Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts

Friday, February 15, 2008

Time-warped Experiences

This is interesting:

If the brain sped up when in danger, the researchers theorized, numbers on the perceptual chronometers would appear slow enough to read while volunteers fell. Instead, the scientists found that volunteers could not read the numbers at faster-than-normal speeds.

"We discovered that people are not like Neo in The Matrix, dodging bullets in slow-mo," Eagleman said.

Instead, such time warping seems to be a trick played by one's memory. When a person is scared, a brain area called the amygdala becomes more active, laying down an extra set of memories that go along with those normally taken care of by other parts of the brain. "In this way, frightening events are associated with richer and denser memories," Eagleman explained. "And the more memory you have of an event, the longer you believe it took."

Eagleman added this illusion "is related to the phenomenon that time seems to speed up as you grow older. When you're a child, you lay down rich memories for all your experiences; when you're older, you've seen it all before and lay down fewer memories. Therefore, when a child looks back at the end of a summer, it seems to have lasted forever; adults think it zoomed by."

Never mind physical (un)responsiveness; does your experience last longer when scared? Do you obtain more pleasure and pain by time seeming to you to pass slower? Does this give us additional reason to bring joy to children (and give less priority to aiding the elderly)?

I'm beginning to think that the way to count or measure an experience is not through its objective duration at all, but simply its richness of representational content (which may better reflect felt duration in any case). This may support my claim that multiple experiences matter less the less qualitatively different they are. Merely repeating the same old information over and over again does nothing to enrich the representation, after all.

Thoughts?

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Thursday, February 14, 2008

Consciousness and Time

Inspired by the discussion at Pea Soup, let's distinguish:

(1) the external, physical duration of a phenomenal experience,
(2) the internal, felt duration of the experience, and
(3) the believed duration of the experience.

To illustrate the differences: Experience machine A gives you pleasant experiences for 100 years. Machine B (allegedly) gives you all the same experiences, feeling exactly the same from the inside, but packed into just a single real-time day. Machine C gives you one day of pleasure, and then simply implants in you the false belief that it felt like it lasted for 100 years.

A key question is whether dimension (2) is stable and independent of the others, i.e. whether Machines B and C are really distinct. But first, we must consider whether qualia (conscious experiences) are to be identified with brain states or their contents:

Our talk of conscious experience risks conflating two distinct objects: the qualities (properties) of the vehicular experience or representation itself, versus the qualities represented in the experience. It's plausible to think that we can access only the latter. For information to be available to us, it must be represented in our minds...

This includes experience itself: there may be facts about it of which we remain unaware. This is plausibly true of the temporal properties of our experiences, for instance. It seems to me that I experience A before experiencing B, but in actual fact all I have access to is my mental representation as of "A followed by B"... I don't really have a "mental eye" in my head to tell me what's going on in there, independently of what eventually enters into a conscious representation. Our introspective capabilities are hence severely limited.

Clearly, the brain states themselves last only a day in Machine B's case. But they represent 100 years' worth of happenings. How are we to describe this? Here are two options:

(i) What you experience is the brain state itself, and hence lasts for only a day; it's just that you're left with the false impression that it lasted longer than that. Machine B was misdescribed: in fact it is no different from C.

(ii) What you experience is the content as represented by the brain state, viz. 100 years. It is truly the same content/experience as given by Machine A; it's merely the physical bases of the experiences which differ, and that's nothing to care about.

I'm inclined towards (ii). But if experiences can so radically come apart from their underlying brain states, we may question whether Machine C is actually as deceptive as we'd assumed. If the implanted belief changes the contents represented in our phenomenal states, perhaps this actually gives us 100 years of experiences?

One reason for doubting this is reflection on the paucity of the representation. It's one thing to write a story which says "100 years passed", and quite another to fill out the details for 100 years' worth of fictional events. So, if we think of Machine A as taking a long time to impart rich informational content (lots of pleasure), and Machine C as taking a very short time to impart a very thin representation (very little pleasure), the question whether Machine B imparts a lot or only a little pleasure comes down to the richness of the representations it implants. Sound right?

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Thursday, December 20, 2007

Do feelings reflect preferences?

It makes sense to be especially concerned (excited, etc.) about the near future. I previously suggested that once we distinguish feelings from preferences, this premise gives us no reason to doubt that we should be temporally neutral when it comes to the latter. However, Brad Skow argues [draft PDF, p.10] that "biased attitudes [feelings] will be rational just in case biased preferences are." Why? Because, he suggests, the former are typically generated from the latter: we are pleased, for example, when we think that our preferences have been satisfied. The fact that we are more affectively attuned to our future than past welfare is thus taken to indicate a temporally biased preference structure: we must want to be well-off in the future more than the past.

