Stand back! I'm going to try PHILOSOPHY!
I've had some thoughts recently which I want to get clear in my head, but first I need a whole bunch of philosophical setting-up. Hence this post. Hopefully I'll get round to the more important stuff in later posts. For now, I'll be looking at the way we use words like 'existence'. I have an approach which captures most of the use of this word, though inevitably it doesn't account for all the jagged edges.
No doubt you've seen a rainbow. Striking in their purity, but always distant and ready to vanish away, they've fascinated us monkeys for generations, and have been woven into our disparate mythologies. We now understand that there is nothing supernatural in their appearance; we can explain it with a bit of optical theory. Hence rainbows became iconic once again: Iconic of the mundanification that, it is feared, will follow if we profane the divine by trying to understand it with the methods of science. Yet rainbows have not become mundane. The explanations provided by science only rip away the comforting stories we had used to cushion ourselves from the mystery, leaving the mystery itself pristine.
I want to focus on one striking paradox that our understanding of rainbows lays bare. On the one hand, they clearly exist. There they are, in the sky, resplendant. On the other hand, they are in the eye of the beholder; a trick of the light. They lack most of the normal qualifications for existence, like a physical location, constituent materials, or even observer-independence. Though we can see them, they are noWhere to be found. This marks them out as a special case.
Mostly, we can give a simple account of the things that exist. We can say where they are, what they are made of, how they work, and so on. They are regular features of the structure of our world, and we relate to them in a patterned, regular way. This pattern is reflected in the structure of many languages, including English. There is a particular kind of word, called a noun, which fits into the language in a specific way. Nouns were originally used to refer to simple bits of physical stuff, and the way that they are used linguistically relies on and is fitted to the way that simple bits of stuff behave in the world.
Language, then, and particularly the use of nouns, is helpful to us because the patterns of its structure mesh so well with the patterns of physical stuff. The very repetition of words relies on a corresponding repetition or at least continuation of things. We relate to these things in terms of the useful bits of information we store about them, their properties. This is reflected in the simple sentence structure 'that mountain is big'. We also encounter them at particular times, and this is reflected in tense structures.
But there are many nouns where something a little odd happens. We use them as ordinary nouns, and we flex all the linguistic variations we know around them. This use of language works just fine, and is helpful to us, as if the words were anchored in simple patterns of physical stuff. We rely on the magical fact that this all works despite the fact that there is no physical anchor, no pile driven into the mud. It is as if we had found a kind of rock that, when governed in a properly democratic manner, would be as productive as any normal human citizen.
Numbers are a good example. Nobody ever managed to trap even the most humble number to keep it in a cage. When we teach children numbers, we cannot point them out or introduce them. We can only persistently use the words in the presence of the children and hope that they pick up on the pattern we are using. For there is a pattern; we do not go far wrong using the word 'three' as if it were a noun, in listing properties ('three is prime') and in dressing the word up in all the linguistic garb befitting a noun of the soil. So long as we don't look down, but just weave the word into our patterns of speech in the standard way, we find that it serves its purpose admirably.
Indeed, there is no need for all this talk of 'as if' and 'garb befitting'; 'three' really is a noun, and the number itself does exist, despite the fact that we will never touch or smell it. For we have come to use whatever words will helpfully fit the patterns etched in our language as nouns, and as referring to existing things, whether this is backed up in a physical instantiation or not. I reckon, to a good approximation, this captures how we use the word 'existence'; we use it relative to those words which we can helpfully use as full-fledged nouns.
Coming back to the example of rainbows, we can see how it is that they exist despite being relative to the viewer. For our understanding of how they form tells us not only that this formation is observer-dependent, but that it is so in such a regular way that the observers will not go far wrong if they continue to use the word 'rainbow' as though it referred to an observer-independent thing. Accordingly, if what I claimed in the last paragraph is right, the word does refer to something. We pay the word well, and it does good service for us.
At this point we must go carefully; there is a trap to be avoided. There is a strong temptation to say at this point something like 'and so the reality of things really only consists in the patterns of language' or even 'it is only the words that have true reality'. This would, of course, be nonsense. Having spotted a slightly odd fact about the circumstances in which we use the word 'existence', in order to make these claims we would have to ignore related oddities in the proper use of the word 'reality' or at least 'true reality'. Perhaps there is something to be said here, but since it cannot be said except in confusion I must leave you to try to formulate it yourselves. Language constrains us only to talk of this coincidence of certain linguistic patterns with our use of the word 'existence' as though it were a kind of accident; it only allows us to explain the use of the word, and not to pretend we have got near its meaning.
