LOGIC POLICE

A sidewalk in a not-too-large American town in the beauracratically blighted northeast, sometime after the next democrat is elected president.

B: Who?

A: Why, the fellow I was talking about, that very odd fellow.

B: Why yes, now I see. He is a very odd fellow indeed, isn't he?

A: Yes, but that's not even the half of it! Wait till he opens his mouth!

Plain Ol' Me: I say, hello there. Fancy meeting you here!

A: Yes, that is something. And what brings you out and about today?

Me: Well, nothing I would want to bore you or your friend with, but, wait a minute, perhaps you would be interested in my present animadversions. Afterall, you seem to have a philosophical bent of mind.

A: Then you're out here doing some philosophical research perhaps?

Me: As a matter of fact, yes, I am.

A: Oh my, this is too much to believe!

B: Ha, ha, ho, ho!

A: See? Didn't I tell you we were in for a spot of entertainment?

Me: Then it would really crack you up to know I've been trying to get myself arrested.

A: What?

B: But why?

Me: It's a sociological experiment actually. I'm testing the effects of that new law.

B: New law?

Me: Yes, the one just enacted by the Commission on Pure and Applied Logic.

A: Yes, I know what you mean, the law that makes it a felony to tell a falsehood. But surely we all know what the purposes and effects of that law are to be.

B: Why yes. It's all in keeping with the charter of the Commission on Pure and Applied Logic. Our society has grown so complex, that unless we have some overseers to insure order, why things will just get out of hand.

A: Definitely. We need order, and order comes from methodology. And logic is the Mother of Method. That's the insight which led our city Fathers to charter the Commission on Pure and Applied Logic, and to provide them with an arm of enforcement ...

B: Yes, the Logic Police, the Saviours of Sanity!

A: All to insure that society is efficiently methodized

B: Which means efficiently formalized ...

A: And that means logicized. Thanks to the Commission on Pure and Applied Logic the penal code is not only being revised to include infractions of logical laws and theorems ...

B: We're also beginning the indoctrination of every aspect of social life in a diet of pure, professionalized methodology. What could be more scientific?

A: And what could be better designed to insure truth and happiness in the long run? Science marches on! You know the motto of the Logic Police: Consistency is Contentment!

B: And: Inconsistency breeds Incarceration! After all, it's unsafe to draw contradictions, we need a logical version of a seat-belt law!

A: Yes, we must be sure that everyone is mentally, as well as physically, safe!

Me: Well, yes, I'm aware of all this, the glories of methodology, the fun in formalism. And that's precisely what bothers me. You see, I have my doubts about the ability of our city Fathers to formalize our way to health, happiness, and prosperity. And that's precisely why I went out to see if I could get arrested. You see, if there's a way to break the new penal code and not get arrested, then the whole project of the Commission on Pure and Applied Logic is built on sand. And I don't mean to break a law and then avoid arrest either.

A: But how could that be done? How on earth could you develop such a test?

Me: Actually, it has been done. In fact, I broke the felony falsehood law about a dozen times this morning and I'm still at liberty.

B: I guess they haven't caught up with you yet.

Me: No, they have. In fact, each time I broke it, I also turned myself in.

A: *gasp* What? What happened?

Me: It's all quite simple, really. I'm acting on the principle that for a sufficiently complex structure, there is no consistent way to instantiate a consistent methodology. And it seems to be working.

A: No! How do you set up your experiment?

Me: Well, you both know the kind of training that's given to a Logic Police recruit. How in the Commission's academy he's turned into a paragon of pure consistency.

A: But YOU of all people! Weren't you one of the architects of--of all things--the Logic Police Academy? Aren't you one of the founding fathers of ...

B: The Rookies of Reason?

Me: Well, yes, but, you see, that's just the problem. People tend to think that a job is somehow a confession of faith. It's the same problem they have when they're watching a play. They think the writer is bearing his soul when he's only out to make money. Philosophy is no different, only money is not the object, neither is it truth. It is, afterall, what the ancient sophists claimed, to make the worse reason appear to be the better. The whole idea is to convince the academic world of what a smart boy you are. You've heard of Nelson Goodman and Willard Quine?

A&B: Yes, yes.

(Aside: B to A: 'Willard'??? ... wasn't that a movie about rodents? A: No, no, this is a philosopher!!!)

