Disney’s Frozen (2013) and Frozen 2 (2019) are among the highest-grossing films of all time (IMDb 2021) and are arguably among the most influential works of fantasy produced in the last decade in any medium. The films, based loosely on Hans Christensen Andersen’s “The Snow Queen” (Andersen 2014) focus on the adventures of the sisters Anna and Elsa as they, together with their companions, seek to safeguard their people both from external threats and (importantly) from Elsa’s inabilities to control her (...) magical abilities to summon ice and snow. While Anna’s choices drive much of the action of both films, Elsa has undoubtedly been the more influential and popular of the two characters, as indicated by measures such as merchandise sales (Ellen Byron and Paul Ziobro 2014), Google search data (Play Like Mum 2020), and even baby name choices (Wolfers 2015). -/- Despite her popularity, Elsa is in many ways a paradoxical sort of hero, as she finds her actions all but predetermined by both external and internal forces. This is particularly the case in the first film, where we meet an Elsa who has been born with a power she cannot control, and which appears more as a force of nature than as anything that “belongs” to Elsa. The film’s action is driven, in large part, precisely by Elsa’s failures to exert control over her emotions and abilities. She begins the film by accidentally injuring Anna. This, in turn, causes Elsa to become fearful and withdrawn and to isolate herself from her sister, even after their parents die on a quest to find a cure for Elsa. Elsa's fear and lack of control lead to an even more dire outcome when she inadvertently calls down winter on Arendelle and abandons her people for the mountains. It is only through Anna's devoted quest to rescue her sister, first by pursuing her to the mountains, and later by throwing herself in front of the villainous Hans’ sword attack on her sister, that Elsa (and Arendelle) are saved. Elsa's most active contribution to this is to appreciate the import of Anna's sacrifice and to discover the power of "love" to overcome her fear. -/- What then, are we to make of Elsa as a character? It is the younger sister Anna who corresponds most closely to Gerda, the unquestioned protagonist of Andersen’s original tale, and her character arc fits neatly with the well-known “Hero’s Journey” model for describing myth (Campbell 2020). It is Anna, for example, who goes on a quest, meets a group of motley companions (the human Kristoff, the reindeer Sven, and the magical snowman Olaf), accepts advice from wise elders (the trolls), undergoes a severe trial, and even gets the "reward" of romantic love at the end. All of this has led some scholars (Niemiec and Bretherton 2015; Heit 2019) to hold up Anna, rather than Elsa, as something like the hero of the story. Existing scholarship on Elsa, by contrast, has focused largely on issues related to her gender and sexuality (Law 2014; Lee 2015; Steinhoff 2017; Streiff and Dundes 2017; Dundes, Streiff, and Streiff 2018; Dundes 2020; Llompart and Brugué 2020). In what follows, I’ll be taking a closer look at Elsa’s unique status as a protagonist, and what her struggles with fate reveal about the nature of free will and ethical responsibility. I’ll argue that Elsa provides a useful model of a “Stoic hero” and that her strengths and weaknesses as a character provide valuable insight into an often-misunderstood school of philosophy. My argument will proceed in several stages. I’ll begin by describing the basic tenets of Stoic philosophy, paying special attention to the role of fate and nature. I’ll then move on to a more detailed treatment of Stoic ethics, as exemplified by Elsa’s own character development. I’ll close by considering the infamous “Lazy Argument” against. (shrink)

In its original form, Nozick’s experience machine serves as a potent counterexample to a simplistic form of hedonism. The pleasurable life offered by the experience machine, its seems safe to say, lacks the requisite depth that many of us find necessary to lead a genuinely worthwhile life. Among other things, the experience machine offers no opportunities to establish meaningful relationships, or to engage in long-term artistic, intellectual, or political projects that survive one’s death. This intuitive objection finds some support in (...) recent research regarding the psychological effects of phenomena such as video games or social media use. After a brief discussion of these problems, I will consider a variation of the experience machine in which many of these deficits are remedied. In particular, I’ll explore the consequences of a creating a virtual world populated with strongly intelligent AIs with whom users could interact, and that could be engineered to survive the user’s death. The presence of these agents would allow for the cultivation of morally significant relationships, and the world’s long-term persistence would help ground possibilities for a meaningful, purposeful life in a way that Nozick’s original experience machine could not. While the creation of such a world is obviously beyond the scope of current technology, it represents a natural extension of the existing virtual worlds provided by current video games, and it provides a plausible “ideal case” toward which future virtual worlds will move. While this improved experience machine would seem to represent progress over Nozick’s original, I will argue that it raises a number of new problems stemming from the fact that that the world was created to provide a maximally satisfying and meaningful life for the intended user. This, in turn, raises problems analogous in some ways to the problem(s) of evil faced by theists. In particular, I will suggest that it is precisely those features that would make a world most attractive to potential users—the fact that the AIs are genuinely moral agents whose well-being the user can significantly impact—that render its creation morally problematic, since they require that the AIs inhabiting the world be subject to unnecessary suffering. I will survey the main lines of response to the traditional problem of evil, and will argue that they are irrelevant to this modified case. I will close by considering by consider what constraints on the future creation of virtual worlds, if any, might serve to allay the concerns identified in the previous discussion. I will argue that, insofar as the creation of such worlds would allow us to meet morally valuable purposes that could not be easily met otherwise, we would be unwise to prohibit it altogether. However, if our processes of creation are to be justified, they must take account of the interests of the moral agents that would come to exist as the result of our world creation. (shrink)

