We unwittingly impose filters and obstructions upon what might otherwise be cherished views or inheritances. An obvious impediment is the screen surrounding the 9′ panel of window through which I daily regard the grand panorama in my line of sight. Though there are three panels of window along the drawing room wherein I am comfortably seated at my desk, the most convenient glance is through the sole panel which inconveniently is subdued by a screen mesh (it is the only window which opens).

What compensates for this minor irritation is my admission that I am capable of clearly imagining an unfettered scene far removed from the present. The capitulation, so I dedeuce, is to the intelligibility of personal conceit, that notorious elixir of attitude and priority which we routinely allow to insinuate our mind. We are in turn the author of our present state of mind no matter we may pretend it to be constrained by external resources.

While it may constitute in your opinion, dear Reader, an inductive leap, I am nonetheless moved to opine that one’s view of the world – in spite of its seeming incalculable variety – is indeed predicted by one’s private perception. This partiality is a lather which may on occasion appear as a smear of despondency – an obfuscation to rewrite or modify the present. I recall however the equal capacity we have in an alternate state of mind to condemn what resonates as apt, preferring instead (and by contrast) to revisit an opposite more inviting territory. This – as I have no doubt you will recall – is the argument at the root of Western philosophy (prefaced by the theory, “Cogito ergo sum“).

Whether attacking the philosophy as tautological (Søren Kierkegaard) or as a challenge between objectivity (Bernard Williams) and subjectivity (Martin Heidegger); or even more rarefied as an irreconcilable dualism between thought and action (John Macmurray) or, further yet, the final contrast between a philosophy of substance and a philosophy of organism (Alfred North Whitehead), the inescapable truth is that we have the internal mechanism to alter our view of the world. This feat is not to predict either a favourable or unfavourable view of the world; rather, merely to identify the singularity of command. Other people, whether friends or teachers, will not dissuade our perception unless we ourselves adopt the mandate. The endorsement is “I think therefore I am”, not “You think therefore I am”.

As with any construction, the underlying pipes and supports must be in place adequately to reflect and to determine the outcome. Life isn’t just about looking at it; life is also about thinking of it. Within the latter sphere of meditation and understanding is revealed the passage through the hardware. We have an incomparable authority to energize our reality. Though I applaud those who encourage youth to tackle any ambition willingly and with gusto, my interest herein is not so much self-discovery as it is withdrawing the strength of the world around us. The platitudes which we embed within our vision of the world afford the nutrition of the thoughts that arise therefrom. And those are our thoughts – so the calculation of them is critical. Not everyone will agree with one’s view of the world but it is in my opinion the only route of access to stability. To do otherwise is to deny the very basis of growth. Remember, it starts and ends with you; and this is so notwithstanding its perhaps unpopular slur of freethinking or self-interest. As I have so often ascribed, “The universe is ultimately personal.”

In conclusion of this pitiful philippic against reality, I have been enabled to pierce the mesh that dismantled my clear view of the world. Through the application of measured consideration – and the indisputable maxims of deduction – I am drawn inalterably and ineluctably to an unblemished view of the distant fields and upriver. Mine is the paradigm of complacency. Nor have I any apology for being so. In the sophistry of Roger Scruton,  A Philosopher’s Guide to Wine: “I drink therefore I am!”

Version 1 (AI):

Through the Mesh

We are forever placing filters—literal and figurative—between ourselves and what might otherwise be a cherished prospect. In my own case, the obstruction is embarrassingly prosaic: the mesh screen over the single window panel through which I most often gaze at the river and distant fields. Three panes admit the light, but the only one that opens is veiled by that small but persistent grid. Thus my most convenient view is my least pristine.

Yet the inconvenience is tempered by an inner concession: I am perfectly capable of imagining the unfiltered scene beyond it. That, I suspect, is the quiet alchemy of personal conceit—the mental elixir that shapes attitude and priority. We are, whether we care to admit it, the authors of our present state of mind, even when we pretend it is externally imposed.

This may strike you as an inductive leap, dear Reader, but I maintain that one’s view of the world—despite its ostensible variety—is predicted largely by one’s private perception. That partiality can form a froth that occasionally settles as a smear of despondency, a distortion that makes us long to rewrite the present. And yet we are equally capable, in another frame of mind, of rejecting what seems apt in favour of some opposite and more inviting territory. This oscillation is nothing new; it sits at the root of Western philosophy, inaugurated by the declaration cogito ergo sum.

Whether you dismiss the dictum as tautological (Kierkegaard), approach it as a battleground between objectivity (Williams) and subjectivity (Heidegger), interpret it as an unresolved dualism between thought and action (Macmurray), or cast it as a contest between substance and organism (Whitehead), the point remains: we possess an internal mechanism for altering our view of the world. This mechanism does not guarantee optimism or pessimism; it simply affirms that the command originates within. Others may attempt to shape our perception, but nothing changes unless we adopt the shift. The maxim is “I think therefore I am”—not “You think therefore I am.”

As with any construction, the unseen supports matter. Life is not only about looking at it; it is also about thinking it through. In that inward act—reflection, understanding, sorting the hardware—we exercise the authority to energize our reality. I have always admired those who urge youth to pursue ambition vigorously, but my interest here is not in self-discovery. It is in recognising the quiet withdrawal of strength from the outer world into our own. The platitudes we allow into our field of vision become the nutrients of the thoughts that follow. They are our thoughts—so we must take care with their cultivation. Agreement from others is pleasant enough, but irrelevant. Stability grows only through this internal jurisdiction. To deny it is to refuse the very basis of growth. Everything begins and ends with the self, however unfashionable that may sound. The universe, as I have long argued, is ultimately personal.

And so, in this small philippic against reality, I find myself able at last to pierce the mesh that muddled my view. With measured consideration and the steady logic of deduction, the distant fields and upriver landscape reappear in their clarity. Mine is a posture of complacency, and I offer no apology for it. In the diverting sophistry of Roger Scruton, in A Philosopher’s Guide to Wine: I drink therefore I am.

Version 2 (AI):

Through the Mesh — Aphoristic

We place more screens before our lives than any window-maker could devise.

The view is rarely blocked by the mesh; more often it’s blocked by the mind behind it.

Conceit is not vanity but the simple fact that we see the world through ourselves. No one else supplies the lens.

A change of mood rewrites the landscape faster than any weather.

The world’s variety is infinite; our perception of it is stubbornly singular.

Philosophy’s long quarrel—between mind, matter, subject, object—is really a dispute about who holds the steering wheel inside your skull.

“I think therefore I am” is less a boast than a reminder: no one else can think you into being.

Stability comes not from agreement with others but from allegiance to one’s own conclusions.

What we call “reality” often begins as an unnoticed choice.

Platitudes are nutrients or poisons depending on who swallows them.

To look is passive; to think is architectural.

The universe is personal because we are the ones doing the seeing.

And so the mesh over the window becomes irrelevant. Once the mind clears, the fields return, the river resumes its course, and nothing stands between.

Scruton had it right: a glass raised in comprehension is as good an ontology as any—I drink therefore I am.