Who knows where the time goes?

Sandy asked:

Who knows where the time goes?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

The late Sandy Denny of Fairport Convention was just a teenager when she wrote this amazing song. (You’ll find the lyrics on Google.) I would bet anything that she had seen, and maybe studied, the metaphysical poet John Donne (1572-1631) and his poem, ‘Song’:

    Go and catch a falling star
    Get with child a mandrake root
    Tell me where all past years are
    Or who cleft the devil’s foot
    Teach me to hear mermaids singing
    Or to keep off envy’s stinging
    And find
    What wind
    Serves to advance an honest mind
    
    If thou be’st born to strange sights
    Things invisible to see
    Ride ten thousand days and nights
    Till age snow white hairs on thee
    Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me
    All strange wonders that befell thee
    And swear
    No where
    Lives a woman true, and fair
    
    If thou find’st one, let me know
    Such a pilgrimage were sweet
    Yet do not, I would not go
    Though at next door we might meet
    Though she were true, when you met her
    And last, till you write your letter
    Yet she
    Will be
    False, ere I come, to two, or three

There’s a beautiful rendition of this on guitarist John Renbourne’s first album.

The main difference in theme is that John Donne is writing about his bewildered feelings after (one assumes) he has been deserted by a woman he loved, while Sandy vows, ‘I am not alone while my love is near me.’

The key line for me in Donne’s Song is, ‘Tell me where all past years are’, which for him is one of many ‘metaphysical’ perplexities, while for Sandy it is the main theme. Where does the time go? There are of course two ways of hearing this, ‘How come the time has passed so quickly?’, or, ‘Where is the past now? What has happened to it? Does it only exist in memory, or is it somehow a fact that exists for all time, whether we remember it or not?’

It’s the later question that perplexes and bewilders me. The philosophy of time travel is an interest of mine I wrote an Afterword to David Gerrold’s The Man Who Folded Himself where I described one of the several ways of avoiding the time travel (‘Grandfather’) paradoxes, which Gerrold applies — and takes to extreme — in his novel. Every time you time travel to the past or to the future you literally create a new world, a new universe. As I wrote in my Postscript, you cannot travel back in time to save the Twin Towers, you can only create a world where the Twin Towers were saved.

But is there an indelible ‘fact of the matter’ whether or not we remember, or ‘know’ in some other way, say, from indubitable historical evidence? I just smoked a cigar, and there, in the ashtray, is the still warm stub. Even if I suffered a sudden attack of amnesia, I would surely know for certain why the stub was there.

There is no Recording Angel. And even if there were (or recording angels, plural) their testimony would only be more or less reliable evidence. They could be lying (a possibility which I explore in my short story, The Good Witness.) Does the past exist at all?.

I don’t know.

Academic philosophers love theories. There are two theories going around at the present time, ‘Presentism’ and ‘Indexicalism’ (you can look these up) which take a ‘position’ (how academic philosophers love positions!) on this question. How do they know? Of course they don’t, it’s only a theory!

But there is a fact of the matter. Regardless of theories. Regardless of what we are tempted, or feel compelled, to believe or disbelieve.

I will not listen to thinkers who declare (more ‘theory’) that this is a question that cannot be coherently stated, or which is somehow ‘disguised nonsense’. I understand exactly what Sandy Denny and John Donne are asking. The question is clear, precise. And we, you and I, don’t know the answer, and — and, I believe, although one can never be sure or rule out every possibility — we never will.

Are we just sacks of meat?

Shirley asked:

Is “free will” just a comfort for those who want to believe, or are we electrified sacks of meat tenderized with hormones, memory, and survival instincts?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

I’ll start with a picky point. The question you posed isn’t an alternative, as it first appears to be. What you are asking is whether we are just ‘sacks of meat’, in which case what we term ‘free will’ is merely a ‘comforting belief’.

My answer is, No.

You could start by reading my answer, Free will and creative reverie where I explain why a free will worth having requires that determinism be false. This is a point on which I have changed my mind, as I once held that it made no difference whether determinism holds or not. My bad!

