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Thin Objects
Thin Objects
An Abstractionist Account
Øystein Linnebo
1
3
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For my daughters Alma and Frida

Contents
Preface xi
Part I. Essentials
1. In Search of Thin Objects 3
1.1 Introduction 3
1.2 Coherentist Minimalism 5
1.3 Abstractionist Minimalism 7
1.4 The Appeal of Thin Objects 9
1.5 Sufficiency and Mutual Sufficiency 11
1.6 Philosophical Constraints 13
1.7 Two Metaphysical “Pictures” 17
2. Thin Objects via Criteria of Identity 21
2.1 My Strategy in a Nutshell 21
2.2 A Fregean Concept of Object 23
2.3 Reference to Physical Bodies 26
2.4 Reconceptualization 30
2.5 Reference by Abstraction 33
2.6 Some Objections and Challenges 37
2.6.1 The bad company problem 38
2.6.2 Semantics and metasemantics 38
2.6.3 A vicious regress? 39
2.6.4 A clash with Kripke on reference? 40
2.6.5 Internalism about reference 41
2.7 A Candidate for the Job 42
2.8 Thick versus Thin 45
Appendix 2.A Some Conceptions of Criteria of Identity 46
Appendix 2.B A Negative Free Logic 48
Appendix 2.C Abstraction on a Partial Equivalence 49
3. Dynamic Abstraction 51
3.1 Introduction 51
3.2 Neo-Fregean Abstraction 53
3.3 How to Expand the Domain 55
3.4 Static and Dynamic Abstraction Compared 60
3.5 Iterated Abstraction 61
3.6 Absolute Generality Retrieved 64
3.7 Extensional vs. Intensional Domains 66
viii contents
Appendix 3.A Further Questions 70

3.A.1 The higher-order needs of semantics 70
3.A.2 Abstraction on intensional entities 70
3.A.3 The need for a bimodal logic 71
3.A.4 The correct propositional logic 73
Appendix 3.B Proof of the Mirroring Theorem 74
Part II. Comparisons

4. Abstraction and the Question of Symmetry 77
4.1 Introduction 77
4.2 Identity of Content 79
4.3 Rayo on “Just is”-Statements 81
4.4 Abstraction and Worldly Asymmetry 83
5. Unbearable Lightness of Being 87
5.1 Ultra-Thin Conceptions of Objecthood 87
5.2 Logically Acceptable Translations 89
5.3 Semantically Idle Singular Terms 90
5.4 Inexplicable Reference 92
Appendix 5.A Proofs and Another Proposition 94
6. Predicative vs. Impredicative Abstraction 95
6.1 The Quest for Innocent Counterparts 95
6.2 Two Forms of Impredicativity 96
6.3 Predicative Abstraction 98
6.3.1 Two-sorted languages 98
6.3.2 Defining the translation 100
6.3.3 The input theory 100
6.3.4 The output theory 102
6.4 Impredicative Abstraction 103
Appendix 6.A Proofs 106
7. The Context Principle 107
7.1 Introduction 107
7.2 How Are the Numbers “Given to Us”? 108
7.3 The Context Principle in the Grundlagen 110
7.4 The “Reproduction” of Meaning 114
7.5 The Context Principle in the Grundgesetze 117
7.6 Developing Frege’s Explanatory Strategy 123
7.6.1 An ultra-thin conception of reference 123
7.6.2 Semantically constrained content recarving 124
7.6.3 Towards a metasemantic interpretation 127
7.7 Conclusion 129
Appendix 7.A Hale and Fine on Reference by Recarving 129
contents ix
Part III. Details

8. Reference by Abstraction 135
8.2 The Linguistic Data 137
8.3 Two Competing Interpretations 140
8.4 Why the Non-reductionist Interpretation is Preferable 143
8.4.1 The principle of charity 143
8.4.2 The principle of compositionality 144
8.4.3 Cognitive constraints on an interpretation 146
8.5 Why the Non-reductionist Interpretation is Available 148
8.6 Thin Objects 151
Appendix 8.A The Assertibility Conditions 153
Appendix 8.B Comparing the Two Interpretations 155
Appendix 8.C Internally Representable Abstraction 156
Appendix 8.D Defining a Sufficiency Operator 157
9. The Julius Caesar Problem 159
9.2 What is the Caesar Problem? 160
9.3 Many-sorted Languages 162
9.4 Sortals and Categories 163
9.5 The Uniqueness Thesis 166
9.6 Hale and Wright’s Grundgedanke 167
9.7 Abstraction and the Merging of Sorts 169
Appendix 9.A The Assertibility Conditions 171
Appendix 9.B A Non-reductionist Interpretation 173
Appendix 9.C Defining a Sufficiency Operator 174
10. The Natural Numbers 176
10.2 The Individuation of the Natural Numbers 176
10.3 Against the Cardinal Conception 178
10.3.1 The objection from special numbers 179
10.3.2 The objection from the philosophy of language 180
10.3.3 The objection from lack of directness 181
10.4 Alleged Advantages of the Cardinal Conception 182
10.5 Developing the Ordinal Conception 183
10.6 Justifying the Axioms of Arithmetic 185
11. The Question of Platonism 189
11.1 Platonism in Mathematics 189
11.2 Thin Objects and Indefinite Extensibility 191
11.3 Shallow Nature 192
11.4 The Significance of Shallow Nature 195
11.5 How Beliefs are Responsive to Their Truth 197
11.6 The Epistemology of Mathematics 201
x contents
12. Dynamic Set Theory 205

12.2 Choosing a Modal Logic 206
12.3 Plural Logic with Modality 208
12.4 The Nature of Sets 211
12.4.1 The extensionality of sets 211
12.4.2 The priority of elements to their set 212
12.4.3 The extensional definiteness of subsethood 213
12.5 Recovering the Axioms of ZF 214
12.5.1 From conditions to sets 214
12.5.2 Basic modal set theory 216
12.5.3 Full modal set theory 217
Appendix 12.A Proofs of Formal Results 219
Appendix 12.B A Harmless Restriction 222
Bibliography 223
Index 233
Preface
This book is about a promising but elusive idea. Are there objects that are “thin” in the
sense that their existence does not make a substantial demand on the world? Frege
famously thought so. He claimed that the equinumerosity of the knives and the forks
on a properly set table suffices for there to be objects such as the number of knives
and the number of forks, and for these objects to be identical. Versions of the idea of
thin objects have been defended by contemporary philosophers as well. For example,
Bob Hale and Crispin Wright assert that
what it takes for “the number of Fs = the number of Gs” to be true is exactly what it takes for
the Fs to be equinumerous with the Gs, no more, no less. […] There is no gap for metaphysics
to plug.1
The truth of the equinumerosity claim is said to be “conceptually sufficient” for the
truth of the number identity (ibid.). Or, as Agustín Rayo colorfully puts it, once God
had seen to it that the Fs are equinumerous with the Gs, “there was nothing extra she
had to do” to ensure the existence of the number of F and the number of G, and their
identity (Rayo, 2013, p. 4; emphasis in original).
The idea of thin objects holds great philosophical promise. If the existence of certain
objects does not make a substantial demand on the world, then knowledge of such
objects will be comparatively easy to attain. On the Fregean view, for example, it
suffices for knowledge of the existence and identity of two numbers that an unprob-
lematic fact about knives and forks be known. Indeed, the idea of thin objects may
well be the only way to reconcile the need for an ontology of mathematical objects
with the need for a plausible epistemology. Another attraction of the idea of thin
objects concerns ontology. If little or nothing is required for the existence of objects
of some sort, then no wonder there is an abundance of such objects. The less that
is required for the existence of certain objects, the more such objects there will be.
Thus, if mathematical objects are thin, this will explain the striking fact that math-
ematics operates with an ontology that is far more abundant than that of any other
science.
The idea of thin objects is elusive, however. The characterization just offered is
imprecise and partly metaphorical. What does it really mean to say that the existence
of certain objects “makes no substantial demand on the world”? Indeed, if the truth
of “the number of Fs = the number of Gs” requires no more than that of “the Fs are
1 (Hale and Wright, 2009b, pp. 187 and 193). Both of the passages quoted in this paragraph have been
adapted slightly to fit our present example.

xii preface
equinumerous with the Gs”, perhaps the former sentence is just a façon de parler for
the latter. To be convincing, the idea of thin objects has to be properly explained.
This book attempts to develop the needed explanations by drawing on some
Fregean ideas. I should say straight away, though, that my ambitions are not primarily
exegetical. I use some Fregean ideas that I find interesting in an attempt to answer
some important philosophical questions. By and large, I do not claim that the
arguments and views developed in this book coincide with Frege’s. Some of the views
I defend are patently un-Fregean.
My strategy for making sense of thin objects has a simple structure. I begin with
the Fregean idea that an object, in the most general sense of the word, is a possible
referent of a singular term. The question of what objects there are is thus transformed
into the question of what forms of singular reference are possible. This means that
any account that makes singular reference easy to achieve makes it correspondingly
easy for objects to exist. A second Fregean idea is now invoked to argue that singular
reference can indeed be easy to achieve. According to this second idea, there is a
close link between reference and criteria of identity. Roughly speaking, it suffices
for a singular term to refer that the term has been associated with a specification
of the would-be referent, which figures in an appropriate criterion of identity. For
instance, it suffices for a direction term to refer that it has been associated with a
line and is subject to a criterion of identity that takes two lines to specify the same
direction just in case they are parallel.2 In this way, the second Fregean idea makes easy
reference available. And by means of the first Fregean idea, easy reference ensures easy
being. My strategy for making sense of thin objects can thus be depicted by the upper
two arrows (representing explanatory moves) in the following triangle of interrelated
concepts:
reference
objecthood identity criteria
(The lower arrow will be explained shortly.)

