O buona ventura!

Today is the feast day of the great Giovanni di Fidanza (1221-1274), better known as Bonaventura. The legend is that he got his name when, while sick as an infant, his parents took him to St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes that he might be healed. Francis, it is said, held the infant in his arms and exclaimed, "O buona ventura!" (O good fortune!) And so the young one was ever after known as Buonaventura (in Italian) or Bonaventura (in Latin).

This late legend is highly improbable, of course, and seems to date no earlier than the fifteenth century. We do know, from Bonaventure himself, that there was some sort of intercession by Francis that was related to a deathly illness; but it's link with his name seems a later addition. Nonetheless, it conveys the intimate link between Francis of Assisi and the Seraphic Doctor, who was Good Fortune indeed for the Franciscan Order, since Bonaventure navigated the Franciscans through their most difficult time. He died at the Council of Lyons in 1274; it is said that a great deal of what the Council accomplished was due to the respect the Greeks came to have for him as a person and as a Christian. How exactly he died is unknown; but there has always been a rumor that he was poisoned -- why, nobody knows.

You can find almost everthing of value the internet has to offer on or by Bonaventure at the Franciscan Archive. Dante places Bonaventure in the Circle of the Sun:

Bonaventura of Bagnoregio's life
Am I, who always in great offices
Postponed considerations sinister.

One of the neater things about Aquinas and Bonaventure in Dante's poem is that Aquinas, the Dominican, praises St. Francis, while Bonaventure, the Franciscan, praises St. Dominic; Aquinas laments the failings of the Dominicans while Bonaventure laments the failings of the Franciscans; and Aquinas includes Siger of Brabant, one of his major intellectual opponents, among the saints, while Bonaventure does the same for Joachim of Fiore. It's a lovely and balanced way to express the perichoresis of heaven.

A Rough Jotting on Canada's Claim to Arctic Waters

Among the kerfuffles in Canadian politics, there is a particularly interesting one going on right now. As Scott Gilbreath of "Magic Statistics" has noted, the Conservative Party government has proposed to bolster Canada's military strength in the Arctic in order to establish/preserve Canadian sovereignty in the area; this was denounced by Bill Graham of the Liberal Party as a case of misplaced focus. The government has reaffirmed its intention of expanding Canada's ability to operate in the North and of establishing a deep-sea Arctic port. This is something to keep a watch on. A great deal of the Arctic in the Western Hemisphere is disputed; Canada has been very firm in insisting that virtually all of it falls under Canadian jurisdiction. What is likely to be the most important of these disputes is Canada's claim to the Northwest Passage. As Arctic ice continues to melt, the Northwest Passage will become an increasingly important and viable navigation-way. Canada claims it all as internal waters; but almost everyone else claims that it is international waters. The United States, for instance, has on many occasions sent its ships and submarines through without asking for permission for the clear purpose of making this point. Secure possession of the waters, which is essentially the Conservative goal here, would do a great deal to strenthen Canada's claim. If the Liberals were only saying that military presence is not enough, I think they would be making a good point. It seems clear, for instance, that the Liberals are right that Canada needs to strengthen its moral presence by building up Inuit communities. And it also seems clear to me that Canada is not going to be able to preserve its claim in the face of the international community unless it cuts a deal of some sort with the United States (and perhaps a few others); so diplomatic possibilities along these lines need to be examined. But I also don't think anyone can take seriously Canada's claims at present, where its most vigorous assertions of the claims are simply games of I'll-remove-your-flag-and-put-up-mine with Denmark over a handful of islands.

On furthering U.S.-Canada agreement over Canada's claim, I think a sort of reverse NORAD might be a good starting point for discussion. NORAD is a partnership between Canada and the U.S. for defense purposes. It's one of the most successful integrations of the defenses of two nations in history -- perhaps the most successful. As a starting point for discussion about the North we could suggest something a little bit like this, but in reverse: Canada's claim is officially recognized by the U.S., but the instrument that Canada uses to govern the waters is a binational agency established by the same treaty in which the U.S. recognizes the claim. It would be headed by a Canadian, his deputy would be an American; for national security purposes the head of the agency would answer to both the Canadian Prime Minister and the U.S. President. The U.S. would have use of the waters (subject to the same regulations set by the agency for Canadian use of the waters); the Canadian Parliament would naturally have the general oversight authority, but there would be a set of agreed-upon mechanisms for resolving disputes should the U.S. ever not like what is going on. NORAD has always been an exceptional instance of defense integration by two nations that often disagree about defense policy; if the Arctic waters agency were even half as successful in dong this, it would be more successful than most government projects. As it stands, this is not a perfect solution by any means; but I think a more developed proposal along these lines would make a good beginning for discussion. If the U.S. can be brought around in this way to accepting Canada's claim to the waters as internal, it would go a long, long way to solidifying the claim.