Karl Popper (1902-1994) was one of the most influential philosophers of science of the 20th century. He made significant contributions to debates concerning general scientific methodology and theory choice, the demarcation of science from non-science, the nature of probability and quantum mechanics, and the methodology of the social sciences. His work is notable for its wide influence both within the philosophy of science, within science itself, and within a broader social context. Popper’s early work attempts to solve the problem of (...) demarcation and offer a clear criterion that distinguishes scientific theories from metaphysical or mythological claims. Popper’s falsificationist methodology holds that scientific theories are characterized by entailing predictions that future observations might reveal to be false. When theories are falsified by such observations, scientists can respond by revising the theory, or by rejecting the theory in favor of a rival or by maintaining the theory as is and changing an auxiliary hypothesis. In either case, however, this process must aim at the production of new, falsifiable predictions. While Popper recognizes that scientists can and do hold onto theories in the face of failed predictions when there are no predictively superior rivals to turn to. He holds that scientific practice is characterized by its continual effort to test theories against experience and make revisions based on the outcomes of these tests. By contrast, theories that are permanently immunized from falsification by the introduction of untestable ad hoc hypotheses can no longer be classified as scientific. Among other things, Popper argues that his falsificationist proposal allows for a solution of the problem of induction, since inductive reasoning plays no role in his account of theory choice. Along with his general proposals regarding falsification and scientific methodology, Popper is notable for his work on probability and quantum mechanics and on the methodology of the social sciences. Popper defends a propensity theory of probability, according to which probabilities are interpreted as objective, mind-independent properties of experimental setups. Popper then uses this theory to provide a realist interpretation of quantum mechanics, though its applicability goes beyond this specific case. With respect to the social sciences, Popper argued against the historicist attempt to formulate universal laws covering the whole of human history and instead argued in favor of methodological individualism and situational logic. Table of Contents 1. Background 2. Falsification and the Criterion of Demarcation a. Popper on Physics and Psychoanalysis b. Auxiliary and Ad Hoc Hypotheses c. Basic Sentences and the Role of Convention d. Induction, Corroboration, and Verisimilitude 3. Criticisms of Falsificationism 4. Realism, Quantum Mechanics, and Probability 5. Methodology in the Social Sciences 6. Popper’s Legacy 7. References and Further Reading a. Primary Sources b. Secondary Sources -/- . (shrink)

Over the course of its six seasons, the Netflix show the House of Cards (HOC) details the rise to power of Claire and Frank Underwood in a fictional United States. They achieve power not by winning free and fair elections, but by exploiting various weaknesses of the U.S. political system. Could such a thing happen to our own democracies? This chapter argues that it is a threat that should be taken seriously, as the structure of HOC’s democratic institutions closely mirrors (...) our own, and the flaws that the Underwoods exploit are precisely those that have allowed autocrats to capture democracies “from the inside.” Of even greater concern, these flaws may flow from the nature of democracy itself. This possibility is explored by considering the events of the HOC in the light of the anti-democratic arguments of Plato and Hobbes. The chapter concludes by briefly considering responses to these arguments. (shrink)

