Research Episodes

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In an recent blog I commented that:

…we continue to be committed to the idea of extending our current knowledge. For this to happen we should be willing to add but also to abandon ideas. This requires that some old ideas, no matter how venerable or favoured, get replaced. The criteria would be that the replacement-ideas are expected to do a better job of explaining what we call our “current raw data”, that is, materials previously gathered and collected during “research” episodes, but which have not yet been methodically and systematically processed and sorted.

There are several ideas here which merit further discussion.

Foremost is the notion of a *research episode*, which I view as a prolonged and systematic inquiry into one or more well-articulated problems, and where each problem studied relates to some earlier research. There are many examples which could be cited, for instance the many cited in Hawkings A Brief History of Time (1988), but my own research was heavily influenced by two newcomers in the early 1950’s, by ethology (a form of studying animal behaviour: Niko Tinbergen, A Study of Instinct, 1950) and the study of operant behaviour as advocated by B.F. Skinner in his book The Behaviour of Organisms (1938).

I often met Tinbergen on his regular visits to lunch with my friend and colleague B.M. Foss at Birkbeck College; I met Skinner in 1951 in Sweden at the International Congress of Psychology and thereafter every few years. We stayed in contact for the next 35 years. Both had founded new schools of research which reached far beyond Oxford and Harvard and each gave birth to distinct “schools” of thought which led to significant research efforts by others throughout the world and which expanded into fields of study other than the “Herring Gull” or the pigeon in its “Skinner box” pecking at discs. Both men deeply influenced the way we in the 20th century thought about our world.

I use the term *research episode* in a wide sense, as not confined to a short period of time, or as associated with a particular individual, but as a period within an existing science which may develop considerable momentum as new problems are explored by an increasing number of investigators (often on a cross disciplinary basis). The methods and ways of thinking about problems is influenced as new frontiers of inquiry are reached and breached. Such episodes may start as a distinct, even limited form of inquiry, and then may expand either slowly or rapidly to cover more and more “problem areas” as also inadvertently “invade” other territories.

The ethology of Tinbergen, or “instinct theory” as it was often referred to in its early days, had a profound impact on comparative neurophysiology — and continues to influence it. It extended and dated the earlier concepts of Pavlovian neurophysiology which had started almost three quarter of a century earlier. Pavlov’s thinking itself was influenced by the notion that the nervous system was a direct extension of the reflex-arc and was influenced by the idea that all neurological systems were built on a similar, closely related architecture. Differences were attributed to levels of complexity and eschewed the idea that levels of complexity could be the source of irreconcilable differences in nature itself.

What is research? The term *research* is well established. In English it comes from the verb “to search”, to look into and to look for. It covers trivial efforts — like the birth date of a favorite composer or author — to issues which require prolonged investigation, e.g. how honeybees return to their hives after foraging, or informing other bees on their return from a location of a flower patch recently visited. Doing research invariably involves that one identifies a specific problem or set of problems and follows each of these to the point when most central questions seem satisfactorily answered.

In practise the original issues which first aroused one’s interest become modified en passant, are reinterpreted and as a result of such reinterpretations the conceptual net often becomes larger. It seems that two separate tasks are involved in research: the first requires much skill in asking questions. This has to be learnt and is skill honed through experience. One has to learn how to ask the right questions, something which nay require a long apprenticeship. The second requires that one learn how to move from translating a question — however it was initially stated — into a method of discovery, a method of enquiry.

The first example refers to something done quickly, in a jiffy so to speak! Today all one needs is a computer with Internet access and the know-how about how to search for answers in Wikipedia or similar sites. Most kids in my neighbourhood know how to do this. Some are wizards at this even at a tender age! No need for them to know anything more than how to approach a computer and ask questions, or so it seems. No need to memorize answers when it is so easy to access the memory of a computer! The “search” episode can therefore be very short, whereas understanding answers discovered may take long! It is different with questions about how honeybees communicate the direction and distance from hive to food source and then return! Do bees learn by their mistakes — like we do — or is there little tolerance for those who pass on misinformation to their hive-mates? Furthermore many questions cannot be answered by referring to the work of one’s predecessors. One enters the forrest alone, without companions, and with luck or skill exits at the other side.

Every doctoral dissertation supposedly consists of a new contribution to knowledge. New? The true story is that one asks questions which invariably lean on the work of others. Of course, one may lean on a house of cards or neglect the work of unknown predecessors. One may avoid errors by acquiring extensive knowledge of the history of a problem, yet errors and ommissions are unavoidable, although one can learn to reduce these in time.

Yet asking questions such as those already mentioned take place in a context. Broadly speaking the context is the culture of the petitioner(s). Although each question follows a string of earlier questions, the sequence is not necessarily orderly. The logic also is not rigid but is often a heavy mixture of materials drawn from earlier periods which themselves are infused with analogical materials, like what if all animals are like the branches of a tree, a common trunk from ground to sky, which branch out in familiar fashion? There is also often some element of “serendipity” which helps to uncover clues en passant — often rather unexpectedly.

These clues can dramatically change the order of discoveries made. Wrong leads are familiar to most experienced researchers. However orderly sequences do occur, as during conversations between like-minded people, or when one person instructs another in a teacher-pupil relationship. One guides the other. Conversations between colleagues also keep a discussion on track and encourages each discussant to follow implications of their thoughts. Some discussions are guided by appointed chairpersons, other move along and therefore have less structure, but may nevertheless reach comparable conclusions.

Conference organizers often try to follow this model. Left on their own most people — even disciplined, somewhat compulsive and single minded professors — “skip” from topic to topic without raising questions in a coherent manner, as if questions can be peeled layer by layer like the wrappings of a Christmas present, no matter where you start! The more wrappings the greater the excitement! Ultimately the core is exposed.

*Culture* is a flexible concept. Applied to a modern community it covers the idea of a mix of micro and macro cultures. But there is a significant difference between a group — viewed as an aggregate of individuals — and a culture. A culture involves a group of individuals, marks them as belonging together by virtue of common interests, not common physical markings. What is it that individuals prefer, what draws them to each other, what holds them together over time despite diversity of experience, physical dissimilarities? Those who are devoted piano players of Mozart or attend exhibitions of Picasso are already on board — as it were — and have cultural affinities. Whatever binds their interests and commitments may be limited, but forms a common ground.

