Dialectic Volume 1 No 1 (Autumn 2007)

DIALECTIC Vol I No. 1

AUTUMN 2007 UNIVERSITY OF YORK PHILOSOPHY SOCIETY

Contents Art and the Aesthetic Experience in Arthur Schopenhauer ...................... 6 Daniel J Ford Book Review of The Courtier and The Heretic by Matthew Stewart....... 13 Lottie Tupholme What Makes a Duck? Metaphysical Realism and Nominalism ............... 15 James Lythgoe Is only Boring Time Travel Possible? ...................................................... 18 Simon Horsley Pluralism, Pragmatism and Metaphysics ................................................ 23 Dave Allen What is Philosophy? ................................................................................ 27 Keith Wilson The Day All Possible Worlds Collided .................................................... 30 Sarah Wallbank Death ....................................................................................................... 33 Sharmin Ahammad Way too Fat ............................................................................................ 38 Chris Samiullah Why So Dog? ...........................................................................................42 Milton T Milton

Editor’s Preface Now Dialectic is amongst the cyberstars, it is worth pondering its grand and ambitious aim of ‘making philosophy relevant to our ordinary lives.’

After all, this specious and simple statement already makes two assumptions: firstly, that philosophy is distanced from ‘ordinary life’, and, secondly, that philosophy can then be made relevant to ‘ordinary life’.

Throughout my brief, but exciting journey through Philosophy, I often come across two very general characterisations from fellow travellers.

First up, there is the cheery claim that we are all philosophers at heart.

Philosophy is relevant to everything, nay, is everything: how is it possible not be a kind of philosopher? We all ask ourselves the questions ‘Am I doing the right thing?’, ‘How did life begin?’ or ‘What does it all mean?’

Philosophical activity is as natural to a human being, at least in a given context, as the circulation of blood or moving forward through time.

The other is less grand but equally egotistical: Philosophy (especially that of the analytical brand) is narrow, isolated, protective; ordinary life is so full of vapid prejudices, contradictions and excessive stupidity that Philosophy opposes itself to that tragicomic performance called ‘Life’! Pffft.

If it has a relationship to anything, it is to untangle the inconsistencies and murkiness that underlie our lives! Perhaps the problem can be best tackled by trying to define philosophy, at which point I will pinpoint Keith Wilson’s eloquent ‘What is Philosophy?’ However, what I will focus on is this question of ‘relevance’.

As we enjoy democratising just about everything, relevance often becomes synonymous with accessibility (‘we are all philosophers at heart’), and, accessibility, in turn, becomes synonymous with significance (‘and this is why philosophy is important’). Indeed, one of the first things we have adjust to as philosophy students is the realization that there is a difference between academic philosophy and ‘pop philosophy’ and GCSE R.E. lessons. Wearing a beret is not compulsory (in fact, you may even be scorned for it), plain-speaking is worn as a badge of achievement and some of us are even sane. On the other side, Philosophy at university does not involve writing about why you personally think eating dead, tortured animal carcass is icky; nor is it about coming up with your own grandiose theory to rival Immanuel Kant.

Rather, academic philosophy involves a long and strenuous indoctrination into ways of thinking about thinking about things, recognising that

you’re working within a discipline constituted by conflicting and complex traditions and comprehending sophisticated arguments by diverse thinkers while simultaneously rebutting them. Its subject matter varies from life, the universe and everything to the definite article ‘the’. Indeed, access, I find, only comes after familiarisation with these skills, and even then, it is only with the slenderest confidence; once we find ourselves in possession with even a little insight, it is often swiftly ripped down by another so as to leave us bewildered, lost and mysteriously triumphant. The process of philosophy is one of perpetual destruction and resurrection; it is the ultimate form of intense intellectual sadomasochism.

So where that does that leave us with the question of significance? All I can say is that accessibility is often a lazy way of defining relevance. Philosophy, after all, is accessible, materially-speaking (we don’t need telescopes, calculators, conditioning rooms - just a library). The problem is not that Philosophy is unavailable to the most of us, but that it requires arduous effort, familiarisation with a broad range of technical terms, immense hard work and (perhaps the most offensive of them all!) all to rather obscure ends. Indeed, added to this unpopular non-utilitarianism, in the reverent words of Sir Philip Sidney1, philosophers also have a ‘sullen gravity’, are ‘rudely dressed’ and have ‘contempt for outward things’.

Alas, so philosophers, it seems, are condemned to be delusional, depressive and badly dressed. So where does its allure lie?

We obsess, we debate, we argue, we read, we are compelled to discuss the same ideas for hours (at times eight hours in a single stretch!), apply for postgrad places, whine about the continental/analytical divide, make connections with others who are similarly driven, attend student-organised weekend-long and expensive conferences, erect websites, societies and online magazines dedicated to it. It becomes a practice more than a degree course. It draws us along like Pied Piper’s song, entrancing with us with an ‘ineffable’ magnetism. For my part, I do think philosophy is fundamentally important, even though it is not accessible on any immediate level. After all, it is a great fallacy to believe that something not overtly utilitarian is only worth doing if it is accessible to everyone or ‘not as hard as you think it is’. But it would also be wrong to circumscribe philosophy to the secretive seminar room: for many of those that study the subject, it has a vast, almost maddening, over-reaching presence

1

An Apology for Poetry, Sir Philip Sidney

that is real, that is an activity. But it is an appeal difficult to justify to those outside of this fixation.

So how should we treat philosophy? Is it an elitist, intellectual, abstract discipline hidden from the crevices of life, of action, of ‘reality’ even? Is everyone ‘really a philosopher at heart’? Does its importance exist in identifying the underlying structures of existence (universal or in a given context), helping us refine our existence, our understanding of our selves and others? Is it a skill? Well, you didn’t think I would actually have an answer, did you? So over to you, dear Reader, and your thoughts…

Sharmin Ahammad Editor

Art and the Aesthetic Experience in Arthur Schopenhauer Daniel J. Ford Arthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860) presented in his masterwork Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung an account of the world as consisting of two discrete aspects; will and idea, or will and representation. The essence of the self is similarly comprised of dual aspects, being simultaniously an object of perception and a manifestation of the will.

Schopenhauer argues that in our everyday lives we experience suffering as a result of our mind representing the world around us as an egocentric perception, consisting of external objects of perception and their relation to oneself. Our conciousness is, for Schopenhauer, in service of the will.

Objects are perceived by individual wills not in terms of intrinsic objective qualities, but rather in terms of utility to the individual will. Suffering is ultimately caused by the frustration and conflict that arises from competition between individual wills. Schopenhauer is sometimes considered, mistakenly, to be a pessamist. However he clearly holds that through art and the aesthetic experience we can escape the suffering of our ordinary mental state.

In ordinary consciousness we are in the service of the will. That is, “our consciousness is filled by our will” (Schopenhauer 1969: Vol. I, 196) It is the will that enables our survival; without the will filling up our consciousness we could not survive because we would have a disinterested perception of the would. That is, our perception would not be directed to attend to those things in the world that are relevant to our welfare. In our ordinary consciousness we see things in relation to ourselves; we have an egoistic view of the world. We do not see individual objects in the world in terms of their own intrinsic nature and qualities. Instead we see things in terms of utility, and specifically their utility to ourselves.

Schopenhauer holds that in our ordinary consciousness we actively contribute to our perceptions of the world; part of our everyday experience consists in ideas that we project onto the world. He calls these projections we make onto the world to form our everyday experience “relative essences”. (Schopenhauer 1969: Vol. II, 372) The relative essences can

take the form of threats to our welfare, which may be either potential or actual. They can also be objects of desire, things that spark a yearning desire within us to be fulfilled. For so long as each craving is desired but not satisfied we suffer. The relative essences can also be means of preserving our welfare in the face of threats, or else means of satisfying our desires in order to bring to an end the suffering caused by feeling an unfulfilled desire.

It is essential for us to see the world not objectively but subjectively, adding our own projections into experience in order to survive. It seems therefore fair to claim that our ordinary consciousness is acting in our best interest; it is allowing us to recognise threats and react to them. It also allows us to have desires that are needed in order to survive. For instance, it is essential for us to desire to eat regularly in order to nourish ourselves; if we failed to do this we would die. It is also essential to the survival of the species that we desire to procreate; if enough of us failed to do so then our species would become extinct. So relative essences can be seen from two points of view; firstly, that they cause our desires and fears thereby causing us endless suffering, and secondly, that they cause our desires and fears thereby allowing our survival. Schopenhauer fixates on the former viewpoint, claiming the relative essences keep us trapped in a false perception of the world. On this point of view “[t]he world is my representation” (Schopenhauer 1969: Vol. I, 3) Schopenhauer seems to suppose that it is desirable to transform ones state of consciousness, turning it away from the will in order to free oneself from suffering. He seems inclined to think of ordinary consciousness as something undesirable from which we ought to seek salvation. The genius is a rare individual with the capacity to transform his consciousness in this way for prolonged periods of time, but we all have the capacity to transform our consciousness for brief periods with the aid of aesthetic contemplation; contemplation of artworks created by a genius.

