• What do philosophers think about religious disagreement? This is a brief survey (takes about 5-10 minutes) to find this out. The survey is aimed at academic philosophers, by which I mean people who hold a PhD in philosophy or are graduate students in philosophy. If you fit these criteria, please consider participating. Participation is fully anonymous.

    The format of the study is a multiple choice questionnaire. I will ask some personal questions, amongst others about your religious views, but your name will not be asked. To further take care that your anonymity is preserved, I will not report on individual responses but report statistical patterns. There are a few places where you can provide an open response (optional). I will publish at most one open response per participant, making sure that there is no identifying information within your response. The full dataset will remain confidential and will not be shared with anyone. I will report the preliminary results on NewApps and one or two other websites.

    The study is designed and carried out by Helen De Cruz, postdoctoral fellow of the British Academy at the University of Oxford. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact helen.decruz- at – philosophy.ox.ac.uk. To participate, please click here or paste this link in your browser: https://surveys.qualtrics.com/SE/?SID=SV_9TFkp1QkxnZkdTL

  • By Catarina Dutilh Novaes

    Today is UNESCO’s World Philosophy Day, which is celebrated on the third Thursday of November every year. As it so happens, November 20th is also the United Nations’ Universal Children’s Day (here is a blog post I wrote for the occasion 2 years ago). I am truly delighted that these two days coincide today, as children and philosophy are two of my greatest passions. But the intimate connection between children and philosophy runs much deeper than my particular, individual passions, and so it should be celebrated.* As Wittgenstein famously (but somewhat dismissively) put it: 

    Philosophers are often like little children, who first scribble random lines on a piece of paper with their pencils, and now ask an adult "What is that?" (Philosophical Occasions 1912-1951)

    My own favorite definition of philosophy is that philosophy is at heart the activity of asking questions about things that appear to be obvious but are not. (True enough, it also involves attempting to provide answers and giving arguments to support one’s preferred answers.) And so it is incumbent on the philosopher to ask for example ‘What is time, actually?’, while everybody else goes about their daily business taking the nature of time for granted. Indeed, philosophy is intimately connected with curiosity and inquisitiveness, and this idea famously goes back all the way to the roots of philosophy as we know it:

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  • by Eric Schwitzgebel

    Today I’m thinking about Schindler’s truck and what it suggests about the moral psychology of one of the great heroes of the Holocaust.

    Here’s a portrayal of the truck, in the background of a famous scene from Schindler’s List:

    [image source]

    Oskar Schindler, as you probably know, saved over a thousand Jews from death under the Nazis by spending vast sums of money to hire them in his factories, where they were protected. Near the end of Spielberg’s movie about him, the script suggests that Schindler is broke — that he has spent the last of his wartime slave-labor profits to save his Jewish workers, just on the very eve of German surrender:

    Stern: Do you have any money hidden away someplace that I don’t know about?
    Schindler: No. Am I broke?
    Stern: Uh, well…

    Then there’s the surrender, Schindler’s speech to the factory workers, and preparations for Schindler’s escape (as a hunted profiteer of slave labor).

    Seeing the film, you might briefly think, what’s with the truck that caravans off with Schindler? But the truck gets no emphasis in the film.

    Thomas Keneally’s 1982 book Schindler’s Ark (on which Spielberg’s 1993 film was based) tells us more about the truck:

    Emilie, Oskar, and a driver were meant to occupy the Mercedes. [Seven] others would follow in a truck loaded with food and cigarettes and liquor for barter (p. 375).

    Also,

    In one of the factory garages that afternoon, two prisoners were engaged in removing the upholstery from the ceiling and inner doors of Oskar’s Mercedes, inserting small sacks of the Herr Direktor‘s diamonds… (p. 368).

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  • by Ed Kazarian

    By now, many readers will be aware of the events which have unfolded around Cheryl Abbate, a Ph.D. student and instructor in Philosophy at Marquette University. Those who are not up to speed should read this excellent post by Justin Weinberg at Daily Nous. Briefly, Ms. Abbate has been the subject of public, political attack by an associate professor of Political Science at Marquette, John McAdams, concerning matters that took place in her classroom, after class, and in a subsequent meeting of the class.

