Word-Legos and the Metaphysics of Properties

Generally speaking, I am a lover of words.
Admittedly, I am not a super Scrabbler (which is somewhat surprising, really. I should do that.), but I am fond of writing and devoted to books and my thought-process tends to be greatly language-driven.

I do like playing with words. I admire the clever manipulation of language, I enjoy painting with words, I appreciate poetry... I even appreciate weird stream-of-consciousness modern stuff every now and then.
However, while I appreciate flexibility and creativity, I also insist on a certain level of precision when it comes to language.
Words, to me, are what I imagine legos would be to a playful child architect- except perhaps more precise. Now, before vehement lego-devotees attack me for having an improper appreciation of the structural precision requisite for beautiful lego-building, I only mean to say that most lego pieces are pretty general-usage. In fact, I am sure a large part of the appeal of legos is just that-- you are free to take general pieces and combine them in precise ways to create wonderful structures.
However, words do not come attribute free.
Au contraire. Far from being identical pieces, words come with a richness of (pretty) specific meaning, and therein lies the beauty of language manipulation. You can combine specific words in precise ways to create structures rich with color and meaning. "Interchangeable pieces" are not quite interchangeable, due to small differences in connotation which create subtle shifts in meaning. It is possible to rearrange pieces and retain the general meaning of a phrase while slightly altering its emphasis. Translating between languages presents an interesting and challenging problem in that there are a multitude of elements to reconcile-- is it best to focus on global architecture or to strive to find best-matches between individual pieces, even though (perhaps paradoxically) this may lead to certain architectural discrepancies?
The point of the matter is, language is fun to play with, but doing so requires a certain appreciation of syntactical and semantical structure.

And so I reach the motivation behind this blog post.

Wandering around campus I have been unable to avoid focusing in on examples of linguistic clumsiness which have lead me onto paths of amused philosophical contemplation.

First, I would briefly like to talk about a "Happy Bodies" sign which features a smiling woman cut out from a magazine and the happy exclamation: "I love my body because I love my body!"

Umm. No. This infinite downward spiral of justification suggests an irrationality I refuse to accept. Although the intention seems to have been good, the result was unfortunate. Rather than making a statement about body positivity and how we ought to care for and appreciate the wondrous organism which carries us through life, this statement is disappointingly empty and circular.
Instead, the writer should have written: "I love my body because it is my body!"
We don't love our bodies because we love them... we love them because they are our bodies! Suddenly the statement points to the significance of the word body, which reveals all sorts of beauties and wonders. Our bodies enable us to walk, talk, think, feel, dance, laugh, cry, paint, experience the icy kiss of snow, and do everything else we are capable of doing.
See the wonder of constructing statements a bit more carefully?
(Note: I admit I may occasionally, or frequently, fail as a good linguistic architect. I recognize this and I apologize. But I do try.)

Now for the second example, I have captured not-very-good photographic evidence. (See figure 1 below.)

Figure 1. Etchings on a toilet paper dispenser in the LDC, Carleton. 

The picture, admittedly, is not very good (I feel strange taking the time to get a decent picture in a bathroom. It just seems kind of wrong to be taking pictures in a stall. But anyway.), so you may not be able to read the writing very clearly.
The primary piece:
Why is a toilet like a literature analysis?
They're both full of- (Yeah, you get it.)

A bit below that there is the following profound question:
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
To which the answer seems to be: Edgar Allen Poe.

Now my response to this is amused puzzlement.
The raven and writing desk question is so wonderfully strange that I really don't know what to think of it.
As to the literary analysis question, I must suspect some student bitter over a failed English paper felt like denouncing the whole concept of literary analysis in an almost clever but crude manner.

But then I begin to ponder the structure of the literature question a bit further.
"Why is a toilet like a literature analysis?"

The question, based on the intended response, seems to actually be asking,
"How is a toilet like a literature analysis?"
That is, what property or properties do toilets and literary analyses both possess such that we may find a similarity between them?

But what if the writer really is trying to make some profound philosophical statement here? (We are going to ignore the witty quip provided as a response for the purposes of this discussion.)
Perhaps this was not a simple case of unfortunate word-lego confusion, but rather an intentional why, the result of frustrated philosophical contemplation and a call upon the gods-- why, oh why are they alike?

I ought to make this more clear. See it is all very well and good to recognize similarities in things.
This apple is red. This book is red. They share some feature- in this case, "redness"- which causes us to recognize them as similar. However, like most philosophical (especially metaphysical) topics, once you sit down and try to explain what it is that is actually going on here, all sorts of craziness emerges.

So let's say that we know or are aware of a similarity between toilets and literature analyses. What does that actually mean?
As some sort of Platonic/Aristotelian realist, I would be inclined to say that toilets and literary analyses share some actual feature. They possess a common property, we recognize that property, and thus we are able to see the similarity.
Of course, there's some question as to how exactly objects possess properties. Enter forms (if you're Plato), or some recourse to meanings arising from structural properties of an object, which is a response I am kindly disposed toward. The focus is on the fact that objects actually possess these properties, and we are simply latching onto what actually exists when we identify similarities.