Art facilitates the transition “from the common knowledge of particular things [that is, the mental state of ordinary experience] to knowledge of the Idea [that is, the mental state of aesthetic experience]” (WWR I: 178) This by no means happens with every artwork, it is great works of art that Schopenhauer concerns himself with. Great art should allow the non-genius, which is the vast majority of us, to temporarily transform from the ordinary mental state to that of the aesthetic mental state, which Schopenhauer calls the “aesthetic method of consideration” (WWR I: 195). The genius is differentiated here because Schopenhauer

holds that the genius is one who is able to enter into the aesthetic state for sustained periods of time and who does not require the aid of an existing artwork in order to transform his mental state.

The genius is able to create new works of art by virtue of being able to enter into that state in which he is free of subjectivity. This is an ability that goes entirely against what Schopenhauer holds is the fate of all mankind, to be in the service of the will. It surely follows that the genius is more at risk than the rest of us from threats and dangers because unlike the non-genius who sees the world in terms of utility, that is, subjectively, the genius sees the world objectively for extended periods of time.

It seems that evolution should not allow the genius to survive given his persistence in seeing the world objectively for prolonged periods of time.

This concern is not directly addressed by Schopenhauer, though he notes that genius is very rare.

If we consider roles played by both the ordinary consciousness and aesthetic state issue it seems that it is actually desirable that things are as they are. That is, we ought to recognise that our suffering serves a great good; the promotion of our own survival. Therefore ordinary consciousness is not something to be resented and avoided. I hold that Schopenhauer is partly mistaken in thinking that we should seek to deny the will and escape from ordinary consciousness. Schopenhauer is mistaken, as I see it, not in holding that we should seek to free ourselves of the will per se, but rather it in thinking that this a mental state from which we ought to aim to permanently escape.

The cumulative psychological toll that results from consistently being in the state of ordinary consciousness is a difficult burden to bear, and it is important that we obtain some respite from it for our own well-being.

Schopenhauer’s account of the transformation from our everyday state of ordinary consciousness into the aesthetic state is a brilliant insight into that change of mental state which we undeniably experience when contemplating great works of art. If one puts aside the failing of wanting this to be a permanent mental transformation, and considers the account of the dual mental states themselves, and their relation, then Schopenhauer offers a compelling account of the aesthetic experience.

However, there is one further major difficulty I find in his presentation of the aesthetic experience. The will, being the ultimate cause of our fears and desires, is the ultimate cause of our suffering. We can be freed of our suffering though during aesthetic experience because in the aesthetic state (of consciousness) we are able to perceive the will objectively. This

seems to be internally inconsistent however; how can we be free of suffering by losing our individuality and perceiving the will objectively when the will is evil in nature?

It seems to be inconsistent to hold both that (i) the will is evil and the cause of all suffering, and also that (ii) by contemplating the will objectively through the Ideas we can escape suffering and enjoy a sense of tranquillity in the aesthetic state, are both true. Yet this is what Schopenhauer does seem to say.

It seems unlikely that Schopenhauer would have failed to recognize such an obvious logical inconsistency in his own work. If one adopts the position that Schopenhauer did not hold his theory to contain a logical inconsistency on this point it becomes necessary to try to find a plausible hypothesis in which this objection is overcome.

Michael Tanner mentions briefly this very problem in his book on Schopenhauer, though he does not really discuss it. He writes that art, in its various forms offers us a way “of renouncing the will-to-live, until one loses one’s individuality altogether and achieves oneness - but with what? With, of course, the only thing that there really is: the will itself. Is that what we would want to do, given his accounts of it? It is hard to see how we could.� (Tanner 1998: 53) I agree with Tanner that it is problematic, and it is difficult to see how we might be able to resolve the problem. I think there must be a strategy to negotiate the problem of the logical inconsistency as Schopenhauer, presumably saw no problem. Quite simply, it must either be the case that there is an internal inconsistency which Schopenhauer ignored or failed to recognise, or that there is a way of understanding Schopenhauer which yields no such inconsistency. My aim here is simply to offer a possible understanding which does not yield the inconsistency we have observed above.

My strategy is to reformulate the formal argument to restate the premises so as to avoid a logical contradiction. The argument can be formulated in terms something like the following: (i) The will is demonic in nature and causes all suffering. (ii) The contemplation of art enables one to enter the aesthetic state. (iii) The aesthetic state is a state of consciousness in which one is free of suffering by means of having a will-less (objective) knowledge of the deeper reality of the world; the will.

Formulated in this way (i) and (iii) appear logically inconsistent. However if one can distinguish between the will itself and the will as acting on the subject it is possible to avoid the inconsistency. Reformulated on this understanding the argument would look something like this: (i) The will is the deeper reality of all things. (ii) The will causes us to impose our own projections on our everyday experience (relative essences) and this causes suffering. (iii) The contemplation of art enables one to enter the aesthetic state. (iv) The aesthetic state is a state of consciousness in which one is free of suffering by means of having a will-less (objective) knowledge of the deeper reality of the world; the will.

On this formulation of the argument the inconsistency is avoided by changing the premise that the will is evil in nature to simply claiming that it is the underlying cause of suffering, because it is the will that causes us to have relative essences, but that it is not evil per se.

However Schopenhauer clearly thinks that the will is intrinsically evil, and so it seems that my reformulation will not work. Recall though what I previously argued; that Schopenhauer was mistaken in thinking we ought to seek permanent escape from the will-driven ordinary consciousness. I have in fact shown that his conception of the will was mistaken on the grounds that he failed to properly appreciate the great good that the will actualises: our survival. If he had acknowledged this great good as being dependent upon the will, which it clearly is, it would be implausible to also maintain that the will is malicious or demonic in nature.

The will cannot be evil since it is life-supporting which is a quality generally held to be altruistic. The will, like the world, may be seen as having two aspects; promoting our survival (positive) and necessitating our having relative essences which by their nature cause us to suffer (negative).

It seems plausible to hold that the will has either a dual nature, being both good and evil, or else that it is good in nature because it supports life and that the suffering which we endure is unavoidable and therefore blameless on the will. It does not seem plausible however to hold that the will is evil for the reasons I have just stated. Thus we can be confident in thinking that Schopenhauer was mistaken to think of the will as being evil or demonic. As the will cannot be evil in nature there is no incon-

sistency. It remains clear that we suffer though, and this is clearly the result of the relative essences which Schopenhauer says act upon us in our ordinary consciousness.

We therefore need to re-evaluate Schopenhauer’s philosophy in light of this realisation. It is by no means a catastrophic blow to Schopenhauerian philosophy to accept what I have argued here, at least in terms of his account of the aesthetic experience. I have argued that Schopenhauer failed to appreciate the great good that is actualised by the will. This great good is the life we have. He fixated on the suffering we endure, which is caused by having fears and desires, and he claimed that we should seek a sort of salvation from suffering by means of entering the aesthetic state, in which we have a will-less knowledge of the world. He thought that the will was evil in nature. I have argued that Schopenhauer was mistaken and that the will cannot be evil in nature, and also that he was mistaken to think we should seek a permanent refuge, or salvation in the aesthetic state because it is inconsistent with evolution as we need to have fears and desires in order to survive.

By modifying our understanding of Schopenhauerian thought on the aesthetic experience in line with what I have argued here the Schopenhauerian account is made stronger. By acknowledging that Schopenhauer made an error to think of the will as intrinsically evil it is possible to address inconsistencies that resulted from this error in his philosophical system.

REFERENCES Alperson, Philip 1981: ‘Schopenhauer and Musical Revelation’. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 40, pp. 155 - 166.

Magee, Bryan 2005: ‘Philosophy’s Neglect of the Arts’. Philosophy, 80, pp. 413 - 422.

Schopenhauer, Arthur 1969: The World as Will and Representation Volume I. Translated by E.F.J. Payne. New York: Dover Publications Inc. Schopenhauer, Arthur 1969: The World as Will and Representation Volume II. Translated by E.F.J. Payne. New York: Dover Publications Inc. Tanner, Michael 1998: Schopenhauer. London: Phoenix.

Young, Julian 2005: Schopenhauer. London and New York: Routledge.