If asked to explain why the Golds’ treatment of other colors in Red Rising is wrong, it is tempting to say something like “they are all human beings, and it is wrong to treat humans in this way!” In this essay, I’ll argue that this simple answer is considerably complicated by the fact that the different colors might not be members of the same biological species, and it is in fact unclear whether any of them are the same species as (...) current humans. Explaining why exactly this is so will lead us to an exploration the long-running debate in biology and philosophy over what exactly it means for two organisms to be “members of the same species.” I’ll begin by discussing the biological essentialism of Aristotle and his followers, who held that an individual organism’s species was determined by essence. One can easily imagine that the Golds might find this attractive, since it would suggest that their “superior” mental and physical capacities made them a different (and probably “higher”) species of humanity than the other colors. Unfortunately for Aristotle, this turns out to be inconsistent with Charles Darwin’s account of evolution by natural selection. This development has led many modern biologists and philosophers of biology to conceptualize species not as an abstract “form” that serves to classify organisms, but rather as a concrete collection of organisms relatively close to each other in space and time. In contrast to biological essentialism, this view of “species as concrete individual” might seem to support the Reds’ claim to the “same species” as the Gold, since they are both part of the same overarching society. Next, I’ll consider how we might tell where one species “ends” and another one “begins.” As it turns out, biologists have many ways of answering his question, each of which makes different judgments about the species of Red Rising’s characters. So, for example, the “Biological Species Concept” bases judgements about species membership on the ability to produce fertile offspring. This concept is far from perfect, however, for reasons that Red Rising makes clear: it doesn’t deal clearly with cases where reproduction is possible but very difficult (a Red and a Gold having a child) or for organisms that do not reproduce sexually (such as Pinks). I’ll then explore a few prominent alternatives to BSC, including both genetically and ecologically based species concepts, and consider their consequences for the society of Red Rising. I’ll conclude by advocating for a “pluralism” about species membership, and will suggest that the people of Red Rising (as well as in the real world) should beware of basing arguments for moral or political equality on the all-too-slippery notion of “shared humanity.” Instead, they should focus on the qualities that make the lives of the individuals (regardless of their species) worth caring about, such as their shared desires to avoid suffering and to lead fulfilling, meaningful lives. (shrink)

Over the course of the Twilight series, Bella strives to and eventually succeeds in convincing Edward to turn her into a vampire. Her stated reason for this is that it will allow her to be with Edward forever. In this essay, I consider whether this type of immortality is something that would be good for Bella, or indeed for any of us. I begin by suggesting that Bella's own viewpoint is consonant with that of Leo Tolstoy, who contends that one (...) could not have meaningful life without immortality, because only immortality could allow one to make a permanent difference in the world. I argue that this characterization of a meaningful life is problematic, however, insofar as (1) immortality is neither sufficient nor necessary for having such an impact and (2) there is little reason to think that having such an impact is constitutive of a meaningful life. I go on to consider Edward's fear that vampires lack a soul as it relates to Martha Nussbaum's claim that immortal beings would be less capable of certain paradigmatic human values and virtues such as courage, love, or self-sacrifice. I suggest, contra Nussbaum, that Carlisle provides an example of an immortal who displays recognizably human virtues. However, the possibility of Carlisle's being virtuous in this way depends on the existence of other creatures who are mortal. -/- I close by considering the problem of boredom, as articulated by Bernard Williams. According to Williams, a meaningful human life is constituted by certain categorical desires such as the desire to raise children or to create art. The projects aimed at accomplishing these desires are necessarily finite in length, and cannot be repeated indefinitely without losing their value. I argue that many, though perhaps not all, of the immortals described in the series suffer from such boredom. For example, Edward and Rosalie struggle to find meaning in their lives and most werewolves choose to age and die normally after a certain time. Perhaps more significantly, many of the non-"vegetarian" vampires seem to have become entirely divorced from any recognizably human projects or values, and have become focused entirely on satisfying their immediate desires. These examples provide some reason to think that many of Bella's reasons for living, which are essentially tied to her mortality, are not likely to be met by becoming immortal. While this does not show that her choice to become a vampire will leave her ultimately unhappy, it does suggest that her doing so represents a considerable sacrifice. (shrink)

A review of Daniel Dennett's Intuition Pumps (W.V. Norton: 2013).

Political conspiracy theories—e.g., unsupported beliefs about the nefarious machinations of one’s cunning, powerful, and evil opponents—are adopted enthusiastically by a great many people of widely varying political orientations. In many cases, these theories posit that there exists a small group of individuals who have intentionally but secretly acted to cause economic problems, political strife, and even natural disasters. This group is often held to exist “in the shadows,” either because its membership is unknown, or because “the real nature” of its (...) members’ allegiances, motives, and methods has been concealed from the public at large. Paradigmatic examples of these political conspiracy theories include anti-Semitic beliefs of the sort associated with The Protocols of the Elder of Zion, the “Red Scare” of the 1950s, claims about the “New World Order,” and many others. -/- Why do these theories attract so many adherents? In this essay, I’ll attempt to spread some light on this issue by applying Kahneman and Tversky’s highly influential work on reasoning under uncertainty. I’ll proceed by first providing a brief introduction to Kahneman and Tversky’s work on reasoning under uncertainty, and the way in which this relates to standard economic and philosophic accounts of rational behavior, as well as philosophical ideas about the role of intuition. Next, I’ll move onto some specific interconnected aspects of this work that are relevant to understanding conspiracy theories, including errors involving probabilistic reasoning (“Prospect Theory”), those involving the inappropriate use of heuristics, and those related to the “framing” of certain outcomes as losses from a baseline. This essay will conclude by making two related points. First, some of the most important reasoning errors committed by adherents of conspiracy theories are errors that many of us regularly commit. Given that self-awareness of these errors provides only minimal protection from committing them, this suggests that many of use may be more vulnerable to conspiratorial reasoning than we may like to believe. Second, in the light of this danger, I will outline a few steps that might be taken to help inoculate ourselves against the appeal of these theories, and to help respond to the conspiratorial arguments of others. (shrink)

