Dear ______,
I am aware that you have had unusual experiences with inanimate objects. It has now happened to me and I want you to know that you're not alone in your experiential panpsychism.
I think it's best to report directly what happened – without embellishment. Then you can give me your considered guidance.
Early on Saturday, I went over to the Common to play a game of solo croquet. As you know, one can team up the balls so that Blue and Black play together, opposed by Red and Yellow. With solo croquet, one player works both teams.
Technically, solo croquet can be very complicated (like solo chess). When playing, one must maintain a balance of loyalty towards both teams. This doesn't mean you're indifferent to the fates of the various colours. No! You must offer to both teams a warmth of support and encouragement in good times and in bad, acknowledging any natural preferences. For instance, red is my favourite colour, and I'm not ashamed of the fact!
On Saturday, we started off quite well. Blue and Black took an early lead. They shot through the first five hoops. They required only the occasional tap from me. Meanwhile, I lumbered behind at the first hoop with Yellow and Red. No doubt about it – Red was in a mess! He seemed to be uncoordinated and clumsy. This could be because he was out of sympathy with Yellow. She was skidding past Red and seemed to be avoiding the roquet kiss. (Participants are always reproved if they bring their private lives onto the croquet court.)
Once again, it was the turn of Black and Blue at the opposite corner of the court. As I approached, I thought I heard sniggering apparently coming from them! As I prepared to strike Blue, I seemed to hear Black call to her, "Don't let yourself be directed by him. He's nothing, just a sad loser."
I turned to Black, and said with quiet dignity "I am very well aware that Red and Yellow are losing. And you are winning. All this is because I make it so. Without me, there would be no game. You and Blue and just part of the games equipment."
At that, I saw Blue quiver with fury! "How dare you! You dirty anti-animist!" she screamed. "You believe that because we are not living beings we have no identity – no right to existence and respect. In your stupefying arrogance, you just group together very different beings and call them 'games equipment'!"
I wasn't going to accept insults from a croquet ball, so I hit Blue off the court. Then, instead of returning to the game, I strolled up and leaned over Blue. "Look," I said, "our relationship is clear. I am the sentient being. You are just a non-living piece of equipment. You have no rights whatsoever. Is that understood?"
As I spoke, I became aware of a young woman standing near by. I thought I'd better explain myself. "I'm just trying to psych myself up to get a good shot in," I said.
She answered with withering contempt. "No. You are simply relying on brute force to win an argument against this blue ball. You are insulting your hapless victim as you do so, and you are pretending to me that it never happened. Your behaviour is completely unacceptable!" she cried dramatically.
I picked up Blue and thrust it under her nose. "That's just a lump of matter," I pointed out calmly. "It can't think. It cannot communicate. It has no senses. It can't reproduce itself. It's just an object and according it a sense of consciousness is to denigrate real people."
Her excoriating glare blistered my nail varnish. "You arrogant, ignorant thing! she hissed. "You seem to think that you are Lord of the Earth, charging about, not only ignoring the rights of others but also the evidence which supports those rights . . ."
I tried to interrupt but she raised a little hand to forestall me. "Crystals reproduce themselves. Rivers communicate messages. I can receive messages from the spirit of the wind, and you can listen to your croquet ball. When you strike your ball you are communicating a highly complex set of signals. The ball interprets these in the light of the speed, topography and so on."
"I can explain hitting croquet balls," I protested, "and I can do it without resorting to myths. You animists are all the same. You claim that all objects have souls, yet never prove it. Like all wild eccentrics, you love the strange and mystical and insult rational thought and behaviour!"
I could see I had got to the young woman, because her spectacles steamed up before cracking. "Now you're seeking domination by insulting me! she cried. "If I'm a wild eccentric, then so were people like Plotinus, Leibniz and Schopenhauer." The blue ball added ". . . and there was Schiller, Whitehead and Alexander."
"Look," I told Blue, "you just keep out of it. This is a sentient beings' argument."
Blue retorted "If that's true then why are you arguing with me?" To this the young lady nodded vehement agreement.
As I turned to the young lady I showed my steely smile. (You know how daunting this can be!) "Do you realise that my conversation with this ball is just a figment of my imagination? It's just my way of passing the time. It's like a man cursing his motorcar. It's all imaginary."
"How is it then that I also heard the ball answering back?" the girl asked with a smirk of triumph.
I threw the Blue ball back towards Black. "I just imagined that the croquet ball was talking to me," I explained. "Under the influence of your general hylozoism I started to address an inanimate object and share your hallucination. I must go."
As I walked away from her I felt some guilt about the hostility contained in our encounter. I called back to her. "Do you come here often?"
She shaded her eyes before replying "Only with my sister."
"And what's your name?"
"Alice!" she said.
Conrad