This time, rather than going through the same argument, I will illustrate my answer with an actual example, which explains what I mean by ‘creative reverie’.

Recently, I started writing songs. This is something no-one who knew me could have predicted, and indeed if I’d been given a glimpse into the future just two months ago, I would have been astonished. However, as a self-termed ‘philosophizer’, it now seems to me perfectly reasonable to express and communicate my philosophizing using the medium of songwriting.

This is how it came about. One of the things I do when I am bored is browse the listings on eBay. One day, around two months ago, the idea came into my head (from I don’t know where, although I’m sure there is an explanation) to look at the listings for electric guitars. Suddenly I knew that I wanted one. I already have steel string and nylon string acoustic guitars, and even went so far as to buy an electric pickup and amplifier for one of my acoustics. But now I knew, absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt, that I wouldn’t be happy until I had an electric guitar to add to my collection.

I found one, a Washburn modelled the much more expensive Gibson Les Paul. It was a nice price, looked good. I made an offer which was accepted. And that was it.

As I experimented with the different luscious sounds from the twin humbucker pickups, I found myself playing a chord progression, and I thought, ‘This could be a song.’ A short while later, the song was composed, recorded, and posted on YouTube. Three more followed. And now I’m working on a fifth.

And my question: Is it really credible that these songs have existed for all time, that they were ‘determined’ by the way the BIg Bang banged? Or are they genuine novelties, new additions to the universe, that it took a chain of seemingly unlikely circumstances to bring into being?

I think the latter. But now, an extra finesse. My song, the one I can’t quite finish, is about zombies. And your question gave me the prefect chorus, for which I am extremely grateful. All I need now is a melody with a ‘hook’. So here goes:

    Zombie Dream

    You cannot kill me
    The creature said
    Because I am
    Already dead
    I aimed my gun
    At the creature’s head
    I pulled the trigger
    The monster bled

    It aint so sweet
    We’re only bags of meat
    It’s a bitter pill
    To have no will
    As we shuffle
    Down the street

    I rose this morning
    From a dream
    Fighting zombies
    With axe and gun
    Outside were bodies
    Crashed cars and fires
    The zombie apocalypse
    Had begun

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

    The plane took off
    In the nick of time
    But there was something
    No-one knew
    A bitten hostess
    Hiding in the john
    Her hands and face
    Are turning blue

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

    An empty mens room
    On the motorway
    A cracked mirror
    Your bloodied face
    You stare into
    A deep abyss
    It’s all over
    For the human race

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

    You true believers
    You’re all safe
    And all you
    AI boffins too
    Why? because
    You’re dead already
    There’s nothing they
    Can do to you

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

    Now hungry zombies
    Are everywhere
    In the basement
    In the hall
    Play target practice
    For a while
    You know you can’t
    Destroy them all

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

    Woke on the sidewalk
    Feeling strange
    Something was missing
    Deep inside
    I couldn’t recall
    Just what it was
    Then I realized
    I had died

    It aint so sweet (etc.)

You notice that I substituted ‘bags of meat’ for ‘sacks of meat’. It’s only a small change but ‘bags’ just sounds better to me than ‘sacks’. In the process of songwriting you make myriad decisions like this, and each decision is an ‘act of will’. It’s a creative process.

Of course, all sorts of ‘influences’ come into play. There’s a pop song from the 50s which goes, ‘Aint that sweet, see her walking down the street…’. The cracked mirror wasn’t just my invention, it’s a familiar movie trope. That was kind-of the point. And so on.

To sum up: It is extraordinarily difficult to explain, in theory, what we want in wanting ‘free will’. But when you look at actual examples of human decision making, it’s simply obvious. Every moment of every day I am adding something new to the universe, to reality. How that is possible may seem a mystery, but then so is the fact that anything exists at all.