    Leaving aside the highly problematic evidentiary basis for Prof. McAdams' claims (the report of a single student who had attempted to record Ms. Abbate covertly and without her permission, and had lied to her when confronted about what he was doing), and the extent to which McAdams' version of events seems to have misrepresented what took place in material ways, there can be no question that it is categorically inappropriate for a senior faculty member (or indeed any faculty member) to publicly attack a graduate student over what happens in his or her classroom, regardless of whether that student is in the faculty members's own department.* 

    The fact that Prof. McAdams' intervention has, rather predictably, led to Ms. Abbate becoming the subject of a number of gendered attacks only exacerbates the wrong here, which is certainly a matter of principle as well as of consequences. But it does make it even more urgent that Marquette should address the situation and do whatever is necessary to offer Ms. Abbate support. 

    In the same spirit, many of us throughout the philosophical community have sought to express our support for Ms. Abbate and our dismay at the conduct of Prof. McAdams. Justin Weinberg has suggested writing the provost and the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at Marquette. John Protevi has taken that suggestion up in the form of an open letter, to which he invites others to add their signatures. Keeping in mind that a public wrong needs to be countered publicly, I am posting this, here, to further express my support—and I invite others here to add their names in the comments should they wish to do so. 

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  • There is some exaggeration in referring to the death of Stoicism, of course its ethics (which is what concerns us here) is still of interest and has even had a revival, popular and academic in recent years. Nevertheless there really was a death of Stoicism in that the influence  it had from its Hellenistic and Roman beginnings to the eighteenth century in defining ethics has gone. The influence was not quite dominance, since Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics was a major text in the field for much of that period, and many people’s idea of ethics was shaped by Cicero’s On Ends

     However, the Stoic ethical texts of Seneca and Epictetus set the tone for the understanding of other ethical texts, in the emphasis on reason over desire, and independence from external circumstances. Seneca as a character was a philosophical martyr to tyranny on a level close to that of Socrates in a manner that is no longer with us. His forced suicide resulting from the persecutions of Nero served as a widely understood contrast of ethical mastery of desire with the triumph of desire over reason in the tyrannical personality. 

     This is how political liberty and the virtuous character were understood together. Epictetus’ journey from Rome to Nicopolis, probably because of a ban the Emperor Domitian placed on philosophers, itself serves as a story of moving from politics to philosophy, from state power to inner power, an idea confirmed by the emphasis in Epictetus on indifference to relations with the Emperor. The Stoic emphasis on reason did not exclude literary style and aesthetic compositions as we see in the plays of Seneca, and the prose style of Epictetus as well as Seneca. 

     Stoicism did not exclude the exercise of power power, as we see in the contribution of Marcus Aurelius, and in Seneca’s time as an adviser to Nero. However, the role of poetic capacity in Plato and Aristotle has no obvious equivalent in Stoicism, and similar remarks apply to the role of political life. A Stoic could practice poetry and politics, but from a position in which they are dominated by reason, rather than a position in which we might learn something from poetic practice or the political life. 

     The non-exclusive, but particularly significant role of Stoicism can be considered in the sixteenth century with reference to Michel de Montaigne. In the Essays, Stoicism is a constant reference, particularly with regard to Seneca. The major theme that emerges, through Montaigne’s mode of equivocation and qualification, is that Stoic interest in rational self command is admirable, but not sufficient in providing principles of virtue and living. In a Stoic manner, Montaigne suggests that external glory is inferior to inner virtue, but then argues for some measure of state provided honour for the purposes of inspiring bravery. Montaigne frequently indicates that his writing is related to the fear of death and the inadequacies of his mind. The Essays are not a journey from intellectual inadequacy and anxiety in the face of mortality to self-command and tranquillity. Montaigne mentions tranquility as a goal, but indicates in multiple ways that it is not a realistic goal given the contradictory and restless nature of the human mind. 

     The central preoccupation of the Essays is how to form the anxieties and tensions of the human mind in writing. If this is done in a way that is at all comprehensive, and such is Montaigne’s ambition, then the writing must bee overwhelmed by the impossibility of unifying all directions to thought in the author’s mind, or the human mind in general. Stoicism is now left as one point of reference in the Essays, maybe it is the most important pole in terms of Montaigne’s ambiguous delineations of objects of antagonism, but even so it has to compete with all the sources of cruelty, intolerance, and delusion. The dominance of reason is replaced by writing and imagination, which are driven by fear, failures of communication, and the inexhaustibility of forms. All of this, and more, contributes to Montaigne’s status within French literature, and the later development of imaginative prose style. 