Book Review of The Courtier and The Heretic by Matthew Stewart Lottie Tupholme Why would I choose to read a book that wasn’t even on the preparatory reading list for Professor Lamarque’s “Leibniz and Spinoza” module? I wish I could say I was being exceptionally studious, but no, my mum bought it for me (for my birthday no less) as an “improving read”, knowing I was studying the two philosophers during Easter term. I opened it with a sense of trepidation. It looked somewhat daunting, especially when I started reading it: I hadn’t started the course and had no idea what these two rationalist philosophers were about. However, Stewart’s accessible style immediately put my mind at ease. “The Courtier and The Heretic” is not written like a standard Philosophy text i.e. with a tendency towards off-putting, complicated jargon, despite coming from a philosopher who gained his doctorate at Oxford; instead it is an inviting read, which seems to capture the characters of Leibniz and Spinoza perfectly.

For me, knowing something of the thinkers I’m studying really helps understand the motivation and content of the ideas they expound. The real success of Stewart’s book is that it paints a vivid picture of the two philosophers, and describes in arresting detail their philosophical journeys.

An image of Leibniz, who was particularly fond of wearing “an exceptionally long black wig that always warmed his prematurely bald dome” always brings a smile to my face when his concepts of monads and possible worlds are getting a little too much. Similarly Stewart’s description of Spinoza’s excommunication and later life spent grinding optical lenses and working on his monumental Ethics helped me better understand just how revolutionary his ideas were.

Stewart manages to present a perfect balance of historical information, amusing anecdotes on the philosophers and detailed accounts of their theories. Hearing about Leibniz’s constant desire for money and love of Paris and Spinoza’s almost ascetic lifestyle is fitted in carefully with accounts of the development of his theories. What Stewart does particularly well is describe the interaction between the two philosophers- not only in terms of the contrasts in their works but also their one-time

meeting in the Hague which seemed to have a much more profound effect upon Leibniz than it did Spinoza.

This book is definitely worth a read, regardless of whether you’re working on a “Leibniz and Spinoza” essay over the Easter break or just have cursory interest in rationalist philosophy. It’s immediately absorbing and delivers the key concepts in a frank and easy-to-grasp manner. I can only appeal to Matthew Stewart to write a book like this for all my modules this year!

What Makes a Duck? Metaphysical Realism and Nominalism James Lythgoe Look to any lake-adjacent patch of grass during the daytime and you will almost certainly see ducks. The question of Metaphysical Realism (I shall from here on use ‘Realism’ to refer to the metaphysical position) and Nominalism can be brought to this: why are the various quacking, feathered, beaked objects ducks?

Just what is it that makes these objects, as opposed to any other object, ducks; in what does ‘being a duck’ consist? And in general what makes any given object a member of a group or set? I intend to briefly cover the two principal responses to these questions; Realism and Nominalism (I will leave aside the third traditional response: conceptualism) and aim to demonstrate Nominalism to be the superior account.

The crux of the argument lies in whether we want to include universals in our ontology or not. Universals are things which are common to more than one object (particular). For example, if objects x and y are both red then they posses, or instantiate, the selfsame property of redness.

The Realist position is to accept universals into their ontology as mind independent objects i.e. to posit that they exist independently of any perceiving consciousness . So, by turning to my example of what makes ducks ducks, they must instantiate the property of duckness. This alone is not very illuminating: we must ask what is universal duckness? Here it is prudent to distinguish between two forms of Realism: Ante Rem Realism (AR) and In Rebus (moderate) Realism(IR).

AR will be painfully familiar to anyone who has taken, or is taking an ancient philosophy module and studying Plato’s Republic. AR states that universals (Plato’s Forms) are immortal, unchanging and exist outside of time and space in a so called Platonic heaven. Particular objects or particulars manifest or instantiate these universals or forms which never change; even if they have no instantiations they persist. So ducks are ducks by virtue of their standing in the relation of instantiation to the universal of duckness or, to keep with Plato, the universal form of ‘the duck’.

Even this bare sketch has thrown up several problems. Firstly, ascribing duckness with a place in some non-spatiotemporal realm and immutability does not seem to shed light on matters: in fact quite the opposite.

Secondly, even if we can comprehend of non-spatiotemporal existence,

then it raises the question of how non-spatiotemporal objects can stand as paradigms, or even be the root of, spatiotemporal properties, relations etc. Conversely, how can spatiotemporal objects instantiate the non-spatiotemporal? And just what is this strange relation of instantiation anyway?

IR can be seen as attempting to flee from the difficulties of AR whilst maintaining the mind independence of universals. IR states that universals exist in their instances; so, for example, the property of duckness is spatiotemporal but diffuse through all the instances of ducks existing at a particular time. Should there cease to be ducks, there would cease to be duckness, for an IR property is simply its instantiations.

IR evades all the objections from AR by moving universals to the spatiotemporal realm. It changes the instantiation from a relation of a spatiotemporal object to a non-spatiotemporal object, and into the presence of common spatiotemporal features in spatiotemporal objects.

However it must be asked just how it is possible for one and the same thing (a universal) to have a spatiotemporally diffuse existence? Furthermore, this diffuse existence gives rise to odd situations. For example, if some unpardonable scoundrel were to round up and destroy all objects instantiating duckness, then we may have to say that he has destroyed duckness. But won’t people still remember ducks and have an idea of what made them ducks? Will this idea not be a further instantiation of duckness? If the Realist responds that an idea does not instantiate duckness then how can it, on the realist world view, be an idea of ducks? If the realist admits that the idea is an instantiation of duckness, then the universal has become mind dependent — the very thing the Realist wished to avoid. To make this clearer, imagine that only one person still has an idea of ducks; if he were to lose his memory of duckness then the universal would cease to exist.

I shall now discuss a Nominalist account and attempt to show that it is not only preferable to a realist approach, but that it captures our use of language with regards to objects. Put simply, Nominalists hold that universals are not to be included in our ontology, that they do not exist. All that exists are particular objects. We group them, not by virtue of their pertaining to one universal or another, but as a convention of language based on our perceptions of them. For example, we find that looking at a clear sky, a clean body of water and a lapis gives us a similar colour sensation; so we group them under the name blue. Similarly, we observe that certain water fowl share certain biological features and call them ducks.

Imagine that we were to come across a society of people, perhaps in some hitherto undiscovered under croft of central hall, that only had

words for juxtaposed pairs of colours and instead of individual colours.

Imagine also that they group lake-life not by physiognomy but by habitat. What would a realist say about such a society? It seems they will have to say that the new society has plainly missed the point: after all, on the realist account, the new society has merely failed to recognise the universals of blueness and duckness. Does the difference in our ways of grouping rest on some superior knowledge of reality? I think not. The Realist might try to object that there is in fact a form of the new society colour, bleen (a juxtaposition of blue and green), or the new society genus Derwentium (those animals and birds which nest around Derwent College).

However once this step has been made there may be no going back; are we then to suppose that there are universals which correspond to every conceivable mode of grouping objects? Positing a universal for every group of objects defeats the purpose of universals as a means of distinguishing objects: we are left in the same position as if there were no inherent relations between objects and with a cumbersome and pointless ontology. If the determined realist still wants to object, they may account for the difference in our use of language and deny that all conceivable universals exist, by saying that universals only exist when matching actual (rather than merely possible) language forms. At this stage, the realist must have some account of language’s ability to create universals that are mind-independent, spatiotemporally dispersed objects, and also the ontological status of language itself as being mind independent. Without doing so their position collapses into nominalism.

In our ordinary speech we talk about an object being blue or being a duck; we do not talk of it being an instantiation of such and such universals. Imagine someone telling you that they have adopted one of the campus ducks; you naturally ask which one, and they reply ‘the instantiation of duckness instantiating beakedness, featheredness and goldness’.

This shows how realism is at odds with our everyday language use for two reasons. Firstly it would obviously have made more sense had he said ‘the golden duck’. And secondly, a full realist unpacking of the event would have meant I had to cash out ‘imagining’, ’someone’, ‘telling’,’you’, ‘adoption’,’one’ and ‘campus’ in terms of their relevant universals. However we can understand the event without talking or even thinking about any universals; by contrast nominalism states that our grouping of objects and defining them thereby is just a convention of our language, there is no special relation of object to properties to look for behind the use of the phrase ‘the golden duck’.

Is only Boring Time Travel Possible?

