AnalPhilosopher

This is absurd. Both Minnesota and Detroit lost again. Neither team deserves to win the division, although one of them will. The teams are still tied with one game to play.

Addendum: It's Sunday morning, the final day of the 2006 regular season. As I said last night, the Tigers and Twins are tied—at 95-66. There are four scenarios for today's games:

1. Both teams win.
2. Both teams lose.
3. Detroit wins and Minnesota loses.
4. Minnesota wins and Detroit loses.

Here's my ranking, from most preferred to least preferred: 3 > 1 > 2 > 4. Three of the four scenarios (all but 4) result in a division title for the Tigers, but only scenario 3 results in an outright title. Major League Baseball specifies (apparently) that if there is a tie for the lead in a division, and one of the teams is the wild-card team, the team with the best record in head-to-head play is deemed the winner of the division, with the other being the wild-card team. I don't like that rule, even though it works to the advantage of my Tigers on this occasion (since the Tigers beat the Twins in the season series). The teams should have to play a one-game series. Settle it on the field. But I'd rather the Tigers win that way than lose the division outright. By the way, someone commented that it doesn't matter whether the Tigers win the division or the wild-card berth, since either way they go to the playoffs. Au contraire! It matters very much. Only someone who doesn't understand the history between the Tigers and Twins, or who has no sense of honor, pride, and competitiveness, could think otherwise. Go Tigers!

Mousquetaire, n. A long glove covering a part of the arm. Worn in New Jersey. But "mousquetaire" is a mighty poor way to spell muskeeter.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

To the Editor:

Re “Women’s Colleges” (letters, Sept. 27):

A letter writer’s comparison of women’s colleges to all-white or all-male schools does not note an important point: Men and whites hardly need help to achieve equal opportunities in education.

While women have made great strides toward equality, we still live in a society that pays women less and prevents our advancement to positions of leadership and authority.

Graduates of women’s colleges are more likely to overcome these barriers than women who attend coed schools.

I am a proud alumna of Mount Holyoke College. I would love to see a day when women achieve full equality with men, but until that day arrives, I fully endorse the continued existence of colleges for women only.

Amanda Davis
Astoria, Queens, Sept. 27, 2006

Note from AnalPhilosopher: Two things. First, where is the evidence that women are paid less than men for the same work, where "same work" means same degree of responsibility, same duties, same degree of difficulty, same exposure to risk, and so forth? Second, how exactly does "society" prevent women from advancing to "positions of leadership and authority"? Last time I checked, we had a female United States Supreme Court justice, several female United States senators (including one who is said to be a serious presidential candidate), many female United States representatives, and many female governors, mayors, professors, and corporate executives.

Here.

I'll go on the record right now and say that the Detroit Tigers don't deserve to win the Central Division title. They blew a 5-0 lead tonight against the Kansas City Royals, losing, 9-7, in 11 innings. The Royals have the worst record in Major League Baseball. Luckily for the Tigers, the Chicago White Sox defeated the Minnesota Twins, 4-3. Both teams are 95-65. Two games to go.

9-29-86 I slept poorly, and rose with stiff thighs. The poor sleep was caused by today’s speaking engagement with the Tucson Defense Bar Association, while the stiff thighs were caused by this weekend’s [bike] riding. One was caused by anticipation, the other by exertion. The speaking engagement went well. I arrived at the Mountain Oyster Club early, taking a seat in the room where I would be speaking. A waiter brought me coffee. I was surprised at the decor. First, I saw a sign which read “Private; Members Only” on the door. Inside, I saw photographs of wild animals and cattle. The restrooms were marked “Bulls” and “Heifers.” Inside the restroom, I saw pictures of giraffes, elephants, and other animals copulating, and also pictures of naked women. This is apparently a macho club of some sort. I thought briefly about leaving, about boycotting the place, but decided to stay. Well-dressed people began filing in at noon.