In time, three men in a boat will form a community, functional or dysfunctional. In short, although there may be significant differences in the affiliations of individuals who form a group — the Thursday evening concert goers, say — these serve as the bricks from which a modest dwelling can be built. Thus individuals are viewed also as a member of a smaller community whereas none are likely to be members of all groups which make up the society as a whole.

What about “new arrivals” i.e. immigrants? These go through an acculturation period and process which can vary from one generation to another. At first each is reared as members of several small social groups, but this changes so that mature adults often become members of several quite distinct groups with interests and interactions shared some, but not all, of their time.

Take a standard example of how we may come to get involved in a problem and in attempts to find its solution. The problem may be complex, may not have a single solution but be a multiple problem with solutions for one but not for all aspects of the original problem. “Why did the hen cross the road?” This event happens all the time in country lanes, but never — as far as I know — on Bloor Street in Toronto, or Hyde Park Corner in London. What catches our attention and arouses our curiosity most often are what to us are unusual happenings: hens crossing city roads being one.

Take another example: I visit a learned friend’s home for the first time and note that his opulent library is arranged with books placed on the shelves in order of size, not colour, not content, not alphabetically or thematically. My initial shock turns into curiosity. Why do it that way? I sense a problem and I rummage for ideas I have had about organizing my own library, about what we know about the psychology of collectors, about library science. I do so for two related reasons: I wish to explain to myself what I have seen and perhaps share my explanation with friends and colleagues! There is a leap from individual perplexity — based on personal ideas about what is normal and what people do routinely — to an awareness of a general problem, that my problems are prototypical of those of others.

This general problem can be expressed in the following manner: what leads people to organize their phenomenological experiences into categories, and what consequences follow from adopting a “grouping routine” developed by an individual and by a group of cohorts?

In both examples the initial question represents the first step to what could turn out to be a long series of successive steps. Each answer is likely to lead to additional questions, then to more enquiries. Had I asked a pedestrian question, like who designed and built the St Paul’s cathedral in London, an answer would be available readily, by consulting an on-line (internet) encyclopedia. To help distinguish between these two types of inquiries it is fitting that we give each an appropriate name. I suggest that the term “research episode” be used for those many cases where the answer to a question (a) is not already readily available; or (b) where the search for an answer to a question requires that one pursues several different alternative hypotheses, which developed during the search. Some of these hypotheses will be rejected but others may serve as stepping stones, or toeholds, to additional answers and wider, perhaps newer areas of research.

I believe that formal concept of a “research episode” is new. It is categorical — not canonical — the sense that the concept helps us to organize what is already known independently, prior to the application of the category to the material. These categorical concepts may in time be elevated and become canonical, that is, become part of an established religion! An example may help: suppose you are given a 5000-piece jigsaw puzzle and several possible blueprints? One way of tackling this frustrating task is to conjecture an idea of what it is — a painting by Picasso or Turner perhaps — or work on an entirely different presupposition, namely that the puzzle will form a square or oblong picture, or perhaps a round or oval one. On what basis are thee suppositions made? What clues were used, if any? If one were told in advance the identity of the painter, or perhaps the topic of the painting, the task would be easier. (Note: we rarely enter such tasks naked; we usually get a chance to prepare ourselves — and this illustrates the importance of approaching any task with some preparation and about what is likely to happen once we start our journey of exploration.)

Suppose you find only 100 pieces of a puzzle. If told that the completed puzzle is a rectangular picture you that you need only 4 right angles pieces to form the corners. So the chances of an error in detecting a corner pieces are now 1:25, better by far than 1:5000 ! “Detect corner pieces” and “detect those right-angled pieces which define a corner” are procedural imperatives which are categorical, and may lead to the solution of the task. But if the picture is oval? Heaven help you — you will have to start by gathering together pieces by colour matching.

ELI5 — Explain Like I’m 5

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Until last week I did not know the meaning of the acronym ELI5 — “explain like I’m five.” I’m convinced that this request sets the hurdles very high for me but the goal is worth it. Five-year-olds are actually past the time when their main interaction with adult is “why?!”. If they do not understand an adult at that age they may just blink and walk away, or wrinkle their nose.

eli5I shall therefore compose several pieces in the ELI5 mode. Hopefully adult readers won’t walk away. Please score me 1-10 — the higher the score, the less I have succeeded in stating my case. Give me a 1 if I have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams, and 10 if I have failed miserably, or anything in between.

What does *explain* itself mean? Why is “why” asked by children or adults? What is expected of me, who is asked that question? Should pause,estimate the age of the questioner and then proceed. My reply should be adjusted to my guess of the age of my interlocutors.

A five-year-old does not ask only to annoy because he/she knows it teases! The question is not asked to gain an adult’s attention or to get him/her away from whatever they are currently doing, like reading a magazine or watching a TV program which is likely to be boring to smart kids. I think it is asked for several reasons. Thus, the kid may not yet be aware that one need to be very specific in how to formulate a question when asking adults, that it is different from asking other kids the same question. Kids do what adults also do: they ask questions in contexts and therefore assume that the person addressed can fill in all the blanks omitted.

Take the case of dropping a glass of water. The glass shatters. WHY? EXPLAIN! The question is probably not what an adult would ask: what was it about the glass or the floor which shattered the glass. Was the glass empty, half full, full? Was the floor carpeted? Wood? Cement? Were my hands wet, greasy? Was I inebriated, or do I suffer from palsy? None of this information would be helpful to the child! Say “the glass was wet and slippery” — it may be sufficient. Now wait for the next “why”! It will however be a different question — the continuation of a social encounter.

No Free Ride to Certainty

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Earlier I wrote (Nov. 2013) that,

“Science should not be likened to a bound hard-cover volume, a collection of unchallengeable, incontrovertible truths. It is more like a loose-leaf folder in which our latest insights into nature, into aspects of ourselves and the accumulated wisdom of past learning are stored.”

The implication: science is more like a soft-cover book. A better analogy would be that science has the features of a loose-leaf file which is appropriately date stamped on every page. Its pages can be removed — but not trivially discarded. Continuity is an important factor in understanding!