Simon Horsley I had a bit of a weird few days about a month ago; all of a sudden nearly everyone I talked to seemed to be bothered by what time was. Of course neither was this representative of the population as a whole, nor was it particularly long lived. As someone interested in both physics and philosophy though, I was quite excited. I also remembered that ‘time travel’ has always bothered me. The physicist in me is convinced that ‘whatever goes for time, goes for space also; if I can walk backwards, surely then I can go through time backwards’, while the philosopher hates the idea. In particular, if I can prevent my own existence—and thereby prevent my own going back in time—through going back and neutering my own ancestor, then something must be very wrong.

Happily enough, immediately after I remembered that I was a ‘time travel’ schizophrenic, a third year physics–philosopher introduced me to a way in which all of the paradoxes of ‘time travel’ might be avoided, and this is really what I feel like telling you about. The central idea is so simple and representative of how most of us probably think the physical world should be, that it’s hard to reject. At the same time, some of the consequences are hard to swallow. Apparently, if we are to allow ‘time travel’, and avoid all of the possible paradoxes that we might run into, then not only must our laws of nature turn out to be horribly staged, but there is also definitely no possibility for the existence of free will.

As usual, some claim that quantum mechanics might help us out of this mess, but this is probably only because quantum mechanics lets us do pretty much anything. You’ve probably noticed that I’ve, annoyingly, so far put scare quotes around any reference to motion through time. This is for quite a good reason, and it’s something I’d like to make clear before we deal with the paradoxes. When we think of motion, this is always made up of a series of different locations in space ordered throughout a period of time. ‘Time travel’ can’t be quite like this; if we change location in time then we have no means by which to order this into something we might call motion, or travel. In fact it’s quite hard to find a suitable vocabulary from the ordinary English language which might describe what we do mean. We must realise that a ‘motion’ through time really is something not entirely like anything we are used to thinking about. Because of

this, I’d rather not get confused and instead sometimes I’ll talk in terms of the more obfuscated concept of a ‘closed time–like curve’. This is a concept that clearly needs explanation; being borrowed from physics, it’s designed with complete inaccessibility in mind.

In modern physics we work, not with time and space separated, but with them both united within a single, four dimensional space–time. Compared with ordinary space, this is a bit like the difference between a square and a cube. To make a cube from a square, we need to be able to create lines at right angles to the surface of the square. Similarly, to make space–time from space, we must draw lines at right angles to space itself (I’ve tried to draw this as best I can in figure 1). The direction which is at a right angle to space is taken to be that of time. The actual situation is somewhat more complex than this, but as it is, it is quite a nice idea.

Space–time enables us to view the totality of existence as a single four dimensional entity. In accordance with this idea, an object’s complete existence is represented by a line—or a curve—in this space– Time Space Object time.

1 Time Space Object This line is said to be ‘time–like’, if the object always observes effects as following from causes during its lifetime. Normally, your life is causally ordered along only one direction in time, so most of us are represented by time–like lines which have both ends dangling and don’t have any knots in them (see figure 1). However, if you are allowed to go back to an earlier time (and keep causality happy), then you allow for the possibility of closed time–like curves in space– time; that is, your ‘life–line’ may have both ends fastened to one another, or be tied in knots. In the context of possible ‘motion’ through time, the concept of a closed time–like curve thus represents an object’s going back to a previous time and interacting with it’s earlier self.

With this in mind, suppose for the moment that we allow for the existence of a time–machine. There isn’t any immediate reason why we can’t use this machine; if it happens to lead to a contradiction, then we’d expect that it shouldn’t be physically possible anyway. I’ll split the uses of the time–machine up into three classes.

1. Going to a very distant future point in time (one which you can’t just sit and wait for).

2. Going to a past, but isolated point in time (not interacting with your past self, either directly, or indirectly).

3. Going to a past, but non–isolated point in time (interacting in some way with your past self ).

Some of the uses of the time–machine seem perfectly fine. For example, if you jump forward to a time far in the future (use 1) and live there until your death, then there doesn’t appear to be any obvious inconsistency.

Similarly, let’s speculate that you climb into the machine and appear at some earlier point in time in some place where you will never interact with your earlier self, either directly, or indirectly (use 2). If you then either go to a point far in the future, or live carefully isolated from your earlier self until death, then, besides the fact that you now allow for yourself to exist in two places at once, there appears to be no contradiction.

However, if an individual is allowed to interact with his or her earlier self (use 3) and so form a closed time–like curve , then we get into all sorts of bother. The clearest example of this involves an impatient man’s suicide.

Consider someone so desperately unhappy that he wishes to die without delay. There are no deadly implements immediately to hand, so instead he works tirelessly in order to construct a time machine. After a great deal of effort it is finished, and it seems to work. Why did he bother?

Surely in constructing the machine, he could have found a blunt enough instrument to end it all. Well, it was all quite clever. Upon entering the machine, he sets the controls such that he re–appears moments before his earlier self’s suicidal thought, to then enact his own fatal wishes. In doing this his earlier self didn’t even have to wait the insignificant amount of time that it would have taken to find a suitable death– device!

But hang on, if he died at that earlier moment, then he didn’t build the time machine, and so he didn’t die, but if he didn’t die then he built the time machine, and so he managed to kill himself, and so on. Clearly there is a horrible paradox here.

So it is the third use that’s the annoyance to anyone wishing to use a time–machine. How do we come to terms with this? Well, as we said earlier, we should suppose that this particular use just isn’t physically reasonable from the start. Oddly enough, there is no immediate reason for supposing this, in fact if we look at Einstein’s theory of General Relativity—the theory which tells us just what we are and are not allowed to do with space–time—then we find that, while use 1 appears barred (so we

can’t peak into the future without waiting), use 3 is most certainly allowed. Moreover, several eminent physicists have put forward designs of machines that could feasibly carry out uses 2 and 3!

This is all very worrying; logical possibility usually precedes physical possibility. Here though, we appear to have a physically viable situation which leads directly to logical inconsistency; the problem I mentioned at the start. The solution is beautifully simple, all we have to do is apply a single a priori restriction to all of our theories of physical processes.

Quite plainly this is the condition that all physical processes must be continuous. By this I mean that, if we have some process, for instance a human life, and if we then look at snapshots of that life over smaller and smaller periods of time, then we can eventually pick a small enough period of time such that nothing happens. A discontinuous process would involve something like magic. For example, if I could instantaneously make tea appear in my cup, then—apart from feeling very pleased with myself—however short a snapshot I took of the moment when the tea appeared, the tea would still just miraculously jolt into existence. What this continuity rule really amounts to is a ‘no magic please’ law.

How does this restriction affect our suicidal man? Well, at the moment, if we take him to have both built the time machine and have been successful in killing his earlier self, then there must clearly be a moment in his existence where he goes from being dead to being suddenly alive. The assumption of continuity has at least ruled out the physical possibility of this messy kind of time travel. The question naturally arises though, as to just what we are allowed to do with our machine. Time travel is already looking a bit dull; we’ve said that 1 appears to be impossible, in our universe at least. Use 2 still seems fine for the moment, but we’ve cut a good deal out of 3.

It turns out that the ‘no magic please’ law is an awfully restrictive requirement. To illustrate this, let’s consider a typical example. Suppose we have another time machine. A black and white camera will be pointed at the exit of this device. Take for granted that the film of this camera is taken out and is put through the machine such that it exits at an earlier point in time where the camera (with the film’s earlier self inside) takes a picture of it. This series of events consequently forms an indirectly closed time–like curve. In taking the picture, the earlier film so becomes the negative of its later self.

Just like in the case of our suicidal man, this must introduce a discontinuity in nearly all cases. At some point in time the film must have

‘jumped’ from being one image to being that image’s negative. However, we should notice that this need not happen in every situation. If the film was its own negative then everything would be perfectly continuous. Is this possible? Yes, but in only a single case, where the film is uniformly grey. As a consequence our physical laws must be such that something stops this particular film from going back to the particular moment where is is photographed unless that film is in every way uniform and of the exact right shade of grey. We must have some amazingly ugly physical laws at work!

To rule out possible paradoxes, not only must the universe work in this rather unpleasant way, but along with this an individual’s freedom of choice must also be removed. To observe this we return again to our suicidal man. Clearly it is his choice that he must die, and as we have already established, this is not a possible choice that he can make. Such a feature alone is not unfamiliar; I can choose to outrun a tiger, but that doesn’t mean that when I attempt to, the physical laws will comply. The requirements of continuity are apparently stronger than those of leg physics. It is not just that he can’t kill himself, it’s that he must follow a very specific set path of events throughout the closed curve. The example often given is one where the suicidal man aims to shoot his earlier self.

In such a case he must miss. But why? If he missed to hit his earlier self in the eye, then this may impede his later self ’s vision. This may thus cause him to miss. It’s all perfectly consistent, but there is certainly very little room for this individual to have made any real choices.