I'm not so sure about this. After all, our affective responses are designed to help us respond successfully to threats and opportunities in our environment, and this changes over time. I should feel fearful and alert when faced with a dangerous predator, and all my time-slices can endorse this. It does not follow that all my time-slices should themselves maintain such a state of arousal –- once the danger has passed, there would be no point. So I agree with Parfit that attention and affect should change over time, in sync with our changing circumstances. But preferences are another matter. I may feel greater excitement about an imminent lesser benefit, as I attend to it in the present, even though I judge the distant greater benefit to be preferable, and so would sooner give up the imminent benefit if forced to choose. Again, note that I do not later regret feeling mounting excitement in anticipation of some immanent event, whereas I would regret choosing a lesser nearby good over a greater distant one. This is a revealing difference. Changing feelings may be endorsed from a timeless perspective, and so are consistent with temporal neutrality, unlike changing preferences.

Still, it would be too quick for me to conclude that a feeling or affective attitude is rationally warranted just because it is advantageous (cf. practical vs. adaptive reasons). So I need to say more about what the adaptive reasons for our attitudes are, exactly, that justifies their temporal partiality without appealing to biased preferences. What facts do our emotions answer to? One possible (rough) answer is that they are to track the normatively salient features of our local environment. This will normally be useful, much as having warranted or true beliefs (tracking the descriptive facts) is normally useful, but warrant and utility may come apart in particular cases.

Anyway, on this view the reason why I shouldn't get too excited about the satisfaction of my past or distant-future preferences is because they're not really relevant to my immediate situation, and it's this that I should be affectively attuned to. This story seems oversimplified though: surely we may reasonably enjoy the thought of future benefits, or savour pleasant memories, etc. Perhaps a better answer is that our emotions respond to normative features of any situation under consideration, and it's just that our attention happens to be focussed more often on the present (and reasonably so).

What do you think is the best way to flesh this out?

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Saturday, November 24, 2007

Arbitrary Persistence

If one asks whether A and B (objects existing at two different times, or possible worlds, say) are really one and the same object, is this a substantive metaphysical question? I think it is not. Consider the following illustration:

This is how an armless person persists through time. S1 is the momentary stage that exists at t1, and S2 likewise at t2. C is the complete aggregate of all the momentary person-stages from t1 to t2. Now, one might apply the name 'A' at t1, and 'B' at t2, and ask whether A is B. But there are no interesting questions to ask here. It's trivial that S1 is not S2, if that's what we mean. Or, if we instead mean to refer to the temporally extended object C both times, it is similarly trivial that C is identical to itself.

Note that we may similarly construct gerrymandered objects out of completely unrelated temporal parts. For any two distinct stages whatsoever, it is trivial that (1) they are not themselves numerically identical; and (2) we may call them both temporal parts of some larger aggregate. (If you don't like talk of aggregations, we can restate the point in terms of temporal counterparts. Any two stages are counterpart-related by some criterion or other, and our choice of criterion is metaphysically arbitrary.) We merely have practical reasons for carving the world up in some ways rather than others. Gerrymandered objects may be less useful to talk about, but that's not to impugn their ontological status.

Maybe you don't like any kind of 4-dimensionalism or "temporal parts" talk. That's okay, we can restate the point in the language of enduring 3-d objects. We simply need to say that there are arbitrarily many objects coinciding in any given region of space, for all the various possible "persistence criteria" we might want to apply across times. Consider the famous example of a clay statue. Can it survive being turned to gold by Midas' touch? Well, the statue can, but the clay can't. Conversely, the lump of clay can survive being squished into a nondescript blob, but the statue cannot. And we might just as well choose to say there is an object there that "endures" just in case it turns into a bird and flies away. Why not? It's not as though all this persistence talk is reflecting anything deep about the world. We could apply any criteria we want; it's all mere convention.

The alternative view is what Ted Sider (in his (2001) 'Criteria of Personal Identity', p.194) calls "chaste endurantism", i.e. the conjunction of claims (1) objects - no mere temporal parts - are wholly present at multiple moments, and (2) "distinct entities never coincide". But the case of the statue and the clay suggests that this position is a non-starter. There are various criteria we might use to determine whether an object counts as persisting into the future under any given scenario, and no reason to think that any one of these is the only legitimate or "true" criterion.

So I tend to think that the identity facts, such as they are, do not much matter. Indeed, we may completely describe a scenario without talking about the identities of the things in it at all. We would then know all there is to know about how the world (scenario) is; the remaining question is merely how to describe it -- which persistence conditions to apply, or which temporal aggregates to talk about.

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Sunday, November 18, 2007

Expecting Immortality

"The experience of being dead should never be expected to any degree at all, because there is no such experience." So writes David Lewis in 'How Many Lives Has Schrodinger's Cat?' (p.17) But perhaps we can have negative expectations, in the sense of not positively expecting any further experiences.

What if I split, amoeba-style, into two future persons, one of whom is promptly shot? In general, I should split my expectations evenly between my future branches. Perhaps I should anticipate the experiences of each branch, separately. (I do not, of course, experience both lives together, in any mutually-accessible kind of way.) If one branch has no experiences at all - being killed before ever awakening, say - then all there is to anticipate is the other, surviving branch. But if it gets to experience a little before dying, then it would seem one allotment of my expectations should capture precisely this: to experience seeing the bullet approaching (or whatever), and then no more.

