Archive for June 2010

I was advised today to eat well, exercise, and lose my belly.  Well, to be honest, this is advice I get from a particular person very regularly.  And perhaps if I didn’t eat well, exercise, and think I had a belly worth being concerned about, I’d heed her advice.

I’ve spent the morning speculating as to the reasons behind her need to tell me that she thinks I’m overweight, considering fluctuations in my weight, my apparent eating habits, and cultural background.  I’ve been chit-chatting with friends, discussing what I should do, being generous and thinking about how much of her advice I should heed, and commiserating about what it is to be made to feel insecure over something that wasn’t a problem.

The truth is, it doesn’t matter that I do eat sensibly, get exercise, and like my body.  There will always just be some people who don’t know this, think otherwise, and presume that it is valuable for them to tell me so.

I was reading an old Chatelaine magazine today in the waiting room of my mom’s eye specialist.  There was a full article on being happy, and a bullet-pointed list of the things that happy people do to keep themselves happy.  I read it skeptically, but I figure, well, there’s no harm in doing some of these things.  I have been, after all, pretty miserable for a long time now.

There was the obvious one which said to get exercise.  Sure, no problem.  Another thing they recommend we do is list a couple of things that went right and things that I enjoyed every day/week.  Seems simple enough.  Except on weeks where my laptop unexpectedly dies when I’m trying to write a paper, I discover I owe more money to cover the cost of incidental fees for class, I get into an auto collision that’s not my fault but that I could be blamed for because there were no witnesses, etc… [and OMG does "etc" really mean "et cetera"], it’s hard for me to dig through and find the things that went well.  I have this sneaking suspicion that they’re numerous but tiny, including such things as “I ate” and “I woke up”, and that that’s why I can’t find them.  They’re such normal parts of every day that it’s hard to give them any credit as being something worth being happy about.

The problem of induction was introduced by David Hume (1711-1776) and started with the question of whether or not induction is justified. This is a genuine concern since predictions about the unobserved/future that are derived from experience are made through inductive inference, and are not deductively closed arguments (i.e. not a priori knowledge).

To illustrate the problem, let us begin with the following example:

In my experience, all F’s are G’s, and no cases of F’s have been found to not be G’s.

I arrive at the general statement that “All F’s are G’s” through inductive reasoning.

Is this generalization “justified”?  It is immediately clear that the generalization does not necessarily follow from the premise, since it is not arrived at deductively (that is, it is not entailed).  So it appears that we take a leap from premise to generalization when we reason inductively.

Upon careful examination of the above example, the generalization can be justified by the apparent “Uniformity of Nature”, as discussed by Bertrand Russell in The Problems of Philosophy, Chapter VI.  ”The belief in the uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has happened or will happen is an instance of some general law to which there are no exceptions.”  Herein lays the problem: uniformity of nature is a premise that can only be arrived at inductively, so it cannot be used to justify inductive reasoning.  It is a circular argument.

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P. F. Srawson attacks this problem from a linguistic standpoint, claiming that the question of whether or not induction is justified is nonsensical.  He says that it is “the absurd wish that induction should be shown to be some sort of deduction.”  His argument is illustrated as follows:

To be rational is to use induction and deduction.

Deductive and inductive reasoning are mutually exclusive.

The word “deductive” describes closed arguments that lead to a priori knowledge.

Deductive propositions are therefore either valid, or invalid on the basis of being either justified or not justified.

The word “inductive” describes the reasoning that leads to degrees of belief that are supported by experience.

So, questions such as “Is there reason in believing in deductive arguments?” and “Are inductive arguments justified?” have no meaning for Strawson.

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Karl Popper attempts to show that “the belief that we use induction is simply a mistake. [...] The whole apparatus of induction becomes unnecessary once we admit the [...] conjectural character of human knowledge.”  He discards induction with his notions of the following:

1. Although we cannot employ induction to acquire a necessary truth, we can necessarily conclude the falsity of a generalization with falsifying evidence, and this is purely deductive.

2. Laws arrived at inductively were based on “unconscious, inborn expectations” or “scanty material, i.e. the few observed instances upon which the law may be based.”

