The Prerequisites Of Possibility

This is a really funny and inspirational TED Talks talk by Emily Levine where she speaks about everything and how she has a theory for it. This particular talk was also a hit because of the way it challenged many preconceived notions by especially questioning the methods of observation of reality.

After listening to this talk, I was reminded of an argument me and 2 of my friends had had a few months ago. We were traveling back to our hostel from outside by bus and found ourselves bored. In order to liven things up, I asked Aditya about his views on this fact: “Communist countries don’t fare well in this world, and that’s a known thing. But is it because of Communism itself or is it because of the many sanctions imposed on it by capitalist nations?” Of course, the answer to this question might exist out there but all I wanted was his views, which he assiduously went on to elucidate upon. One of the points he touched on was the persistent economic disparity between people living under the umbra of a closed economy and those living in an open one.

I’d like to use this particular argument and point out two very striking aspects of it that define its arguing power. Every argument has two sides – and I’m not talking about the “priori” and  “posteriori” – but what I call the assurance density. Although the term might sound hi-fi, what I mean is that when an argument has a high assurance density, it is capable of driving the point home comfortably and, as a result, finds it easy to convince (or assure) others about its validity. Now, this is just the first side of the coin: what the argument does and how well it does it.

The second side is what the argument itself postulates – the theory or the subject matter it carries and is supposed to convey. (Why I thought of this during Aditya’s argument was because there was a particular way he took to it that clearly brought out the importance of verbal structuring and how it could dominate over the content.)

Now, let’s say someone’s made the following statement: “coffee tastes better when it’s cold.”

The first side would be the its assurance density. Do you think this argument does its job? I think it does because it seems to concern a very trivial matter and could well be an argument between a son and his mother. Because of that, the structure of the argument seems appropriate: the boy is introducing his subject, and then he’s using it as a subject of one of his personal wants – that of his taste – and he’s also giving a solution for it (“when it’s cold”). Subject-verb-object structure. Good boy.

The second thing about this argument is that the boy is asking for cold coffee. If he’s given to having frequent illnesses or displaying a caffeine allergy, then cold coffee or coffee itself may not be advisable. In this case, we have insufficient information to classify the argument as valid or invalid.

And this is where I say what I’ve wanted to say for the past 3 minutes: there are two sides to any argument – the structure and the information – that make it recognisable as a statement employed to signify conflict or agreement; conflict mostly.

To refer back to the TED Talk at the top of this post, Emily Levine made me think whether everything in this universe has 2 such aspects to it: a function and a rule that governed it. In fact, if you looked here, you’d find that Paul Romer chooses to put it as “technology” and “rules” as constituents of an “idea”. I’m sure you must be thinking, “My god! It took this dumbass so much time to get here!” It’s fine. What matters is I did! Anyway, what’s striking about this universality of behavior is that it’s like nature itself has put forth a commandment that everything in the universe must conform to. This could be one of the fundamental rules of everything – a theory.

I’m sure all of you must be aware of the bad things about theories – they theorize, they seem very ambiguous on extremely specific (and sometimes relevant) specific subject matter and they’re all filled with squiggly symbols. But the one good thing about them overshadows all of that. They provide everyone working with them a basis, a platform to stand on continue from there, a fallback option. Now, my theory seems infallible enough. But what can I build on top of it?

I’ve decided that instead of building anything on top of it, I’ll use it as the mother of other such standalones, smaller though, that build and define anything from a mom-son argument to Keplerian astronomical systems. Now, how do I begin?

Self-questioning for the win.

What do I have in hand? I have a theory that dictates all kinds of behavior of all kinds of things by saying that they have two inseparable components: a rule specified by nature and a function specified by content.

What do I infer from it? If you’d break it down, you’ll see that the behavior is governed by two elements – one from the outside and one from the inside. Therefore, anything that has a function and a rule attributable to itself can definitely exist. As an axiom, anything that exists has a definite function governed by a definite rule.

