Category: Uncategorized

Dangers of the “red pill”

· Leave a comment ·

First, it relies on a facile understanding of evolutionary psychology. The references to alphas and betas and how primitive species behaved in order to explain current social phenomenon of dating culture and female behavior: it’s too simplistic. The analogy can be made here is to homeopathic medicine having a too simplistic understanding of pathology. I could explain women wanting a financial stable partner in terms of primitive species relying on the alpha male for food and shelter in the same way I could explain pancreatic cancer in terms of my chi being out of line. Both explanations are unfalsifiable, ad hoc, and have little explanatory power; yet they have intuitive appeal because it fits with a narrative (viz. red pills: a misogynistic one; homeopathic medicine: a pseudo-scientific one).

Second, the narrative of the red pill is misogynistic. This is a term thrown around and poorly defined, but the general idea is the denigration of women. What is puzzling about the Red Pill is that it treats men as the victim. This obviously resonates with young men who have been rejected or feel an entitlement to the attention of women. In other words, the Red Pill victim mentality assumes that there is a shift in the natural order of power and men ought to be in a higher position than women. The resentment and envy originate from a place of perceived injustice: women seem to have it easy in society and dominate men. Using the flawed story above, the Red Pill approach reinforces this narrative and a story about women’s place in society.

Third, it’s a bad self-help approach. It takes victims and claims to empower them with knowledge. It seeks to guide its members to succeed in the narrative they concoct. It takes vulnerable people – full of resentment, anger, and ignorance – and it spoon-feeds them an answer they want: it’s not your fault, it’s society’s fault, it’s women’s fault… It’s a twisted sense of empowerment and community akin to cults.

Draft Abstract: Partiality and Regret

· Leave a comment ·

We sometimes explain away regrets by framing them as character shaping experiences. For instance, “If I never did drugs, I would never be who I am now – the strong, independent persons who beat a drug addiction.” Underlying this idea is the thought that the person we would be is not the person we are now, and that we prefer the person we are now. Some psychologists explain this phenomenon as a form of rationalization or a product of the cognitive dissonance of regret; in this explanation, there is a negative connotation of self-deception or delusion. This does not have to be the case. An alternative explanation is that we show partiality towards our current selves just as we show partiality towards our friends and family members. On an objective, impersonal view – like the psychologist’s – it is irrational to prefer our imperfect (regretful) selves over our (counterfactual) ideal selves, just as it is irrational to prefer our friends and family members over strangers. This analogy can be strengthened by looking at the justification of our partiality towards family members and making further connections to our partiality towards our current selves.

Draft Abstract: historical partiality, justice and favoring the winners of the present

· Leave a comment ·

One difficult problem in moral philosophy is determining how our moral theory ought to approach partiality and impartiality. Crudely put, the problem is this: we have reasons to act partially towards those dear to us, and we might even have special duties to towards them, but we also have a deep intuition that morality ought to be impartial. How do we reconcile these two seemingly contradictory thoughts in our moral theory?

A branching debate is between partiality and global justice. What are our obligations to those in the global community? Is it unjust to be partial to locals over those far away? Is this proximal partiality permissible?

Another branch of the debate grapples with our obligations to future persons. Should our policies treat individuals in the present and potential individuals in the future with the same amount of concern? Is it unjust to be partial towards individuals in the present over those in the future?

A topic that has not been explored in any depth is our obligations to those in the past, and our partial treatment to those in the present. If injustices have been committed, then we have a duty of restitution. However, we tend to be partial towards the “winners” of history. For instance, our duties to natives have been partial towards the contingencies of history – a duty of restitution would return the land, but the duty has been discharged haphazardly. The possible issue here is that it does not match our intuitions. Imagine, for instance, I steal a lottery ticket from you and win one million dollars; here, my impartial duty of restitution would be to give you the full sum of the winnings, and it would not be sufficient to repay you for the cost of the lottery ticket or any partial sum of the winnings. “Partiality,” in this sense, refers to the way the impartial duty of restitution is changed by our partiality towards the “winners” of history.

Does impartial morality demand that we act synchronically? Is diachronic partiality permissible? In this paper, I explicate the issue of diachronic partiality through surveying historical examples of injustices and subsequent responsive actions. I then explore how the literature in partiality and global justice, and partiality and environment ethics, might inform the discussion of partiality and history. I finally begin to sketch an argument which suggests that history partiality, though deeply ingrained into our psychology, is unjust. Note: my main aim is to suggest another avenue the partialist-impartialist debate seems to be important in ethical theory.