Since I had never met Stanley Trachta, the person who asked me to speak, I sat quietly until someone approached. It was Trachta. He asked me to sit at the front table with him, where he asked me questions about my background and the lecture that I was about to give. I began speaking from the podium [sic; should be “lectern”] at 12:10, and continued until 12:45 to about thirty attorneys. All but two were white males. The others were a white female and a black male. See? It’s a macho, sexist club. I’m frankly surprised that there were any females or nonwhites in attendance, for I had expected the worst. But the lecture went well. I prefaced it with an apology: “First, I’m tired—from a long, weekend bike ride; and second, I’m nervous—because you’re strangers.” But I pretended that I was lecturing to my students on Venn Diagrams or something, and it went well. Within minutes I was in control of the situation. I sketched four fallacies on each side of the tort-reform debate and then fielded questions. The questions were polite and to the point. I answered them with no trouble. Finally, done with the lecture and questions, I thanked the attorneys and “apologized” for “ruining your lunch.” To my surprise, they applauded for a good half a minute. I blushed and walked out of the room.

So that was it. Why had I worried? I’ve been a university instructor for over three years, have appeared on radio and television, have lectured to prospective law students, and have tried cases in [Tucson] City Court. And yet, I still get nervous at speaking engagements. Perhaps I always will. I think that nervousness plays an important role for me. It motivates me to master the material at hand. If I’m in trial, it makes me prepare and anticipate problems. If I’m lecturing on philosophy, it makes me anticipate questions and think of new ways to present the material. It’ll be interesting to see if [sic; should be “whether”] my nervousness disappears as I grow older and more experienced. . . .

Since I was downtown [in Tucson], I decided to walk to the Transamerica Building to see the [Arizona] Supreme Court order in the Del Rio case. There, Cindy Bailey told me what a “Rocky Mountain oyster” is. It’s the scrotum of a castrated bull. All at once things fell into place. I understood the decor of the Mountain Oyster Club, the saclike pouches engraved on [i.e., woven into] the carpet, and the machismo atmosphere. Cindy tells me that Rocky Mountain oysters are actually eaten by people, and are considered a delicacy. Personally, it makes me want to vomit. But I got a taste for western humor and tradition today. I also gained some experience in speaking to lawyers. They’re really no different—at least no more demanding—than my students. As a philosopher of law, I have a lot to say to them. [Ha! Lawyers get along quite nicely without philosophers.]

On the way home, I had my hair cut. Earlier, I learned that my presession course proposal entitled “Sex, Ethics, & The Law” had been accepted by the faculty. Great! It was one of four courses accepted, and gives me some security for next summer. Besides doing something that I enjoy (teaching) and reading interesting materials, I’ll be paid $1000 for my efforts. I just hope that enough students enroll in the course for it to be offered. But then, with a title like mine, this should be no trouble. [The course was offered.]

[R]easonable people already hold what I have called the conservative view of justice. If they would only think through their own beliefs, they would realize this.

(John Kekes, "Justice: A Conservative View," Social Philosophy & Policy 23 [summer 2006]: 88-108, at 108)

If you feel really guilty about reading this blog every day for free, you can alleviate it by buying this for me.

Here is Peggy Noonan's latest column.

Here.

29 September 2006, 4:04 P.M. Bill (if I may): Thank you for replying to my letter. I posted it on my blog with a couple of links, so that readers can follow along. I hope you don’t mind if I rejoin the issue. I’m not sure you grasped what I’m saying. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I’m making no claims (at this point) about the soundness of Anselm’s argument. I’m focusing on your claim, which you repeat in the fourth edition of your book Philosophy of Religion, that Anselm begs the question. I don’t think he does. It may turn out that we have different conceptions of begging the question, but let’s not assume that at the outset. Permit me to go all the way back (as it were). Do you agree that the following is Anselm’s argument?

1. For all objects x, if x exists only in the understanding and x might have existed in reality, then x might have been greater than x is.

Therefore,

2. If God exists only in the understanding and God might have existed in reality, then God might have been greater than God is (from 1, universal instantiation).

