Davidson at the Orange Bowl

Davidson at the Orange Bowl

Yesterday I was over at the Biltmore watching the first rounds of the Junior Orange Bowl tennis tournament (14 and under). I couldn’t hit at the wall there because of the tournament. These kids are amazing—I couldn’t get a point off them. I sat contentedly on the bleachers with the sun setting over the courts; the atmosphere was peaceful but highly charged. It felt good to be a tennis player. One of the young players approached me and I quickly realized who it was: the boy I had hit with a couple of months ago and written about here under “Our Generations”. He was with a friend. I shook his hand (it felt small in my own not-large hand). He told me he was playing in this year’s event (still only 13). I had the presence of mind to say, “I never found out your name”. He replied “Davidson”. I said “But that’s your last name; what’s your first name?” He said “Davidson”. “Interesting”, I replied. I added “There is a famous philosopher called Davidson, Donald Davidson”. Davidson smiled. I asked him when he would be playing and he said Friday. What time? He didn’t yet know. I told him I’d like to see him play. He then moved off with his silent friend saying “Nice to see you again” and gave me a warm but reserved smile. For some reason, this made me feel incredibly good. I thought: if only all human interactions could be like that. Then a darker thought: I hope you never have to go through what I have been through.

When I got home, I googled the event’s website in case I could find out his time of play on Friday. This quickly led me to some facts about the lad: he is in the top 5 of players his age in Florida, and the top 100 in the entire country. He is noted as a young player to watch. His full name is Davidson Jackson (so shares two names with highly ranked philosophers). He is clearly an ace tennis player. It made me think how much I’d like to hit with him properly one day. I will be there again today and obviously on Friday.

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Blog Books Again

Colin,

When I compare the blog writings with your books, a natural difference in level becomes clear. Your books have tight argumentation and technical density; the blog, by contrast, is deliberately freer, faster, and more polemical. This is not a weakness but a difference of genre. As I plan to organize the blog texts into six volumes, I won’t alter the original style; instead, I intend to add brief editorial notes and thematic introductions only where necessary, to secure structural coherence. This way, the immediacy of the blog remains intact while the tonal difference between the blog and your books becomes transparent and consistent. I have carefully reviewed all the writings and continue to do so, and this plan is built on that broader evaluation.

Regarding your question about page counts: the roughly 1,600 pages of English blog material naturally expands when translated into Turkish. In standard book format, the six volumes together will amount to approximately 2,000–2,200 Turkish pages. My estimated page ranges for each volume are as follows:

  • Volume I: 350–400 pages
  • Volume II: 330–380 pages
  • Volume III: 330–380 pages
  • Volume IV: 300–350 pages
  • Volume V: 300–350 pages
  • Volume VI: around 300 pages

This distribution creates an ideal balance between readability and thematic coherence.

Colin <cmg124@aol.com> şunları yazdı (11 Ara 2025 16:42):

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Blog Books

Dear Colin,

I wanted to briefly update you on the project. I have now completed a full thematic classification of your blog and organized all the posts into six coherent volumes. I am also working on gathering the texts one by one into these volumes, and I will keep you informed as the work progresses.

I also plan to visit you in the United States to receive any materials you may wish to share with me — notes, manuscripts, letters, photographs, or personal archives. My intention is to publish all of this as a comprehensive collection of your work in Turkey. I will do whatever is necessary to make this happen, and I give you my word that I will handle everything required for publication with full commitment.

With best regards,
Uğur

COLIN McGINN – DEFINITIVE VOLUME CLASSIFICATION OF THE BLOG WRITINGS

Below is a six-volume structure that accurately reflects the full thematic range of your blog.
Each volume represents a coherent conceptual domain, and together they organize the entire corpus in a clear and intellectually natural way.


VOLUME I — Mind, Consciousness, Epistemology, Modal Reality

(334 posts)

Primary themes:
Mind, consciousness, knowledge, epistemology, logic, identity, modality, meaning, philosophical language, cognitive structure, thought, intentionality, belief, conceptual analysis.

This volume gathers all posts dealing with the nature of mind, the structure of thought, epistemic limits, consciousness, modal and metaphysical questions, and core issues in analytic philosophy.