This is important because if the "no collapse" (or many-worlds) interpretation of Quantum Mechanics is correct, then we are actually splitting all the time. If you shoot me, there exists some (extremely low intensity) state in the superposition in which the bullet passes right through me. However often I die, there is always some version of me that survives. Should I expect, then, to be immortal? Lewis thinks so (p.19):

Suppose you're fairly sure that there are no collapses, and you're willing to run a risk in the service of truth. Go and wander about on a busy road, preferably a few minutes after closing time. When and if you find yourself still alive, you will have excellent evidence [for the no-collapse view]. If that's not yet enough to convince you, try the experiment a few more times.

What should you expect to happen?
(1) You miraculously emerge unscathed (perhaps the cars pass right through you by some quantum fluke).
(2) You get hit by a car, and then have no further experiences (due to being dead).
(3) You get hit by a car, but then miraculously survive (perhaps your crushed body reassembles itself by some quantum fluke).

On the no collapse view, all these outcomes occur, but (presumably) the second does so with much higher frequency or "intensity". Still, even if the overwhelmingly majority of superimposed states involve your getting hit by a car, you will always have some branch that survives this. So there are always further experiences to anticipate. Does this mean we should never anticipate ending up on a dead branch, i.e. one that has no further experiences?

It's not quite enough to ask whether we should expect to be immortal. On the no-collapse view, we are undoubtedly immortal, in the sense that we will always have some surviving branch. But we also die a lot, in that we have a great many terminating branches! So the real question is whether we should ever expect to die. Can our expectations be distributed over branches that contain no further experiences? Or are they restricted to the survivors only?

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Sunday, November 04, 2007

Caring about Time's Reality

Do debates in the metaphysics of time affect what we should care about? If eternalism is true, for example, should we be more or less obsessed with non-present events? If presentism is true, can that justify temporal bias (in favour of the near future, say)?

David Velleman ('So it goes', p.20) writes:

We can't stop the self from seeming to endure, or stop time from seeming to pass, but we can cope with these phenomena better, given the knowledge that they are merely phenomenal...

I have a disconcerting tendency to live different parts of my life all at once -- to relive the past and pre-live the future even while I'm trying to live in the present. And even as I relive my past in a memory, it is at the same time speeding away from me, as there comes bearing down on me a future that I am pre-living in anticipation. It's as if too many parts of my life are on the table at once, and yet somehow they are continually being served up and snatched away like dishes in a restaurant whose wait-staff is too impatient to let me eat...

The realization that I am of the moment -- that is, a momentary part of a temporally extended self -- can remind me to be in the moment.

But why is this? I guess the thought is that if the past no longer exists, our emotional attachment to it may tempt us to imaginatively "bring" it into the present. Eternalism reassures us that the past is safe and sound right where it is, so we need not be so clingy. On the other hand, as a classmate pointed out to me, we may think that the eternal reality of a past event is all the more reason to dwell on it. (I'm more inclined to the view that the metaphysics makes no difference either way. But that may just be because I can't really see what the dispute amounts to -- presentism seems inconceivable to me.)

What of temporal bias? Could "the moving now" better justify the relief we feel when bad events are past? Parfit (R&P, p.180) suggests an argument:
Suppose we allow the metaphor that the scope of 'now' moves into the future. This explains why, of the three attitudes to time, one [the bias towards the near] is irrational, and the other two [biases towards the future, and the present] are rationally required. Pains matter only because of what they are like when they are in the present, or under the scope of 'now'. This is why we must care more about our pains when we are now in pain. 'Now' moves into the future. This is why past pains do not matter. Once pains are past, they will only move away from the scope of 'now'. Things are different with nearness in the future. Time's passage does not justify caring more about the near future since, however distant future pains are, they will come within the scope of 'now'.

But, likewise, however distant past pains are, they have been within the scope of 'now'. Why isn't that enough to make them matter? (After all, concern for the future precludes one from claiming that pains matter only while they are present.) So the mere fact (if it is one) that 'now' moves into the future doesn't explain why past pains do not matter.

One might introduce a "growing block" theory to introduce the needed asymmetry between past and future. On that view, the past exists, whereas the future is still open. But this seems to give precisely the wrong result. Assuming we should care more about existing pains than non-existent ones, the growing-block theorist is committed to favouring the past over the future!

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Monday, October 29, 2007

Persons as Voluntary Assocations

Another challenge for temporal neutrality may be posed by those who deny the commonsense view there is an enduring self or ego that persists through time while being wholly present at each moment. For the alternative is to see personal identity as a mere construction of sorts, perhaps consisting in nothing more than the right sorts of physical and psychological connections between various temporal parts, or momentary time-slices of a person. In that case, it may seem that what I am, at the most fundamental level, is not a whole temporally-extended person at all, but just a momentary time-slice. The relation my momentary self bears to my future selves then rather resembles the relation my person bears to other - more or less similar - persons. However, most of us think that it may be quite rational to be personally biased, in the sense of favouring some persons (e.g. ourselves and those close to us) over others. So why is it not likewise rationally permissible to favour some momentary time-slices (e.g. our present moment, and those close to us-now) over others?

