In the Field of Watermelon Truth

Reed Venrick

Reed Venrick usually writes about nature but occasionally picks up the pen to add philosophy into the mix.

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How extreme, David Hume to say that cause and effect is only a human illusion—even his startling statement: the sun may not rise tomorrow, as most of us tonight assume, nor the moon may not rearrange its’ changing shape, as we expect. I said, of course, cause and effect exists. Do we not experience it every waking day? How can you,

Hume, believe nothing can be learned from experience or even inductive scientific observation? But as you have pointed out: The reliability of induction lies in the belief that the future will always resemble the past. But, listen, I insist, wait, wait, I have my proofs. Like when twilight gets dark, don’t the stars light their candles? And after a heavy rain, will the grass not grow here in central Florida? After days without shaving, does not my beard grow longer? And is it not true when a watermelon vine blossoms in June, melons soon will curve round to emulate August’ filling moon? TWO

Like a child, as a teen, I believed that the taste of every watermelon would be always the juicy same, and sometimes such was so, those rotunding melons getting riper, rounder, fuller on rainy season days. Surely, then, a watermelon would always be a watermelon, as I’d first known to expect for its juicy, rotunding form—tasty and succulent, quenching the thirst and hunger of a growing teenager in those halcyon days of summer, as we rolled our bicycles around, looking for the adventure and mischief that summer days nights are bound to produce, Pinching melons from patches, planted in those steamy days down the middles of orange groves, more than once ducking the birdshot from the shotguns that peppered the surrounding leaves.

THREE

But then, finding myself Inside a university room, Hume shocked me when I read and heard his “No, there’s no cause and effect.” How cynical to think that the next melon I would eat would not have that delicious sweet taste of red juicy flesh? But buying at farmer’s markets and grocery stores brought melancholy wisdom. Shopping at Publix, buying at Trader Joes, thumping rinds at Sprouts, even stopping on the side of the road to see the load brought across the border from Mexico. True, sometimes the taste I bit into was the delicious taste to anticipate. But sometimes the taste was not what I expected—not at all. So the cause and effect of my watermelon expectations came to an halt like an oblong ball rolling up against a wall. FOUR

My summers of eating bad watermelons were harsh reminders, depressing as Hume not believing in the efficacy of experience, nor did he take the process of induction seriously Since he said it was based on a fallacy. But Hume had the point of his feathered pen to grind, which seemed extreme even to the plaids of his Scottish day. But isn’t that what philosophy is made of? Taking ideas to max and extreme? That what appears to us as necessary connections between objects and ideas such as the next watermelon’s taste is just habit of expectation. So I had to admit one July summer’s day when the watermelon I tasted was as insipid as a paper napkin—picked too and green to the gills.I had to admit Hume’s empiricist philosophy had its’ slice of truth. Perhaps it was also true, as some doubters contend that the sun will not rise tomorrow, especially if they meet their maker overnight.

No, it’s true: cause and effect cannot ultimately exist in the field of watermelon truth.