My concern with criteria of identity leads to an interest in abstraction principles,
which are principles of the form:
(AP) §α = §β = α ∼ β
2 Admittedly, we would obtain a better fit with our ordinary concept of direction by considering instead
directed lines or line segments and the equivalence relation of “co-orientation”, defined as parallelism plus
sameness of orientation. We shall keep this famous example unchanged, however, as the mentioned wrinkle
does not affect anything of philosophical importance.
preface xiii
where α and β are variables of some type, § is an operator that applies to such
variables to form singular terms, and ∼ stands for an equivalence relation on the
kinds of items over which the variables range. An example made famous by Frege is
the aforementioned principle that the directions of two lines are identical just in case
the lines are parallel. My preferred way of understanding an abstraction principle is
simply as a special type of criterion of identity.
How does my proposed route to thin objects compare with others explored in the
literature? My debt to Frege is obvious. I have also profited enormously from the
writings of Michael Dummett and the neo-Fregeans Bob Hale and Crispin Wright.
As soon as one zooms in on the conceptual terrain, however, it becomes clear that the
route to be traveled in this book diverges in important respects from the paths already
explored. Unlike the neo-Fregeans, I have no need for the so-called “syntactic priority
thesis”, which ascribes to syntactic categories a certain priority over ontological ones.
And I am critical of the idea of “content recarving”, which is central to Frege’s project
in the Grundlagen (but not, I argue, in the Grundgesetze) and to the projects of the
neo-Fregeans as well as Rayo.
My view is in some respects closer to Dummett’s than to that of the neo-Fregeans.
I share Dummett’s preference for a particularly unproblematic form of abstraction,
which I call predicative. On this form of abstraction, any question about the “new”
abstracta can be reduced to a question about the “old” entities on which we abstract.
A paradigm example is the case of directions, where we abstract on lines to obtain
their directions. This abstraction is predicative because any question about the result-
ing directions can be answered on the basis solely of the lines in terms of which
the directions are specified. I argue that predicative abstraction principles can be
laid down with no presuppositions whatsoever. But my argument does not extend
to impredicative principles. This makes predicative abstraction principles uniquely
well suited to serve in an account of thin objects. My approach extends even to the
predicative version of Frege’s infamous Basic Law V. This “law” serves as the main
engine of an abstractionist account of sets that I develop and show to justify the strong
but widely accepted set theory ZF.
The restriction to predicative abstraction results in an entirely natural class of
abstraction principles, which has no unacceptable members (or so-called “bad
companions”). My account therefore avoids the “bad company problem”. Instead,
I face a complementary challenge. Although predicative abstraction principles are
uniquely unproblematic and free of presuppositions, they are mathematically weak.
My response to this challenge consists of a novel account of “dynamic abstraction”,
which is one of the distinctive features of the approach developed in this book. Since
abstraction often results in a larger domain, we can use this extended domain to
provide criteria of identity for yet further objects, which can thus be obtained by
further steps of abstraction. (This observation is represented by the lower arrow in
the above diagram.) The successive “formation” of sets described by the influential
iterative conception of sets is just one instance of the more general phenomenon of
xiv preface
dynamic abstraction. Legitimate abstraction steps are iterated indefinitely to build

up ever larger domains of abstract objects. Dynamic abstraction can be seen as a
development and extension of the famous iterative conception of sets.
A second distinctive feature of my approach is the development of the idea of
thin objects. Suppose we speak a basic language concerned with a certain range of
entities (say, lines). Suppose ∼ is an equivalence relation on some of these entities (say,
parallelism). Then it is legitimate to adopt an extended language in which we speak
precisely as if we have successfully abstracted on ∼ (say, by speaking also about the
directions of the lines with which we began). I argue we have reason to ascribe to this
extended language a genuine form of reference to abstract objects. Since these objects
need not be in the domain of the original language, we can introduce yet another
language extension, where we talk about yet more objects. In fact, there is no end to
this process of forming ever more expressive languages.
Some words about methodology are in order. I make fairly extensive use of logical
and mathematical tools. Formal definitions are provided, and theorems proved. I am
under no illusions about what this methodology achieves. As Kripke observes, “There
is no mathematical substitute for philosophy” (Kripke, 1976, p. 416). Definitions and
theorems do not by themselves solve any philosophical problems, at least not of the
sort that will occupy us here. The value of the formal methods to be employed lies
in the precision and rigor that they make possible, not in replacing more traditional
philosophical theorizing. But experience shows that precision matters in the discus-
sions that will concern us. It is therefore scientifically inexcusable not to aspire to a
high level of precision. In fact, much of the material to be discussed lends itself to
a mathematically precise investigation. While the use of formal methods does not by
itself solve any philosophical problems, it imposes an intellectual discipline that makes
it more likely that our philosophical arguments will bear fruit.3
A quick overview of the book may be helpful. Part I is intended as a self-contained
introduction to the main ideas developed in the book as a whole. Chapter 1 sets the
stage by introducing the idea of thin objects, explaining its attractions as well as some
difficulties. This discussion culminates in a detailed “job description” for the idea of
thin objects. This job description is formulated in terms of a notion of one claim
sufficing for another—although the ontological commitments of the latter exceed
those of the former. By formulating some constraints on the notion of sufficiency,
I provide a precise characterization of what it would take to substantiate the idea
of thin objects. Chapter 2 introduces my own candidate for the job. I explain the
Fregean conception of objecthood and the idea that an appropriate use of criteria of
identity can suffice to constitute relations of reference. Chapter 3 introduces the idea of
dynamic abstraction. The form of abstraction explained in Chapter 2 can be iterated,
3
Compare (Williamson, 2007).
preface xv
resulting in ever larger domains. I argue that this dynamic approach is superior to the
dominant “static” approach, both philosophically and technically.
Part II compares my own approach with some other attempts to develop the idea
of thin objects. I begin, in Chapter 4, by describing and criticizing some symmet-
ric conceptions of abstraction according to which the two sides of an acceptable
abstraction principle provide different “recarvings” of one and the same content.
In Chapter 5, I explain and reject some “ultra-thin” conceptions of reference and
objecthood, which go much further than my own thin conception. One target is Hale
and Wright’s “syntactic priority thesis”, which holds that it suffices for an expression to
refer that it behaves syntactically and inferentially just like a singular term and figures
in a true (atomic) sentence. The ultra-thin conceptions make the notion of reference
semantically idle, I argue, and give rise to inexplicable relations of reference. The
important distinction between predicative and impredicative abstraction is explained
in Chapter 6. I argue that the former type of abstraction is superior to the latter, at least
for the purposes of developing the idea of thin objects. Only predicative abstraction
allows us to make sense of the attractive idea of there being no “metaphysical gap”
between the two sides of an abstraction principle. Finally, in Chapter 7, I discuss a
venerable source of motivation for the approach pursued in this book, namely Frege’s
context principle, which urges us never to ask for the meaning of an expression in
isolation but only in the context of a complete sentence. Various interpretations of
this influential but somewhat obscure principle are discussed, and its role in Frege’s
philosophical project is analyzed.
Part III spells out the ideas introduced in Part I. I begin, in Chapter 8, by developing
in detail an example of how an appropriate use of criteria of identity can ensure
easy reference. Chapter 9 addresses the Julius Caesar problem, which concerns cross-
category identities such as “Caesar = 3”. Although logic leaves us free to resolve
such identities in any way we wish, I observe that our linguistic practices often
embody an implicit choice to regard such identities as false. Chapter 10 examines
the important example of the natural numbers. I defend an ordinal conception of the
natural numbers, rather than the cardinal conception that is generally favored among
thinkers influenced by Frege. The penultimate chapter returns to the question of how
thin objects should be understood. While my view is obviously a form of ontological
realism about abstract objects, this realism is distinguished from more robust forms
of mathematical Platonism. I use this slight retreat from Platonism to explain how
thin objects are epistemologically tractable. The final chapter applies the dynamic
approach to abstraction to the important example of sets. This results in an account
of ordinary ZFC set theory.
The major dependencies among the chapters are depicted by the following diagram.
The via brevissima provided by Part I is indicated in bold.
xvi preface
11
12 8
3 5 6 10
2 4 7
Many of the ideas developed in this book have had a long period of gestation.
The central idea of thin objects figured prominently already in my PhD dissertation
(Linnebo, 2002b) and an article (later abandoned) from the same period (Linnebo,
2002a). At first, this idea was developed in a structuralist manner. Later, an abstrac-
tionist development of the idea was explored in (Linnebo, 2005) and continued in
(Linnebo, 2008) and (Linnebo, 2009b). These three articles contain the germs of large
parts of this book, but are now entirely superseded by it. The idea of invoking thin
objects to develop a plausible epistemology of mathematics has its roots in the final
section of (Linnebo, 2006a). The second distinctive feature of this book—namely that
of dynamic abstraction—has its origins in (Linnebo, 2006b) and (Linnebo, 2009a)
(which was completed in 2007).
Some of the chapters draw on previously published material. In Part I, the opening
four sections of Chapter 1 are based on (Linnebo, 2012a), which is now superseded
by this chapter. Section 2.3 derives from Section 4 of (Linnebo, 2005), which (as
mentioned) is superseded by this book. The remaining material is mostly new. In
Part II, Sections 4.2 and 4.3 are based on (Linnebo, 2014), and Section 6.2 on (Linnebo,
2016a). These two articles expand on the themes of Chapters 4 and 6, respectively.
Chapter 7 closely follows (Linnebo, forthcoming). In Part III, Chapters 8, 10, and 12
are based on (Linnebo, 2012b), (Linnebo, 2009c), and (Linnebo, 2013), respectively,
but with occasional improvements. Chapter 9 and Section 11.5 make some limited
use of (Linnebo, 2005) and (Linnebo, 2008), respectively, both of which are (as
mentioned) superseded by this book.
There are many people to be thanked. Special thanks to Bob Hale and Agustín
Rayo for our countless discussions and their sterling contribution as referees for
Oxford University Press, as well as to Peter Momtchiloff for his patience and sound
advice. I have benefited enormously from written comments and discussions of ideas
preface xvii
developed in this manuscript; thanks to Solveig Aasen, Bahram Assadian, Neil Barton,
Rob Bassett, Christian Beyer, Susanne Bobzien, Francesca Boccuni, Einar Duenger
Bøhn, Roy Cook, Philip Ebert, Matti Eklund, Anthony Everett, Jens Erik Fenstad,
Salvatore Florio, Dagfinn Føllesdal, Peter Fritz, Olav Gjelsvik, Volker Halbach, Mirja
Hartimo, Richard Heck, Simon Hewitt, Leon Horsten, Keith Hossack, Torfinn
Huvenes, Nick Jones, Frode Kjosavik, Jönne Kriener, James Ladyman, Hannes Leitgeb,
Jon Litland, Michele Lubrano, Jonny McIntosh, David Nicolas, Charles Parsons, Alex
Paseau, Jonathan Payne, Richard Pettigrew, Michael Rescorla, Sam Roberts, Marcus
Rossberg, Ian Rumfitt, Andrea Sereni, Stewart Shapiro, James Studd, Tolgahan Toy,
Rafal Urbaniak, Gabriel Uzquiano, Albert Visser, Sean Walsh, Timothy Williamson,
Crispin Wright, as well as the participants at a large number of conferences and
workshops where this material was presented. Thanks to Hans Robin Solberg for
preparing the index. This project was initiated with the help of an AHRC-funded
research leave (grant AH/E003753/1) and finally brought to its completion during
two terms as a Visiting Fellow at All Souls College, Oxford. I gratefully acknowledge
their support.
PA R T I
Essentials
1
In Search of Thin Objects
1.1 Introduction
Kant famously argued that all existence claims are synthetic.1 An existence claim
can never be established by conceptual analysis alone but always requires an appeal
to intuition or perception, thus making the claim synthetic. This view is boldly
rejected in Frege’s Foundations of Arithmetic (Frege, 1953), where Frege defends an
account of arithmetic that combines a form of ontological realism with logicism. His
realism consists in taking arithmetic to be about real objects existing independently
of all human or other cognizers. And his logicism consists in taking the truths
of pure arithmetic to rest on just logic and definitions and thus be analytic. Most
philosophers now probably agree with Kant in this debate and deny that the existence
of mathematical objects can be established on the basis of logic and conceptual
analysis alone. This is why George Boolos, only slightly tongue-in-cheek, can offer a
one-line refutation of Fregean logicism: “Arithmetic implies that there are two distinct
numbers” (Boolos, 1997, p. 302), whereas logic and conceptual analysis—Boolos takes
us all to know—cannot underwrite any existence claims (other than perhaps of one
object, so as to streamline logical theory).2
However, the disagreement between Kant and Frege lives on in a different form.
Even if we concede that there are no analytic existence claims, we may ask whether
there are objects whose existence does not (loosely speaking) make a substantial
demand on the world. That is, are there objects that are “thin” in the sense that their
existence does not (again loosely speaking) amount to very much? Presumably, an
analytic truth does not make a substantial demand on the world.3 But perhaps being
analytic is not the only way to avoid imposing a substantial demand. Instead of asking
Frege’s question of whether there are existence claims that are analytic, we can ask the
broader question of whether there are existence claims that are “non-demanding”—in
some sense yet to be clarified.
A number of philosophers have been attracted to this idea. Two classic examples
are found in the philosophy of mathematics. First, there is the view that the existence
1 2
See (Kant, 1997, B622–3). See also (Boolos, 1997, pp. 199 and 214).
3 Analyticity must here be understood in a metaphysical rather than epistemological sense (Boghossian,
1996). I cannot discuss here whether Frege’s rationalism led him to depart from a traditional conception of
(metaphysical) analyticity. See (MacFarlane, 2002) for some relevant discussion.
 in search of thin objects
of the objects described by a theory of pure mathematics amounts to nothing more

