Category Archives: Books

Science Fiction and the Moral Imagination now published

Science Fiction and the Moral Imagination
My new book, Science Fiction and the Moral Imagination: Visions, Minds, Ethics, has just been published by Springer in trade paperback and Kindle editions. You can find the book on Springer’s own site or via online retailers such as Amazon.

Science Fiction and the Moral Imagination does offer my own potted account of the nature of philosophy (in general) and of moral philosophy (in particular) in order to assist the argument. It does not, however, belong to the genre of pedagogical books that aim to introduce philosophy through science fiction. If anything, it is more an exercise in the history and philosophy of science fiction. More specifically it examines the intersection of science fiction and moral philosophy. Putting it another way, Science Fiction and the Moral Imagination examines ways in which science fiction novels, stories, movies, etc., engage with metaethical and normative ethical themes that are also of interest to moral philosophers. I hope to have discussed this in a reasonably lively, clear, and accessible way, but readers will have to judge that for themselves.

— Russell Blackford

[My Amazon author page]

Quackery and Straws

As Edgar Allen Poe, wrote in The Literati of 1850:

“There are very few points of classical scholarship which are not the common property of “the learned” … and in composing any book of reference recourse is unscrupulously and even necessarily had in all cases to similar books which have preceded… it is the practice of quacks to paraphrase page after page … preserving the spirit of the whole, its information…, while everything is so completely re-written as to leave no room for a direct charge of plagiarism…. he who, in availing himself of the labors of his predecessors (and it is clear that all scholars must …) who shall copy verbatim the passages to be desired… even if he fail to make direct acknowledgment of indebtedness — is unquestionably less of the plagiarist than the disingenuous and contemptible quack who wriggles himself, as above…”

As Poe noted “the design in any such compilation is … to make a useful school-book or book of reference” and, of the author, “the public, of course, [are] never caring a straw whether he be original.” The Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy [IEP] is a very useful ‘book of reference’ for the modern age and many of its articles are original contributions by specialized philosophers. It is however acknowledged [edit: or rather it used to be acknowledged*] on the site’s ‘About’ page, “that there are temporary or ‘proto articles’” that “have largely been adapted from older sources.”   I was unaware the site had recycled public domain material in this way when I chanced upon an entry on ‘The Academy’ by an ‘anonymous author.’ Something just struck me as odd, there was a reference to “the distinction laid down by Diogenes, and alluded to above” but no such allusion and then there were certain rather dated turns of phrase. And I got to wondering whether the material had been elsewhere before it went online as a ‘temporary’ IEP article in 2001.

The IEP entry is composed of two parts: the main section and a short piece titled ‘views of the New Academy’. Upon a little investigation it appeared that this second section is pretty much identical with an article on the ‘New Academy’ found in Harper’s dictionary of classical literature and antiquities’ of 1896 as edited by one Harry Thurston Peck,. And I found a suitably placed reference to Diogenes Laertius and his threefold division of the Academy, and a very close match to the rest of IEP entry in Charles Anthon’s 1842 ‘Classical Dictionary.’ and his 1833 edition of John Lemprière’s ‘Bibliothecca Classica’ (from whose revision his own Dictionary evolved). Now, I know the IEP is a not-for-profit organisation run by volunteers whose very admirable goal is the sharing of knowledge. And I know that, legally, you can do what you please with public domain works. But, I must admit the question did occur: why would you copy, pretty much verbatim, from other people’s work and not say where you copied it from? If the IEP entry is accurate then the student will, quite reasonably, not care a straw that it is stitched together from two articles published in the 19th century. And it would have been quite absurd for some ‘quack’ to have completely re-written the material just so its origins couldn’t be traced. But it seems quite simple to state in online article X that the same incorporates text from public domain sources Y and Z. And what occurred to me was just that is was, well, ‘bad form’ to help your self to the work of others and give them no credit for their labours even if they are dead.

But then, as some research revealed, ‘recycling’ material, as the quotation from Poe suggests, is nothing new. Peck’s Dictionary lifts its article on ‘Academia’ straight from Anthon too (it is also missing an allusion to Diogenes, but as the IEP includes a line straight from Anthon not found in Harpers one presumes the IEP researcher was working from both). O.M. Fernald, reviewing Peck’s Dictionary for The American Journal of Philology back in 1897, said “it is not possible within these limits to review half a dozen important works of reference [and] that is what an adequate review of this volume would mean” and he has some harsh criticisms to make about Peck’s willingness to help himself to the work of living authors simply because copyright laws fail to prohibit it. Still, Peck at least acknowledges that “when material was, in its original form, precisely suited to his purpose, he incorporated it without a change … [that] the greater part of his work was compilation rather than original exposition, [and]… if the completed work be found of service to the student of the classics, this result must be very largely due to the original sources whence so great a portion of the Dictionary is derived.” This is rather more than can be said for Charles Anthon. As is noted by The North American Review in 1842: “One would infer, from the way in which [Anthon] speaks of his labours in the preface, that the articles had all been written by himself. This is very far from the case. Many, if not all the most important, are taken, – not merely compiled, but taken, in their very words, from other writers. Here and there a sentence is omitted, the arrangement slightly altered, or a phrase changed, for the purpose of interweaving a paragraph drawn from some other source. The references to the original authorities are also copied, apparently without verification … the book is any thing but a homogenous whole., it is diversified by styles as numerous as the authors in Dr Anthon’s Library…” And indeed it was this very controversy about plagiarism that prompted Poe to write in Anthon’s defence as above.

Anthon’s entry on ‘Academia’ at least is not, it seems, taken whole and direct from anything else. Still it appears The history of philosophy: from the earliest times to the beginning of the present century; drawn up from Brucker’s Historia critica philosophiaeby William Enfield (1791) was one of the books on Anthon’s bookshelves. There remain a few turns of phrase – about “those followers of Plato, who taught the doctrine of their master without mixture or corruption” and those “which in some measure receded from the Platonic system without entirely deserting it” – that have dropped through time from a book published in 1791, via a number of learned hands, into a ‘temporary’ article published online in 2001.

