My (perhaps) worthless advice for applying to philosphy PhD programs – part 1

I’m going to attempt to summarize the knowledge I have extracted from my PhD admissions experience. Just so you know my perspective, I was admitted to the University of Maryland – College Park with full funding for 5 years. That said, this was my only offer (not counting another wait-list that I withdrew from just before the deadline) and it only came after I had been on the wait-list for almost a month. Keep in mind that I consider myself rather lucky; I applied to a large group of schools and was only accepted at one, but many people were rejected by every school. From what I can gather, complete shutouts of applicants is quite common. So as you think about whether you want to apply to philosophy PhD programs, remember that the application process will probably be one of the largest undertakings you have completed so far in your life.

In the next few entries I’ll cover some topics that I had questions about when I started applying; I assume that these questions are pretty universal. I am by no means an authority (on anything), but the application process has certainly had an effect on me, and I think there is something I can add to the general knowledge base.  I’ll start out, in this entry, with the question of whether you should go to philosophy grad school at all.

Should I go – Is it really so bad?

It is common for professors of philosophy to tell those inquiring about grad school that if they could see themselves doing anything else other than philosophy then they should do that instead.  In fact, when I asked one of my professors for a letter of recommendation he attempted to convince me NOT to go into philosophy; I also had some interests in psychology and he thought that the prospects in that field were far better (after I had convinced him that I really did want to do philosophy he explained that he gave this “public service announcement” to every student who wanted a recommendation). I think that much of the pessimism about pursuing a career in philosophy is well grounded; the baseline job market for philosophers (not counting any momentary depressions due to the economy) is quite dismal (though the statistics on this are apparently a bit ambiguous) and most philosophy PhDs have to be ready to move to pretty much any location if they hope to secure a job as a professor. On top of this, fewer universities have serious research philosophy departments (those in which professors do more research than teaching) than those that have a great deal of science research, and therefore, most obtaining a PhD in philosophy should expect to teach far more than their counterparts in the sciences. But do these issues mean that students should only treat philosophy as a last resort – a profession they should only consider if nothing else could be fulfilling?

I think that this ‘last resort’ standard makes the prospective philosophy grad feel unwarranted desperation. Philosophers should have a wide variety of interests and abilities; how else are they supposed to write intelligently about the many topics with which philosophy interfaces? So, it seems odd that good philosophy students would have such narrow interests so that any other career would be totally unfulfilling. These sorts of thoughts came especially clear for me when I sat with no offers pretty late in the admissions season. I had to start thinking about ‘plan-b’, otherwise I would have no idea what to do if I was rejected from every place; I came up with several careers that might be interesting to do outside of philosophy. Of course, I might have hated these possible careers, but that is exactly the problem; it is extremely difficult to know your suitability for a career before starting it. So, why should one give up a potential career that seems interesting simply because they might like doing something else as well? If one can come out of the grad school experience without seriously harming other life goals (this is probably the key) then this doesn’t seem to be such a bad option.  Of course, given the job market, you should probably be able to accept grad school as having some sort of intrinsic goods.  Even if upon graduation you had to find a job outside of philosophy, you should be able to look at grad school itself as being a fulfilling experience.  If you can’t do this, then perhaps it would be best to find some other career.  And, if your goals are mostly monetary in nature then philosophy graduate school is almost certainly not for you.

I also recommend talking to philosophy grad students about their experiences in order to gauge whether professional philosophy is all it is cracked up to be. Do they seem happy with their lives? Do they end up with jobs? This will vary greatly based on the school; it seems that at some places students are extremely stressed and might do something else with their lives if given the chance, but at other places the students seem to be well rounded and happy individuals. This also seems to be the case of philosophy professors themselves; I’m not sure how the proportion of happy/unhappy people in philosophy compares with other professions but it doesn’t seem to be too different. I think that expectations probably play a large role as well; don’t expect to be a philosophical superstar making lots of money at a flashy institution, because you almost certainly won’t be.  However, take all this with a grain of salt, because I havn’t actually experienced grad school yet.  Talking to some grad students who have been there for a few years is probably a far better way of figuring whether you should go into philosophy.

Update about my real life

The last few months have been quite hectic, so I haven’t really updated this much.  There are a few coffee shop reviews that I have yet to write up, but those should be coming soon.  Also, I’m moving to the Washington D.C area by the end of summer where I’ll be starting in the philosophy PhD program at the University of Maryland.  So, the entire admissions process is over for me and I’m quite happy with how it turned out in the end.  However, the waiting process was probably the most stressful period in my life and I’m very glad for it to be over with!  I’ll probably post more about my experiences later; I did learn a few things as I went through this admissions cycle and perhaps it may be of some (limited) help to others.  And maybe I’ll have some thoughts about philosophy eventually…who knows.

Moral Seriousness and Ethical Contextualism – The writing sample

This is the writing sample I sent graduate schools; it is full of philosophy jargon that may make it a difficult read for many.  But I just put it out there, because it is something I wrote.

1. Introduction

One way to evaluate a metaethical view is to determine how it accommodates beliefs we have about the world. On the one hand we want our moral theory to be compatible with the extremely successful naturalistic ontology that is the dominant view of the objective world; however, it is also hard to deny that we have moral experiences of a certain sort that oftentimes seem to contradict naturalism. Mark Timmons in Morality without Foundations and Timmons with Terry Horgan in a number of later articles have proposed a metaethical theory that aims to satisfy both of these pressures. This view has changed names several times through the years but I will call it ‘ethical contextualism’, as this is how Timmons refers to it in Morality without Foundations, which most of this analysis is based upon. In this paper, I will not contest whether ethical contextualism is satisfactorily compatible with naturalism; as an irrealist view, it easily accommodates this. I also will not deny that the view properly accommodates moral experience as Timmons and Horgan have characterized it. However, in section 3, I contend that Timmons and Horgan do not properly address one important aspect of our moral experience; they fail to address our experience of taking morality seriously. This makes their view vulnerable to a plausibility argument that I present. Then, in section 4, I show that their explanation of moral seriousness does not coincide with our common conception of it. In section 5, I further demonstrate that Timmons and Horgan cannot simply jettison moral seriousness from their view without also conflicting with the prevalent notion that we can change our moral context in a reasoned manner. Finally, in section 6, I assert that ethical contextualism can only be made plausible if its proponents provide a detailed description of moral seriousness that is consistent with irrealism and also show how this affects the role of morality in our lives.