This is a guide to writing philosophy papers aimed at introductory students prepared by the philosophy faculty at Rochester Community and Technical College. It includes sections on reading philosophy and writing philosophy, as well as an explanation of common grading criteria for essays in philosophy.

This is the text of a paper (along with appendixes) delivered at the 2019 annual meeting of the Minnesota Philosophical Society on Oct 26 in Cambridge, MN. -/- Beauchamp and Childress’s “Four Principles” (or “Principlism”) approach to bioethics has become something of a standard not only in bioethics classrooms and journals, but also within medicine itself. In this teaching-focused workshop, I’ll be doing the following: (1) Introducing the basics of the “Four Principles” approach, with a special focus on its relation (...) to the common morality and the importance to weighing and balancing of competing norms. (2) Comparing and contrasting this to other potential approaches, such as those provided by virtue ethics, act utilitarianism, casuistry, and competing versions of principles-based ethics. (3) Considering the ways in which the principles-based approach can best be implemented for lower-level, introductory bioethics classes, where the average student may have little background knowledge in either philosophy or medicine. I’ll be presenting sample activities, case studies, and lesson plans. There will be considerable time reserved for discussion at the end, so that participants can exchange ideas relating to the teaching of both bioethics and other varieties of applied ethics. (shrink)

I argue that there are at least two concepts of law of nature worthy of philosophical interest: strong law and weak law. Strong laws are the laws investigated by fundamental physics, while weak laws feature prominently in the “special sciences” and in a variety of non-scientific contexts. In the first section, I clarify my methodology, which has to do with arguing about concepts. In the next section, I offer a detailed description of strong laws, which I claim satisfy four criteria: (...) (1) If it is a strong law that L then it also true that L; (2) strong laws would continue to be true, were the world to be different in some physically possible way; (3) strong laws do not depend on context or human interest; (4) strong laws feature in scientific explanations but cannot be scientifically explained. I then spell out some philosophical consequences: (1) is incompatible with Cartwright’s contention that “laws lie” (2) with Lewis’s “best-system” account of laws, and (3) with contextualism about laws. In the final section, I argue that weak laws are distinguished by (approximately) meeting some but not all of these criteria. I provide a preliminary account of the scientific value of weak laws, and argue that they cannot plausibly be understood as ceteris paribus laws. (shrink)

In this article, I use science-fiction scenarios drawn from Dan Simmons’ “Hyperion Cantos” (Hyperion, The Fall of Hyperion, Endymion, The Rise of Endymion) to explore a cluster of issues related to the evolutionary history and neural bases of human moral cognition, and the moral desirability of improving our ability to make moral decisions by techniques of neuroengineering. I begin by sketching a picture of what recent research can teach us about the character of human moral psychology, with a particular emphasis (...) on highlighting the importance of our evolutionary background as social mammals. I then consider how the moral psychology of intelligent machines might differ from our own, and argue that the differences would depend on the extent to which their evolutionary background resembled our own. I offer two very different case studies—the “Technocore AIs” that have evolved from early, parasitic computer programs, and the mysterious “Shrike,” who travels backward through time. I close by looking at the character of Aenea, a messianic figure that is a joint descendant of humans and machines. I argue that while the sort of “moral enhancement” she represents is far beyond the scope of either contemporary neuroscience or artificial intelligence research, it nevertheless represents a worthwhile goal. (shrink)