I grant the underlying metaphysical picture, and will remain neutral on whether full-blown personal neutrality is rationally required. So I agree that if one were to psychologically self-identify with one’s momentary time-slice only, then bias against later time-slices could reasonably follow. For in such a case, one would arguably no longer be a person with a future at all. This is implied by the following endorsement condition (EC) on the construction of personal identity:

(EC) Any temporal proper part of a person must (at least implicitly) endorse its incorporation into the temporally-extended whole.

The sort of implicit endorsement I have in mind is satisfied by conceiving of oneself as a temporally-extended person, for example identifying with the subject of one’s memories, anticipating future experiences, etc. We may imagine someone - call her Mini - who, upon rejecting endurantism about the self, goes on to purge herself of all such thoughts. By failing to imaginatively project herself beyond the confines of her present moment or otherwise consent to incorporation into a temporally extended whole, Mini’s person would extend no further than the time-slice. The subsequent time-slices will of course bear various relations to her, being continuous in many notable respects, but they no more comprise a unified person than do people with similar interests automatically comprise a club. Persons, on this view, are voluntary associations.

Mini is not biased against her future, then, because she has no future. We do better to describe the situation as one in which she is biased against the people who later inhabit her body. If we reject the strict requirements of personal neutrality, then we may consider Mini to be reasonable in her bias. But it is not fundamentally temporal bias. It is just an unusual case of personal bias.

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Saturday, October 20, 2007

Preferring Pains to be Past

I previously argued that Parfit's affect-based objections to temporal neutrality fail. As Alex pointed out, though, Parfit also offers a more direct objection. As part of the 'bias towards the future', he thinks that we might really prefer to suffer a greater pain in the past rather than a lesser pain in the future. Now, assuming that we cannot affect the past, it is difficult to see what this preference amounts to, at least if it is meant to be distinct from mere affect, e.g. relief upon learning that a painful operation is now past. There is no genuinely possible choice in which the preference could be revealed. But perhaps we can imagine an impossible choice, involving time travel or divine intervention in foreknowledge of one’s backward-looking prayer. Can we then imagine, in this impossible scenario, reasonably choosing to have one’s pains amplified and shifted into the past?

There are two bad reasons why we may be tempted to affirm this. First, we are used to the equivalence between being over and ceasing to extend in time. So a typical preference for a pain’s being over is inseparable from the preference that it become no longer - a preference that the temporal neutralist can clearly endorse. Second, even if we appreciate that in this special case the past pain is no shorter, we may fail to fully appreciate that it is really experienced at all. By the time we are in the present, our past experiences have already been and gone. We did not experience them the first time through, so it may seem that shifting pains into the past is simply a way to make them disappear altogether! Of course, this intuition illicitly reflects our assumption that we cannot really change the past - an assumption that must be rejected in the scenario under consideration (since we are supposed to be introducing pains into the past that would not be there otherwise).

When we take care to avoid these two mistakes, and instead really vividly appreciate the greater pain that our past self really would suffer if we made the relevant choice, does it still seem so obviously preferable?

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Saturday, October 13, 2007

Guest Post: Worlds and Times

[By Jack]

What is the relationship between the series of truths in the world and the times in that world? That is, imagine that: !, @, #, $, % are maximally complete sets of truths (like an ersatz possible world for a world that lasts only an instant) and that time is discrete. How many different possible worlds can there be with this series of truths?:

!, @, #, $, %?

I think the most intuitive answer is one. Here is what makes that answer problematic. There can be two distinct times even though all and only the same things are true at those times. To see this, consider the following series of truths:

!, @, #, $, %, $, #, @, !

Then ask, how many instants are there in this world? I find it exceedingly implausible to say that there are only 5 instants of time in this world, one corresponding to each of the different maximally complete sets of truths. For then, which came first, the time that is corresponds to $ or the time that corresponds to %? This suggests that two non-identical times can realize a maximally complete set of truths.

But now the slippery slope kicks in. Why just two? What about this series of truths?:

!, @, #, @, !, #, !,

This suggests that any number of non-identical times could realize a maximally complete set of truths. But this is unattractive as well. It doesn't seem that we should have possible worlds that differ merely in the identities of the times in their world. [Suppose that t1 can realize # and t2 can realize #, but that t1 is distinct from t2. Now, there might be two different worlds that correspond to the following series of truths: #. One world is simply t1 and the other is simply t2. But that is weird.]

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Friday, October 12, 2007

Intuition Test: Self-Destruction

Suppose you will soon be subject to torture and degradation, such that you would prefer to die beforehand. Suicide is not allowed, but you are offered the opportunity to have all traces of your psychological self purged from your brain -- memories, character, talents, etc. Would that help? Would you fear the upcoming torture any less, perhaps believing that it would now be someone else rather than you who endures it?