What I therefore reject is the notion that a record of what we see has especial epistemic validity. Rather, it is a moveable decision that a “claim of particulars ” has been registered; may be only one of an evolving series. Such a claim is in a position to be challenged, and can continue to being challenged for ever and a day. It is a falsifiable hypothesis which could be overturned by a single negative instance. It cannot be reinstated except by re-writing the “terms of particulars”, as when we change the claim “all swans are white” and replace it with “except those (many) which originated in Australasia”.

“Seeing” here refers to a preferred method of personally checking the status of our claim. Reading a dial, or confirming by noting the change of a beep emitted regularly by an auditory monitor, i.e. hearing, is an alternative method. It is not seeing — the visual act — that leads to believing, but it is the testing of a hypothesis which is critical, no matter how done.

There are many other things which could be done to falsify a hypothesis, although we often let some position die through neglect and then no longer defend it. Hypotheses can become trivialized, and lose their interest and sway over us. For example, a dark, black area in the sky is not “empty space” to an astronomer. He may only see black areas — as do others — but these are not necessarily signs of emptiness! The microbiologists is in a comparable position: he may not see anything — but may add that this may be due to the weakness of the current microscope, then get another or invent a new one.

But what is at peril is the idea that belief is based on experience and furthermore that experience does not lie but is sacrosanct. Experience — note — is our way of expressing the idea that our specific claims have risen beyond reasonable doubt. It is however itself a claim, has to be viewed as such and therefore what we see can be doubted.

Nota bene: There is no free ride to certainty. Each of us has to learn how to maintain doubt during our most perilous moments.

The Writing of History

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Writers write for audiences which are presumably well defined in their minds. Their manuscripts are narratives addressed to their imaginary circle of friends and admirers who they entertain and cajole by the twists and turns of their extended tales.

Historians, on the other hand, have three audiences, and they address their comments to each in turn.

historians

First, each historian speaks to his predecessors, corrects them where deemed necessary because of their inadvertent exclusions or misinterpretations. If exclusions were “inexcusable” because the data was readily available to them with a little additional effort, it is likely that the culprit will receive a shellacking and be condemned. More often, however, exclusions are due to the stark fact that new data appeared and filled in details previously missing, rather than force continuity upon earlier writers who had relied on their historical imagination, who substituted conjecture for missing data.

The second audience of a historian are his/her contemporaries, many of whom are assumed to be already familiar with the episodes to be discussed or the main characters of the narratives. Often it happens that the themes discussed are “modish”, are driven by contemporary problems. What roles did “spies” play in earlier periods? Did they exist at all and what credence was placed on their testimonies? Recently there has been a spate of books and television programmes on Henry VIII and his chequered times, yet few readers or viewers will be familiar with the life and times of many of its “minor” characters, including its spies, who nevertheless contributed to the “story-line”. Christopher Marlow, Antony Bacon or Sir Francis Walsingham were all actors engaged in spying, but the first two had minor parts whereas Walsingham was prominent as a defender of Protestantism and of English/Scottish independence from European hegemony, and had his “men” placed in several capitals of Europe.

The third audience a historian has in mind when writing is less palpable: unborn generations of readers who view their received legacy through the eyes of past writers of note. The historian see himself/herself as someone who may influence the future by providing an interpretation and a record of this past. Their influence may be minor or, on the model of Gibbons amongst others, be writers of considerable significance. It may be short-term effect — as in the case of H.G. Wells — or long-term, as Julius Caesar or Cicero have been. Generations of British leaders were schooled in both these classical authors during their school-days and as university students.

I am sure some writers do not recognize themselves as aspiring to such lofty heights but view themselves as journeymen, not prophets. All honour to such writers and purveyors of “truths”. Let us agree, furthermore, that historians are ill-advised to see themselves as politicians, as influencing by their writings or teaching the distant future, except indirectly. For the truth is that historians are ill suited to that task and — generally speaking — they are more honourable in their intent than most politicians. The interpretation of the past may influence our future actions as individuals or as communities, but how this plays out remains a puzzle and is best left to future historians to discern for each historical period.

Rigid Definitions and Rigid Description

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Words appear as spoken by people and as transcripts of a spoken word. A printed book is a transcript, as is a digital recording or synthesized speech! I shall focus exclusively on transcripts of the spoken word and specifically on English texts.

If W is a word, the rule appears to be that W may have at least two manifestations: (1) it is sounded in a certain way and (2) it is used in different ways on different occasions. If a word has multiple uses it follows that is has several definitions and some — if not all — should be registered in a common dictionary. A dictionary however is not expected by its users to exhaust how a word is used, or has been used — or how it will be used in. Dictionaries are very modish.

What a dictionary most often does is to list how a word is currently used. I invariably look up the dictionary’s date of publication and when it was last revised. “Currently” indicates that the uses cited refer to the use on the date of publication. It therefore has explicit historical parameters: by whom, when, where, and under what range of circumstances the word is likely to be used! Most dictionaries do not do so, but assume that the user does their homework and fills in the missing blanks! “Likely” tells us that the editors/compilers of the dictionary cannot be sure that they have identified all the current uses of a word. Fair enough — let readers and users be warned. They should not conclude that all that could be said about a word has being said within the covers of the dictionary consulted.

A dictionary lists words and their possible use in a possible world but it does not deal with the nature of the possible world itself. It describes (sort of!) how others tend to use a word or expression. Dictionaries are not handbooks on cosmology. Each dictionary also “dates” the usages of the words it has assembled. This is done by including in the exposition different uses of the words at different periods but also by its date of publication. Few people refer to the latter!

A dictionary does not usually state whether the definiens is a description of a phenomenon as well as an explication of the term being defined. The definiens is therefore neither a causal nor a phenomenological analysis of a word or a concept. The compilers are not legislators who intend or are empowered to prescribe how a word is to be used, or proscribe its uses although their editorial actions may have the unintended consequence of laying down in many minds what the “proper” use of a word is. Let the user therefore beware! He/she is not bound by the definition offered: it is only a recommendation. However the compilers may feel obliged to emphasize what is currently in widespread use and thereby indirectly promote and reinforce an existing social preference.

But if the definiens is neither a causal or a phenomenological analysis of a term or concept, what constitutes a causal or phenomenological analysis? Both of these are concepts belong to a different order of events and do not take the form …= df … but, propose, take the form … = xp… The symbol *xp* is new and will be clarified below!