Notes and Links

* History Carnival XXXV is up at "air pollution." I had intended to submit something, but then forgot about it completely. However, someone nominated my post on Doyle and the fairies; my post about Campbell also makes it in as a contribution to a discussion. Ahistoricality has an interesting post on New Sadducees; "Pharyngula" an interesting post called The Eternal Fishmonger; "The Elfin Ethicist" has How to write tendentious history; Jason Kuznicki at "Positive Liberty" has a post worth reading called Critical Distance II: Not This, Not That (I would suggest, though, that some of the points Kuznicki makes about action are also true of thought and writing); and, in fact, most the carnival is worth reading. It's become something of a common courtesy to say that the carnival host has done a great job and put together a fine carnival, which is good in general, since carnival hosting does need to be appreciated even with the most lackluster results (lack of luster usually not being the host's fault); but it blunts the force of the compliment in cases like this, where the carnival is a fine one not merely because it is existing but also because it has a great selection of links. So go and see.

* I have put up a new selection from Lady Mary Shepherd at "Houyhnhnm Land". In it Shepherd summarizes her argument for the conclusion that causal inference is founded on reason rather than custom (David Hume) or instinctive impulse of faith (Thomas Brown).

* I liked this post on parashat Balak -- the story of Balaam's blessing of Israel -- at "Radical Torah".

* "Jollyblogger" has a post on Christian parenting.

* At Cliopatria Ralph Luker dubs Flannery O'Connor the 20th century South's finest writer; which I think is quite right. Perhaps my favorite O'Connor story is "The Lame Shall Enter First."

* Rebecca has a nice quiz on Christian (i.e., Chalcedonian) doctrine of Jesus as Man; and a handy and thorough answer key.

* Clark has been doing a series of posts on Umberto Eco's discussion of Superman in The Role of the Reader: Superman (which comments on the recent movie), Eco and Superman, Time: Eco and Superman, Redundancy: Eco and Superman, Political Consciousness: Eco and Superman.

* Janet Stemwedel asks an important question in a post on how women are treated in the fields of science and math. The question, of course, applies (mutatis mutandis) to most fields of study and inquiry.

Catharine Cockburn on Our Social Nature

Mankind is a system of creatures, that continually need one another's assistance, without which they could not long subsist. It is therefore necessary, that everyone, according to his capacity and station, should contribute his part towards the good and preservation of the whole, and avoid whatever may be detrimental to it. For this end they are made capable of acquiring social or benevolent affections, (probably have the seeds of them implanted in their nature) with a moral sense or conscience, that approves of virtuous actions,a nd disapproves the contrary. This palinly shows them, that virtue is the law of their nature, and that it must be their duty to observe it, from whence arises moral obligation, tho' the sanctions of that law are unknown; for th econsideration of what the event of an action may be to the agent, alters not at all the rule of his duty, which is fixed in the nature of things. Thus, as St. Paul tells us, those who had not the law (the revealed law) were a law unto themselves: the obligation of living suitably to a rational and social nature was plain: the consequence was to be trusted to the author of that nature.

Catharine Trotter Cockburn, Philosophical Writings. Patricia Sheridan, ed. (Broadview: 2006), p. 114.

Catharine Trotter (1679-1749), also called Catharine Cockburn, is one of a number of early modern women writing on philosophical topics who are finally beginning to be studied. She is most famous for her defense of Locke against impiety; Locke wrote her personally to thank her. She also wrote plays from a very young age; I gave a sample from The Revolution of Sweden about two years ago. (Wow! Time certainly does fly.) This particular passage is from a set of published remarks on a controversy about the foundation of moral obligation and virtue.

Murdering Rastari, Part II

[Part I of this short story draft.]

Max and I wandered around for at least an hour, trying to find the body. But finally we decided that we needed to go ahead with the next step of the plan. So I called Danny's wife.