How about if your psychological traces are completely transferred into the brain of another person, who goes on to live a happy, torture-free life?

Suppose now that the psychological transfer is compulsory, but beforehand you get to choose which body will be subsequently tortured. What would you choose?

(Cases from Bernard Williams, 'The Self and the Future'.)

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Sunday, September 30, 2007

Measuring Time

Is time immanent in the world - reducible, perhaps, to the ticking of an atomic clock - or transcendent, somehow beyond the physical universe? (One of my old Canterbury lecturers gave a great talk on this a couple of years back.) We seem pressed towards a kind of middle ground. No mere clock can be the ultimate standard of time, for a clock may slow down, and that does not mean that the rest of the universe has speed up! No, we take them to be measuring something beyond themselves. The same will be true of any local standard (e.g. the movement of the sun).

Markosian (1993) suggests:

[The change in the sun's position] is also meant to be a stand-in for a more important change, namely, the pure passage of time. Indeed, it seems that our assumption that the sun's position changes at a constant rate amounts to the assumption that the sun's position changes at the rate of fifteen degrees per hour, i.e., that every time the sun moves fifteen degrees across the sky, one hour of pure time passes. So it at least appears that what we are after in trying to determine the rates of various physical processes, such as Bikila's running of the marathon, are the rates at which those processes occur in comparison to the rate of the pure passage of time. (pp.840-1)

I hope we can come up with a better account of this appearance, since "the rate of the pure passage of time" is gibberish. But why should we interpret "fifteen degrees per hour" as relating two changes (the sun through space vs. the present through time)? It seems on the face of it to just be reporting a single change, i.e., that the sun moves fifteen degrees across the sky in the space of one hour. The hour doesn't have to move. Just the sun.

Perhaps the worry is that if time doesn't pass, then the standard of an 'hour' must be defined in terms of immanent physical changes (like the sun's movement, or a clock's ticking). But all measurement is like this. A clock is to time as a ruler is to space. Nobody takes this to mean that we need an objective 'here', extending over space at a rate of one meter per meter, to tell us how long a meter really is in case all our rulers suddenly shrink. Yet Markosian writes (p.841):
suppose that the pure passage of time thesis is false... if it should turn out one day that the motion of the sun in the sky appears to speed up drastically relative to other changes, then we should say, not that the motion of the sun has sped up drastically relative to the pure passage of time, while every other change has maintained its rate, but, rather, simply that the sun's motion has sped up relative to the other normal change.

Why can't we say that the sun has sped up drastically, not relative to any other rate, but just simpliciter? It is moving a greater distance in space for the same interval of time. Simple.

It seems like the real issue here is substantival vs. relational conceptions of space-time. If space-time is like a container, an objective thing in its own right, then universal shrinkage - or slowing - of its contents might be a coherent possibility (even if we couldn't recognize such an event from the inside). If they're merely relational, on the other hand, and so fundamentally about relative proportions, then the idea of all distances or durations universally increasing may make no sense, since to double each component is to leave the ratio the same. (Note that while this is a curious issue in its own right, it's nothing to do with the passage of time.)

In any case, if immanent relations are all that we have access to, we may wonder whether substantive, transcendent space-time could really matter. So it is worth seeking a plausible immanentist theory. We noted at the start that no local standard would do. But perhaps a global generalization would serve better. Plausibly, we seek a frame of reference that yields the greatest amount of stability in our general region. Relative to my heartbeat, the world is in a crazy flux. But my clock, and the sun's movement, and a whole cluster of other natural processes, can be interpreted as each holding a constant rate relative to each other. So we take this general cluster as our standard of time. Any one component may become out of sync with the rest, in which case we will judge it to have changed its pace. The stability of the cluster thus transcends each of its parts (considered individually), whilst remaining wholly immanent. That strikes me as providing as good a basis for measurement as one could hope for.

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Now You're Talking

Markosian (1993) defends the suspicious move from tensed language to tensed reality, by claiming that if we cannot paraphrase away talk of 'presentness' into B-theoretic language (e.g. 'being contemporaneous with this utterance'), "this must be because [the former] expresses something that cannot be expressed by anything like [the latter]." (p.833) But why should this matter? Perhaps the assumption is that sentences express world-involving propositions, so that the difference in expression reflects a difference in the world. But that would seem question-begging in this context. We might do better to skip straight to the question of how the world has to be in order to make our tensed sentences true. And, as noted here,

the sentences U: "The enemy is now approaching." and V: "The enemy [is] approaching simultaneously with U." are presumably made true by one and the same fact -- the tenseless fact of the enemy's approaching at some time t which is also U's time of utterance -- despite their lack of synonymity.

So the inference from language to reality seems thoroughly unmotivated. (Am I missing something?)

