Deconstructing Deforestation
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
A tree has died, and you ask whether it makes a sound?
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, what killed it?
Time is an assassin, silent and deadly.
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it really die?
Silly question. One does not thwart death with loneliness.
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, did it ever live?
Better. Perhaps the tree lived to a ripe old age, a wise and respected conifer in its community. Perhaps it knew joy, and sadness, and excitement, and betrayal, and love. Perhaps it held a steady job, with a generous pension, and lived an unassuming life in the forest with a wife, 2.5 saplings, a dog, and even a white picket fence.
Or perhaps it did none of those things, perhaps it cast no shadow in life—who can know? But this is not the question which burns in your mind, the question which lurks beneath the riddle.
If we fall, and no one is left to hear us, did we ever live?