It might be taken that the consequences of fixing the paradoxes of ‘time travel’ in this way are so unappealing that the idea should just be outright rejected. The problem is, besides gut feeling and aesthetics I can’t really see any reasonable argument for this.

Pluralism, Pragmatism and Metaphysics Dave Allen There is no external vantage point, no first philosophy.

W. V. O. Quine (1969: 127) Metaphysics has made something of a comeback in contemporary analytic philosophy. The nature of time, space and identity are once again respected parts of mainstream philosophical inquiry. With this return to metaphysics comes a top-down methodology, a desire to get to the truth about fundamental concepts before pursuing more concrete philosophical questions. I will argue that this endeavour is fruitless and defend a bottom-up approach. I claim that the test of our ontology should be the progress it facilitates on concrete, ground-level issues. Having explained the problems with pure metaphysics, and explicated the pluralistic pragmatism I hope will replace it, I will consider Daniel Dennett as an exemplar of the methodological attitude I am recommending.

Against pure metaphysics So why is pure metaphysics fruitless? I’ll start by stipulating what I mean by ‘pure metaphysics’. Pure metaphysics is characterised by a key methodological presupposition: essentialism. Pure metaphysicians are searching for the essential properties of basic concepts in order to provide a firm basis for further inquiry. By ‘basic concepts’, I mean time, space, causation, modality, individuation; i.e. those concepts ‘without which … we would have no concepts at all’ (Davidson 1996: 309).

Now, there is a critical problem with this methodology, hinted at by the quotation from Davidson above (and explicitly dealt with in his paper): the concepts which form the subject matter of metaphysics are so basic that it is extremely difficult, perhaps impossible, to define any one without using another; they certainly can’t be defined in simpler terms. The pure metaphysician could perhaps establish an hierarchy of conceptual priority, but this would still leave at least one basic concept undefined.

Not a tempting prospect if you’re trying to establish a solid basis for further inquiries.

A further issue lies in the structure of pure metaphysical inquiry. Pure metaphysics doesn’t regard itself as an empirical discipline, and so tries to determine the nature of basic concepts a priori. Thus, the only way to proceed in evaluating different theories (setting aside any mystical appeals to intuition) is to try to prove rival theories to be inconsistent. The pure metaphysician will take a set of propositions that seem to issue from commonsense but are inconsistent, and elaborate the implications of a certain manner of making the set consistent. A good example of this is Haslanger’s (2003: 316-7) survey of contemporary theories of objects’ persistence through time. She formulates an inconsistent set of (prima facie) necessary conditions for an object to persist through time, and then describes each theory in terms of which condition(s) it chooses to reject or modify. The problem is that the condition(s) the pure metaphysician deems acceptable to reject will depend on pre-existing metaphysical commitments. There is no metaphysically neutral place to begin.

It seems the pure metaphysician can’t complete her task of justifying the foundations of philosophy. Her essentialism and a priori methodology are meant to establish a solid conceptual base, but the presumption and vagueness are merely pushed further up the conceptual hierarchy. How, then, should philosophy proceed?

Pragmatism via pluralism I believe that we should endorse a thoroughgoing pluralism. Rather than agonising over basic concepts, we should take a set of metaphysical presumptions as a given and see where they lead us when applied to more concrete issues (e.g. in the philosophy of mind or of science). This shouldn’t be a stretch, since, as Davidson (1996: 309) notes, philosophers invariably assume a passable understanding of basic concepts when dealing with other issues anyway. All I am proposing is that we embrace this practice, and the variations of opinion it creates. I agree with Quine (1980: 19) when he states that ‘the obvious counsel [concerning the question of what ontology to adopt] is tolerance and an experimental spirit’. Perhaps a four-dimensional ontology will prove most amenable to developments in physics; perhaps consciousness will only prove explicable if we reject intrinsic, ineffable properties. In the end, we’ll only know if various conceptual schemata are developed and tested.

Having taken a pluralistic approach in our dealings with more concrete philosophical issues, we will be in a position to make a pragmatic decision as to which particular metaphysic has proven most beneficial, easing explanation and facilitating further research. It is possible that different schemata will prove more beneficial in different areas; however, within the realms of philosophy it seems a worthy task, in the name of simplicity and clarity, to try to establish a single unifying metaphysic.

This wouldn’t be a surprising result, since philosophical concepts and issues are closely related to one another, and so could be expected to benefit en masse from an effective conceptual schema.

Dennett and reverse engineering metaphysics To conclude, I want to take a brief look at Daniel Dennett, who is an exemplar of the attitude I propose towards metaphysical questions. Dennett (1993: 204) describes his philosophy as ‘working out some of the surprising implications of the standard scientific picture’. He professes that the questions of pure metaphysics are ‘too hard for me to approach with any confidence’, and he is comfortable letting concrete results reinforce (or undermine) his assumptions: If [Nagel] would rather go on believing in intrinsic and ineffable properties, then he will have to forgo the fun of being in on the kill when we knock off the mind-body problem… (Dennett 1993: 233) This is more constructive than arguing over basic metaphysical differences; given the lack of a neutral stance noted earlier, opponents will inevitably talk past each other anyway. By looking at the concrete philosophical results of different schemata, we can reverse engineer our metaphysics; when we see progress in, say, the philosophy of mind, we can work backwards, gradually clarifying the vague metaphysics that facilitated it.

Rorty (1993: 187) is quite right to point out that proponents of different metaphysics can reasonably accuse each other of ‘begging all the interesting questions’. Does this show that my method of pragmatic reverse engineering will never reach any definitive conclusions? Perhaps, but this is not a problem for the pragmatist. As long as we continue to make progress in those areas where philosophy connects with concrete phenomena and real, practical research we can afford to let our metaphysics stay vague. As Popper (2002: 94) said of science, so too for philosophy:

Science does not rest upon solid bedrock. The bold structures of its theories rise, as it were, above a swamp. It is like a building erected on piles.

The piles are driven down from above into the swamp, but not down to any natural or ‘given’ base; and if we stop driving the piles deeper, it is not because we have reached firm ground. We simply stop when we are satisfied that the piles are firm enough to carry the structure, at least for the time being.

This is the situation, as we have seen, whether we are pure metaphysicians or pluralistic pragmatists. But at least if we are pragmatists, following the lead of Quine, Davidson and Dennett, we can hope for some progress in our wonderfully confused subject. __________________________________________________ ______________________________ References Blackburn, Simon and Simmons, Keith (eds.) 1999: Truth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Dahlbom, Bo (ed.) 1993: Dennett and His Critics: Demystifying Mind.

Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

Davidson, Donald 1996: ‘The Folly of Trying to Define Truth’. In Blackburn and Simmons (eds.) 1999, pp. 308-22.

Dennett, Daniel C. 1993: ‘Back from the Drawing Board’. In Dahlbom (ed.) 1993, pp. 203-35.

Haslanger, Sally 2003: ‘Persistence through Time’. In Loux and Zimmerman (eds.) 2003, pp. 315-54.

Loux, Michael J. and Zimmerman, Dean W. (eds.) 2003: The Oxford Handbook of Metaphysics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Popper, Karl 2002: The Logic of Scientific Discovery. London: Routledge.

Quine, W. V. O. 1969: Ontological Relativity and Other Essays. New York: Columbia University Press.

Quine, W. V. O. 1980: From A Logical Point of View. Harvard: Harvard University Press.

Rorty, Richard 1993: ‘Holism, Intrinsicality, and the Ambition of Transcendence’. In Dahlbom (ed.) 1993, pp. 184-202.

What is Philosophy?

Keith Wilson Part One - Philosophical Method When I mention to people that I’m a student and they ask me what I study, I find that the answer (”philosophy”) tends to produce one of three reactions. The first is a blank stare, sometimes accompanied by a nodding of the head, and followed a rapid attempt to change the conversation to something that the questioner actually knows something about (rather like what happens when someone asks you how you are and you actually tell them, rather than responding with the customary “Fine thanks, how are you?”). The second is a kind of derisory snort, as if to say “Yeah right, what use is that?”. The third and by far the most disturbing response is when the silent question mark spreading across the questioner’s face belies the fact that they have absolutely no idea what philosophy is, as distinct from say, psychology, or a vague kind of wondering about the world, such as one might undertake whilst sitting in the bath, staring into the night sky, or chatting with friends about the meaning of life and other ‘deep questions’ after a few too many beers.