One way to bring this out is to consider the analogy between 'now' and other indexicals, e.g. 'I'. As Lewis and others have pointed out, there seems something special about attitudes de se, which refer to oneself under the indexical guise. They cannot simply be paraphrased into objective worldly descriptions. But I take it no-one is thus tempted to infer that the world itself contains a special property of "I-ness", held by me alone. So why does tensed talk tempt anyone into inferring that the world itself contains a special property of "presentness", held by the current moment alone?

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Could God Pause Time?

Markosian (1993) defends A-theorists (who believe in the objective 'moving present') against the objection that they cannot answer 'How fast does time pass?' He suggests three possible answers:

(1) Measure time against itself. Time thus passes at the trivial rate of one second per second.

(2) Measure time against a non-temporal standard:

If I tell you that Bikila is running at the rate of twelve miles per hour of the pure passage of time, for example, then I have also told you that the pure passage of time is flowing at the rate of one hour for every twelve miles run by Bikila.

(3) Claim that the question involves a category error. Perhaps rate talk essentially "involves a comparison between some normal change and the pure passage of time." (p.843) The pure passage of time itself then has no rate to speak of. But it passes all the same.

These responses all seem woefully inadequate. Especially the third - what does it mean to speak of movement that occurs at no rate? Surely this is just to say that it doesn't literally move after all. The second seems similarly senseless: to move just is to move through time, i.e. to be in different positions at different times. And the first says nothing of substance.

Things that flow may speed up or slow down. Not only does movement entail a rate of movement (contra 3), but it must be possible for this rate to change. If time passes, it must be possible for God to alter its rate of passage - to 'fast forward', 'rewind', or 'pause' the flow of history. But that is incoherent. So time does not pass.

Why is it incoherent? Well, suppose God decides to pause the flow of time for five minutes. How much time has passed? None, for time is frozen. But ex hypothesi five minutes have passed, so time is not frozen. This is a contradiction. (Similarly for the other manipulations, which all involving changing the rate of time's passage to something other than 1 second per second.)

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Saturday, September 29, 2007

Quote of the Day

The partisans of time often take it with such Spartan seriousness that they deny existence to virtually all of it

- Donald Williams (1951), 'The Myth of Passage', p.458.

Update: or for a little more substance, p.464:

"Taking place" is not a formality to which an event incidentally submits - it is the event's very being. World history consists of actual concrete happenings in a temporal sequence; it is not necessary or possible that happening should happen to them all over again. The system of the manifold is thus "complete" in something like the technical logical sense, and any attempted addition to it is bound to be either contradictory or supererogatory.

See also: unchanging time and the infinite past.

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Monday, September 24, 2007

Maximizing over Infinite Time

Mathew Wilder asks:

Consequentialism aims at maximizing the good in the long term, or on the whole. But what if the universe is infinite, temporally speaking? Then it seems that there are no actions that maximize the good (or that every action does so) because there will always be an infinite amount of good (and bad) in the future (and in the past as well, if the universe is truly infinite).

I recall reading once about how the notion of a multiverse where every action/decision results in another universe seems to make moral choices worthless, from a consequentialist view-from-nowhere, since every good and bad possibility is an actuality. [Yup - RC.] However, it seems plausible that we could focus the scope of our consideration on the universe in which we live without being open to an accusation of arbitrariness.

But, even if we keep our focus on the only universe which we experience, if it is infinite, then how are we to non-arbitrarily judge what maximizes the good? Should it be what maximizes the good in ten years, or one hundred, or a million? Why should the tenth year matter, but not next year, or all of the infinite years to come?

Now, it is clearly disputable that the universe will continue infinitely, but it certainly seems plausible. Do you think I have hit on an interesting problem, or has this been dealt with before?

Sounds interesting. (If anyone is familiar with the literature on this topic, feel free to provide references in the comments!) Cf. my post on the infinite spheres of utility paradox.

My initial thought is to clarify that what the consequentialist wants to do is to bring about the best world practically possible. And it seems that even when comparing worlds that contain (equally) infinite value, we can judge that some are better than others. For a simple example, consider a case of 'domination', i.e. where one world is (finitely) better than another at each of the infinite moments in time. Clearly, this world is also better overall, even though we cannot attribute a higher quantity of value to it (since both are just countably infinite).

[N.B. This is a puzzle for value theory generally, not anything peculiar to consequentialism -- cf. R.M. Hare.]

Anyway, I'll throw open the comments for anyone else who wants to chip in...

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Temporal Neutrality: can we still care?

In Reasons and Persons, Parfit invites us to imagine a character called 'Proximus' who cares more about the nearer future. This 'bias towards the near' means that he would wholeheartedly prefer to undergo intense pain later rather than a mild pain now. This seems irrational. We may advocate temporal neutrality in general, and so think that "mere differences in timing... cannot have rational significance." I agree with this, so in this post I want to address a couple of objections Parfit makes to this view.