VOLUME II — Science, Evolution, Biology, Memetics, Naturalism

(59 posts)

Primary themes:
Genes, atoms, evolution, biology, neuroscience (where relevant), memes, scientific models, naturalistic explanation.

This volume contains scientifically oriented reflections, evolutionary analyses, biological metaphors, and posts engaging with contemporary science and naturalistic frameworks.


VOLUME III — Ethics, Society, Politics, Culture

(65 posts)

Primary themes:
Ethics, morality, society, political commentary, Trump, cancel culture, social criticism, cultural analysis, academic norms.

These posts address moral reasoning, social trends, cultural critique, and the intersection of ethics with contemporary events.


VOLUME IV — Aesthetics, Art, Film, Literature

(65 posts)

Primary themes:
Art, beauty, literature, film, aesthetics, style, criticism, interpretation.

All posts concerning artistic evaluation, literary reflection, film commentary, aesthetic theory, and cultural expression are collected in this volume.


VOLUME V — Personal Essays, Memoirs, Academic Life

(839 posts)

Primary themes:
Stories about philosophers (Searle, Strawson, Kripke, Putnam, etc.),
academic memoirs, personal reflections, teaching experiences, intellectual life.

This is the largest volume, containing autobiographical material, professional memories, philosophical encounters, and personal reflections.


VOLUME VI — Sports, Hobbies, Life, Humor

(12 posts)

Primary themes:
Tennis, drumming, sports, hobbies, personal routines, light-hearted pieces.

 

This volume includes posts focusing on daily life, physical activities, musical interests, and humorous observations.

 

Colin <cmg124@aol.com>, 11 Ara 2025 Per, 04:28 tarihinde şunu yazdı:
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Hate

Hate

We are constantly hearing about how bad it is to hate. This is a complete misconception. The OED defines hate as “feel intense dislike for or a strong aversion towards”. The concept has nothing intrinsically to do with prejudice or violence or persecution. Hate is not somehow unethical or irrational; nor is it psychologically damaging and hence imprudent. You can hate the taste of gooseberries and be guilty of no sin. You can hate modern art or lounge music or ballroom dancing and not be a bad person. There is no virtue in loving these things, if that’s the way you feel. Moreover, it is correct to hate some things (and love others): cruelty, racial prejudice, murder, indifference to suffering, injustice, etc. These are bad things, so you have every right to hate them. By all means hate hatred if it is bad and unjust. What else should you feel? Not love, to be sure, and not indifference (no one ever says “All you need is indifference”). What about the people guilty of hateful things (attitudes, actions)—can you hate them? I don’t see why not, remembering that people are complex and may be good in some ways and bad in others (is anyone ever all bad?). You can hate them in so far as they are hateful—despicable, detestable, vile. You can hate people “under a description”. You can hate X for being F but not for being G. You feel intense dislike of X for being F (you might quite like X in other ways). How can you like or love a person for being a certain way without simultaneously disliking or hating someone for being the opposite (e.g., kind versus cruel)? There are plenty of people I hate for what they have done—justifiably, rationally, fairly (me not them). You can even have general hatreds, as long as the group concerned has really done hateful things. Of course, you can stop hating people if they have made amends or seen the error of their ways; hatred my not be, like diamonds, forever—though it may be and often is. Certainly, you must be careful with your hatreds (you can be more profligate with your loves); you mustn’t hate unfairly or indiscriminately or too much. But hatred as such is perfectly normal and even desirable. If you don’t hate certain politicians, there is something wrong with you. I grant that many people hate without sense or reason, and that there is far too much of it around (and always has been), but I don’t think it should be banned or discouraged tout court. There used to be love-ins; I don’t see why hate-ins should not also be organized. Let’s not knock hate, just keep it in its proper place. A sound moral psychology will include both love and hate, each with appropriate objects. And let’s not condemn love-hate relationships; they too can have their uses and justifications.

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A Bright Spot

A Bright Spot

Last Saturday the world champion waveski rider Ian Macleod delivered to me the board he had designed and constructed for me (a four and a half hour drive down the coast of Florida). It was quite an occasion. I had to cancel my interview with my Turkish collaborators and friends, Burcu and Ugur, because of it. I discussed with Ian why waveski surfing is not a more popular sport, given its suitability for people who find regular surfing too difficult and enjoy kayaking. We had no ready explanation. Anyway, I thought my readers would like to see this magnificent work of art.