"Caroline, have you seen Danny?"

There was a moment's silence on the other end. "I thought he was with you."

"Well, he was," I said, "but then he...well, he sort of wandered off by himself. I thought he might have gone home."

"No," she said slowly, "he isn't here."

"Well, it's probably nothing," I said. "Who knows with Danny? I'll look for him. Call me if he comes home."

I decided to continue looking for the body; Max went home to bed. A few hours later Caroline called. I called up Max, who had been sleeping and was not happy to be awake. For my part, I couldn't help but admire how calm he was. I certainly couldn't have gone to sleep after everything that had happened.

"Hmmnnhfnn," he said when he answered the phone. Or something to that effect.

"Max, I found out what happened to Danny."

"Hnenfnnhmmnf."

"Danny checked himself into the emergency room."

There was silence. Then clearly and distinctly: "How did he survive?"

"I don't know. We might be safe, though; Caroline said something about amnesia. But you can never tell with that woman." And you can't, either. What sort of crazy woman would marry Danny Rastari? "I'll have to check it in person. You just stay put, and I'll call you to let you know what's happening."

And that was how I came face to face in the hospital room with Danny Rastari, the man I had just pushed off the bank building. He was infuriatingly cheerful.

Part III is to come.

Herbert on Love's Hospitality

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.

Of course, in post-form I can't present the visual structure of the poem correctly, and that's always part of the joy of a Herbert poem. You can see it laid out better here, where you can also hear the poem read (always another part of the joy of a Herbert poem).

Slightly More Technical About Tibbles

Alejandro has an excellent post reflecting on my recent post on mereology. It raises the interesting question of how the dispute actually relates to the real world, so I thought I'd post a few musings on it.

One mistake that would be worthwhile to get out of the way. I don't think Alejandro makes it, although he says things that suggest it, but some people do, and dealing with it will be useful background for the rest of what I have to say. We must not make the mistake of thinking that because the dispute makes use of scenarios like that of Tibbles and Tibbs that this is just what the dispute is about. That would be the same type of mistake as that of the rube who thought that general relativity was about elevators.

In fact, the dispute is not about Tibbles at all. It's a dispute about the partial ordering relation (designated P) and the proper-partial ordering relation (designated PP); about the conditions of countability and classification; and about identity relations. These relations and conditions are not confined to Tibbles, or even to any common-sense object. Even the most basic and simple mereology applies to things that are not ever considered objects in ordinary, everyday life (fusions, indivisibles, temporal parts, mathematical sets, etc.). The relations in question are abstract and perfectly general. There is some question about what conditions must be met to satisfy P, but there is no a priori reason for assuming the scope of the dispute has any limits. The introduction of Tibbles and other such scenarios is simply a matter of convenience and communication, providing a reference point to which people in the dispute can appeal in order to convey their more abstract and general positions in a clear and easily-grasped way.

Now, Alejandro argues that Tibbles has no practical relevance whatsoever. As he says,

By contrast, the question of whether Tibbs is a different cat than Tibbles is one that has no practical significance whatsoever. And I don’t mean "practical" in a vulgar and utilitarian way, but in a broad way that refers to any consequences for our thoughts on other areas. The Problem of the Many, and similar ontological puzzles, seem to me to stand in "isolation" from scientific, legal, moral or other concerns. That it what makes them seem unreal.

So the idea is that some connection between philosophical problems and reality can be found where the problems have consequences for practical purposes, construed broadly; and Tibbles has no such consequences. But it's easy enough to show that this is false as stated. Consider the following simple argument:

Brandon on Wednesday is a human person.
Brandon on Thursday is a human person.
Brandon on Wednesday is not (identical to) Brandon on Thursday.
Therefore, Brandon on Wednesday and Brandon on Thursday are two distinct human persons.

This, in fact, is a problem that arises from the same principles that are in question in the Tibbles problem: identity, parthood, countability and classification. If we accept a many-cats solution to the cat on the mat problem, we are committed to the conclusion that I am a different human person from moment to moment. Now, it's fairly obvious that our standard moral reasoning is just not equipped for discussing every temporal part as a different human person. Since the practical relevance Alejandro has in mind is determining the best way to talk about things for overall purposes of rationality, this is not a small point. If the many-cats solution to the Tibbles problem were right, our moral reasoning as it currently stands would need to be scrapped. We couldn't pass it off as a good enough approximation for most practical purposes, because (1) we would, in effect, be saying it's OK for our moral reasoning to be rationally inconsistent; and (2) if you pass off any moral reasoning as a good enough approximation for most practical purpose, you get Adolf Eichmann. It's simply not a feasible option. So how the Tibbles problem is solved has serious relevance to the best way to talk about moral issues.