Parfit's basic strategy is to compare the bias towards the near with two other temporal biases we have. The bias towards the future is seen in our tendency to be relieved when bad things are past. And the bias towards the present is our tendency to care especially about the pain we are now experiencing. Parfit claims that temporal neutrality requires us to denounce both these tendencies, but such denunciation seems crazy. So we should conclude that mere differences in timing can be significant after all. His most compelling example is of "the mounting excitement that we feel as some good event apporaches the present -- as in the moment in the theatre when the house-lights dim." Such excitement seems perfectly reasonable, yet - Parfit claims - it is an instance of the bias towards the near. Shouldn't temporal neutrality require us to be just as excited about distant pleasures?

Well, no. We should be more careful in understanding the scope of the temporal neutralist's claims. Obviously the claim is not that timing never matters for anything: if a bomb is about to explode, better to start running sooner rather than later! For similar reasons, it makes more sense to fear the explosion when the risk is in the future rather than the past. It's perfectly reasonable to attend more to present events, and to be excited about those that will very soon be present, etc. The neutralist need not deny any of this. Their claim is simply that one's preferences should not involve any temporal bias, or time-inconsistency. Note that temporally responsive feelings are perfectly endorsable from a timeless perspective. I do not later regret feeling excitement before the show, but I would regret choosing a lesser nearby good over a greater distant one. That's a revealing difference.

If we recast Parfit's proposed biases in terms of preferences (e.g. for the bias towards the present, say you would forsake greater future benefits in order to obtain a small boost of pleasure right now), they no longer seem any more defensible than Proximus' bias towards the near. So I don't think Parfit has any good objection to temporal neutrality after all.

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Saturday, September 22, 2007

Evaluating (and Enumerating) Pains

What matters: the objective quality and duration of a pain, or our subjective conception of it? Suppose you undergo (1) 30 seconds of intense pain; or (2) 35 seconds of intense pain, followed by 5 seconds of milder pain. It turns out that most people prefer the second type of experience; afterwards, it seems to them to have been more bearable. Does that make it less bad for them in fact, or are they simply irrational/mistaken?

I'm drawn to the subjectivist option. (Plausibly, if anything is subjective, pleasure and pain most surely are.) What matters is subjective suffering, not the objective qualities of pain. It just turns out to be a curious fact about human psychology that you can make us suffer less by inflicting additional (if attenuated) pain.

Parfit seems to assume the contrary view in arguing against temporal neutrality in Chp 8 of Reasons and Persons. In his 'Case Two', you wake up the day after a painful operation, though you cannot remember exactly how long it was. A nurse tells you there are two possibilities: (1) You had 5 hrs of pain, but the operation is now over; or (2) You had just 2 hrs of pain yesterday, and have another hour still to come. Parfit suggests that the first seems preferable, despite being worse for your life as a whole. But, it seems to me, one episode of extended pain may have a roughly constant disvalue no matter its actual duration, at least if you cannot subjectively tell the difference. If this is so, then the first option is actually better for your life as a whole. It contains merely one episode of pain, whereas the alternative contains two.

One objection to my position is that memory flaws may distort our retrospective understanding of how bad a pain really was at the time. (This seems to be what Daniel Gilbert thinks of the attenuated pain case, based on his remarks in a talk last week.) I'm not sure what to make of this suggestion. But even if we're drawn to a more objective theory of hedonistic evaluation, we may only wish to count as distinct experiences those that are qualitatively distinct. (We would then think that duplicate universes, or Nietzschean eternal recurrence, would make no difference to the value of the world.) Most of the time, even intrinsically identical pains are embedded in discernibly different experiences, and so count as recognizably distinct. But in Parfit's hospital case, it seems like the duration doesn't introduce sufficient qualitative differences. After a while, many moments of hospitalized agony all blur together, and we may think the reason for this is precisely that there is truly nothing in the experiences to distinguish them. And so they count for just one.

My intuitions on these cases are all over the place, so I'd love to hear what others think. For any who prefer a more practical example, consider Michael Vassar's past comment:

One potentially important example of experiences that may be identical enough not to stack and may not be comes from factory farms. It's plausible that factory farms aren't all that bad, but also plausible that they are good candidates for "worst thing ever". I'd definitely like to know which is true.

What do you think? Is it true that (a) qualitatively (sufficiently) identical experiences only count for one? and (b) many animal pains are (sufficiently) qualitatively identical?

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Sunday, July 22, 2007

Metaphysical Production

Is the future in some sense produced or generated from the present? Our intuitive folk metaphysics seems to assume so. The present moment is taken to be metaphysically privileged -- until the laws of nature do their work, generating the 'next' moment out of the raw materials of the present one. This generative process constitutes the passage of time, as the past is literally transformed (in the deepest fabric of its being) into the future. According to this 'presentism', the old times are not simply passed, but wholly replaced.

It's a difficult subject to make sense of. We're used to talking about objects within time, and it's not so clear that our familiar concepts (process, change, replacement), which compare an object between times, can be extended to apply to time itself -- not without regressive appeal to some 'meta-time' during which the manipulation of time-as-an-object occurs. (More here.)