     Montaigne did not kill of Stoicism as he was part of a long process of the undermining of the ideal of the complete subordination of of desire or passion to reason, and evidently there are ways in which that project has persisted. What has not persisted is the dominance of a tendency to believe that power, desire, imagination, external relation, are all less than reason  detached from  everything, but reason.

    The growth of the novel in the eighteenth century, a literary genre particularly association with subjective desire, irony, imagination, passion, and sympathy, in relation to a world integrated by culture rather than natural law, matches the decline of Stoicism as a dominant pattern of thought. We can understand the emergence of aesthetic philosophy, and various forms of criticism in Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Burke, Winckelmann, Lessing, Baumgarten, and Kant in this context, a context that also includes the novelistic and operatic achievements of Montesquieu, Rousseau, and Constant. 

     This not to say that everyone used to be a Stoic and stopped over the course of the early modern period, just that it colours everything and is the most convenient way of indicating what dominates the assumptions of thoughts about ethics and living from Roman-Hellenistic antiquity to the Enlightenment, given that sometimes we do need to make such generalisations.

    Related articles

    Enlightenment Ethics as Critique of Progress
    Republicanism and Nostalgia
    European Identities and Histories
  • By Catarina Dutilh Novaes

    As readers will have noticed, since yesterday there has been an outpour of expressions of sorrow for the passing of Patrick Suppes everywhere on the internet. He was without a doubt one of the most influential philosophers of science in the 20th century, and so all the love and appreciation is richly deserved. I do not have anything much to add to what others who knew him better have been saying, but I thought of posting a link to the video podcast of a lecture he delivered at the Munich Center for Mathematical Philosophy some two years ago, titled ‘A neuroscience perspective on the foundations of mathematics’. (Back then I even wrote a blog post about the lecture, just before it took place.)

    As much as it is sad to see dear, talented people passing away, I think it is comforting to note that Suppes lived his life to the fullest until the very end, for example by flying across the ocean to give a lecture on a new, exciting topic at age 90. The vitality he displays in the lecture is truly impressive, and a lovely reminder of his decisive contributions to philosophy and the sciences.

  • A few years ago, I read the Philosophy Smoker on a regular basis. In the comments threads, several job seekers complained about older professors who didn't retire. If only they finally went away, more tenure lines would become available for junior people. In a provocative essay, professor emerita Laurie Frendrich argues along similar lines. She argues that professors have a moral duty to retire. The reasons why they don't, she argues, are largely self-serving: the large income of a senior faculty member, the pleasure of teaching: "Professors approaching 70…have an ethical obligation to step back and think seriously about quitting. If they do remain on the job, they should at least openly acknowledge they’re doing it mostly for themselves."

    Unlike in the US, where the mandatory retirement age of professors at 70 was lifted in 1994, European professors are still obliged to retire when they reach a given age (usually between 65 and 67). It is certainly a good thing that tenured lines eventually open again and younger academics can step in. But does that mean that older professors in the US also have a moral obligation to step down when the time comes? For one thing, many tenured positions aren't being replaced by junior tenure lines but by contingent (VAP, adjunct etc) positions. Also, pension schemes were gutted during the 2008 and following years crisis, which made it financially precarious for older professors to retire.

    I agree high retirement ages are problematic, but I disagree that individual older professors have a moral duty to retire. If the total effects of scrapping the pension age for professors are negative, that should be a reason to reintroduce mandatory pension age in academia in the US, but it does not put the burden of that decision on individual professors in their late 60s or older. Let's look at some of the main arguments Frendrich offers:

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  • By: Samir Chopra

    Last Tuesday, the philosophy department of Brooklyn College voted to co-sponsor 'Silencing Dissent: A Conversation with Steven Salaita, Katherine Franke and Corey Robin', an event organized by the Students for Justice in Palestine and scheduled for Thursday, November 20th. (In so doing, we joined the ranks of the departments of political science and sociology, as well as the Shirley Chisholm Project, Brooklyn for Peace, Jewish Voice for Peace – New York Chapter, and the International Socialist Organization.)

    Because I had suggested–during the 'new business' section of our department meeting–that the department sponsor the event, and because the BDS controversy at Brooklyn College focused so much attention on the business of academic departments 'sponsoring' supposedly 'political' and 'one-sided' events, I offered some arguments about the desirability of the philosophy department signing on as a co-sponsor, even if our vote to do so would attract some of the same hostility the political science department at Brooklyn College had during the BDS event.

