Upon his hardened throne, besodd'd
with doubt and shame, and bitter thought
of most disgraced, scorned, applause,
a man of meager means distraught.
"For what hast thou departed clean
all for what thou canst but have seen,
and duly known to be so dear?
Thou surely hath an answer clear."
Within the cutting draft he shrugged,
and did resume his pensive way.
'twere true that he did not conceive;
yet such he shan't quite yet betray.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
On Becoming a Resident of Beijing
The last few days I have been exploring the city in fairly small groups. On Tuesday night, Rio, Lily, and I went to Wudaokou and scoped out some bars, looking for pool tables. We settled on one near a club we had gone to the week prior. There was only one table, and a 10RMB fee per game, but it was a nice table, and we wanted to play pool.
So we played pool. I ordered a burger that tasted pretty good. It was a nightly special: 10RMB burgers from 11PM-3AM. We talked to some of the others at the bar that night. For our last game we played partners. The fourth player was a local Chinese girl who absolutely could not play pool. She was cool, though, and we gave her our numbers.
Last Thursday, Lily and I went to the Beijing Zoo. It was much like a zoo in the United States. Animals were in cages, and grouped into themes. Pheasants were together. Large cats were together. African animals were together. The pens even looked similar to those you would find in America. But it is amazing how a little local spice can completely change the atmosphere.
People in China do not take the same precautions as Americans do. For example, windows in tall buildings do not have screens or any sort of safety against defenestration. Cars weave in and out of traffic, coming within inches of other cars - and pedestrians. And children walk around with holes in the back of their pants so they can take a crap no matter where they are at the time.
So, naturally, Chinese do not tend to follow regulations about animal-patron interaction. The black bears sat on their rumps and begged for the little bits of sausage that people were throwing them. A golden Yunnan monkey stuck its arm out of its cage to catch a bag of chips that a child had thrown to it. It shuffled off and picked at the bag in a corner. A child nearly had his fingers bitten off by an ostrich and I got to pet a zebra. They feel just like regular horses.
Yesterday Ben, Donghwan, and I went to Wudaokou and got pizza. It was a nice place. The employees spoke Chinese almost exclusively, but they had an actual stone oven in the corner of the place. We watched the cooks make the pizza from scratch. We then went to this DVD store that sold pretty much any recent movie and TV show (and plenty of not-so-recent DVDs. They had the complete series of Ally McBeal). We then shopped around the area. I bought a (faux) leather jacket. It looks quite nice and will hopefully keep me warm throughout my stay here.
I think I'm starting to get - if not comfortable - accustomed to life here. I still complain about parts on a daily basis. But what coalesced all these events together into a wider picture was something that happened this morning. I usually eat breakfast around 9AM. Today I got a fried egg, baozi, and a chunk of fried bread. I was thirsty after so I got myself a drink. The normal drink station is closed in the morning, and they usually only sell a soy milk drink and a yogurt drink. Given that I did not want to deal with chunky yogurt in a straw, I got the soy milk, as I usually do for breakfast.
On my way back to my bike I started sipping my drink. It was tepid, neither hot nor cold. What I said did not immediately strike me as odd, but when I realized what I had said, I was quite taken aback. To myself, I wondered: why is this milk so cold? I wish it were warmer; I like it better that way.
So we played pool. I ordered a burger that tasted pretty good. It was a nightly special: 10RMB burgers from 11PM-3AM. We talked to some of the others at the bar that night. For our last game we played partners. The fourth player was a local Chinese girl who absolutely could not play pool. She was cool, though, and we gave her our numbers.
Last Thursday, Lily and I went to the Beijing Zoo. It was much like a zoo in the United States. Animals were in cages, and grouped into themes. Pheasants were together. Large cats were together. African animals were together. The pens even looked similar to those you would find in America. But it is amazing how a little local spice can completely change the atmosphere.
People in China do not take the same precautions as Americans do. For example, windows in tall buildings do not have screens or any sort of safety against defenestration. Cars weave in and out of traffic, coming within inches of other cars - and pedestrians. And children walk around with holes in the back of their pants so they can take a crap no matter where they are at the time.
So, naturally, Chinese do not tend to follow regulations about animal-patron interaction. The black bears sat on their rumps and begged for the little bits of sausage that people were throwing them. A golden Yunnan monkey stuck its arm out of its cage to catch a bag of chips that a child had thrown to it. It shuffled off and picked at the bag in a corner. A child nearly had his fingers bitten off by an ostrich and I got to pet a zebra. They feel just like regular horses.
Yesterday Ben, Donghwan, and I went to Wudaokou and got pizza. It was a nice place. The employees spoke Chinese almost exclusively, but they had an actual stone oven in the corner of the place. We watched the cooks make the pizza from scratch. We then went to this DVD store that sold pretty much any recent movie and TV show (and plenty of not-so-recent DVDs. They had the complete series of Ally McBeal). We then shopped around the area. I bought a (faux) leather jacket. It looks quite nice and will hopefully keep me warm throughout my stay here.
I think I'm starting to get - if not comfortable - accustomed to life here. I still complain about parts on a daily basis. But what coalesced all these events together into a wider picture was something that happened this morning. I usually eat breakfast around 9AM. Today I got a fried egg, baozi, and a chunk of fried bread. I was thirsty after so I got myself a drink. The normal drink station is closed in the morning, and they usually only sell a soy milk drink and a yogurt drink. Given that I did not want to deal with chunky yogurt in a straw, I got the soy milk, as I usually do for breakfast.
On my way back to my bike I started sipping my drink. It was tepid, neither hot nor cold. What I said did not immediately strike me as odd, but when I realized what I had said, I was quite taken aback. To myself, I wondered: why is this milk so cold? I wish it were warmer; I like it better that way.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Success is Well-Defined Change in Circumstance
Sunday was a good day. I got breakfast at the dining hall. I ordered to perfection.
"I want this, and this."
"This?"
"Yes."
"Do you want rice?"
"Yes. One thing of rice."
Later, I went to the nearby grocery store in Wudaokou. I bought water, snacks, hangers, and a notebook. The checkout girl asked if I wanted a bag. I said I wanted one. Then I biked back and played Starcraft 2.
I guess it is the little things that make or break you, as cliche as that sounds. I was happy all day because I understood that the cook was asking me if I wanted rice as well. Other days, I'm in a foul mood because I can't communicate properly. I lost my bike keys a while back. I asked the front desk of my dorm building if anyone had turned in a pair of black keys. They said no. So, naturally, when I just so happened to be behind the desk two days later, I saw my keys with a note, saying that they had been found and turned in.
Chinese class is good. My class is starting from the basics, but is moving quickly. It's an elementary class, but it's kept in mind that most of the students have prior Chinese experience. That way, we make sure our fundamentals are good while still learning new stuff.
I have more time than I thought. I end up trying to avoid eating, though. I still don't like the food much, although I have reached an unstable truce with it. Still, eating three meals a day is hard when you have to bike through the rain.
Oh yeah. It started raining last Wednesday. And it hasn't stopped. It's rained every day since. Also, it was 85degrees Fahrenheit last Tuesday. Today it was 55degrees Fahrenheit. I guess fall is here.
"I want this, and this."
"This?"
"Yes."
"Do you want rice?"
"Yes. One thing of rice."
Later, I went to the nearby grocery store in Wudaokou. I bought water, snacks, hangers, and a notebook. The checkout girl asked if I wanted a bag. I said I wanted one. Then I biked back and played Starcraft 2.
I guess it is the little things that make or break you, as cliche as that sounds. I was happy all day because I understood that the cook was asking me if I wanted rice as well. Other days, I'm in a foul mood because I can't communicate properly. I lost my bike keys a while back. I asked the front desk of my dorm building if anyone had turned in a pair of black keys. They said no. So, naturally, when I just so happened to be behind the desk two days later, I saw my keys with a note, saying that they had been found and turned in.
Chinese class is good. My class is starting from the basics, but is moving quickly. It's an elementary class, but it's kept in mind that most of the students have prior Chinese experience. That way, we make sure our fundamentals are good while still learning new stuff.
I have more time than I thought. I end up trying to avoid eating, though. I still don't like the food much, although I have reached an unstable truce with it. Still, eating three meals a day is hard when you have to bike through the rain.
Oh yeah. It started raining last Wednesday. And it hasn't stopped. It's rained every day since. Also, it was 85degrees Fahrenheit last Tuesday. Today it was 55degrees Fahrenheit. I guess fall is here.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Culture Shock
So Wikipedia - the source of sources - defines culture shock as the difficulty people have adjusting to a new culture that differs markedly from their own. Frankly, I always thought culture shock was a more explosive thing, involving tears, shouts, and fights. I went into this semester fully expecting culture shock, and was surprised that, after a few weeks, I was pretty much alright.