than the consistency or coherence of this theory. This view has been held by many
leading mathematicians and continues to exert a strong influence on contemporary
philosophers of mathematics.4 Then, there is the view associated with Frege that the
equinumerosity of two concepts suffices for the existence of a number representing
the cardinality of both concepts. For instance, the fact that the knives and the forks
on a table can be one-to-one correlated is said to suffice for the existence of a number
that represents the cardinality of both the knives and the forks.5 Agustín Rayo nicely
captures the idea when he writes that a “subtle Platonist” such as Frege
believes that for the number of the Fs to be eight just is for there to be eight planets. So when
God created eight planets she thereby made it the case that the number of the planets was eight.
(Rayo, 2016, p. 203; emphasis in original)
I am not claiming that there is a single, sharply articulated view underlying all these
views, only that they are all attempts to develop the as-yet fuzzy idea that there are
objects whose existence does not make a substantial demand on the world.
We have talked about objects being thin in an absolute sense, namely that their
existence does not make a substantial demand on the world. An object can also be thin
relative to some other objects if, given the existence of these other objects, the existence
of the object in question makes no substantial further demand. Someone attracted to
the view that pure sets are thin in the absolute sense is likely also to be attracted to the
view that an impure set is thin relative to the urelements (i.e. non-sets) that figure in
its transitive closure. The existence of a set of all the books in my office, for example,
requires little or nothing beyond the existence of the books. Moreover, a mereological
sum may be thin relative to its parts. For example, the existence of a mereological sum
of all my books requires little or nothing beyond the existence of these books.6
I shall refer to any view according to which there are objects that are thin in either
the absolute or the relative sense as a form of metaontological minimalism, or just
minimalism for short. The label requires some explanation. While ontology is the
study of what there is, metaontology is the study of the key concepts of ontology, such
as existence and objecthood.7 A view is therefore a form of metaontological min-
imalism insofar as it holds that existence and objecthood have a minimal character.
Minimalists need not hold that all objects are thin. Their claim is that our concept of an
object permits thin objects. Additional “thickness” can of course derive from the kind
of object in question. Elementary particles, for example, are thick in the sense that
their existence makes a substantial demand on the world. But their thickness derives
from what it is to be an elementary particle, not from what it is to be an object.
4 See for instance (Parsons, 1990), (Resnik, 1997), and (Shapiro, 1997).
5 See for instance (Wright, 1983) and the essays collected in (Hale and Wright, 2001a).
6
Philosophers attracted to this view include (Lewis, 1991, Section 3.6) and (Sider, 2007).
7 See for instance (Eklund, 2006a).
coherentist minimalism 
Metaontological minimalism has consequences concerning ontology proper. The

thinner the concept of an object, the more objects there tend to be. Metaontological
minimalism thus tends to support a generous ontology.8 By contrast, a generous
ontology does not by itself support metaontological minimalism. The universe might
just happen to contain an abundance of objects whose existence makes substantial
demands on the world.
Just as metaontological minimalists are heirs to the Fregean view that there are
analytic existence claims, there are also heirs to the contrasting Kantian view. Hartry
Field has attacked the idea that mathematical objects are thin, sometimes mentioning
the Kantian origin of his criticism.9 And various metaphysicians reject the idea
that mereological sums are thin relative to their parts.10 Just as with the original
Kantian rejection of analytic existence claims, this contemporary rejection of thin
objects strikes many philosophers as plausible. Metaontological minimalism can
come across as a piece of philosophical magic that aspires to conjure up something
out of nothing—or, in the relative case, to conjure up more out of less.
The chapter is organized as follows. In the next two sections, I outline two influ-
ential approaches to the idea of thin objects that are found in the philosophy of
mathematics and that were mentioned above. Then, I examine the appeal of the idea.
Based on this examination, I formulate some logical and philosophical constraints
that any viable form of metaontological minimalism must satisfy. We thus obtain
a “job description”, and the task of the book is to find a suitable candidate for the
job. The chapter ends with an attempt to dramatically reduce the field of acceptable
candidates by rejecting the customary symmetric conception of abstraction in favor
of an asymmetric conception. The left-hand side of an abstraction principle makes
demands on the world that go beyond those of the right-hand side. Thin objects are
nevertheless secured because the former demands do not substantially exceed the
latter. For the truths on the left are grounded in the truths on the right.
1.2 Coherentist Minimalism