    Those arguments can be summed up quite easily. Steven Salaita will soon be claiming, in a court of law, that: he lost his job because his constitutional right to free speech was infringed by a state actor; his speech was found offensive on political grounds; his academic freedom was violated; he lost his livelihood because he espoused his political opinions in a manner offensive to some. A debate about these issues, conducted with a law professor and moderated by a political theorist (who also teaches Constitutional Law), would offer to our students–even if they disagreed vehemently with Salaita's political viewpoints–a chance to engage with many philosophical, political and legal problems, all of which they are exposed to, in theoretical form, in their many readings across our curriculum.

    Most broadly, philosophy students would see philosophy in action: they would see arguments presented and analyzed and applied to an issue of contemporary political and moral significance. (One of my colleagues pointed out that our department offers a popular Philosophy and Law major, which ostensibly prepares them for law school admission and careers in the law; this demographic would be an ideal audience for the discussion.)

    As might be imagined, given the furore generated by the BDS event last year, there was some trepidation over whether such a departmental vote, or the use of the language of 'sponsorship' was a good idea. In response, I analogized our sponsorship decision as akin to the inclusion  of a reading on a class syllabus (During the BDS controversy, I had made a similar argument in response to the claim that sponsoring an event entailed 'endorsement' of the speakers' opinions.) When a philosophy professor does so, she says no more than that she thinks her students should read the reading and engage with it critically; it is worth reading, even if only to criticize it. (This semester, I had included Gobineau in my Social Philosophy reading list; I certainly did not intend to promulgate a theory of the Aryan master race by doing so.)

    Lastly, I suggested issues of academic freedom are of utmost relevance and importance for all academic disciplines today. Every department on campus should be interested in a discussion centering on them.

    We voted; the motion carried.

    Note: This post was originally  published–under the same title–at samirchopra.com.

  • By Catarina Dutilh Novaes

    Alexander Grothendieck, who is viewed by many as the greatest mathematician of the 20th century, has passed away yesterday after years of living in total reclusion. (To be honest, I did not even know he was still alive!) He was a key figure in the development of the modern theory of algebraic geometry, among others, but to philosophers and logicians he is perhaps best known as one of the major forces behind the establishment of category theory as a new foundational framework for mathematics. 

    So far, I’ve only seen obituaries in French (Libération and Le Monde), as Grothendieck (of German origin) lived almost all of his life in France (I expect that soon obituaries in English will be available too). His life story is almost as remarkable as his mathematical achievements: his father died in Auschwitz in 1942, while he was sent to a concentration camp in France with his mother. In all of his adult life, he was as passionate about pacifism as he was about mathematics (and perhaps even more), and continuously engaged in a number of activist initiatives like lecturing on category theory in a forrest of bombed Vietnam to protest against the war. He seems to have basically stopped doing any mathematics in the 1970s, but the influence of his work in the field is bound to remain colossal in many years or even centuries to come.

  • by Ed Kazarian

    I've written before about the question of boundary policing in philosophy, occasioned at the time by a remarkable essay of Nathaniel Adam Tobias Coleman's. It's a question, and a habitual tendency within the discipline, that certainly continues to deserve our attention.

    In the same spirit, I want to call readers' attention to an essay that Adriel Trott has published today on her blog.  The piece is subtle and quite complex, beginning with four anecdotes and developing from there into a meditation on what it would mean to stop policing the borders of philosophy—but also engaging a series of related—and urgent—questions.  How can philosophy remain attentive to the singularity of different sorts of experiences? How can philosophy embrace the insights of intersectionality? What, especially in light of these first two questions, might it mean to do philosophy while resisting the drive to universalize or ontologize? And how do we deal with the ever present danger of appropriation or colonization involved in our attempts to theorize or conceptualize what is at stake in lives at the border, even if we have given up attempting to police those borders? 

    The essay is carefully composed and deserves to be read on its own terms. But as a teaser, I will leave readers with this short section from Trott's conclusion, about which I will add a few remarks below the fold.

    I am only just now coming to see that changing the way we think about philosophy in order to make it more inclusive means making those of us who are happy with the way the thinking in philosophy currently operates uncomfortable and not-quite-at-home with philosophy.

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