 

2. An overview of ethical contextualism

The version of ethical contextualism that Timmons and Horgan propose is entirely irrealist; it asserts that there are no moral properties and therefore moral statements are not descriptive. This can be contrasted with moral realism, which views moral statements as descriptions of properties in the objective world. Under moral realism, matters-of-fact in the world somehow set the truth-value of a moral statement. However, under moral irrealism the source of moral truth is not so easily explained because there are no direct ‘truth makers’ in the world. Some irrealists attempt to overcome this by reducing moral statements to non-normative descriptive ones. For instance, a statement such as “Abortion is wrong” may be reduced to something about the psychological state of the speaker (“I believe abortion is wrong”). However, along with this reduction comes an elimination of many of the features of moral experience that we take for granted. For example, moral statements have certain surface features that allow us to reason logically with them. If I say “Abortion is permissible” and my friend says “Abortion is impermissible,” typically we think of these as being two answers to the same question. We also think that they are contradictory because they are translated into the logical form of ‘A’ and ‘~A’ respectively. Under a reductive account, this is not the case; the statements are translated into “P1 thinks A” and “P2 thinks ~A,” and these two statements are not contradictory. At least on face value, this seems to change the standard way we experience our moral language. Timmons’s solution is non-descriptive and non-reductive, so moral statements are not transformed at all. Instead, the truth-value of a moral statement is set by its correct assertibility within a moral context. Notice that this is a rather radical solution, as it means that no aspect of a moral statement’s truth-value is set by the world. However, this has the potential to accommodate both our moral experience and naturalism. This gives ethical contextualism an advantage over standard realist and irrealist views that tend to only accommodate one or the other.

Under Timmons’s view, described in Morality without Foundations, the basic element of the moral world is the context. A moral context is the set of moral beliefs that we hold, some of which are more important in our moral reasoning than others. Timmons asserts that much of our moral reasoning is done from a morally ‘engaged’ perspective. This means that we are thinking and acting morally using the context as our basis and justification for moral truth. This process need not even be conscious for us; this is demonstrated by the direct nature that many of our moral perceptions and acts possess. For example, if you see a person being beaten in the street, it seems as if you see the wrongness of that situation directly; you do not need to contemplate the physical properties of the event in order to conclude that the action is wrong. Given your moral context, the normative properties of the act come automatically from the physical properties.

Furthermore, we are least aware of those moral beliefs that form the basic structure of our moral world. In a coherent moral network, all the other moral principles will be based upon these base principles. For example, there may be an individual who reasons morally from within context ‘A’ and another who does so in context ‘B’; imagine that ‘A’ has a hedonistic basic moral principle whereas ‘B’ has a basic principle that centers around the sanctity of human life. According to Timmons, all other moral principles need to be justified by these basic moral principles. So, in A it would likely be justified to kill an infant with a degenerative illness if his/her life will be one filled with constant pain, whereas this probably would not be justified in context B. Moral justification within a context works in this fashion: less basic moral principles receive their justification from the basic principles that characterize a moral context, though those basic moral principles do not require any sort of objective justification from facts outside of the context. Timmons contends that it is through this method of moral justification that moral statements within a context can have truth-values. This means that for moral statements reflecting derived (non-basic) principles, moral experience and practice can function just as if there were objective moral facts.

 

3. The argument from moral seriousness

The first part of my argument relies on what Timmons proposes is an advantage of ethical contextualism; to use his words, it “comport(s) with deeply embedded presumptions of ordinary moral discourse and practice” (Timmons 1999, 12). He further describes what he has in mind by giving several categories of discourse and practice. In summarized form, they are as follows (p. 159):

 

  1. There is a general form of our moral language. For instance, we oftentimes use logical constructions in moral language, refer to moral properties, and assert moral statements as if they are genuine.

  2. There is a certain moral phenomenology, so that we seem to experience moral facts as if they are in the world itself.

  3. There are ‘critical practices’ in morality; some moral statements seem genuinely true, and we feel as though moral progress is possible. Furthermore, there also seem to be genuine moral disagreements between moral agents.

  4. Moral discourse is oftentimes reason guided.

 

Timmons spends a great deal of time showing that a contextual irrealist view can accommodate all of these aspects of moral experience. I will not contest that he succeeds on this point. However, I wish to propose another aspect that I think Timmons has missed:

5.    When we carefully analyze our moral beliefs, we do not consider an (epistemologically) arbitrary basis for those beliefs to be acceptable.