One classic example of metaontological minimalism is the view that the coherence
of a mathematical theory suffices for the existence of the objects that the theory
purports to describe. Since it is coherent to supplement the ordinary real number
line R with two infinite numbers −∞ and +∞, for example, the extended real
number line R̄ = R ∪ {−∞, +∞} exists. And since it is coherent to supplement
√
R with the imaginary unit i = −1 and all the other complex numbers, the complex
field C exists. All that the existence of these new mathematical objects involves,
according to the view in question, is the coherence of the theories that describe the
relevant structures. Let us refer to this as a coherentist approach to thin objects.
8 See (Eklund, 2006b) for a discussion of some extremely abundant ontologies that may arise in this way.
9 10
See (Field, 1989, pp. 5 and 79–80). See for instance (Rosen and Dorr, 2002).
 in search of thin objects
This approach enjoys widespread support within mathematics itself and is defended
by several prominent mathematicians. In his correspondence with Frege, for example,
David Hilbert wrote:
As long as I have been thinking, writing and lecturing on these things, I have been saying
the exact reverse: if the arbitrarily given axioms do not contradict each other with all their
consequences, then they are true and the things defined by them exist. This is for me the
criterion of truth and existence.11
As is well known, the word ‘criterion’ is ambiguous between a metaphysical meaning

(a defining characteristic) and an epistemological one (a mark by which something
can be recognized). Since the context favors the metaphysical reading, the passage
is naturally read as an endorsement of metaontological minimalism, not just of an
extravagant ontology.
A similar view is endorsed by Georg Cantor:
Mathematics is in its development entirely free and only bound in the self-evident respect that
its concepts must both be consistent with each other and also stand in exact relationships,
ordered by definitions, to those concepts which have previously been introduced and are
already at hand and established.12
It may be objected that, while this passage defends an extremely generous ontology,
it is not a defense of metaontological minimalism. In response, we observe that the
passage is concerned with what Cantor calls “immanent reality”, which is a matter of
occupying “an entirely determinate place in our understanding”. Cantor contrasts this
with “transient reality”, which requires that a mathematical object be “an expression
or copy of the events and relationships in the external world which confronts the
intellect” (p. 895). He feels compelled to provide an argument that the former kind of
existence ensures the latter. The most plausible interpretation, I think, is that Cantor
seeks a form of metaontological minimalism with respect to immanent existence but
merely a generous ontology concerning transient existence.
The coherentist approach to thin objects has enjoyed widespread support among
philosophers as well. A structuralist version of the approach has in recent decades
been defended by central philosophers of mathematics such as Charles Parsons,
Michael Resnik, and Stewart Shapiro.13 For instance, Shapiro includes the following
“coherence principle” in his theory of mathematical structures:
Coherence: If ϕ is a coherent formula in a second-order language, then there is a structure that
satisfies ϕ. (Shapiro, 1997, p. 95)
11 Letter to Frege of December 29, 1899, in (Frege, 1980). See (Ewald, 1996, p. 1105) for another example
from Hilbert.
12 See (Cantor, 1883), translated in (Ewald, 1996, p. 896).
13 See the works cited in footnote 4. Also relevant is the “equivalence thesis” of (Putnam, 1967).
abstractionist minimalism 
It is instructive to compare this principle with Tarski’s semantic account of logical

consistency and consequence. On Tarski’s analysis, a theory T is said to be seman-
tically consistent (or coherent) just in case there is a mathematical model of T. The
coherence principle can be regarded as a reversal of this analysis: we now attempt
to account for what models or structures there are in terms of what theories are
coherent.14
Shapiro not only endorses the coherence principle but makes some striking claims
about its philosophical status. He compares the ontologically committed claim that
there is a certain mathematical structure with the (apparently) ontologically innocent
claim that it is possible for there to be instances of this structure. These claims are
“equivalent” (p. 96), he contends, and “[i]n a sense […] say the same thing, using
different primitives” (p. 97). Shapiro’s view is thus a version of coherentist minimalism,
centered on the claim that
there is a model of T ⇔ T is coherent
where ϕ ⇔ ψ means that ϕ and ψ “say the same thing”.
The coherentist approach can be extended to objects that are thin only in a
relative sense. Coherence does not suffice for the existence of “thick” objects such as
electrons. But given the existence of certain thick constituents, coherence may suffice
for the existence of further objects that are thin relative to these constituents. Given
the existence of two electrons, for example, their set and mereological sum may exist
simply because the existence of such objects is coherent.
Is coherentist minimalism tenable? I remain neutral on the question. My present
aim is to develop and defend an alternative form of minimalism based on Fregean
abstraction. My pursuit of this aim is unaffected by the success or failure of the
coherentist alternative.
1.3 Abstractionist Minimalism

Another classic example of metaontological minimalism derives from Frege and has
been developed by the neo-Fregeans Hale and Wright. Frege first argues (along lines
that will be outlined in Section 1.4) that there are abstract mathematical objects. He
then pauses to consider a challenge:
How, then, are the numbers to be given to us, if we cannot have any ideas or intuitions of them?
(Frege, 1953, §62)
That is, how can we have epistemic or semantic “access” to numbers, given that their
abstractness precludes any kind of perception of them or experimental detection?
14 This is not to say that we possess a notion of coherence that is independent of mathematics. Our view
on questions of coherence will be informed by and be sensitive to set theory. Here we use some mathematics
to explicate a philosophical notion, which in turn is used to provide a philosophical interpretation of
mathematics. See (Shapiro, 1997, pp. 135–6) for discussion.
 in search of thin objects
Frege’s response urges us to transform the question of how linguistic (or mental)
representations succeed in referring to natural numbers into the different question
of how complete sentences (or their mental counterparts) succeed in having their
appropriate arithmetical meanings:
Since it is only in the context of a sentence that words have any meaning, our problem becomes
this: To define the sense of a sentence in which a number word occurs. (Frege, 1953, §62)
This response raises some hard exegetical questions, which are discussed in Chapter 7.
But the argumentative strategy of the Grundlagen is made tolerably clear a few pages
later, where Frege makes a surprising claim about the relation between the parallelism
of lines and the identity of their directions:
The judgement “line a is parallel to line b”, or, using symbols, a b, can be taken as an identity.
If we do this, we obtain the concept of direction, and say: “the direction of line a is identical with
the direction of line b”. Thus we replace the symbol by the more generic symbol =, through
removing what is specific in the content of the former and dividing it between a and b. We carve
up the content in a way different from the original way, and this yields us a new concept.
(Frege, 1953, §64)
Consider the criterion of identity for directions:

(Dir) d(l1 ) = d(l2 ) ↔ l1 l2
Frege claims that the content of the right-hand side of this biconditional can be
“recarved” to yield the content of the left-hand side. The idea is that we get epistemic
and semantic access to directions by first establishing a truth about parallelism of lines
and then “recarving” this content so as to yield an identity between directions.
Let ϕ ⇔ ψ formalize the claim that ϕ and ψ are different “carvings” of the same
content—in a sense yet to be explicated. Then (Dir) can be strengthened to:
(Dir⇔ ) d(l1 ) = d(l2 ) ⇔ l1 l2
Inspired by this example, Frege and the neo-Fregeans seek to provide a logical
and philosophical foundation for classical mathematics on the basis of abstraction
principles, which generalize (Dir). These are principles of the form
(AP) §α = §β ↔ α ∼ β
where α and β range over items of some sort, where ∼ is an equivalence relation on
such items, and where § is an operator that maps such items to objects. One famous
example is Hume’s Principle, which says that the number of Fs (symbolized as #F)
is identical to the number of Gs just in case the Fs and the Gs can be one-to-one
correlated (symbolized as F ≈ G):
(HP) #F = #G ↔ F ≈ G
As Frege discovered, this principle has an amazing mathematical property. When
added to second-order logic along with some natural definitions, we are able to
the appeal of thin objects 
derive all of ordinary (second-order Dedekind-Peano) arithmetic.15 As we shall see,

abstraction principles are available not just for directions and numbers but for many
other kinds of abstract object as well, such as geometrical shapes and linguistic types.
What does all this mean? According to Frege and the neo-Fregeans, the left-hand
side of each successful abstraction principle (AP) provides a “recarving” of the content
of the corresponding right-hand side.16 All that is required for the existence of the
objects §α and §β is that the equivalence relation ∼ obtain between the entities
α and β. All that is required for the existence of directions, for example, is the
parallelism of appropriate lines.
The abstractionist approach to minimalism can be extended to objects that are thin
only in the relative sense. It is possible to formulate abstraction principles for sets and
mereological sums, for example, which ensures that the existence of sets and sums
of thick objects does not make any substantial demand beyond the existence of their
thick constituents.
1.4 The Appeal of Thin Objects

Why are so many philosophers and mathematicians attracted to the idea of thin
objects? The most important reason is that metaontological minimalism promises a
way to accept face value readings of discourses whose ontologies would otherwise be
problematic. Arithmetic provides an example. The language of arithmetic contains
proper names which (it seems) purport to refer to certain abstract objects, namely
natural numbers, as well as quantifier phrases which (it seems) purport to range over
all such numbers. Moreover, a great variety of theorems expressed in this language
appear to be true. These theorems are asserted in full earnest by competent laypeople
as well as professional mathematicians. Since the arithmetical competence of these
people is beyond question, there is reason to believe that most of their arithmetical
assertions are true. But if these theorems are true, then their singular terms and
quantifiers must succeed in referring to and ranging over natural numbers. And for
this kind of success to be possible, there must exist abstract mathematical objects.
The argument is certainly valid. Is it sound? The premises can of course be
challenged—like everything else in philosophy. But they have great initial plausibility.
It would be appealing to take the apparent truth of the premises at face value, if
possible. This would save us the difficult task of showing how both laypeople and
experts are wrong about something they take to be obviously true. So the argument
provides at least some reason to believe that there exist mathematical objects such as
numbers.17
15 This result, which is known as Frege’s Theorem, is hinted at in (Parsons, 1965) and explicitly stated in
(Wright, 1983). See (Boolos, 1990) for a nice proof.