Alice encounters at least three distinct problems in her struggles to understand and navigate Wonderland. The first arises when she attempts to predict what will happen in Wonderland based on what she has experienced outside of Wonderland. In many cases, this proves difficult -- she fails to predict that babies might turn into pigs, that a grin could survive without a cat or that playing cards could hold criminal trials. Alice's second problem involves her efforts to figure out the basic (...) nature of Wonderland. So, for example, there is nothing Alice could observe that would allow her to prove whether Wonderland is simply a dream. The final problem is manifested by Alice's attempts to understand what the various residents of Wonderland mean when they speak to her. In Wonderland, "mock turtles" are real creatures and people go places with a "porpoise" (and not a purpose). All three of these problems concern Alice's attempts to infer information about unobserved events or objects from those she has observed. In philosophical terms, they all involve *induction*. -/- In this essay, I will show how Alice's experiences can be used to clarify the relation between three more general problems related to induction. The first problem, which concerns our justification for beliefs about the future, is an instance of David Hume's classic *problem of induction*. Most of us believe that rabbits will not start talking tomorrow -- the problem of induction challenges us to justify this belief. Even if we manage to solve Hume's puzzle, however, we are left with what W.V.O. Quine calls the problems of *underdetermination *and *indeterminacy.* The former problem asks us to explain how we can determine *what the world is really like *based on *everything that could be observed about the world. *So, for example, it seems plausible that nothing that Alice could observe would allow her to determine whether eating mushrooms causes her to grow or the rest of the world to shrink. The latter problem, which might remain even if resolve the first two, casts doubt on our capacity to determine *what a certain person means *based on *which words that person uses.* This problem is epitomized in the Queen's interpretation of the Knave's letter. The obstacles that Alice faces in getting around Wonderland are thus, in an important sense, the same types of obstacles we face in our own attempts to understand the world. Her successes and failures should therefore be of real interest. (shrink)

Competitive quiz shows, and Jeopardy! in particular, occupy a unique place among TV game shows. The most successful Jeopardy! contestants—Ken Jennings, Brad Rutter, Frank Sparenberg, and so on—have appeared on late night talk shows, been given book contracts, and been interviewed by major newspapers. This sort of treatment is substantially different than, say, the treatment that the winners of The Price is Right or Deal or No Deal are afforded. The distinctive status of quiz shows is evidenced in other ways (...) as well; for instance, consider the widespread public outrage that accompanied the discovery of fixed quiz shows in the 1950s of the fact that, when IBM wanted to find a task to test the latest developments of artificial intelligence, they chose the game of Jeopardy. In this essay, I’ll take a look at Jeopardy! as an exemplar of a certain sort of game, and will suggest that part of what gives Jeopardy! its distinctive status is that it is a qualitatively good game—that is, it is a game that that fulfills just those functions a game is supposed to fulfill. I’ll begin by showing how Jeopardy! meets Bernard Suits’ (1967, 1988, 2005) definition of games, according to which games are characterized as activities that have certain sorts of rules and in which participants are required to have the right attitude toward these rules. Among other things, I’ll talk about the role played by some of Jeopardy’s distinctive rules (“remember to phrase your answer in the form of a question”) and about the possible differences a monetary reward makes to game players’ attitudes. I’ll then go on to talk about what distinguishes Jeopardy! from other, superficially similar sorts of games. I’ll concentrate on three factors in particular: (1) the fact that the skills required by Jeopardy! have value outside of the game, (2) the fact that observers in Jeopardy! can “play along” with the contestants on TV, and (3) the fact that success in the game is determined, to a very great extent, by the skills of the participant and not by other facts (such as luck). To close, I’ll talk more generally about the distinction between good games and not-so-good games, and will discuss why it is that good games are worth taking seriously. In this section, I’ll discuss some recent work on the value of games and sports, and will make some suggestions about how these accounts might be tailored to account for the specific virtues of a game like Jeopardy. (shrink)

