she heard a twig snap deep in the woods. but she was not completely sure, and anyway it would be pointless to chase after someone who was determined to get away.

sophie let herself into the house. she ran upstairs to her room and took out a big cookie tin full of pretty stones. she emptied the stones onto the floor and put both large envelopes into the tin. then she hurried out into the garden again, holding the tin securely with both hands. before she went she put some food out for sherekan.

"kitty, kitty, kitty!"

once back in the den she opened the second brown envelope and drew out the new typewritten pages. she began to read.

a strange creature

hello again! as you see, this short course in philosophy will come in handy-sized portions. here are a few more introductory remarks:

did i say that the only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder? if i did not, i say it now: the only thing we require to be good philosophers is the faculty of wonder.

babies have this faculty. that is not surprising. after a few short months in the womb they slip out into a brand-new reality. but as they grow up the faculty of wonder seems to diminish. why is this? do you know?

if a newborn baby could talk, it would probably say something about what an extraordinary world it had come into. we see how it looks around and reaches out in curiosity to everything it sees.

as words are gradually acquired, the child looks up and says "bow-wow" every time it sees a dog. it jumps up and down in its stroller, waving its arms: "bow-wow! bow-wow!" we who are older and wiser may feel somewhat exhausted by the child's enthusiasm. "all right, all right, it's a bow-wow," we say, unimpressed. "please sit still." we are not enthralled. we have seen a dog before.

this rapturous performance may repeat itself hundreds of times before the child learns to pass a dog without going crazy. or an elephant, or a hippopotamus. but long before the child learns to talk properly--and ion before it learns to think philosophically--the world we have become a habit.

a pity, if you ask me.

my concern is that you do not grow up to be one of those people who take the world for granted, sophie dear. so just to make sure, we are going to do a couple of experiments in thought before we begin on the course itself.

imagine that one day you are out for a walk in the woods. suddenly you see a small spaceship on the path in front of you. a tiny martian climbs out of the spaceship and stands on the ground looking up at you . . .

what would you think? never mind, it's not important. but have you ever given any thought to the fact that you are a martian yourself?

it is obviously unlikely that you will ever stumble upon a creature from another planet. we do not even know that there is life on other planets. but you might stumble upon yourself one day. you might suddenly stop short and see yourself in a completely new light. on just such a walk in the woods.

i am an extraordinary being, you think. i am a mysterious creature.

you feel as if you are waking from an enchanted slumber. who am i? you ask. you know that you are stumbling around on a planet in the universe. but what is the universe?

if you discover yourself in this manner you will have discovered something as mysterious as the martian we just mentioned. you will not only have seen a being from outer space. you will feel deep down that you are yourself an extraordinary being.

do you follow me, sophie? let's do another experiment in thought:

one morning, mom, dad, and little thomas, aged two or three, are having breakfast in the kitchen. after a while mom gets up and goes over to the kitchen sink, and dad--yes, dad--flies up and floats around under the ceiling while thomas sits watching. what do you think thomas says? perhaps he points up at his father and says: "daddy's flying!" thomas will certainly be astonished, but then he very often is. dad does so many strange things that this business of a little flight over the breakfast table makes no difference to him. every day dad shaves with a funny machine, sometimes he climbs onto the roof and turns the tv aerial--or else he sticks his head under the hood of the car and comes up black in the face.

now it's mom's turn. she hears what thomas says and turns around abruptly. how do you think she reacts to the sight of dad floating nonchalantly over the kitchen table?

she drops the jam jar on the floor and screams with fright. she may even need medical attention once dad has returned respectably to his chair. (he should have learned better table manners by now!) why do you think thomas and his mother react so differently?

it all has to do with habit. (note this!) mom has learned that people cannot fly. thomas has not. he still isn't certain what you can and cannot do in this world.

but what about the world itself, sophie? do you think it can do what it does? the world is also floating in space.

sadly it is not only the force of gravity we get used to as we grow up. the world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. it seems as if in the process of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. and in doing so, we lose something central--something philosophers try to restore. for somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery. this is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the thought.