There are some linguistic patterns which don't fit well with particular nouns. It makes no sense, for example, to enquire about the colour of an electron; electrons are too small to have colours. There is nothing to see here. But in other cases where a word we can normally use nounishly does not quite fit with the patterns of language, we make of this a deep metaphysical puzzle. The structure of tenses, for example, is not quite helpful when we speak about truth, and we prefer to talk about it in a perpetual present tense. This rather dull fact about language has provoked a fair few into deep puzzlement; is truth somehow mysteriously outside time, or in another plane of existence? Since we can talk sensibly about the locations of most things, must we invent a Platonic heaven to contain all those for which we cannot do this? Surely not. All we need to do is mark in our minds those places where these words cannot quite be used as nouns, and circumscribe our speech accordingly. For if we use the words properly, we will never need to refer to the spatial or temporal locations of such things as truth and justice.
Sometimes a word can be used sensibly as a noun throughout a large body of text without referring to anything that exists. Authors of fiction take great pains to ensure that, within the books they create, the words they use as nouns are used as normal nouns are in our day to day lives. But we know that outside the covers of the books this orchestration cannot be maintained. What sweets did Sherlock Holmes prefer as a young child? Though this is likely to be recorded somewhere, it is as likely to be recorded differently in a hundred other places. We know that if we were to attempt to use these these words in the usual way without conspiring together (as each author forms a conspiracy of one) we would run into insurmountable difficulties. To put it another way, Sherlock Holmes does not exist.
These kinds of thought are particularly helpful in a religious context, for treating such questions as `does God exist', or indeed `does God exist' (the difference is in the hyperlink). But there is so much to be said about this that it will have to wait for another post.
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Unpromising.
The existence of this blog creates an implicit promise on my part to post stuff here reasonably often. This promise is made to all you imaginary readers out there, who could become frustrated if the blog remains dormant. It is a promise which I have not kept, and which I no longer intend to keep.
I appreciate having a potential readership, in that it forces me to give more clarity and form to the thoughts I record here than I would otherwise, and also encourages me to polish any creative ideas to a reasonable finish. So I will keep posting in public for these reasons. But I rescind any commitment, implicit or explicit, to do so on a regular basis. I'll post when there's something I want to post.
I appreciate having a potential readership, in that it forces me to give more clarity and form to the thoughts I record here than I would otherwise, and also encourages me to polish any creative ideas to a reasonable finish. So I will keep posting in public for these reasons. But I rescind any commitment, implicit or explicit, to do so on a regular basis. I'll post when there's something I want to post.
Dawning awareness.
Dawning awareness was the culmination of a series of works by simulative artist Paul Mbeki. Roundly rejected as immoral by critics at the time, it was instrumental in starting the debate that led to the transhuman rights movement of the late 70s.
The simulative art movement was founded in the early 20s by Ashley Jones, and began as a rebellion against neostuckism. Drawing inspiration from the conceptual artists of the 20th century, Jones declared in her manifesto that 'the truth of art is found in the contemplative, rather than the physical, encounter with the work'. This philosophy was exemplified by her first major work, A genuine Thomson (£30,000), consisting of the text
Paul Mbeki's early work was marked by use of HelpMate software, and by a gentle exploration of the boundaries of art. He became notorious for Applaudee, for which he assigned a HelpMate clone the task of observing and aesthetically critiqueing the data from his SenseCam. After a year, he signed the wall of a toilet, then disconnected the clone.
In the 50s, Mbeki's work became increasingly self-referential, and he began to work with the software of the Computational Neuroscience Group at the University of Capetown. The CNG was only able to produce rudimentary blue brains at this stage. In fact, these full-brain simulations were still being run on the descendents of the Blue Gene supercomputer for which they are named. At this point, the blues were running at a speed of just 2% natural, and the CNG were just beginning their crucial research on cognitive phase transitions.
In 2058, Mbeki produced the first of a series of pieces, each consisting of the data capturing a blue during a single timeslice of a cognitive phase transition. At this time the CNG was making rapid progress, and though the holographic techniques used to instil detailed memory-scapes in blues were first conceived in 2059, Mbeki was unable to use them successfully in any but the final work in the series: Dawning awareness, created in 2061.