Dr. Strange sees Dr. Stephen Strange abandon his once-promising medical career to become a superhero with the ability to warp time and space, and to travel through various dimensions. In order to make this transition, he is required to abandon many of his previous assumptions about the way the world works and learn to see things in a new way. Importantly, this is not merely a matter of learning a few facts, or of mastering new techniques. Instead, Dr. Strange is (...) required to alter his conception of the basic nature of the world and of how he relates to it. In time, this change extends to his values as well, as Strange comes to embrace his role in safeguarding the human world from interdimensional threats. -/- It is tempting to interpret Dr. Strange’s experience as one that shows the limits of rational, scientific inquiry, or even of human knowledge more generally. However, in this essay, I’d like to explore a different interpretation: that Strange’s experience can most fruitfully be thought of as a scientific revolution, in which Strange moves from one way of carrying out scientific inquiry to a different, incompatible way of doing it. In order to do this, I’ll be exploring the work of philosopher and historian of science Thomas Kuhn, who wrote a book—The Structure of Scientific Revolutions--about just this topic. Among other things, Kuhn’s work introduced the highly useful (though commonly misunderstood) notion of a paradigm shift. -/- We’ll begin by exploring what Kuhn describes as normal science, which consists of applying a set of well-understood concepts and methods to problems of interest. This “puzzle-solving” aspect of science is exemplified by Strange’s early successes in medicine. During this stage, scientists have good reasons to avoid questioning the basic validity of their paradigm, and to instead blame any problems that arise on other factors, such as human error. (As fans will know, Strange is quite good at assigning blame in just this way.) A crisis only occurs when significant, serious anomalies have accrued, such as those that Strange encounters in the aftermath of his accident. Even then, however, the old paradigm will only be abandoned only if a new paradigm can be found. Again, Strange’s experience bears this out, as he is able to move on only when the Sorcerer Supreme introduces him to the Mystic Arts. -/- Along the way, we’ll consider what it means for a practice to count as a scientific paradigm, and why it’s not just “anything goes.” Among other things, a paradigm requires that practitioners agree on which problems are most important, which techniques are appropriate to which problems, and what exemplary models of successful work look like. The Mystic Arts of Strange’s world, unlike the pseudoscientific theories of our own, plausibly do quite well on these sorts of criteria. (shrink)

As any fan of Leonard Cohen will tell you, many of his songs are deeply “philosophical,” in the sense that they deal reflectively and intelligently with the many of the basic issues of everyday human life, such as death, sex, love, God, and the meaning of life. It may surprise these same listeners to discover that much of academic philosophy (both past and present) has relatively little in common with this sort of introspective reflection, but is instead highly abstract, methodologically (...) complex, and filled with technical terminology that can make it inaccessible to anyone except specialists. This is not true of all philosophy, however, and Cohen’s focus on the immediate problems facing ordinary humans has much in common with the theories and ideas proposed by the Hellenistic philosophers who dominated the intellectual life of Greek- and Roman-influenced Europe for almost a thousand years. In this essay, I’ll use Cohen’s songs to examine the three major branches of Hellenistic thought: Stoicism (That’s No Way to Say Goodbye, If It Be Your Will), Epicureanism (Everybody Knows, Closing Time), and Skepticism (Famous Blue Raincoat, Different Sides). (shrink)

Martin Peterson’s The Ethics of Technology: A Geometric Analysis of Five Moral Principles offers a welcome contribution to the ethics of technology, understood by Peterson as a branch of applied ethics that attempts ‘to identify the morally right courses of action when we develop, use, or modify technological artifacts’ (3). He argues that problems within this field are best treated by the use of five domain-specific principles: the Cost-Benefit Principle, the Precautionary Principle, the Sustainability Principle, the Autonomy Principle, and the (...) Fairness Principle. These principles are, in turn, to be understood and applied with reference to the geometric method. This method is perhaps the most interesting and novel part of Peterson’s book, and I’ll devote the bulk of my review to it. (shrink)

In this essay, I critically examine the ways in which the characters of Alias attempt to balance their impartial moral obligations (e.g. duties toward humanity) and their personal obligations (e.g. duties toward one's children). I specifically examine three areas of conflict: (1) choices between saving loved ones and maximizing consequences, (2) choices to maintain or sever relationships with characters who are vicious or immoral, and (3) choices to seek or not seek revenge on the behalf of loved ones. I conclude (...) that Sydney's and Jack's moral choices show that one can and should privilege loved ones to some extent, but that this privilege has limits. (shrink)

The acrimony between Karl Popper and Ludwig Wittgenstein has become the stuff of philosophical legend (Edmonds and Eidinow 2002). In the mid-20th century, they offered sharply divergent ideas about the best path for philosophy going forward. While Popper remains a mainstay in introductory courses in the philosophy of science, his "critical rationalist" approach to philosophy has remained marginal with analytic philosophy, especially when compared to the overwhelming influence of Wittgenstein. To what extent does this difference in perceived stature track genuine (...) differences in philosophical contributions? In this book, one of Popper's most eminent students, Joseph Agassi, attempts to provide an answer. He argues that Wittgenstein's contributions are much more modest than is sometimes claimed and that his influence on subsequent analytic philosophy has not always been benign. Agassi provides a unique and welcome perspective on these issues, and there's much of interest in the book, even though Agassi's interpretation of Wittgenstein may not convince those not already sympathetic to his point of view. (shrink)