This is another way of saying that we take our ethical views seriously. Note that this new feature is quite different from ones already mentioned by Timmons1, but it only becomes apparent when we do a more stringent analysis of our ethical beliefs. Features 1- 4 occur from a morally engaged perspective, which means that they are experienced when one reasons and acts morally from within a moral context. Even #4 is only possible from within a moral context; moral beliefs can only be justified by their agreement with base principles of the moral context. Because we do not normally concern ourselves with these principles, this sort of justification is typically adequate. This is obviously true when we make moral assessments in real time, such as when we see someone being beaten; the situation simply does not allow for a more time-consuming analysis. However, even when we are not confronted with an immediate moral situation, we still reason from within a certain context. When one asks whether abortion is wrong, typically the dialectic involves the competing moral prohibitions on killing and restrictions on autonomy. We rarely ask whether killing or autonomy are important morally themselves; the contexts in which we all morally reason already assume that they are. Timmons himself gives a good example of how moral reasoning is typically restricted to within the context (pp. 220-221). He describes a committee he was once a member of that was tasked with formulating an honor code for the university. The committee members needed to come to a consensus in a reasonable amount of time and produce a code that would be consistent with the general sensibilities of the university. Timmons argues that in order to accomplish this they needed to operate within the same (or at least a similar) moral context. Therefore, if a skeptic should appear in such a situation declaring that we have no good reasons to think that plagiarism is wrong, his sentiments are seen as a waste of time. He is questioning the context in which the discussion takes place and, according to Timmons’ irrealism, this means that nothing can be said to contradict him.

Timmons describes how the committee in his example did not take the skeptic seriously and the conversation was quickly moved away from the skeptic’s worries. I think this is a common reaction to such a moral detachment; there is very little one can say to someone who simply denies basic premises of one’s moral outlook. For example, even something as basic as, “it is good for a human to prosper (if nothing else will be harmed” can be denied by a stubborn skeptic. We will probably stop taking them seriously, but still the skepticism stands. Timmons can explain this fact quite sensibly; we cannot justify the moral context itself because outside it there simply are no moral truths. Under his view, moral language does not even make sense without a context. Thus, the statement “My moral context is true and moral context B is not true” is simply improperly asserted. His moral irrealism posits that there are no moral truth makers in the objective world, and his contextualism states that outside of a context we can’t even make moral claims. Therefore, there is nothing else to say about these extra-contextual moral assertions.

Regardless of Timmons’ difficulty in accommodating it, #5 seems like a very compelling statement. Any successful moral theory should be able to supply the skeptic with an answer to the question of why we hold certain beliefs. It seems that when we look at our moral context from a detached perspective, we seek to make our beliefs non-arbitrary in an epistemic sense because it is not enough that our context is merely internally consistent. This is why we typically take moral truth seriously, just as we take truth about the world seriously. I will argue that because #5 is a compelling feature of moral experience, then any view that can accommodate it is more compelling than one that cannot if all other aspects of the views are equal. Furthermore, a realist version of contextualism could be this competing view; as Timmons describes it, realist contextualism does not differ from the irrealist version in how it explains the surface features of our within-context moral discourse (Timmons 1999, 124-125). However, it posits that our moral semantic norms conspire with the facts in the world to yield correct assertibility of moral statements. This means that, unlike irrealism, basic moral principles have objective justification outside of a given context; they are justified by the fact that they describe moral properties in the world. In this way, contextual realism is able to accommodate #5. With this dichotomy in mind, what I call ‘The argument from moral seriousness’ follows:

 

P1) If metaethical view V1 does not accommodate an aspect M of our moral experience that view V2 does, then (all other things being equal)2 V2 is more plausible than V1.

 

P2) Irrealist contextualism does not accommodate #5.

 

P3) Realist contextualism does accommodate #5.

 

P4) #5 is an aspect of our moral experience.

 

C) Realist contextualism (all other things being equal) is more plausible than irrealist contextualism.

 

P1 seems apparent; if we do not have to make any sacrifices, then accommodating an aspect of our moral experience is desirable. P2, P3, and P4 simply follow from my treatment of these topics above; at least on the face of it, they seem true. Timmons characterizes his contextualist view as one that can accommodate our moral experience even while being irrealist; however, if this argument succeeds then irrealist contextualism does not seem to be the optimum solution that Timmons takes it to be. In the next section I present a response to this sort of argument that Horgan and Timmons have already suggested.

 

4. An irrealist response to the argument from moral seriousness:

In a recent article, Horgan and Timmons preempt the issue of moral seriousness. They give the following suggestion (emphasis is theirs):

 

…we think that the sort of challenge being posed is best construed as a moral challenge: why ought people to take their moral views seriously? And the appropriate response is to give moral reasons – reasons that, for instance, will likely appeal to the important role that morality plays in people’s lives. Such moral reasons are not hard to find. And here again, our understanding of the challenge is to take it as appropriately dealt with from within an engaged moral outlook. (Horgan and Timmons 2006a, 287)

 

They see the problem of moral seriousness as just another moral question that can be treated from within the moral context. For instance, if we have a base principle under which psychological well-being is valued, it would be considered good to take morality seriously if it has psychological benefits. Thus, they assert that psychologically pragmatic reasons are sufficient to fulfill the requirement for moral seriousness if those types of goals are valued within the moral context. This directly attacks P2 of my argument from moral seriousness. However, Horgan and Timmons can only claim this because they interpret ‘arbitrary’ from #5 (in section 3) to include both epistemic and pragmatic arbitrariness.

I do not believe that the need for moral seriousness expressed in #5 can be satisfied by an appeal to pragmatic reasons to take morality seriously. I contend that the natural interpretation of ‘arbitrary’ in this case should be epistemic and not pragmatic. To clarify how the ambiguity of ‘arbitrary’ can cause us to have different interpretations of #5, let us consider the following question:

Why should I believe that I will survive my illness?

I take this sentence to be similar to the question we ask about moral seriousness, and there are at least two interpretations3. The first is a pragmatic interpretation:

P: In what way is it helpful to my health for me to believe that I will survive my illness?

There may be good psychological and physical effects from my belief that I will survive, even though my actual survival may be unlikely. This is how Horgan and Timmons interpret moral seriousness; regardless of the lack of epistemic reasons for me to take my moral beliefs seriously, it is advantageous for me to do so because of the important role morality plays in my life. The other interpretation is an epistemic one:

E: What good evidence is there for me to believe that I will survive my illness?