Me: Well, back in the early 50's or late 40's, I forget which, both men collaborated on something called "The Calculus of Individuals." It was a project in the heinous evil of nominalism. Goodman actually thought Quine was serious. After he had pushed the project as far as it could go, Quine abandoned it and had a good laugh at the whole thing. Unfortunately, Goodman had taken the whole project seriously. He felt Quine had betrayed him. Quine couldn't have cared less.

A: And you expect us to believe that you are the "Quine" of the Academy?

Me: Something like that. I suppose that right now Quine is sitting back having a good laugh over all the furor on indeterminacy of translation. Which, by the way, has been a much more successful hoax. You see, I became concerned when the powers that be actually began to take the whole project seriously. I felt obligated to put a stop to it.

B: Yes, I heard about a disturbance at the Academy back in it's early days. That was your doing?

Me: Naturally.

B: It almost ended the Academy. How did you do it? Don't they all have big guns?

A: ... And knives and chains too!

Me: Simple, actually. I was instructing Consistency 101. I told the class that sometime during the term they would have a surprise quiz. I defined 'surprise quiz' as 'a quiz which on the day before you have it, you don't know that you're going to have it'. In fact, that's all I did. I left the rest up to the little consistency crunchers.

B: But that's harmless enough. That's all that you did? I can't believe it!

Me: Actually, it's all I HAD to do. At the very next class meeting a bright little logic chopper jumped up and announced that he had a proof that it was logically impossible for me to give such a quiz. He argued persuasively that the quiz could not be given on the last day of classes, since we must have the quiz and going all term without it would mean that on the next to the last day of classes we would then know that it's coming on the last day. But could the quiz come on the next to the last day of classes? No, of course not. In that case he would know two days from the the end of classes that the quiz would be given one day from the end of classes. Again, on the day before it was given, the quiz would be known to be given the next day. So no surprise. It turns out that for any day n, one would know on day n-1 that the quiz would be given on day n provided that the quiz could not be given on days n+i (i>0) and had not been given previously. So the quiz can't be given on day n. If the term is m days long, m steps of modus ponens yields the conclusion that the quiz will not be given at all.

B: And how did you handle that? I bet you were SURPRISED!

Me: Not at all. I had expected it. I simply gave them the quiz, right then and there. As I did, I said, "Surprise!" The results were fascinating. I had no idea there were so many epileptics and catatonics in my class. The bright young lad who had presented his argument so cavalierly, collapsed to the floor kicking and choking, having swallowed his tongue. In fact, the Academy was hit with a rash of seizures as the news of what had happened spread.

B: * gasp * Then why in the world did you ever want to teach there to begin with?

Me: Well, I needed the money.

A: I don't understand, they did arrest you. Why weren't you ever formally charged? You decimated the entire entering class.

Me: There was a loophole in my contract. THEY HAD AGREED TO HIRE ME IF AND ONLY IF I COULD TEACH ANYONE TO WIN ANY ARGUMENT. Furthermore, they were suing me for breach of contract. Well I went to the board of supervisors and argued as follows. Either I could beat this rap or I couldn't. They nodded agreement. Suppose I could beat the rap, then there was no point in suing me. They agreed. Now suppose I couldn't beat the rap, then there's an argument I couldn't win. They agreed. Moreover, there's an argument I can't teach just anyone to win, because I don't know how to win it myself! They agreed. So, obviously, there's an argument that I can't teach someone to win. They agreed. But, I pointed out, by the terms of my contract, it follows that they hadn't agreed to hire me, since it would be false that I could teach anyone to win any argument. But if they hadn't agreed to hire me, there's no contract to breach, in which case there's no point in suing me. So there's no point in suing me, simpliciter, in either case.

B: They BOUGHT that argument?

Me: I don't know, actually. As you remember, a new board of supervisors was installed shortly thereafter. Most of the old board ended up in the same institutions with many of my former students. I don't know whatever became of my case. I suppose they're still discussing it among themselves to this day, together with their doctors, of course. I simply packed my bags and quietly faded away.

A: You went on the lamb, in other words.

Me: Precisely.

A: And now you're back, up to your old tricks again? But didn't you prove your point?