Personally, I rather hope they don’t get round to replacing it.

[from the archives, originally published 25/9/2011 – so: happily, another six years on, and still nobody has gone through the IEP editorial door into Plato’s Academy – did some warning sign about aptness for geometry put folk off?]

 

  • [2017 – it *seems* the IEP have removed or, at least,  moved and made less prominent their admission about hosting ‘proto-articles’ drawn from public domain materials. Doubtless far fewer such entries now exist.  Those that do were put there in the first place with entirely noble intent – to fill a gap that then existed in terms of online philosophical resources by laboriously transcribing, without payment, apparently still accurate material from old public domain books onto the net. And, as, suggested above, I’ve a certain genuine fondness for some of those pieces that continue to exist. (Though the one on Diogenes Laertius I do want to see replaced – that what may well be its only new phrase is about him being “generally as reliable as whatever source he happens to copying from’  is just too ironic to bare any longer. You might contact them via here if you’re qualified to replace it.) But, in any event, it does seem, to my mind, that some such admission should continue to be clearly made about such ‘proto-articles’ whilst some exist. The IEP might well, perhaps, be able to state that such pieces can be easily so-identified if their author is said to be ‘anonymous’. In any event, the very few interested by this piece are directed to a somewhat related one I wrote here called The Blind Scholar ].

Experience Machines

Experience MachinesExperience Machines, edited by Mark Silcox (and including a chapter by me) is now available where fine books are sold, such as Amazon.

In his classic work Anarchy, State and Utopia, Robert Nozick asked his readers to imagine being permanently plugged into a ‘machine that would give you any experience you desired’. He speculated that, in spite of the many obvious attractions of such a prospect, most people would choose against passing the rest of their lives under the influence of this type of invention. Nozick thought (and many have since agreed) that this simple thought experiment had profound implications for how we think about ethics, political justice, and the significance of technology in our everyday lives.

Nozick’s argument was made in 1974, about a decade before the personal computer revolution in Europe and North America. Since then, opportunities for the citizens of industrialized societies to experience virtual worlds and simulated environments have multiplied to an extent that no philosopher could have predicted. The authors in this volume re-evaluate the merits of Nozick’s argument, and use it as a jumping–off point for the philosophical examination of subsequent developments in culture and technology, including a variety of experience-altering cybernetic technologies such as computer games, social media networks, HCI devices, and neuro-prostheses.

The Blind Scholar

The Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy (IEP), an invaluable [sometimes] peer-reviewed resource established by Jim Fieser, has this to say of the work of one particular thinker from the 3rd Century A.D:

The work of Diogenes [Laertius] is a crude contribution towards the history of philosophy…the author is limited in his philosophical abilities and assessment of the various schools…  and is entertaining as a sort of pot-pourri on the subject. Diogenes also includes samples of his own wretched poetry about the philosophers he discusses.. [and] is generally as reliable as whatever source he happens to be copying from at that moment. *

The IEP “is actively seeking an author who will write a replacement article”, but this “anonymous” piece presently stands as the IEP ‘obituary’ to a thinker who produced ten volumes on the history of ideas.  Our entry’s writer (A) concedes Diogenes’ ‘Lives of the Philosophers’ is “an important source of information on the development of Greek philosophy”.  And whilst urging that the “reader should be wary” of his “amusing or scandalous stories about the lives and deaths of various philosophers”, A also acknowledges that Diogenes’ “article on Epicurus .. is quite valuable, since it contains some original letters of that philosopher, which comprise a summary of the Epicurean doctrines.”

A more flattering obituary of a scholar whose own work related to those very same letters appeared in the London Times in 1929:

Mr. R. D. Hicks, the Aristotelian scholar and Fellow of the Trinity College, Cambridge, died yesterday at his residence at Cambridge at the age of 78… Robert Drew Hicks … was elected a scholar [of Trinity] in 1872 and Fellow in 1876.. [and] was college lecturer in Classics from 1884 to 1900. At the close of this period.. he.. suffered the greatest calamity that can befall a student—loss of eyesight. This, to a helluo librorum like Hicks, was an unparalleled disaster. But his courage never faltered…With the help of his wife and some devoted friends, Hicks kept abreast of classical learning and produced a monumental edition of Aristotle’s “De Anima” in 1907…, and a brilliant summary of Greek philosophy for the ‘Cambridge Companion to Greek Studies’… The patience and cheerfulness of the blind scholar were amazing. For the use of fellow-sufferers he produced in 1921, a concise Latin dictionary in Braille type. He was often to be met walking in the country on the arm of a companion, and he dined regularly in Hall. Manchester University conferred on him the hon. degree of D.Litt.

The obituary also mentions that our blind scholar also produced “a small volume on the Stoics and Epicureans in 1910” and “a translation of Diogenes Luertius in the Loeb Classical Library” in 1925.  Both works included (slightly varying) translations of Epicurus’ ‘Letter to Menoeceus’, and those translations remain resources drawn upon today by users of the internet.  Online, you will still find translations of that letter attributed to Hicks, at amongst other, places: The Internet Classics Archive (here) hosted by MIT,  amongst the eBooks (here) hosted by The University of Adelaide, on the Encyclopaedia Britannica site, (here), in the Project Gutenberg Consortia Center Collection (here) and amongst the teaching materials hosted online by The University of Waterloo (here). So, who is responsible for making this important material for students of Epicurus so widely available?