Even worse are those rare occasionally when the person actually asks the question that so obviously crosses their mind: “Just what is philosophy exactly?”. It is a question that I have come to dread, for having started out with a relatively clear idea of what philosophy is all about, and studying the subject at University for what seems like forever, I find myself at a loss to offer a satisfactory or even partially comprehensive answer to this apparently simple question. To make matters worse, the more I study philosophy, the less I am convinced that I know what it is, let alone what it is for - although that is an entirely different question. At the same time, I seem to have little difficulty in separating philosophy from nonphilosophy, so there must be some criteria for what differentiates the two. It is all slightly embarrassing. I mean, scientists, historians, musicians and dentists don’t seem to have this trouble, so why should philosophers?

So, what is philosophy? Well, the first thing to note is that the question is itself a philosophical one. Not only that, but it is typical of philosophical questions in that it asks for some kind of definition, essence or criteria for what constitutes something being a particular kind of thing - in this case, ‘philosophy’. Whilst it is certainly true that philosophers are often

asking questions of the form ‘What is x?’, where ‘x’ is a concept word, such as ‘language’, ‘knowledge’, ‘art’, and so on, but it is this what defines the discipline? Is philosophy basically a matter of enquiring after the meaning of certain words; an investigation into the essence of concepts?

Well, such analysis is undoubtedly part of the story, but such questions also fall into the domain of empirical linguistics. Plus, there are many forms of philosophy enquiry - logic and ethics, to take just two examples - that don’t easily fit into this mould. Perhaps logic could, with some stretch of the imagination, be considered the study of the meaning of the concept of ‘truth’, and ethics an analysis of ‘the good’ (in the sense that Plato intended), to characterise them in this way seems to distort, rather than faithfully capture, their nature. So, whilst ‘What is philosophy?’ is a distinctly philosophical question, it is perhaps less of a model for what makes something philosophical and more of an illustration of one of its techniques, i.e. definition or conceptual analysis for the purpose of accuracy and concision.

So, if ‘What is x?’ is one examples of a philosophical technique then there must be others. Is philosophy perhaps a methodology; a collection of such techniques along with some rules for their application that may be used to gain knowledge and insight into the human condition - a toolbox, if you will, for the pursuit of truth and wisdom? Such a characterisation would fit in well with other disciplines. The scientist experiments and observes; the engineer designs and constructs; the artist expresses and creates; the philosopher thinks and reflects. Does the idea of a methodology not capture what philosophy is all about? Whilst it’s true that philosophers do think and reflect, perhaps more than most, so do all of the above professions. If we make thinking the exclusive province of the philosopher, then this would make us all philosophers (and, it might be argued, perhaps all the better for it).

Philosophy as a Historical Form of Thought If thinking is too broad a term to capture the unique nature of philosophical enquiry, then perhaps we need to narrow the scope of our enquiry.

The name and practice of philosophy originates with the Ancient Greeks, who were the first (so far as I’m aware) to consider it to be a separate discipline from, say, mathematical or practical reasoning. This is not to say that other civilisations, before and since, did not seek answers to similar questions or insights into the nature of the world, but prior to the Greeks, nobody had separated this off into a distinct discipline or activity in quite the same way as, for example, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, did. By

comparison, the Buddhist tradition, which predates the ‘Golden Age’ of Greece by some ??? years, can only be called a philosophy in so far as one can extract a philosophy from it. It would be more accurate to describe it as an integrated form of life that contains philosophical, practical and spiritual elements within it, enmeshed to form a single coherent whole.

Philosophy, on the other hand, is very much a distinct activity or enquiry that can be pursued alongside one’s everyday life without requiring acceptance of any particular tenets or beliefs. (Of course, most philosophers would profess a commitment to the logic and reason as a source of legitimacy underpinning their enquiries but, as discussed above, this can hardly be considered unique to philosophy, and is, in any case, not beyond philosophical scrutiny - Hegel, for example, considered logic to be a self-generating property of the universe.)

Based on the above evidence, perhaps it would be appropriate to characterise philosophy as a historically determinate form of thought; part of a tradition stretching back to Ancient Greece and beyond, and one that we participate in or emulate when we ‘do philosophy’. This may be true, but surely we could still do philosophy even if the Ancient Greeks had never existed? If all philosophical knowledge was lost - ‘consigned to the flames’, as Hume rather dramatically put it - and humanity had to start over again, then wouldn’t these particular questions and activities still constitute philosophy, regardless of whether they were called or recognised as such? Isn’t philosophy, to put it in a nutshell, more a matter of content and technique than some kind of historically constituted tradition, like the monarchy, cricket, and Morris dancing?

The Day All Possible Worlds Collided Sarah Wallbank I woke up to the sound of raindrops on the roof tiles outside. ‘Another ordinary day,’ I thought as I forced myself to open my eyes. Why didn’t my alarm clock go off? I rolled over to look at the time and fell on the floor. Ouch. I could have sworn I went to sleep on the other side of the bed last night. I cautiously stood up, rubbing my head. I grabbed my towel from the pile of unwashed clothes in the corner of my bedroom and stumbled into the bathroom. A strip of sun was shining brightly through the broken gap in the blinds.

The shower got hot quicker than usual. Someone had taken my favourite lime shower gel and put a crappy orange one in there instead. I turned around to get my flannel and when I went to pick up the bottle it was lime. ‘Oh my god, I’m imagining things. Maybe I drank more than I thought last night?’ But there was no time to think about it; I was late for my first lecture.

I stepped out of the front door and shivered in the chill of the wind. I wrapped my scarf tighter round my neck. There were four buses lined up at the bus stop all displaying the number 15. I went to look at the timetable – it had grown, covering the entire wall, as if it included every bus in the region. Why did they suddenly need so many buses to go down this quiet, residential road? Maybe there was a big event on in town today that I hadn’t heard about.

Two little girls came running down the road. I recognised their face but I’d only ever seen one of them at a time before. I didn’t realise they were identical twins! One was slightly behind the other and had obviously forgotten her school tie. Strangely, she didn’t follow her sister onto the first bus and hopped on to the second bus instead, without even seeming to notice the first.

I hurried down the path to Uni. All of a sudden it was swelteringly hot.

The sun was beaming down, redder than I’d ever seen it before. I had to take my scarf off.

As I walked through the gates and the University came into view I was shocked! They had painted the whole library building pink in one night.

It couldn’t be a joke – it was done so professionally. And as I walked

through campus I noticed all the other buildings had changed colour too.

The shop was now turquoise and named ‘Costcutter’, ‘Tesco Express’, ‘Sainsbury’s’ and ‘Morrisons’!

‘What is going on?’ I said out loud. A guy who I recognised from my course answered me.

‘I don’t think they agreed on the takeover bid mate!’ He was wearing a jumper for the University’s Christian Union and his hair was in a neat ponytail instead of his normal mass of dreadlocks. This was odd considering yesterday he was wearing a t-shirt that said ‘10 Reasons Why Religions Suck’ and he’d never uttered a word to me before.

‘I had no idea there was a takeover bid’, I said, confused. All these changes were starting to unnerve me. * ‘Sorry I’m late’. I entered the lecture hall. There was double the normal number of people, and a few who I’d never seen in the department before.

‘You will be. See me after class,’ replied the professor.

I felt my cheeks pumping tomato juice. Oh dear, he had never had a problem with lateness before. He was always so easygoing. I sat down as quickly as I could and reached into my pocket for my mobile. It wasn’t there. I looked in my bag and sighed with relief; it was there. But so were six others! Phones I had never seen before – all different colours and sizes. I picked one up to see who it could belong to. Hiding it under the desk, I searched through the phonebook. It had all my contacts. It even had all my messages in the inbox. So did all the other phones!

Someone had to be playing a joke on me. I sent a message to my girlfriend (she was still under ‘sweetheart’ in all the phonebooks): caroline, y hav i got six fones in my bag? do u hav nethin 2 do with this?

She met me after class.

‘There’s something seriously strange going on today. I feel like I’m dreaming’, I said.

She wasn’t listening. She wanted to run down to the Sports Centre to sign up for the gym before it closed for lunch. There were two signs on the door when we got there. One said ‘OPEN’, the other said ‘CLOSED’.

‘Oh no, do you think it’s too late?’ she said, but on trying the door found it opened anyway.

Inside there were hundreds of people milling around. They all looked strangely familiar. There were two redheads on the reception desk, one with her back to us. They were wearing the same flowery shirt and grey, knitted shrug. My girlfriend began to talk to the one facing us and she didn’t notice another, completely identical lady walk through the office door at the back. The third one turned around and walked forward alongside the other. I was astonished. It was the same woman! They were walking exactly in time and both snapped, ‘Can I help you?’ simultaneously.