Clarification of *xp* — a new symbol

The symbol *xp* is short for *explicate*, that is, to clarify something referred to. It is sometimes used as an alternative for *explain* but that is not how I propose to use it. Rather, I propose to restrict *explicate* to the idea of giving a logical analysis of something.

Now it is in the nature of the case that whenever one offers to explicate something, defined as developing the implication of an idea, to analyze it logically, one does so by drawing an invisible curtain around it and stating — in some manner — that of all possible things that can be meant by the idea, one wishes to clarify a particular meaning, aspect or interpretation of it. One assumes that the term has multiple meanings, and one lays these out as best one can. Although one is free to offer more than one analysis of a term, this option is usually rejected and the effort is focussed on only one.

This is a mistake: all options should be on the table before one explictly favours one and rejects others. Rejection does not mean “incorrect”, but “not favoured now, within the context of the present discussion.”

We will use X as the symbol for what is being explicated
and
XP as the set of statements submitted in explication.

XP may refer to “conditionality”, or refer to a condition of use, but it may also be mainly descriptive. The latter refers to the idea that one can talk about an event by describing it in various degrees of details.

Take a scene like the arrival of a steam locomotive drawing a set of carriages into a small local railway station. The year is 1899! There is no doubt that ideally one would submit a set of photographs to depict the scene. Each viewer is then free to translate what he/she sees into words. Some may submit florid descriptions; others may use sparse and few sentences. Provided each also includes the name of the railways station we can be more or less sure that they are describing the same scene. It does not mean that everything that can be said about the matter has been or will be submitted!

Therefore XP does not exhaust X: it clarifies but does not give exhaustive descriptions! Furthermore, XP does not (and therefore is not designed) to create a rigid definition (in the sense discussed by Kripke (1980) and others (see Laporte, 2012 in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). On the contrary, X remains open, pliable, although it has been limited to some degree by the explication, XP, given. So we need to distinguish between a definition of a term and a description of what it could cover. It is not difficult.

In a definition we start with a word which is unknown to us, whose use is therefore unfamiliar or which is ambiguous to us. We therefore ask someone to gives us a definition, a statement to tell us how this word is used by its speakers. The sign =xp therefore indicates that we are dealing with a clarification, not an equivalence.

One can give different clarifications and therefore treat the set of these clarifying statements as “more or less equivalents”! This explains why the same word is given different definitions in different dictionaries without causing a general strike amongst dictionary users.

A description, on the other hand, refers to any effort to state in words and sentences what some person has seen (experienced) about an event he/she witnessed or has knowledge of. Descriptions come in different degrees of details and authenticity. If I report what several of my friends have told me about an accident in Mulberry Street which occurred some time ago in Fort Myers, the credibility of my report will be quite low, whereas if I added that I had witnessed the scene myself in part, the report might be given slightly more credence!

So descriptions are rated (usually silently) by using mostly implicit criteria to gauge their credibility. This is quite unlike what happens to definitions. I have previously suggested that we dimensionalize descriptions by talking about their rigidity: accordingly, a detailed description is also rigid, or becomes increasingly rigid. This rigidity also makes it easier to contest against competing accounts of what happened in Mulberry Street.

In so far as XP is time-bound (historically restricted) it is part of an effort to create (by an unknown group of individuals!) a particular universe, a wished-for closed system which portraits a possible universe, but not the only universe! Even if we make the dictatorial move to declare that this Universe which is being described is the final universe, we acknowledges that “final” is one of a finite series with antecedents. It could therefore have additional successors — it is possible. See also Steven Weinberg’s illuminating discussion of this and related issues in To Explain the World” (Harper, 2015) and his earlier Dreams of a Final Theory: the scientists’s search for the ultimate laws of nature (sic!) (Vintage, 1993).

More on Rigid Definitions and Rigid Descriptions

A rigid definition — not to be confused with a rigid descriptions (Kripke, 1980) — stands in contrast to a fluid or porous definition. A definition is rigid when the words that defines another word (or expression) — the definiens — is designed to be unique and therefore cannot be substituted by other words. Does this happen? Indeed, quite often and increasingly so because our language contains many more “technical”, “scientific”, “modish” or “proprietary words”, i.e. names of patented processes or of legally protected products than, say, 25 years ago.

However, we often overstep the bounds of legal use and employ technical terms in a nontechnical manner. Users, when they do so use silent, invisible quotation marks to indicate that words have more than one meaning or reference. This effectively undermines rigid definitions. No matter: the consistent effect of rigid definitions is to limit — but also to impoverish — a language immeasurably. Language probably emerged as a within-group behavioural device which effectively permitted a group to communicate their “mood” about the safety of their immediate habitat and only later became an adjunct to “grooming behavior, a means for in-group consolidation. (This is of course pure speculation !!!)

To insist on rigid definitions is like extracting all teeth instead of undertaking a measured pace of saving what needs preservation and leaving well enough alone. The pain, discomfort and loss of function is most likely far too expensive, too much to pay for the accrued benefits.

In any case, we are not in danger of dumping our current language habits in favour of a total makeover, as was once proposed, although one should remember that such was advocated for almost 70 years by many philosophers of science throughout the last century, by many who identified themselves as members of the Vienna Circle, or Logical Positivists or Logical Empiricists (e.g.Bertrand Russel). Wittgenstein, one of the earliest advocates of this position renounced it within ten years of publishing his Tractatus Logico Philosophicus (1921) which had explored the consequences of applying the strict methods of empiricism to the language of science. Instead he advocated that we overcome misunderstandings induced by loose language habits, by resorting to a more careful analysis of how we use language in different settings. This agenda involved drawing implicit demarcation lines between different uses and functions of language.

The work of Karl Buhler(1867-1963), sometime professor of psychology in Vienna in the early 20th century was critically important in the next step of moving from a monistic position regarding the role of language in human affairs by viewing it as a multifunctional activity. He viewed language as having three roles: an expressive function, a representative function and a conative function (in the sense of “motivation”). Only the second of these had been addressed by philosophers of science (e.g. E. Mach), namely its representational (referential) role.

Buhler’s students included the philosopher Karl Popper and the founder of ethology, the biologist Konrad Lorenz, but it was the former whose influential views on the nature of the scientific enterprise had a profound influence on the relation between the acts of discovery and the emergence of theories about how discoveries become integrated to generate and form a succession of falsifiable hypotheses and “theories” about the wider universe, i.e. cosmologies. He did not address questions about the expressive or conactive functions of language. In retrospect in appears that K. Lorenz and his group of animal behavioral analysts (also known later as “ethologists”) were primarily interested in viewing within and inter-species communication as attributes whereby a species facilitated its survival.