Draft Abstract: God and Impartiality

· Leave a comment ·

Contemporary discussions of impartiality take it as a notion pervasive throughout morality, especially in conceptions of justice, fairness, or equality. The presupposition is subtle but can be teased out through a look at the moral virtues of partiality, like the special care of parents to their children or the special expectations between friends. These examples ostensibly pose issue to the assumption that impartiality is always required for an action to be properly moral. Euthyphro famously appealed to the higher piety of the gods in response to Socrates’ indignation to Euthyphro’s lack of filial regard; in other words, Euthyphro had faith that impartiality trumped his partiality towards his father. This essay traces to genealogy of impartiality and locates it to a divine commander, then argues that contemporary moral theory faces issues when proceeding with the assumption of impartiality absent some divine command theory. We can identify multiple instances of what I call “the fallacy of impartiality” in moral theorizing, such as the “demandingness” problem, “rule-worship,” and, what Michael Stocker calls, a “schizophrenia.” The upshots of this discussion are twofold: first, it identifies a religious vestige in modern moral theorizing in a faith in a notion of impartiality; second, it creates a lacuna for secular moral theories in that further justificatory work is needed for appeals to impartiality over partiality. This speaks to the methodological relevance of the philosophy of religion for topics in moral philosophy.

Draft Abstract: The Duty of a Stranger’s Deathbed Request

· Leave a comment ·

Imagine you are the only witness to a stranger’s last moments, and, just before passing away, the stranger asks that you scatter her ashes in some inconvenient location. Do you have a moral duty to this stranger? You have no relation to this stranger and you did not agree to accept any prior posthumous requests, so it is unfair for you to be burdened with this moral task. Moreover, it fails to compare to any duties of aid or rescue, like assisting with a flat tire or saving a drowning child, since there is nobody (alive) who benefits from the actions. Still, we feel a compulsion similar to a duty towards fulfilling this stranger’s final request – perhaps it is compassion, empathy, or some belief in the supernatural. I argue that we do not have any moral duty to such requests. These cases lack any grounds of consent or reasons for fidelity, which suggests that our compulsions to act are not based on any actual moral duty. I argue that these compulsions can be based on imaginary duties, like a saint’s “duty” (more accurately, supererogation) to devote all of our resources to charity, or a white supremacist’s “duty” (more accurately, moral ignorance) to promote racial supremacy. I further argue that such deathbed requests are instances of moral blackmail, and are thereby morally indecent in nature.

Draft Abstract: borders and genetically modified mosquitoes

· Leave a comment ·

A recent class of public health initiatives has the morally questionable consequence of crossing borders; more specifically, they are initiated by one state but have significant resultant impacts on neighboring states. One clear case of this is genetically modified mosquitoes: mosquitoes are difficult to contain within state boundaries and often crossover whereby associated risks are thrust upon neighboring states. While nuances of laws and international policies are crucial considerations, this paper explores the underlying ethical considerations relevant to such classes of border-crossing public health initiatives. I begin with an explication of what makes these initiatives intuitively wrong at the individual level, and I identify three key moral violations: violations of property rights, exposure to harm, and lack of consent. I then capture these issues under the general umbrella of justifying paternalistic actions and take states as moral agents responsible for complying with certain moral obligations. The following question arises: if neighboring states do not agree to the initiatives, are there good reasons of proceed regardless? I appeal to existing analogues in public health as the standard for moral legitimacy and distill their structure of justification. First, there is a structurally “cosmopolitan” justification which appeals to the positive consequence for the global community. Second, there is a “perfectionist” justification which appeals to the goods bestowed upon the dissenting state. Third, there is a “free-rider” type of justification which frames dissent as morally wrong. I argue that border-crossing initiatives are at least consistent with the moral justification of recent public health initiatives insofar permitting certain sorts of paternalistic actions. I then suggest a defensible fourth way of justifying such initiatives by making appeal to a state’s obligations to its own citizens.

Can romance help with depression?

· Leave a comment ·

How might a romantic relationship help with depression? Here are some early caveats: I’m a layman when it comes to mental illnesses and there are gaps in my argument that might be supported or refuted by empirical studies. Nevertheless, my aim here is to connect some contemporary methodologies of treating mental illness with notions of romantic relationships which adhere to these methodologies. I don’t have a particularly nuanced picture of what entails a romantic relationship, so I appeal to a general notion which features are flushed out through its therapeutic effects. A trivial example would be this: community is generally thought to be important in the recovery of depression; here, a romantic relationship facilitates recovery by having the feature of being interpersonal. I want to outline some more significant features of romantic relationships that aid in recovery which are exclusive to romantic relationships. Then I want to deal with one stream of objections: that even in the most ideal romantic relationship, mental illnesses is exasperated and incompatible with the normative ideas of what constitutes a romantic relationship.