Mbeki chose a memory-scape representative of an early 21st century democratic capitalist freeloader, and instilled it into a blue. He chose a realistic, if simple, artificial environment, including a personal computer displaying some text via a visual interface. The text was a review of Dawning awareness itself, sketching some of the historical background and context and including a brief description of the piece. The self-referential nature of the text slowly became sufficiently transparent for the blue to realise that it was the simulation being described. The timeslice Mbeki chose as the work itself was representative of the cognitive phase transition involved in this realisation. Though Mbeki controversially originally claimed that, acting out of mercy, he had not allowed the simulation to develop beyond this chosen timeslice, it later emerged that he had allowed it to run for several more seconds of simulated time before disconnecting it.
The simulative art movement was founded in the early 20s by Ashley Jones, and began as a rebellion against neostuckism. Drawing inspiration from the conceptual artists of the 20th century, Jones declared in her manifesto that 'the truth of art is found in the contemplative, rather than the physical, encounter with the work'. This philosophy was exemplified by her first major work, A genuine Thomson (£30,000), consisting of the text
Thomson's painting shows Serota, the director of the Tate gallery. He is smiling behind a large pair of red knickers on a washing line, saying "is it a genuine Emin (£10,000)" and thinking, "or a worthless fake?"stored on the clipboard of an iLet.
Paul Mbeki's early work was marked by use of HelpMate software, and by a gentle exploration of the boundaries of art. He became notorious for Applaudee, for which he assigned a HelpMate clone the task of observing and aesthetically critiqueing the data from his SenseCam. After a year, he signed the wall of a toilet, then disconnected the clone.
In the 50s, Mbeki's work became increasingly self-referential, and he began to work with the software of the Computational Neuroscience Group at the University of Capetown. The CNG was only able to produce rudimentary blue brains at this stage. In fact, these full-brain simulations were still being run on the descendents of the Blue Gene supercomputer for which they are named. At this point, the blues were running at a speed of just 2% natural, and the CNG were just beginning their crucial research on cognitive phase transitions.
In 2058, Mbeki produced the first of a series of pieces, each consisting of the data capturing a blue during a single timeslice of a cognitive phase transition. At this time the CNG was making rapid progress, and though the holographic techniques used to instil detailed memory-scapes in blues were first conceived in 2059, Mbeki was unable to use them successfully in any but the final work in the series: Dawning awareness, created in 2061.
Mbeki chose a memory-scape representative of an early 21st century democratic capitalist freeloader, and instilled it into a blue. He chose a realistic, if simple, artificial environment, including a personal computer displaying some text via a visual interface. The text was a review of Dawning awareness itself, sketching some of the historical background and context and including a brief description of the piece. The self-referential nature of the text slowly became sufficiently transparent for the blue to realise that it was the simulation being described. The timeslice Mbeki chose as the work itself was representative of the cognitive phase transition involved in this realisation. Though Mbeki controversially originally claimed that, acting out of mercy, he had not allowed the simulation to develop beyond this chosen timeslice, it later emerged that he had allowed it to run for several more seconds of simulated time before disconnecting it.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
More from the oracle.
I've been rather busy for a while, so I haven't been posting here, but I have still been getting emails from the sibyl. I've got 3 more since I last posted, and I'm not sure what to make of them.
Here's the first:
On the other hand, the emails from the sibyl have all been true (I've given up on explaining how) so I'd expect the content of this one to be true as well. Is the accuracy of the emails so far a good reason for me to accept the idea that there is an absolute aesthetic standard? Is it good enough to accept that the Badshahi mosque is (absolutely) beautiful? Is it better evidence than my own direct perception of that beauty in pictures of the mosque?
This train of thought led me to reevaluate my thinking about the previous email. After all, I don't normally ground my moral decisions in an objective moral standard. But for the content of that email to be true there would have to be such a standard. Is this good enough evidence for me to accept that some things are good in an absolute sense, or that world peace is one of those things? Is this a better reason to believe that world peace is good than my own direct perception of that fact?
Things got even worse this morning, when I got the following email:
I don't know quite how to think about these emails. First, I have no explanation for their earlier accuracy. Second, I have no idea whether or how far it is sensible to extrapolate that accuracy to statements about beauty, morality or spirituality.
Here's the first:
Date: Sun, 9 Nov 2008 13:26:03 +0100I didn't pay too much attention to this one when I first got it. I thought it was just a return to the simple truths of the earlier emails. I didn't notice the obvious problem until I read the next email:
From: sybil.cumae@googlemail.com
To: sfwc@hotmail.com
Subject: I thought you might want to know...