There are more general ramifications. For instance, if the many-cats solution turned out to be the only workable solution, we would have to say that "There is one cat on the mat" is true only if it is understood to mean something like "There are cats on the mats, and they do not diverge from unity at this level of precision for such-and-such purposes." In other words, it requires that we always leave open the possibility that at a different level of precision or focus the cats on the mat would have to be counted as two (and this would not be double-counting of one cat). But because the reasoning behind the many-cats solution is general reasoning about general relations, this is perfectly general. Substitute for 'cats' anything you please; the only case in which the reasoning wouldn't apply is if you substituted something that you could prove had no proper parts, i.e., that was simply indivisible even in principle. Cats, tables, people, atoms, universes: it's all the same. To say, "There is one atom in this general vicinity" would have to be always understood to mean, "The many atoms in this general vicinity do not diverge from unity in a significant way for this particular set of purposes at this particular level of precision," allowing for the possibility that for a different particular set of purposes or at a different level of precision there may also be two atoms, or three atoms, or indefinitely many atoms. There is a world of difference in a language that allows you to say, "There is one X," and one that doesn't.

Or consider how the dispute over relative identity affects our understanding of mathematics. It can be shown fairly easily that mathematical equality is not an identity relation on the classical understanding of identity. This is because equality, as a one-to-one matching, is consistent not only with identity (matching a thing against itself) but with non-identical isomorphism (matching two different things against each other. For instance, I can take three apples and six apples and match it against (the same) nine apples; or a I can take three apples and six apples and match them against two oranges and seven oranges. So equality never entails identity on the classical identity view; having in hand an equation we can't ask any identity-based questions unless we prove that the two sides of the equality are related to each other in the way a thing is related one-to-one with itself. However, this is not true on the relative identity view. If relative identity is a coherent and viable solution to the Tibbles problem, it is a coherent and viable form of identity everywhere. And on the relative identity view, equality is an identity relation, because it's an instance of 'X is the same F as Y'. When we have an equation in hand, the question is never whether it is an identity (this is satisfied by its having any sort of equality), but only what identity is being indicated. And since which you choose will affect how your inquiry proceeds, it's clear that the dispute has relevance to the best way to talk about an application of mathematics whenever identity is in question.

So in Alejandro's sense, the dispute over Tibbles has clear practical relevance: that is, it affects what would be the best way to talk about any given cases (whatever they may be) of parthood, identity, or countability and classification, regardless of their context, for the overall purposes of consistent rationality.

There is an additional part of Alejandro's argument that I don't think is quite right. Alejandro argues:

But also not for theoretical purposes; because if one has the philosophical goal of finding a sort of "ultimate vocabulary", sharp and precise, which reflects in some sense the structure of the world, then one should not use in the discussion ordinary things like cats and tables. One should make first an analysis of our deepest scientific theories, like Quantum Field Theory or perhaps String Theory, and design a conceptual frame that fits well with them. Of course, ordinary notions of "objects", "parts", "properties", "time" and so on would probably not map at all into the mathematical structure of these theories, and so the ontological puzzles I started with could perhaps not even be stated, let alone solved, by taking this route.

But this involves a confusion (or, at least, I am inclined to think so). If, for instance, it were to turn out that our 'deepest scientific theories' were suddently to be shown to make impossible the demonstrable existence of cats, this would indicate a failure of our deepest scientific theories. This is for the straightforward reason the existence of cats is a fact -- a scientific fact, independent of any physical theory you choose to build -- and the inconsistency of the theory with it would be an inconsistency of theory with reality. We know that reality is structured so as to have cats and their parts, however confused or limited our ordinary talk about such things may be. Whether reality is structured as Quantum Field Theory or String Theory say has to be proven by consideration of how the theory relates to this very type of fact on the level for which the theory is supposed to be useful. And what they will do if successful -- what would make them genuinely deep scientific theories -- is conform to the real world as we know it to exist.

