Tuesday, January 6, 2009
male/female?
One of the things I do is interview applicants to a prestigious university. The other day, I had a very odd experience: I interviewed a student who gave off very conflicting gender signals. On the one hand, they had long hair, a female name, certain feminine secondary sexual characteristics, and referred to themselves as a girl. On the other hand, there was something about their voice that, every time I heard it, made me think "this is a prepubescent boy in front of me." It was a very odd experience. I kept on wondering if I would have categorized the student and their attitude differently if I had been sure of their gender, one way or the other; if I would have seen their cheerful, happy attitude differently if I were sure they were a boy, or a girl. It was pretty distracting, actually.
knowing others' minds
One of the things I do is interview applicants to a college. It's an interesting experience. I do a very thorough, very structured interview; I discuss any exceptional features of their high school, classes they've enjoyed and academic subjects that interest them, books they've read, extracurriculars and sports, bad experiences they've had. I then ask a few more oddball questions: "What would you change about yourself, given a magic wand?" "What's something you don't know now that you'd like to know?" Depending on the student, I'll ask what they would change about the world with a magic wand, this riddle, and what their college application would be if it were to be restricted to just ten words. I then ask them about their interest in the University, their thoughts on college, etc. This is followed by a segment where they can ask me questions. I close the interview by asking if there's anything else they'd like to talk about, any question they wished I had asked them. During the entire process, I follow up on any interesting leads, and ask very vague and generic follow-up questions (sometimes just "Hemmingway?" and a quizzical look). The whole process takes thirty minutes at the minumum. Typically, interviews run forty-five minutes; occasionally an hour or more.
I then write a report which is read later during the admissions process. In my discussions with readers, I have been assured of this fact: my reports are always very accurate. That is, the impression I have of students usually lines up very closely with the impression garnered from transcripts, teacher recommendations, test scores, essays, other essays, resumes, and all the rest of the college application.
On the one hand, this is somewhat reassuring: I seem to be able to get an accurate sense of a student in about forty-five minutes.* On the other hand, there have been some interviews that just underscore how incredibly difficult it is to get to know another person. That is, when asked about bad experiences, or what they would change with magic wands, some students have revealed intensely (believe me) experiences and facts. Other ones go with bland, generic answers, safe ones that are thoughtful, and perhaps even true. But I am struck by the thought that so many of the students who I interview have enormous aspects of their lives that they never reveal.
Or even if they do - what is "I really enjoyed cow tipping" compared to the experience this student had going out and tipping cows? I don't want to say that words always fail to represent their objects, but in many cases, given the limits of human finitude, they leave us with a terribly incomplete picture of what has happened.
* In Doubt, when Father Flynn asks Sister Aloysius how she knew what he was, she recalls a single moment: when he grabbed one boy's arm, and the boy pulled away. In that single moment she saw (perhaps) his character.
I then write a report which is read later during the admissions process. In my discussions with readers, I have been assured of this fact: my reports are always very accurate. That is, the impression I have of students usually lines up very closely with the impression garnered from transcripts, teacher recommendations, test scores, essays, other essays, resumes, and all the rest of the college application.
On the one hand, this is somewhat reassuring: I seem to be able to get an accurate sense of a student in about forty-five minutes.* On the other hand, there have been some interviews that just underscore how incredibly difficult it is to get to know another person. That is, when asked about bad experiences, or what they would change with magic wands, some students have revealed intensely (believe me) experiences and facts. Other ones go with bland, generic answers, safe ones that are thoughtful, and perhaps even true. But I am struck by the thought that so many of the students who I interview have enormous aspects of their lives that they never reveal.
Or even if they do - what is "I really enjoyed cow tipping" compared to the experience this student had going out and tipping cows? I don't want to say that words always fail to represent their objects, but in many cases, given the limits of human finitude, they leave us with a terribly incomplete picture of what has happened.
