Phun with Filosophy!

Shut the Duck Up!
Part one


    So I’m one of eleven people who enter a classroom. We each take a seats where we feel comfortable. It’s a spacious room in which the students desk's are arranged in a semi circle facing an ominous lectern. Photos of trees, deserts, and mountains adorn the walls and the ceiling is painted to look like the sky. There are no windows, but the room is evenly lit.

    I forget who, but someone says. “I wonder who made this place? And where’s the teacher?”
   
    No one answers. The anxiety is palpable. I’m pretty sure none of us have met before. When I think about it, I am unsure why I am even here save for a nagging and insatiable curiosity about things in general. 

    Eventually all eleven of us take seats at the students’ desks. No one presumes to man the lectern. We wait and wait, but nothing happens. It seems like the teacher should have arrived ages ago. There is no indication of what the class is going to be about. The silence grows unbearable. This place screams purpose and at the moment we have none.

    Finally someone speaks up. “That duck right there has told me how things are. I am special.” He announces. Person One, I decide to call him, makes this proclamation boldly and without the slightest hint of humor. He even stands to deliver this message, forcefully gripping the sides of his desk. His eyes blaze with passion. 

    I see that he is looking at the lectern, but I do not see a duck. I angle my head, adjust my posture, and squint, but I still cannot perceive Person One’s fowl.  I start to wonder if I should say something. Person One looks angry, so I decide to keep searching rather than ask him what he’s talking about.  That’s when Person Two stands up and says, “I see the duck. It’s a Perching Duck. Very pretty feathers.”

    Person Two’s revelation is more relaxed and gentle. He gazes upward, his voice  soft and idealistic. 

    Before I can ask either man where this duck is, Person One turns to Person Two. “No, it’s not a Perching Duck. It’s a Mergenser.” He declares. 

    Then a third person jumps up and screams, “You’re both wrong! It’s a Scoter!”

    A fourth calls out, “It’s a Sea Duck!”

    Now I’m sure there isn’t a duck at the lectern, but with four people arguing about the nature of this bird, I find myself not wanting to look foolish. I decide to stay quiet and wait to see if they can sort this out. I rationalize that my failure to notice the duck has something to do with where I am sitting. Perhaps, by some awkward chance, I cannot see the duck simply because of the light . Then things get especially strange.

    “The Mergenser has made a proclamation!” Person One shouts. “It says we are bad people and should contemplate our guilt.”

    “It’s true that the duck says we are bad.” Person Three affirms.  “However, it also stated that salvation from this guilt can be realized if we wear our beards a certain way and strictly adhere to several specific daily rituals. Also, it’s a Scoter.”

    Person Two shakes his head.  “It’s a Perching. It just laid an egg and said we should worship the egg, and that’s how we will be saved. In fact, failure to recognize the egg as your true lord and master is the worst thing you can do.  The duck says that someday it will lay another egg, and that second egg will usher in the end of the class and the world.”

    A fifth person, who has been quiet till now, decides to join the fray. “All types of ducks are really just aspects of a greater, truer, and universal duck. We each see the duck as we choose.” Person Five does not stand when he says this. He sits peacefully, his words barely a whisper, his mouth a subtle smirk.  

    A debate ensues. There is yelling, fist shaking. Person’s One thru Four seem totally convinced that the duck they perceive is the actual duck and insist we should live via that duck’s teachings. The problem is that I still see no duck in the room. I even get up at one point, keeping to myself amidst the rage, and quietly inspect the desk from each angle.

    There is no duck.

    One possibility is that I am mad, since many people claim to see a duck, and I am the only one who does not. Or am I?

    I realize that five other people in the classroom have said nothing. They listen intently to the five angry duckites, but contribute no ideas of their own to the debate. I suspect the five silent people came to this classroom with different expectations than me or the duckites. The nature of the duck is of little concern to them. They are simply waiting for the argument to resolve itself, at which point they will agree with the winner and move on to pursue the things they actually care about.    

    That’s when it dawns on me.  Of course I’m not mad. The duckites each see a different duck. That in and of itself goes quite a long way towards invalidating it’s existence. I think about how frightened I felt when I initially thought I was wrong. It’s no stretch to imagine that I was not the only nervous person in the room. After all, the room does seem to convey a real sense of purpose.  If I expected something from coming here, then it is reasonable to assume that the other ten students felt that way too. When nothing happened, our expectations were slowly dashed.

    Perhaps Person One created the duck out of frustration.  Maybe the others also wanted to feel special. Maybe they were afraid of what that might mean about them if they claimed they saw no duck, and so agreed there was a duck. Whatever the cause, each of the first five people to speak decided to accept the initial premise of there being a duck  at the lectern and ran with it. The key to my point of view is that each version of the duck is distinct. If each duck is unique to the beholder, or in my case there is no duck at all, I can safely choose between a few conclusions.

    1. There is a magic, transforming, all knowing duck in the room that only some people can perceive and this makes them special.

    2. Human beings often want to be special but are simultaneously afraid to stand out, as I was initially. In fact, some quick self analysis reveals that I very much want to fit in and be a leader at the same time. What I can feel another can feel. Leadership and acceptance can both be accomplished by adopting the premise of the duck while concurrently molding its message to your own needs.  Since each person’s duck is unique, that actually lends credence to the idea that there is no duck at all. The lack of a true duck makes it much easier to create an illusionary duck that confirms the ‘perceivers’ ideologies.

    Basically, the more we understand about the particular’s of each man’s magic duck, the more we can conclude that there is not, never has been, nor ever will be a duck at the lectern. Had all five original speakers completely agreed on the nature and species of the duck, my inability to see it would have been far more difficult to cope with.

    Thus I have reached a first conclusion. There is probably no duck. Much work and questioning remains though. Part two will address my next dilemma.