But then it hit. It wasn't like a sledge hammer in the face, or a spike into my foot. Elliot, Ben, Ariyo, and I were talking, hanging out. Somehow the topic of dinner came up.
"What did you have for dinner, Rio?"
"We ate at this one local restaurant. Noodles and this vegetable dish."
"How. Original."
And then it hit me. The food here is all the same. Rice, noodles, spice, salt, and a little bit of meat - enough to get the flavor but never enough to get any respectable amount of protein. I'm tempted to import protein powder and start drinking shakes just to make sure I don't keel over from this carb-loaded diet. There is some small variation in the dishes: tomato in one tastes juicy and tomato-like, while the spicy chicken and peppers dish has a little kick. But by and large my breakfast tastes and looks the same as my lunch tastes and looks the same as my dinner.
You know what I miss? Toast. Crispy, crunchy, flaky, buttery toast. I think that might be the problem. There is no variation in texture. It's all this mushy-ish noodle/rice like composition. There is no chewy like steak, no crunchy like toast, no mushy like yogurt. Maybe I'm just eating the wrong dishes. Oh, I had warm milk today during lunch. At least, I hope it was milk.
Besides that, I'm generally ok with China. The sanitation bothers me sometimes. In Chengdu, we were having dinner at this local place that had some pretty good dumplings (still all the same texture). This one guy at this one table started chewing his food. I guess he didn't like what he was tasting because he spat it out. Onto the floor. Just.. bloop - right underneath him. When we left after dinner the chewy mass was still there.
I'm also frustrated that I can't communicate effectively. I lost my bike keys a few days ago. I asked the front desk at my building if anyone turned in a pair of black keys. They said no. Two days later, when I was helping my teacher get something behind the desk, I saw my keys with a little note saying that they had been found in the building. Those fuckers.
Friday, September 10, 2010
On the Daily Life of a Expat
I've been back in Beijing since Wednesday night. This here is a picture of my laundry pile. Note how I have organized it into colors and whites. I have not done real laundry since arriving in China. A week into my traveling seminar I did soak some clothes in the hotel tub and hung them to dry. The clothes weren't dry until the last couple days of our travel. Plus they were wrinkled, and smelled a little bit like mildew.
Now, one might ask, why isn't Peter doing his laundry? Well, I'm afraid to. There is a small little washer down the hall that students can use. You need a keycard thinger dinger to use it; I got one just last night after having my friends take me there. I don't have laundry detergent and I haven't gotten around to asking someone if I could use theirs. Also, the only dryer in the (14-story) residence hall is on the 4th floor. And rumor has it that it doesn't dry very well. Most are hanging their clothes to dry. I don't like that. There is also a laundry service that will wash, dry, and fold your laundry for 15RMB/load (about $2). I'm afraid to use that because I'd have to walk with an armful of laundry into a building and hope I can gesticulate and use what little Chinese I have to get them to understand that I want this shit washed. Hopefully, I'll end up in the right building.
I'm lucky that I found a secret stash of clothing in my luggage. I actually had to buy underwear twice already because I've run out. One pair has a scorpion on it. I also did not pack towels; we were advised not to. I should have. The towels here are expensive - relatively. 15RMB for a crappy towel, and I bought two.
But I think I realize how scary it must be for immigrants - and how important, really, it is for them to learn the language. There has been an ongoing conversation about Hispanic immigrants (legal or otherwise) and their increasing prevalence. It is so comfortable when I can speak in English here. But I can't everywhere. And when I can't, I feel incredibly uncomfortable. Scared. I started sweating in Dico's (sort of like a Chinese McDonald's/KFC hybrid) because my food took a long time to cook. I wanted to ask about it, but how could I? I can tell them what I want: Wo yao zhe ge, yi ge. But if they ask a follow-up, I'm screwed. So, yeah, people need to learn the Lingua Franca. No excuses.
Alright, I'm out. I need to find a way to watch the Giants game by 1AM Monday.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Reestablished Contact
As you may or may not know, the Chinese government has blocked internal access to some websites. Mostly, they're social networking sites - Facebook, Twitter, and more importantly for this blog, blogspot. So, no, I did not abandon the blog for greener pasteurs as soon as I reached China. I only yesterday bought access to a proxy server that allows me to access these sites (props to Oriana are due for that).
I will confess that I have very little time to blog at the moment. So I will keep it brief. After arriving on Tuesday, August 24th, we stayed in our Tsinghua University dorms and oriented ourselves somewhat. We bought phones, bikes, and learned how to get around campus. Friday the 27th we left for our travel seminar. This would be a 13-day journey across Southern and Western China, in Yunnan and Sichuan province. We visited Kunming, Dali, and Lijiang. Currently I am in Shang-ri La. Tomorrow we will leave for Chengdu.
Things are, as to be expected, a grab-bag of awesome, terrible, alright, and mundane. It is very hard to work and keep in contact with the States, however.
I'll see you all later. I need breakfast.
I will confess that I have very little time to blog at the moment. So I will keep it brief. After arriving on Tuesday, August 24th, we stayed in our Tsinghua University dorms and oriented ourselves somewhat. We bought phones, bikes, and learned how to get around campus. Friday the 27th we left for our travel seminar. This would be a 13-day journey across Southern and Western China, in Yunnan and Sichuan province. We visited Kunming, Dali, and Lijiang. Currently I am in Shang-ri La. Tomorrow we will leave for Chengdu.
Things are, as to be expected, a grab-bag of awesome, terrible, alright, and mundane. It is very hard to work and keep in contact with the States, however.
I'll see you all later. I need breakfast.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Waiting at the Gates
I'm within eyesight of Gate 173. In a few minutes boarding will start. My flight leaves at 2:50PM, EST. I arrive in Beijing 3: 55PM the next day. Except it's only a thirteen hour flight. Time zones are funky.
I had a lot of fun in Canada. Square One, the mall we went to, was absolutely enormous. I've always thought of myself as a battle-hardened shopping veteran, but even I was daunted by this place. Imagine, if you will, 11AM Black Friday at Carousel mall. The huge crowd has gone, sure, but there is still a mass of people meandering every which way. It's absolute chaos. That is what it's like on a regular day at Square One.
Well, I just had an internet hiccup that delayed this post. I should probably start heading towards my gate. Next time I post here I'll be in China!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Toronto, The First Leg
So I'm lying down on the bed in my hotel room in Mississauga, Ontario. The city is near Toronto, probably twenty or thirty miles out. We're about sixty seconds from the airport. Surprisingly, I haven't heard any planes taking off; I suppose we are oriented towards the city and away from the airport, though.
Thursday, I packed all my stuff and said goodbye to my mom. After loading my car I headed to my dad's for the remainder of the week. While there, I mostly bummed around the house, painting and playing Starcraft 2 with Rob. Despite being so hesitant to drop $60 on that game, in three weeks I've already gotten my money's worth. I know I shouldn't sit inside and play video games while I have the whole extent of China at my perusal. But it is a way to stay connected to the States.
Anyway, as Saturday came 'round, my trip hit its first rough patch. The original plan was for Courtney, my dad, my step-mom Andrea, and I to drive up together. They would leave late Sunday and after spending one last night in North America I would board the plane Monday. Andrea was unable to find her passport, though, so just Courtney and I went.
Well, I drove. Since she will have to drive the whole trip back, I offered to drive up. It wasn't bad at all. We stopped once and got some Tim Horton's iced coffee. It was terrible. I didn't know it was possible to make coffee that bad. It was almost like she tried to make the exact opposite of what I ordered. I couldn't taste the sugar, and either she forgot to put in the caramel flavoring or it was, in reality, just water.
After we checked into the hotel, we went downstairs to have dinner. I ordered the fettuccine alfredo and Courtney got the cheese tortellini. We felt adventurous, so we also ordered a calamari appetizer, some Pinot Grigio, and a whiskey sour. All three were stronger than expected. We felt a little bad because we were still finishing up while the poor waitress was trying to close. At least we tipped well.
We woke up cotton-mouthed at 9. We then struggled mightily to rouse out of bed in time for the complimentary breakfast. We made it. Coming back to our room, I tried to get on the internet with my laptop. For whatever reason, though, mine is unable to. So, naturally, I'm on Courtney's mac writing this. We're in the process of getting ready and will go get lunch and shop at this amazingly huge shopping mall we found. I only have a couple pounds left in luggage space so I better not find something I really like.