3. God exists only in the understanding.

4. God might have existed in reality.

Therefore,

5. God exists only in the understanding and God might have existed in reality (from 3 and 4, conjunction).

Therefore,

6. God might have been greater than God is (from 2 and 5, modus ponens).

Therefore,

7. God is an object than which a greater is possible (from 6).

8. God is the object than which no greater is possible.

Therefore,

9. The object than which no greater is possible is an object than which a greater is possible (from 7 and 8).

This reconstruction is close to yours. Indeed, I based it on yours. Note that every proposition in this argument plays a role. Proposition 9 comes from 7 and 8. Proposition 8 is a premise. Proposition 7 comes from 6. Proposition 6 comes from 2 and 5. Proposition 5 comes from 3 and 4, which are premises. Proposition 2 comes from 1, which is a premise.

All of the inferences are valid. The inference from 1 to 2 is universal instantiation. The inference from 3 and 4 to 5 is conjunction. The inference from 2 and 5 to 6 is modus ponens. Proposition 7 is just a paraphrase of 6. The inference from 7 and 8 to 9 has no name, but it’s clearly valid. It involves replacement of a term with its definition.

Since proposition 9 is explicitly self-contradictory, and since all of the inferences are valid, at least one of the premises—1, 3, 4, or 8—must be false. Everybody, including Anselm, must deny a premise. Anselm denies 3. I take it you deny 4. But I’m getting ahead of myself. All I want from you at this point in our dialogue is an acknowledgment that I’ve correctly stated Anselm’s argument. You might also tell me—to save time—whether you concede the validity of the inferences.

By the way, instead of sending this to you by e-mail, I’ll post it on my blog and send you the link.

To the Editor:

Re “New Campaign Ads Have a Theme: Don’t Be Nice” (front page, Sept. 27):

It is a sad day in American politics when so many politicians consider the best way to communicate to voters is through negative attack ads.

Joel Rivlin, deputy director of the Wisconsin Advertising Project, suggested that these negative ads are the best ways to learn about a particular candidate, but I have to believe there is a better way.

I don’t think that knowing what a candidate wrote about in his or her high school newspaper 20 years ago, or how he or she voted on a single vote, gives an accurate or well-developed picture of what a candidate truly stands for.

As a current college student, I worry about what politics will look like in 10 to 15 years if it continues down this path of negativity over substance.

My hope is that candidates will soon start focusing on what they individually stand for rather than what their opponents have done wrong, so that voters in the end can make a well-informed decision for themselves.

John Thornburgh
Worcester, Mass., Sept. 27, 2006

Misericorde, n. A dagger which in mediæval warfare was used by the foot soldier to remind an unhorsed knight that he was mortal.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Here.

This ought to get your blood flowing.

Dear Keith,

Nice to hear from you after all these years. I'm pleased that you are now a professor teaching philosophy and, of course, philosophy of religion. It's also good, I think, that some philosophers continue to defend Anselm's argument. He was a wonderful man and a good philosopher. His work deserves the place it has within contemporary philosophy of religion. I suspect, however, that few contemporary philosophers consider his argument to be sound. And I'm still inclined to think that my criticism of the argument is correct.

For all you or I can prove, any existing being is such that a greater, morally better being than it is possible. Consider the positive integers, 1, 2, 3, and so on. Imagine someone who claims he has a proof that there is a positive integer such that no integer larger than it is possible. (Indeed, someone wrote me that I was mistaken in what I said about angles.) So it simply begs the question to assume that it is logically possible for there to exist a being than which a morally better being is not possible. You need to prove that. And what's true of you is also true of Anselm.

You might like to look at a recent book by Howard Sobel entitled Logic and Theism. Actually, if you look at his website, you can download the first chapter—then do a search for the word 'Rowe' and you will find some important remarks he makes concerning what I've said. He thinks I was mistaken to call Houdini a magician, and I now agree with him. There are no real magicians in the sense of people who can do the things they seem to do—e.g., make something disappear before your eyes. What they do is trick us into thinking they are doing that. And, for all you or I, or Anselm, can prove, for any existing being it is possible for there to be a being better than it. So, send me your proof that it cannot be true that for any existing being it is possible for there to be a being better than it, and you will have won the day and done what Anselm should have done.

