Of Fallacies Logical

27^th January, 2010

1845 hrs

The Matchbox

We learnt about logical fallacies today. Logic is a statement given based on a premise or an evidence. Fallacy is defined as a false notion. Something which is untrue and incorrect.

There are so many of them. It seems that every argument I have ever made or heard is based on a logical fallacy. Sigh.

I will list down the best ones and try animating them with examples.

Argumentum Ad Baculu (Appeal to force)

Not even a leaf can shudder without God’s assent. (duh)

Affirmation of the Consequent (A implies B, therefore B must be true).

Supriya likes Coke. Supriya is a girl. Therefore, all girls like Coke (There go half of Pepsi’s consumersJ)

Argumentum ad antiquatem (worthy on account of being old)

God has been around since Man became a wimp. That happened a long time ago. There MUST be something good in itJ 

Cum hoc ergo propter hoc (with this, therefore because of this)

All boys suck, therefore, whoever sucks, must be a boy :p

Argumentum ad hominem (against the person or the circumstance, my personal favourite)

Anisha Ralhan lives in her head because she’s a wonky womanJ

Argumentum ad nauseam (Argument on a repeat mode)

I am mental because I am mental because I am mental.

Argumentum ad novitatem (Justification because it is new)

The Hong Kong chick dresses better than me because she wears new clothes EVERY DAY to class. The effort some people put. Sigh.

Argumentum ad numerum (Justification because of a lot of people)

Go vegetarian. Everybody’s doing it. It’s the in thing!

Argumentum ad vercundiam (Appeal to authority)

Do botox. Come on Shilpa Shetty does it!

Audiatur et altera pars (failing to state a premises) (I do this all the time)

I think we are all born to die.

Red herring (irrelevant information diverts from the main issue)

Global warming is a huge issue today. It actually snowed in Cardiff the other day!

There are many more. And they are all in Latin. Those who will bother memorizing them will surely spew them for an ‘intelligent’ retort. A fallacy in itself.

All for now.

Of the Original Dudes

18th January, 2010
3:24 am
The Matchbox

"Knowledge is knowing that tomato may be a fruit. Wisdom is knowing that it is not to be put in the fruit salad."

My second class at Introducing Philosophy started with this famous old quote by Anonymous. The class of the eclectic ten started with Mister Jovial Olive Ball rolling in sharp at 7. We were told a bit about the three Wise Men today. Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. It is said that the Western Civilization is based on the ideas put forth by these guys. Here's the rationale, as given by Theo (the Olive Ball). It makes sense too. Socrates taught Plato taught Aristotle taught Alexander the Great, who with the universal language of the time, Greek, the society binder of sorts, passed it onto the Romans, who, along with the concept of Christianity, laid down the founding principles of the Western Civilization. This means, that what we are today (the Western World, that is. The distinction is important because Eastern Philosophy had a different basis. They don't teach that here:)) is mostly the doing of the three blokes I mentioned above.

The first one is Socrates. He is supposed to be the wisest of all Greek philosophers known. And the strangest. For a start, he wasn't a pretty sight. Bulging eyes that darted sideways, flaring nostrils, huge lips, long hair, average height, and an unkempt unwashed attire. He walked about with a stick and an air that could give any Greek God a run for his money. He loved talking, would start discussing philosophy with just about anyone on the street. He asked the most fundamental questions. He brought about the concept of universal definitions. What is bravery, love, existence? His style of teaching was through questioning and bringing out answers from his students. He enjoyed confusing his audience. He liked to make them aware of their own ignorance, by constantly questioning their beliefs. They would end up losing track of their own selves. And then, if they were lucky, he would clarify things. He was adored and resented at the same time. The authority disliked his ways and feared that he was creating his own deities. He was sentenced to death, a sentence which he, at the ripe age of 70, merrily accepted. He was given the opportunity to escape, but he refused. he drank the hemlock and died a peaceful death, condemning the authority and its ways, but submitting to it towards the end, probably because he was bored of life. Cool dude. He had spunk. Spunky Socrates.

Plato, the next dude in line. Socrates' student, his follower, and his biggest critic. He is known to be one of the most dazzling writers of his time. I am still to read him. He raised some of the most profound questions in philosophy. He questioned on Reality, Knowledge, Identity, Ethics, Method, Beauty and Love. His questions were bang on. His answers, nearly. He gave two forms of Reality. One, the Phenomenal Reality. The reality which we live in. Our reality. Our world. Or the Material reality. That, for him, is easy to comprehend, because that, is what our senses perceive. The other reality, is the Real Reality. The Actual Reality. That reality sees no Change. That reality has no Time. It is the reality of Forms and Ideas. Those ideas are integral to the Phenomenal Reality we live in. They explore concepts of beauty, love, identity etc. Plato, for some reason, was obsessed with Beauty (he probably did not get enough of it, having spent half his life with the unique looker Socrates). Aesthetics was one subject he has discussed in great detail in one of the countless books he's written. And he hated the concept of Democracy.