Square One: "Located in Mississauga's City Centre; it's a city within a city with over 360 stores including BCBG, Coach, Apple, Hugo Boss, Bench & four major department stores. Over 40 places to eat including Earls, Lemongrass, Panera Bread and many more. Conveniently located at Hwys. 403 & 10, 20 minutes from downtown Toronto and 10 minutes from Pearson International Airport."
Thursday, I packed all my stuff and said goodbye to my mom. After loading my car I headed to my dad's for the remainder of the week. While there, I mostly bummed around the house, painting and playing Starcraft 2 with Rob. Despite being so hesitant to drop $60 on that game, in three weeks I've already gotten my money's worth. I know I shouldn't sit inside and play video games while I have the whole extent of China at my perusal. But it is a way to stay connected to the States.
Anyway, as Saturday came 'round, my trip hit its first rough patch. The original plan was for Courtney, my dad, my step-mom Andrea, and I to drive up together. They would leave late Sunday and after spending one last night in North America I would board the plane Monday. Andrea was unable to find her passport, though, so just Courtney and I went.
Well, I drove. Since she will have to drive the whole trip back, I offered to drive up. It wasn't bad at all. We stopped once and got some Tim Horton's iced coffee. It was terrible. I didn't know it was possible to make coffee that bad. It was almost like she tried to make the exact opposite of what I ordered. I couldn't taste the sugar, and either she forgot to put in the caramel flavoring or it was, in reality, just water.
After we checked into the hotel, we went downstairs to have dinner. I ordered the fettuccine alfredo and Courtney got the cheese tortellini. We felt adventurous, so we also ordered a calamari appetizer, some Pinot Grigio, and a whiskey sour. All three were stronger than expected. We felt a little bad because we were still finishing up while the poor waitress was trying to close. At least we tipped well.
We woke up cotton-mouthed at 9. We then struggled mightily to rouse out of bed in time for the complimentary breakfast. We made it. Coming back to our room, I tried to get on the internet with my laptop. For whatever reason, though, mine is unable to. So, naturally, I'm on Courtney's mac writing this. We're in the process of getting ready and will go get lunch and shop at this amazingly huge shopping mall we found. I only have a couple pounds left in luggage space so I better not find something I really like.
Square One: "Located in Mississauga's City Centre; it's a city within a city with over 360 stores including BCBG, Coach, Apple, Hugo Boss, Bench & four major department stores. Over 40 places to eat including Earls, Lemongrass, Panera Bread and many more. Conveniently located at Hwys. 403 & 10, 20 minutes from downtown Toronto and 10 minutes from Pearson International Airport."
Friday, August 13, 2010
Brutal Composition
It is an interesting observation that, frequently, a philosopher defends his favored theory of material composition by arguing that it is the least-bad of all the theories. Many utilize a reductio strategy. For example, van Inwagen himself begins his defense by arguing against fusion-type answers to the SCQ. Sider, likewise, defends nihilism by (at least in part) attacking universalism. In mereology, it seems, the best defense is a good offense.
Part of this reality is likely due to the fact that both nihilism and universalism commit oneself to claims that, ordinarily, are completely absurd. Of course tables and chairs exist, and of course there is no object that is composed of the tip of my nose and the Eiffel Tower. Because of this, much of the work to be done by a proponent of one of these views is to alleviate the perceived crazy-ness. Thus we see the introduction of the paraphrase strategy, Lewis and Horgan's context-sensitive semantics, etc.
Recall that the dialectic has been driven most centrally by our attempts to seek an answer to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. Three answers, nihilism, universalism, and compatiblism, were presented. The answers are logically incompatible and, in fact, exhaust the logical possibilities. This is because the three can be summarized as answering in the following manner. When does composition occur? Never, always, sometimes.
Compatiblism is the the juicy steak (or respective soy product) of composition. It looks and taste delicious - and is nine times out of ten what we most want to order on the menu. But is by no means healthy for us. Substantial philosophical work must be done in order to not keel over from the cholesterol-ridden aftereffects of compatiblism. First and foremost, one must answer a follow-up question. Yes, composition only sometimes occurs, but under what circumstances?
Above, it was demonstrated that composition is never based merely on the position of the parts. Other answers have been attempted. Notably, van Inwagen argues that composition occurs only when involving life. But Ned Markosian goes a different way. When pressed to offer a complete answer to the SCQ, containing the circumstances under which composition does and does not occur, Markosian simply refuses to answer. That is, he claims that there is no answer to the SCQ. More formally, he holds that "there is no true, non-trivial, and finitely long answer to SCQ." Thus, facts about composition are brute, that is, they do not obtain in virtue of some other fact or facts.
One might reject Brutal Composition on the grounds that a proper answer to the SCQ must be systematic and general. Further, it should not help itself to mereological terminology - parthood, composite, simple, etc. Such restrictions might be unfair, however. The second insists that mereological terminology stands in some subservient relation (in virtue of, explained by) to some non-mereological concept or concepts. That is, mereological terminology is not basic. But why should we think this? Certainly something must be brutal. Why is our theory of composition not a good candidate? I am inclined to think that it is. Given that I hold (N) and (M) to be true, however, I differ substantially from Markosian's Brutal Composition.
There is, however, considerable virtue in a systematic and general answer. What metaphysics hopes to uncover is those principles that most fundamentally govern the world. Prima facie, such principles are necessary truths and obtain in all possible worlds. The correct answer to the SCQ, insofar as an answer reflects a fundemental principle, should be necessarily true. Any string, finite or otherwise, of brute facts about composition are contingent. This is due to the (presumably) contingent nature of some objects. The keyboard from which I am typing is not a necessary object; in some world it could fail to exist. Thus, any answer containing brute compositional facts re: my keyboard is itself contingent.
Or is it? Nowhere was the extent of a BC answer restricted to the actual world. Perhaps, then, a complete BC answer supplies a complete ontology for all worlds, actual and possible (and impossible?). Such an answer indexes the existence of objects to space, time, and modality. There is still more to be said on behalf of this string of facts, though. How are counterfactuals to be accounted for? Is a BC answer compatible or incompatible with Lewisian modality and the counterpart relation? What of ersatz possible worlds, or other modal theories?
Part of this reality is likely due to the fact that both nihilism and universalism commit oneself to claims that, ordinarily, are completely absurd. Of course tables and chairs exist, and of course there is no object that is composed of the tip of my nose and the Eiffel Tower. Because of this, much of the work to be done by a proponent of one of these views is to alleviate the perceived crazy-ness. Thus we see the introduction of the paraphrase strategy, Lewis and Horgan's context-sensitive semantics, etc.
Recall that the dialectic has been driven most centrally by our attempts to seek an answer to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. Three answers, nihilism, universalism, and compatiblism, were presented. The answers are logically incompatible and, in fact, exhaust the logical possibilities. This is because the three can be summarized as answering in the following manner. When does composition occur? Never, always, sometimes.
Compatiblism is the the juicy steak (or respective soy product) of composition. It looks and taste delicious - and is nine times out of ten what we most want to order on the menu. But is by no means healthy for us. Substantial philosophical work must be done in order to not keel over from the cholesterol-ridden aftereffects of compatiblism. First and foremost, one must answer a follow-up question. Yes, composition only sometimes occurs, but under what circumstances?
Above, it was demonstrated that composition is never based merely on the position of the parts. Other answers have been attempted. Notably, van Inwagen argues that composition occurs only when involving life. But Ned Markosian goes a different way. When pressed to offer a complete answer to the SCQ, containing the circumstances under which composition does and does not occur, Markosian simply refuses to answer. That is, he claims that there is no answer to the SCQ. More formally, he holds that "there is no true, non-trivial, and finitely long answer to SCQ." Thus, facts about composition are brute, that is, they do not obtain in virtue of some other fact or facts.
One might reject Brutal Composition on the grounds that a proper answer to the SCQ must be systematic and general. Further, it should not help itself to mereological terminology - parthood, composite, simple, etc. Such restrictions might be unfair, however. The second insists that mereological terminology stands in some subservient relation (in virtue of, explained by) to some non-mereological concept or concepts. That is, mereological terminology is not basic. But why should we think this? Certainly something must be brutal. Why is our theory of composition not a good candidate? I am inclined to think that it is. Given that I hold (N) and (M) to be true, however, I differ substantially from Markosian's Brutal Composition.
There is, however, considerable virtue in a systematic and general answer. What metaphysics hopes to uncover is those principles that most fundamentally govern the world. Prima facie, such principles are necessary truths and obtain in all possible worlds. The correct answer to the SCQ, insofar as an answer reflects a fundemental principle, should be necessarily true. Any string, finite or otherwise, of brute facts about composition are contingent. This is due to the (presumably) contingent nature of some objects. The keyboard from which I am typing is not a necessary object; in some world it could fail to exist. Thus, any answer containing brute compositional facts re: my keyboard is itself contingent.