16 Further evidence that the neo-Fregeans are pursuing the idea of thin objects, as understood here, is
provided in Section 6.4.

17 See (Linnebo, 2017c) for an overview of defenses of the premises, which, if successful, would support
a much stronger conclusion.

 in search of thin objects
On the other hand, the ontology of abstract objects is often found to be

philosophically problematic. The epistemological challenge brought to general
philosophical attention by (Benacerraf, 1973) is well known. Since perception and
all forms of instrumental detection are based on causal processes, these methods
cannot give us access to abstract objects such as the natural numbers. How then can
we acquire knowledge of them?18
Another worry is the perceived extravagance of the huge ontologies postulated by
contemporary mathematics. How can we postulate vast infinities of new objects with
such a light heart? No physicist would so unscrupulously postulate a huge infinity of
new physical objects. Why, then, should mathematicians get away with it? Of course,
philosophers are divided over how serious these worries are. But any successful
account of mathematical objects needs to have some response to the worries, even
if only to explain why they are misguided.
The idea of thin objects suggests a promising strategy for responding to the worries.
The vast ontology of mathematics may well be problematic when understood in a
thick sense. If mathematical objects are understood on the model of, say, elementary
particles, there would indeed be good reason to worry about epistemic access and
ontological extravagance. But this understanding of mathematical objects is not
obligatory. If there are such things as thin objects, then the existence of mathematical
objects need not make much of a demand on the world. It may, for instance, suffice
that the theory purporting to describe the relevant mathematical objects is coherent.
This would greatly simplify the problem of epistemic access. Although our knowledge
of the coherence of mathematical theories is still inadequately understood, it is
at least not a complete mystery in the way that knowledge of thick mathematical
objects would be. More generally, the less of a demand the existence of mathe-
matical objects makes on the world, the easier it will be to know that the demand
is satisfied.19
Thin objects would help with the worry about ontological extravagance as well. If
mathematical objects are thin, the bar to existence is set very low. So it is only to be
expected that a generous ontology should result. This is just an instance of the general
phenomenon noted above, namely that metaontological minimalism tends to support
generous ontologies. Does this defense of a generous mathematical ontology conflict
with Occam’s razor? The answer depends on how the razor is understood. If all the
razor says is that objects must never be postulated “beyond necessity” but must earn
18 An improved version of the challenge is developed in (Field, 1989). In (Linnebo, 2006a) I develop
a further improvement which I argue survives all extant attempts to answer or reject the challenge. Some
ideas about how to answer this improved challenge are found already in that paper but are set out in greater
detail below, especially in Section 11.5.
19 This response to Benacerraf ’s challenge must be distinguished from that of (Balaguer, 1998). As
I understand it, Balaguer’s “full-blooded platonism” is primarily a very generous ontology. My present point,
however, is that metaontological minimalism promises to reduce the explanatory burden by equating the
existence of mathematical objects with some fact to which epistemic access is less problematic.
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much alike; and the boy who has not energy enough to set his face
resolutely against the early discouragements of any particular
calling, will, in all probability, be successful in no other. It is, however,
so great an advantage to have a young person’s own feelings, and
his point of honour heartily engaged in the cause in which he has
embarked, that, if circumstances render such a thing at all expedient,
or not quite unreasonable, the choice of a profession may often be
conceded with advantage. But such free choice ought to be
afterwards burdened, with a positive interdict against change. In the
case of a sea life, this appears to be quite indispensable; for the
contrast is so striking, in most cases, between the comforts of home
and the discomforts of a ship—to say nothing of rough fare, hard
work, sea-sickness, and strict discipline—that, if an opening be
constantly presented for escape, few youngsters will have resolution
enough to bear up against those trials to which they must be
exposed, and which they ought to hold themselves prepared to meet
with cheerfulness.
Perhaps the naval profession owes a good deal of its peculiar
character to these very disadvantages, as they are called; and
though we may often regret to see young men, of good abilities,
dropping out of the navy, who, if they had only cast on the right tack,
might have done the service and themselves much honour—yet
there is no denying that their more vigorous-minded and sterner-
framed companions, whom they leave afloat, are, upon the whole,
better fitted to make useful public servants.
In many other professions, it is possible to calculate, beforehand,
with more or less precision, the degree and kind of work which a
young man is likely to be called upon to perform; but there is peculiar
difficulty in coming to any just conclusion upon these points, even in
a vague way, in the life of a sailor. His range of duties includes the
whole world,—he may be lost in the wilderness of a three-decker, or
be wedged into a cock-boat;—he may be fried in Jamaica, or frozen
in Spitzbergen;—he may be cruising, or be in action during six days
of the week, in the midst of a fleet, and flounder in solitude on the
seventh; or he may waste his years in peaceful idleness, the most
fatal to subordination, or be employed on the home station, and hear
from his friends every day, or he may be fifteen months, as I have
been, at a time, without getting a letter or seeing a newspaper. He
may have an easy-going commander, which is a very great evil; or
his captain may be one of those tight hands, who, to use the slang of
the cock-pit, keeps every one on board ‘under the fear of the Lord
and a broomstick.’ In short, a man may go to sea for twenty years,
and find no two men, and hardly two days alike. All this, which is
delightful to some minds, and productive in them of every kind of
resource, is utterly distracting, and very often ruinous, to others.
Weak frames generally sink under its severity; and weak minds
become confused with its complication, and the intensity of its action.
But, on the other hand, the variety of its objects is so boundless, that
if a young man have only strength of body, to endure the wear and
tear of watching and other inevitable fatigues; and have also strength
of character enough to persevere, in the certainty of openings
occurring, sooner or later, by which his talents or his industry may
find profitable employment,—there can be little doubt that the
profession of a sailor might be made suitable to most of those who,
on entering it, are positively cut off from retreat.
Supposing that this ticklish question, of the choice of a profession,
has been conceded to a boy, there remains the still more perplexing
problem—what is the fittest method of training him beforehand, so
that he may enter his new life with best effect? The difficulty arises, I
suspect, from two causes, one of which applies to education
generally, the other to the particular case of a lad intended for the
navy. Most people seem to think, and very naturally, that the object
of a school is to teach knowledge which shall afterwards be
practically available in the business of life; and they cannot well
understand what is the use of teaching Latin and Greek, which
appear to be so little applicable to real work. Much of this difficulty
vanishes, however, if it be considered that the chief purpose of
education is to discipline the mind, and to train up the character, so
that it may be found equal to any task, no matter how unlooked-for it
may be. In such a view, the Classics are as good, and probably
better than any other.
If the principles, the faculties, and the feelings of a boy be duly
cultivated at school, he may be expected to enter the world in as fit a
state to profit by the opportunities in his path, as his nature will allow
of; nor does it, perhaps, much matter by what artificial machinery this
degree of perfection in mental culture has been attained. All that
seems essentially of importance is, that the endowments given him
by nature, should have been so well exercised, that when brought to
bear on the real, manly business of life, they may act with effect. If
the process of education has been well managed, its utility will
probably not be the least sensibly felt, in cases where the pursuits to
be followed in earnest are dissimilar to those, by means of which the
boy’s faculties were originally developed at school.
In the instance of young men intended for the navy, I think this rule
applies with particular force. The early age of thirteen, at which they
must of necessity go on board ship, renders it almost impossible that
they can have acquired any great stock of what is usually called
knowledge. But, by proper management, they may, previous to that
age, have secured a very large stock of that particular description of
information which will be of most use to them in the outset of life; and
their growing minds may have been fitted, by a good system of
school discipline, to submit with cheerfulness, as well as advantage,
to that singular mixture of constraint and freedom, which forms the
most striking feature of a sea life. If this be true, it is perhaps of no
great consequence whether the ground-work of such an education
be the ancient classics, the mathematics, or modern languages: for
the real object to be arrived at, viz. mental training, may, by proper
management, be equally well attained by any of these methods.
No two boys, perhaps, out of a dozen, intended for the sea, may
require the same training; but still there is no reason why the whole
number should not be equally well fitted, by previous education, to
advance themselves in the service, according to their respective
talents, though some of them, at starting, may be altogether ignorant
of those subjects, generally supposed to be of the most
indispensable utility at sea.
Antecedent, therefore, to the age of thirteen, after which a boy
ought never to commence his naval career, it appears to matter
extremely little what he learns, provided his mind be kept fully
occupied. It will be better, no doubt, if a boy’s taste happen to lie in
that direction, that his occupations at school have as direct a
reference as possible to his future pursuits. If, for instance, he have
a turn for mathematics, or for modern languages, he ought certainly
to be indulged in his fancy. But the essential objects to be attended
to, at this stage of his education, lie a great deal further from the
surface, and consequently make much less show. The formation of
character, upon the solid basis of religion, and a due cultivation of
manners, especially of those branches which relate to temper and
self-denial, are quite within the range of education antecedent to the
age of thirteen. If, then, a boy be only well grounded in his principles,
and if he be taught to think and feel and act like a gentleman, before
he is turned adrift on the wide ocean, and he have also acquired
habits of industry and obedience, together with the ordinary
elements of knowledge—reading, writing, and so on—it matters little,
as I conceive, whether he has acquired much information besides—
for all else that is wanting will follow in good time.
The consideration of what system of instruction should be pursued
afterwards, at the naval college, or on board ship, is a totally different
affair, and deserves to be treated by itself.
CHAPTER II.
FIRST GOING AFLOAT.
I know not what other persons may have felt on these occasions; but
I must own, that, in spite of all my enthusiasm, when the actual time
came for fairly leaving friends and home, and plunging quite alone