* In Doubt, when Father Flynn asks Sister Aloysius how she knew what he was, she recalls a single moment: when he grabbed one boy's arm, and the boy pulled away. In that single moment she saw (perhaps) his character.
advice for liars
One of the things that I do is interview applicants to the college from which I graduated. It's an interesting experience. One thing I have noticed is that, as far as I can tell, most liars (at this age at least) are not very good at it. And I'm not exactly talking about someone telling me that they put in thirty hours instead of twenty at a volunteer job; that sort of lie I could never catch. No, in this context, students are asked to demonstrate certain aspects of character and certain interests. Some of them manage it, some of them don't. The ones that don't haven't thought enough about what they're saying; they haven't thought it through.
Consider the individual who states repeatedly that they're interested in learning for learning's sake (an interest that is said to be characteristic of this university). Later, I ask them what the value of a college education is. They respond that it gives you the ability to read between the lines - for example, if someone's trying to sell you a car, an education will enable you to see through their sales pitch and see what the real deal is.
In other words, if you want to lie about something, lie about it thoroughly and resolutely. Think through the implications of the falsehood you mean to propound. What else would it commit you to?
Consider the individual who states repeatedly that they're interested in learning for learning's sake (an interest that is said to be characteristic of this university). Later, I ask them what the value of a college education is. They respond that it gives you the ability to read between the lines - for example, if someone's trying to sell you a car, an education will enable you to see through their sales pitch and see what the real deal is.
In other words, if you want to lie about something, lie about it thoroughly and resolutely. Think through the implications of the falsehood you mean to propound. What else would it commit you to?
arrogance and humility
I sent these quotes out while thinking about arrogance and humility. I would argue that there are, in fact, both good and bad forms of arrogance and humility, and that the good forms of each are in fact compatible with each other. I specifically want to talk about arrogance and humility in the context of inquiry.
There is a certain degree of arrogance that is required when conducting inquiry. That is, when I assert something, one of the things that I am committed to is thinking that everyone who disagrees with me is wrong. And there is a real sort of arrogance involved in this - "who am I to say such things?"
Of course, this can shade into a dangerous kind of arrogance. That is, it is arrogant to not only assert that I am right, but that I must be right, that I am sure that I am right. When on is arrogant in this way, one starts to simply deny (on face) the contrary assertions of others. I don't even begin to think about what they say (I don't begin to imaginatively enter into their position); I don't try and meet their objection - because, after all, they're wrong.
Avoiding this arrogance, however, can lead us to a dangerous kind of humility. This is the humility of (to steal Conant's phrase) not even "sticking one's neck out." I do this when I start to qualify everything I say - "Well, it seems to me" / "I think that" / "This is just my opinion, and I might be wrong." What one is doing is refusing to stand behind one's words. That is, you might manage to disprove what I've said, but you can't touch me. The problem is that you get further and further away from asserting anything.
But there is a closely related, and good, kind of humility. This is just the humility involved in realizing that I might, in fact, be wrong. I need to be meet objections; they can't exactly be ignored. Humility in the search for truth is a difficult undertaking.
What I mean to say is this: good arrogance and humility are both compatible and constitutive virtues of inquiry. Part of what it is to seek after truth is to have both. Dangerously, both are closely related - both shade into - pernicious arrogance and humility (which are not compatible). When one starts displaying either of these traits, then one is no longer (exactly) engaged in inquiry. I've started doing something else entirely. (This is the Platonist in me talking).
In short: inquiry requires enough arrogance to assert that I am, in fact, correct (and perhaps even justified), and enough humility to admit that I might, in fact, be wrong.
There is a certain degree of arrogance that is required when conducting inquiry. That is, when I assert something, one of the things that I am committed to is thinking that everyone who disagrees with me is wrong. And there is a real sort of arrogance involved in this - "who am I to say such things?"
Of course, this can shade into a dangerous kind of arrogance. That is, it is arrogant to not only assert that I am right, but that I must be right, that I am sure that I am right. When on is arrogant in this way, one starts to simply deny (on face) the contrary assertions of others. I don't even begin to think about what they say (I don't begin to imaginatively enter into their position); I don't try and meet their objection - because, after all, they're wrong.