On the very idea of a ‘senseless’ question

Claude asked:

Have there been any persons in the history of philosophy who believed that there was no such thing as a “senseless question”?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

Do colourless green ideas sleep furiously? Or not? — I am quoting the famous example of a sentence (or question) that obeys the rules of English grammar but which we cannot make sense of, at least in a literal way. Of course (as one writer, John Hollander, demonstrated successfully in his poem ‘Coiled Alizarine’) you can compose a poem where the statement, ‘Colourless green ideas sleep furiously,’ does appear to make a kind of sense — ‘poetic sense’ — and in the context of the poem, one might tend to agree:

    Curiously deep
    The slumber of crimson thoughts
    While breathless
    In stodgy viridian
    Colorless green ideas sleep furiously

After all, a poem can be seen as a condensed argument (I’ve said the same about song lyrics in chapter 1 of my book ‘Philosophizer’) but I doubt whether anyone would seriously claim that the question concerning colourless green ideas has an answer which we are unable to discover owing to our limited cognitive abilities.

So far as I am aware, no philosopher has claimed that there is ‘no such thing as a senseless question,’ and that would be a difficult claim to defend, given the above example. However, one must bear in mind that this only became a live issue after philosophers like Wittgenstein or Carnap in the 20th century argued that many of the traditional ‘questions’ in the history of philosophy are, in fact, senseless. My view is that they were wrong. I don’t feel the least temptation to dismiss questions like, ‘Does God exist?’, ‘Is time real or unreal?’, ‘Is the universe composed of matter or ideas?’ as senseless, even though I would find it difficult to defend my position with anything resembling a ‘theory of meaning’ or a ‘criterion of meaningfulness’.

The point is that we don’t, in fact, have anything resembling a comprehensive theory of the way language works, or the way words succeed (or don’t succeed) in conveying ideas. Language is flexible, constantly in the process of being expanded, modified, sharpened. If you were to ask me how I know what I mean by some of the questions I have asked — like the question, ‘Could there be a universe exactly like the actual universe differing only in the fact that I am not GK?’ — my answer is no. I don’t know. And I say that without a hint of embarrassment. I have a strong feeling, or intuition, that I somehow ‘know’ what the question is getting at, but I would be at a loss to explain exactly how I know.

Frankly, I am tired (and bored) of professional philosophers making confident claims about the limits of meaning with nothing to back them up apart from a flimsy ‘theory’ — a hypothetical claim of the form, ‘If things were thus and so then other things would be such and such.’ One of the most blatant examples is the theory of materialism, but that’s a topic for another post.

So, no, the question, or possibility whether there are no ‘senseless’ questions (apart from contrived examples that do not even appear to make sense) hasn’t appeared in the history of Western philosophy, so far as I am aware, and really gets its point in response to claims by 20th philosophers like Wittgenstein et. al. I am happy to be nominated as ‘the’ philosopher who takes this view. If you know of any others, do let me know!

The chances of getting to Heaven

Jeffery asked:

“Are we there yet?” The canonical kids road trip question but applied in a Bayesian sense to ask why we are on the horrible side of an infinitely long afterlife in Paradise. Bayes might posit that the afterlife is a fictional delusion.

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

There are philosophers going round who call themselves ‘Bayesians’. I’ve never quite understood what that means. Any formula (including Bayes’ method of calculating probabilities) is just a rule of thumb. We make statements about probability when there’s stuff we don’t know. Sometimes we know enough to be able to narrow down the possibilities to a manageable range — e.g. spinning a coin or throwing dice. At other times, it’s more like a shot in the dark.

There’s a great scene (a great send-up of probability calculations) in the 1998 movie ‘Croupier’ starring Clive Owen as ‘Jack Manfred’. Jack is considering whether to accept money from gangsters for doing an illegal act (I won’t give any spoilers). He goes through this rigmarole of adding and subtracting — he won’t spend the money, so he will still have it if he has to give it back, etc. etc. and comes up with a conclusion that the odds are favourable. The joke, or irony, is that Jack, an experienced croupier, ‘never gambles’, and regards gamblers with contempt. But of course, if he takes the money, he is gambling, and unlike roulette there is no logical or rational way to assess the odds.