‘Aghhhh!’ I yelped. I felt like a warm ice cube: frozen to the spot but melting very rapidly. All three women looked up and gave me the same, patronising smile showing their perfect milky-white teeth.

Was I in a dream? I couldn’t handle this overwhelming feeling of disturbance any longer. I ran out the building as fast as I could. I tripped over a flowerpot that hadn’t been there on my way in and I fell flat on my face, my bag spilling its contents all over the floor. Looking up, I saw myself in front of me. Running away. I watched myself jump over a bench but stumble and fall. Then another me materialised and was continuing to run, whilst the fallen one scrambled around trying to pick up the contents of his bag. My bag? I tried to shout at him but my throat was blocked. I couldn’t say a word. My jaw was wide open. In the distance I saw multiple versions of me running off in all different directions. The seconds I watched felt like hours and my body was multiplying itself all the more rapidly.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘Are you alright, darling?’ she said.

Had she not noticed? I cautiously forced my neck to turn. Caroline had grown two heads, four arms and loads of legs. She looked like she’d been merged with another person. I peered behind the forest of legs. There was a string of her bodies in line all the way back to the door, like a sequence of movie stills. But they weren’t still. They were moving.

At that point I fainted.

Death Sharmin Ahammad They tell him to meet them at 1 o’clock; they go through the usual formalities – good afternoon, please sit down, make yourself comfortable – then they take out his file and say, ‘We are not going to review your life lease, Mr. Gray. You will die without any further medical intervention.’

They are all very cordial, all very courteous about it: five identical smiles stapling five, wide identical faces. ‘Do you have any questions, Mr. Gray?’

‘Why?’ ‘You are a valuable citizen, Mr. Gray. We are all valuable as you no doubt already know. Unfortunately, you are less valuable than our requirements. Our judgment is informed by highly complex and specialized data. But, we assure you, our judgment is entirely necessary, entirely correct.’

So it is entirely necessary for him to die. He is no professional; in what position is he to disagree? But he is disappointed. They haven’t quite answered his question. He can’t imagine what Death is like: it blooms before him in a fog.

Before he can stop himself, he asks, ‘What is Death?’

‘It is a permanent sleep.’

‘It is when your organs stop functioning.’

‘It is when you stop thinking and feeling.’

‘It is when you never move again. Your body temperature falls.’

‘It is when time stops.’

‘Ah, thank you,’ he replies, ‘That’s very informative.’

They smile. ‘Is that all, Mr. Gray?’

‘Yes. That’s all.’

He is shivering despite the heat as he makes his way home. Autumn is waning towards winter. The steel gates glint under the sun’s glare. Death

is something that belongs to the past, surely, there is no such thing as reversion; reversion is unscientific - that’s what They say - and now Death, in its gloomy, colourless way was rousing itself after a millennium of dormancy. The time had arrived, predicted well before the possibility of Indeterminate Life Extension, that one day there would be too much life; there would not be enough resources to circulate; that they would have to make hard decisions; who to live; who to die. And now, after centuries of being careful, being measured with life, it weighs upon him, in a few clean words, ‘We will not be reviewing your life lease Mr. Gray.’ He stares into the low, orange sun, he rubs his forefinger, he smiles without pleasure. He is grated with failure. He never fails any examination; he fulfills his function as precisely as he can, as is possible; it is encrypted in his blood, after all. But, he isn’t good enough: there is a fault in his mechanism (is it because he conforms too much or too little?) and he isn’t sure what to blame.

It is 2 o’clock in the morning. He is unable to sleep. Three minutes pass before he checks the clock again. He has been lying on his bed for the past three hours awake and aching, thinking to himself each time he almost drops off, ‘this is what it will be like to die…’ They say sleep is a rehearsal for death, a space between living and obliteration: but what if death isn’t warm and dark? When he shuts his eyes, he doesn’t see black, but orange. It is bright and searing and pulsing. When he opens his eyes, he is hugged by darkness and feels relief. But sleep isn’t coming. Sleep is no longer a form of passive suspension but a physical force that he must call upon. Sleep, sleep…

‘I’m going to die,’ he says to her.

‘It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. Couldn’t you have contacted me another way?’

‘Someone decided I am not good enough and so I’m going to die.’

She doesn’t seem to be listening, or understanding. She invites him in for a drink, calm as a moon on a cloudless night, asks him to sit down. She says, ‘Oh, that can’t be true, can it?’

‘They never lie.’ He senses her unease.

‘Don’t they say reversion is unscientific? Aren’t they asking for reversion? It’s illogical.’

A million times, he has heard the answer a million times given to other people, other failures. ‘You are a historian, not a scientist. Death is no longer science. It is history. What do you know about death?’

She sits him down. She stands, feet together, arms folded. She begins with poise: “Debates in history often centred on what happened after death: is it the end of the mind? Would that thing they call the ‘soul’, so often coined by the ‘I’, float higher and higher into a realm of eternity?

But, of course, there is nothing particularly special about the prospect of ‘living forever’: we are, by their standards, gods– the highest evolutionary form a human can reach: immortality. And once we gained immortality, it was inevitable that their version of “Heaven” followed suit.

Peace, Justice, Freedom is only possible because our ancestors sacrificed death. With the death of Death, the abolition of physical pain and emotional deficiencies (what can’t we diagnose - physical or emotional?), the greatest moral depravities were obliterated. A most terrible thing they had, War, ended. In 2078 the abolition of war act was passed. If there was no longer any need to fight for life, there was no need for war. There is a mathematical neatness about it. Medication became a universal right. Life could be lived for life’s sake. Death was the ultimate disease they erased from the papers of history.” Pause. “But we are higher beings now, post-humans. They were barbarous.”

As she speaks, he knows he is going to become a different species: he is going to be ‘human’. Only, what he can’t really get his mind around when it comes to death is not the so-called ‘spiritual’ dilemmas that the ancients faced (he is certain there is no such thing as an after-life; he doesn’t even desire one if will differ from his usual experience) but the sheer physicality of it all. He runs his fingers across the ring of wrinkles around his wrist. She asks him if he is alright; apologises for going on too long, it must have come off as a bit of a lecture, right? She assures him, uncertainly, that everything will be okay, that death will not be like it was in the past. He leaves.

He stands in front of the mirror naked: his long, grim body stares back at him; there is a taut geometrical tightness about his construction, his skin smoothing over the elaborate detail of his strong, sturdy structure: the deeper one looks, the more intricate the patterns are – the half-raised

hairs planted on miniscule dots on his skin, the tiny, swirling contour lines of his fingertips. The human body is admirably crafted. Nature should be proud! He reads his body of health for salient symbols of death. He looks at the eyes of the body; the tiny, telescopic portals that make the act possible. His eyes will rot. Turn to water-jelly. There will be no distinction between the sharp, black circlet of his pupil and wide, white sclera. Soon after death, his capillaries will thicken with congealed blood, purpling his skin a deep plum colour; then the muscles of his carcass will stiffen; then, one degree after another, his body temperature will fall. Livor mortis. Rigor mortis. Algor mortis. The three springy steps of death.

People used to embalm bodies. But there are no embalmers left: it is unlikely that professionals will break from their set routines to do it for him. He composes a thought to The Scientists, ‘If possible, please embalm my body’. There is no mention of preparation post-death; the information he gleans about death is stolen from history archives — the grim sources that people read only out of a dull superiority complex — back then there was too much killing, too much disease, too many disasters.

The longer people lived, the more people died. There was something cruel about the maths. Now the numbers are right. Now people live long, and many people live – only a few people have to die – and that is a neat equation worth preserving. There is a mathematical neatness about it: the only ethical solution.

But without being embalmed, his body will go through the odious parade of putrefaction; his abdomen will glow with green mould, his flesh will curdle with decay. The bacteria in his colon crucial for digesting his comfort foods – olives, oranges, walnut ice cream — will, in turn, digest his bodily tissues. The gases of his intestines will push his intestines through his rectum. His tongue and eyes will bulge out of his face leaving empty, black bowls. Bloody fluid will pour out of his un-tasting mouth and unsmelling nose and other orifices in streaks of sulphur and iron. His skin will loosen and wrinkle, his bones will protrude from his face like arcs beneath thin fabric, and, after about a week, his lax skin will lift off in sheets. His organs will liquefy – he imagines the pulps of blood, the pasty puss and the slack, empty sack of his heart. After a few years, perhaps, his skull will be a fractured eggshell. Time will sand his bones until there is nothing left of him – not a single imprint on the world – like a sound fading forever into silence.