All the Best, Bill [William L. Rowe]

Keith,

If you would like to post the above on your blog, please feel free to do so.

Bill

How many times have you heard someone say something like this: "I get quite a bit of spam." Which is it: quite, or a bit? "Quite a lot" makes sense. "Quite a bit" doesn't.

9-28-86 Sunday. David [Cortner] and I made it home safely. I rose early, at about six o’clock. The evening air had been cool, but not cold—unlike Utah in late May. I felt good despite yesterday’s eighty miles [of riding]. Within ten minutes of rising, I was on my way to Massai Point. I knew that it was steadily uphill, so I just took my time pedalling [sic; should be “pedaling”], listening to music on my [Sony] Walkman as I did so. The scenery was great. Long, narrow chunks of rock projected from the mountains in every direction, some balanced precariously near the roadway. I saw no cars on the way up, a distance of 5.41 miles. When I arrived, I stopped the timer on my bike and took a couple of pictures. Then it occurred to me that my bike light had been on all the way up. The light is run by a generator which rubs on the rear tire. Damn! I rode over five miles with a generator dragging me down. My music prevented me from hearing it. Oh well, that made the ride even harder—a better morning workout.

The ride down was fun, but cold. It took 51.58 minutes to reach the top (for an average speed of 6.29 miles per hour), but only 12.25 to coast down (26.74 miles per hour). And I do mean “coast.” I did not pedal during the entire descent. But since I had to use the brakes many times on the curves, my top speed was only thirty-six miles per hour. Overall, it took 63.83 minutes to ride to Massai Point and back. My average speed was 10.21 miles per hour. David laughed when I told him about the generator. But, as I say, it’s one of those things on which I’ll look back and laugh. [Har har.] I was chilled to the bone upon my return, but I quickly ate two chicken sandwiches and a banana in preparation for my ride to Cochise. David agreed to pack the gear and wait for me. By eight o’clock I was on my way out of the campsite. So far, the plan was being perfectly executed.

I revelled [sic; should be “reveled”] in the sunshine when I reached the edge of the forest. Wearing only a flannel shirt and shorts, the sun warmed me from the rear as I pedalled [sic]. [This is bad grammar. The sun, as usual, was naked.] For the next 222.91 minutes I rode in various directions toward David’s car. First I rode southward, to the point where Highway 181 runs due west, then I rode westward for eleven miles or so, to Highway 666, and finally I rode on Highway 666 to Interstate 10, where David had left his car. The weather, like yesterday, was excellent. I rode against the wind for the first twenty miles or so, but I knew that eventually it would be with me. I stopped for Gatorade upon reaching Highway 666 and continued on my way with jazz music playing on my Walkman. The hills and dales near the Kansas Settlement Road and the town of Sunsites didn’t seem to faze me. Once, I saw border patrol agents sitting patiently on a roadside turnoff, probably searching for illegal immigrants from Mexico. I stopped only three times in 56.98 miles: once to change [cassette] tapes and take off my flannel shirt; once to buy Gatorade; and once to change batteries in my tape player.

I was worried that someone may have tampered with or stolen David’s car, but everything worked out well. I placed my bike in the trunk, drove to Willcox to fill the car with gasoline, and cruised thirty miles or so to the Chiricahua National Monument. I did this in a spirit of conquest, for I had just ridden nearly fifty-seven miles at an average speed of 15.33 miles per hour. Including the mileage to Massai Point this morning and two extra miles that I rode near the car, I rode seventy miles today. Combined with yesterday’s mileage, I had a terrific weekend: 150.3 miles. And I did it in only twenty-six hours. That may be an all-time record for me. (Amazingly, I rode seventy miles before noon today. [One year, at the Hotter ’n Hell Hundred in Wichita Falls, Texas, I rode 100 miles before noon—and I didn’t start until 7:30.]) When I pulled into the campsite an hour earlier than expected (about one o’clock), David hurried out from where he was seated. I gave him two cold cans of Coke [i.e., Coca-Cola], something that he had been craving. “Everything went flawlessly,” I said. We quickly loaded his bike and the gear and headed for Bisbee. Stages two and three had been successful. So far, so good.