Or is it? Nowhere was the extent of a BC answer restricted to the actual world. Perhaps, then, a complete BC answer supplies a complete ontology for all worlds, actual and possible (and impossible?). Such an answer indexes the existence of objects to space, time, and modality. There is still more to be said on behalf of this string of facts, though. How are counterfactuals to be accounted for? Is a BC answer compatible or incompatible with Lewisian modality and the counterpart relation? What of ersatz possible worlds, or other modal theories?
Monday, August 9, 2010
Introduction
Philosophy often concerns itself with the most fundamental of questions. One of the most fundamental of these is, perhaps, 'What sorts of things exist?' As with most any question in philosophy, much has been said on this. In the first part of this paper I hope to provide a somewhat critical survey of the history of ontological inquiry. This section will not assume any philosophical background and will attempt to familiarize the reader with what can, at times, appear to be arcane blather. Biases being as they are, there will be more attention given to monistic philosophers (i.e. Spinoza) than would otherwise be expected.
The second part of the paper will introduce more technical and, hopefully, novel material. A (perhaps artificial) dialectic will be established to assist in navigating the plethora of issues involved with establishing a coherent ontology. Two central theses will be defended. These are:
(N) [∀x: x ∈ M] ~∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y)
(M) [∃x: x ∈ M] ∀y[(y ∈ M) ⊃ (x = y)]
The first, (N), is a response to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. It says that there is never an instance of material composition, and therefore all material objects that do exist are simple, or without proper parts. Call this view compositional nihilism.
Note that compositional nihilism does not specify how many simple objects exist. (M) says that there exists a material object, and that all other material objects are identical with this object. In other words, there is just one material object. Call this view existence monism.
(I'm not sure if (M) entails (N). Certainly (N) does not entail (M). I suspect, though, that in order to make (M) completely independent of (N), one would have to hold some peculiar view on either the parthood relation or the identity relation. I'll get back to you.)
Other claims will be argued for. While these do reflect what I believe to be the correct conception of the world, I am not married to them. They serve mostly to answer questions sprouted by (N) and (M). The conjunction of them will present a comprehensive (and hopefully correct!) world-view.
The second part of the paper will introduce more technical and, hopefully, novel material. A (perhaps artificial) dialectic will be established to assist in navigating the plethora of issues involved with establishing a coherent ontology. Two central theses will be defended. These are:
(N) [∀x: x ∈ M] ~∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y)
(M) [∃x: x ∈ M] ∀y[(y ∈ M) ⊃ (x = y)]
The first, (N), is a response to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. It says that there is never an instance of material composition, and therefore all material objects that do exist are simple, or without proper parts. Call this view compositional nihilism.
Note that compositional nihilism does not specify how many simple objects exist. (M) says that there exists a material object, and that all other material objects are identical with this object. In other words, there is just one material object. Call this view existence monism.
(I'm not sure if (M) entails (N). Certainly (N) does not entail (M). I suspect, though, that in order to make (M) completely independent of (N), one would have to hold some peculiar view on either the parthood relation or the identity relation. I'll get back to you.)
Other claims will be argued for. While these do reflect what I believe to be the correct conception of the world, I am not married to them. They serve mostly to answer questions sprouted by (N) and (M). The conjunction of them will present a comprehensive (and hopefully correct!) world-view.
Friday, August 6, 2010
On Truth Theories
Above, three theoretical positions were sketched. Each attempts to resolve the dilemma faced by an austere ontology. There is a certain sense in which an utterance of 'the table in front of me exists' reflects how the world is. Regularly, one could explain this by appealing to a type of object that is meant by use of the word 'table', a material object that is referenced by the definite description 'the table in front of me', etc. But one who denies that many such objects exist, as we do, cannot avail himself of these tools. One therefore is in need of an explanation.
The Indirect Correspondence theory of truth, presented by Horgan, appeals to two different types of truth. Direct Correspondence is a relatively rare semantic standard, only applying when one is serious about his metaphyiscs, i.e. when discussing ontology. According to DC standards, a sentence is true iff the ontic claims made in the sentence reflect existing ontology. For example, 'the sky is blue' is DC true iff the single object referenced by 'the sky' has the property referenced by 'blue'.
Usually, though, an individual is not all that concerned with directly referencing actually existing objects. In these contexts one evaluate sentences under IC standards. These standards are not systematic, however, and vary across contexts. More will be said on IC standards later.
The Paraphrase Strategy works by converting everyday discourse into "literal" claims about the world. As noted above, an utterance of 'the sun moved behind the trees' is true because it can be unpacked into a complex series of claims about optics, the movement of celestial bodies, etc.
But such an analysis is problematic because it creates a disconnect between the intentions of an utterance by the speaker and an utterance itself. Consider two separate utterances of 'the sun moved behind the trees'. Utterance A is made by a 10th-century English peasant on his 20th birthday. Utterance B is made by a 21st-century physics student on his 20th birthday. What the English peasant intended to say is that, quite literally, the yellow object in the sky moved until it was behind the trees. The physics student, however, did not literally mean the sun moved while the trees remained stationary; he utilized the Paraphrase Strategy to cite a complex physical fact in six words. No such intention existed for the peasant. Indeed, if one were to ask him if he, in actuality, meant to say that the earth rotated until light emanating from the sun was obscured by trees he would say no.
This puts the Paraphrase strategy before another dilemma. Utterance A is either true or false. If it is false, then an explanation is required. Under what conditions does a paraphrase strategy succeed? Is it just in case the speaker is aware of the relevant facts and intends to use a particular utterance as a paraphrase for them? If this were the case then an enormous, perhaps insurmountable, epistemic burden is placed before any individual who hopes to say something true about the world. But if we maintain that what the peasant said is true, then there is reason to conclude that intention need not have any bearing on the truth of an utterance. If one maintains that speaker intentions play a vital role in the correct semantic theory (whatever it may be), one should seek an alternative to the Paraphrase Strategy.
The Indirect Correspondence theory of truth, presented by Horgan, appeals to two different types of truth. Direct Correspondence is a relatively rare semantic standard, only applying when one is serious about his metaphyiscs, i.e. when discussing ontology. According to DC standards, a sentence is true iff the ontic claims made in the sentence reflect existing ontology. For example, 'the sky is blue' is DC true iff the single object referenced by 'the sky' has the property referenced by 'blue'.
Usually, though, an individual is not all that concerned with directly referencing actually existing objects. In these contexts one evaluate sentences under IC standards. These standards are not systematic, however, and vary across contexts. More will be said on IC standards later.
The Paraphrase Strategy works by converting everyday discourse into "literal" claims about the world. As noted above, an utterance of 'the sun moved behind the trees' is true because it can be unpacked into a complex series of claims about optics, the movement of celestial bodies, etc.
But such an analysis is problematic because it creates a disconnect between the intentions of an utterance by the speaker and an utterance itself. Consider two separate utterances of 'the sun moved behind the trees'. Utterance A is made by a 10th-century English peasant on his 20th birthday. Utterance B is made by a 21st-century physics student on his 20th birthday. What the English peasant intended to say is that, quite literally, the yellow object in the sky moved until it was behind the trees. The physics student, however, did not literally mean the sun moved while the trees remained stationary; he utilized the Paraphrase Strategy to cite a complex physical fact in six words. No such intention existed for the peasant. Indeed, if one were to ask him if he, in actuality, meant to say that the earth rotated until light emanating from the sun was obscured by trees he would say no.
This puts the Paraphrase strategy before another dilemma. Utterance A is either true or false. If it is false, then an explanation is required. Under what conditions does a paraphrase strategy succeed? Is it just in case the speaker is aware of the relevant facts and intends to use a particular utterance as a paraphrase for them? If this were the case then an enormous, perhaps insurmountable, epistemic burden is placed before any individual who hopes to say something true about the world. But if we maintain that what the peasant said is true, then there is reason to conclude that intention need not have any bearing on the truth of an utterance. If one maintains that speaker intentions play a vital role in the correct semantic theory (whatever it may be), one should seek an alternative to the Paraphrase Strategy.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Options for an Austere Ontologist
Once we accept (N), or any other species of austere ontology, we are in need of an explanation. Everyday discourse seemingly makes use of a variety of objects, simple and composite alike. According to nihilism, though, these objects do not exist. What, then, is one saying with an utterance of 'The sun moved behind the trees'? There is no such thing as a sun, and no such things as trees. What is going on semantically?