This is entirely based on the likelihood that ‘I will survive’ is true. We may look at medical tests and then use past outcomes to make a prediction of survival. In the medical situation either P or E seems acceptable. However, I do not see the same ambiguity in our intuitions about moral seriousness. It seems rather clear that an interpretation like E is closer to what we ask when we question whether we should take morality seriously. Intuitively, the pragmatic effects of not taking morality seriously may be a concern, but our primary concern is epistemic in nature.

Although the preference for the epistemic view of moral seriousness is based upon one’s intuition, an example of a contextual system that exhibits pragmatic seriousness without epistemic seriousness should bolster this. The fact that in the United States we drive on the right side of the road is a perfect example of mere convention with a great deal of practical seriousness. It is extremely beneficial for someone to obey this convention when in the United States; in fact, it is so serious that disobeying this rule could lead to a very early death. If we had never known about the way motorists drive in England, we might even be tempted to think that we somehow have epistemologically objective reasons to drive on the right side. However, even though we have very good practical reasons to obey the applicable traffic laws when we are in a certain country, we realize that there is not reason to think that one side of the road is more appropriate for driving than the other. ‘Side of driving’ is in some way a base principle because other aspects of our driving context (which side the steering wheel is on or the way the signs are facing) are based upon it. It seems implausible that morality works in this pragmatic way. In fact, this example suggests that if moral seriousness is merely a practical matter then moral contexts are not very different from conventions. It is unlikely Timmons and Horgan want to claim this4; therefore, their argument against P2 fails.

 

5. Context switching:

I also foresee an argument against P4. Horgan and Timmons may make the claim that moral feature #5 (moral seriousness) from above, unlike like features #1-4, is not a vital aspect of our moral experience. This is, of course, a matter of intuition. However, in order to overcome this assertion I will offer a concrete example of a moral activity that only seems possible if there is moral seriousness as I have described it. If Horgan and Timmons want to jettison #5 from the list of moral experience types, then they will also have to claim that reasoned moral context switching never occurs; this will make their objection implausible to most.

It seems apparent that there are cases in which one switches moral contexts. This means that the base principles that guide moral reasoning and action are changed and, consequently, the set of moral statements that are correctly assertible also changes. Within pragmatic contexts, such as the traffic example I use above, swapping contexts is a rather simple matter. Of course, it may actually be difficult to ‘learn’ a new context (we can imagine the difficulty that the typical American driver experiences when in the UK for the first time), but the goal of switching contexts is easily chosen. We see that, for the sake of some other valued goal, it is advantageous for us to switch from our current context to another and this is reason enough to do so.

I do not think this is what happens when we think about switching our moral context. When we switch our moral context, it is most natural for us to do so because we have reason to think that our current context is wrong in an epistemic sense. There may be pragmatic reasons for changing the outward behavior associated with morality; we, for example, may find ourselves isolated in a conservative atmosphere by our declarations that there is nothing wrong with promiscuous behavior. However, this is merely a change of a behavioral context. It is far rarer for us to take pragmatic reasons into consideration when we switch our moral context itself. We are more likely to hide our moral feelings in order to conform to our societal context without making any change to our moral context. I find it uncontroversial that people sometimes take themselves to change their moral context for epistemologically non-arbitrary reasons. This is only possible if there are epistemologically non-arbitrary bases to our moral contexts in the first place, and this is exactly what #5 states. Therefore, the irrealist will have to attack context switching in order to show that #5 is not an aspect of our moral experience.

I only see one option open to Horgan and Timmons at this point; they must simply bite the bullet and continue to deny P4. However, because the possibility of context switching follows from moral seriousness, they must deny that context switching (as we normally conceive of it) exists as well. This amounts to a reduction of reasons for context switching to non-epistemic ones. If we are willing to put aside the immediate intuitions we may have against such a reduction, this view does have some appeal. It may be the case that most of the shifts in moral belief can be accounted for by evoking our ability, under the contextualist view, of changing higher-order beliefs while maintaining base beliefs. When someone makes a radical, and supposedly well reasoned, change of many moral beliefs (such as through religious conversion) it is not apparent that the person’s base beliefs, that define the context, have changed. For example, one may have ascribed to the base moral principle, “It is good to do whatever God wills” before the conversion; thus, even a radical conversion may only represent the formation of new higher-level moral beliefs based upon changing beliefs about the world (mainly God’s will). Given that most of our base beliefs are non-salient in everyday ethical thinking, it is quite conceivable that we could mistake a higher-order belief for a base belief. Consequently, many of the cases that we think represent true context switching may only represent dramatic changes in higher-order beliefs. If most dramatic moral change is like this, then context switching may be only a minor problem for the irrealist. Furthermore, true context switching may not be guided by reason. People may switch contexts because of emotional or psychological pressures and not because of the sort of justifiable reasons used when within the context. This would be a reduction of our seemingly epistemic reasons for context switching to objective ones.

 

6. Conclusion

If Horgan and Timmons reduce moral seriousness and context switching, as I believe they must in order to make their view plausible, then this would have a dramatic effect on one’s attitude toward morality. For example, we are typically committed to our moral principles, and this is derived from the fact that we take morality epistemologically seriously. When we are involved in a serious disagreement, we believe that we are arguing for what is true and that our opponent is arguing for something that is false. When this epistemic justification is not present (if, for instance, I am arguing that the American driving context is superior to that of the British) the seriousness with which one takes the argument decreases dramatically. Horgan and Timmons do not think that this must be the case; they claim that the usefulness of moral commitment and seriousness gives us enough reason to think that we should take morality seriously just as if we had epistemic justification. I clarified the prominent intuition about this enough in section 4 to show that epistemic moral seriousness is a prerequisite for us to have an attitude of seriousness toward our moral beliefs. Therefore, I do not see how one could naturally take moral commitments seriously as Horgan and Timmons desire; we may wish to take morality seriously, but we simply will not if the proper epistemic justification is absent. This means that, under their view, there is no reason to have more commitment to our moral context than to our country’s context of traffic rules. Whether it is desirable or not to take moral claims seriously, it follows from irrealist contextualism that we have no adequate reasons to treat them so.

