And what would happen iftheircells changed?
Geometrically, it comes down to a simple helix, or the arithmetic of billions of different cells.
All that biology determines different physical attributes things like our vocal chords and musical range.
Thought.is
And astronomy inspires all of the different things we believe about ourselves because a horoscope tells us so.
At this point can it still be considered the ship of Theseus?
Which, if any, of the ships could then be called the true ship of Theseus?
The answer is unclear because so many have been argued over time.
Some say the restored ship, some say the reconstructed.
Some say both, others neither.
The answers are different because they all boil down to the ways we define and assessidentity.
What makes a thingwhatit is?
Is it the sum of its parts which are subject to change?
Or does identity rely on something more solid that endures?
Is it a ship of Theseusofthe ship of Theseus?
Essencen.the basic, real, and invariable nature of a thing or its significant individual feature or features.
A paradox is just another word for a trick question; something which contradicts itself.
They cant both exist.
We see similar discussions about womens rights today regarding the pussyhats that became popular following the Womens March.
Which brings me back to a subject I feelveryqualified to talk about; myself.
Because these are the questions I enjoy, that I live for.
But if I wasnt me during all that time, then who had I been?
And can I confidently say who I am atanygiven point in time when time itself is that unstoppable force?
Is there anything concrete enough to call a self when it must be in a constant state of flux?
If I have no essence, then who am I, what am I made up of?
Part of me cant accept that identity is totally inconstant.
There is something more solid, something recognizable and familiar.
I wondered where it had been hiding all this time, this song that was mine, was me.
I was seeing them as people.
That sometimes shed look at me and could see it on my face.
That Id suddenly be somewhere else, and she could tell that I was sad.
My dad knows when Im hurting in his own way too.
Because he knew me too.
They were ships of Theseus in and of themselves.
But there were stories.
And there was so much happiness in remembering.
And I realized thats the solid part, the part that stays.
Even if there is no essence, no immovable object.
Because at the end of the day who really gives a fuck about Theseussship?
It only matters because its his.
Because its Theseus that matters.
Because its in stories that we learn about others and where we find ourselves.
I find myself in the real stories that are passed down from my family.
When my dad says I make the fluffiest gnocchi, and I hope I got that from his mom.
I find myself in fictional stories too.
In words on a page or a screen or a stage.
In characters I can point at because something inside of me screams, Thats me.
I know how that feels.
In songs I listen to again and again as I write stories of my own.
I put them into words to tell people who I am.
To figure it out for myself.
To figure out why Im a liberal arts person and not a math and science person.
