The 617 blog seems to

The 617 blog seems to have gone quiet after a noisy beginning, so let’s try to resolve one of the puzzles they left us with last week.
The issue is, roughly, What is a group? Groups are identified by examples, e.g. the group of people writing the 617 blog, and we are left to figure out their metaphysical status.

The problem arises because groups are neither fusions of their members nor sets of their members. There’s a good argument and a bad argument for each of these conclusions. Fortunately one good argument is enough in each case.

Groups are not fusions. The bad argument is that fusions have their parts essentially while groups could gain and lose members. The problem with this is that the premise, that fusions have their parts essentially, has some weaknesses. It is rather controversial, for one thing. For another, it is false. The good argument is that not all parts of the fusion are parts of the group. As they say, Sarah’s nose is part of the fusion of 617 bloggers, it is not part of the group of 617 bloggers.

Groups are not sets. Again, the bad argument relies on essentialism about membership, and I won’t describe it in detail. The good argument is that sets are extensional, while groups are intensional. If the 617 bloggers, all 10 of them, form a nudist a capella group, call it the Bare Plurals, that would be a different group to the group of 617 bloggers, even if they are co-extensional. The group of bloggers could survive all of its members catching permanent laryngitis, the Bare Plurals could not.

The two arguments put some interesting restrictions on what groups must be. The way they are constructed out of their parts must be set-like, not fusion-like, so Sarah is a distinctive part of the group in the way that Sarah’s nose is not. But the group cannot just be a set, because it has certain modal properties that are not recoverable merely from the membership list.

The way forward is to note that even though groups are intensional rather than extensional, two groups could actually have the same members, there is no reason to think groups are hyper-intensional. That is, there is no reason to think that two different groups could have the same members in all possible worlds. So there is nothing stopping us identifying groups with functions from worlds to sets of individuals. If the group of 617 bloggers is a function f, we solve the problem of Sarah’s nose by noting that Sarah is an element of f(@), while Sarah’s nose is not. And we solve the problem of the Bare Plurals by noting that there could be a distinct function g such that f(@)=g(@). In short, functions from worlds to sets of individuals lets us say that groups are in some way constructed out of their (actual and possible) members and are not new mysterious entities without falling into the problems associated with saying groups are either fusions or sets.

Now these functions should seem familiar. Andy Egan has argued in a few places (but not, to the best of someone’s knowledge, online) that properties are functions from worlds to sets of individuals. Putting it all together, we get the conclusion that groups are properties.

The philosophy papers blog is

The philosophy papers blog is up, 24 hours or more late and with all the entries being by semanticists. One of the entries, Christopher Potts’s dissertation on conventional implicature, looks particularly exciting. (It was even more exciting when Kai von Fintel announced it was up.) Potts argues that some terms do carry conventional implicatures, but but, therefore and most of the terms which you usually suspect of having conventional implicatures are not amongst them. The main examples he uses are terms with ‘expressive’ content. I remember Stephen Barker arguing for something like this about moral terms and conventional implicature a few years ago, but I can’t find a reference to that online somewhere.

All of you who are struggling to write up a dissertation probably shouldn’t read the first paragraph of Potts’s dissertation. He says that the dissertation grew out of a discussion in a seminar in Spring 2002. That’s not much over 12 months ago, and the dissertation is 330 pages long!

Wo has a very good

Wo has a very good review posted of Amie Thomasson’s Fiction and Metaphysics. He is rather clear about a few of the worries I have been rather unclear about here the last week or two. In particular, I think the examples of sentences he gives that are neither ‘fictional’ nor ‘serious’ in Thomasson’s sense are a problem for the theory. And I worry a lot about the indeterminate existence point he makes at the end. Portrait of the Artist has lots of examples of ‘characters’ who might or might not be real people. If they are not real, they are closely modelled on real people – but I take it that’s consistent with actually being a character in Thomasson’s sense.

Wo has a very good

Wo has a very good review posted of Amie Thomasson’s Fiction and Metaphysics. He is rather clear about a few of the worries I have been rather unclear about here the last week or two. In particular, I think the examples of sentences he gives that are neither ‘fictional’ nor ‘serious’ in Thomasson’s sense are a problem for the theory. And I worry a lot about the indeterminate existence point he makes at the end. Portrait of the Artist has lots of examples of ‘characters’ who might or might not be real people. If they are not real, they are closely modelled on real people – but I take it that’s consistent with actually being a character in Thomasson’s sense.

An Impudent Suggestion

This feels a little dated now (it’s from last Tuesday), but Daniel Davies has an excellent and long-ish post about data mining. (Permalinks are outdated, you’ll have to scroll down to .)