My view about the afterlife would not be shared by most English-speaking philosophers. As a matter of logic (I would claim) there is no length of time after which it is no longer possible that I should exist, I mean the actual ‘me’ and not just someone with my memories. This has got nothing to do with traditional beliefs about heaven (or hell). Death is for ever, which means an infinite length of time. But every length of time is finite.

Heaven and hell are made-up stories. So is string theory, or the view that the universe has a sell-by date after which everything that exists will be annihilated. And the same is true of you or me. We don’t know and we don’t know what we don’t know. Anything is possible.

The best argument I know for heaven and hell is just the human belief in justice. It is intrinsically wrong that bad people escape punishment, or that the good suffer without relief. If you believe, really believe in justice then, for you, heaven and hell must exist in some form or other. But, of course, the whole notion of ‘justice’ (pace Socrates) is just another story.

My settled position would be close to the Greek sceptics. Not as a theoretical position but as a way of life. Don’t put your faith in anything. Make the best of what you have now, ‘horrible’ though it may be.

Controlling one’s thoughts

Samit asked:

Do I have a duty to control or change my thoughts for the purposes of
social harmony?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

I will answer your question, Samit, by first challenging its implied assumption: that the reason why I have a duty to control or change my thoughts is that it ‘serves the purposes of social harmony’.

Let’s say that the date is 1934 and I am a German citizen who entertains the thought, ‘Hitler is a dangerous madman.’ Although I have not yet dared express this thought out loud, it has already prompted certain actions on my part that have begun to distance me from my Hitler-worshipping neighbours. Not enough, yet, to put me in danger of being arrested by the Gestapo — at least that is what I hope. But could it be argued that ‘social harmony’ (quote unquote) requires me to find ways to persuade myself that the Fuhrer is not so bad after all?

I don’t think so. The example of the trial of Socrates is the classic case where wrong is done in the name of social harmony. Socrates was accused of ‘corrupting the young’ and ‘impiety’, both charges he denied. All he did was to encourage the young people who followed him to think for themselves, to question their assumptions about the widely held beliefs of the day, including religious beliefs. But imagine that you are a parent and your son or daughter comes to you and tells you that the gods on Mount Olympus are not worthy of worship because of the bad example — infidelity, cruelty, revenge — they set to human beings. Where did this come from?, you ask. That evil, meddling Socrates!

I do have a duty to control or change my thoughts, when I am aware that these thoughts are prejudiced, for example, against a certain ethnic minority. I know that it’s not only wrong but factually incorrect to regard members of the minority in question as naturally lazy and stupid, but my reactions belie my knowledge. Let’s say it was the fault of my upbringing. I inherited my parents’ prejudices. The point is that here the reason why I have a duty to strive to overcome my prejudices is my better, ‘second thoughts’, rather than the bad consequences for the social fabric of my failure to overcome my inherited prejudices.

But how far does this go? Societies change. At the time of the Ancient Greeks, the notion of an Olympic Games for disabled persons — the ‘Paralympics’ — would have been regarded as repugnant and outrageous. The whole point of the Games, they would have said, is to celebrate human perfection. Then again, if you put this point to Aristotle, you might have succeeded in persuading the great philosopher at least to entertain the possibility that the specifically human ‘virtues’ of courage, technical skill and endurance are what really matter, and these are demonstrated equally by Olympians and Paralympians.

I am not going to presume to know what Aristotle would have said, although I suspect that 2500 years ago the very idea of a Paralympics would have been regarded as nonsensical and not worthy of discussion. Anyone who thought otherwise lacked common sense. Now we think differently.

The example I have just given is a case where we have a supposed duty not only to keep our thoughts to ourselves, but to strive to change them. If the Paralympics are on TV in the local bar, and customers are cheering a wheelchair race, for example, I am obliged to smile and cheer along with them and not put on a sour face. Pretending to smile or cheer isn’t enough.

I am talking about political correctness, of course. That’s a question you could have asked: do we have a duty to think in ways that are widely regarded in our society as ‘politically correct’?