There are three options available. First, one can say that such sentences are false. After all, 'sun' and 'trees' fail to refer to any object existing in the world. According to this position, the Error Theory on Everyday Discourse, much of what is said in ordinary conversation is simply false.
One would like to differentiate between sentences like 'The grass is green', in which something prima facie true is conveyed, and sentences like 'The grass is blue'. It would be a blow to the view if utterances of the above sentences always had identical semantic worth. A well-fleshed theory, then, will have to accommodate this with some "pseudo-truth" condition.
Another semantic position is to claim that utterances made in everyday discourse, while true, are not as immediately true as ones that make ontic claims reflecting the correct ontology. This is done through the Paraphrase Strategy. An utterance like 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true because it is shorthand for a claim about a complex collection of astronomical facts.
The last option is the Indirect Correspondence theory of truth, presented by Horgan and Potrc. According to this theory, 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true simpliciter. Unlike Paraphrase Theory, everyday discourse need not be reduced to claims about ontology. Truth holds even though there is no object to which 'the sun' refers; furthermore, there is no way to reduce such utterances to ones that do refer to ontologically pure objects.
There are three options available. First, one can say that such sentences are false. After all, 'sun' and 'trees' fail to refer to any object existing in the world. According to this position, the Error Theory on Everyday Discourse, much of what is said in ordinary conversation is simply false.
One would like to differentiate between sentences like 'The grass is green', in which something prima facie true is conveyed, and sentences like 'The grass is blue'. It would be a blow to the view if utterances of the above sentences always had identical semantic worth. A well-fleshed theory, then, will have to accommodate this with some "pseudo-truth" condition.
Another semantic position is to claim that utterances made in everyday discourse, while true, are not as immediately true as ones that make ontic claims reflecting the correct ontology. This is done through the Paraphrase Strategy. An utterance like 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true because it is shorthand for a claim about a complex collection of astronomical facts.
The last option is the Indirect Correspondence theory of truth, presented by Horgan and Potrc. According to this theory, 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true simpliciter. Unlike Paraphrase Theory, everyday discourse need not be reduced to claims about ontology. Truth holds even though there is no object to which 'the sun' refers; furthermore, there is no way to reduce such utterances to ones that do refer to ontologically pure objects.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Re: Austere Realism
So I think I have a substantially clearer picture of H&P's theory in Austere realism. But I've run into another bit of confusion that is even more out of my comfort zone than the previous. I haven't read Dan Korman's review yet, so I'm not sure if he says anything about what I'm confused about. At any rate.
Before, I was confused about the semantic standards under which Indirect Correspondence was governed. Claims made in a Direct Correspondence context are true when the ontic claims match the ontology of the world. IC claims are true in virtue of the way the world is, but are not made true in any thoroughly systematic way. That is, there are no exceptionless rules that a sentence must follow.
This is best understood by contrasting it to two competing views. The first is that claims like 'the sun moved behind the trees' and 'Israel invaded the Gaza strip' are, strictly speaking, false. The view would then have to offer an explanation as to why such sentences are different than absolutely false sentences like 'the grass is blue'. Call this the Error Theory on Everyday Correspondence. Much of what is said day-to-day is simply false.
The second view is the paraphrase strategy. True sentences that don't directly reflect ontology (ontic claims do not mirror ontology) are true in virtue of some paraphrase strategy. 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true because it is a paraphrase of some complex conjunction of astronomic facts.
H&P's Indirect Correspondence theory is NOT either of these views. They say that IC sentences are true in virtue of the world and that such sentences might not be paraphrase-able to something following DC standards. The problem now is that we're left with a non-systematic way of evaluating sentences. Our semantics cannot be given in "rule" form, and that's weird.
(As an upshot of this, though, is that IC seems to provide a clean answer to problems of reference re: fiction. Claims about Sherlock Holmes reflect something about the world even if 'Sherlock Holmes' does not refer to any actual thing.)
They defend this by arguing that the mind also does not operate under systematic, exceptionless rules. That is, (if I'm getting the terminology right) they deny computational cognitive science. The reasoning is absolutely beyond me, running on mathematical models that map possible thought processes(?).
Now, it seems to me that there are two serious objections to this view that are independent of arguments in cognitive science. The first is that, presumably, other organisms do operate under some form of computational, "rule governed" cognition. Worms, or a similarly neurologically simple organism, might be an example. Given that humans evolved from some version of such an organism, how did it come about that we switched from computational cognition to non-computational cognition?
Second, if H&P are going to hold themselves to the claim that human cognition really is noncomputational, then it must be evolutionarily so. That is, humans (or an ancestor of humans) evolved into such a cognitive state. This means that noncomputational cognition is either (1) evolutionarily neutral, or (2) evolutionarily beneficial. [The actual picture is more complicated, but the simplified version should get the point across.]
If (1), then noncomputational cognition developed through some sort of genetic drift. This would imply that there should be the possibility of computationally-thinking humans. This seems odd, and I suspect a formal argument can be made out of it.
If (2), then H&P and similar noncomputationalists stand in need of an explanation. Why is it evolutionarily beneficial? And why is it (presumably) not beneficial for other organisms?
Before, I was confused about the semantic standards under which Indirect Correspondence was governed. Claims made in a Direct Correspondence context are true when the ontic claims match the ontology of the world. IC claims are true in virtue of the way the world is, but are not made true in any thoroughly systematic way. That is, there are no exceptionless rules that a sentence must follow.
This is best understood by contrasting it to two competing views. The first is that claims like 'the sun moved behind the trees' and 'Israel invaded the Gaza strip' are, strictly speaking, false. The view would then have to offer an explanation as to why such sentences are different than absolutely false sentences like 'the grass is blue'. Call this the Error Theory on Everyday Correspondence. Much of what is said day-to-day is simply false.
The second view is the paraphrase strategy. True sentences that don't directly reflect ontology (ontic claims do not mirror ontology) are true in virtue of some paraphrase strategy. 'The sun moved behind the trees' is true because it is a paraphrase of some complex conjunction of astronomic facts.
H&P's Indirect Correspondence theory is NOT either of these views. They say that IC sentences are true in virtue of the world and that such sentences might not be paraphrase-able to something following DC standards. The problem now is that we're left with a non-systematic way of evaluating sentences. Our semantics cannot be given in "rule" form, and that's weird.
(As an upshot of this, though, is that IC seems to provide a clean answer to problems of reference re: fiction. Claims about Sherlock Holmes reflect something about the world even if 'Sherlock Holmes' does not refer to any actual thing.)
They defend this by arguing that the mind also does not operate under systematic, exceptionless rules. That is, (if I'm getting the terminology right) they deny computational cognitive science. The reasoning is absolutely beyond me, running on mathematical models that map possible thought processes(?).
Now, it seems to me that there are two serious objections to this view that are independent of arguments in cognitive science. The first is that, presumably, other organisms do operate under some form of computational, "rule governed" cognition. Worms, or a similarly neurologically simple organism, might be an example. Given that humans evolved from some version of such an organism, how did it come about that we switched from computational cognition to non-computational cognition?
Second, if H&P are going to hold themselves to the claim that human cognition really is noncomputational, then it must be evolutionarily so. That is, humans (or an ancestor of humans) evolved into such a cognitive state. This means that noncomputational cognition is either (1) evolutionarily neutral, or (2) evolutionarily beneficial. [The actual picture is more complicated, but the simplified version should get the point across.]
If (1), then noncomputational cognition developed through some sort of genetic drift. This would imply that there should be the possibility of computationally-thinking humans. This seems odd, and I suspect a formal argument can be made out of it.
If (2), then H&P and similar noncomputationalists stand in need of an explanation. Why is it evolutionarily beneficial? And why is it (presumably) not beneficial for other organisms?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sorites Applied to Composition
The sorites paradox arises frequently when the property in question appeals to some
manner of degree. Above, it was demonstrated that properties that fall under the sorites paradox cannot be natural. This is because such a property, if it is to be coherent at all, is vague. Since there is no vagueness in the world, such a property does not, in the final metaphysical picture, exist.
(1) If a property falls under the sorites paradox, then it is not a natural property.
There are, of course, a plethora of answers to the Special Composition Question. The aim of this section is only to eliminate one type of answer. Under compatibilst answers to SCQ, there are those that appeal to some degree of contact between parts. Prima facie, this type of answer is promising. Consider again our ham sandwich. Isn't it just when we take the ham and cheese and place them between the bread that a ham sandwich is formed?
