On Knowledge and What Not

I've had my fair share of late-night contemplation, lying in bed during the quiet hours while questioning the ways of the universe, and of course I have, at some point, wondered what I really absolutely know. 

"What do you know?" I used to think it was such an absurd question; one that I would arrogantly scoff at and respond with "I know how to breathe, I know that the sky is blue" and so on. However, the thing is, knowing is much more complex than I previously thought. Truthfully, I've never questioned the nature of knowledge in its philosophical sense. The concept of knowledge is impressively intricate that I guess it's something that I take for granted, that trying to dissect it would be futile and would just ultimately lead to a series of migraines. 

But the beauty of the Philosophy class is that it teaches you that having all the answers isn't as important as asking the right kind of questions. In order to figure out what are the things that I know, the first step is defining knowledge. Knowledge is such an abstract thing, somewhat difficult to completely grasp (both literally and figuratively ha ha) In its simplest connotation, I associate knowledge with awareness and consciousness. 

And yet, it isn't as simple as that. 

There are different senses of knowing -- knowing-that, meaning factual knowledge or descriptions of certain things; knowing-how, knowledge of procedures or skills; knowledge by acquaintance or knowledge obtained through a direct casual and is experience-based; and knowledge-wh, the knowledge of whats, whys, wheres, and whos. We acquire this knowledge either subconsciously or not, and sometimes we can't even recall or even reflect upon where we have acquired this knowledge.

Knowledge is no picnic, and there is even a branch of philosophy dedicated entirely to knowledge called "Epistemology". The common misconception of knowledge is that whatever we think of, whatever it is that inhabits our minds is immediately considered knowledge. However, in order for it to be considered knowledge, it must meet 3 conditions: truth, belief, and justification. These three conditions branch out to even more drastic requirements, making the consideration of knowledge seem impossible. Truth, in a more logical sense, is what is overwhelmingly clear that what is false cannot be known. Belief, on the other hand, is accepting something as true; ergo, believing is a requirement for knowing. Lastly, justification is necessary in order for something to be considered as knowledge. It must be supported by evidence, however not all evidences warrant justification. It must evoke certainty; something one cannot doubt.

What I used to stubbornly think as knowledge simply being awareness or consciousness about something that is generally agreed upon, turned out to be a composite web of conditions and requirements; things we unconsciously overlook. And as if it couldn't get even more mind-boggling, the imposition of the question "how do I know that I know" has been burning at the back of mind ever since the start of the class. These are the kind of questions I wouldn't normally attempt to answer on my own, mainly because 1) they're daunting 2) it makes me question everything I've ever known, and 3) a 6-worded question has never made me feel so dumb. 

However, fear not, the French philosopher Descartes came up with the cogito argument: "cogito ergo sum" or "I think therefore I am". This was a massive breakthrough in the world of philosophy, and a massive blow to the gut that maybe everything that we claim to know may not be right after all. This was the one thing upon which he built his knowledge, by questioning everything and giving everything he thought he knew the benefit of the doubt. 

This was one of the most interesting topics for me, as it challenged the existence of everything, even whether or not our minds were to be trusted. To think this way, I feel, is to live in a constant state of paranoia that even my own thoughts and perceptions are manipulated, and my senses give me wrong impressions, therefore cannot be trusted at all. It is terrifying to consider that maybe what's out there isn't what's in our minds, totally altering our perception of truth, reality, and everything in between. The very thought of questioning our knowledge and whether or not they are actually true brings me a sense of disturbance, as if Descartes is forcing me to confront a question I don't want to know the answer to; as if finding out the answer to this question will drag me away from the comfort and familiarity of the life I've grown accustomed to regardless whether it's the truth or not.

I found that humans are too trusting, afraid to second-guess their knowledge. Much like in Plato's Cave Allegory where the people who've been trapped in a cave all their lives genuinely thought the shadow of a tree was an actual tree. It imposes that perhaps everything our senses perceive are merely illusory representations of what actually exists. It then connects to our sources of knowledge, if they are to be trusted, and how we've perceived them -- what if we were deceived by a supreme evil being or our minds actually function this way?

Scarily enough, knowledge may start out as something basic and harmless, however one idea connects to another and the next thing you know you're under an avalanche of interwoven concepts that branch out to further questions and mysteries. It's amazing how the mind works, and how that little voice in our minds convince us of whatever it wants to. 

An intellectual person (I honestly forgot who, but for the sake of references, the last person I heard it say was Littlefinger of Game of Thrones), once said that knowledge is power. It is what keeps us from remaining in the shadows of ignorance. If we are to understand knowledge carefully, it entails a lot of conditions and loopholes. Knowledge must also be separated from merely beliefs because a belief is something that we assume is true, while knowledge is justified and thrives on certainty. However, believing is a requirement for knowledge because knowledge is something we are certain is true, at the same time we must believe that what we know is true. 

Overall, I genuinely feel that philosophy class has unlocked some of the most important answers I've been looking for -- not just in knowledge, but I think it has shed some light on life's greatest questions, as we are in the constant pursuit of Truth and Meaning. I find it extremely intellectually-stimulating and satisfying... never mind the occasional headaches.

The Joys of Film Class

One of the many perks of majoring in Communication Arts is studying film. To top it all off, it's an honor to be taught by Sir Clodualdo del Mundo Jr. who's an award-winning film genius and not to mention, can pull of the killer combo of socks and sandals. He's definitely not the objective type of person as he doesn't require written exams so far, rather insights on the films we see.

We literally started from the beginning, watching the first few sets of moving pictures 'till we progressed to silent films and then to the dawn of sound. And contrary to popular belief, it's really not a struggle to stay awake in class. We've seen a couple of films these past few weeks and there are two films that really stuck to me. So I figured I'd share two of my film reviews for our midterms just because.