Philosophers of science, generally speaking, have focussed on the second role of language listed by Buhler, how it serves to represent cognitive experiences. One should not overlook that every formulation of ideas — which ultimately finds expression in a language and mathematics — and which the representational function of language develops quite slowly, tediously, and depends initially on borrowing from the position of others (from fellow “citizens”) about what they themselves are due to experience. It is comparable to an 8-year-old child being asked to look through a microscope for the first time and told what he/she is about to see if it guides its sights in certain prescribed ways! Without such guidance most would see very little as they stare through the lenses!

And how is this guidance done? By “instructions’ which are easily understood because these rely on a lot of previous experience of being guided to a correct — often rewarding — outcome. So discoveries often — but not only — take place in an environment which includes some form of language and ipso facto occurs within a cultural context. Monkeys — and others — alert each other, their group, by shrieking, wailing, screeching — but do not give a careful description of the intruders they have sighted and presumable their fear — whereas humans do so with considerable panache!

In summary: If all our words were subject to rigid definitions we would need to increase our current treasury of words enormously, but we would also lose our ability to express our flights of fancy in words. We know much about “flights of fancy” in humans — but have reasons to be skeptical whether this occurs with equal frequency or élan in dogs, cats, or lice.

The notion of “incomplete descriptions” acknowledges that whatever particular description is available, could perhaps be bettered, improved upon, extended, or could be added to. The understanding is that should this happens it would not radically alter the “story” of the event or its narrative features. Thus it may not be materially relevant what colour the hats and dresses of the persons involved in the accident were since accidents are commonly defined by injuries sustained by those involved, not the damage to their clothes!

One could argue that not all definitions exhaust the meaning of the word which is being defined, but — one the contrary — it is rare to find such exhaustive definition. We chose an easier way. Our objective is to identify salient features of a situation or an object.

This argument is based on a widespread approach that the function of communication is to outline essential features of a situation, not to give a minute description of one’s personal experience to others. If details are missing, people will demand that such errors of omission are rectified! In most situations the opposite is true: if one loads a description with details which others believe — rightly or wrongly — to be excessive, the chances are that our report will be overlooked in favour of those which are more pointed and brief. It is the listener who decides whether the information is sufficient. One is best served by using tools suited to a task!

One could add that if words are meant to have distinct, unique referents — a common approach to object-words — then it is possible that several of the words in use refer to the same objects, and are therefore redundant. Question: does every distinctive phenomena have to have, or should have, a distinct, separate label, a name? What is the relation between naming a phenomenon and the phenomenon? Are labels independent of the phenomenon?

Admittedly there are cases where it is highly desirable that an object or situation carries a singular name. Example: we use a variety of devices which measure time, and we have have invented a string of labels for these,e.g.water-clocks, spring-clocks, atomic-clocks etc. There are also designations which focus on other characteristics: pocket watches, grandfather clocks, kitchen clocks, etc. It is perfectly reasonable to ask whether a particular kitchen clock is electrically operated, a wind-up device (spring driven), a pendulum device etc. Everyone involved has agreed from the outset that it is reasonable to ask such questions — and also other questions — without necessarily knowing why each question is being raised. We say “Such questions may be pertinent but are also appropriate under some circumstances”. These questions are a way of averting the alternative — horrible thought — that a description must contain and include from the outset the kernels of all questions that could arise about the object/event!

In general, scientists prefer to label all “known” objects and phenomena and they do so under the impression that the name will continue to be “proprietary”, limited to that object or class of objects. Historically, this is not what happens. Names of objects have a tendency to migrate, grow in the realm of application before these wander into adjacent territory and finally prove of limited use to their “sponsors”. There are exceptions — but these are few. I doubt whether the name of a chemical compound would get co-opted as the name of generic product — but it could happen.

Restricted Definitions

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Generally speaking, we refer to definitions when we wish to assign a particular, unique meaning or interpretation to a word. However, words appear in sentences and their meaning is conveyed in three ways: (1) by the definition, as given in one of the many dictionaries available to us; definitions usually vary from dictionary to dictionary; (2) by the specified context in which the target word appears; (3) by the general context when it is used, the inarticulated situation.

The difference between (2) and (3) is straightforward: take for example the word *animal*. If one is discussing animals in a zoo — a specific context — most creatures not on display in cages or enclosures are excluded. Here the term *animal* has a restricted meaning so that insects, vermin, fish would be excluded. If one refers to snakes in an aquarium it is safe to assume — but not certain — that talk is about water-snakes. A general context (3) refers to no specific habitat but a context is assumed, so that one could be talking about land or water snakes.

This blog contrasts two kinds of definitions: those which equate a term with its definiens, and those which propose areas of use.

A definition is not a description in the normal sense, but clarifies how a word — even a stream of related words — are used in everyday contexts. However, some dictionaries will also include definitions of terms which are not the ones currently circulating but add a note that this use of the word is archaic and rarely used. In doing so, the editor(s) acknowledge that uses change over time and, furthermore, that a word’s relationship to other words and the ideas these represent changes. It appears to be a very fluid situation: I propose to refer to this fluidity as “porousness” and therefore speak about porous definitions.

In special areas of interest — like Physics — some terms originate in ordinary language (*force* or *attraction*) whereas others were created to put a name to a discovered phenomenon. Contemporary physics has many examples, like *neutrino*, which Wikipedia states is, “A neutrino, a lepton, an elementary particle with half-integer spin, that interacts via only the weak subatomic force and gravity. The mass of the neutrino is tiny compared to other subatomic particles.”

This not the usual definition found in a dictionary but represents a mixture of a definition and a clarification. It is not at all porous, but firm as steel. There is nothing comparable in our — or any other — language: indeed, the definition for “neutrino” is valid for all languages! It is the prototype of a restricted definition. I cannot imagine how a restricted definition can be used in any other but its literal sense, where the definiens exhausts the meaning of the target word. Thus a sentences which contains the phrase “neutrino-like” would be an attempt only to expand the restricted definition — to break the bond — but it is difficult to see what this would mean, what feature of a neutrino as originally defined would be extracted and assigned to a different (new) phenomenon.