Just as Diogenes must be thanked for (at least) bringing the letters of Epicurus down to us across the millennia, and Hicks must be thanked for the translations he made of those texts, we also must thank a later disseminator of wisdom, one working in the 1990s at the dawn of the Internet Age.  In the 1990s, as B put it “there were very few philosophical texts available on line”. And so like a number of other worthy souls B “transcribed a number that were in the public domain”, typing them out by hand from whatever source he happened to be copying from at that moment and later uploading them. This included ‘The Letter to Menoeceus’ as found in Hick’s 1925 translation of the works of Diogenes Laertius.  Transcriptions of this ilk went on to spread across the internet, giving access to the wisdom of earlier generations to a whole new generation of internet-enabled students.  The labours of all these souls must be applauded.  And it is unbelievable to think that the letters of Epicurus (who lived between 341 BC and 270 BC), were transmitted via Diogenes down to Hicks and then via the transcription of early computer user B in the 1990s right across the World Wide Web without being corrupted.

Or rather it is believable, but not, of course, true. Sadly the ‘Letter to Menoeceus’‏ you will find at all these reputable sources is not exactly the letter translated by R.D. Hicks (in either its 1910 or 1925 versions).  B made an error in transcription (or perhaps his computer did).  This does not diminish the valuable work he was involved in at the time, or the further work he has done in academia since.  But, being human, working late perhaps, a passage got corrupted and then went onto the net and spread and spread and spread.  The error is but a sub-clause.  One I was only able to verify as an error – after some confusion about its meaning – by studying scanned copies of both of Hick’s books. And a baffling sub-clause it is too, one that will presumably have caused innumerable students, and at least one philosopher on this site, to wonder: “what the hell does this mean?”

and so of him anything that is at agrees not with about him whatever may uphold both his happyness and his immortality.

And the truth is that all this means – for surely it is quite incomprehensible – is that B who has gone on to do some very important academic work, made an error in transcription some 25 years ago, one he now wishes “would just disappear”. I wondered whether to name B in this blog post, but in the end, I decided I did not want to appear ungrateful or uncharitable (I’d rather just be that way without being open about it). Like the authors of the unflattering IEP piece on Diogenes Laertius, on balance, I think our B is entitled to remain anonymous.

But as far as B’s rendition of Hicks’ work is concerned, I do think the academic institutions that host the corrupted ‘Letter To Menoceous’ should themselves be ‘actively seeking a replacement article’: the genuine one. Hosting a corrected version of the Letter would not only make the thoughts of the great Epicurus intelligible,  it would stand as a better testament to the work of Diogenes, and as a much more fitting memorial to the immense achievements of our blind scholar R.D. Hicks.

This of course, won’t happen – not right across the web. You can find scanned copies of both of Hick’s books if you look hard enough, and correct transcriptions too but, when it comes to putting things online: once it’s ‘out there’ on the net it stays ‘out there’. And, this is a moral we should all keep in mind whether we are commenting, blogging or publishing. Be careful what you write because all the wishing in the world will not make it “just disappear” after the fact.  And we should all heed this other moral too: don’t trust everything you read, especially online.

This advice applies, of course, to all of the above.

[From the archives: originally published in March 2011]

* [2017: There is a certain irony to the IEP line stating that Diogenes is “generally as reliable as whatever source he happens to be copying from at that moment” as it may well be that this is the only line in the whole entry that’s not just been copied straight out of one or more 19th Century Dictionary/Encyclopedias. Do a quick Google of near any line and you’ll immediately find umpteen hits in books published from at least 1837 on-wards. In saying this I don’t actually mean to have a serious ‘pop’ at the hard-working volunteers at the IEP. Their older ‘proto-articles’ were put there for a good end with entirely noble intent – to fill a gap that then existed in terms of online philosophical resources. And they did this by laboriously transcribing, without payment, apparently still accurate material from old public domain books onto the net.  Its not something that can compete with the Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy at what the SEP does. But I don’t think it needs to.  Not to keep on filling a very valuable role: providing shorter more ‘accessible’ but reliable articles for a wider group of readers and writing opportunities for a wider group of academic talent. [You could always contact them with a pitch for a new Diogenes Laertius if you’re qualified to write one here.] Anyway, in the very unlikely event that you’ve been interested by any of the above, I would call your attention to my somewhat related piece here called ‘Quackery and Straws.]

 

The Atheist’s Guide to Reality: An Interview with Alex Rosenberg

[Originally published February  2012]

Reality, notes philosopher Alex Rosenberg, is “completely different from what most people think… stranger than even many atheists recognize.”   And having spent some 40 years trying to work out “exactly how advances in biology, neuroscience and evolutionary anthropology, fit together with what physical science has long told us” Professor Rosenberg seems well placed to judge. Thinking seriously and unsentimentally about the nature of reality and life’s ‘persistent questions’ has led the R. Taylor Cole Professor of Philosophy at Duke University to some striking, disconcerting and far-reaching conclusions.  In The Atheist’s Guide to Reality: Enjoying Life Without Illusions, Rosenberg aims to stretch out just what the atheist’s attachment to science really commits him to.

The author of some 14 books and an eminent philosopher of science, Professor Rosenberg has been kind enough to answer some questions from Talking Philosophy about his controversial and challenging work.  The questions posed, and Professor’s Rosenberg’s replies to them have been posted in full ‘as is’. Readers will, I hope, find something in the following to stimulate both thought and discussion

Your book is aimed squarely at atheists, but it’s not a book about atheism as such, rather it’s a book about what atheists should believe.  What are the most important things that the atheist needs to know about reality? And can he really enjoy life without illusions?

The most important thing to know about reality is that science understands it well enough to rule out god, and almost everything else that provides wiggle room for theism and mystery mongering. That includes all kinds of purposes, including even ones that conscious introspection suggests we ourselves have. Conscious introspection was shaped by natural selection into tricking us about the nature of reality. We need always to be on our scientific guard against its meretricious temptations. Treating the illusions that rise to consciousness as symptoms, instead of guides to meaning and value, is crucial to enjoying life. It’s not easy, but taking science seriously is the first step, despite the difficulty consciousness puts in the way of understanding it.