What are the implications? If one of us can come up with a biological function that permits rhinoceroses to give birth to baby dragons and then fortify it with a ruling system, then it will happen at sometime in the future (if it already hasn’t!). As a result, the theory becomes a prerequisite of possibility. Now, what we have to be careful about now is contradictions. Is there a case where such a function-rule-possibility (FRP) system will fail? Possible. Perhaps I can use the FRP system itself to come up with a contradicting scenario!

Anyway, what I’ve deduced is that this FRP system could indeed be a standalone system that could provide the sort of support that further verifies any given system’s functional veracity. However, the hypothesis is not perfected yet. Again, before I forget, the answer to this particular question could already be out there, but what I’m doing on this blog is finding things out for myself because I’ve found that once you read about all kinds of thoughts and philosophies, coming to an objective conclusion about somethings can become difficult. The influence in such cases becomes dominating and at one point, you can’t even say if that’s how you’d intend things to happen.

I’ve to confess here that I began this post with a completely different content in mind. As I began writing and discovering things for myself, I had to change the title 6 times and finally leave it at ‘The Prerequisites Of Possibility’. That’s one reason I like three things: TED, self-questioning and my blog.

The claims of a positivist: The reality of a painting on the wall

The revelation that I am a positivist, inadvertently made by me, is indeed profound. I was always of the ‘impression’ that what ever I wrote, whatever I discovered for myself, sprouted from the metaphysical speculation I often sink deep into. Metaphysics, with all its abstractions and interpretative variety, has been alluring me; every so often, when I sit down to think before a session of good and wholesome writing, it dangles a carrot in front of my eyes, and it promises me a wonderland. I am smitten, although it seems at first. To me, positivism is not a belief but an approach towards an idea that I would like to assume in order to understand it better. However, the idea I am approaching comes to light only through the magic of metaphysics. It is like my world is, in essence, defined by the fundamental conceptualizations of objecthood, reality, possibility, causality, etc.; but once I have understood the purpose behind their respective existences and the utilitarian impact they have in the physical world, I need quantification to be able to repeatedly recognize them. Let me take up an elucidatory scenario.

You are in a closed room, and on one of the walls, there hangs a painting. You are in the room, at the center, and looking at it. After some time, you turn around and look at the opposite wall. Now, can you tell me whether the painting behind you exists?

The painting on the wall

Of course, you will, at first, tell me that the painting indeed does for you just happened to see it hanging there. Yes or no? If yes, then the reality of the painting (an inanimate object devoid of senses) has been designated as true by your sight. Therefore, the painting existed because you saw it (thereby also verifying its objecthood). If you hadn’t seen the painting at all, would it have existed?

Again, your answer to this question can be yes or a no, but a more probable answer would be that “it is possible”. So there, we have another one of the metaphysical concepts: that of a possibility. Now, possibility can be understood easily: it is the chance a particular event has of occurring (or not occurring). We say it is a chance because we are not, in our conscious knowledge, endowed with the information necessary to arrive at a certain conclusion. Although whether this information will become known at all is subject to contention, the situation necessitating the understanding of the relationship between ourselves and the event occurring in the future exists nevertheless. And thus, it is a possibility.

Here, I have established for myself that there does exist objecthood, the kind recognizable only through the meaningful interpretation of the object. However, it is that employment of a codified and unified method (for ex. science) that helps me in objectively identifying the nature of their manifestation.