He proposes that conjectures (hypotheses) are arrived at arbitrarily, either through myths, or inborn expectations, and that testing (trying to find refutations) is how one arrived at conjectures with (degrees of) corroboration, as opposed to inductive inferences with (degrees of) probability.  So, he discards induction, but only to appeal to it in different terms.

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Neither attack of the problem is satisfying.  No one said it better than Russell when he said that “we must either accept the inductive principle on the ground of its intrinsic evidence, or forgo all justification of our expectations about the future.”  And all the while philosophers who attack this problem tragically become Kierkegaard’s Knights of Infinite Resignation: afraid and too calculating to take the leap that they miss the point.

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Postscript:

This was my first assignment after returning to school after an extensive hiatus . This means it was written around.  It’s just a short little ditty, and I stumbled upon it while going through my old class notes.  I was awarded a 90%, and a comment regarding my criticism of criticisms on the problem of induction.  I don’t think the T.A. who marked it appreciated that I called people in his profession Kierkegaard’s Knights of Infinite Resignation. I was hoping he’d get a kick out of it.

It isn’t every day/week/year that an earthquake and G20 riots shake Toronto.  I thought it best I document what I was doing as I will likely want to recall this week years from now.

I’m disappointed to report that during the earthquake, I was at work watching my monitor shake, and yesterday during the riots, I was home sifting through personal documents.

I probably wouldn’t even have checked-in with the world had my sister and mom not stopped by for dinner.  When I turned the radio on to hear about all the commotion, I was so disappointed that I wasn’t down there taking videos.  Except for perhaps Immigration issues, I don’t think there was any bandwagon that I would have jumped on, and even then, I wouldn’t have because I don’t think  that a protest is the right forum.  I just wanted to be in the heart of the rare action that Toronto sees.  Oh well.  I’m safe?  I’ll find consolation in that.

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I’ve finally decided to sit down and go through all of my filing.  They have been in disarray since I moved in with Daniel (September 2008).  Well, “disarray” as in “divided”: there are the pre-Daniel files, and the post-Daniel files.

In setting out about this task, I had wanted to merge them into one huge unified system.  But I changed my mind.

I cracked open the filing cases, and found neatly organized bank statements, credit card statements, bills, pay stubs, tax documents,  and more, all dating to as far back as 2001 – the year I started University.   Well, there were my bank statements from high school, but I changed banks before starting University, and I had no interesting documents until 2001.

So, I peeked through them all.  I looked at what I spent money on.  I expected to find generally irresponsible purchases reflecting youth and negligence, but what I actually found was lists of transactions resembling my current spending, except now I have perhaps 5x the income.  Ok, so maybe it was negligent to spend that way without the income I have now..  But it was still interesting to see that I haven’t changed very much: I love to watch movies, eat out at least once per week, I buy electronic toys, and I like to go away on one big trip every 1.5-2 years.  I’m … predictable.  And apparently, I’ve been so for many years.

I suppose this shouldn’t be a big surprise.  It just is because I felt like the last 10 years of my life were very formative, and that I’d grown and changed a lot, and further that a lot of things in my life had changed.  But I guess some things never do.

As for the files, I’m scrapping most of them.  I admit that it’s hard to just discard my neat and well-kept files, but … why keep them?  Without them I can entertain the myth that my metamorphosis into adulthood was more interesting than the documents would declare.

I saw a couple of ghosts from my past yesterday evening.  It was nice, and I was really happy to see them.  They reminded me of my early 20′s, and what it felt like to feel valuable in a job, as if what I did had a real and tangible impact on the broader community, and my effort was rewarded and recognized.  It has been a long time since I felt rewarded and recognized, or even appreciated.

Then there were the questions.  How have you been?  What have you been up to? And I always pause before I give some generic answer suggesting that all is well, and that everything is perfect.

It was nice to see them.  For an evening, I felt youthful as I smiled and laughed and maneuvered the crowd as I once had done so regularly so many years ago.  But all I could think was What did I do for the last five years?