Aristotle is the next in line. Don't know much about him yet.

This piece was merely a description of what the original thinkers were like. It is not meant to be taken as a reflective piece. Reflections will come when I'm a little wiser. And that could take a lifetime.:)

Till then, I continue my journey of "Knowing thyself"(Socrates).

Nothing Fishy About Sushi!

16th January, 201011:44 pm
The Matchbox

Sweet and sticky
Raw and zippy
Pretty little rings of rice
Bits of victuals inside
Not mush
Very lush
The fuss is all about
Sush-i

Raw food can be good food.

The Sophistry Behind Philosophy

Monday, 11th January, 2010
10:30 pm
The Matchbox

...all I know, is that I know nothing.
                                          - Socrates

That's what I learnt today. My first class at Introducing Philosphy, a 10 week course started by the Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning. And it was good to know I wasn't the only one who felt that way!

The Cardiff Centre of Lifelong Learning offers short-term courses open to anyone interested in the subjects offered on the course. They range from language, social sciences right down to business and computer sciences, the courses. And the best bit, the assignments are completely optional. You want to do them, do them and get the credits. You don't want to do them, just whistle your way through the classes.

Anyway, this year, they introduced a beginner's course in Philosophy. And I, eternally desperate to understand the overrated 'meaning of life', jumped and enrolled myself for it.

As I entered the lecture theatre in the Humanities Building at 7pm, for a second I thought this was going to be a 3:1 teacher:student deal. The three people sitting gaily on the desks were senior citizens. Quite literally! And then I was assured that they were 'students.' Having never sat for a class with a 60 year old classmate, I was slightly dazed.

We became a class of ten comprising of two 'real' students, four working professionals who had nothing better to do in the evenings other than watch TV, and six senior citizens. One of them, a retired lawyer with a Phd joined the course not knowing why he had joined it. The only connection he could think of was that his wife (now dead) had studied Philosophy in the university earlier. Romeo, the only other 'student' was from Cameroon, in Central West Africa. French was his third language and English his fourth. No clue about the first two. He joined the course because he thought this was a 'thoughtful' way of improving his English! Quite a varied mix. Our professor, a Greek olive-like ball with spectacles is a wannabe Socrates. Theodore Gammenos. Nice guy. Likes to wind us up, and gets  confused himself in the process. Twas only the first class. Will give him time.

We spent the first hour trying to figure out the meaning of Philosophy. A lot of debate and discussion later, it was boiled down to a method or a way of thinking about things. It involves reasoning, trying to find the logic behind things by means of questioning and discussion. Just like religion, by most, is defined as a 'way of life,' Logic could be a 'way we think.' There is a problem, and there is a solution. The path we create between the problem and the solution, could be the Philosophy behind it. And I have a feeling, that like my major Public Relations, I will spend the next ten weeks trying to dissect the precise meaning of this elusive term. Why do they all start with 'P'? :|

The next hour went by in understanding how the concept of Western Philosophy began. (For some odd reason, theo's 'west' sounded a lot like 'worst' :)). That is, there was felt a conscious need to develop an organised thought process. A need to define things and develop and identity was felt. It began in 5th Century BC. Three boys, from the ancient land of Greece, came up with three different concepts almost at the same time. Clearly, they weren't the best of friends. (are they ever!?). Mister Parmenides, also known as the Father of Greek Philosophy, completely rejected the use of senses. According to him, our senses decieve us. We need to make use of logic to understand things. He said, 'it is.' Nothing ever changes. Everything is a constant. For him, the perception of change and movement was a deception, and that everything that is will always be, since it can all be spoken and thought of. Use logic to understand that . Nothing changes. It is. That's it.

Doesn't logic require evidence, empirical data, which can be 'perceived' on the basis of our sense of sight or touch or hearing?