to be more precise: although philosophical questions concern us all, we do not all become philosophers. for various reasons most people get so caught up in everyday affairs that their astonishment at the world gets pushed into the background. (they crawl deep into the rabbit's fur, snuggle down comfortably, and stay there for the rest of their lives.)

to children, the world and everything in it is new, something that gives rise to astonishment. it is not like that for adults. most adults accept the world as a matter of course.

this is precisely where philosophers are a notable exception. a philosopher never gets quite used to the world. to him or her, the world continues to seem a bit unreasonable--bewildering, even enigmatic. philosophers and small children thus have an important faculty in common. you might say that throughout his life a philosopher remains as thin-skinned as a child.

so now you must choose, sophie. are you a child who has not yet become world-weary? or are you a philosopher who will vow never to become so?

if you just shake your head, not recognizing yourself as either a child or a philosopher, then you have gotten so used to the world that it no longer astonishes you. watch out! you are on thin ice. and this is why you are receiving this course in philosophy, just in case. i will not allow you, of all people, to join the ranks of the apathetic and the indifferent. i want you to have an inquiring mind.

the whole course is free of charge, so you get no money back if you do not complete it. if you choose to break off the course you are free to do so. in that case you must leave a message for me in the mailbox. a live frog would be eminently suitable. something green, at least, otherwise the mailman might get scared.

to summarize briefly: a white rabbit is pulled out of a top hat. because it is an extremely large rabbit, the trick takes many billions of years. all mortals are born at the very tip of the rabbit's fine hairs, where they are in a position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick. but as they grow older they work themselves ever deeper into the fur. and there they stay. they become so comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. only philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of language and existence. some of them fall off, but others cling on desperately and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness, stuffing themselves with delicious food and drink.

"ladies and gentlemen," they yell, "we are floating in space!" but none of the people down there care.

"what a bunch of troublemakers!" they say. and they keep on chatting: would you pass the butter, please? how much have our stocks risen today? what is the price of tomatoes? have you heard that princess di is expecting again?

when sophie's mother got home later that afternoon, sophie was practically in shock. the tin containing the letters from the mysterious philosopher was safely hidden in the den. sophie had tried to start her homework but could only sit thinking about what she had read.

she had never thought so hard before! she was no longer a child--but she wasn't really grown up either. sophie realized that she had already begun to crawl down into the cozy rabbit's fur, the very same rabbit that had been pulled from the top hat of the universe. but the philosopher had stopped her. he--or was it a she?--had grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her up again to the tip of the fur where she had played as a child. and there, on the outermost tips of the fine hairs, she was once again seeing the world as if for the very first time.

the philosopher had rescued her. no doubt about it. the unknown letter writer had saved her from the triviality of everyday existence.

when mom got home at five o'clock, sophie dragged her into the living room and pushed her into an armchair.

"mom--don't you think it's astonishing to be alive?" she began.

her mother was so surprised that she didn't answer at first. sophie was usually doing her homework when she got home.

"i suppose i do--sometimes," she said.

"sometimes? yes, but--don't you think it's astonishing that the world exists at all?"

"now look, sophie. stop talking like that."

"why? perhaps you think the world is quite normal?"

"well, isn't it? more or less, anyway."

sophie saw that the philosopher was right. grownups took the world for granted. they had let themselves be lulled into the enchanted sleep of their humdrum existence once and for all.

"you've just grown so used to the world that nothing surprises you any more."

"what on earth are you talking about?"

"i'm talking about you getting so used to everything. totally dim, in other words."

"i will not be spoken to like that, sophie!"

"all right, i'll put it another way. you've made yourself comfortable deep down in the fur of a white rabbit that is being pulled out of the universe's top hat right now. and in a minute you'll put the potatoes on. then you'll read the paper and after half an hour's nap you'll watch the news on tv!"

an anxious expression came over her mother's face. she did indeed go into the kitchen and put the potatoes on. after a while she came back into the living room, and this time it was she who pushed sophie into an armchair.

"there's something i must talk to you about," she began. sophie could tell by her voice that it was something serious.

"you haven't gotten yourself mixed up with drugs, have you, dear?"

sophie was just about to laugh, but she understood why the question was being brought up now.

"are you nuts?" she said. "that only makes you duller'."

no more was said that evening about either drugs or white rabbits.