This, certaintly, is a case in which the distance between the parts is relevent. There is no sandwich when the parts are scattered across the kitchen counter. But what about the parts getting closer allows for a sandwich to form? Perhaps they need to be touching. But if that were the answer to SCQ, then every time two people shake hands, they form a new object. Surely this is not the case.
1) If CONTACT is true, then every time two people shake hands, an object is formed.
2) It is not the case that every time two people shake hands, an object is formed.
3) CONTACT is not true.
A similar line of reasoning denies all answers that appeal to some connectedness between the parts (call these fusion-type answers).
Now what of an appeal direct to distance of parts? Our ham sandwich does not come into existence until all the parts are some distance away from each other. But recall the argument given against baldness. Where would one mark the distinction between ham sandwich and no ham sandwich? One meter? One centimeter? One micrometer? Surely my sandwich is allowed some measure of shifting without falling out of existence.
(1) If two parts n units apart form an object, then two parts n+1 units apart form an object.
Unfortunetly, this is sufficient to run a sorites paradox.
(1) If two parts n units apart form an object, then two parts n+1 units apart form an object.
(2) Two parts 0 units apart form an object. (If there is any distance that permits composition, it is this)
(3) Two parts 1 unit apart form an object. (From 1 and 2)
(4) Two parts 2 units apart form an object. (From 1 and 3)
...
(100,001) Two parts 99,999 units apart form an object. (From 1 and 100,000)
(100,002) Two parts 99,999 units apart do not form an object. (From common sense)
(100,003) Contradiction!
Thus, any answer to the Special Composition question cannot appeal only to the spacial relations that hold between objects. The argument can be run analogously to time, and likely any other quantitative relation. Note, however, that this argument is vulnerable if space is discrete. More on this will be said later.
manner of degree. Above, it was demonstrated that properties that fall under the sorites paradox cannot be natural. This is because such a property, if it is to be coherent at all, is vague. Since there is no vagueness in the world, such a property does not, in the final metaphysical picture, exist.
(1) If a property falls under the sorites paradox, then it is not a natural property.
There are, of course, a plethora of answers to the Special Composition Question. The aim of this section is only to eliminate one type of answer. Under compatibilst answers to SCQ, there are those that appeal to some degree of contact between parts. Prima facie, this type of answer is promising. Consider again our ham sandwich. Isn't it just when we take the ham and cheese and place them between the bread that a ham sandwich is formed?
This, certaintly, is a case in which the distance between the parts is relevent. There is no sandwich when the parts are scattered across the kitchen counter. But what about the parts getting closer allows for a sandwich to form? Perhaps they need to be touching. But if that were the answer to SCQ, then every time two people shake hands, they form a new object. Surely this is not the case.
1) If CONTACT is true, then every time two people shake hands, an object is formed.
2) It is not the case that every time two people shake hands, an object is formed.
3) CONTACT is not true.
A similar line of reasoning denies all answers that appeal to some connectedness between the parts (call these fusion-type answers).
Now what of an appeal direct to distance of parts? Our ham sandwich does not come into existence until all the parts are some distance away from each other. But recall the argument given against baldness. Where would one mark the distinction between ham sandwich and no ham sandwich? One meter? One centimeter? One micrometer? Surely my sandwich is allowed some measure of shifting without falling out of existence.
(1) If two parts n units apart form an object, then two parts n+1 units apart form an object.
Unfortunetly, this is sufficient to run a sorites paradox.
(1) If two parts n units apart form an object, then two parts n+1 units apart form an object.
(2) Two parts 0 units apart form an object. (If there is any distance that permits composition, it is this)
(3) Two parts 1 unit apart form an object. (From 1 and 2)
(4) Two parts 2 units apart form an object. (From 1 and 3)
...
(100,001) Two parts 99,999 units apart form an object. (From 1 and 100,000)
(100,002) Two parts 99,999 units apart do not form an object. (From common sense)
(100,003) Contradiction!
Thus, any answer to the Special Composition question cannot appeal only to the spacial relations that hold between objects. The argument can be run analogously to time, and likely any other quantitative relation. Note, however, that this argument is vulnerable if space is discrete. More on this will be said later.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
An Introduction to the Sorites Paradox
Meet Charles. Charles has graciously volunteered himself for a demonstration. Now, Charles is a middle-aged man and, unfortunately, has started to bald. Now, he isn't quite bald yet; he still has well-groomed mane. But there is a bald spot that for the past few weeks has been growing. Let n be the number of individual hairs on Charles' head. Suffice for our purposes, n is a pretty big number. For those that work better without variables, feel free to plug in 100,000.
(1) Charles has n hairs.
(2) Someone with n hairs is not bald.
(3) Therefore Charles, with n hairs is not bald.
Now comes the experiment. We sit Charles down on a comfortable chair and give him a big, juicy rib eye steak for his troubles. We then take a pair of tweezers and pluck out one of Charles' hairs. It seems obvious that we did not do much to change Charles' being bald or not. Sure, we may have put him one hair closer to complete baldness. But we did not make him bald by removing a single hair.
(4) Charles has n-1 hairs.
(5) Someone with n-1 hairs is not bald.
(6) Therefore charles, with n-1 hairs, is not bald.
What if we kept plucking out a hair of Charles, one by one, and asking ourselves at that juncture if he were bald? Surely, at some point he must become bald. After all, a man with no hair on his head is most certainly bald. But where is that point? A man with only a single hair would still, presumably, be bald. So, too, would a man with two hairs - as evidenced think Homer Simpson. Furthermore, the following principle seems to hold:
(7) If someone with n hairs is bald, then someone with n+1 hairs is bald.
This is grounded in the implausibility that a single hair makes the difference between baldness and non-baldness. Imagine two men standing next to each other, one bald and one not bald. Would you expect there to be only a single hair to separate the two? Is that even possible? Even more troublesome is that it appears we can also reason in the opposite direction.
(8) If someone with n hairs is not bald, then someone with n-1 is not bald.
This is justified in exactly the same way as (7). Losing a single hair cannot move anyone into a state of baldness. Thus, fully presented, the argument runs:
(1) If someone with n hairs is not bald, then someone with n-1 hairs is not bald.
(2) Someone with 100,000 hairs is not bald.
(3) Someone with 99,999 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 2)
(3) Someone with 99,998 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 3)
...
(100,001) Someone with 0 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 100,000)
(100,002) Someone with 0 hairs is bald. (From common sense!)
(100,003) Contradiction!
As noted above, the argument could be run in reverse, with the intuition at (100,002) reading, "Someone with 100,000 hairs is not bald."
This type of puzzle is known as the sorites paradox. It is not restricted, of course, to baldness. Parallel arguments can be made for things like heaps of sand (or garbage). There are a variety of replies to the paradox. We will first, however, apply the paradox specifically to material composition.
(1) Charles has n hairs.
(2) Someone with n hairs is not bald.
(3) Therefore Charles, with n hairs is not bald.
Now comes the experiment. We sit Charles down on a comfortable chair and give him a big, juicy rib eye steak for his troubles. We then take a pair of tweezers and pluck out one of Charles' hairs. It seems obvious that we did not do much to change Charles' being bald or not. Sure, we may have put him one hair closer to complete baldness. But we did not make him bald by removing a single hair.
(4) Charles has n-1 hairs.
(5) Someone with n-1 hairs is not bald.
(6) Therefore charles, with n-1 hairs, is not bald.
What if we kept plucking out a hair of Charles, one by one, and asking ourselves at that juncture if he were bald? Surely, at some point he must become bald. After all, a man with no hair on his head is most certainly bald. But where is that point? A man with only a single hair would still, presumably, be bald. So, too, would a man with two hairs - as evidenced think Homer Simpson. Furthermore, the following principle seems to hold:
(7) If someone with n hairs is bald, then someone with n+1 hairs is bald.
This is grounded in the implausibility that a single hair makes the difference between baldness and non-baldness. Imagine two men standing next to each other, one bald and one not bald. Would you expect there to be only a single hair to separate the two? Is that even possible? Even more troublesome is that it appears we can also reason in the opposite direction.
(8) If someone with n hairs is not bald, then someone with n-1 is not bald.
This is justified in exactly the same way as (7). Losing a single hair cannot move anyone into a state of baldness. Thus, fully presented, the argument runs:
(1) If someone with n hairs is not bald, then someone with n-1 hairs is not bald.
(2) Someone with 100,000 hairs is not bald.
(3) Someone with 99,999 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 2)
(3) Someone with 99,998 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 3)
...
(100,001) Someone with 0 hairs is not bald. (From 1 and 100,000)
(100,002) Someone with 0 hairs is bald. (From common sense!)
(100,003) Contradiction!