Before leaving the monument, at my suggestion, David and I drove to Massai Point. He was astounded by the steepness of the incline. We took a couple of pictures and headed back. The ride to Bisbee was uneventful. I was tired, so we rambled on and on about biking statistics, the terrain and other riding conditions, and what we would like for lunch in Bisbee. My car, to my relief, had not been stolen or disturbed. We distributed the gear, loaded my bike into my car’s trunk, and found a small restaurant. I ate scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, while David experimented with a steak and kidney pie. He told the proprietor of the restaurant that it was “delicious,” but then confided to me in the car a moment later that it was atrocious. I had to laugh at this duplicity. Little white lies, it seems, are sometimes called for socially.

I said goodbye to David a few minutes later. I planned to ride home by the usual route through Tombstone, but he wanted to do some sightseeing and avoid the direct sunlight. Two hours later I was home—tired, hungry, and sweaty. It had been a good weekend. I found that my tort-reform manuscript had been published in today’s Arizona Republic, and also that I received four copies of The NALS [National Association of Legal Secretaries] Docket yesterday. The latter contains the first of my series of articles on writing. What a pleasant way to end a physical weekend, with intellectual satisfaction! I love seeing my name, and ideas, in print.

Here are some biking statistics: (1) I’ve ridden 2102.2 miles in 1986. A year ago on this date I had ridden only 892.8 miles. What a difference! (2) I’ve ridden thirty-nine consecutive weeks, or three-quarters of a year. (3) I’ve ridden 6154.2 miles overall, 2534.2 of them in the past calendar year [sic; should be simply “year”]. (4) September was my fourth-best month ever, in terms of mileage. I rode 310.6 miles this month, missing by only eight-tenths of a mile the June 1986 mark. I averaged 10.35 miles per day this month. The two best months of all time were August 1982, when I rode 826.1 miles, and July 1984, when I rode 347.2 miles. Both occurred during long bike trips.

As for my car, I drove 257 miles this weekend. My gas mileage went up considerably, to 13.18 miles per gallon. For over a year it has been in the tens and elevens. I was pleased with the car’s performance. It never sputtered and did everything that I asked of it. Even Bisbee’s mountains didn’t affect it. The high temperature in Willcox today was eighty-three degrees [Fahrenheit]. It was eighty-seven in Tucson. I called Mom this evening to let her know that I made it home safely. I’ll tell her more about the trip in my next letter. I also called David to make sure that he had arrived home safely. He did. So we made the best of an unexpected situation. We did what Americans are so famous for doing: improvising. Next time I take a long bike ride, I’ll be sure to have a spare tube, a patch kit, and a better tire pump. We were lucky this time. Things could have been much more difficult.

To the Editor:

Re “The Fine Art of Declassification” (editorial, Sept. 27):

It’s amazing that the media and the political left now accept as gospel the opinion of American intelligence agencies regarding cause and effect in the war in Iraq.

After our intelligence agencies got it wrong on weapons of mass destruction, we were told that they were profoundly dysfunctional and that their opinions and assessments would be suspect for years to come.

That is, unless their assessments are useful to attack the Bush administration with. Then they’re spot on.

If the war in Iraq has served as a recruitment tool for terrorists, that’s normal. The same thing happens in all wars. When the battle is joined, recruitment and manufacture of armaments go up before eventually declining.