and irrevocably into a new life, I felt a degree of anxiety, and distrust
of myself, which, as these feelings were quite strange, I scarcely
knew how to manage. I had been allowed to choose my own
profession, it is true, and was always eager to be off; yet I almost
wished, when the actual moment arrived, that I had not been taken
at my word. For the first time in my life, I knew what was meant by
the word responsibility, and all the shame of failure stared me in the
face. When at school, nine-tenths of my thoughts had always
rambled abroad, to those unknown regions, upon which my
imagination loved to feast, day and night. Still, I can well remember,
my heart sunk within me, and I felt pretty much as if I were on the
verge of death, when the carriage that was to convey me away,
drove up to the door. I still believed that there was, even on this
earth, a new and a much better world before me; but when I tasked
my judgment, to say upon what grounds this belief rested, the
answer was so meagre, that I began to dread I had done a mighty
foolish thing in setting out to seek for it.
“What a scrape I shall be in,” I said to myself, “if the gloomy
representations of these sad fellows the poets be true pictures of life!
What if this existence of ours be but a scene of gradually-increasing
misery! How shall I be able to get on at all, if a sea life be not more
enjoyable than that of the High School of Edinburgh? and what kind
of figure shall I cut, when driven back, by sheer distress, to petition
my father to take me home again, to eat the bitter bread of idleness,
or to seek for some other profession, wherein all the rubs and tugs
may prove just as bad as those of the sea, and possibly not very
much better than those of school?”
I took good care, however, to let none of these unworthy doubts
and alarms find any expression in word or in look; and, with a heart
almost bursting, I took leave of the holyday scenes of the country I
had loved so well, and which, to my young fancy, appeared the most
beautiful spot on earth,—a judgment which, as I before observed, a
tolerably extensive acquaintance with the rest of the world has only
tended to confirm. Of course, I had a regular interview and leave-
taking with my capital friends the fishermen, whom I had long held to
be the best-informed persons of my acquaintance, merely because
they knew most about ropes and ship matters generally. I cannot say
that these worthy mariners stood the test of after-communication,
quite so well as the romantic coast-scenery near which they resided.
I remember, on returning from my first voyage, going down to the
beach, in my uniform jacket, and in no very modest spirit, to shew off
my superior nautical attainments to these poor fellows, who had
been sticking fast to their rocks during the interval, much after the
fashion of their own shell-fish. Their reception, of course, was highly
flattering; but their confined views of the profession, and scanty
knowledge of many of its details, made me look back with wonder to
the time when I had hailed them as first-rate masters in the noble art
of seamanship.
On the 16th of May, 1802, I left home; and next day my father said
to me, “Now you are fairly afloat in the world, you must begin to write
a journal;” and, suiting the action to the word, he put a blank book
into one hand, and a pen into the other, with a hint for me to proceed
at once to business. The following is a fair specimen of the result,
which I certainly little imagined was ever destined to attain the
honour of being printed:—
“May 17.—Journey to London.—Left Dunglass. Breakfasted at the
Press Inn, and changed horses. Got to Belford; changed horses.
Alnwick—dined there, and got to Morpeth, where we slept. Up early;
breakfasted at Newcastle. Stopped at Durham. Walked forward till
the chaise should overtake us; got into the chaise. Stopped to give
the horses some drink. Saw two deep draw-wells. Observed some
coal-carts at Newcastle coal-pits. The wheels are so constructed,
that they run down-hill upon things in the road, which are made for
the purpose. The horse follows the cart, to draw it up the hill, after it
has emptied the load.”
The rest of the journal is pretty much in the same style—a record
of insignificant facts which lead to nothing, useless as
memorandums at the time, and of course not more useful at the
distance of eight-and-twenty years. I would give a good deal, at this
moment, to possess, instead of these trashy notices, some traces,
no matter how faint, of what was actually passing in my mind upon
the occasion of this journey. The resolutions we make at such a
period, together with the doubts and fears which distract us, may
have a certain amount of value, if then jotted down in good faith; but
if these fleeting thoughts be once allowed to pass without record,
they necessarily lose most of their force. There is always, indeed,
something interesting, and often much that is useful, in tracing the
connexion between sentiment and action, especially in the
elementary stages of life, when the foundations of character are laid.
But the capacity of drawing such inferences belongs to a very
different period of life; and hence it arises, that early journals are
generally so flat and profitless, unless they be written in a spirit
which few people think of till too late.
I shall have so many better opportunities than the present of
speaking on the copious subject of journal-writing, that I shall merely
remark, in passing, for the consideration of my young readers, that
what most people wish to find recorded there, is not so much a dry
statement of facts, however important these may be, as some
account of the writer’s opinions and his feelings upon the occasion.
These, it may be observed, are like the lights and shades and
colours of a painting, which, while they contribute fully as much to
the accuracy of a representation as the correctness of the mere
outline, impress the mind of the spectator with a still more vivid
image of the object intended to be described.
I ought to have mentioned before, that the object of this journey
was to ship me off to sea; and it was arranged that I should join the
flag-ship of Sir Andrew Mitchell, then fitting in the River for the
Halifax station. We, of course, set out for London, as the grand focus
from which every thing in the English world radiates. But I find
nothing in the memorandums of that period worthy of being
extracted, nor do I recollect any incident which excited me strongly,
except the operation of rigging myself out for the first time in
midshipman’s uniform. There was something uncommonly pleasing,
I remember, in the glitter of the dirk and its apparatus; and also in the
smart air, as well as new cut of the dress; but the chief satisfaction
arose from the direct evidence this change of garb afforded that
there was no joke in the matter, but that the real business of life was
actually about to begin. Accordingly, in a tolerable flutter of spirits, I
made my first appearance on the deck of one of his Majesty’s ships.
The meagre journal of that day is as follows:—
“Went to Deptford after breakfast in a hackney-coach—when we
got there, we got out of the coach, walked down the street, and met
the captain of the Leander. Went with him to the clerk of the
cheque’s office, and had my name put in some book or other. Went
with him to his lodgings, where he gave us a list of some things I was
to get. Got a boat and went on board the Leander for the first time.
Came home on a stage-coach—got a boat at London bridge—went
up in it to the Adelphi—got out and went to the hotel.”
In most other professions, the transition from the old to the new
mode of life is more or less gradual; but in that of the sea, it is so
totally abrupt, and without intervening preparation, that a boy must
be either very much of a philosopher, or very much of a goose, not to
feel, at first, well nigh overwhelmed with the change of
circumstances. The luxuries and the kindnesses of home are
suddenly exchanged for the coarse fare of a ship, and the rough
intercourse of total strangers. The solicitude with which he has been
watched heretofore, let the domestic discipline have been ever so
strict, is tenderness itself, compared to the utter indifference,
approaching to dislike, with which a youngster, or ‘squeaker,’ as he is
well called, is received on board. Even if he possess any
acquaintances amongst his own class, they have few consolations in
their power; and, generally speaking, are rather disposed to laugh at
the home-sick melancholy of a new comer, than to cheer him up,
when his little heart is almost breaking.
It so happened that I knew no one on board the ship, excepting
two middies similarly circumstanced with myself. I was introduced
also to a very gruff, elderly, service-soured master’s mate, to whose
care, against his own wishes, I had been consigned by a mutual
friend, a captain with whom he had formerly served. Our own
excellent commanding officer had a thousand other things to look
after, far more pressing than the griefs and cares of a dozen of boys
under his charge.
I felt bewildered and subdued, by the utter solitude of my situation,
as my father shook me by the hand, and quitted the ship. I well
recollect the feeling of despair when I looked round me, and was
made conscious of my utter insignificance. “Shall I ever be able,”
thought I, “to fill any respectable part in this vast scene? What am I
to do? How shall I begin? Whom can I consult?” I could furnish no
satisfactory answer to these queries; and though I had not the least
idea of shrinking from what I had undertaken, yet, I confess, I was
not far from repenting that I had been so decided about the matter.
There is a vehement delight, no doubt, in novelty—but we may
have too much of it at once; and certainly, if my advice were asked
as to this point, in the case of another, I should recommend that a
boy be gradually introduced to his future home; and, if possible,
placed under the auspices of some one older than himself, and who,
from having a real interest in him, might soften the needless rigours
of this formidable change. I had no such preparation; and was
without one friend or even acquaintance on board, who cared a
straw for me. I was also very little for my age, spoke broad Scotch,
and was, withal, rather testy in my disposition. The cock-pit, it is true,
is a pretty good place to work the bad humours out of a crotchety
young fellow, and to bring him to his due bearings; but I think I have
seen a good many tenderer plants than I was, crushed down under
the severity of this merciless discipline. Perhaps it is all for the best;
because youngsters who cannot, or will not stand this rough rubbing,
are just as well out of the way, both for themselves and the public.
There is one practice, however, which, as I invariably followed it
myself, I know to be in every boy’s power, and I venture strongly to
recommend it to others in the same situation; nor is it very likely that
many will be exposed to greater trials, in a small way, than I was at
first. The maxim is, always, in writing home, to put the best face
upon matters, and never, if possible, to betray any inevitable
unhappiness. Such a practice is doubly useful—for it contributes
essentially to produce that character of cheerfulness in reality, which
is partly assumed at the moment of writing, in order to save our
friends from distress on our account. It would be wrong, indeed, to
say, in writing home, that we are very happy, when in truth we are
very much the reverse; but, without stating any falsehood, or giving
into any subterfuge—which is still worse—those particular things
may very fairly be dwelt upon which are agreeable, almost to the
exclusion of those which are otherwise. We should learn, in short, to
see and to describe the cheerful things; and, both in our practice and
in description, leave the unpleasant ones to take care of themselves.
For example, I remember, as well as if the incidents had occurred
yesterday, most of the details which are stated in the following letter,
written only the day after I was left to my fate—amongst strangers—
in the unknown world of a man-of-war. I certainly was far from happy,
and might easily have made my friends wretched by selecting chiefly
what was disagreeable. I took a different course.
“H. M. Ship Leander, June 12, 1802,