Bicycle Thieves (1928)
Vittorio de Sica

The film revolves around a young husband, Antonio Ricci, who has been suffering a prolonged unemployment but one day finds a job that requires a bicycle. His wife then agrees to pawn their bedsheets in order for Antonio to get a bicycle, only to have it stolen the next day. Out of sheer desperation to keep his job, Antonio sets on a wide-ranging search for the thief across Rome, accompanied by his young son, Bruno. 

The film was consisted of a good amount of long and wide shots, emphasizing landscapes and the hustle and bustle of the city. It perfectly captures the busy streets, clogged with unfamiliar and hard-bitten faces. The attention to detail was what I liked the most – the visual aspects, such as the indifference of the crowds and vehicles, and occasional reckless behaviour that contributed to the setting of the “harsh” reality of the city.  

Bicycle Thieves’ plot is simple in construction; however it takes pride in its richness in human insight. What seems to be such a mundane problem means the world to Antonio and Bruno. What’s gripping about the film is that the emotions the characters convey and the events that unfold are raw with unpolished edges which makes it vulnerable and pierces even the most callused heart. It follows the journey of a father and a son, and their focus on survival in rural life. I think the film is not only a form of art, but a social statement of post-war Italy, with a horrible system of justice where even the police is of no help. The film was poignant and extremely frustrating because you root for these characters and yet the odds never seem to be in their favor.  The film puts emphasis on the vicious cycle of poverty, where Antonio is torn between setting a good example for his son by doing the right thing, and keeping them alive by also stealing a bicycle to keep his job. The moment where Antonio succumbs to desperation, with the futile attempt to steal the unguarded bicycle was the most heartbreaking scene. You can’t right a wrong by doing another wrong thing, and that is the lesson Antonio ignores as he hits rock bottom. His horrible loss of dignity was lessened, if only for a little bit, once Bruno holds his hand. The cruel and harsh world in which they live in is brilliantly told by Vittorio de Sica. It brings the audience’s attention the world and what kind of things actually occur on a regular basis.

I think this film requires a lot of patience as it progresses slowly and it takes you along the grueling journey of the wide-range search. It's exhausting, and frustrating, but wonderfully told.


The Last Laugh (1924)
F.W. Murnau

The film revolves around a doorman, played by Emil Jannings, who works for a famous and lavish hotel by being positioned in front of the busy revolving door, greeting and assisting the elite guests. The old man takes pride in his uniform – with its brass buttons and fancy details – serving as the embodiment of the hotel. However, he is demoted to the position of the washroom attendant after being considered too old to infirm the image of the hotel. 

The production and technicalities of the film played a crucial role in the overall visual experience of the film which is its essence, considering it is a silent film. The lack of dialogue, and even printed inter-titles, emphasized the Murnau’s ability to tell a story through the language of the camera, replying purely on visual cues and sound effects. The highlight of the film for me is that it is pantomime – conveying emotions through body movements, facial expressions, camera angles, and the like – which I consider is the beauty of silent films before the dawn of sound. It lets you focus your attention on the characters’ actions, along with the eerie instrumentals. I especially enjoyed its cinematography – the angles and the panning of the camera.

The plot of the film, although not as complex as postmodern works, it is hauntingly intriguing enough to stretch for an extended amount of time. One of its crowning highlights is the presentation of the main character’s descent from someone who was admired by his neighbours to being the object of rude gossips. It is heartbreaking to see a man being proud beyond all reason of his job, only to have it taken away unceremoniously. Much of the doorman’s source of happiness is in what he does and the absence of his uniform equated to the absence of his identity. It pierces the heart and hits right where it hurts the most – the knowledge that these things happen on a daily basis. The streets are full of forlorn people like the doorman and not everyone is fortunate enough to have a plot twist as incredible as the one Murnau added. The doorman reads in the newspaper that he inherited the fortune of a millionaire who died in his arms and the last few scenes are spent showing his new happy life, eating extravagant food and drinking expensive champagne. I think it’s nice of Murnau to not leave it at the doorman stuck in his dead-end job, waiting for his death. The art is in the tragedy; however I find the alternative ending refreshing as it tugs the heartstrings.

This film was haunting, with its grotesque cinematography and style of story-telling. The fact that it's a silent film makes it all the more eerie! I personally enjoyed this and Emil Jannings' acting. He also starred in another great film called "The Blue Angel". To be honest, this is really depressing and if Murnau didn't throw in that alternative ending, I would've thrown a fit. Haha.

With all these classes for the degree I'm taking, I feel like I start to notice more things now, especially the ones I take for granted. I feel like I'm not just looking anymore, but actually seeing and it's remarkable and I feel myself growing. And the world looks slightly more alive and vibrant and sad and poignant, and it scares me but it's exhilarating. And it's only just the beginning, just the tip of the iceberg, and I'm more than ready to absorb and take everything in -- to look, to listen, to analyze, to pay attention.

It's daunting, but I feel like I'm finally noticing.

Loud Thoughts

I have five film reviews to finish and my brain decided it wants to write something else. Normally these kinds of thoughts have to stay within the confines of my journals, but it's late and I'm feeling a little brave right now in the dark.

12:27 a.m.
What is it like to call
somebody else's arms "home",
and not your own
skin and bones?


1:02 a.m.
I want to find a tattoo he doesn’t tell anybody about: 
on his back or his torso, 
or somewhere along his spine 
and I would kiss it every night 
and try to see what it feels like 
to be forever etched onto his skin


1:45 a.m.
and I wonder if anyone could break my heart
as beautifully as you did