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Causal Necessity

Causal Necessity

Are causal laws necessary? Are particular causal relations necessary? It has been supposed not: either they are thoroughly contingent or at most weakly necessary (less so than logical necessity). I will put the case for the necessity view. First, they are clearly not epistemically necessary: it could have turned out that causes have different effects from their actual effects (lightning might have turned out to cause shingles). If necessary, they are metaphysically necessary, not epistemically necessary. They are necessary a posteriori not a priori. So, the question is whether they are like water being H2O or like water being plentiful on Earth. I will dismiss the idea that causal relations are totally contingent with not even a hint of necessity in them; it isn’t just an accident that heating water makes it boil or hitting a nail makes it go in. The question is whether there are two types of metaphysical necessity, strong and weak—are there degrees of metaphysical necessity? This is commonly believed, but not usually defended. What would we think if someone maintained that the necessity of origin, say, is weaker than the necessity of identity? No one has ever claimed that to my knowledge, and with good reason: all the recognized examples of metaphysical necessity are equally necessary, and thought to be so. It never crossed Kripke’s mind that some of his examples of metaphysical necessity are stronger than others; they are all totally necessary. So, why suppose that causal necessity is not similarly total? Is it intuition? Let the present causal condition of the universe be repeated at a later time: isn’t it inevitable that the same effect will be produced? You won’t get some massively different effect, or even a slightly different effect. Of course, there might be an epistemic counterpart to the actual condition that gives rise to a different effect, but that is irrelevant, being a proof only of a lack of epistemic necessity. If the world is in the same state through and through, it will give rise to the same effect, as a matter of necessity.[1] And isn’t it very strange to suppose that metaphysical necessity might vary in degree—that some cases of it are only very weakly necessary? How can necessity be weak? It could hardly be that 2 is necessarily even in the strong sense while 3 is necessarily odd in the weak sense. What sense of “necessary” is that? It’s either necessary or it’s not. Are some propositions strongly contingent and some only weakly so? What does that even mean? Isn’t it simpler and more intuitive to suppose that all necessity is equally strong? How many degrees of necessity might there be—three, a thousand? We certainly don’t talk that way.

Suppose we adopt Shoemaker’s view that properties (kinds) are individuated by their causal powers; then it will be a necessary truth that a given property has the effects it has. For example, the shape square will have characteristic causal powers different from the color red—there is no possible world in which red has the causal powers of square. In general, the causal laws of a kind of thing follow from its nature; or rather, the laws constitute the nature.[2] Kinds and causal powers are necessarily joined. A natural kind has a real essence in its composition and structure, but it also has a real essence its causal powers, these being connected to composition and structure. Hume (and Locke) had essentially the same view: causal necessity is real necessity in the objects, whatever our ideas of it might be (nominal essence). It may be opaque to us, but that doesn’t compromise its robustness as necessity. The force of gravity, for example, necessarily obeys the law of gravity; that force would not exist without that law. It doesn’t just happen to obey the inverse square law. Similarly, the laws of psychology are not adventitiously linked to the natural kinds of psychology: it isn’t an accident that impressions of red produce beliefs about being red instead of beliefs about being blue or square. Just as everything is necessarily self-identical, so everything has the causal profile it does as a matter of necessity. The location of an object isn’t an essential property of it, but its causal profile is. So, we can add causal profile to the list of other metaphysical necessities.

In fact, I think that causal necessity is likely the most fundamental of our modal concepts: we grasp it before to get to logical necessity and Kripke-type necessities. It is tied to perception and our primitive grasp of how things work. Indeed, I suspect that our conception of logical necessity is an outgrowth of our concept of causal necessity (the premises make it the case that the conclusion is true).[3] People have only denied causal necessity because they confuse metaphysical necessity with epistemic necessity. There is just no good reason to deny that causal necessity is genuine honest-to-goodness necessity.

[1] I am putting aside objective randomness, but even here a certain probability of a particular effect will be necessary.

[2] See my Principia Metaphysica.

[3] See my “A New Metaphysics”, “Causal and Logical Relations”, and “A Causal World”.