Avoiding this arrogance, however, can lead us to a dangerous kind of humility. This is the humility of (to steal Conant's phrase) not even "sticking one's neck out." I do this when I start to qualify everything I say - "Well, it seems to me" / "I think that" / "This is just my opinion, and I might be wrong." What one is doing is refusing to stand behind one's words. That is, you might manage to disprove what I've said, but you can't touch me. The problem is that you get further and further away from asserting anything.
But there is a closely related, and good, kind of humility. This is just the humility involved in realizing that I might, in fact, be wrong. I need to be meet objections; they can't exactly be ignored. Humility in the search for truth is a difficult undertaking.
What I mean to say is this: good arrogance and humility are both compatible and constitutive virtues of inquiry. Part of what it is to seek after truth is to have both. Dangerously, both are closely related - both shade into - pernicious arrogance and humility (which are not compatible). When one starts displaying either of these traits, then one is no longer (exactly) engaged in inquiry. I've started doing something else entirely. (This is the Platonist in me talking).
In short: inquiry requires enough arrogance to assert that I am, in fact, correct (and perhaps even justified), and enough humility to admit that I might, in fact, be wrong.
Monday, January 5, 2009
the canon
People bitch about the canon of philosophy from time to time. But there's a reason it's there, and it has to do with the fact that we are finite, mortal creatures. Consider the amount of philosophy (or anything else, for that matter) that's been written. It is more than you or I could read in a hundred lifetimes - and as soon as we were finished, another volume two times larger would have been produced by the modern academy (ok, maybe I exaggerate). The point is that we need a way to figure out what's worth reading, and it needs to be really quick - in order for our criteria to distill eight million items down to twelve (or w/e), they need to operate very quickly. The canon serves this function, as do other things.
For my part, one of the criteria I employ involves whether or not I speak the same language - and I'm not exactly talking about English vs. German here. Even in English, I find Heidegger almost unintelligible. So I don't read him further. My main worry is that this is just an excuse for being lazy, or inflexible, since I have other reasons (other criteria indicate) that MH is worth reading.
For my part, one of the criteria I employ involves whether or not I speak the same language - and I'm not exactly talking about English vs. German here. Even in English, I find Heidegger almost unintelligible. So I don't read him further. My main worry is that this is just an excuse for being lazy, or inflexible, since I have other reasons (other criteria indicate) that MH is worth reading.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
the adversarial conception
I might have talked about this before; I'm not sure. I'll start with an example, drawn very closely from my life: say a friend of mine comes to me in class one day and asks me a logic problem (this is a good one). Now, I can take this problem as a challenge, as it were: if I win, I'll have beaten the person who asked me the problem. Or I can take it as a gift: there's a joy and a beauty to mathematics, and this is my friend trying to share a piece of that with me.
The idea of the adversarial conception of other people is that we treat others primarily as engaged in competition with us for various resources (prestige being one of them). The aim of the game is to pull others' levers in order to ensure the most advantageous outcome. (A lot of game theory examples demonstrate this way of living). I treat others as adversaries.
Basically what this is is one way of putting the Kantian distinction between treating others as mere means, and treating them as ends-in-themselves. As it happens, while a lot of Kantian ethicists will talk about this contrast, I don't think they spend enough time on it. It's a really worthwhile way of getting at the Kantian critique of non-Kantian ethics, especially things like utilitarianism. That is, treating others as mere means can involve being very nice to them. For example, working hard to satisfy another's desires can in fact involve treating them merely as a means.
Of course, understanding the ("the"?) alternative is the tricky part (and without an alternative, it's hard to see what's wrong with utilitarianism). Kantians talk about "respect," or "treating others as ends-in-themselves." I'm actually not a fan of the latter phrase. In general, too many Kantian ethicists seem to talk as if it is the unreformed desires of others to which we must respond. I'd rather say that the whole point of Kantian ethics, an ethics of freedom, is to understand that everyone else is, more or less, in the same boat we are: wondering what is true and what is worth doing. We work together insofar as we work together on figuring out what that is.
* I can't take credit for the phrase "the adversarial conception;" that is due to someone else.