It is therefore useful to distinguish between terms which can — or are — given definitions that are meant to be used in specific cases only — which are deliberatively contrived and therefore have limited applications and are restricted- and definitions which are not steadfast in meaning but are what I describe as porous. Included would be words like *bridge*, which can refer to a structure built across a chasm, but which also means to step over two issues, may refer to the structure of a nose, refers to a reconciliation between two fractious parties and also is the name of a card-game which allows a partnership between two of four players.

Restricted definitions are widely used in technical fields and by scientists when they refer to their own domain of study. These groups develop an in-house set of terms and expressions which are often incomprehensible to outsiders. This barrier to understanding is not necessarily planned. People learn early that they operate in a multifaceted society where expressions are not only descriptive of a situation but often reflect the mood of a group. If one is not a member of such a group the discussion may pass without ruffling any feathers.

Words may have colour and get chosen to bias a scene. When this occurs, *generally used* is a reference to social customs which are — by definition — constricted to a group; it therefore is a social statistic.

This could be stated in terms of what people of a particular social group usually do with words and sentences in a given, specifiable, set of circumstances. A person who addresses others by “peace be with you” does not necessarily mean what he/she says: they may, in truth, be wishing you dead! In short, words do not necessarily mean what they say.

In live situations one puts two and two together: listens to the words, identifies them, observes how these are being used in a context, and uses other clues to interpret what the speaker really meant. If the other person is “flashing their eyes” and also reaches for their pistol, one is likely to accept the greeting “peace be with you” as displaying an aggressive, hostile greeting: one takes appropriate precautions.

Definitions as listed in a dictionary therefore need to be viewed with skepticism. The listed definition is a guide, not a legislative act. It indicates the possible use of a term, perhaps even a widespread use, but not necessarily the only, exclusive one.

There are many exceptions to this rule: specifically definitions of terms used in a particular branch of science, technology or in a professional sphere, like Canon or Criminal Law, which may be intended for use in an idiosyncratic limited manner and which occur by common agreement of those using it. Inevitably this use is meant to be exclusive, singular, and therefore is often incorrectly employed by outsiders but also by insiders who should know better!

Words, and expressions are produced by men, women and children in specific circumstances, most often willfully, with intent, not haphazardly. Few people adopt the view that a word must mean what they want it to mean. They follow custom (although poets have license to break customs) and when in doubt look up the word or expression in a reputable dictionary or Thesaurus.

There are exceptions primarily by those totally new to a language. Words, we say, have meaning. These are sounds which refer or point to events that may have nothing to do with the quality of sounds uttered. Thus words and a sentences constructed from words may be viewed as codes to inform others about states of affairs, and this may apply to the state of the individual or to impersonal, external, events.

We furthermore identify whether the information may be trivial, like “you have just stepped on a beetle,” or life-threatening like ”You have just stepped on a boa constrictor.” The expressions or sentences get part of their meaning from the circumstances under which these are uttered, although the circumstances are not part of the definition of the terms. Thus the meaning of a word depends on several circumstances so that a definition — as it appears in a reputable dictionary — should be viewed as a declaration about how the word could, or may be used; it is not prescriptive, only suggestive — and discretionary.

Finally, let me comment on the difference between (1) a restricted and porous definition and (2) the notion of a rigid designation, an idea we owe to the contemporary philosopher Saul Kripke (b. 1940) (see his Naming and Necessity, Harvard University, 1980). The idea of rigid designation has been discussed by several philosophers/logicians in discussions about “possible worlds”, not worlds as claimed to exist. The basic assumption generally made throughout history is that there is one real world and that we gain access to it by following strict procedural rules. This assumption found its most ardent expression in the work of Aristotle who argued that empirical research will reveal the “nature of things,” namely those features of something — an object or event — which were essential to it and those which are only added qualities.

So an object had two sets of features or qualities: those which were indigenous to it, its essences — which cannot be stripped from it without depriving its of its identity — and those that are ornamental,or contingent. As investigators we are therefore assigned two tasks: to identify the essence of each species of things and thereafter to classify to which broader category it belonged.

The Aristotelean approach and its method of searching for knowledge, although strongly and traditionally supported by Christian scholars, was forced into a compromise during the 16th century by technological discoveries which suggested that earlier procedures were not only capable of improving observational methods but could result in discoveries which were incompatible with the picture of the universe developed by previous generations. It could produce a “paradigm shifts” as described by T. Kuhn in the 1960s.

The most stunning example of this took place 30 years earlier with Einstein’s relativity theory, and before that when Darwin postulated that life forms on our planet had developed over several million years in an orderly manner according to some rules many of which had yet to be discovered. Structuralization was not a firm rule, as postulated by Aristotle, but was something which happened according to rules yet to be discovered, not a force acting upon nature but part of nature itself.

The end of the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century hammered home the idea we have to relinquish the old idea that *discovery* referred to unearthing treasures, like broken urns in the desert sand lying hidden somewhere below the surface, and to replace this with the notion that structure itself comes about, emerges and develops in a seemingly endless series, a process. And the orientation this discovery produced was the idea that there was not only one world, but that there are many, each being viewed as the best conjecture of a possible world. Thus a particular term could feature in several possible worlds, but in each case it involved a shift in its meaning.

There was, therefore, a place for rigid definitions of terms, provided these were confined to one possible world. Once defined such words could not transfer to another world without infringing its earlier rule of use.

On Collage: Valid Assumption and Post Hoc Analyses

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In March 2015 I published a short note on Collage which introduced a term taken from the French, and suggested it deserves a place in Philosophy. I now add several additional notes, each of which explores this concept further and suggests how it may be used in discussing some philosophical issues. I have tried to write each note to be read and understood independently of others in the set. My thoughts about Collage developed gradually and this may have contributed to their piecemeal, stop—go/go—stop character. Please therefore read each section as if it was self—sufficient.

We make assumptions about many matters daily, but because these vary in credibility only some appear to need justification. Some assumptions appear bizarre and beyond justification. Others appear worth making but rather by others than oneself. So there is a wide spectrum — why, then, debate the issue at all?

