There's a knock at the cabin door. The gale outside blows eastward, hurling rain on the deck. The sails are down, and the ship is turning, bobbing in a sea of gray. Rain comes in torrents, and the vessel is waterlogged, but the crew remains adamant. They belong to the ship of Theseus, and they will live to tell their tale. A tale of destruction and conquest, of the mythical confrontation between man and beast, of the slaying of the minotaur.
After a long night, the clouds open up, and the ship docks in the port of Athens. The people of Greece are free from King Minos. Legend has it that the ship makes a pilgrimage across the sea every year, on the date of its return, to celebrate this victory. Slowly, its sturdy hardwood planks are replaced, one by one, and after many years they are all new. Now the question arises, is this vessel still the ship of Theseus, or is it something else? If its original materials have been replaced, what makes it any different than the ships that lie floating in the harbor? This is the paradox of the Ship of Theseus.
Let’s imagine two scenarios. In the first, the ship is replaced slowly, piece by piece, its old wood discarded. We are left with a new vessel, wondering if it is the ship of Theseus, debating between the importance of an object’s essence and that of a physical body. In the second scenario, expanded upon by philosopher Thomas Hobbes, there is another complication. In this version, the ship is taken apart similarly, but its pieces are used to construct a new vessel, ship two. In this case, which ship is real?
This paradox questions our understanding of objects and the arbitrary value that we place upon them. There are two solutions and each contradicts the other. Each has a deep-rooted connection to the human mind and can be argued to similar ends, yet interpreted differently. There is first, the argument that objects survive gradual change, supporting the conclusion that ship one is the original ship of Theseus because its components are nothing more than parts of a whole.
The second argument contradicts this, raising the idea that an object goes where its parts go. In this case, if all of the parts of the original have been relocated, then ship two is now the true ship of Theseus.
This paradox arises because of our innate desire to define objects. By defining things, we lay claim to them; what’s mine and what is yours becomes clear. The ship of Theseus exploits this flaw in human nature, and it does so in a way that cannot be challenged. To challenge the logic behind these solutions is to challenge the fundamental beliefs of the beholder. It is therefore important to understand that the ship of Theseus is nothing more than a thought experiment, not meant to divide but to educate, a demonstrative collection of wooden pieces built by Plutarch’s mind, and nothing more.