 

You note early on that “the effort to argue most people out of religious belief was doomed by the very Darwinian forces that the most fervent of Christians deny.”  Does evolution select for superstition and conspiracy theories? And how can they be dispelled?

Getting us from the bottom of the food chain on the African savannah to the top required mother nature (a.k.a. natural selection) to solve several design problems. Its quick and dirty solutions included ones that exaggerated our tendency to see conspiracies—plots in which there is a motive behind every event in nature. That’s what made religious belief unavoidable. It’s why religion is almost universal. Can these false beliefs be dispelled? Probably not completely, and probably not at all for people who have trouble understanding science.

Are introspection and common sense the greatest obstacles to understanding and accepting reality?

Introspection? Yes. Common sense, no.  For reasons just mentioned, we were shaped to be suckers for a good story, a narrative with a plot driven by motives—peoples’, god’s, nature’s. By making us think that our own behaviour is directly understandable to us as the product of our (usually conscious) will, introspection effectively prevents us from discovering its true sources in non-conscious brain processes. Add to that the fact that scientific theories of human behaviour (and everything else) are much harder to understand just because they don’t involve narratives and plots, and the obstacles to understanding erected by conscious thought become obvious.

Common sense is another matter, however. Science is just the result of 400 years of common sense recursively reconstructing itself, weeding out false hypotheses and introducing better ones. The result of course is quantum mechanics, Darwinian theory, neuroscience—common sense reshaped into something that most people can’t understand because they don’t have the patience and mathematical ability to work their way through the details.

What is your conception of ‘scientism’ and why have you ‘reclaimed’ the term?

My conception of scientism is almost the same as that of those who use it as a term of abuse. They use the term to name the exaggerated and unwarranted confidence that science and its methods can answer all meaningful questions. I agree with that definition except for the ‘exaggerated’ and ‘unwarranted’ part.

 

You seem strongly committed to a form of physicalist reductionism – not eliminativism – perhaps you could say a little more about that and some of the misconceptions surrounding it?

To use some philosophical jargon, I am an eliminativist about the propositional attitudes. That is, I believe that the brain acquires, stores, and uses information, but that it does not do so in the form of sentences, statements or propositions. The illusion that it does so is another one of those mistakes foisted on us by conscious awareness. The eliminativist thesis I just expressed will sound abstract and inconsequential to many people, and completely incoherent to many philosophers. In The Atheist’s Guide to Reality I explain why it’s true and what its huge upshot for theism and mystery mongering is. But I don’t deal with the philosophers charge that the denial we think in statements about the world is incoherent. That’s a task for an academic paper. Suffice it to say that neuroscience forces us to be eliminativist about some things consciousness foists on us, but it does not deny the reality of sensations, emotions or for that matter cognition—properly understood. It’s scientism that mandates the reductive explanation of all three, and that neuroscience is well on its way to providing.

 

You are strongly committed to the view that “the methods of science are the only reliable way to secure knowledge of anything”? What would you say to those who would suggest that the methods of science can give us no knowledge about mathematics and what it is like to see red?

What I say in response to such sophisticated philosophical challenges is first, like all the other metaphysical and epistemological alternatives, scientism does not yet have a satisfactory account of mathematics or our understanding of it; second, the so-called “hard problem” of consciousness—what its like to have a qualitative experience—is a sign post along the research program of neuroscience. It will eventually have to dissolve this problem, just as physics eventually had to dissolve Zeno’s paradox of motion. Meanwhile, if I have to weigh the achievements of science in the balance against the problems of the philosophy of mathematics and the first person point of view, I’ll choose science. 400 years of ever-increasing depth and breadth in explanation and prediction carries a lot more weight with me than a handful of philosophical conundrums and Platonism about mathematics.

 

You assert that “science’s description of the world is correct in its fundamentals; and that when ‘complete’ what science tells us will not be surprisingly different from what it tells us today.” Perhaps you could say something about those fundamentals, why you think they are unassailable and how much can be derived from them?

I argue in The Atheist’s Guide that all the science we need to answer the “persistent questions” that keep most thoughtful people up at night, are physics’ rejection of final causes, entelechies, prior designs in nature, along with the 2d law of thermodynamics. Those two are enough to give us natural selection, and together with them it is enough to solve all the other problems most people have about reality, the meaning of life, the nature of the mind, free will, ethics and the trajectory of human history.

But these established parts of science are of course not enough to answer all the scientific questions about these matters. To answer the questions of science (quite different from the limited questions of philosophy that people commonly ask themselves and their religious “advisers”) requires all the rest of science, including the parts that are still subject to development, change, revision, and even in a few cases, revolution. But nothing at the frontiers of any science is going to overturn the 2d law of thermodynamics, natural selection or the basic molecular biology of the neuron.

Is the fallibility of science a weakness in your argument or one of its strengths?

Science is common sense recursively reconstructing itself.  The reconstruction reflects the fallibility of common sense. Insistence by science on the tentativeness of its results at its ever-shifting research frontier, is what gives us confidence that after repeated test the parts most distant from that frontier are unlikely to be called into question.

The recurring dictum of your book is that ‘the physical facts fix all the facts’, what do you mean by that and how hard is it to persuade people of it?

Nothing more than this: take a time slice of any chunk of the universe—say, our planet, or solar system, or galaxy. Now produce a perfect—fermion for fermion, boson for boson—physical duplicate of that chunk at that moment. Then, everything that is true about what is going on in that first chunk, including all of the biological, psychological, sociological, political, economic, and cultural facts about it, will be true at the second, duplicate chunk.

I don’t know how hard it is to persuade people of this. It’s probably impossible to persuade many people once they realize it deprives their worlds of physically irreducible features.

Many of your readers may be amenable, in principle, to your contention that there is “no chance” of freewill. But few it seems can fully come to terms with the fact. Is freewill an illusion that is here to stay? Do you think that accepting that it is an illusion could change our behaviour and would you want it to?

