Skinjo’s Red Objects and the Problem of Universals

Skinjo put a tomato, a spool of red thread, a red candle, and a painted wooden counter in a line across the afternoon table. They had nothing to do with one another. This was their chief qualification.

On a scrap of paper, Skinjo wrote RED.

The tomato was orange beside the thread. Turned a little, it held a white window on its skin. If red meant one exact appearance, the tomato had arrived wearing several disqualifications. Skinjo moved it aside.

Three remained. The candle looked dull beside the painted counter; the thread darkened where its strands crossed. Skinjo shaded both with a hand. Now the difference was greater, though the objects had not changed their names.

The candle went to the far end of the table.

This was becoming an efficient way of proving that nothing resembled anything, provided one looked closely enough.

Skinjo picked up the thread. A little dye, a little pigment: perhaps the shared thing was in the materials. But a painter could reach a similar red by different mixtures, and the same mixture could look different under another light. A common recipe would not settle what a common color was.

The spool went beside the candle.

Only the counter remained beneath the word. It now met every requirement for agreement with itself. An impressive result, purchased by dismissing the witnesses.

Skinjo brought the tomato back.

Suppose redness was real: not a fifth object waiting to be found under the table, but something each of these things could have. Then their differences need not disprove it. A common property was not a promise of identical tomatoes and candles. Still, pointing from one red surface to another did not reveal what sort of existence that shared property had.

Suppose there were only these particular things, and the word was a convenient way to collect them. Convenient did not mean random. Calling the tomato blue would not become useful merely through determination. There were eyes, light, surfaces, and other people who would reasonably object.

And suppose the collecting happened in the mind: a category learned from examples, carried from one encounter to the next. That explained how Skinjo could recognize another red without bringing this table along. It did not yet decide whether recognition discovered a shared feature or supplied the grouping.

The thread returned. Then the candle.

Skinjo had wanted an experiment that would force one answer out of hiding. Instead, each answer could accommodate the little procession across the table. Moving a candle was easy. Making it testify about the furniture of existence was harder.

The afternoon light shifted. The counter lost its bright edge. Skinjo nearly moved it aside again, then stopped with a finger against the wood.

There was a difference between a comparison failing and a comparison failing to prove everything asked of it.

Skinjo left all four objects in the line and moved the scrap of paper aside. Without the label, the resemblance did not vanish. That was worth noticing.

It was not yet a verdict.