Mark R. Godburn
Sheffield, Mass., Sept. 27, 2006

It was bound to happen, given how the teams have been playing. The Minnesota Twins caught the Detroit Tigers this evening. The Tigers lost to the Toronto Blue Jays, 8-6. The Twins beat the Kansas City Royals, 2-1 (in 10 innings). The teams are tied at 95-64. Each has three home games yet to play, the Twins against the defending World Series champion Chicago White Sox (I hope that jinxes them) and the Tigers against the lowly Kansas City Royals, who today lost their 100th game of the season. It's going to be a great weekend. Wouldn't it have been fitting for the Tigers and Twins to play each other this weekend, with the divisional title at stake? Of course, the loser doesn't go home empty-handed. Both teams will go to the playoffs. But there's more than pride at stake. The winner plays the Oakland Athletics with home-field advantage. The loser plays the New York Yankees without home-field advantage. Go Tigers!

If this doesn't blow your mind, nothing will. Here is another piece by the incomparable Michael Hedges, whose life was cut short in a car accident a few years ago. As sad as I am that he died, I am happy that he lived.

Addendum: If you want something heavier this evening, click here or here.

This is hysterical—in both senses of the term.

Here.

Professor Fouad Ajami of Johns Hopkins University argues against withdrawal of United States military forces from Iraq.

Minister, n. An agent of a higher power with a lower responsibility. In diplomacy an officer sent into a foreign country as the visible embodiment of his sovereign's hostility. His principal qualification is a degree of plausible inveracity next below that of an ambassador.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Here.

Good news, bad news. The bad news is that my beloved Detroit Tigers lost this evening, which gives them a record of 95-63. The good news is that the Minnesota Twins lost as well, which gives them a record of 94-64. The Tigers' magic number is four. If the Tigers win two of their remaining four games, the Twins will have to win three of their remaining four games to tie. If the Tigers win three of their remaining four games, the Twins will have to win all four of their remaining games to tie. I expect the Chicago White Sox to play the Twins tough this weekend. My Tigers host the Kansas City Royals, who have the worst record (59-99) in Major League Baseball.

Read this New York Times story about Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Terrell Owens. What's going on? This Etheredge person is spinning like crazy.

9-27-86 As I say, I’m writing this after the fact (2 October 1986). But my memory is still fresh, so I’ll recount the events of the day as if I had done so that evening. I met David [Cortner] at his apartment [in Tucson] at 6:15 A.M. He was waiting there with hot coffee. We put both bikes in my car [a 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass] and left town with two vehicles. The destination: Cochise, in the southeast corner of the state. I had never been there before. The ride was much longer than I expected, but most of it was by freeway, and besides, I had good music playing on my [Sony] Walkman. I listened to Genesis, Three Sides Live [I now have this 1982 album on compact disc], while following that streaking blue [Pontiac] Trans Am over the desert landscape. David promised to stay within sixty miles per hour, but a few times we exceeded that speed. My car ran well, considering that I rarely drive over forty-five miles per hour with it.

At Cochise, David parked his car at a gravel turnoff area and got into my car. The plan was for me to drive to Bisbee, then for the two of us to ride our bikes to Cochise, and then for David to drive us and our bikes back to Bisbee, whence we would return home. Everything went as planned. We arrived in the mining town of Bisbee at ten o’clock, parked my car in a public lot, and set out on the bikes. The weather could not have been better. It was warm (the high temperature in Bisbee that day was seventy-six degrees [Fahrenheit]), sunny, and nonhumid. Since Bisbee sits atop a mile-high mountain, the first few miles were easy. David led the way. We coasted and pedalled [sic; should be “pedaled”] our way out of town, then headed northward. As for my impression of Bisbee, I was astonished to see houses built on the side of steep hills. It reminded me of Deadwood, South Dakota. David and I decided to spend some time in Bisbee on our return trip.

We realized pretty quickly that both the wind and the terrain would be “with” us for most of the day, so our mood was good and our optimism high. David would lead the way for a few miles, then I would pull up behind him and pass, and then David would spurt ahead. He’s a fast starter, but he wears down much more quickly than I do. Sometimes we rode together and talked about philosophy and the locale. Within a couple of hours we had arrived in Elfrida, a small farming community. That’s where we ate breakfast. (Actually, I had eaten a breakfast of pancakes before I left my apartment, but I was hungry again.) David had a chef’s salad and iced tea, while I ate pancakes, fried potatoes, toast, fried eggs, and coffee. What a delicious repast! And it was cheap. Both David and I enjoy these small, homey restaurants. After buying a few items at the neighboring grocery store and refilling our water bottles, we continued on our way.