Mister Heraclitus was the exact opposite. Also known as Obscure, for him, everything was in a flux. Nothing stays constant. Everything changes. He was the dude who claimed one can never step twice into the same river. (and what about kicking the bark of a tree twice? They change too?). Now if everything, was in a flux, all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called stability. If things kept changing all the time, there wouldn't be a thing called knowledge. Without knowledge, its ignorance. And that, is bliss, at times, certainly:)

The third bloke Mister Democritus, was literally a chemist of the 5th century. And he was the diplomat of the lot. For him there was  'change' and there was 'no change.' He believed that world was made up of Void, an incorporeal space, where Nothing exists (denouncing Parmindes). And also, he believed that the Void was taken up by small, indestructible beings called atoms (atoma : indivisible) that stayed unchanged (Denouncing Heraclitus). But the atoms have the ability to combine with one other to change the dimensions. Hence, change does occur. Change is real. The existence of atoms stays unchanged. But the dimensions of the atoms keep changing.

Thoroughly confused, (Thats the idea, I was told), I left the class with Romeo, my new French speaking African friend. The walk back home at 9 in the evening was like a slow metamorphism into an icicle. My ears were numb and my poor lil nose was jammed between the cutting, icy breeze and my face. Home came to me. Also came with it warm white milk and a steaming omlette. A regular night chat with the girlies and my day comes to a cosy end.

Oh, and if you have anything to add or retract from my 'philosophical understanding' of philosophy, comment away. Good, bad , ugly. I take it and I bow.

:)

Of Snow And It's Quirks

January 6, 2010
10:51 am
The Matchbox

Ever since I came to Cardiff, I have been dying to see Snow. Hailing from a city like Delhi, where the average temperature never goes below 30-degrees Celsius for the better part of the year, I was confident that my eternal dream of seeing a soft white quilt spread across the courtyard outside my window one fine morning would finally come true here. After all, its the UK. The land of whimsical delights.

The dream was on the verge of getting trampled when the inhabitants here told me that it "rarely snows in Cardiff" and that its "mostly rain". Everytime somebody would say this winter is going to be 'warm and wet', my heart would plummet further. This year, it seemed, the weather was on a whimsical mode. One day would be bright and sunny. The next day, dark clouds and rain. This unpredictability is predictable here. However, the frequency of weather change became a matter of hours soon. As days went by, an hour in a day would be bright and chirpy. The next, the sky would be mourning.

Initially, this loftiness of the sky took some time getting used to. However, with time, we learn. Soon, this phenomena became beautiful. I began to appreciate the ever-changing colour of the sky:  from a bright blue to a dark grey to a pale pink and an inky blue: all in the span of a day. I began to appreciate the icy cold wind that blasted (and still blasts) my face everytime I step out of the building. I began to appreciate the people around me, the locals, who have been enduring the rain and the sleet and the sludge for years on end, still walking to work every day. Humans adapt to nature. It is the way of life. And appreciating all that we see around us makes it a happy way of life.

Coming back to my trampled dream, it seemed the Sky-Lord heard my prayer too loud and clear. I saw snow. I felt snow. I walked in it. I trudged in it. I slipped on it. Heck, I even hitchiked in it! And I experienced all kinds of it.

It all started in Cwmbran, a so-called New town in South East Wales, two train stations away from Cardiff. It was established in 1949 (pretty recent). Cwmbran, in the Welsh language means 'a Valley of Crows.' Am clueless why its called that. The crows there are as abundant and annoying as they are everywhere else. The big, black scary beings.

One winter evening in December, while walking back from the massive shopping centre, small white flakes began to fall on me. I thought it was dandruff! And then I thought it was rice crispies. And then, my friend who had accompanied me, exclaimed "Its Snowing!" And my reaction was "THIS is SNOW!" I had a very different version of snow in my head. Anyway, I captured as much as I could. These microscopic little rice flakes.

That was my first. And then it never ended. The little rice flakes would fall in great numbers and form a blanket, which would soon turn hard ice, which would soon melt into sludge (thanks to the bright sun the next day!). I would trudge in the sludge every morning and skid my way about town throughout the day.

In Bristol, the snow is typically English. Settled and hard on the surface. Put your foot down in it, and it melts. Just like them:)

As December grew on, the weather became a yo-yo, quite literally. The mornings would see bright sunshine and a chilly breeze. The evenings would witness snowfall. At one point, in a span of an hour, I saw snowfall and the sun, each 'phenomenon' lasting for fifteen minutes alternately, at a stretch!

January 5, 2010 11pm was a momentous day and time for snow-seekers like me. It snowed. Big, fat flakes of snow. And when the snow fell down, it wasn't hard as ice. It was soft, flimsy like candyfloss. Everyone was out. Making snowmen, throwing snowballs. Two boys even tried sledging using a grill pan!