Now, in fact, there is reason to think that an adequate physical theory would shed an immense light on the mereological problems. But it would do so not by dissolving the problems themselves, which are based on general considerations of parthood, identity, and countability, or even really by showing us different elements of reality, but by showing us the same elements of reality at a vastly more precise level of analysis than we are usually able to obtain. For instance, if we came up with the ultimate physical theory, and found it to be well-founded it would tell us quite clearly what, for all purposes relevant to the discussion of the physical world, has to be treated as countably distinct. If the ultimate physical theory told us that we have to treat proper parts of atoms as, basically, distinct atoms with regard to a given property (if we had to treat spatiotemporally overlapping atoms as different for some aspect of the theory), to the extent that this could be shown to be well-founded, it would be an interesting datum that would have to be taken into account in any adequate mereology. The ultimate physical theory's being reality-relevant is (as far as real parts and wholes go) nothing other than its ability to make such a factual-analytic contribution to mereology; because it cannot be the reality-relevant ultimate physical theory unless it sheds light on that little bit of reality that is the physical object Tibbles. (This begins to touch on the issues of scientific realism Alejandro discusses toward the end of his post. These get very complicated very quickly, and are sometimes rather murky anyway, so I won't get into them here. But the basic point here is that we start with reality, as it were at the beginning of the theory, and keep our pulse on it the entire time; what we get as a conclusion of theory --electrons or quarks or what have you-- may be relevant to reality, but there's no chance of that at all if we don't keep in mind that we already have a handle on reality, albeit an incomplete one, which includes things like cats and stars and so forth, that we are simply trying to make more complete.)

So I'm inclined to think the rational direction of inquiry is actually the opposite Alejandro suggests. What is necessary is to see what issues are raised by the real-world facts of Tibbles and everything Tibbles-like; if the issues raised are legitimate, and are relevant to things qua physical objects, the adequacy of our physical theory is tested by its ability to clear up these mereological issues by deeper analysis and newer facts. (In other words, it explains what needs explaining about physical objects like Tibbles.) This is because the issues themselves are raised by physical reality itself; and a physical theory is pointless, at least on its own, if it doesn't shed light on physical reality.

But, of course, even if this is not so (and it is admittedly a controversial sort of claim), the issues in question in the Tibbles dispute are only indirectly relevant to our common notions of part, time, etc.; because the issues in question are general issues about parthood itself, identity itself, etc. And this leads in to the practical relevance question again. Alejandro suggests that the dispute isn't relevant to practice because

our ordinary language is good enough for describing things like parts of cats; I am not aware of practical concerns that require a more logically precise conceptualisation (as for example, a discussion about abortion may require a more precise conceptualisation of personhood than our unreflective one).

But, of course, the problem with talking about practical concerns is that it depends on what practical concerns you mean. Alejandro almost recognizes this. He recognizes that we have common notions about part, time, etc.; and he recognizes that our best scientific theory might not mesh well with these notions. Now, for practical concerns like petting a cat, this is not an issue, nor is the mereological problem of the cat on the mat. But for practical concerns like scientific popularization, scientific pedagogy, and so forth, it appears to be much more relevant. One of the key plagues scientific pedagogy continually has to deal with is this very disparity. In this context, our ordinary language is not obviously good enough for describing things like parts. If we understand the relevance of philosophy to practice in the way Alejandro does, as getting us closer to an 'ultimate vocabulary' that is maximally useful for overall rational purposes, then we can see that the sort of questions raised by the disparity are: What are the implications of each? Do they share anything in common (they have to if there is any genuine conflict) and, if so, what? Is there any modification of language that we could make that would reduce the disparity? And so forth. If we take philosophy to have practical relevance in the sense of building a language that allows us to speak over the widest possible range of rational concerns with the least danger of language-induced error and equivocation, we can see at once that the mereology of Tibbles is relevant in this context. Because the mereology of Tibbles is not about how we use the terms 'part' and 'identity', although this is a fact taken into account in the inquiry, but over the best way to think of parts and identities generally. And this means that, since both theoretical and common notions of parts and identities fall within the range of discussion, the discussion about Tibbles is discussing issues relevant to the best way to talk about parts and wholes that allows us to talk about them scientifically and practically with the least chance of error. And that, I would suggest, is not a small thing.