As noted above, the argument could be run in reverse, with the intuition at (100,002) reading, "Someone with 100,000 hairs is not bald."
This type of puzzle is known as the sorites paradox. It is not restricted, of course, to baldness. Parallel arguments can be made for things like heaps of sand (or garbage). There are a variety of replies to the paradox. We will first, however, apply the paradox specifically to material composition.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
On the Types of Answers to the Special Composition Question
There are three broad types of answers that can be given to the Special Composition Question. They are divided by their position on the number of composite objects relative to objects in general:
(N) [∀x: x ∈ M] ~∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y)
(U) [∀x: x ∈ M] [∀y: y ∈ M] ∃z(Pxz ^ Pyz)
(C) ~(U) ^ ~(N), or [∃x: x ∈ M] ∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y) ^ [∃x: x ∈ M][∃y: y ∈ M] ~∃z(Pxz ^ Pyz)
(N), or nihilism, claims that there are no cases of composition. All material objects that exist have no proper parts (proper parts satisfy Pxy and x=/=y). Thus, no matter how I arrange my bread, meat, and cheese, they will never compose another object. All material objects are simple.
(U), or universalism, claims that for any two distinct objects (x =/= y), they compose an object. Thus, the two slices of bread compose an object. That object and the meat compose an object. And that object and the cheese compose another object. This theory still allows for simple objects. Note, however, that an object cannot be a part of a composite object if another of the objects parts already contains the first as a part. That is, all objects can be parts only once; there is no double dipping of parthood. Consider objects A, B, and 3. Object 3 is the composite of objects A and B. It is impossible for there to be a 4th object that is composed of object 3 and object B. This is because object B is a part of object 3.
(C), compatiblism, claims that composition sometimes occurs. This answer is logically incompatible with either (N) or (U). Nihilism and compatibilism disagree on there being at least one composite object. Universalism and compatibilism disagree on there being an instance of failed composition. All three disagree on the number of material objects (or at least the number of potential material objects).
(N) [∀x: x ∈ M] ~∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y)
(U) [∀x: x ∈ M] [∀y: y ∈ M] ∃z(Pxz ^ Pyz)
(C) ~(U) ^ ~(N), or [∃x: x ∈ M] ∃y(Pxy ^ x =/= y) ^ [∃x: x ∈ M][∃y: y ∈ M] ~∃z(Pxz ^ Pyz)
(N), or nihilism, claims that there are no cases of composition. All material objects that exist have no proper parts (proper parts satisfy Pxy and x=/=y). Thus, no matter how I arrange my bread, meat, and cheese, they will never compose another object. All material objects are simple.
(U), or universalism, claims that for any two distinct objects (x =/= y), they compose an object. Thus, the two slices of bread compose an object. That object and the meat compose an object. And that object and the cheese compose another object. This theory still allows for simple objects. Note, however, that an object cannot be a part of a composite object if another of the objects parts already contains the first as a part. That is, all objects can be parts only once; there is no double dipping of parthood. Consider objects A, B, and 3. Object 3 is the composite of objects A and B. It is impossible for there to be a 4th object that is composed of object 3 and object B. This is because object B is a part of object 3.
(C), compatiblism, claims that composition sometimes occurs. This answer is logically incompatible with either (N) or (U). Nihilism and compatibilism disagree on there being at least one composite object. Universalism and compatibilism disagree on there being an instance of failed composition. All three disagree on the number of material objects (or at least the number of potential material objects).
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
On the Arcane Musings of Philosophers
In everyday discourse, we make reference to an abundance of objects. In fact, the previous sentence implied at least three with the words 'discourse', 'we', and 'abundance'. Many of these are things we can directly sense, like my cat Gizmo. Some objects, are of an abstract nature. The number three is not an object that one would expect to bump into on his way to work.
This paper will focus on the first category, so-called material objects. A material object is one that is located in the material world. It has extension: length, width, height, and therefore volume. (Note here that, technically, a material object will be defined as an object that has a part that has extension. Recall that all objects have themselves as a part.)
Where M is the set of all material objects, Pxy is the relation of x being a part of y and Ex is the property of extension:
(1) [∀x: x ∈ M] ∃y(Pyx ^ Ey)
The principle target of inquiry will be an answer to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. That is, when is it the case that two or more objects compose an additional object?
SCQ: ∃y the xs compose y?
All of this probably seems quite obscure to the reader. Let me try to distill the jargon. Consider the food I've laid out on the kitchen counter. There are two pieces of bread, some ham, and a slice of cheese. The Special Composition Question amounts to this: in what circumstances do the bread, the ham, and the cheese compose some further object?
This paper will focus on the first category, so-called material objects. A material object is one that is located in the material world. It has extension: length, width, height, and therefore volume. (Note here that, technically, a material object will be defined as an object that has a part that has extension. Recall that all objects have themselves as a part.)
Where M is the set of all material objects, Pxy is the relation of x being a part of y and Ex is the property of extension:
(1) [∀x: x ∈ M] ∃y(Pyx ^ Ey)
The principle target of inquiry will be an answer to van Inwagen's Special Composition Question. That is, when is it the case that two or more objects compose an additional object?
SCQ: ∃y the xs compose y?
All of this probably seems quite obscure to the reader. Let me try to distill the jargon. Consider the food I've laid out on the kitchen counter. There are two pieces of bread, some ham, and a slice of cheese. The Special Composition Question amounts to this: in what circumstances do the bread, the ham, and the cheese compose some further object?
Monday, May 3, 2010
A Childhood Experience
"Would you like to play with us?"
Little Douglas turned around from his seat on the blacktop to face the direction of the voice. He turned in idle curiosity, recognizing the voice. It was from Bobby McKenzie. His dad was Robert McKenzie and he coached Douglas' Little League team. Bobby played first base and didn't like Douglas. He said it was because first basemen aren't supposed to get along with outfielders.
Douglas was taken by surprise when his eyes met Bobby McKenzie's. He had expected that some other kid was being invited, but in fact it was to him Bobby McKenzie spoke. Flustered, Douglas looked down and stammered. He pushed through a series of sentences, abandoned mid-syllable, with almost no coherence. Bobby McKenzie's quizzical look did not help. Finally, though, Douglas forced out what he needed.
"Y-y-y-yes."
So the two got up from the blacktop and began to walk towards the soccer field. There, much of Mrs. Alan's class was gathered. They had divided into two teams and were using baseball bats as makeshift soccer goals. Ecstatic, Douglas tried to keep up with Bobby McKenzie as the boy ran to the center of the field. The game slowly came to a stop as Bobby McKenzie demanded everyone's attention. A couple unexceptional kids shuffled through the grass on the far side of the field, but their chatter was of no consequence.
"Doug and I are on the Rockets. That means Jacob has to join the Eagles."
So the game began in a lazy fashion. Louis kicked the ball in the general direction of the Rockets' goal. It was met, however, with a forest of legs, a few of which actually attempted to kick at the passing ball. Douglas, butterflies notwithstanding, ran after the ball smiling.
As is wont to happen during a soccer game with over twenty participants, the ball violently changed directions after a firm kick. Douglas had a brief moment to register this before the ball again changed directions, this time after bouncing off his forehead. The force of the blow, coupled with the complete surprise with which it took him, knocked Douglas to the ground. His rear landed heavily on the ground and his elbows scrapped painfully on the packed dirt.
All the students gathered began to laugh. Little Douglas had been laid low and remained on his back, temporarily stunned. Mortified, Douglas came back to only to realize that all attention was on him. He wanted nothing more than to be back on the blacktop. He looked about, still recovering from the blow, and saw Bobby McKenzie at his side, bent over in laughter.
"Oh man. That ball really hit you hard, didn't it?"
Douglas could think of nothing beyond the need to flee. Flipping over, he scrambled through the short grass towards the carefully groomed forest flanking the playground. All the students gathered stared at him as he ran. He could feel their eyes stabbing him in the back.
The thirty seconds that it took Douglas to reach the stump upon which he now sat seemed to him far too long. He wiped his cheek with his hand, replacing tears with dirt. Sniffling on his stump, he looked out through the trees to the kids on the soccer field. They continued to play their game as before, the muffled sound of their constant chatter seeping into the forest.
Douglas wished he hadn't joined the game. He knew he should have declined the invitation. He saw Bobby McKenzie run about, laughing and playing. Douglas dourly concluded that he was mean.
Little Douglas turned around from his seat on the blacktop to face the direction of the voice. He turned in idle curiosity, recognizing the voice. It was from Bobby McKenzie. His dad was Robert McKenzie and he coached Douglas' Little League team. Bobby played first base and didn't like Douglas. He said it was because first basemen aren't supposed to get along with outfielders.