And the next morning, I saw it. My dream. A white blanket of soft snow right outside my window. Felt like the clouds had settled in themselves, sleeping cosily, ornamenting the trees (both the leafy and the twiggy ones) with their little tufts.

The Snow experience in Cardiff has been an immense delight for me so far. I hope the dream lasts all this month.

However, the yo-yo whims of the weather, though fun, are a bit of a worry. Almost as if nature is trying to tell us something. Its playing with us. And its trying to warn us. Global Warming, anyone?

And yes, a word from the "snow expert" : Falling Snow is way better than Fallen Snow:)

Of London Tubes and Bristol's Hues

Sunday, 29th November 2009

23:08 hours
The cold study room
Bristol

This is a tale of a weekend of sleeplessness, drunkeness, kiddy games, graffiti art, rainforest cafe, london tubes, bone-crushingly cold walks, and a bit of family fun. All packed in a two-day London Bristol trip :)

So what would you do, if you had a 7:45 am bus to catch, and you rise out of bed at 7:35 am? Take into account the fact that this is the National Express for Cardiff-Bristol, you are a first timer in inter-city travel, and the bus-stop is a ten minute walk from your place.

Well, I spent one minute staring at the clock, the next two in contemplating not going, the next four in throwing on clothes and packing up, and the remaining three in literally flying to the bus stop, only to find out that the bus was five minutes late. I felt an inexplicable sense of achievement immediately thereafter. I made it!

The bus journey from Cardiff to Bristol was a short, interrupted one. I had to change buses at Newport, a quaint little town close to Cardiff, though not as happening as Cardiff obviously.

The moment we crossed the bridge I knew I was in a different country. Cardiff is truly Wales, and Bristol is truly England. The way the light falls on the city can tell you that you are in a different country altogether. Along with it is the huge row of typical English houses, the red brick ones with sloping roofs and chimneys (was for some reason reminded of Oliver Twist with that image), the cobbled streets, and the stone cold breeze. I was chilled to the bone.

I was staying at my aunt's friend's place. Had never met them before and was bound to feel awkward. However, they were extremely warm people with two cute little kids. Kids cut the ice quicker than an any industrial knife. Pretty soon, I was running about the small corridoors of their house, playing with the little one.

Bristol is a beautiful piece of art, quite literally so. The whole city is dotted with colourful graffiti, not the tacky kind, but tastefully done art. The city is the birth town of Banksy, the guy who created the Graffiti as an art form. The city is thus known for its pop-art culture, and exhibitions like the Art Trail are quite popular here. An art trail is simply an exhibition by artists of their latest works. They set it up in their home studios and people follow a map, going to the artist's studios, checking out their stuff, talking to the artists themselves and buying the pieces etc.

From Bristol, we were to go to London, to another one of my aunt's friend's place, to celebrate her 40th birthday. A massive Indian family get-together, complete with Indian food, bollywood music, kids, and alcohol. I found a sassy girl my age and downed enough alcohol to give me a terrible hangover the next day.

But hangover or no hangover, I was in LONDON, and determined to travel a bit, even though I knew I had just about two hours. (Got up late and was to leave early. Story of my lif)

My and my sassy friend got on a random bus. It was not the best day for a walkabout in town. Cold, wet and grey. But then, that's the 'typical english weather'. Get used to it. The hangover was still lurking. But I was all wide-eyed as we passed the London Bridge, the London Eye and all the Big and Obvious things of London. We got off at Trafalgar Square. Had begun raining heavily. Ran inside the National Art Gallery Museum, made fun of all the paintings we came across and exited from the opposite end, to end up in a street named Orange Street. Was nothing orange about it.

We strolled about. I stared and strolled. London is Delhi sophisticate. Thronging with people, click-clackety heels and a general  hurried buzz in the air. Snobbishly expensive cafes, biggest brands on the streets, huge screens with colours moving about, its just the place where Life is. We walked about at random, passing by the Ripley's Museum, the Odeon cinema, the Broadway etc. When hunger called over, we walked inside Rainforest Cafe, which exaclt like its name, is a rainforest from within. Apparently a huge brand in the USA, it has limited branches all over the world, and the only one in the UK in London on Picadilly Circus, where we were lucky enough to be. The cafe was green, with animals and waterfalls and waiters dressed as forest rangers all about. I had a martini (to get over the hangover dah) and my sassy friend, a vodka. After munching on some hummus and bread we realised we were getting late for home. Went out and decided to take the tube as it would be 'quicker'. BIG mistake.

