We are ever separating and joining things. Fighting to separate leftovers from a dish in the sink, joining one board to another in hopes that their fusion will endure: naturally, nothing wants to be fully separate, nor fully together. Some of the food will rinse right off, and some will not let go. Leaning in a chair will loosen the legs, yet it will sustain many blows before the legs come off. Stubbornly we fight against the nature of things and look to see them here or there, equal or not equal. We want to say, “is,” and not, “may” We name the species; we specify what we mean from what we do not. We rename fractions as an integer; we integrate fractured spheres of life. That is the duty of the philosopher: to distinguish what is confounded, and to associate what is integral. All truth is one, yet equivocation is our worst enemy. As we carve out this from that, and bind that to this, we exercise dominion over the earth. We do so toilsomely, we do so naturally.