Things are what make things what they are. Without the things that make them, things might be something else entirely, or possibly even nothing.

As Professor Trevor Clogs of the University of Higher Wallop explained in his treatise ‘On the Nature of the Things in Nature’:

Things are the non-specific hierarchical structural components of a known or named entity. Once they have become a component of something, they have no individual existence and serve no purpose outside of that canonical higher level ‘thing’.

As an example, he suggests that a spark plug is no longer a spark plug once it becomes part of a car; it is just a ‘thing’.

This, I fear, is bollocks, and the professor should be ashamed of himself (if he even was a real professor, which I seriously doubt). What he has failed to recognise, at the most basic level, is that he is re-assigning a spark plug as a ‘thing’ based on the nature of its existence (or its context) without concerning himself with what a ‘thing’ might be. If a spark plug can be a ‘thing’, and a paper clip can be a ‘thing’, or a horse can be a ‘thing’ (if it’s not pulling a cart, say), what does it really mean to be a ‘thing’?

Does it mean anything at all?

You might think you’ve heard it all before. And you’d be right, of course. The field of phenomenology has been well ploughed, without ever quite bringing forth a satisfying harvest. Indeed, the philosopher Martin Heidegger wrote a whole book on ‘What Is A Thing?’, and as early as page 2 he suggests:

When the question “What is a thing?” arises, a doubt immediately announces itself. One may say that it makes sense to use and enjoy things in our reach, to eliminate objectionable things, to provide for necessary ones, but that one can really do nothing with the question “What is a thing?” This is true. One can start to do nothing with it. It would be a great misunderstanding of the question itself if we tried to prove that one can start to do something with it. No one can start to do anything with it. This assertion about our question is so true that we must even understand it as a determination of its essence. The question “What is a thing?” is one with which nothing can be started. More than this need not be said about it.

So that clears that up.

Descartes, with typical laziness, planted a seed of phenomenology way back in 1637 in his Discourse on the Method when he stated ‘Cogito, ergo sum’, or ‘I think, therefore I am’. Well, you might think that René, but people still haven’t made their minds up nearly 400 years later!

In my heart of hearts, I wonder why I have so many hearts

Unbeknownest to many or most, the things that are most unknown are more prevalent than is often assumed. The prevalence of the unknown is probably of a greater prevalence than the prevalence of the known. It might not be, but how could you ever know?

All things need a place to grow. Even things that are fully grown. Without a place to grow, they will shrink in on themselves and collapse like a limp balloon. No pop or bang, just an emptying sigh.

What does it all mean?

Who gives a fuck