Although the loss of moral seriousness may seem to make irrealist contextualism automatically implausible, I do not think that this is the case. Rather, it is important to weigh this loss against the advantage that an irrealist view has of easily accommodating naturalism. It may be helpful to look toward philosophy of mind where this strategy has been implemented with some success. For example, it is commonplace for mental properties to be reduced to natural properties in order to maintain compatibility with naturalism. Oftentimes this results in the falsification of common sense notions about the mind; however, such a reductionist theory is typically thought of as plausible. I don’t see any reason why this basic idea cannot apply to metaethics as well. If naturalism is important enough to accommodate, and realist metaethical theories do not accomplish this5 then, rather than giving up naturalism, it may be worth reconsidering some of our common sense ideas about moral experience. With this in mind, it is rather simple to re-characterize the act of moral context switching and the attitude of moral seriousness in ways compatible with irrealism. Horgan and Timmons could say that people change contexts and take contexts seriously because of psychological and sociological matters-of -fact. This means that moral facts in the world do not inform us about the moral context we should adopt, but rather natural properties explain which ones we do adopt. Notice that the latter claim is causal and not normative. For example, for someone living in a puritanical society, the properties of the society and the individual’s relation to them are both natural properties that explain the persons view towards an act labeled ‘immoral’ by that society. This does not mean that a society alone sets moral contexts (a person may, in fact, react against the wishes of a society), but only that the natural matters-of-fact in the world do so.

The difficult task for Horgan and Timmons is to address how their view alters the basic way we view moral reality. The fact that moral contexts are held and adopted for epistemologically arbitrary reasons may make some fear that irrealism will lead to moral nihilism. Timmons and Horgan briefly address this fear (Horgan & Timmons, 2006b) but their response is merely an echo of the quote in section 4; they think that moral seriousness can be addressed from within the moral context. I think that this reply misses the essence of the fear; the lack of epistemological moral seriousness is a problem because it puts into question the role of morality in our lives. Typically, we relate to moral values as we do to natural facts; we ask what is right and wrong just as we ask what is true or false. Irrealism invalidates this way of relating to morality, but proponents of irrealist contextualism have not made a substantial enough effort to replace this common sense notion with something more compatible with their view. It is true that irrealist contextualism explains our moral life when we reason from within a moral context, but this is not enough. There needs to be a more complete explanation of what happens when we reason from a detached perspective. Although I remain hopeful that such an analysis can be completed in the future, irrealist contextualism does not currently offer this explanation and therefore remains inadequate.

 

 

References

Gibbard, Allan. 1992. Wise Choices, Apt Feelings: A Theory of Normative Judgment. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Horgan, Terry, and Mark Timmons. 2006a. Cognitivist Expressivism. In Metaethics After Moore, ed. Terry Horgan and Mark Timmons, 255-298. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

—- —- 2006b. Expressivism, Yes! Relativism, No! In Oxford Studies in Metaethics, ed. Russ Shafer-Landau, 73-98. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Timmons, Mark. 1999. Morality without Foundations: A Defense of Ethical Contextualism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Notes

1Timmons does mention moral seriousness in Morality without Foundations (170) but the scope of what this means is different for him than for myself. He is only concerned with how moral beliefs appear to be important to us; he states that because of this importance, we are unlikely to accept the moral views of others even if they also have internally consistent moral systems. I think that #5, as I describe it above, also leads to us taking morality seriously in the manner Timmons mentions. However, my version gives a reason for why morality is important to us and therefore it seems more basic than Timmons’ view.

2Given that many arguments for irrealism concentrate on the implausibility of realism, the irrealist will certainly not think that all things are equal between realism and irrealism. However, I want to determine whether irrealist contextualism is more plausible than the realist variety assuming that both views are equal on other fronts. It is far less satisfying to declare irrealist contextualism plausible simply because its major competitor fails for other reasons.

3Allan Gibbard (1992, 37) addresses a similar dichotomy between the rationality and desirability of a belief.

4I quickly dismiss the option of viewing moral contexts as mere conventions because I take it to be a view most metaethicists wish to avoid. Regardless, it seems as though Horgan and Timmons’ epistemologically unjustified moral contexts are quite similar to systems of conventions. Although it is true that moral contexts likely arise organically from environmental and social causes (at least according to an irrealist) whereas conventions (such as traffic laws) seem to be developed more intentionally, it is unclear whether this represents an essential difference. After all, conventions are not typically formed in a vacuum; for example, there are cultural and environmental pressures influencing which traffic conventions will be formed. Also, it is conceivable that some elements of moral systems are the result of intentional actions; the importance of marriage, for instance, may be the result of people intending to control how property is inherited. If we find that the moral context/convention distinction is not essential then we must consider how one should relate to morality as a convention. I am not sure how one would do this, but I don’t see any prima facie reason to avoid this line of reasoning altogether. However, this would not overcome my argument from moral seriousness because a conventionalist view of morality by definition precludes epistemological seriousness. This effectively rejects P4 of my argument because it rejects the importance of moral seriousness in our moral experience; I deal with this sort of objection in section 5.

5It is, of course, not clear that realism fails to accommodate naturalism. However, for the purposes of my analysis I have assumed that this is the case.