Realizing there is no free will is unlikely to change our day-to-day behaviour, especially not our penchant for blaming people, and praising dogs for that matter. But it could change our politics a bit. In The Atheist’s Guide I argued that the core morality mother nature imposed on us together with the denial of free will is bound to make the consistent thinker sympathetic to a left-wing, egalitarian agenda about the treatment of criminals and of billionaires.

 

You assert that “scientism dictates a thoroughly Darwinian understanding of humans and of our evolution—biological and cultural” and that this means that “when it comes to ethics, morality, and value, we have to embrace an unpopular position that will strike many people as immoral as well as impious.” Just how bad is the news about morality? And why do you think “new atheists” like Sam Harris and Daniel Dennett can’t accept it?  

Second question first. Nihilism—even my “nice nihilism” is a public relations nightmare. Most of my fellow travellers think that if the scientific worldview saps morality of its truth, correctness, justification, then there is no chance it will be widely adopted and every chance the scientific worldview will be marginalized, to the obvious detriment of human welfare. They might be right. It’s an empirical matter. Answer to first question immediately below.

What‘s the ‘good news’ about nihilism? Does evolution select for niceness?

The good news is that natural selection has shaped almost all of us to be nice enough to make human social life possible. It had to. Without such shaping of social life, human life on the African savannah, and since then for that matter, would have been impossible. We are too puny to survive otherwise (even given our monstrously big brains).

Do you think accepting ‘nilhism’ will change how we act?  Can ‘nilhism’ be ‘reclaimed’ or do you think we will need a new way of talking about ‘morality’?

No. The correct philosophical theory has almost no capacity to overwhelm two million years or more of natural selection. Insofar as we pursue human sciences, nihilism is inevitable, but the label has too many disturbing connotations to stick.

Understandably you take there to be no purpose to the universe. But it seems you want to make a much stronger and more radical claim – that there are no purposes in the universe. Could you say something about just how wrong we are about cognition and consciousness?

The four most difficult chapters of The Atheist’s Guide are devoted to this task, and most reviewers have avoided even discussing them. They are too hard for people who have never heard of the problem of intentionality or content or ‘aboutness.’ Once we take on board eliminativism about content, and Darwinism about every other instance of apparent purposiveness in the universe and in our brains, it’s easy to see that what consciousness tells us about ourselves, our motives, our plans, our purposes, is a tissue of illusions. This, not morality, is the part of our understanding of ourselves that requires radical reconstruction, at least for scientific purposes, if not for everyday life.

In your book you make the striking claim that “Ultimately, science and scientism are going to make us give up as illusory the very thing conscious experience screams out at us loudest and longest: the notion that when we think, our thoughts are about anything at all, inside or outside of our minds.” As you admit this seems an absurd claim. Whilst, your detailed arguments for this position form a difficult and lengthy part of your book, could you give some small sketch of your grounds for making such a claim?

I started on that task in my answer to the last question. The best I can do in a few lines to answer the question further is to note that if intentionality, content, ‘aboutness,’ is impossible, given the way the brain works, it’s also impossible in consciousness—since that’s just more brain process. So, we need an explanation of the illusion that our conscious thoughts have sentential meaning and propositional content. Neuroscience explains why there is no original intentionality, along with no derived intentionality, in the brain. I show that adding consciousness doesn’t help in any way to create original intentionality. The argument is pretty simple once you grant that non-conscious brain states lack original intentionality because they can’t carry around information in the form of sentences.

 

Ultimately what would the success of your arguments mean for the importance of history, the social sciences, literature and the humanities?   And what would it mean for philosophy? 

My arguments turn the humanities and the interpretative social sciences, especially history, into entertainments. They can’t be knowledge, but they don’t have to be in order to have the greatest importance—emotional, artistic, but not epistemic—in our lives. As for philosophy, done right it’s just very abstract and very general science.

Those interested in finding out more about Professor Rosenberg’s position are pointed towards this piece as written for the New York Times in response to an article by Oxford’s Timothy Williamson who in turn replies critically to Rosenberg here. A further final exchange between the two can be found here. Professor Rosenberg also published a detailed précis of his book that can be found here at the ‘On The Human’ project – it is followed by critical responses from a number of noted philosophers (including Brian Leiter) to whom Rosenberg in turn replies. More recently, Rosenberg published a further piece at the same site titled ‘Final Thoughts of a Disenchanted Naturalist‘.

Update: Massimo Pigliucci, philosopher at the City University of New York, has reviewed ‘The Atheist’s Guide’  for TPM , Philip Kitcher, John Dewey professor of philosophy at Columbia University, has reviewed it for the New York Times and Michael Ruse, Lucyle T. Werkmeister Professor at Florida State University, has written a critical commentary on the book published over at Rationally Speaking.

[August 2017: Further resources – I’ve added yet more links in the first two comments below. But may as well give the highlights here. ‘The mad dog naturalist’- Alex Rosenberg interviewed by Richard Marshall  for 3am magazine [longer read with the latter showing how interviews can be better done].  Alex in conversation with Ard Louis and David Malone for the ‘Why Are We Here?’ documentary series (43 minute video plus transcript and other resources at the same site). And, for the more ambitious, a difficult academic paper by Alex aiming to show why eliminative materialism, isn’t as many suggest, self defeating – “Eliminativism without Tears” . Daresay that may do well for now. Oh, and Alex, who is also a novelist, now has his own website here. You’ll even find this very interview over there looking rather flashier and much more nicely presented (must not think its not that bad then) obviously this particular piece of information might have been a tad more useful some 2,750 words ago but , if its any small consolation, some of the better links I originally provided need fixed over there].

 

The shame of public shaming

Russell Blackford, University of Newcastle

Public shaming is not new. It’s been used as a punishment in all societies – often embraced by the formal law and always available for day-to-day policing of moral norms. However, over the past couple of centuries, Western countries have moved away from more formal kinds of shaming, partly in recognition of its cruelty.

