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           When I walk into a park, is the tranquility I feel inherent in the location?  Or is that feeling something I attach to the park and that manifests in me when I enter said park?

            A famous philosopher, his name escapes me right now, asked if nothing existed.  He posed story of a friend (we’ll call him Jake) who went into a coffee shop looking for another friend (his name is Alex).  Jake walks into the coffee shop, but he’s running a little late.  As such, when Jake enters the shop, he looks around for Alex.  But Alex friend is not there.  As Jake scans the room, he does not see the people in the room, only that each person is not Alex.  By that argument, the philosopher concluded that “nothing” does not actually exist, but is imposed on the environment by Jake, as he searched for Alex, but instead finds only the absence of Alex.

            I could apply that same thinking to the park and say that the park is not tranquil, peaceful, or pleasant, but only that I find it so.  It is possible that someone else doesn’t like parks at all; they would only feel uncomfortable in the park, always wanting to go somewhere else.  Perhaps that person wants to go home and play a video game, or watch sports on TV.  Or, maybe that person had something horrible happen to them in a park, and deep in their brains, all parks represent that horrible event.

            If I take that stance, then I can go back to Alex and say that Park Hater doesn’t feel the park as it is, but is imposing his own view onto the location rather than experiencing the location for what it is.  He doesn’t feel uncomfortable because of the park, but because of what the park is or is not.  To him, it is not his TV but, it is  the place where he had a bad experience.

            Well, then, let’s apply the same thing to me: Maybe I had good experiences in a park, and bad ones with the TV.  Couldn’t I be doing the exact same thing as the other man, only in reverse?  I’m bringing my pleasant times of potlucks and Frisbees to the park.

            But then I’ve got to ask another question: why does the park tend to give people a sense of peace and relaxation and tranquility?  I could say it’s because people have something in them that craves natural things, as apposed to man-made things.  But that would not combine with the natural fear we should have of the wilderness and the man-eating beasts that lay therein.  From an evolutionary perspective, we should be afraid of the wilderness; it equates to exposure to danger and a lack of shelter from the elements.

            By that same token, I could say, from the same evolutionary perspective, that we, as a species, have spent far more time outside than we, as a species, have in huts, houses, or skyscrapers.  So, the park does not represent a lack of safety as much as it satisfies some great need inside me, that it reminds me of home.  However, that is still me imposing my view on the park, and not the park itself.

            By the obviously un-exhaustive arguments mentioned above, it could be said that the park doesn’t universally exude any feeling from all humans.  But that’s just it!  The park is nothing without someone to view it.  It is simply a location. Without someone knowing about it, it isn’t even a location.  The park, without conscious interaction, is a place that isn’t where we are, forever undefined until we enter it.

            Does that mean the park doesn’t exist until someone enters it?  Or, more commonly, “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

            That forces another question: what difference does it make, other than a fallen tree?  The only value the tree has to me is when I encounter it, either first hand or vicariously through the experiences of another.

            What if that fallen tree killed my pet dog that had wandered into the woods while I was away at the grocery store?  As long as I’m at the grocery store, the dog is still alive to me.  It is only once I return home that the dog’s death, and the falling tree become real to me.  Until I interact with the death of my dog, he is still alive to me, in every way.

            There is another argument related to this: If I am alone, without experiences of any kind, will I be aware of anything?  If I have no experiences by which to orient myself, do I have any thoughts?  Rene Descartes argued that the basis for our knowledge of existence is thought.  But I cannot simply think.  I can think of something, but without that something, my thoughts are stagnate. And, if I’m not having any thoughts, do I exist?

            A Zen monk might say that it is only when one removes judgment, removes thought, then and only then can one truly experience reality.  But, if there is no reality to experience, then where is that monk’s argument?

           So, the park does not exist, in any real way, without my being in it.  However, I do not exist without the experience of a park either.  So, it is neither the park nor myself that have existence, but only when I’m in relationship with the park, experiencing it, do either of us exist.

Tags: Existentialism, outdoors, parks, reality, relativism, truth