Architecture is a social science

I have been reading quite a bit lately about how we could design our world to better suit the needs of people. One major debate I have come across is whether Architecture is a form of art. It seems that many architects think of themselves as artists; some of the best are known for the artistry and the revolutionary nature of the structures they design. For example, Frank Lloyd Wright is well respected mainly because of the aesthetic qualities of his structures in and of themselves. People look at the pictures of Wright’s buildings (most of them homes) and see them as works of art; however, we don’t often consider whether they are pleasant places in which to live. It is also interesting to look at the sort of projects that are deemed noteworthy by the architectural community at large, and more importantly how they speak about them. Perusing most publications will reveal that artistically bold designs are the most respected, and much of the debate about their merits happens on this artistic level; there is comparatively little interest given to how these buildings are used or how they affect the people who rely on them.

I think that we should not look at architecture as an art; rather we should consider it to be a science. First, I should probably say that this is not a new idea (J. H. Crawford has said similar things), and also that I’m not making any statement about what architecture currently is (I’m not an architect, so I think it would be odd for me to define the field). However, it seems that the clients of architects (the people who actually live and work in the buildings) would be far better served if the purpose of the profession was to design buildings and living areas that were both useful and psychologically advantageous to the users. If we concern ourselves with these sorts of issues, and leave the more contestable debates about artistic merit behind, then architecture becomes empirical. We can then decide with reasonable conclusiveness which sort of buildings and environments make people happier and allow them to go about their lives most efficiently. Of course, we need to first decide what sort of effects we want buildings to have on people and also the relative weights we should give to the concerns of those who occupy them as apposed to those people for which the building is simply part of the environment. But it seems to me that these are both solvable issues, and once we answered these sorts of questions a systematic description of the properties of ‘good’ buildings is possible. This process, of discovering which sorts of buildings produce positive outcomes for people and then designing these buildings, should be the purpose of architecture.

I don’t find the above process to be all that insurmountable; after all, most of us can discern places we enjoy being around and living in from those that we don’t like. All that architects need to do is take these feelings and systematize their study. Of course, these feelings are culturally relativistic (people in Wisconsin might not be made happy by the sort of architecture that someone in Iran will prefer), however, I would be very surprised if those within cultures had drastically different reactions to many architectural types. If such commonalities can be found, the quality of a great many lives might be drastically increased.

Cappuccino Review #7 – Cafe Soleil

Cafe Soleil

Cafe Soleil is on the ground level of L'Etoile Restaurant.
Cafe Soleil is on the ground level of L'Etoile Restaurant.
25 North Pinckney Street
Madison, WI 53703

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

I had never heard of Cafe Soleil until someone replied to my blog entry about the cafes I was planning on visiting.  I’m glad I learned about it, because it certainly is one great coffee shop.  It also makes me wonder whether I’m missing an entire host of other places that I’m simply unaware of….hopefully not.

Anyway, Cafe Soleil is downstairs from the french restaurant L’Etoile, which is one of the best (and most expensive) restaurants in Madison; they also have the same owners.  Like L’Etoile, Cafe Soleil prides itself on using locally produced ingredients and using sustainable practices (they brag about their use of florescent lighting and how their to-go coffee cups are biodegradable….).  One should also be aware that Cafe Soleil is a morning affair; so, if you want to go you need to show up before 1pm.  I suspect the owners don’t want to have to run both a cafe downstairs and a restaurant upstairs during the evening.  It seems that Cafe Soleil does benefit in one way from the connection with L’Etoile; they have some truly awesome food.  On our visit, we got the almond marzipan croissant  while waiting for our cappuccinos; it was interesting and pretty much perfect.  We also stayed for lunch and got a couple of sandwiches, served with their home-made potato chips.  Everything was delicious.

The cappuccinos, though good, did not quite match up with everything else.  Both Taryn and I ordered a ‘6 oz cappuccino’; I thought it a good sign that this was on the menu.

There seems to be some sort of design in the foam...though I'm not sure what it is...
There seems to be some sort of design in the foam...though I'm not sure what it is...

This cappuccino was sort of an odd experience.  The foam was certainly good, and the first sip was very smooth.  However, there was something that made it somewhat inferior to the cappuccinos at Mother Fool’s and Bradbury’s.  Taryn thought it was somewhat weak, though the underlying espresso was good enough.  She suggested that we ask for a double shot of espresso on our next visit (this was on option on the menu)  I, however, though it was plenty strong but that the espresso was a bit dull.  Typically our perceptions of cappuccinos seem to converge, so I’m not sure what the truth is.  I scored it as if my assessment were correct, but that’s just because this is my blog; I may in fact be wrong about any imperfections. Taryn liked the cappuccinos at Cafe Soleil more than I did, so maybe one should take my rating with a grain of salt (I suppose one should always take my raitings this way).  All scores are out of 5.

Presentation: 4

Smoothness: 5

Strength: 4

Complexity: 3

Foam: 4

Correctness: 5

Mean: 4.17/5

SD: .75

I strongly recommed a vist to Cafe Soleil, especially because their pasteries are among the best in the city.  Their cappuccinos are also very good; so you should get one while you’re there.  And some fine day I will actually be rich enough to come back at night to visit L’Etoile…when I get that job in finance perhaps…

Cappuccino Review #6 – Espresso Royal

Espresso Royal

The Espresso Royal near the Capitol; the outdoor seating in the picture isn't theirs.
The Espresso Royal near the capitol; the outdoor seating in the picture isn't theirs.
208 State St.
Madison, WI

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

Espresso Royal operates two coffee shops on state street; one of them is right east of campus and the other (the one I visited) is closer to the capitol.  Taryn is quite fond of their chai lattes (they are a little weak for me) so I do have some experience with the shop near campus; I had never been to the one near the capitol, so it seemed like I should give it a try.  Its interior is pretty similar to its near campus sibling; there were cushy chairs and sofas along with the more typical tables and chairs.  It does have a pleasent airy feel to it; though it probably helped that it is spring break for the univeristy, so there was no fight for a good seat.