Even in less formal settings, shaming individuals in front of their peers is now widely regarded as unacceptable behaviour. This signifies an improvement in the moral milieu, but its effect is being offset by the rise of social media and, with it, new kinds of shaming.

Indeed, as Welsh journalist and documentary maker Jon Ronson portrays vividly in his latest book, social media shaming has become a social menace. Ronson’s So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed (Picador, 2015) is a timely contribution to the public understanding of an emotionally charged topic.

Shaming is on the rise. We’ve shifted – much of the time – to a mode of scrutinising each other for purity. Very often, we punish decent people for small transgressions or for no real transgressions at all. Online shaming, conducted via the blogosphere and our burgeoning array of social networking services, creates an environment of surveillance, fear and conformity.

The making of a call-out culture

I noticed the trend – and began to talk about it – around five years ago. I’d become increasingly aware of cases where people with access to large social media platforms used them to “call out” and publicly vilify individuals who’d done little or nothing wrong. Few onlookers were prepared to support the victims. Instead, many piled on with glee (perhaps to signal their own moral purity; perhaps, in part, for the sheer thrill of the hunt).

Since then, the trend to an online call-out culture has continued and even intensified, but something changed during 2015. Mainstream journalists and public intellectuals finally began to express their unease.

There’s no sign that the new call-out culture is fading away, but it’s become a recognised phenomenon. It is now being discussed more openly, and it’s increasingly questioned. That’s partly because even its participants – people who assumed it would never happen to them – sometimes find themselves “called out” for revealing some impurity of thought. It’s become clear that no moral or political affiliation holds patents on the weaponry of shaming, and no one is immune to its effects.

As Ronson acknowledges, he has, himself, taken part in public shamings, though the most dramatic episode was a desperate act of self-defence when a small group of edgy academics hijacked his Twitter identity to make some theoretical point. Shame on them! I don’t know what else he could have done to make them back down.

That, however, was an extreme and peculiar case. It involved ongoing abuse of one individual by others who refused to “get” what they were doing to distress him, even when asked to stop. Fascinating though the example is, it is hardly a precedent for handling more common situations.

At one time, if we go along with Ronson, it felt liberating to speak back in solidarity against the voices of politicians, corporate moguls, religious leaders, radio shock jocks, newspaper columnists and others with real power or social influence.

But there can be a slippery slope… from talking back in legitimate ways against, say, a powerful journalist (criticising her views and arguments, and any abusive conduct), to pushing back in less legitimate ways (such as attempting to silence her viewpoint by trying to get her fired), to destroying relatively powerless individuals who have done nothing seriously wrong.

Slippery slope arguments have a deservedly bad reputation. But some slopes really are slippery, and some slippery slope arguments really are cogent. With public online shaming, we’ve found ourselves, lately, on an especially slippery slope. In more ways than one, we need to get a grip.

Shaming the shamers

Ronson joined in a campaign of social media shaming in October 2009: one that led to some major advertisers distancing themselves from the Daily Mail in the UK. This case illustrates some problems when we discuss social media shaming, so I’ll give it more analysis than Ronson does.

One problem is that, as frequently happens, it was a case of “shame the shamer”. The recipient of the shaming was especially unsympathetic because she was herself a public shamer of others.

The drama followed a distasteful – to say the least – column by Jan Moir, a British journalist with a deplorable modus operandi. Moir’s topic was the death of Stephen Gately, one of the singers from the popular Irish band Boyzone.

Gately had been found dead while on holiday in Mallorca with his civil partner, Andrew Cowles. Although the coroner attributed the death to natural causes, Moir wrote that it was “not, by any yardstick, a natural one” and that “it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships.”

Ronson does not make the point explicit in So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, but what immediately strikes me is that Moir was engaging in some (not-so-)good old-fashioned mainstream media shaming. She used her large public platform to hold up identified individuals to be shamed over very private behaviour. Gately could not, of course, feel any shame from beyond the grave, but Moir’s column was grossly tasteless since he had not even been buried when it first appeared.

Moir stated, self-righteously: “It is important that the truth comes out about the exact circumstances of [Gately’s] strange and lonely death.” But why was it so important that the public be told such particulars as whether or not Cowles (at least) hooked up that tragic evening for sex with a student whom Moir names, and whether or not some, or all, of the three young men involved used cannabis or other recreational drugs that night?

To confirm Moir’s propensities as a public shamer, no one need go further than the same column. She follows her small-minded paragraphs about Gately with a few others that shame “socialite” Tara Palmer-Tomkinson for no worse sin than wearing a revealing outfit to a high-society party.

You get the picture, I trust. I’m not asking that Moir, or anyone else, walk on eggshells lest her language accidentally offend somebody, or prove open to unexpectedly uncharitable interpretations. Quite the opposite: we should all be able to speak with some spontaneity, without constantly censoring how we formulate our thoughts. I’ll gladly extend that freedom to Moir.

But Moir is not merely unguarded in her language: she can be positively reckless, as with her suggestion that Palmer-Tomkinson’s wispy outfit might more appropriately be worn by “Timmy the Tranny, the hat-check personage down at the My-Oh-My supper club in Brighton.” No amount of charitable interpretation can prevent the impression that she is often deliberately, or at best uncaringly, hurtful. In those circumstances, I have no sympathy for her if she receives widespread and severe criticism for what she writes.

When it comes to something like Moir’s hatchet job on Gately and Cowles, and their relationship, I can understand the urge to retaliate – to shame and punish in return. It’s no wonder, then, that Ronson discusses the feeling of empowerment when numerous people, armed with their social media accounts, turned on badly behaved “giants” such as the Daily Mail and its contributors. As it seemed to Ronson in those days, not so long ago, “the silenced were getting a voice.”

But let’s be careful about this.

Some distinctions

A few aspects need to be teased out. Even when responding to the shamers, we ought to think about what’s appropriate.