However, others would disagree and tell you that the whole notion of properties is great- from a linguistic, in-your-head point of view, but you're not tracking anything that's actually out there. Berkeley is prepared to tell you that there really isn't anything out there, except some immaterial spirit which perceives everything. It seems that you recognize similarities...because...you just do...(What?) You know, conditioning and stuff. People point to a yellow object and say yellow...and eventually you figure it out. Somehow. Without there actually being any sort of yellow-ness that you're actually recognizing....

Personally, I'm not sure the nominalist perspective succeeds in explaining how we group things or how we actually learn to call things yellow if there's nothing concrete that we're tracking, but Plato's lovely realm of forms doesn't seem like quite the right explanation either, and what if it really is all in our heads anyway?
The whole question can really get a bit frustrating.

So, really... why is a toilet like a literature analysis?
...Or did you just mean "how"?

On Souls and Occupations

Research, internship, and job applications terrify me.

This is becoming all the more clear as I try to narrow down the list of programs/REUs I plan to apply to for the upcoming summer. I will look over a program, survey the application process- and then become terribly frightened. I am already anticipating the pain of failure. Even worse, though, is the fear of embarrassing myself and disappointing others in the face of sweeping rejection. I can too vividly imagine all of my tentative plans slowly crumbling before me, leaving me in the awkward position of explaining to those with a general interest in my hopes and goals that I have sadly failed... but... umm maybe next year will be better? It'll be nice to have the summer to relax....
...Yeah.

Somehow I need a strong dose of confidence. Ideally this would not be baseless confidence. But it is a problem when I shy away from completing an application because I feel as though I have nothing meaningful to contribute- so why bother applying?

Remember the previous Slow Swan discussion? Yes, well that is a ridiculously wishful term.
At present I am a timid creature, trembling within my tortoise shell and struggling between tip-toeing off to a safe corner and forcing myself to poke my head out and be brave and strong.
It's so much easier to hide in corners!
But it does make it so much more pathetic, too. That is kind of a problem.

Part of the problem is also my identity crisis. My quarter-life crisis, as my brilliant (and very supportive) roommate terms the stage of uncertainty we are passing through. The more I ponder the issue the more knotted up I seem to become. I find myself straddling the fields of philosophy, chemistry, and mathematics (this complicates program selection considerably). I think I could pass as a philosopher, but I fear I would make a dreadful guise for a chemist or mathematician. I feel strangely trapped between being inquisitive and feeling like an impostor. Others seem so certain about their passions, goals, and identities... whereas I seem to scramble for sure footing.

Quarter life crisis indeed...

The other day, maybe about a week ago, I had just finished a math problem set and found myself, unsurprisingly, pondering this issue of identity. At the time I think I was feeling more certain about the possibility of mathematics (this semi-confidence has since vanished). But I realized that the problem was my fear of not having a "mathematician's soul."

Naturally, this brought me straight to thoughts about Plato's The Republic (haha).
In The Republic, Socrates argues for a state ruled by philosophers, among other things. Some of those other things included a process for selecting who receives the privilege of an education on the route to philosopher-kinghood, and who got put into the category of baker, artisan, et cetera.
I was not at all pleased with Plato on this account. Who gets to decide who becomes a baker? Who gets to decide who becomes king? How do they do this, and what right do they have to make this decision?
Of course, Plato was operating on the idea of a soul. Simply put, there are people with baker souls. There are others with philosopher souls. By the time you're a child one should be able to detect signs of what kind of soul you have, and place you into the appropriate category accordingly.
But I was strongly resistant to this whole notion.
First, what do you mean, we have souls that match us to an occupation? Nonsense!
And second, even if such souls exist, it seems ridiculous to posit that a young child clearly demonstrates the qualities of a baker, miner, or academic! To lock individuals into occupations on the theory of soul struck me as dangerous nonsense.

And then, here I am, fretting over whether I possess a mathematician soul, or a chemist soul, or a philosopher soul or... what kind of soul do I possess??

I still refuse to concede Plato's soul point. Despite my fretting, it seems incorrect to suppose that there is a clear line between "soul" and vocation.
However, it seems clear that there are certain qualities "requisite" for specific occupations.
If you’re going to be a doctor, you need to be driven by concern for the wellness of your patients.
If you’re going to be a teacher, you need to find the process of helping children grow rewarding.
If you're going to be a biologist, you need to be struck by the magnificent mechanics of life.
If you’re going to be a philosopher, you need to love sitting and pondering interesting questions (and it doesn’t hurt if you ask annoyingly insightful questions, Socrates-style).
If you’re going to be a mathematician, you need to be moved by the beauty of an elegant proof.
And so forth.

I don't know which occupations I would best fill. I appreciate all of them. I appreciate and admire the sorts of individuals who appear to possess these "souls"- whether or not that term is quite inappropriate- and somehow or another I want to find a place I can fill with pride and excitement.