I asked for a ‘dry’ version of the smallest sized cappuccino they had (12 oz) and was

This glass produced a nice cross-section of a cappuccino, but was otherwise worthless.
This glass produced a nice cross-section of a cappuccino, but was otherwise worthless.

given my cappuccino served in a tall thin glass.  Although it certainly looked pretty cool in that glass, there is a very good reason why cappuccinos are served in wide shallow cups.  When I drunk out of this tall glass, the foam just sort of sat on top and ‘stacked’.  When I was out of liquid there was still an inch of foam that I couldn’t get to.  I’m not above using a spoon in such situations, but it was sort of annoying.  Anyway, the drink was otherwise substandard.  Though the foam was very smooth and pretty much perfect, the espresso itself was simply bitter.  I supose the milk-espresso proportions were right (the drink was strong enough) but the espresso itself just wasn’t that good.  The drink didn’t leave me with much to say about it, so I’ll just put up the numbers:

Presentation: 2.5

Smoothness: 2

Strength: 4

Complexity: 2

Foam: 4

Correctness: 3

Mean: 2.83/5

SD: 1.03

Espresso Royal was a disappointment as far as its cappuccinos were concerned, but Taryn did like her chai; and that fudge bar in the picture was really good too.  So, maybe go there for their chai and snacks…but stay away from the cappuccino.  This is the second strick for state street (the first being the milky cappuccino I was served at Fair Trade); hopefully things improve a little bit as I review Steep & Brew and Michelangelo’s.


Cappuccino Review #5 – Fair Trade Coffeehouse

They typically have specials listed on boards outside the store
They typically have food specials listed on boards outside the store.

Fair Trade Coffeehouse

418 State St.
Madison, WI 53705

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

State street is a transit mall that spans between the University of Wisconsin campus and the state capitol in downtown Madison.  It is considered by many to be the ‘living room’ of Madison, and is almost always hopping with activity.  It also features no less than 6 coffee shops along its 0.6 mile span.  As I review my first state street coffee shop, I think it is important to remember the competitive environment in which all these shops exist.  If I don’t like the drinks from one place, I can be at another shop in about a minute (or less).

I’ve been to Fair Trade several times before and have liked it, though I have never gotten a cappuccino from there.  So, I had some hope for the place.  They also feature a larger food selection than is typical for many coffee shops (today they had an omelet sandwich among other things) and I have heard a few good things about these offerings.  I’ve never gotten food there, but I have to say that my bannana nut muffin was very good (and they even warm it up for you).   But, of course, the food is secondary; so, I’ll describe their cappuccino.

It comes in a normal coffee cup
It comes in a normal coffee cup.

I ordered a ‘short’ (12 oz) cappuccino; I was told that this was their smallest size, so I ordered it ‘dry’ (meaning less milk).  The drink came in a normal coffee cup, which I really wouldn’t mind if it hadn’t been too large.  The foam was quite coarse grained, so there were huge bubbles in it instead of smaller and smoother ones that are more desirable.  The first sip wasn’t bad.  The espresso was a bit too bitter and not all that complex, but at least it wasn’t drowned in milk.  However, each sip after that became less interesting, more bitter, yet (somehow) weaker.  So, by the time I got to the middle of the cappuccino the drink had become just shy of acceptable; if I hadn’t had so many bad cappuccinos in my life I would have been quite unhappy.  That said, it wasn’t aweful, though I have a feeling that many people are turned off by cappuccinos (think they are too bitter and such) because their initial experience is of a drink like the one I had at Fair Trade.  In the end, I was a little disappointed; I had expected something good from Fair Trade and only got something that was mediocre.  The numbers are below; as always, scores are out of 5.

Presentation: 2

Smoothness: 2

Strength: 3

Complexity: 2

Foam: 3

Correctness: 3

Mean: 2.5/5

SD: 0.55

I would not discourage anyone from going to Fair Trade Coffeehouse; many of their drinks are really good, but maybe just get something other than a cappuccino.  Also, some might like to go because their name implies that they use fair trade coffee.  I am sure they do use fair trade certified coffee; however many other coffee shops do this as well (Bradbury’s comes to mind).  So, you don’t necessarily have to worry that you are screwing over coffee farmers just because you choose to go someplace else.

Cappuccino Review #4 – Bradbury’s

Bradbury’s

Bradbury's is a small corner shop in downtown.
Bradbury's is a small corner shop downtown.

127 N Hamilton St.
Madison, WI

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

I’ve been to Bradbury’s many times before, but I decided it was time to do an official review.  They are a very small shop on the corner of N Hamilton and Webster; this means that there are only a few tables and some additional stool seating along the window.  That really is the only negative I can think of about the place; it can get crowded at times, especially during the Saturday farmer’s market on the nearby capitol square.  The place also has a distinct ‘hipster’ vibe, though you certainly don’t feel left out if you aren’t all that ‘hip’.  They also are very up front about their sustainability and fair trade practices, which I think is always a plus.  There are two main categories of items on the menu: espresso drinks (where the espresso is highlighted rather than smothered by milk) and crepes.

I’ll start with the crepes and then move on to their cappuccino.  Normally I don’t dwell too much on the food offerings of a coffee shop but the crepes at Bradbury’s are really excellent.  They have a regurally changing menue composed of both ‘sweet’ and ‘savory’ crepes, many of them containing items from Wisconsin farms.  Taryn met me there after work, so we ordered one ‘sweet’ and one ‘savory’ and shared (something I highly recommend, because an assortment of crepes is always a good thing).  She ordered the neutella, banana, and choped almonds crepe; I got one with spinach, scrambled eggs,  potatoes, and chedder cheese.  Both were delicious in their respective ways.