For a start, I am – I’m well aware – being highly critical of Moir’s column and her approach to journalism. In that sense, I could be said to be “shaming” her. But we don’t have to be utterly silent when confronted by unpleasant behaviour from public figures.

My criticisms are, I submit, fair comment on material that was (deliberately and effectively) disseminated widely to the public. In writing for a large audience in the way she does – especially when she takes an aggressive and hurtful approach toward named individuals – Moir has to expect some push-back.

We can draw reasonable distinctions. I have no wish to go further than criticism of what Moir actually said and did. I don’t, for example, want to misrepresent her if I can avoid it, to make false accusations, or to punish her in any way that goes beyond criticism. I wouldn’t demand that she be no-platformed from a planned event or that advertisers withdraw their money from the Daily Mail until she is fired.

The word criticism is important. We need to think about when public criticism is fair and fitting, when it becomes disproportionate, and when it spirals down into something mean and brutal.

Furthermore, we can distinguish between 1) Moir’s behaviour toward individuals and 2) her views on issues of general importance, however wrong or ugly those views might be. In her 2009 comments on Gately’s death, the two are entangled, but it doesn’t follow that they merit just the same kind of response.

Moir’s column intrudes on individuals’ privacy and holds them up for shaming, but it also expresses an opinion on legal recognition of same-sex couples in the form of civil unions. Although she is vague, Moir seems to think that individuals involved in legally recognised same-sex relationships are less likely to be monogamous (and perhaps more likely to use drugs) than people in heterosexual marriages. This means, she seems to imply, that there’s something wrong with, or inferior about, same-sex civil unions.

In fairness, Moir later issued an apology in which she explained her view: “I was suggesting that civil partnerships – the introduction of which I am on the record in supporting – have proved just to be as problematic as marriages.” This is, however, difficult to square with the words of her original column, where she appears to deny, point blank, that civil unions “are just the same as heterosexual marriages.”

Even if she is factually correct about statistical differences between heterosexual marriages and civil unions, this at least doesn’t seem to be relevant to public policy. After all, plenty of marriages between straight people are “open” (and may or may not involve the use of recreational drugs), but they are still legally valid marriages.

If someone does think certain statistical facts about civil unions are socially relevant, however, it’s always available to them to argue why. They should be allowed to do so without their speech being legally or socially suppressed. It’s likewise open to them to produce whatever reliable data might be available. Furthermore, we can’t expect critics of civil unions to present their full case on every occasion when they speak up to express a view. That would be an excessive condition for any of us to have to meet when we express ourselves on important topics.

More generally, we can criticise bad ideas and arguments – or even make fun of them if we think they’re that bad – but as a rule we shouldn’t try to stop their expression.

Perhaps some data exists to support Moir’s rather sneering claims about civil unions. But an anecdote about the private lives of a particular gay couple proves nothing one way or the other. Once again, many heterosexual marriages are not monogamous, but a sensational story involving a particular straight couple would prove nothing about how many.

In short, Moir is entitled to express her jaundiced views about civil unions or same-sex relationships more generally, and the worst she should face is strong criticism, or a degree of satire, aimed primarily at the views themselves. But shining a spotlight on Cowles and Gately was unfair, callous, nasty, gratuitous, and (to use one of her own pet words) sleazy. In addition to criticising her apparent views, we can object strongly when she publicly shames individuals.

Surfing down the slippery slope

Ronson discusses a wide range of cases, and an evident problem is that they can vary greatly, making it difficult to draw overall conclusions or to frame exact principles.

Some individuals who’ve been publicly shamed clearly enough “started it”, but even they can suffer from a cruel and disproportionate backlash. Some have been public figures who’ve genuinely done something wrong, as with Jonah Lehrer, a journalist who fabricated quotes to make his stories appear more impressive. It’s only to be expected that Lehrer’s irresponsibility and poor ethics would damage his career. But even in his case, the shaming process was over the top. Some of it was almost sadistic.

Other victims of public shaming are more innocent than Lehrer. Prominent among them is Justine Sacco, whom Ronson views with understandable sympathy. Sacco’s career and personal life were ruined after she made an ill-advised tweet on 20 January 2013. It said: “Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding. I’m white!” She was then subjected to an extraordinarily viral Twitter attack that led quickly to her losing her job and becoming an international laughing stock.

It appears that her tweet went viral after a Gawker journalist retweeted it (in a hostile way) to his 15,000 followers at the time – after just one person among Sacco’s 170 followers had passed it on to him.

Ronson offers his own interpretation of the Sacco tweet:

It seemed obvious that her tweet, whilst not a great joke, wasn’t racist, but a self-reflexive comment on white privilege – on our tendency to naively imagine ourselves immune to life’s horrors. Wasn’t it?

In truth, it’s not obvious to me just how to interpret the tweet, and of course I can’t read Sacco’s mind. If it comes to that, I doubt that she pondered the wording carefully. Still, this small piece of sick humour was aimed only at her small circle of Twitter followers, and it probably did convey to them something along the lines of what Ronson suggests. In its original context, then, it did not merely ridicule the plight of black AIDS victims in Africa.

Much satire and humour is, as we know, unstable in its meaning – simultaneously saying something outrageous and testing our emotions as we find ourselves laughing at it. It can make us squirm with uncertainty. This applies (sometimes) to high literary satire, but also to much ordinary banter among friends. We laugh but we also squirm.

In any event, charitable interpretations – if not a single straightforward one – were plainly available for Sacco’s tweet. This was a markedly different situation from Jan Moir’s gossip-column attacks on hapless celebrities and socialites. And unlike Moir, Sacco lacked a large media platform, an existing public following, and an understanding employer.

Ronson also describes the case of Lindsey Stone, a young woman whose life was turned to wreckage because of a photograph taken in Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. In the photo she is mocking a “Silence and Respect” sign by miming a shout and making an obscene gesture. The photo was uploaded on Facebook, evidently with inadequate privacy safeguards, and eventually it went viral, with Stone being attacked by a cybermob coming from a political direction opposite to the mob that went after Sacco.

