Chapter Page
Introduction: The Art of Thinking 1
Part I Making Sense of Morality
1. Rights 23
2. Revenge 45
3. Punishment 67
4. Authority 89
5. Language 111
Part II Making Sense of Ourselves
6. Sex, Gender, and Sports 135
7. Race and Responsibility 161
Part III Making Sense of the World
8. Knowledge 189
9. Truth 213
10. Mind 239
11. Infinity 263
12. God 285
Conclusion: How to Raise a Philosopher 309
Acknowledgments 317
Appendix: Suggested Resources 321
Notes 325
Index 357
Introduction
I nee a philosopher.¡± Hank was standing in the bathroom, half-naked.
¡°What?¡± Julie asked. ¡°I nee a philosopher.¡± ¡°Did you rinse?¡±
¡°I nee a philosopher,¡± Hank said, getting more agitated. ¡°You need to rinse. Go back to the sink.¡±
¡°I nee a philosopher!¡± Hank demanded.
¡°Scott!¡± Julie shouted. ¡°Hank needs a philosopher.¡±
I am a philosopher. And no one has ever needed me. I rushed to the bathroom. ¡°Hank, Hank! I¡¯m a philosopher. What do you need?¡±
He looked puzzled. ¡°You are not a philosopher,¡± he said sharply. ¡°Hank, I am a philosopher. That¡¯s my job. What¡¯s bothering you?¡± He opened his mouth but didn¡¯t say anything.
¡°Hank, what¡¯s bothering you?¡±
¡°DER¡¯S FOMETHING FUCK IN MY FEETH.¡±
A flosser. Hank needed a flosser¡ªone of those forked pieces of plastic with dental floss strung across it. In retrospect, that makes sense. A flosser is something you could need, especially if you are two and your purpose in life is to pack landfills with cheap pieces of plastic that pro- vided a temporary diversion. A philosopher is not something that people need. People like to point that out to philosophers.
¡°What do philosophers do, exactly?¡±
¡°Um, uh . . . we think, mostly.¡± ¡°What do you think about?¡±
¡°Anything, really. Justice, fairness, equality, religion, law, language . . .¡±
¡°I think about those things. Am I a philosopher?¡± ¡°You might be. Do you think about them carefully?¡±
I cannot count the number of times that I¡¯ve had that conversation. But that¡¯s because I¡¯ve never had it. It¡¯s just how I imagine things would go if I were to tell a stranger that I¡¯m a philosopher. I almost always say that I am a lawyer. Unless I am talking to a lawyer; then I say that I¡¯m a
law professor, so that I can pull rank. If I am talking to another law professor, though, then I¡¯m definitely a philosopher. But if I am talking to a philosopher, I¡¯m back to being a lawyer. It¡¯s an elaborate shell game, carefully constructed to give me an edge in any conversation.
But I am a philosopher. And I still find that improbable. I didn¡¯t set out to be one. As a first-semester freshman at the University of Georgia, I wanted to take Intro Psychology. But the class was full, and Intro Philosophy fulfilled a requirement. If a spot had come open in that psychology class, then I might be a psychologist and this book might be full of practical parenting advice. There is a bit of parenting advice in this book, but most of it is not so practical. Indeed, my main advice is just this: talk to your kids (or somebody else¡¯s). They¡¯re funny as hell¡ªand good philosophers too.
I missed the first day of that philosophy class, because my people¡ªJews, not philosophers¡ªcelebrate the New Year at a more or less random time each fall. But I went to the second class, and by the second hour I was hooked. The professor, Clark Wolf, asked each of us what mattered, and as he went around the room, he scratched our answers on the board alongside our names and the names of famous philosophers w...ho had said something similar.
Happiness: Robyn, Lila, Aristotle
Pleasure: Anne, Aristippus, Epicurus
Doing the Right Thing: Scott, Neeraj, Kant
Nothing: Vijay, Adrian, Nietzsche
Seeing my name on the board made me think that my thoughts about what mattered might matter¡ªthat I could be a part of a conversation that included people like Aristotle, Kant, and Nietzsche.