What is a “valid assumption,” anyhow? Do I proceed to check out whether assumptions — which of those made — should be examined critically, and carefully, and appraised against some generally accepted criteria? Furthermore, how do I check out my assumptions against yours? We need consensus on such issues.

To take an example: if you and I decide to buy a walking-stick we have several options before we buy. Each of us visits a shop, selects a stick to our liking, assessing whether it is suitable, attractive, and the right height, and whether its hand-piece feels comfortable. You, perhaps, prefer turned wooden sticks, I prefer plain metal ones. But the shop has only one wooden walking stick and a number of acrylic ones. We each select a stick by applying our criteria to the available stock: you get your turned wooden stick, but I choose an acrylic.

Some other person, Jane Jones say, may now comment, when she sees us walking through the park, that the difference in walking sticks is not arbitrary but reflects our judgement, our styles, our tastes! She is making assumptions going beyond what she sees and speculates about the dynamics of choice. She may assume that I prefer acrylic sticks, or that our spouses selected them for us. But these assumptions would be incorrect.

Jane Jones’ experience is typical of what happens to most of us. She observed us correctly, but made incorrect assumptions about the reasons for what she observed. She supplied a reason for the occurrence of an event — and misdiagnosed the situation but fortunately there were no harmful consequences.

What Jane Jones attempted to do was to create a narrative for what she saw. This narrative consisted of an analysis which included a network of reasons of what-went-with-what. It was built on a primary deep assumption that there were causal connections between different aspects of what she saw. The causes themselves were interwoven, carried different weights. She assumed for instance that both I and my friend were carrying sticks which reflected our tastes, but in fact the truth was not well served by her assumption. There have been occasions in the past where she identified workable assumptions, but like others, she has shifted from making good assumptions to ones that are unjustified.

Our wishes in the matter — which were not made explicit and therefore unknown to Jane — were not fulfilled because the store was ill stocked with this commodity! Jane Jones could have created a narrative which could have included (a) the possibility that each of us had a choice to make in the store; (b) that the options to satisfy our choices were realizable; (c) that each acted on their choice and purchased the stick of his choice! But, in this case (b) was totally incorrect and the narrative collapsed.

Jane Jones’ assumptions would have been justified but for (b). A post-hoc analysis is required to create the correct narrative of what was observed in the park. However every post-hoc analysis involves a set of hypotheses whose correctness could in principle be established. *Correctness* assesses whether a description is sufficient for present needs. It is possible that we face several different versions of a situation; we need not determine which are true and which are false, but simply select one of these as adequate. A post-hoc analysis may identify several hypotheses which may not be verifiable: the case may therefore remain open, and should not be summarily dismissed.

Statements, Meaning, and Analogies

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Statement A: The river has crested.

Statement B: The river has reached its highest point.

river-combBoth statements describe the condition of a river. The two statements appear to say the same thing, and therefore — it is claimed — have the same meaning. Even if it is not true that these are equivalent — in statement A, the river may yet run higher, contrary to what is said in statement B — it may be claimed that A is equivalent to B, and vice versa. It is a question of meaning.

In other words, it may be claimed that statements A and B refer to the same situation. As philosophers and commentators, are we required to resolve this issue,? Do we need to ask “what is the difference between reference and meaning”?

I would argue that statements A and B converge in meaning, but also emphasize that this does not make them necessarily equivalent

First, the meaning of each statement depends on the context of its use. Consequently if the context changes, so does the meaning of each statement.

Second, the two statements, when enountered in certain contexts, have a hierarchical relationship to each another. One is more abstract, inclusive, than the other: it is something which has to be evaluated.

In the second case, statement B is an empirical statement, so that the data is determined in a different sense than in statement A. Both meanings are data-determined but in different ways. Each says something different. Statement B is related to data is a more “fundamental” way than statement A, which is mostly analogical. This needs to be clarified (see below).

When I refer to data, I suggest of course that regardless of how things were described, we would most likely agree that there is a phenomenon we are all aware of which is what is being talked about, and that this phenomenon can be identified and mensurated in a manner which allows us to determine properties reflected in both A and B.

To say “the river has crested” is clearly analogical. *Crested* derives from French and refers to (among other things) the comb of a rooster. It refers to form rather than to a (linear) measure and only indirectly refers to how this can be measured. By contrast, B is a reference to some previously adopted perception of scale against which it is being compared. In this sense, statement B is more fundamental. One could also argue that statement A is more abstract than B, that to refer to the river has crested in not only analogical but also represents a more general case and also is more difficult to gainsay.

Conclusion: an analogy represents an attempt to state a current experience (event) as a case of a more general event. In this sense analogies are theoretical. Thus, to assert that A is like B — the form of an analogy — is to construct a theoretical proposition whose falsification becomes increasingly more difficult the more analogical it is.

Analogies like statement A represent our efforts to increasing the stability of our world in the face of experiential diversity and in that sense, analogies have signifiant heuristic value: they reduce variability, change, diversity. One can question the value of a particular analogy, but this in itself in not a test of an implied theory.

In retrospect, the history of human knowledge suggests that we forever seek analogies in the hope that the one chosen is more appropriate than earlier ones, and that the one chosen now will assist us better in unifying the increasing diversity of our experiences of our world.

The Case of Humpty Dumpty’s Singular Use of Words

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“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master — that’s all.”

Both Alice and Humpty Dumpty have a strong case. Alice is justified in her complaint that words can and indeed often do mean many different things and that this can be most confusing — and can be injurious. More confusing to some than others. There are those who simply cannot cope with confusion. Psychologists have referred to this as the fear of ambiguity. Like other fears it terrifies and often paralyzes people.

Consequently there are those who try to use words and sentences in a way which reduces ambiguity for no other reason that they wish to be clearly understood by others and that they want to understand what others are saying,i.e. interpreting messages correctly. Often such messages are trivial, but what if in fact such messages are of utmost importance? As in, “Call 911! Your house is on fire!”

Humpty Dumpty’s proposal that words are assigned a restricted meaning by fiat — “it means what I wish it to mean” — would result in an the construction of an endless dictionary. Everyone would then have the right — even obligation — to usurp the meaning of a word which already exists and entered into their idiosyncratic dictionary! We would be forced to live in a world of neologisms and would need also need all the sounds we could produce with our versatile larynx to cover our needs to communicate our thoughts to others! Babylon will have come to pass. Existing languages would be wiped out! An unimaginable event. Just imagine the effect on our dictionaries.