On to the cappuccino.  At Bradbury’s there are two cappuccino options; the 80z

Sort of sad that the little shape in the foam had to be destroyed
Sort of sad that the little shape in the foam had to be destroyed

cappuccino is what you typically get from places like starbucks, and the ‘classic cappuccino’ is a perfect 60z.  It would be great if more places did things this way!  The cappuccino itself was like a little piece of art; they consistently make their cappuccinos like the one in the picture.  The foam was smooth, though there were some larger bubles (not as fine grained as at Mother Fool’s).  The taste was excelent; it had the perfect espresso taste with nutty hints and a good amount of creme floating up to the top.  I actually use the coffee they serve (Kikapoo coffee) at home when I make espresso drinks, so I can attest to the fact that they start out with very good coffee beans.  It was also incredibly smooth, without any of the bitterness that turns some people off to classic cappuccinos.  So, they have REALLY good cappuccinos; it’s as simple as that.  Taryn’s chai latte was also very good though not as remarkable as the cappuccino.  Here are the numbers for the cappuccino (all scores out of 5):

Presentation: 5

Smoothness: 5

Strength: 5

Complexity: 4.5

Foam: 4.5

Correctness: 5

Mean 4.83/5

SD: .26

So far, this gives Bradbury’s the best cappuccinos in Madison, followed up closely by Mother Fool’s.  I don’t think anyone will be able to match them, but we shall certainly see!


Cappuccino Review #3 – Ancora

Ancora Coffee Roasters

2871 University Ave.
Madison, WI  53705

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

It was a cold morning here in Madison, but Taryn and I braved the fridged air to visit the Ancora coffee shop located on University Ave.  Unfortunatnly, I forgot the camera at home, so there won’t be any pictures of the place or drinks here.  Ancora owns a small chain of coffee shops in the Madison area; the one on University Ave. is very small and more oriented toward commuters traveling through the isthmus.  On this Sunday, it was pretty much full, but we found a couple of nice seats next to the (unlit) fireplace.  Ancora’s smallest size of coffee drink is called a ‘regular’; this comes in a 12oz mug.  By cappuccino standards this is enormous, more than twice as big as it should be, but is pretty typical among coffee shops that consider the latte to be the standard drink.  So, I ordered a dry regular cappuccino and hoped for the best

As expected, the cappuccino had too much milk.  The foam was a bit course though otherwise nice.  The real shame was that I could tell the quality of the coffee was quite good, however, it was diluted with too much milk.  Otherwise it was a pleasant cappuccino, though it more resembled a strong latte than anything else.  Here are the numbers (all out of 5):

Presentation: 3

Smoothness: 4

Strength: 3

Complexity: 3

Foam: 3

Correctness: 3

Mean: 3.17/5

SD: 0.41

Although the cappuccino was pretty average, Taryn’s chai latte was extremely good.  It was served in something similar to a water glass, and featured a head of foam that was silky and tasty.  To round it off, cinnamon was sprinkled over the foam; extra points for that!  It was bit sweeter than what many people may prefer (it is perhaps the opposite of the subdued chai at Mother Fool’s), but if you are into that sort of things it is tops.

So, there we have it; although I consider Ancora to be one of the better coffee shops in town, their cappuccino is only average.  However, their chai is probably worth a visit.


Cappuccino Review #2 – Mother Fool’s

Mother Fool’s Coffeehouse

On the corner of Williamson St. and Ingersoll
On the corner of Williamson St. and Ingersoll

1101 Williamson St.
Madison, WI 53703

website

For an intro about how and why I am trying the cappuccinos of Madison, go here.

Williamson St. is typically considered to be the most ‘bohemian’ area of town and is referred to mostly by the name Willy St. by the people of Madison.  Mother Fool’s retains this character; its interior is well worn and airy, and on a saturday is generally populated by students and others of that sort.  It is also accepts Madison Hours, the local currency of Madison, in case you have some of that in your wallet.

I had already heard very good things about the cappuccinos at this place before I tested it.  I was also hopeful when I saw that their menu listed a cappuccino as 1/3

I couldn't resist taking a sip before the picture...
I couldn't resist taking a sip before the picture...

espresso, 1/3 milk, and 1/3 foam.  So, I ordered a small cappuccino and I indeed got a classic cappuccino of about 50z.  Perfect!  The foam was pleasant and of a perfect proportion.  I could also tell that the espresso was of high quality (they use Alterra coffee out of Milwaukee, WI); it came through the milk with a robust flavor but was not overly bitter.  It also had a nice hint of berries.  Put simply, this was one of the best cappuccinos that I have ever had.  I’m sure a more refined taster could have gripes with this drink, but I simply cannot.  Here are the numbers (all scores out of 5):

Presentation: 4

Smoothness: 5

Strength: 5

Complexity: 4

Foam: 5

Correctness: 5

Mean 4.67/5

SD: .52

Taryn ordered the chai latte; this is rather different from a standard chai latte that you typically find in coffee shops.  Instead of a premanufactured mix

The Chai latte; notice the teabags steeping in the milk.
The Chai latte; notice the teabags steeping in the milk.

being combined with steamed milk, Mother Fool’s gives you chai tea bags steeping in steamed milk.  This produces a more subtle drink that is definently worth a try.

I’m a little reluctant to say that Mother Fool’s is the best coffee shop on the east side, given the fact that I have not yet been to Escape Java Joint (which is just down the street), but I’m sure it is pretty close. I would certainly go out of my way to have another cappuccino here.