So what sort of contemporary methodologies treat mental illness which aligns with my thesis of the therapeutic benefits of romantic relationships (in a non-trivial way)? The narrative focused method, or the “narrative view.” This contrasts what is often called the “medical view,” which treats patients as a set of symptoms or pathologies which need to be cured or treated. The narrative approach is supposed to be more humanizing for patients and their relationships with their mental health provider. This, it is argued, is a more effective approach to reaching goals for patients; that is, goals such as hope, happiness, or living a life worth living (elsewhere, there are more specific explications of these goals).

There is a subtle pessimism about the” medical view” which is essential to the “narrative view.” The “narrative view” says that pathologies like depression cannot be treated with anti-depressants like an infection can be treated with antibiotics. Even if various symptoms of depression are suppressed by medication, it doesn’t necessarily mean that the goals for the patient are met. For instance, an anti-depressant might treat a patient’s insomnia, melancholy, and anxiety; however, the patient might not break unhealthy habits or know how to adjust to live a life worth living.

Now moving on to how romantic relationships might fit into the “narrative view.” There is an issue within the “narrative view” method between patient and provider. The role of the mental health provider is something like that of a guide: they use their expertise to direct the patient towards a meaningful goal. On the patient’s end, they are supposed to internalize these directives and execute them in order to manage their disease. However, despite whatever trust, rapport, or relationship the patient has to the provider, there is a barrier in receiving and internalizing the provider’s directives.

This is where romantic relationships, I suggest, might help. I want to make clear that I’m making a descriptive claim here; I’m not suggesting that one ought to find a relationship when faced with issues of mental health.

Draft Abstract: Moral Blackmail

· Leave a comment ·

Simon Keller’s argument for moral blackmail might, at best, come down to cases of emotional blackmail; at worst, they are just added motives to be a morally good person.

If I leave a note at your door telling you that I’m leaving for vacation and that if you do not feed my dog, then my dog will die and it will be on your conscience. Clearly what I am doing is wrong, but is it a case of “moral” blackmail? Keller seems to think so because I am manipulating the circumstances so that you are faced with the guilt of a starved dog if you do not comply with my desired end. But is the “guilt” in this scenario appropriately a consequence of a moral failure? It seems more supererogatory than a moral duty; as such, the appropriate feeling should then be something like “compunction.”

Keller places his argument in the context of fiduciary duties, but we can find general examples: for instance, the cashier asking if you would like to donate one dollar to charity. This sort of charity might be a nice thing to do, but it is beyond what morality demands of us; still, we might feel a bit bad if we do not donate. Again, whether it is a case of some internal conflict of thinking ourselves as charitable, it is still a case of emotional manipulation – that is, the consequence of not donating is a negative feeling of compunction.

However, what if I left a note telling you that you must take care of my ill grandmother because nobody else is around to take care of her in my absence? I think cases like this one indeed point to a moral duty, but it cannot be called “blackmail.” What I am doing here is reinforcing a duty you already have with added reasons to act morally. I do not want to say that I am morally in the clear for leaving you that note – clearly I am manipulating you. However, you already would have had strong reasons to take care of my ill grandmother since you always have the duty to rescue or aid somebody in immediate danger. For example, we would not call it “moral blackmail” when I tell my child that if he is mean to his sister then Santa will bring him a lump of coal. If Keller’s cases of moral blackmail are cases where there is a real moral duty, and if blackmail cannot entail cases where you would have had good reason to act the way I want you to, then Keller’s cases of moral blackmail are not legitimate cases of blackmail.

Now, this argument relies on counterfactual claims of what you would have done, and maybe the mere fact that I altered your choice structure is enough for a legitimate case of moral blackmail. That is, by leaving you the letter, you then are confronted with a moral dilemma of taking care of my grandma or ignoring the letter and letting her die; however, if I never gave you the letter, you would not be presented with the dilemma. In line with my previous argument, my giving you the letter presents you with a moral problem and the possibility to be immoral – the operative question is then this: Does me putting you in a circumstance to possibly be immoral constitute a case of moral blackmail?