Downton Abbey is, at its most basic, a story driven by intimate, romantic relationships: Mary and Matthew, Bates and Anna, Sybil and Branson, Lord and Lady Grantham, and many others. As viewers, we root for (or against) these characters as they fall in love, quarrel, break up, reconcile, have children, and deal with separation and death. But what do we get out of this? Is it merely an emotional “rush,” or is it something more meaningful? In this essay, I’ll attempt (...) to answer this question by examining how the relationships portrayed in Downton Abbey might look to the characters of Plato’s Symposium, one of the first (and most famous) philosophical treatments of love. The residents of Downtown Abbey provide ideal models for exploring and critiquing the various “theories of love” offered by the Symposium’s characters. Thomas’s defense of James, for example, provides a great illustration of Phaedrus’s claim about the relationship between love and courage, while Mary’s early struggles illuminate Pausanias’s suggestion that “pure” love can be achieved only by following (well-designed) social rules. By contrast, Bates and Anna help give content to Aristophanes’ s idea that love involves finding your “missing half,” while Carson’s and Mrs. Hughes’ relationship exemplify the sort of “order” celebrated by Eryximachus. Edith, for her part, seems to have fallen for Agathon’s sophistical claim that romantic love can only truly be experienced by the young and beautiful. Finally, Socrates’s famous account of the “ladder of love” can be seen most vividly in the transformative relationship of Sybil and Bronson. Along the way, we’ll consider what is really meant by “Platonic love,” and consider what the characters of Downton Abbey can teach about this invaluable philosophical concept. (shrink)

As modern viewers, it is tempting to interpret Frank and Claire’s manipulations of democratic institutions as representing perversions or distortions of democratic ideals. After all, most of us think (or at least hope!) that real-world democracies we actually live in aren’t quite that badly governed. Whatever the moral faults of our leaders are, they don’t (as a rule) murder journalists, crudely provoke international crises for political gain, or cleverly set up their political adversaries with Bond-villain-like cunning. Real politicians, so the (...) story goes, lack the cleverness, the ruthlessness, and the luck of the Underwoods. While this sort of faith in the general validity of democratic ideals and institutions is now widely shared, the Underwoods’ clever “gaming” of the system can also be seen as providing an especially clear illustration of some of the things that might be inherently wrong with democracy. In this essay, I’ll take a look at how the Underwoods’ behavior might look to some of the most famous critics of democratic government, including Plato, Thomas Hobbes, and Karl Marx. According to these thinkers, the most significant flaws that Underwoods exploit to gain political power have little, if anything, to do with the peculiarity of their talents, the weaknesses of the individuals around them, or even the structures of the US political system. Instead, their success is made possible by certain fundamental features of democratic government, features that guarantee both the instability and eventual failure of any democratic government. On this reading, the fact of the Underwoods’ success presents a significant problem for all of us, since it changes the question from “How do real-world democratic politicians differ from the Underwoods?” to the much-more-difficult “What’s so great about democracy in the first place?”. (shrink)

In the 2016 film Doctor Strange, the title character undergoes a radical transition from successful neurosurgeon to highly skilled sorcerer. Unsurprisingly, he finds this transition difficult, in no small part because he thinks that sorcery seems somehow “unscientific.” Nevertheless, he eventually comes to adopt sorcery as wholeheartedly as he had embraced medicine. Some of his reasons for making this transition are personal, such as his desire to fix his injured hands and, later, to help others. Strange also displays the same (...) sorts of motivations that might drive any scientist: his intellectual curiosity drives him to understand how the Ancient One cured a paraplegic, and his desire to make a positive difference leads him to push the boundaries of sorcery. -/- This chapter will examine what Strange’s transition can teach us about the nature of scientific inquiry. More specifically, we’ll think about when it might make sense for scientists like Dr. Strange to change their approach. This will also allow us to explore what it means to practice science more generally. Some of what we learn might be surprising. For example, while it might seem obvious to us (and maybe even to Strange) that sorcery can’t count as a science, there are reasons for doubting this quick conclusion, at least in the sort of world that Dr. Strange lives in. Finally, we’ll consider what all of this means for science in our world, where things differ quite significantly. (shrink)