The next few miles were great. We must have averaged about eighteen miles per hour from Elfrida to the intersection of Highways 666 [not a good sign] and 181. While the ground on which we rode was flat, we could see tall mountains in the distance on either side. Both of us knew that the Chiricahua National Monument would be somewhere in the mountains to the right, but we also knew that the road to it was not impassable. We resolved to conserve energy for the ascent. Then, in late afternoon, the unexpected happened. David got a flat tire. I was waiting for him at the bottom of a large hill when he coasted slowly down and told me what had happened. My mood changed instantly. Not only were we five miles or so from the campsite, with darkness imminent, but we had an entire day’s worth of riding to do. We were about equidistant between the two cars. I began considering scenarios. Here’s what we decided. I would ride ahead and secure a campsite, if possible. David would continue walking his bike. Then we would try to patch the tube, for neither of us had brought a spare. David, moreover, had no tire pump, and mine doesn’t work well. [We were idiots.] I set off in a flash, determined to make the best of a bad situation.

The ride to the monument and campsite was winding and hilly, but I made it there in short order and cruised through the campground looking for an open space. What if we can’t find a site? I wondered. But on the second circuit, just as I was getting desperate, a man asked if [sic; should be “whether”] I needed a campsite. “Yes,” I stammered. “There’s the last one,” he said, pointing. Sure enough, there was one campsite left. It was hidden from view. I quickly parked the bike and pitched my two-person tent. Then I asked the man if [sic] he’d watch it for a few minutes while I helped my friend, who, I explained, had a flat tire up the road. He agreed. I was still upset by this chain of events, but things were working out well. David was only 1.8 miles from the campsite when I met him. We walked the remaining distance together, arriving in the dark. David had brought a good flashlight, so we were able to unpack our gear, eat sandwiches and bananas, and discuss the backup plan. If nothing else, we would get to do some camping. That was an important part of our original plan.

All told, I rode 80.3 miles today. David rode seventy-three. The additional miles came when I rode back and forth between David and the campsite, and also when I rode a mile and a half away from David just to hit eighty for the day. I would never think of stopping at seventy-seven miles, for it’s rare that I get the chance to hit eighty. I’m a statistics fanatic, like David. In any event, our plan has been revised as follows. In the morning, after riding to Massai Point, I’ll head for David’s car on the original route. David will remain in camp for the day, waiting for me to return with his car. When I do, we’ll load up the gear and head for my car in Bisbee. It’s a multi-stage enterprise. But there’s no hurry, and I’ll end up riding the same route as originally planned. It’s just that David won’t be with me. Before we crawled into the tent to sleep, we saw several skunks and a raccoon browsing around our site. I hadn’t seen a raccoon in years. During the night we could hear them sniffing around the edge of our tent.

Rafael Palmeiro. (For an explanation of this feature, see here.)

How well are American colleges and universities teaching American constitutional and political history? See here for Pete du Pont's depressing answer.

27 September 2006, 4:05 P.M. Dr [William L.] Rowe: You probably don’t remember me. I wrote to you more than 20 years ago about Anselm’s ontological argument, which I was teaching in my Introduction to Philosophy course at the University of Arizona. I was a graduate student at the time. Now I’m a professor. I’ve been teaching Anselm’s argument for more than 20 years. I’ve even contributed to the literature. See Keith Burgess-Jackson, “Anselm, Gaunilo, and Lost Island,” Philosophy & Theology 8 (spring 1994): 243-9. I’m afraid I’m still not persuaded by your claim that Anselm begs the question. I see that you continue to say as much in the fourth edition of your textbook Philosophy of Religion: An Introduction (Belmont, CA: Thomson Higher Education, 2007). Allow me to try to dissuade you from believing this.