I obviously do not think so, and I think parallel cases show why.  Imagine I bound you up, put you in a truck, and dropped you off in front of a drowning child; in this case (assuming you can swim) you have a duty to rescue this child. The fact that I kidnapped you and that it is a rotten thing for me to do is no excuse for you not to rescue the drowning child. If you reject your moral duty and choose not to rescue the child, then I do not harm you additionally because I put you in that circumstance. I may manipulate you, coerce you, harm you, but I do not blackmail you.

Draft Abstract: Nationalism, Borders, and Partiality

· Leave a comment ·

Nationalism is often associated with morally repugnant behaviors of partiality, like prejudice, selfishness, or bias. Some have taken a deflationary approach to nationalism by tracing it to tribal psychology, and further contend that nationalism is not only groundless but harmful as well. These approaches to nationalism are not fruitful. Nationalism should be conceived as a moral phenomenon and analyzed as such. While many features of nationalism are morally wrong, there appear to be some virtues associated with nationalism. One such virtue of nationalism is the desire for the success and flourishing of one’s own nation, which can be compared more generally to virtuous partial behavior like a parent’s special concern for their child. Although impartiality is crucial to moral thinking – especially in ideas of equality, fairness, or justice – many contemporary commentators have noted that this often leads to an unwarranted emphasis on impartiality which similarly results in an absurd picture of morality.

In this paper, I begin by establishing the argument that partial moral obligations are tied to the necessary conditions of wellbeing, like personal integrity and identity, and further argue that this link to wellbeing is structurally analogous to the way impartial moral obligations establishes its special normativity. Moral reasons have (or we commonly think they have) a special normative force that overrides other practical reasons; hence, I argue that impartiality is conflated with “overridingness,” and this fallacy can be traced back to our faith that the virtues of impartiality always result in promoting wellbeing. So, if wellbeing is some clue to morally right actions, and if partiality sometimes promotes wellbeing better than impartiality, then sometimes partiality is the morally right action. With this criterion of the virtues of partiality, I identify structural analogues in nationalism which allows us to distinguish the right forms of nationalism from the right forms of nationalism. Nationalism seems to give us reasons for partiality, and, to go a step further, it gives a modest defense for favoring co-nationals over non-nationals.

I end by arguing that the resulting conception of special conational obligations implies at least minimal national borders. Some try to moderate the degrees of nationalism and subsequently fit them into impartial demands by investigating how the right to be nationalistic stacks up with other universal human rights. This paper suggests a slightly more ambitious route. It seems if we accept that we have special obligations to co-nationals, a corollary would be that there is a boundary to distinguish how we treat co-nationals differently from strangers. In a minimal sense, this is a border (whether it is a closed border or open border is a different discussion). Drawing from the works of Jeff McMahan and Thomas Hurka, we can establish a more robust moral justification against open borders arguments based on the universal right to free movement (cf. Joseph Carens). The picture of wellbeing associated with partiality can be cashed out in terms of the “goods” of (1) a shared history, (2) shared culture, (3) and the conditions of local and individual flourishing. These goods are tied to wellbeing and cannot be attained without nations or within a cosmopolitan community.

Notes: Thinking, Fast and Slow (Kahneman, Daniel)

· Leave a comment ·

Daniel Kahneman, psychologists, winner of the Nobel Prize is economics (for behavioral economics).

It was a lot of fun to read. I doggy-eared several pages, and I’d like to share that here.

[p. 42]

In terms of mental work, it is suggested that self-control might be finite and depleted, especially when people are “simultaneously challenged by a demanding cognitive task and by a temptation…” (p. 42) Self-control is taxing and it can be further impaired by cognitive load, as well as a “few drinks” or “a sleepless night.” (p. 42) Simply put, “self-control requires attention and effort.” (p. 42)

I’m not sure what “self-control” ends up being on the author’s two system model. To my understanding, self-control is some sort of check in system 2 that needs to be trained to suppress system 1 and exercise the lazy system 2. It’s sort of like having system 1 do a math problem without the need of system 2, then purposefully invoking system 2 to check the problem for errors. It’s a sort of regulating system – like an untransformed werewolf shackling himself up before a full moon, or Dr. Jekyll trying to regain control when he transforms into Mr. Hyde. This is different from just moving a certain practice from system 2 to system 1 like chess masters or poker players do (they train for automated statistical regularities or habits – like the boxer telegraphing punches and countering without thinking). I’m teasing ideas here and they’re not developed, but I hope, at the very least, it’s somewhat coherent.

To go beyond what the authors suggest, we might think of self-control like a muscle. Imagine lifting a stack of dishes: it might seem light at first, but it’s going to feel heavier as fatigue sets in; moreover, if I added more dishes to your stack, you’d fatigue a lot faster. If you had a wrist injury or came back from lifting weights, it’d be harder for you to lift those stacks of plate and you’d again get fatigued faster.