It’s impossible to do it justice in a short summary, so I’ll just note one point that might be especially relevant to this audience. (I think philosophers should all care about the finer points of econometrics, but I expect few readers agree.) It turns out philosophers of science get paid some attention by econometricians. Davies links to Hsiang-Ke Chao’s paper Professor Hendry’s Econometric Methodology Reconsidered: Congruence and Structural Empiricism, which argues that “the LSE methodology [a particular approach to econometric modelling]… is compatible with the “structural empiricism” of van Fraassen.” Who knew that people who get paid serious money to model the economy actually read philosophers, let alone care whether their approaches are consistent with pronouncements of said philosophers? Who knew?

I think I’ve just found another topic for my philosophy of economics seminar next Spring…

An Impudent Suggestion

This feels a little dated now (it’s from last Tuesday), but Daniel Davies has an excellent and long-ish post about data mining. (Permalinks are outdated, you’ll have to scroll down to .)

It’s impossible to do it justice in a short summary, so I’ll just note one point that might be especially relevant to this audience. (I think philosophers should all care about the finer points of econometrics, but I expect few readers agree.) It turns out philosophers of science get paid some attention by econometricians. Davies links to Hsiang-Ke Chao’s paper Professor Hendry’s Econometric Methodology Reconsidered: Congruence and Structural Empiricism, which argues that “the LSE methodology [a particular approach to econometric modelling]… is compatible with the “structural empiricism” of van Fraassen.” Who knew that people who get paid serious money to model the economy actually read philosophers, let alone care whether their approaches are consistent with pronouncements of said philosophers? Who knew?

I think I’ve just found another topic for my philosophy of economics seminar next Spring…

One of the perils of

One of the perils of having a CD Jukebox is that CDs occasionally get lost. I thought my copies of Rubber Soul and Bringing It all Back Home were gone forever, and I’d even started scrounging around for cheap replacements, until they turned up out of order in an obscure part of the collection. Good times. Bringing It all Back Home is just about the perfect Dylan album. The lyrics are a treasure trove of incredible images and familiar if noteworthy truths.

Well, I wish I was on some
Australian mountain range.
Oh, I wish I was on some
Australian mountain range.
I got no reason to be there, but I
Imagine it would be some kind of change.

I’d say it was the best Dylan album, but Shaun Carney’s gentle mockery of making lists like that, or even starting them, has convinced me otherwise. Carney’s piece is great, but he can’t possibly be right about Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, I hope. (You’ll have to read the article to find out what he’s hopefully wrong about – it’s too disturbing to repeat here and this is family website.)

But there’s more to Bringing It all Back Home than its list-topping virtues. I’ve been wondering, as part of my ongoing concern about fictional realism, just what it takes for a character in a song to be real. I presume that if novels can really contain characters, so can songs, especially explicitly fictional songs. Frankee Lee and Judas Priest are just as real as Neo and Zaphod Beeblebrox. But what does it take for a character in a song to exist. I won’t include all the lyrics here, but read through Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream and see how many characters you think exist in virtue of that song’s existence.

Does reality include Captain Arab and is he also a character in Moby Dick? Does it include

The cop?
The Gurnsey cow?
The people carrying signs around?
The cook?
The waitress (sic)?
The bank staff?
The girl from France?
Her friend?
His newly-acquired boots?
The proto-Bentsenite limb-tearer?
The Fabulous Englishman?
The funeral director?
The bowling ball?
The pay phone?
Its foot?
The coin?
The coastguard boat?
Its crew?
The parking ticket?
The Pope of Eruke?
The deputy sherriff of the jail?
His (or her) Cetacean spouse?
And, last but not least, Columbus?

My little self-waged campaign to embarrass myself out of believing in fictional objects is starting to work I fear.

One of the perils of

One of the perils of having a CD Jukebox is that CDs occasionally get lost. I thought my copies of Rubber Soul and Bringing It all Back Home were gone forever, and I’d even started scrounging around for cheap replacements, until they turned up out of order in an obscure part of the collection. Good times. Bringing It all Back Home is just about the perfect Dylan album. The lyrics are a treasure trove of incredible images and familiar if noteworthy truths.

Well, I wish I was on some
Australian mountain range.
Oh, I wish I was on some
Australian mountain range.
I got no reason to be there, but I
Imagine it would be some kind of change.

I’d say it was the best Dylan album, but Shaun Carney’s gentle mockery of making lists like that, or even starting them, has convinced me otherwise. Carney’s piece is great, but he can’t possibly be right about Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, I hope. (You’ll have to read the article to find out what he’s hopefully wrong about – it’s too disturbing to repeat here and this is family website.)