Over the past 50 years, there has been a great deal of philosophical interest in laws of nature, perhaps because of the essential role that laws play in the formulation of, and proposed solutions to, a number of perennial philosophical problems. For example, many have thought that a satisfactory account of laws could be used to resolve thorny issues concerning explanation, causation, free-will, probability, and counterfactual truth. Moreover, interest in laws of nature is not constrained to metaphysics or philosophy of (...) science; claims about laws play essential roles in areas as diverse as the philosophy of religion (e.g., in the argument from design) and the philosophy of mind (e.g., in the formulation of Davidson’s anomalous monism). In my dissertation, I consider and reject the widely-held thesis that the facts concerning laws can be reduced to the facts concerning the particular entities that the laws “govern,” and that the laws thus have no independent existence. I instead defend a version of nomic primitivism, according to which the facts about laws cannot be reduced to facts that are themselves non-nomic – i.e., to facts that do not fundamentally involve laws, counterfactuals, causes, etc. Insofar as the truth or falsity of reductionism about laws has implications for many of the problems mentioned above, I think that this result should be of interest even to those who who do not work in metaphysics or the philosophy of science. My methodology, which I lay out and defend in Chapter One, is a version of Carnapian explication. This method emphasizes the importance of articulating and maintaining clear distinctions between (1) the vague concept (or concepts) law of nature inherent in ordinary language and scientific practice and (2) the precise analyses of “law of nature” that philosophers have proposed as potential replacements for this concept. I argue that metaphysics-as-explication has clear advantages over rival conceptions of metaphysical methodology; in particular, it allows us to formulate evaluative criteria for metaphysical claims. In Chapter Two, I offer an example of how careful attention to concepts already in use can help resolve philosophical debate. Specifically, I argue that much recent literature has mistakenly assumed that there is only one concept of “law of nature” in use, while there are in fact at least two. Strong laws are the principles pursued by fundamental physics: they are true, objective, and bear distinctive relationships to counterfactuals and explanation. Weak laws, by contrast, lack at least one of these distinctive characteristics but play central roles in both the “special sciences” and in everyday life. In Chapters Three and Four, I offer extended arguments against the two most prominent versions of reductionism about laws – Humeanism and law necessitarianism. According to philosophical Humeans, the laws of nature supervene upon the non-modal, non-nomic facts concerning the behavior of particular things at particular times and places. Law necessitarians, by contrast, argue that the laws are in fact metaphysically necessary, and that which laws there are is determined by a class of primitive, modally loaded facts concerning the essences, natures, or dispositions. I argue that both of these views are mistaken insofar as they disagree with well-entrenched scientific practices and those in favor of reductionism have failed to provided sufficient reason for thinking that these practices should be revised. Much of my argument is focused on the role played by a number of supposed methodological principles, including appeals to intuition, parsimony, and methodological naturalism. While the conclusions of this dissertation are explicitly constrained to laws, many of the arguments should be of interest to those who are concerned about philosophical methodology (especially in the role of intuition in philosophical argument) or the appropriate relation between metaphysics, science, and the philosophy of science. (shrink)

Charles Darwin famously argued that that life on earth was not the product of intelligent design, and that it instead had arisen through the entirely natural of process of evolution via natural selection. Darwin’s theory of evolution (together with Mendel’s theory of genetics) now forms the foundation of all the biological sciences. Jurassic Park, however, raises an interesting question: just how does Darwin’s theory apply to lifeforms that are the products of explicit, intelligent design? In this essay, I examine cluster (...) of issues in the philosophy of biology that turn out to be central in figuring out the answer to this question. Among other things, I discuss the difficulties in drawing sharp boundaries biological systems and non-biological systems, and between the products of natural selection and those of artificial selection. I also consider more generally how the process of evolution via natural selection is changed when intelligent agents begin to directly manipulate genetic material. (shrink)

Ender Wiggins, the title character of Ender’s Game, spends much of the book playing games of one sort or another. These games range from simple role-playing games with his siblings (“buggers and astronauts”) to battle room contests to a strange fantasy game in which he must kill a giant and confront his deepest fears. Finally, at the end of the book, Ender and his Battle School classmates play one final “game” that leads to them (unknowingly) destroying the bugger homeworld and (...) wiping out nearly the entire species. The games that Ender plays undoubtedly prove crucial to his development as a military commander. It is worth asking, however, whether these games help Ender develop into a morally good person—a person who takes seriously the concerns and interests of other people. This question is one with deep relevance for our own lives, since games and sports play a major role in shaping the way the both children and adults approach the world. In this essay, I'll take a closer look at the role that games play in Ender's moral development. I'll begin by offering a preliminary definition of game, according to which games are a specific type of goal-directed, rule governed activity. I’ll then consider how games relate to play, which is a sort of activity done for its own sake. These distinctions will be fleshed out with examples taken from the book, which clearly demonstrate that not every game is a type of play. I'll then discuss the impact that games have on Ender's moral character—the combination of qualities that lead him to make good (or bad) moral choices in his life outside of game-playing. I'll argue that Ender's experiences show that the relationship between good games and the development of good character Is a complex one, and that there is certainly no guarantee that a well-designed, challenging game will be the sort of activity that builds good character. I'll conclude by briefly discussing the lessons that Ender's games have for the more mundane games that most of us are used to playing. (shrink)