The alternative to this bizarre doomsday scenario would be to deplete our vocabulary as far as possible,to whittle it down to the smallest number of items. Isn’t this familiar? Basic English was once favoured by one of the finest exponents of current English, Winston Churchill. Rewrite Shkespeare even Jane Austen into B.E. and translate Tolstoy also!

But the current trend is actually diametrically opposed: we actually need more and more words to name things and to identify the many new items we have introduced into the world; the many new objects we have discovered or designed and manufactured; to mark novel events which form our personal and public experience and which help us to identify new norms; as well as the multitude of new ideas we have developed.

There are many people, dead and alive, who share my name — but I reckon few who also carry my initials, H.M.B. — and fewer, if any, who also share my birthday and birth year. These are all markers of my identity. So using this method, Humpty Dumpty’s complaint could be taken care of, simply by embellishing existing words, by adding descriptions when appropriate or desirable, or by giving each set of words a contexts.

We do this already: “Yonder horse” is not any old mare, but a particular horse, perhaps the horse standing on the meadows nibbling grass, or kicking its heels. In this case *yonder* is not an object description, but one that identifies the horse by its context, rather than by such unique peculiarities as as the length of its mane.

But I appear to have urged a tedious solution. If either Alice or Humpty Dumpty remain concerned that their use of a word may be misunderstood, they could hang out a warning sign: “This word is in my lexicon — but may not be in yours” — let’s say “ML” for short. It would distinguish this word from “this word is in our dictionary,” or “OD.”

“ML” refers to words which already exist in some language but which are also used in the lexicon which contains all the words I use — and understand — and which adds to each what I mean by the term. “OD” permits words to be used in a variety of ways and even encourages and promotes ambiguity, as is demonstrated by the number of homonyms cited in the average sized dictionary. (Note: they all cite homonyms, a confession that words have multiple meanings, and that they are ambiguous.)

Usually a competent dictionary insists that there context must be considered — something which restricts how the word listed is to be used. It represents a form of learning which can even be demonstrated by the rat and certainly by many birds. Why not then by little bright middle class girls — and even by other Humpty Dumpties, on or off the wall? Each would be perfectly competent to learn how to use a word in different contexts without getting into a state of total confusion or self—centredness.

Some learn this with little training. There are always exceptions even to this rule. By the way — how many Humpty Dumpties are there?

Associative Nets

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I am most grateful to Brian Kennedy for his detailed and insightful reply to my earlier blog Are there infallible facts. I’ve already followed up with the response Empirical vs. Ex Cathedra Solutions. Here is a second follow-up, selecting other points made by Brian, which certainly have taken the discussion beyond the limits of my earlier piece.

Brian pointed out that I had “exposed… that the noun *claims* is (often) subjected to more weight than it can bear”, but he also rightly pointed out that this is quite common in everyday language. He also makes the valuable point that ordinarily words reach over to connected with others, as when the term *claim* is associated with claimants, liabilities, and assets (especially in a legal context), although it is quite acceptable and common to use each of these terms without making explicit reference to any of these. Elsewhere — and more recently — I referred to this as cases where words are part of an associative-net.

brain-netWe can, for example, ask others to “free associate” by giving a starter-word only and asking someone to come up with as many words as possible for the next few minutes. In many cases the string of words each person presents during such serial association have significant overlaps. Wittgenstein talked about this phenomenon as terms having a “family resemblance”. It underscores that words or phrases should NOT be viewed in the manner suggested earlier, as independent items — a view proposed, for example, by an earlier Wittgenstein (c.1921, the author of the Tractatus) and also by members of the Vienna Circle (later knows as Logical Positivists), but that words reaches out to others, as it were (see Wittgenstein post-1940).

For example, we understand that *claim* as used by lawyers and accountants is viewed as something owed (liability) or owned (asset). Furthermore that where there is a claim there is also a claimant, a party making such a claim, whether as an individual or a group of people. Thus there have been two greatly opposed positions. One states that each word should be viewed as a separate, independent event, an item which is clearly demarcated from others. The second position argues that words, in general, are members of families, have resemblances and acted on behalf of other members of their family. A useful analogy to those of us who have families!

I generally take the position that in ordinary language we are best advised to assume the “family resemblance” stance. Most referential words and phrases follow the prescription that there is more than one meaning to a words and/or phrase, as demonstrates most clearly in any etymological dictionary, or in Roget’s Thesaurus. In current-day formal sciences, however, the rule is that each word or phrase should have a rigid definition (although this rule is often broken within a relatively short time). These two rules clearly conflict. But it is like a tennis player on a badminton court: he either has already learned separate sets of rules and uses these appropriately, as the occasion demands or, if he fails to do so, he will surely be asked to leave the court by some imperious judge!

Let us briefly look at a family of adverb-adjectives which are often reified and which thereby get transformed during this process. Thus *truly*, *true* and *truth* (see example 1 below) represents such a family: these items have family resemblance, i.e., they are related in meaning, but have different grammatical status. However *truth* — the third of these — overarches, literarily speaking: it is an abstract entity relative to the other two terms, and “sits above” them, as it were.

Example 1
Item: truly, true, truth
Over-arching: truth

Example 2
Item: factually, factual, fact
Over-arching: factuality

The further examples that follow are similar but include terms often used in philosophical discussions and are “noun-words”, which appear as if these are names of objects — which they are not.

  • really, real, reality
  • necessarily, necessary, necessity
  • logically, logical, logic
  • infallibly, infallible, infallibility

Why say, “facts [as items] are claims to truth [in the over-arching sense]”? Why not say instead, “truths [items] are claims to factuality [over-arching]”?

How is the *facts/factuality* cluster to be distinguished from the *truths/truthfulness* cluster? Which of these two clusters (if either) is logically/definitionally dependent on the other? In what do these dependencies consist? Do these two clusters constitute a distinction without a difference?

Furthermore, whatever a decision is reached in these matters, one should remember that these have a limited time during which they operate reliably. Our efforts to catch the world as “experienced”, on the fly, is a game with rules that we now know changes as we play.*

*Imagine playing a set of tennis during which the rules change! This has mattered little in the past, when games were long and players generally speaking did not outlast the set, as they do now. And don’t let’s even get started in games which we believe will continue “for all time.”