His paranoia laces traces of death into ordinary objects as he moves from one indistinct day to the next: he sees bits of bone in his coffee cup; skin lining his pillow; a blot of blood here and there; knotty sinews fusing walls. Everything is muscled with death. He can no longer tell what is inside of him and what is out. He mediates between death and life. He hasn’t been able to sleep for three days. His irises in the mirror are rimmed red, a red ring of blood. His windows are open, all of them, inviting in any air that might cool his white rooms – but there is only more heat, more hot breaths sucked inwards: his home a pair of constricted lungs. The open windows cut slots into his body, wafting in more infection. He is infected. He is human. The impatient tapping of the ticking clock replaces his heartbeat; the metal hands of time opening and closing his aortic valves.

The human in him is emerging. Emerging like a skeleton beneath his skin…He draws in insects, he snags and singes their little bodies on flames. He listens to the delicate crackle of death. He is fascinated by that tiny, frazzled instance where life meets death. A soft moth crumbles in the fire and powders the table. Another one gone! Into expiration, into air and exhalation, the breath that blows out life and puts an end to all of light (he almost sings it to himself). He studies the remains of the moth’s anatomy, a lovely, no – empty, deadly, deathly – dead thing. He makes a note to research more and more and more on Death, but is there the time?

Time becomes a soldier in orange uniform. It injects a virus into his hot blood. Time forces a gun to his head: ‘I want to live forever’, It makes him say: and he will repeat it to everyone; he will spread Time’s message, in a mantra, in a prayer, to all living things: ‘I refuse to die. I refuse to die. I refuse to die.’ He will not fade into the past tense. Even if it means burning every body alive, even if it means causing pain, even if it means going to war — he will not die. He will fight for life until his very last heartstring twists and snaps. He will live. Live!

Way too Fat Chris Samiullah ‘Patrol Car 1, just received a call detailing suspected W.T.F., what is your current location?’

Dan linked his fingers and pushed his palms away from his face, eliciting a series of popping and crackling sounds. He calmly opened the door of his car and, leaning out, pressed one nostril with his index finger and snorted extravagantly. Slamming the door he turned to his new partner Sally and said with a grin, ‘Show time,’ grabbing his mobile phone he suddenly became more serious, ‘Control, this is P.C. 1 reporting in, current location is Heslington Road.’

The voice that spoke to him was professional but slick; under different circumstances she might have sounded sexy.

‘Be advised, W.T.F. at St. Lawrence drive, house 17. Perp is becoming violent and has assaulted a man attempting to make a citizen’s arrest.’

‘On our way,’ said Dan, typing the address into the dashboard computer.

The car eased around the traffic, accelerating well past the pre-programmed speed limit, its hydrogen motor whirring contentedly. Dan leaned back and turned to regard his new partner. Sally had begun loading her pistol with compliance cartridges, handling each bullet with care.

Dan raised an eyebrow.

‘Ow, put that away. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.’ He pointed to the tazor at his belt. Without a glance up, Sally continued loading the slightly malleable ammo and said, ‘I don’t think so. Have you ever had 10,000 volts course through your veins?’

‘Give over, they’re fat, they can take it with all that padding.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why don’t you just put that dow-’ ‘-No!’ Dan yelled, ‘Look. You’re new to policing; you haven’t seen the damage fatties can do unchecked. You let one get off easy, pretty soon people stop taking their medication, and the next thing you know there’s an army of fatties on your porch, then they’re in your house raping you’re wife.’

‘Don’t be absurd, they’re a nuisance and a drain, not a menace.’

‘Just you wait, Sally. You wait until you see one in the flesh. Then you’ll change your tune.’

‘Dan, please. We’re almost there, you need to be calm.’

Dan’s head whipped round to look at her with a slightly crazed glint in his eye; he picked up his tazor and pressed the charge button, eliciting a rising whine.

‘I’m calm,’ he said.

The crime scene was more complicated than they had been led to believe.

A group of student human rights activists were waving placards and making a racket. Dan ignored the chants and glares.

‘Freedom to choose!’

‘Respect individuality!’

‘Keep the fatties!’

He barged through the students, smirking at cries of police brutality.

And there he was, the perp, the guy who was Way Too Fat. He was sitting on the pavement, head bowed, he struck Dan as rather composed, almost monk-like. Upon hearing the approach of the police the man looked up with a steady gaze, and a set jaw.

‘So,’ he said with a bewildering calm, ‘You’ve come to take me in. Well I won’t try and stop you, I’m tired of running. Do you feel big? Do you feel like guardians of justice and morality? Tell me, officers, do you sleep well at night?’

‘Cut the Jiminy Cricket crap,’ snarled Dan, ‘we’re shipping your fat arse to Guantanamo Two so best learn to stop being a wise guy. Fast. Oh, you look surprised! Well guess what, pal, as of the 2050 Bill, W.T.F. is an international offence.’

The man slowly nodded, closing his eyes as he did so.

‘I’m not surprised, just saddened. You’re so proud of democracy, so in love with the illusion of freedom that it gives you. Yet you punish me for refusing to chemically alter my body, even though I’m not hurting anyone. Why can’t I have that basic freedom?’

Dan began pacing, casting frequent disgusted looks at the sitting man.

‘All you W.T.F.’s are the same, all this it’s my life crap. You never consider the damage you do, crippling the health service with your disease,

crippling the environment with your transportation, crippling the economy with your laziness. Redefining you guys is what’s for the best.’

‘It’s not what’s best for me! I thought we lived in a society where every individual had choices, had value…’

Sally, who had been listening attentively, as well as darting worried looks at her subtly shaking partner, spoke for the first time.

‘We also live in a society, where one individual cannot be allowed to consume so much more than another. W.T.F.s are five times more likely to suffer from heart disease. Before the Clamp Down treating those heart diseases cost the tax payer billions. There comes a time where the rights of the individual are forfeited.’

‘Is that what they teach you at the academy? They sure as hell don’t teach you how to think. Alcohol costs the health service billions, they haven’t banned that! No, no, wouldn’t want to risk upsetting the majority eh? It just boils down to bullying. Moral action becomes less appealing when it threatens the majority. Still the government won’t apologise for bulldozing every mosque in this country in the Clamp Down, it was a necessary precaution to safeguard freedom, still they support Israel after it nuked Palestine, still the-’ The man suddenly began to electro convulse, spittle flying everywhere, a twisted croak struggling to escape. After perhaps a second he collapsed in a moaning heap, eyes rolling back, vomit trickling from the corner of his mouth. Dan blew the top of his tazor in mock cowboy style, and reholstered the weapon, ‘Well, I guess fatties aren’t that different after all! They sure dance like anyone else. Never talked to one like that before…the thing he didn’t get was who’s right is who’s got the tazor! Grab his feet Sally; I can’t lift this tub of lard into the car on my own.’

‘Well you’re gonna have to you dumb schmuck!’ Screamed Sally, enraged at her partner’s nonchalance.

A grim silence hung in the air as Dan awkwardly dragged the man over to the car. The students who hadn’t run away were dumbstruck, though many silently filmed the ‘arrest.’ Sally’s phone went off, telling her to take her medication. The sound of the body rasping against the pavement seemed to grate against inside of her skull. Or perhaps that was just her conscience howling.

Why So Dog? Milton T. Milton ‘How gappy’ thought dog recoiling from a smart meeting with another China King Charles spaniel. Through moist slits he verified the identity of the wretched, young Carradock standing soiled and smug and smelling of banana. Closing weary eyes and resigned to the ground, a blurry yet distinct after image was emblazoned continuously upon the central locus of temporary focus, ‘why so dog?’

Without the necessary conceptual resources to pick apart the content of this most baffling self-attribution, dog began to pine. Pine for his inadequacy in resolving the perplexing puzzle presented. Yet in despair dog crystallized the spring of evasive volition he held to.

Realising that his pining had ceased, dog asserted that he most probably was not pining for anything, not for any object. Directionless and projecting a sore cave, permeations of light broke through the gaps created by the erosion of a construct that really was a gappy affair.

With ‘these nuggets aren’t bunkum’ embedded within a pixilated reflection, dog arose with a significant sense of wavering unbounded upon a tidal surge of inner activity. It soon became clear that Carradock never misses, as this pensive dog sat, tail wagging, looking slightly demented and routinely cornered. Indelible grooves formed along a back whose prominent spine felt that effortless impact of another China King Charles Spaniel, an old wound opened.

Carradock atypically hovered for a second longer than last, the image of a hapless yapper engulfed in contingent futility registering without any pragmatic flaws. The China King Charles Spaniel landed intact upon the same piece of ground that dog now hit, lying blank and feckless, static upon an arid shore with the emboldened after image ‘why so dog?’