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!

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."

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?