I’ve reviewed the past five years, I know, numerous times since September 2009, looking at the general upward trend in my standard of living, the stability I’ve developed,  the things that I have, and the people I have around me.   There were a lot of things that got done; things that happened.   All positive things.

So why…

I hate to admit it, but a lot of days, I look at my life and just don’t want to continue on this path that I’ve laid out for myself.  It feels impossible – as if there are too many potholes, bumps in the road, and unanticipated detours and pit stops that push the destinations indefinitely further from my reach.  There is no end to the unexpected obstacles that I need to overcome to get to what I have envisioned to be a realistic endpoint.

At least there is a path.  Five years ago, I didn’t have one, and life felt meaningless and empty.  Now I have direction and meaning, and it all feels impossible.

What I’m clinging desperately onto these days is my curiosity to know how the stories end.  Do certain initiatives begin to pay off, or do they continue to suck me dry?  Will I reach the next milestone?  Or any of the ones after? Will this effort all have been for naught, or will I someday reap the rewards of the pain that I currently endure?

Only time will tell.  I just wish I had a spoiler.

I had the weirdest experience in the middle of the night last night.

At around 1 a.m., I was driving Diana home from my place.  I drove along my street to do a left to go north on Brownsline.  I don’t normally do this.  I normally go through the small side streets because it’s less congested, and I wouldn’t hit any traffic trying to do a left.  However, since it was the middle of the night, I presumed there would be no traffic, so I decided to head straight to Brownsline…

As we approached Brownsline, I could see a drunk, middle-aged, shirtless white man standing in the middle of the street on Brownsline just north of where I was.  He was yelling in the direction of the bar that was on the west side of Brownsline, and standing on the line that divides the north- and southbound lanes.

I should have detoured, but I continued with my left turn onto Brownsline, intending to head northbound to Diana’s place.  As I did my turn, he stopped looking at the bar, and focused his attention on my car.  He walked directly into the lane I had turned into – the right lane in Brownsline’s 2 northbound lanes.

I stopped.

He looked enraged as he walked toward my car.  I saw that he had nothing in his hands.  Diana instructed me to honk and reverse, but I instinctively first just locked doors.

I continued to pause.

In the brief moment between when he first stopped in my lane and looked at me, and when he stood directly in front of my car, all I could think was: what are my options.  I don’t want to hurt him.  I don’t want us to get hurt.  I don’t want to pay for damage to my vehicle.  So, I didn’t drive forward: I didn’t want to inadvertently hurt him, and  I wanted to keep him ahead of the vehicle, and not at either side.  I didn’t want to anger him further, so I didn’t honk.  I locked the doors in case he tried to get in.  I made sure I was ready to hit the gas if it came to that.

I continued to pause.  I didn’t reverse because I was afraid to take my eyes off him, and I can’t reverse without first checking my mirrors.

Then he ran toward my car, and furiously roared while he pounded the hood of my car with his two fists.  I honked, panickedly reversed, and screamed at the top of my lungs.

He began to walk out of my way to the left lane … into the path of a pick-up truck … that breaked, but hit him.

He appeared to still be standing as I put my car into drive, and speedily fled before he could continue to do any damage to my car.  Diana instructed me to pull over so that she could call 911.  So I did.  We were far enough so that I could drive off if he began to head toward us, but close enough so that we could see what was going on.  We saw cars and people start to crowd around, and it looked like he or someone, was dragged to the side of the road.

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My dad always warned me to stay away from crazy people and situations.  When he was teaching me to drive, he’d point them out, saying that it was best to keep an eye out for them, and just to stay completely out of their way.  I learned that before I was born, he was sent to the hospital from a situation similar to mine: a couple of drunk men dragged him out of his car instigating a fight.  They wanted to see his “kung fu” – a racist comment if ever there were one.  There was traffic, so he couldn’t easily flee the situation.

Last night, I saw the drunk, middle-aged, shirtless white man standing in the middle of the street, and I didn’t heed his advice.  Years of warning, but it didn’t sink in until now.

Daniel always laughed at me when I hit the lock button every time anyone came near my car.  It may have been best if I detoured, but I’m happy knowing that I wasn’t going to have been easily dragged out of my car.