It was a crazy thing to think, and my parents were not happy to find me thinking it. I remember sitting across from my father in a rotisserie chicken restaurant, reporting that I planned to major in philosophy. ¡°What¡¯s philosophy?¡± he asked. That is a good question. He didn¡¯t know the answer becau e when he registered for classes, there was a spot left in psychology, and that became his major. But I realized that I had a problem: I didn¡¯t know the answer either, and I had been in a philosophy class for several weeks. What is philosophy, I wondered, and why do I want to study it?
I decided to show my dad rather than tell him. ¡°We think we¡¯re sitting at a table, eating rotisserie chicken and having a conversation about how college is going,¡± I started. ¡°But what if we aren¡¯t? What if someone stole our brains, put them in a vat, hooked them up to electrodes, and stimulated them so as to make us think that we¡¯re eating chicken and talking about college?¡±
¡°Can they do that?¡± he asked.
¡°I don¡¯t think so, but that¡¯s not the question. The question is how do we know that they didn¡¯t? How do we know that we aren¡¯t brains in vats, hallucinating a chicken dinner?¡±
¡°That¡¯s what you want to study?¡± The look on his face was something other than encouraging.
¡°Yeah, I mean, don¡¯t you see the worry? Everything we think we know could be wrong.¡±
He did not see the worry. And this was before The Matrix came out, so I couldn¡¯t appeal to the authority of Keanu Reeves to establish the urgency of the issue. After a few more minutes of muttering about brains and vats, I added, ¡°The department has lots of logic classes too.¡±
¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°I hope you take those.¡±
~
I said that it¡¯s improbable that I¡¯m a philosopher. But that¡¯s not right. What¡¯s improbable is that I¡¯m still a philosopher¡ªthat my dad didn¡¯t put a stop to it, at that dinner or long before. Because I was a phi- losopher almost from the time that I could talk, and I am not alone in that. Every kid¡ªevery single one¡ªis a philosopher. They stop when they grow up. Indeed, it may be that part of what it is to grow up is to stop doing philosophy and to start doing something more practical. If that¡¯s true, then I¡¯m not fully grown up, which will come as a surprise to exactly no one who knows me.
It¡¯s not for lack of trying on my parents¡¯ part. I remember the first time I pondered a philosophical puzzle. I was five, and it hit me during circle time at the JCC kindergarten. I thought about it all day, and at pickup time I rushed to tell my mother, who taught a preschool class down the hall.
¡°Mommy,¡± I said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what red looks like to you.¡± ¡°Yes, you do. It looks red,¡± she said.
¡°Right . . . well, no,¡± I stammered. ¡°I know what red looks like to me, but I don¡¯t know what it looks like to you.¡±
She looked confused, and to be fair, I may not have been clear. I was five. But I struggled mightily to get her to see what I was saying.
¡°Red looks like that,¡± she said, pointing to something red. ¡°I know that¡¯s red,¡± I said.
¡°So what¡¯s the trouble?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know what red looks like to you.¡±
¡°It looks like that,¡± she said, increasingly exasperated.
¡°Right,¡± I said, ¡°but I don¡¯t know what that looks like to you. I know what it looks like to me.¡±
¡°It looks the same, sweetheart.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± I insisted.
¡°Yes, I do,¡± she said, pointing again. ¡°That¡¯s red, right?¡±
She didn¡¯t get it, but I was not deterred. ¡°We call the same things red,¡± I attempted to explain, ¡°because you pointed to red things and told me they were red. But what if I see red the way you see blue?¡±
¡°You don¡¯t. That¡¯s red, not blue, right?¡±
¡°I know we both call that red,¡± I said, ¡°but red could look to you the way blue looks to me.¡±
I don¡¯t know how long we went round on that, but my mother never did see the point I was making. (Mom, if you¡¯re reading this, I¡¯m happy to try again.) And I distinctly remember her concluding the conversation: ¡°Stop worrying about this. It doesn¡¯t matter. You see just fine.¡±
That was the first time someone told me to stop doing philosophy. It was not the last.
~
Philosophers call the puzzle I pressed on my mother the shifted color spectrum. The idea is typically credited to John Locke, the seventeenth-century English philosopher whose ideas influenced the
Framers of the United States Constitution. But I¡¯d bet that thousands of kindergarten-aged kids got there first. (Indeed, Daniel Dennett, a prominent philosopher of mind, reports that many of his students recall pondering the puzzle when they were little.) Their parents probably didn¡¯t understand what they were saying, or see th