World peace would be a good thing.
Date: Tue, 11 Nov 2008 20:13:26 +0000Again, my first reaction (after finding out what the Badshahi mosque is) was to accept this as a standard fact about the world, easily determinable by a wiki-search. Then I changed my mind. After all, whether a building is ugly or not isn't an objective fact; it is subjective. I guess that there are people somewhere who think this mosque isn't all it's cracked up to be. We don't have an objective standard we can go to to show that they are wrong: It's a matter of taste.
From: sybil.cumae@googlemail.com
To: sfwc@hotmail.com
Subject: I thought you might want to know...
The Badshahi Mosque is a beautiful building.
On the other hand, the emails from the sibyl have all been true (I've given up on explaining how) so I'd expect the content of this one to be true as well. Is the accuracy of the emails so far a good reason for me to accept the idea that there is an absolute aesthetic standard? Is it good enough to accept that the Badshahi mosque is (absolutely) beautiful? Is it better evidence than my own direct perception of that beauty in pictures of the mosque?
This train of thought led me to reevaluate my thinking about the previous email. After all, I don't normally ground my moral decisions in an objective moral standard. But for the content of that email to be true there would have to be such a standard. Is this good enough evidence for me to accept that some things are good in an absolute sense, or that world peace is one of those things? Is this a better reason to believe that world peace is good than my own direct perception of that fact?
Things got even worse this morning, when I got the following email:
Date: Thu, 13 Nov 2008 08:11:19 +0000This is a statement for which (apart from this email) I had negligible evidence. Is the accuracy of the previous emails on matters of fact enough to make this email into good evidence of life after death?
From: sybil.cumae@googlemail.com
To: sfwc@hotmail.com
Subject: I thought you might want to know...
Humans have souls, which survive the death of the body.
I don't know quite how to think about these emails. First, I have no explanation for their earlier accuracy. Second, I have no idea whether or how far it is sensible to extrapolate that accuracy to statements about beauty, morality or spirituality.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
An extreme oddity.
Today I got yet another email from the sibyl, and it has completely freaked me out. It read as follows:
Date: Thu, 6 Nov 2008 07:37:41 +0000I had 3 20p coins in my pocket and I tossed one 30 times. I got exactly that sequence of heads and tails. The chance of this is less than 1 in a billion. There's no way any scammer, however sophisticated, could beat those odds. Dedicated googling has turned up no information at all about where these emails could be coming from. I can think of no explanation. Maybe I'm going mad.
From: sybil.cumae@googlemail.com
To: sfwc@hotmail.com
Subject: I thought you might want to know...
When you read this email you will have 3 20p coins in your pocket. Toss one of them 30 times and you will get the sequence THTHHHHHTHTTTTHTTHTTTTHHTTHTTT.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
A worrying development.
I've been avoiding checking my inbox for a couple of days, but today I finally had a look. I've only had one email from the sibyl, which was as follows:
I did not buy a lottery ticket, and I do not believe anybody has the ability to forecast lottery results. I cannot and will not reimburse you for any money you have expended in the course of your scam. If you threaten me in any way or ask for money from me, I will contact the police.
Date: Mon, 3 Nov 2008 00:17:24 +0000This prediction is spot on, but I'm not sure what it means. How do they know what colour my underwear is? Is this supposed to be some kind of veiled threat? In any case, if they know so much about me then they almost certainly read this blog. If so, I'd like to make the following statement:
From: sybil.cumae@googlemail.com
To: sfwc@hotmail.com
Subject: I thought you might want to know...
When you read this email you will be wearing glasses, beige trousers, a black T-shirt, a brown patterned jumper and gray boxer shorts. You won't be wearing shoes or socks.
I did not buy a lottery ticket, and I do not believe anybody has the ability to forecast lottery results. I cannot and will not reimburse you for any money you have expended in the course of your scam. If you threaten me in any way or ask for money from me, I will contact the police.
Sunday, 2 November 2008
The oddity again.
I've just had a look at the national lottery results from last night, and they matched the email from the sibyl. I guess this means that, if this is a scam, I'll soon be targeted. If I'm right in my guess about how the scam works then whoever is running it has lost a reasonable amount of money and is hoping to make it back from me. Of course, all of this is built on a tissue of conjectures which I'm now beginning to hope are false. I'm not really sure what to do; I need to take a little time to think.
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