Yet again, it seems the best I can do is to conclude with an unsatisfactory "I'll just have to wait and see."

...But will "waiting and seeing" really cut it? Can a tortoise hiding in her shell suddenly make sense of life?

It would be nice if enlightenment and passion suddenly struck me and everything made sense. But I don't think that's how it works.

I guess I'll have to force myself out of a shell and wander around until I stumble upon the answers to life.

Easier said than done.

Ugh... why should I be moral?

Why bother with morality?
It's much easier to not care about whether it is right or wrong to do something, isn't it? So why care?

I have just finished reading two selections on this subject for my ethics class.
The first, a portion of Plato's Republic, "The Immoralist's Challenge." The second, Philippa Foot's "Morality as a System of Hypothetical Imperatives."
They raise some interesting questions.

In "The Immoralist's Challenge," Socrates is challenged to explain why justice is good in itself. Justice, in this dialogue, is portrayed as a painful duty performed for the sake of the social rewards correlated with acting "justly." The problem is, if justice is good because of the reputation and power with which the just are rewarded, then this creates a movement to present a facade of justice. You can have your cake and eat it, too- that is to say, you may relish the joys of performing injustice upon others AND present yourself as a paragon of goodness to be rewarded with praise and social status. Forget behaving justly- no one likes that anyway. You only pretend to be a good person so that others treat you well.
Mind you, Glaucon (the challenger who presents this model of justice) does not actually buy that this is the extent of justice. Rather, he entreats Socrates to persuade him that this sad, corrupted notion of justice is not the true nature of justice. Glaucon wishes to rank justice as one of those goods which is desired not simply for the benefits associated with it, but also- essentially- for its own sake, but he needs reason to do so.

To my great discomfort, the selection ended abruptly. Glaucon entreats Socrates to correct him, to restore his faith in justice- and end.

What??
No answers? No restoration of faith?
Are notions of justice really naught but convenient illusions used to hold together precarious social bonds?
Plato, Socrates, help!

It was a bit disconcerting, really.
But it presents an excellent question. Why care about justice? Why is justice good for one?
Why aim to be just?
The point of the dialogue is, it has to be about justice itself. It has to be something about participating in justice that makes justice desirable. But what is it?

With these questions spinning around my head, I turned to the Philippa Foot reading (which in itself is a discussion of Kant's moral framework).
So... Kant. According to him, we have hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives (...what? I know. Bear with me.) Hypothetical imperatives are actions that must be done in order to achieve some end.
You want an "A" on that test? Then you should study. You want to get somewhere at 10:00? Then you should leave at 9:30.
In order to achieve your goal or fulfill your desire, you should perform an action or set of actions. Those are your hypothetical imperatives.

Then you have your categorical imperatives. These take "should" or "ought" to the next level, if you will. Categorical imperatives are actions that are "objectively necessary." They are ends in themselves.

Traditionally, moral judgments are classified under the categorical imperative category.
"You ought not kill."
BAM! That's it. Morally binding, unconditionally necessary.

But Foot wants to argue that there's something strange about relying on the magical power of "ought." What supports this reasoning? Essentially, categorical imperatives have a fundamentally duty-driven force behind them. They seem to say, this is your duty. Don't fight or argue, just do it. You have to.

To underline the problem, she points to etiquette. Even if someone doesn't care about etiquette, the rules still technically apply. If you're at some dinner party and flout all the rules, people will still say you should do otherwise, regardless of whether you actually care about it or not. That is to say, etiquette behaves like a categorical imperative, in the sense that it's not about "I want to accomplish this, so I should do this." Etiquette applies regardless of your desires. But... what if you just don't care?
This seems to put categorical imperatives under suspicion as magical forces of obligation. It's not enough to say someone ought to do something. The force of that statement is in their believing this to be true. If they don't care, then you have a problem.

So Foot suggests making the scary transition from classifying moral judgments as magical categorical imperatives, and instead thinking about them hypothetically.
Why perform acts of charity? Because I can empathize with those individuals and have an interest in seeing them happy.
That is to say, let go of the illusion that saying someone "ought to" do something holds genuine power. It is frightening to admit it, but that's not true. We must chose to care about morality. We give morality its power.

Foot's idea, on one hand, is frightening. But it is also wonderfully idealistic in its realism.

Essentially, Foot's ideas lend themselves to the following depiction. (Admittedly, it may be my relentless idealism seeping in. But I will maintain that it fits into her view.)

Morality is about a system of values. Morality relies upon a certain vision of hope... a yearning for truth, love, liberty, and justice. Moral individuals are those capable of envisioning the beauty of bringing those values to life, and of working to bring that beauty into realization.

Glaucon asks why bother with justice.
Bother with justice because it allows your life to cohere and deepen.
It allows you to create meaning. It allows you to look upon yourself with respect, to give and to receive love, to become a part of something genuine and beautiful.

So, that's why.