The Writers' Crib

By the writers’ crib, I don’t mean their cribbing; I mean their tool-room, the place where they derive their ideas from, their sources of inspiration. A writer begins to write when he wishes to express his ideas, when he believes that there might be others who will want to learn of what he has learnt, understood or perceived. The language he chooses to use will be the language he finds most convenient to write in, one in which his grammar and the way he structures his sentences will reflect perfectly in the messages that the reader comes to understand. There must be no conflict, and there must be an inherent brevity that says the writer need not use an unnecessary number of words to express himself completely. The style of writing, the flavouring of the text, which he employs will deliver the mood of the text, and thereby let the reader know which side of the argument he is on, if indeed there is one. If not for an argument- well, I think there are always arguments: this conforms to my principles of a binary world! The language and the grammar decided, next is the perspective if the writer. Now, the perspective is, I think, independent of the subject at hand. Why do I think this? Because, herein the good earth I think there are a set of symbols, a set of signs, that tell us that there exist an interconnectivity between all things, objects as well as beings. Whether the writer writes of a pencil, or of the Vietnam war, he will always write in a such a manner as to reflect his perception of the world and those who inhabit it. This perception cannot be stolen from the mind’s eye, and cannot be changed easily. Perception as I would define it, is an understanding that is born from our innate personality. Moreover, this personality doesn’t come to account for our perception just by the name, but also by what it exhibits in turn: our up bringing, our religion, our nativity, our patriotism, our identity, our imbued humanity. The degree to which we adhere to these elements of our living defines our perception, and narrows it or broadens it depending on how we exercise them. And now, looking beyond the perception, there is nothing but objectification. Objectification is identification, not association. Perception is. When we perceive an object, we identify it, true, but then, we also move on to understand our relationship with it. When we believe that we have a possibly meaningful relationship in the offing, we give the object a name. By giving a name, we have established association.

When, at our most basic levels, we are confined to the mind and how it perceives the objects around us, our perception of the more complex ones follows a simple mathematical principle: we tend to break down those complex events into smaller and smaller ones, until we have in our hands a multitude of the simple events.

Now, the symbols in this earth. What are they? How do they look like? I don’t know. Are they there? Yes they are. How do you know? Let me tell you. Look at this picture.

Red 'X' in white?

What do you see in this picture? Do you see a red ‘X’ on a white page? Of course you do. Everyone does. But what everyone fails to notice is that, why do we always see only the red ‘X’? Why not the white background? Why don’t we see the white background as having a red-coloured ‘X’ shaped cavity? Or why don’t we see a white pattern on a red background?Why do we tend to prioritise the symbol over its background, and why do we not consider the background itself as a symbol to be existent? Well, in this particular case, it may have been because of the familiarity of the symbol as an alphabet, but what about a very many number of other symbols? Simply, why do we associate more with those symbols that are easier to perceive? The difficulty to perceive another symbol doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!

Imagine this. There is a stainless, white wall. Perfectly white. There is a perfectly white table in front of it. On this table is a semi-hemispherical orange bowl. If you were to stand at a distance of around 3 metres, how would you know that that orange coloured object is a bowl? First and foremost, you will know that by its shape. The curvature, and a flat section towards the bottom will tell you that it is a bowl. What gives this bowl an image of being curved? This is obtained from its relation to its background. If man had been living in a world composed only of circles, and if the line hadn’t been discovered yet, he would not know of linearity. He will be able to perceive only curvature, and therefore, he will not identify the circle for what it is. Similarly, since man knows the line, he can recognise the circle for what it is. Deriving another analogy, the shape of the bowl is understood by how it cuts out the background. In this case, you know the object is a bowl only by how a section of the wall is hidden from your sight: the section that is hidden is instead covered by an orange, semi-circular patch.

Therefore, if you were to think of it, there is a red ‘X’ on white paper, or there is a red ‘X’ shaped cavity in the white symbol that is the paper. The difference between the two is prioritisation. Through this selective prioritisation, we allot a certain density to some parameters we find easier to work with, and therefore, write about. This is the reason more than one single perception exists in the world. Look at the number of symbols you have splattered have around you in your daily life. Have you ever wondered whether the symbol you perceive is the only symbol in sight? Those for whom there seems to be no harm in this selective prioritisation can move on. But for those who are seeking a solution to something, this is some food for thought.