My view is that there are cases where being politically correct is reasonable and fair, but also cases where it is close to ridiculous, if not downright evil. The Paralympics would be an example where most persons today would strongly disagree with the Ancient Greeks.
The truistic point is that attitudes change. We now see things differently. Unfortunately, there are persons — I call them the moral Gestapo — who would regard that truistic thought as ‘politically incorrect’.

It is my sincere belief that the people who promote political correctness even when it is ridiculous deserve to be called out, even at the cost of social disharmony.

What is a ‘game’?

Ciarán asked:

I found your page through your 2013 blog post here:
https://askaphilosopher.org/2013/04/29/wittgenstein-on-the-definition-of-a-game/

I have been searching for a succinct and elegant definition of the word ‘game’ for a few years, that covers all of the common usages of the term. I have read much of Wittgenstein, and found his responses unsatisfactory. But since you have also entertained the question, I wanted to ask you directly. What is a ‘game’?…

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

I would like to expand on the answer I gave before, which referenced the real difference between a ‘heap’ and a ‘pile’, even though both terms have a vague application. A heap of books is different from a pile of books. But you could also have a disorderly jumble of books partially heaped and partially piled. Crucially, as I remarked in my previous answer, we have physical theories that account for the properties of heaps and of piles.

In the case of ‘games’, the first point to make is that a ‘game’ is something that one or more persons ‘play’. However, not all playing is ‘playing a game’. And therein lies one clue. For example, out of boredom I might twist a paperclip until it breaks in two. I am playing with the paper clip, but my play only becomes ‘playing a game’ when something is added. For example, looking to see if I can break the paperclip while holding my breath, or in an even number of twists, or faster than you can, etc.

Animals play. Do they ‘play games’? One can sometimes describe what your pet is doing as ‘playing a game’ but arguably the ‘game’ aspect is something you have added to what you observe. A game is only a game for the subject playing when that player has the capacity to form certain intentions. What these are, again, is vague.

The crucial point, however, is that, as in the case of heaps and piles, there is room for a theory of play. And I don’t mean ‘game theory’ although the fact that there is such a thing as game theory is related to this. Vegetables don’t play. Insects don’t play. But cats, dogs, monkeys etc. do. Why? What is the point (from an evolutionary perspective) of a monkey ‘playing’, as opposed to gathering food, exercising, competing for a mate etc.? One plausible answer is that, instinctively, members of the species, especially the young, ‘play’ at actions that later on will become ‘serious’ and more closely connected with survival. Mock fighting would be one example.

Again there is ‘theory’ about what it means for a human being to ‘play a game’. Game playing is a remarkable phenomenon. It’s something we do, that has a less direct connection to survival than other actions. Conceivably, there could be intelligent beings — AIs or Martians, perhaps — that completely lacked the concept of a ‘game’, or the capacity to understand what humans are doing when they ‘play games’.

None of the above could be used to provide logically ‘necessary and sufficient conditions’ for something’s being a game. This seems to me sufficient to meet Wittgenstein’s point. Yes, the concept of a ‘game’, like many concepts, has vague boundaries. There will be plenty of cases where we cannot say for sure that something is, or is not a ‘game’ (or ‘mere game’). But that is consistent with saying that we humans do have a grasp of the point of a game, or game playng. The word has a useful, indeed vital, function in the language, and anyone who understands English, say, will have a reasonable degree of confidence in how to use that word.

Earlier, I referenced ‘game theory’. As with many concepts, there are some things humans do that can be explained or described by game theory which are not, in fact, what we would call ‘games’. In these cases, the use of the word ‘game’ is understood through a metaphorical extension from its base meaning. You can play a nuclear ‘war game’, but that is different from conducting an actual nuclear war, even though both activities can be explained by, or are governed by, ‘game theory’ — as in the 1983 movie ‘War Games’. Wittgenstein’s highly original and fecund notion of ‘language games’ is a similar case of metaphorical extension. There are games we can literally play with words, like Scrabble, but this answer is not intended as a play or move in some game, although for Wittgenstein it is a ‘language game’ — or part of a language game — as are all cases of language usage.