Me: Not really, they got out of that one too easily. Now they tell the new recruits that no one knows anything until the last day of classes. Graduation from the Academy is a necessary constraint on knowledge. As a result, the basis clause of the "surprise quiz" gambit no longer gets off the ground. Some Harvard logician helped them out of that one.

A: Is that why they now say, "Every new day is filled with surprise?"

Me: Why, I believe it is. It's another vain attempt to save consistency through lunacy.

B: But how can someone be at a disadvantage through consistency?

Me: Simple, actually. That brings us back to the point of my morning exercises. Here's what happened. I merely walked up to a Logic Policeman and uttered the sentence: 'You are going to arrest me--no doubt for violating the Felony Falsehood Law!' That simple sentence produced an amusing chain of events. You see, you must remember the specifics of the Felony Falsehood Law--they've tried their best to be quite specific, no loopholes you know! The precise formulation is: A person, P, is arrested for violating the felony falsehood law IF and ONLY IF ('IFF' that is) P tells a falsehood to a Logic Policeman. My, how I relish the memory of this! First, this Fascist of Formalism started to laugh, thinking it a joke. But as I stood there, looking him in the face, his attitude slowly grew serious. His laughter died away and he returned my gaze with furious intensity.

A: Why the change?

Me: You see, he realized that if he simply brushed off my remark ...

B: You would have uttered a falsehood!

Me: Precisely! So he was forced to arrest me--for violating the Felony Falsehood Law!

A: But you're still free. I don't understand.

Me: Well, that's the interesting part. You see, he must have realized that, were he to arrest me, he wouldn't have a charge against me, since my previous utterance would, in that case, be true.

A: And he couldn't properly arrest you on the basis of the felony falsehood law, if it turned out that you were telling the truth about the very thing for which you were arrested?

Me: That's it exactly! I would NOT have lied to him, so it follows from the biconditional statement of the law that I am not arrested for violating the Felony Falsehood Law! But then, neither can he let me go, for again it would turn out that I lied. He arrests me for violating the Felony Falsehood Law if and only if he doesn't so arrest me!

A: Incredible! Whatever did he do? How did he rationalize it all?

Me: Well, I'm not so sure he did. Remember, I said what it was he must have realized. I can't be sure about it. You see, he suddenly placed his hand on my shoulder to arrest me just as he realized he couldn't let me get away. But then his whole body went rigid. His eyes stared wildly off into space. He began to utter a small high pitched whine, barely audible at first. His hand trembled as it clutched my shoulder. Then, at the corner of his mouth, a fleck of foam began to form and drool down his chin. Then another, and another. I noticed, too, his pant leg turning dark and damp from the groin down to the cuff.

A: Why, that's ghastly!

B: Shhhhhiiiiiiiit, whatever did you do?

Me: What could I do? I left him there, his right hand still extended in space, clutching a shoulder no longer there. Yes, I left him, drooling, oozing, and whining, for all eternity, caught in an unbreakable loop, concluding that he should arrest me, and that if he arrests me, then he shouldn't, but if he doesn't, then he must, over and over again. It makes my blood run cold to think of it.

A: You said you did this more than once?

Me: Why, yes, the whole downtown area is littered with frothing, badge-wearing imbeciles, wetting their pants and barking at cars. (Proprietors of doughnut shops have been long familiar with such scenes--by the way.)

B: I, ... I think I hear sirens.

Me: Yes, I believe you're right. Ambulances I suppose, to collect the debris of my morning stroll through town.

(B: Hmmm, let's see, if no arrest, then you lied, but, ...)

A: Incredible, society paralyzed, the Saviours of Sanity, all, ... all, ...

Me: Insane? Quite.

(B: ..., you must be arrested because you .... lied, but )

A: Why, you're a monster! You're like an arsonist!

(B: but, ..., if ... you... arrested then ... didn't lie and, ... if ... you ... no lie ... then you shouldn't ...be ... arrested ... but ...)

Me: Now, now, my dear A, who's really at fault here? I only uttered a sentence. The Logic Commissioners are free to do with it as they please. If only they didn't have their silly law about telling a falsehood, everything would have been fine ... Hey, what's wrong with B?

A: His eyes, they're staring wildly into space ...

Me: At the corner of his mouth, do you see that fleck of foam?

A: And, and, that animal like whine ...