London tubes are horrible! Dirty and overly crowded. Delhi Metro has the crowd, but its surprisingly cleaner. Was hardly any space for me to breathe in the tube. Reached Victoria Station, the Big Daddy station of London to board a train to Herne Hill, only to realise that the train service of that like was out of order. Weekend and trains in London don't go well together. Why did'nt anybody tell us that?

Boarded the replacement bus to take us to the Blackfriars, the station that would lead us to our destination eventually. I was literally nodding off. The big warm bus cuddled around me and we both slept, obviously missing our stop. Sigh. It never ends.

Walking in the rain is something I used to love back in Delhi. Because we rarely got to do it. And now, I dread it. We never like what we have, because it just isn't customized to how we imagine it to be!

Managed to reach the station, but obviously, could'nt find the platform. The elusive Platform 4 showed itself a minute before the train was to leave. We rushed in, and hoped we were on the right train. I just wanted to go home. Home. My sweet little 10x10 matchbox room in Cardiff.

Thankfully, it was a smooth ride from there. We reached the house in one piece, bid goodbye to the wonderful people we had met and made our way back to Bristol. The sassy friend headed back to the train she has now learnt to hate, to return to Derby, where she's from.

And now, Im here, at the comp, trying to write a coherent story. Forgive me for some missing links. They are not deliberate, I assure you.

Another incoherent story will be up soon:)  

A Randomly Delightful Day:)

20th November 2009
11:40 pm
The Matchbox

If only moments be captured in words, how complete my life would be. Sigh!

Had the most spontaneously brilliant day today. Started off on a hurriedly lazy note. By that I mean I got up at 9:30, knowing fully well I had a class at 10, and stayed in bed deliberatley for another ten minutes, simply because I was lazy, then got up in a dash and dressed and ran to class. Hence, hurried laziness.

The class itself was pretty interesting, for a change. Our International Marketing professor not only made sense, but also managed to get us all hooked to the subject. He talked about the role of culture in business. He talked about various goof-ups campaigns make when they try to venture into new territory. A superbly funny example: In English, 'latte' is a coffee drink. In German, 'latte' means an erection. When the Americans beamed shows like Morning Latte in Germany, the results were, needless to say, highly amusing.

Post class I went to the city-centre and came across the quaintest little cafe in Castle Arcade on Castle Street. Cafe Minuet. A small Italian joint with a faintly red and cream decor, pictures of famous Opera singers framed delicately on the walls. A BFG (Big Friendly Giant) old man and probably his wife (who looked like an opera singer herself) ran the cafe. I had the most deliciously made minestrone soup with garlic bread. Nothing like hot, steaming food in the cold, windy breeze. And its a rarity in the UK! When I couldn't finish it all (thanks to the extra-large UK helpings), the kind BFG packed it up for me to take home for dinner. It will be my morning breakfast now.

Lunch over, I roamed about the city, taking in the pretty colours. If there is anything that never ceases to amaze me about Cardiff, it is the way all the colours sit so perfectly in place. The sillouhette of the tree against the pale blue sky, the purple tinge on City Hall's architecture, the pretty christmas lights dancing
above the people: it looks so perfect! And then the live music on the street, with the freeezing wind whistling in my ears, and tight groups of people walking past me creates the perfect ambience that makes me fall in love with the city all over again.

There was an Anne Frank exhibition today at the Old Library. Organised by the National Anne Frank Trust in Holland, it was a masterpiece. For those fond of History, it was an a living trip down memory lane. For those not aware of it, it was a moving eye-opener. The entire exhibition had two parts to it. One part, talked about the History. It explained what happened during the Holocaust, complete with a film on it and an audio with Anne's voice reading out bits from her Diary. It had a life-size room where Anne went into hiding with her family. Hidden in a corner, was also her diary, with a few pages open, all things written in German. The best bit, a brilliant PR and database creation tactic. There was a board stating the question, ' What would you pack in a small suitcase if you had to leave your home forever?" And small postcards were provided where people were to write what they felt was most important to them and leave their contact details as well (postcard duh). Just reading some of them brought tears to my eyes. 'Memories, crayons, photos, pen, diary, favourite book of stories, doll' were some of the things mentioned. I loved the way it talked to me.

The other section was the Contemporary section. Connecting the past to the present. Showing how the horrors of the past are still continuing today. And the youngster's take on it. There were old volunteers all around, helpful and kind, approaching visitors themselves. I loved the initiative they took. I loved the exhibit. It was a random, spontaneous act. Something I have been missing out on, thanks to my desperate need to bring order into life. Order is created out of disorder. Planning comes out of spontaneity. I keep forgetting that.

I'm not a dimwit for nothing:)