While the Arlington photograph might seem childish, or many other things, posing for it and posting it on Facebook hardly add up to any serious wrongdoing. It is not behaviour that merited the outcome for Lindsey Stone: destruction of her reputation, loss of her job, and a life of ongoing humiliation and fear.

Referring to such cases, Ronson says:

The people we were destroying were no longer just people like Jonah [Lehrer]: public figures who had committed actual transgressions. They were private individuals who really hadn’t done anything much wrong. Ordinary humans were being forced to learn damage control, like corporations that had committed PR disasters.

Thanks to Ronson’s intervention, Stone sought help from an agency that rehabilitates online reputations. Of Stone’s problems in particular, he observes:

The sad thing was that Lindsey had incurred the Internet’s wrath because she was impudent and playful and foolhardy and outspoken. And now here she was, working with Farukh [an operative for the rehabilitation agency] to reduce herself to safe banalities – to cats and ice cream and Top 40 chart music. We were creating a world where the smartest way to survive is to be bland.

This is not the culture we wanted

Ronson also quotes Michael Fertik, from the agency that helped Stone: “We’re creating a culture where people feel constantly surveilled, where people are afraid to be themselves.”

“We see ourselves as nonconformist,” Ronson concludes sadly, “but I think all of this is creating a more conformist, conservative age.”

This is not the culture we wanted. It’s a public culture that seems broken, but what can we do about it?

For a start, it helps to recognise the problem, but it’s difficult, evidently, for most people to accept the obvious advice: Be forthright in debating topics of general importance, but always subject to some charity and restraint in how you treat particular people. Think through – and not with excuses – what that means in new situations. Be willing to criticise people on your own side if they are being cruel or unfair.

It’s not our job to punish individuals, make examples of them, or suppress their views. Usually we can support our points without any of this; we can do so in ways that are kinder, more honest, more likely to make intellectual progress. The catch is, it requires patience and courage.

Our public culture needs more of this sort of patience, more of this sort of courage. Can we – will we – rise to the challenge?

Russell Blackford, Conjoint Lecturer in Philosophy, University of Newcastle

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

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Review of Dungeons & Dragons and Philosophy

Dungeons & Dragons and Philosophy

Christopher Robichaud (Editor) $17.95 August, 2014

As a professional philosopher, I am often wary of “pop philosophy”, mainly because it is rather like soda pop: it is intended for light consumption. But, like soda, some of it is quite good and some of it is just sugary junk that will do little but rot your teeth (or mind). As a professional author in the gaming field, I am generally wary of attempts by philosophers to write philosophically about a game. While a philosopher might be adept at philosophy and might even know how to read a d4, works trying to jam gaming elements into philosophy (or vice versa) are often like trying to jam an ogre into full plate made for a Halfling: it will not be a good fit and no one is going to be happy with the results.

Melding philosophy and gaming also has a rather high challenge rating, mainly because it is difficult to make philosophy interesting and comprehensible to folks outside of philosophy, such as gamers who are not philosophers. After all, gamers usually read books that are game books: sourcebooks adding new monsters and classes, adventures (or modules as they used to be called), and rulebooks. There is also a comparable challenge in making the gaming aspects comprehensible and interesting to those who are not gamers. As such, this book faces some serious obstacles. So, I shall turn now to how the book fares in its quest to get your money and your eyeballs.

Fortunately for the authors of this anthology of fifteen essays, many philosophers are quite familiar with Dungeons & Dragons and gamers are often interested in philosophical issues. So, there is a ready-made audience for the book. There are, however, many more people who are interested in philosophy but not gaming and vice versa. So, I will discuss the appeal of the book to these three groups.

If you are primarily interested in philosophy and not familiar with Dungeons & Dragons, this book will probably not appeal to you—while the essays do not assume a complete mastery of the game, many assume considerable familiarity with the game. For example, the ethics of using summoned animals in combat is not an issue that non-gamers worry about or probably even understand. That said, the authors do address numerous standard philosophical issues, such as free will, and generally provide enough context so that a non-gamer will get what is going on.

If you are primarily a gamer and not interested in philosophy, this book will probably not be very appealing—it is not a gaming book and does not provide any new monsters, classes, or even background material. That said, it does include the sort of game discussions that gamers might not recognize as philosophical, such as handling alignments. So, even if you are not big on philosophy, you might find the discussions interesting and familiar.

For those interested in both philosophy and gaming, the book has considerable appeal. The essays are clear, competent and well-written on the sort of subjects that gamers and philosophers often address, such as what actions are evil. The essays are not written at the level of journal articles, which is a good thing: academic journals tend to be punishing reading. As such, people who are not professional philosophers will find the philosophy approachable. Those who are professional philosophers might find it less appealing because there is nothing really groundbreaking here, although the essays are interesting.

The subject matter of the book is fairly diverse within the general context. The lead essay, by Greg Littmann, considers the issue of free will within the context of the game. Another essay, by Matthew Jones and Ashley Brown, looks at the ethics of necromancy. While (hopefully) not relevant to the real world, it does raise an issue that gamers have often discussed, especially when the cleric wants to have an army of skeletons but does not want to have the paladin smite him in the face. There is even an essay on gender in the game, ably written by Shannon M. Musset.

Overall, the essays do provide an interesting philosophical read that will be of interest to gamers, be they serious or casual. Those who are not interested in either will probably not find the book worth buying with their hard earned coppers.

For those doing gift shopping for a friend or relative who is interested in philosophy and gaming, this would be a reasonable choice for a present. Especially if accompanied by a bag of dice. As a great philosopher once said, “there is no such thing as too many dice.”

As a disclaimer, I received a free review copy from the publisher. I do not know any of the authors or the editor and was not asked to contribute to the book.

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