Now, if we push this analogy further, we may develop a hypothesis that self-control can be trained like a muscle. In the same vein of “progressive overload,” we might be able to systematically overload our self-control in small increments to withstand heavier loads. This sort of idea seems to have parallels in memory and other demanding cognitive tasks. For instance, we deliberately and systematically increase our vocabulary for aptitude tests like the GMAT. Perhaps we can train our self-control in the same manner.

[p. 57]

The priming effect might affect how we make moral decisions. The author mentions a study conducted where people helped themselves to tea or coffee and paid via an “honesty box” with suggested prices on the side. Above the suggested price was either a picture of a pair of eyes or some flowers which alternated weekly. The results showed that more money was paid on the weeks with the picture of eyes than the weeks with the picture of flowers. The conclusion here is that people were primed by the eyes and nudged towards more moral behavior.

This informs our picture of moral motivation. The priming effect motivates some people to give more, particularly true of charitable acts – think about the time you were approached by a beggar when you were with a partner, or how generous you are when giving tips to your attractive server, or how charitable you were when the check-out cashier asks if you’d like to donate. All these showy forms of charity point to something deeper about our moral motivation: it is deeply social. This contrasts the picture of an ascetic monk who carefully develops moral virtues in isolation. It’s hard to be moral for morality’s sake. Ideas of integrity or personal virtue might motivate us only so far; maybe we need better motivations, like a personal deity (incidentally, religious artifacts, rites and rituals might be thought of as primers). Maybe when we face a beneficial but immoral act, and we believe nobody will ever find out, we cast aside our morals and act in our own interest. 

[p. 192]

A reoccurring theme in the book is a regression to the mean. When the sample shows a lot of variance, and as the sample increases, the variance will regress to the mean. This has some interesting practical consequences. For instance, a single job interview is a poor indicator for a quality candidate – the sample is too small. The same goes for first impressions in general.

In addition, organizations should not reward risky behavior or punish problems arising from chance. It would be like taking financial advice from a lottery winner or throwing just Hail Mary passes. 

[p. 201]

“Our comforting conviction that the world makes sense rests on a secure foundation: our almost unlimited ability to ignore our ignorance.”

We want to weave together coherent stories. Essential details are omitted or put to the background while conjectures and contrived inferences take the foreground. What does this say about witness testimony? Everybody’s memory is going to be altered by the story they want to tell.

[p. 255]

Optimism gives us a false lens of reality: the world seems like a safe haven for us, the main character of this wonderful story who can readily accomplish anything. This sounds like an exaggeration or some delusion of grandeur, but more subtle cases of having just a positive disposition leads us “exaggerate our ability to forecast the future, which fosters optimistic overconfidence.” This might suggest that a pessimistic disposition leads to more accurate results, thus, should be preferred.

However, a “delusional sense of significance” (p. 264) can be adaptive insofar as providing motivation. Compare two cases: first, a megalomaniac night guard for an apartment complex believes he is the only thing standing between the residents and mortal danger; second, a depressed night guard for the same apartment complex who believes his work is vapid and meaningless. I don’t want to suggest that these are the only two options, but I want to show here how two extreme examples show that optimism and blissful ignorance can improve one’s quality of life and relatedly one’s quality of work.

[p. 285]

An interesting insight that the author emphasizes is that perceived risk of loss is much more painful than the pleasure of perceived risk of gain; that is, we are generally more risk adverse than is statistically appropriate and we aren’t consistent with our risks in terms of probabilities. Again, going beyond what the author presents, this might be crucially linked to why we generally don’t like change. New things, new risks, seem much worse than they actually are – perhaps the people who seek new experiences are the high rollers of life.

“First, tastes are not fixed; they vary with the reference point. Second, the disadvantages of a change loom larger than its advantages, inducing a bias that favors the status quo.” (p. 292)

The author suggests that loss aversion is “built into the automatic evaluations of System 1.” (p. 296) Just like the baby who doesn’t want to give up the toy he’s not playing with, or the couple in a toxic relationship who just don’t want to give each other up, or the salary man in a dead end job who just won’t leave…

[p.407]

We treat our memories in strange ways. We remember thin slices of time and neglect what happens at other times. For instance, if a procedure ended with a painful experience near the end, we take the procedure as a whole to be worse than if the painful experience was somewhere else. Moreover, when we have fond memories of past lovers, we neglect all the rough and painful times – again, our memories are shaped by the stories we want to tell.