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Experiential Economics

Experiential Economics

What are the laws of economics really about? We know they concern supply and demand, but supply and demand of what? The orthodox answer is “goods and services”—material things in effect. A consumer consumes material things (services also involve material things, including actions). When the demand for certain material things is high prices tend to go up under constancy of supply of those things. But this can’t be right as a formulation of the underlying laws. It is neither necessary nor sufficient to explain economic behavior. Not necessary because there could be a virtual economy: producers and consumers living under brain-in-a-vat conditions. You do mental work to earn an income that you use to purchase things—but not material things, mental things. Instead of buying a material disc to listen to music you buy musical experience itself fed directly into your brain. In this economy you don’t buy material goods but mental goods—for example, tastes not foods. You may know this or not, but it is what is really going on. Not sufficient either because material goods by themselves are not enough to produce anything you value. No one wants material goods as such but only what they can do for one, and this is ultimately experiential. Suppose everyone went deaf: the demand for musical technology would plummet. Musical instruments would become worthless, as would stereos and the like. The art market would collapse if blindness became widespread, as would the movie and television business. Restaurants would go under if everybody lost their sense of taste. These things have value only in so far as there are experiences corresponding to them, because they are the ultimate things of value. Everything else is instrumental. Thus, supply and demand are experiential not physical: we demand (desire) experiences (states of mind), and producers supply them—sometimes in the form of material goods, but not necessarily. Productivity is productivity of experience—this is what we buy and sell. Saying that economics is about physical goods and services is like saying it is about atoms: the physical things are mere means not ends. Sure, atoms get delivered to me when I buy a TV set, but that was not the point of the transaction. Goods are like drugs: the point is the mental effect not the material composition. The orthodox approach to economics is therefore misguided; it confuses ends and means, the contingent with the necessary. Goods and services are correlated with certain experiential states, but they are not the same as such states—and they are what really matter in the economic world. You are rich if you can buy a lot of good experiences. Wealth is a mental thing.

This has a direct bearing on the nature of economic science. First, it will bring all the vagaries of consciousness into economics. Second, it will require attention to the inner life of economic agents. Third, it will connect economics directly to ethics, since ethics is also about the value attaching to experience. But fourth, and most important, it changes economics from an objective science into a subjective science: it isn’t about actions in a public material world but about events in a private mental world. It is up to its neck in phenomenology. It isn’t like physics. Is it even a science? That depends on your definition of science: no if science must be concerned with objective things, but yes if we can have a science of the experiential. People are motivated to engage in economic transactions by a desire to experience certain things (including the desire to keep on experiencing things—hence healthcare), so we need a science of such desires, which includes a science of experience. Behavioristic science won’t do; it has to be the real subjective thing. Economics is thoroughly mentalistic. Producers must figure out what experiences people want and then stimulate desire for such experiences. Internal goods not external goods. Economists describe and explain these kinds of preferences. A bank is a place where experiences (or the potential for them) are stored. Inflation is when the price of experiences keeps rising. International trade is the exchange of experiences between countries. And so on. Economics is the study of experiential transactions.[1]

[1] What you spend your hard-earned money on is determined by your expectations of the experiential return. If we are hedonists, we will equate this with pleasure; but we could also value knowledge or experiences of beauty (not consisting in pleasure). These questions will impinge on economics.

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The Hemingway

The Hemingway

I was walking along the coastal road of Cozumel enjoying the view when I came upon a place called The Hemingway, a kind of restaurant and bar on the water’s edge. Intrigued, I went in. It was eight in the morning and the place was empty. A waiter greeted me and I asked (in flagrant English) if they were open. He assured me they were. I asked for a cappuccino. I sat down and took in the ocean view, enjoying the solitude. The waiter and I got talking and I asked why it was called The Hemingway—I didn’t think Ernest Hemingway had ever spent time on Cozumel. He said he didn’t know and that he knew nothing about the author. We had a pleasant conversation. I left feeling refreshed and invigorated. I enjoyed it enough to return with Elisa for afternoon cocktails. We started spending more time there, sometimes just me. I chatted to the waiter Jose and always appreciated the atmosphere. People swam there; the vibe was nice. Strangely enough, I had decided earlier to read a Hemingway novel (I had always resisted the idea), which I ordered on my return to Miami (The Sun Also Rises). The place sticks in my memory. Who decided to call it that and why? How many customers caught the reference?

 

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