Cock Pit.
“DEAR FATHER,
“After you left us, I went down into the mess-room; it is a
place about twenty feet long, with a table in the middle of
it, and wooden seats upon which we sit. When I came
down there were a great many cups and saucers upon the
table. A man came in, and poured hot water into the tea-
pot. There are about fourteen of us mess at the same
time. We were very merry in this dark hole, where we had
only two candles.
“We come down here, and sit when we like; and at other
times go upon deck. At about ten o’clock we had supper
upon bread and cheese, and a kind of pudding which we
liked very much. Some time after this I went to a
hammock, which was not my own, as mine was not ready,
there not being enough of clues at it, but I will have it to-
night. I got in at last. It was very queer to find myself
swinging about in this uncouth manner, for there was only
about a foot of space between my face and the roof—so,
of course, I broke my head a great many times on the
different posts in the cock-pit, where all the midshipmen
sleep. After having got in, you may be sure I did not sleep
very well, when all the people were making such a noise,
going to bed in the dark, and the ship in such confusion. I
fell asleep at last, but was always disturbed by the
quarter-master coming down to awake the midshipmen
who were to be on guard during the night. He comes up to
their bed-sides and calls them; so I, not being accustomed
to it, was always awaked, too. I had some sleep, however,
but, early in the morning, was again roused up by the men
beginning to work.
“There is a large hole which comes down from the
decks, all the way through to the hold, where they let
down the casks. The foot of the hammock that I slept in
was just at the hole, so I saw the casks all coming down
close by me. I got up at half-past seven, and went into the
birth (our mess-room), and we were all waiting for
breakfast till eight, when the man who serves and brings
in the dishes for the mess came down in a terrible
passion, saying, that as he was boiling the kettle at the
stove, the master-at-arms had thrown water upon the fire
and put it out. All this was because the powder was
coming on board. So we had to want our breakfast for
once. But we had a piece of bread and butter; and as we
were eating it, the master-at-arms came down, and said
that our candles were to be taken away: so we had to eat
our dry meal in the dark.
“I then went upon deck, and walked about, looking at
the Indiamen coming up the river, till eleven, when I and
one of my companions went and asked the lieutenant if he
would let us go on shore in the jolly-boat, as it was going
at any rate. We intended to take a walk in some of the
fields. We got leave, and some more of the midshipmen
went with us. There are about six men row the boat, and
we sit any where we like. Got on shore, and ran about the
park you were mentioning when in the boat. Then came
back to an inn, where we had some rolls and butter and
coffee, to make up for the loss of our breakfast in the
morning. We then took a walk to the church at Dartford,
where we lounged about till we were tired—then came
back through the fields to the boat, which we got into, and
made the ship.”
Professional eyes will detect a curious mixture of ignorance and

knowledge in the above production, in which, if the nautical terms—
such as ‘hole’ for hatchway—be not too severely criticised, the
information may pass pretty well for twenty-four hours’ experience.
In a letter written a few days afterwards, from the Nore, I find some
touches of the same kind.
“On Sunday, about three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened
by a great noise of the boatswain’s mates and the captain bawling
for all hands up to unfurl the sails. As I thought I could not sleep
much more, I got up in the dark and went upon deck. All the men
were hauling the anchor in: they were a good while about it. As soon
as the anchor was got in, all the men ran up the masts like so many
cats, and went out on the yard-arms and untied the sails. In a little
while all the sails were set, and we scudded down the river, very
quick. Got to the Nore about twelve o’clock, where we now lie for
three or four days.”
In another letter, of the same date, after giving an account of the
“confounded noise made by the men, and the boatswain’s mates
ordering the anchor to be drawn up”—and describing, more correctly
than in the above extract, that the sailors “ran up the shrouds,” I
proceed to plume myself, rather prematurely, upon being already a
voyager.
“About twelve o’clock we made the Nore—the first time I have
been in open sea!” I half suspect that the motion of the ship, which,
even at that stage of our progress, began, as I well remember, to
overturn the serenity of my stomach, may have led me to conclude
we were at sea. In the same epistle, in spite of the open ocean, there
occur the following sentences:—
“I like my station very much indeed. Have some very agreeable
messmates, and the schoolmaster is a very pleasant man, who has
travelled a great deal. We have not begun our school yet, as we are
all in confusion, but shall, as soon as we have tripped our anchor for
Halifax.”
The next letter was written from Spithead, and is characteristic
enough.
“H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, June 18.

“I am much better pleased with my situation than I
suspected I would at my first coming on board. We have in
our mess four Scotchmen, six Englishmen, and two Irish,
so that we make a very pleasant company down in the
cock-pit. We dine at twelve, and breakfast at eight in the
morning. At breakfast we get tea and sea cake: at dinner
we have either beef, pork, or pudding. But when we come
into a harbour or near one, there are always numbers of
boats come out with all sorts of vegetables and fresh
meat, which are not left long in the boat—for the people all
run, and buy up the soft bread, and fresh provisions.
“About nine o’clock on the 17th, we anchored in the
Downs—the famous Downs—but, instead of seeing a
large fleet of great ships thundering out a salute to us on
our entrance, there was not one but a Dane and a Swede;
so we had to moor ship in the now solitary Downs. All the
hills along the coast are chalk. I should have liked to have
gone on shore at Dover to get you a piece of the rock, but
could not, as the ship was sailing as we passed it.
“We saw the coast of France, but were not near enough
to see any thing that was going on in the French
territories.
“We midshipmen are upon watch every night for four
hours together; we do nothing but walk the quarter-deck, if
the ship is not sailing. There is always half the crew upon
deck when the ship is sailing, and we and the lieutenants
order them to do so and so about the ropes and sails. All
the men’s hammocks are brought upon deck, and laid in
places at the side for the purpose, both to give room for
the men to work under the decks, and to give them air. All
the decks are washed and well scrubbed every morning,
which is very right, as they are often dirtied.
“There is a sort of cylinder of sail-cloth, about two feet in
diameter, which is hung above the deck, and is continued
down through the decks to the cock-pit. The wind gets in
at the top, and so runs down and airs the cock-pit, which
is a very pleasant thing, down here, at the bottom of the
ship.
“This morning, about eight o’clock, we arrived at
Spithead, and saw the celebrated Portsmouth, but I did
not go ashore the first day, as so many others were going;
but I intend to go as soon as I get leave. As we were
coming along we saw the Isle of Wight; it is very pretty
indeed, viewed from the ship, whatever it might be were
we on it. I saw some pretty places there, with plenty of
wood round them. The sun was fast setting on the water in
the opposite horizon, which had a fine effect, and cast a
light upon the island, which I cannot describe to you, as it
is such a rich country, and contains so many objects—it is
too pretty to describe. There are some ships at Spithead,
both large and small. In my next letter, if I go to
Portsmouth, I will give you an account of all the harbour
and docks, &c. &c. We remain here for ten days, I
believe.”
These extracts, though of course sufficiently boyish, help to shew

what may be made out of the most common-place details, when all
things are totally new both to the writer and the reader. It is on this
account I give a place to these juvenile lucubrations; for it is not
about the particular incidents that we care, in such cases, so much
as the state of feeling and genuine opinions of a young person,
exposed, for the first time, to the actual contact of the world. It would
be unreasonable to expect such ideas to be expressed in so many
words; but they may be picked up, in some degree, by the very
terms used in describing the most ordinary transactions.
The following letter shews how little difficulty people find in
expressing themselves when well charged with their topic. On
reading it over at the distance of nearly thirty years, I cannot help
remarking how different, and yet how much alike, the same person
may be at various periods of his life—how much changed in thought
—in sentiment—in action! It is curious also to discover, how
independent the man at one stage of life is of the same man at
another stage—though, after all, they may possibly be more nearly
allied in character, at bottom, than any two other persons who could
be placed in comparison. At the same time, under the circumstances
described in this letter, I really do not see that I should act differently
at this hour.
“Portsmouth, June 19.