Douglas was taken by surprise when his eyes met Bobby McKenzie's. He had expected that some other kid was being invited, but in fact it was to him Bobby McKenzie spoke. Flustered, Douglas looked down and stammered. He pushed through a series of sentences, abandoned mid-syllable, with almost no coherence. Bobby McKenzie's quizzical look did not help. Finally, though, Douglas forced out what he needed.
"Y-y-y-yes."
So the two got up from the blacktop and began to walk towards the soccer field. There, much of Mrs. Alan's class was gathered. They had divided into two teams and were using baseball bats as makeshift soccer goals. Ecstatic, Douglas tried to keep up with Bobby McKenzie as the boy ran to the center of the field. The game slowly came to a stop as Bobby McKenzie demanded everyone's attention. A couple unexceptional kids shuffled through the grass on the far side of the field, but their chatter was of no consequence.
"Doug and I are on the Rockets. That means Jacob has to join the Eagles."
So the game began in a lazy fashion. Louis kicked the ball in the general direction of the Rockets' goal. It was met, however, with a forest of legs, a few of which actually attempted to kick at the passing ball. Douglas, butterflies notwithstanding, ran after the ball smiling.
As is wont to happen during a soccer game with over twenty participants, the ball violently changed directions after a firm kick. Douglas had a brief moment to register this before the ball again changed directions, this time after bouncing off his forehead. The force of the blow, coupled with the complete surprise with which it took him, knocked Douglas to the ground. His rear landed heavily on the ground and his elbows scrapped painfully on the packed dirt.
All the students gathered began to laugh. Little Douglas had been laid low and remained on his back, temporarily stunned. Mortified, Douglas came back to only to realize that all attention was on him. He wanted nothing more than to be back on the blacktop. He looked about, still recovering from the blow, and saw Bobby McKenzie at his side, bent over in laughter.
"Oh man. That ball really hit you hard, didn't it?"
Douglas could think of nothing beyond the need to flee. Flipping over, he scrambled through the short grass towards the carefully groomed forest flanking the playground. All the students gathered stared at him as he ran. He could feel their eyes stabbing him in the back.
The thirty seconds that it took Douglas to reach the stump upon which he now sat seemed to him far too long. He wiped his cheek with his hand, replacing tears with dirt. Sniffling on his stump, he looked out through the trees to the kids on the soccer field. They continued to play their game as before, the muffled sound of their constant chatter seeping into the forest.
Douglas wished he hadn't joined the game. He knew he should have declined the invitation. He saw Bobby McKenzie run about, laughing and playing. Douglas dourly concluded that he was mean.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Soddened Existence
A thrush flitted among the underbrush,
carefully dancing by the thorns
and pausing contently near patches of light.
He cared most for those moments of brief beatitude
during which he came upon a delectable beetle
but did not shy from the more bitter nuts and
fruits of the forest.
A soft voice called to him from a distance,
and he curiously approached its speaker.
And with a thwap! the net was cast.
Desperate, the thrush crashed against the
nylon fibers. But it was to no avail;
Exhausted, he crumbled to the ground.
Weeks later the thrush chirped and,
burdened by his clipped wings,
he looked through his cage -
daunted by the hostility.
Softly, mournfully, he sang his song -
Lamenting not his sudden relinquishment of freedom,
but the simple capacity he once had
to enjoy the simple fruits of the forest.
carefully dancing by the thorns
and pausing contently near patches of light.
He cared most for those moments of brief beatitude
during which he came upon a delectable beetle
but did not shy from the more bitter nuts and
fruits of the forest.
A soft voice called to him from a distance,
and he curiously approached its speaker.
And with a thwap! the net was cast.
Desperate, the thrush crashed against the
nylon fibers. But it was to no avail;
Exhausted, he crumbled to the ground.
Weeks later the thrush chirped and,
burdened by his clipped wings,
he looked through his cage -
daunted by the hostility.
Softly, mournfully, he sang his song -
Lamenting not his sudden relinquishment of freedom,
but the simple capacity he once had
to enjoy the simple fruits of the forest.
Friday, February 5, 2010
"What the fuck."
Greg stared blankly at his computer screen. He had opened Microsoft Word hours ago, that little paperclip guy mocking him and his inability to write. The asshole kept looking at him, blinking intermittently.
He couldn't stand it and slt+tabbed to Firefox. Maybe he had some new emai- nope. Nothing. Just some spam ads from DSW. Why the hell was DSW sending him emails, anyways? Twenty dollars off winter boots. Awesome. Except he wasn't about to walk around campus in suede leather and 2-inch heels.
I wonder what Facebook is up to, then. And a full half hour later, as he finished planting his Farmville cotton, he alt-tabbed back to Word. Still nothing. Not that he expected words to magically appear while he was dicking around. But what the hell was he going to talk about? This assignment wasn't going to write itself.
He sighed, and once again browsed the timesuck that was the internet. Casually he scrolled over the newly uploaded porn videos on his favorite website; nothing good. Unless, of course, you were turned on by sagging tits and urination. Greg supposed that there were at least a couple saps on the site right now watching it. Some people are turned on by that shit. He just wasn't.
It was then that the idea hit him. In his vehement procrastination Greg had looked at about twenty naked chicks on /b/ and then took some time to make fun of some poor soul that was foolish enough to ask for advise and expect people to take him seriously. So, why not? He posted on /lit/, asking for an idea for a story. He went to the kitchen to grab some coke and sat back down at his computer, hitting refresh.
"Dwarves.. fucking..?"
The fact that someone recommend he write about midgets having sex didn't shock him. He was, after all, asking the shithole of the internet for ideas. But it wasn't just one person, or two, or even three. Among the first seven posts were five depraved requests for intercourse among little people. Fine. He'll do it. And so he alt-tabbed back to Word.
"Snow White had always been a curious girl growing up. Her mother - before she died - had almost daily scolded her for playing with things she wasn't supposed to. So it was no surprise that, this one particularly dull Thursday evening, she made this offer to her guests.
The seven dwarves looked among themselves, first bewilderdly, then probingly. Granted, having to see Doc naked wouldn't be the best. But goddamnit they were going to run a train. And that was worth dealing with wrinkly dwarf sack. Grunting, Grumpy began to take off his clothes, his erect four inch penis barely visible underneath his bulbous stomach. Grumpy really did have something to be grumpy about."
Greg stared blankly at his computer screen. He had opened Microsoft Word hours ago, that little paperclip guy mocking him and his inability to write. The asshole kept looking at him, blinking intermittently.
He couldn't stand it and slt+tabbed to Firefox. Maybe he had some new emai- nope. Nothing. Just some spam ads from DSW. Why the hell was DSW sending him emails, anyways? Twenty dollars off winter boots. Awesome. Except he wasn't about to walk around campus in suede leather and 2-inch heels.
I wonder what Facebook is up to, then. And a full half hour later, as he finished planting his Farmville cotton, he alt-tabbed back to Word. Still nothing. Not that he expected words to magically appear while he was dicking around. But what the hell was he going to talk about? This assignment wasn't going to write itself.
He sighed, and once again browsed the timesuck that was the internet. Casually he scrolled over the newly uploaded porn videos on his favorite website; nothing good. Unless, of course, you were turned on by sagging tits and urination. Greg supposed that there were at least a couple saps on the site right now watching it. Some people are turned on by that shit. He just wasn't.
It was then that the idea hit him. In his vehement procrastination Greg had looked at about twenty naked chicks on /b/ and then took some time to make fun of some poor soul that was foolish enough to ask for advise and expect people to take him seriously. So, why not? He posted on /lit/, asking for an idea for a story. He went to the kitchen to grab some coke and sat back down at his computer, hitting refresh.
"Dwarves.. fucking..?"
The fact that someone recommend he write about midgets having sex didn't shock him. He was, after all, asking the shithole of the internet for ideas. But it wasn't just one person, or two, or even three. Among the first seven posts were five depraved requests for intercourse among little people. Fine. He'll do it. And so he alt-tabbed back to Word.
"Snow White had always been a curious girl growing up. Her mother - before she died - had almost daily scolded her for playing with things she wasn't supposed to. So it was no surprise that, this one particularly dull Thursday evening, she made this offer to her guests.
The seven dwarves looked among themselves, first bewilderdly, then probingly. Granted, having to see Doc naked wouldn't be the best. But goddamnit they were going to run a train. And that was worth dealing with wrinkly dwarf sack. Grunting, Grumpy began to take off his clothes, his erect four inch penis barely visible underneath his bulbous stomach. Grumpy really did have something to be grumpy about."
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