These concerns lead us towards 'Eternalism', or the view that all moments are ontologically on a par. Time is understood to be simply another dimension, not so different from space, and 'now' is an indexical with no more metaphysical import than 'here'.

It seems that this forces us to give up our intuitive beliefs about metaphysical production. If the future already exists, it doesn't need to be generated out of the present. Laws of nature are stripped of their productive power, and instead serve the merely passive purpose of descriptive generalization.

Consider the 'Humean mosaic': the static, 4-d spacetime "loaf" that comprises the entire expanse and (future) history of the universe. The distribution of properties is taken to be fundamental and inexplicable. The way of things is just a brute fact. It just so happens that there are plenty of regularities -- "constant conjunctions" -- to be found in the mosaic. Dropping an object is followed by its falling to the floor. There's not really any deep reason for this (it's just the way the mosaic happens to be drawn), but we can come up with physical "laws" that describe these regularities.

So, what are we to make of all this? Can the luscious garden of common-sense metaphysics be saved? Or should we embrace the desert landscape of the Humean mosaic? I guess David Lewis' project was to show how, with the help of some fancy analytical footwork, we can still assert the truths of common-sense within the desert. Present events still "cause" future ones, and all that. It's just that causation isn't what we thought it was. (Rather than a fundamental notion of generative powers, where the cause brings about its effect, we appeal to a sterile analysis in terms of counterfactual conditionals, which are in turn reduced to facts about other - similarly 'deserted' - Humean mosaics.)

I'm awfully suspicious of that kind of philosophy, as explained in my old post: The Limits of Truth Conditions. I guess I'm assuming some kind of semantic transparency here: we have some idea of what it would take to make our claims true, and the desert just ain't it. I mean, nobody ever read Lewis' On the Plurality of Worlds and thought, "Exactly, that's what I meant when I said that Humphrey could have won the election: just that somewhere out there, in another universe, there's a guy a lot like Humphrey who does win a similar election!"

So I have some secondary questions: Should we be satisfied by crazily counterintuitive analyses, so long as they yield the (truth-conditionally) right results? Why allow that common-sense intuitions are a guide to what's true, but not to what those truths consist in (i.e. what's real)? On the other hand, is it a legitimate objection to Lewis to simply insist, "But that's not what I mean by that term!" -- is meaning so introspectable? How much leeway do we have when assigning truthmakers to a class of claims?

Answers, please!

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Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Conservative Progressivism

Looking at the 'big picture', should utilitarians care less about (present) welfare? John Broome argues [PDF] that the population effects of global warming will ultimately dwarf any direct suffering caused. More generally, impacts on present people dwindle to near insignificance when one considers the indefinitely many people that are yet to come. A dangerous thought. For example, does it mean that we should care less about temporary suffering, so long as an end is in sight?

Consider the vegetarian's arguments against factory farmed meat. The present system causes huge and unnecessary suffering to animals. But, we may think, it's only a matter of time until the industry is replaced by bioengineered meat (no animal required). If so, perhaps vegetarianism isn't the pressing moral issue Peter Singer says it is. Factory farming causes massive suffering today, but very little in the grand scheme of things.

The most pressing issue, on this way of looking at things, is to promote 'viral' or compounding goods (e.g. wealth and education) and the social/moral infrastructure that will support continued progress.

There's a sense in which this 'progressivism' is deeply conservative. We should be less concerned about making progress ourselves, than in ensuring that progress may continue to be made in future. Procedural liberalism trumps social justice. We should care more about improving the state of public debate than pushing our particular agendas. (The two aren't necessarily exclusive, of course.)

Further, perhaps we should embrace some degree of perfectionism, and prioritize excellence over mere welfare (assuming that high attainment is more likely to benefit future generations -- think scientific breakthroughs).

Plausible?

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Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Playing with the Past

Are science and religion compatible? The received wisdom, I take it, is: "Sure, so long as the religion refrains from making any factual empirical claims." In other words, you may be a Christian, but not of the Young Earth Creationist variety... until now!

Consider the eternalist/presentist debate. The eternalist thinks there is a past time with dinosaurs, the presentist thinks there is only the present time, but that it is true at the present time that there were dinosaurs nevertheless. I think the creationist should hold that there are past times only six thousand years into the past, but that it is nevertheless true that prior to this such-and-such was going on. It’s true that there were apes who would evolve into humans; but nevertheless, there are no past apes who are our ancestors.

Trust a philosopher to suck all the empirical content out of a theory! Fun idea, though. Suppose we prefer the intuitive (if incoherent) "moving spotlight" theory of time. Could God create a world with a past that never was present? That is, the full historical timeline is created, but the spotlight of time gets set to start part way through, rather than right at the beginning. That way, perhaps the creationist could even grant that there "are" past apes who are our ancestors, but nevertheless insist that human evolution never really happened. (God skipped his divine spotlight over that unwelcome bit of history.)

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