But there’s more to Bringing It all Back Home than its list-topping virtues. I’ve been wondering, as part of my ongoing concern about fictional realism, just what it takes for a character in a song to be real. I presume that if novels can really contain characters, so can songs, especially explicitly fictional songs. Frankee Lee and Judas Priest are just as real as Neo and Zaphod Beeblebrox. But what does it take for a character in a song to exist. I won’t include all the lyrics here, but read through Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream and see how many characters you think exist in virtue of that song’s existence.

Does reality include Captain Arab and is he also a character in Moby Dick? Does it include

The cop?
The Gurnsey cow?
The people carrying signs around?
The cook?
The waitress (sic)?
The bank staff?
The girl from France?
Her friend?
His newly-acquired boots?
The proto-Bentsenite limb-tearer?
The Fabulous Englishman?
The funeral director?
The bowling ball?
The pay phone?
Its foot?
The coin?
The coastguard boat?
Its crew?
The parking ticket?
The Pope of Eruke?
The deputy sherriff of the jail?
His (or her) Cetacean spouse?
And, last but not least, Columbus?

My little self-waged campaign to embarrass myself out of believing in fictional objects is starting to work I fear.

1976 – Some History of the Problem of the Many

This is a history post. So those of you with no interest in history of philosophy, or with no confidence in my abilities as a historian might want to skip to the next post.

In my Problem of the Many article in the Stanford Encyclopaedia I said that the problem could be traced to two sources: the third edition of Geach’s Reference and Generality and Unger’s article The Problem of the Many, both from 1980. I was somewhat surprised to learn when doing the research for this that the problem was not in earlier versions of Reference and Generality, so Geach doesn’t get a clear claim to priority over Unger. At the time I was fairly confident that these were the earliest versions of the problem. All the contemporary articles seemed to trace the problem back to Geach and/or Unger, and no one cited anything earlier than that. And I certainly hadn’t found anything earlier than 1980, though one wouldn’t want to rest too much weight on my historical acumen.

I think, though I haven’t checked this with the principals, that the problem was independently discovered by Unger and by Geach. In any case, I have no reason to suspect otherwise, and since both versions came out roundabout the same time and neither cites the other it seems reasonable to conclude that this was a process of simultaneous independent discovery.

I now think that there’s an earlier statement of the problem, in more or less its modern form. And I also think, contra what I said in the Stanford article, that the over-population solution to the Problem of the Many has been seriously defended. (Hud Hudson attributes this solution to David Lewis, but I think he’s being too charitable there.) Both conclusions derive from this passage from a article by Jaegwon Kim. The context is that Kim is trying to deflect the objection that his theory of events leads to too many events. His response is, roughly, that all sorts of plausible philosophical theories lead to implausible counting results.

The analogy with tables and other sundry physical objects may still help us here. We normally count this as one table; and there are just so many (a fixed number of) tables in this room. However, if you beleve in the calculus of individuals, you will see that included in this table ia another table – in fact, there are indefinitely many tables each of which is aprper part of this table. For consider the table with one micrometer of its top removed; that is a table difference from this table; and so on.

It would be absurd to say that for this reason we must say that there are in fact indefinitely many tables in this room. What I am suggesting is merely that the sense in which, under the structured complex view of events, there are indefinitely many strolls strolled by Sebastian may be just as harmless as the sense in which there are indefinitely many tables in this room.

I think that’s pretty much exactly the problem of the many. Note that despite the talk of ‘removing’ one micrometer of the top of the table, the reference to the calculus of individuals makes it clear that Kim just cares about what objects are here now, not what objects could be here. What he’s assuming, falsely I now think, is that table is an intrinsic property so the fact that if we did shave off a micrometer we’d clearly have still a table means that the mereological difference between the table now and the bits of wood that would, in that case, be so shaved is also a table. And he’s inferring, I think, that since it would be absurd to give up our ordinary practice of talking as if there’s exactly one table here because of these metaphysical speculations, there must be some pragmatic mechanism that makes this talk acceptable. Note in this context the exact wording of the first sentence of the second quoted paragraph. He doesn’t say that this is an absurd reason to think there are indefinitely many tables here. It is really, but he thinks it’s actually quite a good reason. He thinks it is an absurd reason to say that there are indefinitely many tables here. Presumably pragmatics must be doing a fair bit of work to bridge the gap between truth and assertion.

Kim’s paper Events as Property Abstractions was first published in Action Theory, edited by Myles Brand and Douglas Walton, Reidel 1976, pp 159-77. That volume was a collection of papers presented at the Winnipeg Conference on Human Action, held at Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, 9-11 May 1975. The quote is from page 172. (I think – I’m writing this from notes which are a little hazy.) So I think it’s a pretty clear claim to priority. I still think Geach and Unger independently discovered the problem, but I now think they independently rediscovered it, rather than being simultaneous initial discoverers.

Unless I find good reason to change my mind on that, I’ll alter the Stanford entry to credit Kim with the initial discovery.