“We were very near all being destroyed, and blown up,
last night, by an alarming fire on board. As I was standing
making my hammock, last night about ten o’clock, near
two others making theirs, we were alarmed by seeing a
large burst of sparks come from one corner of the cock-pit.
Without going to see what was the matter, I ran into our
birth, or place where we mess, and got hold of all the pots
of beer which the midshipmen were going to drink. I
returned with these, and threw them on the fire, while
others ran for water.
“When I came back, I saw the purser’s steward covered
with fire, and rubbing it off him as fast as he could, with a
pile of burning sheets and blankets lying at his feet. One
of us ran up to the quarter-deck, and seizing the fire-
buckets that were nearest, filled them, and brought them
down. We also got some of the men out of their
hammocks, but took good care not to awaken any of the
rest, for fear of bustle and confusion.
“The sentry, as soon as he discovered the smell, went
down to the captain and lieutenants, who immediately
came to the cock-pit, and whispered out ‘Silence!’ They
then got more buckets of water, and quenched the flames,
which, as they thought, were only in the purser’s steward’s
cabin. But one of the men opened the door of the
steward’s store-room, and saw a great deal of fire lying on
the floor. Water, of course, was applied, and it also was
quenched; the store-room was then well flooded.
“The captain ordered the purser’s steward to be put in
irons directly, as well as his boy, who had stuck the light
up in the cabin. The captain next went with the master-at-
arms into the powder magazine, which was close to the
purser’s steward’s cabin, and found the bulkhead or
partition half-burnt through by the fire in the cabin!
“All this mischief was occasioned by sticking a naked
light upon the beam above the cabin, from whence it had
fallen down and set fire to the sheets. The steward, in
trying to smother it with more, had set fire to the whole
bundle, which he then flung in a mass into the store-room.
There was a watch kept all night near the spot. Nobody
has been hurt.
“I am very sorry for the purser’s steward, for he was a
very good-natured and obliging man, and much liked by all
of us. He gave us plums, &c. when we asked them from
him. He is broke, I fear. I will give you the issue in my next
letter.”
This incident served, in a small way, to bring me into notice; for the
very next day, to my great satisfaction, I was ordered by the first
lieutenant to go in the jolly-boat, which was manned alongside, with
some message to a ship which he named, lying near us at Spithead.
I hesitated; and upon his asking me why I did not ‘be off,’ I replied
that I did not know which was the ship in question. “Oh,” said he,
looking over the gangway hammocks, “that ship with the top-gallant-
masts struck.”
Now, I had not the remotest idea what the term ‘top-gallant-mast
struck’ might mean; but as the officer seemed impatient, I hurried
down the side. The bow-man shoved the boat off, and away we
rowed, making a very zig-zag course; for, though I had the tiller in my
hand, I knew very imperfectly how to use it. The strokesman of the
boat at last laid his oar across, touched his hat, and said, “Which
ship are we going to, sir?”
I answered, in the words of the first lieutenant, “the one with the
top-gallant-masts struck.”
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed the fellow, smiling, “we have past her some
time—there she lies,” pointing astern.
Round we pulled—and I was much inclined to ask the man to
steer the boat; for, although my old associates, the fishermen on the
coast of Scotland, had edified me a little on this matter, I found it
quite a different affair to take a boat alongside a man-of-war at
Spithead, in a tide’s way, from what it had been to run a cobble on
the beach. Accordingly, I first ran the jolly-boat stem on, and, in
trying to remedy this lubberly blunder, gave orders which had the
effect of bringing the boat head and stern—which is about as wrong
in seamanship, as it would be in a horseman to put his right foot into
the stirrup in mounting, which, of course, would bring him with his
face to the tail.
Nevertheless, I crawled up the side, gave my message, and
returned to report the answer. The only salutation I received from the
first lieutenant was in the following words—uttered in a sharp, angry
tone:—
“Where the deuce have you been, youngster, all this time? and
what possessed you to go cruising about amongst the whole fleet at
such a rate?”
“I hope I shall learn to do better, sir,” I stammered out.
“There is much room for improvement, I am sure,” he cried.
I was made painfully sensible, by the tartness of this reproach, that
there was no very extraordinary degree of professional sagacity in
what I had recently done about the fire near the magazine. I had
been taking some credit to myself for not bawling out ‘fire! fire!’ and
especially for having thought of the pots of beer—but this brilliant
piece of service seemed now all forgotten!
Officers, and other persons in authority, should therefore be
careful how they strike young folks with their tongues; for, although
the wounds made do not shew upon the skin like those caused by
steel or lead, they often sink deeper into the feelings, and frequently
remain rankling there much longer than was intended, or than is
useful.
Of course, I was excessively mortified; but the justice of the
officer’s censure was so obvious, and the ridicule of the seamen in
the boat, even subdued as it was, so fair, that I soon saw I had
nothing to do but to set about learning to steer forthwith, and to lose
no time in finding out what ‘striking top-gallant-masts’ could possibly
mean.
CHAPTER III.
SPECIMENS OF COCK-PIT DISCIPLINE.
I skip over many other anecdotes at Portsmouth, in order to get fairly

out to sea; for I never felt completely disengaged from the thraldom
of school, and fully adrift on the wide world of independent life, till we
had left the white cliffs of old England many leagues astern. The
following brief despatch was penned just before starting; and I can
remember the mixture of exultation, and undefined dread of
something that was to come which I experienced, while I was writing
it:—
“H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, July 11, 1802.
“Yesterday the captain received his sailing orders, and

we have now got up a Blue Peter at the fore-top, which is
a signal for immediate sailing. We are just going to
unmoor ship, and shall sail for Halifax immediately. So,
farewell to England!”
Off we set, accordingly; and it may be interesting, and perhaps

useful, for youngsters in similar circumstances, to know, that all the
pleasurable anticipations came to pass sooner than any of those
which were gloomy in their promise. Yet it is curious, that, since
those days, when I was first launched upon blue water, I have very
rarely set out upon a voyage without experiencing many misgivings,
often amounting almost to a wish that some accidental incident might
arise to check the expedition altogether. This is the more strange, as
I have seldom, if ever, failed to find the reality more delightful than
was expected, the difficulties more easily overcome, and the harvest
of amusement and instruction more fertile, than any previous reading
or conversation, had led me to suppose the jog-trot course of a
professional life could possibly afford.
I don’t deny that I had sometimes a plaguy tough job of it to keep
my spirits up to this mark; and though I never quite lost heart, I was
often very low in the scale of resolution. So much so, that, on looking
back to those times, I fear I can discover moments when, had good
opportunities offered, I might perhaps have been tempted to cut and
run. Fortunately for me, however, there never was the least choice
left between perseverance and poverty; and I had been long taught
to consider, that the bread of idleness, however supplied, was the
most degrading food a gentleman could eat. It is true I was not then
so strongly convinced as I am now, that many of the essential
advantages of the primogeniture law, lie on the side of the younger
sons, yet I always felt, that it was my duty, as well as my interest, to
illustrate, practically, the truth of this seeming paradox.
The first damper to this magnanimous resolution, of making myself
useful in the world, was caused by a speech of our excellent captain,
who, calling all the youngsters into his cabin, a few days after we
were out of sight of land, addressed us in the following words:—
“Now, younkers, I have sent for you all, to tell you that you are not
of the smallest use on board the ship; in fact, if any thing, you are
rather in the way: but since you are here, I have no objection to your
learning your business, if you have a mind to do so. You shall,
therefore, have your choice, either to keep watch or not, exactly as
you please; only, recollect this,—if any of you decide to do your duty
in the way proposed, you shall be made to perform it in earnest. So,
mind what you are about, and give me an answer to-morrow
morning. Now, little fellows, be off with you!”
Out of about a dozen, I think there was only one other besides
myself who decided upon keeping watch. Most of this party had
been a cruise or two at sea before, and knew that pacing up and
down the deck for four hours in the night, over and above the tasks
of the day, was no joke; and they rather chuckled at the prospect of
being let off so easily. For my part, I was so grievously annoyed at
the contemptuous official assurance of being of no use, that I never

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Thin Objects: An Abstractionist

Account Øystein Linnebo

For my daughters Alma and Frida

Appendix 3.A Further Questions 70

Part II. Comparisons

Part III. Details

12. Dynamic Set Theory 205

adapted slightly to fit our present example.

objecthood identity criteria

(The lower arrow will be explained shortly.)

dynamic abstraction. Legitimate abstraction steps are iterated indefinitely to build

 in search of thin objects

of the objects described by a theory of pure mathematics amounts to nothing more

Metaontological minimalism has consequences concerning ontology proper. The

1.2 Coherentist Minimalism

 in search of thin objects

As is well known, the word ‘criterion’ is ambiguous between a metaphysical meaning

It is instructive to compare this principle with Tarski’s semantic account of logical

1.3 Abstractionist Minimalism

 in search of thin objects

Consider the criterion of identity for directions:

the appeal of thin objects 

derive all of ordinary (second-order Dedekind-Peano) arithmetic.15 As we shall see,

1.4 The Appeal of Thin Objects

(Wright, 1983). See (Boolos, 1990) for a nice proof.

provided in Section 6.4.

a much stronger conclusion.

 in search of thin objects

On the other hand, the ontology of abstract objects is often found to be

“H. M. Ship Leander, June 12, 1802,

Professional eyes will detect a curious mixture of ignorance and

“H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, June 18.

These extracts, though of course sufficiently boyish, help to shew

“Portsmouth, June 19.

I skip over many other anecdotes at Portsmouth, in order to get fairly

“H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, July 11, 1802.

“Yesterday the captain received his sailing orders, and

Off we set, accordingly; and it may be interesting, and perhaps

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