The idea of the adversarial conception of other people is that we treat others primarily as engaged in competition with us for various resources (prestige being one of them). The aim of the game is to pull others' levers in order to ensure the most advantageous outcome. (A lot of game theory examples demonstrate this way of living). I treat others as adversaries.
Basically what this is is one way of putting the Kantian distinction between treating others as mere means, and treating them as ends-in-themselves. As it happens, while a lot of Kantian ethicists will talk about this contrast, I don't think they spend enough time on it. It's a really worthwhile way of getting at the Kantian critique of non-Kantian ethics, especially things like utilitarianism. That is, treating others as mere means can involve being very nice to them. For example, working hard to satisfy another's desires can in fact involve treating them merely as a means.
Of course, understanding the ("the"?) alternative is the tricky part (and without an alternative, it's hard to see what's wrong with utilitarianism). Kantians talk about "respect," or "treating others as ends-in-themselves." I'm actually not a fan of the latter phrase. In general, too many Kantian ethicists seem to talk as if it is the unreformed desires of others to which we must respond. I'd rather say that the whole point of Kantian ethics, an ethics of freedom, is to understand that everyone else is, more or less, in the same boat we are: wondering what is true and what is worth doing. We work together insofar as we work together on figuring out what that is.
* I can't take credit for the phrase "the adversarial conception;" that is due to someone else.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
my interest in ethics
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/01/opinion/01kristof.html
"The Evil Behind the Smiles"
by Nicholas Kristof
December 31, 2008
The New York Times
In the article, Kristof describes the practice of child / sex slavery in Cambodia.
Consider also:
http://www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/1972----.htm
"Famine, Affluence, and Morality"
by Peter Singer
1972
Philosophy and Public Affairs
Consider also:
http://endlessrecombination.blogspot.com/2008/12/kingdom-of-night.html
For most of the time I've spent discussing ethics, I've maintained a sense that the answers, in many case, are blindingly obvious. It's almost perverse that we have to argue about whether or not to save those who are suffering from starvation, torture, and rape. And I get the impulse to just grab and shake those who disagree.
Part of my interest in ethics involves realizing that this is not a productive impulse. Part of my interest in ethics involves trying to figure out how to get a grip on people who can't see their obligations - how to help them see what's going on. (As Korsgaard says, it is not the strength of our convictions (the volume of our voices) that will convince others).
The other part involves the thought that while saving the drowning baby is a pretty clear-cut case, it represents a certain subset of moral matters, what we might call "material threats to agency." I'm of the opinion (though I think it is important to figure out how to justify this, for reasons I discuss above) that we are all pretty thoroughly obligated to do something about such threats, such as starvation, torture, and rape.
But beyond that, it's really hard to figure out how to lead good lives. And that's something I'd like to do.
"The Evil Behind the Smiles"
by Nicholas Kristof
December 31, 2008
The New York Times
In the article, Kristof describes the practice of child / sex slavery in Cambodia.
Consider also:
http://www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/1972----.htm
"Famine, Affluence, and Morality"
by Peter Singer
1972
Philosophy and Public Affairs
Consider also:
http://endlessrecombination.blogspot.com/2008/12/kingdom-of-night.html
For most of the time I've spent discussing ethics, I've maintained a sense that the answers, in many case, are blindingly obvious. It's almost perverse that we have to argue about whether or not to save those who are suffering from starvation, torture, and rape. And I get the impulse to just grab and shake those who disagree.
Part of my interest in ethics involves realizing that this is not a productive impulse. Part of my interest in ethics involves trying to figure out how to get a grip on people who can't see their obligations - how to help them see what's going on. (As Korsgaard says, it is not the strength of our convictions (the volume of our voices) that will convince others).
The other part involves the thought that while saving the drowning baby is a pretty clear-cut case, it represents a certain subset of moral matters, what we might call "material threats to agency." I'm of the opinion (though I think it is important to figure out how to justify this, for reasons I discuss above) that we are all pretty thoroughly obligated to do something about such threats, such as starvation, torture, and rape.
But beyond that, it's really hard to figure out how to lead good lives. And that's something I'd like to do.
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