Peter Cave

Certain paradoxes set us reeling endlessly. In surprise examination paradoxes, pupils' reasonings lead them to reel between expecting an examination and expecting none. With Newcomb's puzzle, choosers reel between reasoning in favour of choosing just one box and choosing two. The paradoxes demand an answer to what it is rational to believe or do. Highlighting other reelings and puzzles, this paper shows that the paradoxes should come as no surprise. The paradoxes demand an end to our reasoning when the conditions they set ensure no end. They equivocate between, so to speak, reasoning in heaven and reasoning on earth; and, on the conditions set, not even an infinite god could reach a conclusion.

How do you know that you exist? What does it mean to have a future? Are you the same thing as your brain? What does it mean to be free? How can you know what knowledge is? A woman was advising her anguished friend, 'Be philosophical - then you won't need to think about it.' Well, being philosophical is sometimes taken to mean that you should adopt a resigned attitude to the world - a quiet-ism - but the study that is western philosophy, starting with the ancient Greeks and continuing today in universities, bars and cafes - even bedrooms - is far from quiet. Philosophers think - but not just that, for they think about thinking and they think about how we think about the world, about how we conceive of ourselves, about how we possess a sense of right and wrong, about how we find meaning in life (if we do). How to Think Like a Bat might not help you to think like a bat, but it will certainly help you to think like a philosopher. Smart, witty and engaging, this is a superb introduction to the subject by one of Britain's most engaging philosophical writers.

Successful jokes involve incongruities, but not any incongruity will do—not, for example, one as blatantly bare as an explicit instance of the form p.~p. Substitution in such is no secure generator of fun; and stand-up comedians would be lucky to escape with their lives, if—at the Glasgow Empire on a Saturday night—they delivered one-liners such as “She came from Dungeness and not from Dungeness.” Build-up context, alcohol level, and delivery skills—and it is not impossible that any line, even the p.~p instance, could secure some laughs; but laughs alone need indicate no joke. At a level virtually platitudinous, jokes require an incongruity—a tension—between expectations typically aroused by initial words and resultant sabotaging revelations. We could, no doubt, be a species that laughed at every expressed contradiction, yet one for which banana skins, sexual spasms, and implied inconsistencies raised no flicker. Which particular sayings generate incongruities and not mere laughter is no empirical matter, but one of logic, logic taken sufficiently widely to include semantics and pragmatics. These incongruities, with the masking, the movement and unmasking—the teasing, stripping, and exposed sabotage—are to be found within many philosophical paradoxes as well as within jokes. Laying bare the jokes’ mechanisms can help to resolve such paradoxes. Joking matter itself need be no joking matter; and as jokes and paradoxes rely upon veiled incongruities, an all-seeing god would see no joke and meet no paradox.

Often we have coarsely grained knowledge: for example, we know about how many people are present. In possessing such knowledge, we also have finer grained knowledge of what is not: there certainly is nothing like that number of people here. The combination of such knowledge types, through sorites, generates contradiction and bafflement. This paper seeks to resolve the bafflement: it rejects a Timothy Williamson proposal, introduces muddle numbers and inference gaps, and shows how the different grains of knowledge do not always meet. In so doing, the paper identifies a distinctive first‐person inferring.