Suppose Jones makes an argument of the following form:

1. If p, then q.
2. p.
Therefore,
3. q.

Smith replies that the argument is question-begging. When Jones asks why, Smith says, “If I concede 2, then, if I also concede 1, I will be conceding 3. But your burden is to establish 3. You can’t assume it!”

I take it you agree with me that Smith is confused. In order for Jones to beg the question, there must be a single premise (or something less than all the premises) that entails or presupposes the conclusion. Premise 2 alone doesn’t entail 3. It entails 3 only in conjunction with 1. On Smith’s understanding of begging the question, every valid deductive argument is question-begging, for (by definition) the premises of a valid deductive argument entail its conclusion.

With all due respect, I think you’re making the same mistake Smith makes in your criticism of Anselm’s argument. Let me reconstruct Anselm’s argument. Anselm says (in effect) that the following four propositions are inconsistent:

1. For all objects x, if x exists only in the understanding and x might have existed in reality, then x might have been greater than x is.

2. God exists only in the understanding.

3. God might have existed in reality.

4. God is the object than which no greater is possible.

The truth of any three of these propositions entails the falsity of the fourth. Everybody, therefore, must reject at least one of the propositions. Because Anselm accepts 1, 3, and 4, he rejects 2. That is to say, he rejects 2 on the basis of his acceptance of 1, 3, and 4. His ontological argument can be understood as saying that anyone who accepts 1, 3, and 4 must reject 2.

You reply that premise 3 of Anselm’s argument (i.e., proposition 3) begs the question: “In granting that Anselm’s God is a possible thing, we are in fact granting that Anselm’s God actually exists” (page 51). But wait. Proposition 3 alone doesn’t entail the falsity of 2. Only the conjunction of 1, 3, and 4 entails the falsity of 2. Just as Smith could not complain that conceding both 1 and 2 forces him to concede 3, you cannot complain that conceding 1, 3, and 4 forces you to reject 2. But that’s precisely what you do! On page 50, you write:

Therefore, given (1) Anselm’s concept of God, (2) his principle that existence is a great-making quality, and (3) the premise that God, as conceived by Anselm, is a possible thing, it really does follow that Anselm’s God actually exists.

Your “1” corresponds to my 4. Your “2” corresponds to my 1. Your “3” corresponds to my 3. Your “Anselm’s God actually exists” corresponds to the denial of my 2. So you’re saying that accepting 1, 3, and 4 commits one to rejecting 2. That’s precisely Anselm’s argument! How can he be begging the question? He begs the question only if proposition 3 alone entails the falsity of 2. But you haven’t shown that. All you’ve shown is that proposition 3, when conjoined with 1 and 4, entails the falsity of 2. On your understanding of begging the question, all valid deductive arguments are question-begging. Now that’s a reductio ad absurdum!

Thanks for your time. I have taken the liberty of posting this letter on my blog (AnalPhilosopher). If you wish, I will post your reply (if any) on the blog, so that my readers can decide for themselves who is right.

Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D.
Associate Professor of Philosophy
Department of Philosophy and Humanities
The University of Texas at Arlington

Here.

To the Editor:

In “Closing of a Nation” (column, Sept. 24), David Brooks makes a cogent argument for the connection between insecurity and xenophobia in Iraq, with its many disastrous consequences.

The lesson for our own country is, unfortunately, likely to be lost on supporters of the Bush administration, which encourages us to be perpetually frightened of a faceless and incomprehensible enemy.

In this environment of fear, is it really so surprising that the principles of religious, racial and intellectual tolerance, along with respect for due process of law, are viewed by some neocons as liberal anachronisms we can no longer afford?

When practiced, those very principles have been this country’s greatest strength. Franklin D. Roosevelt was right about what we need to fear.

Brian Keith
Haverford, Pa., Sept. 24, 2006

Note from AnalPhilosopher: The newest leftist platitude is that President Bush is scaring people. Isn't it just as likely that leftists are afraid, don't like it, and blame President Bush for it?

Meerschaum, n. (Literally, seafoam, and by many erroneously supposed to be made of it.) A fine white clay, which for convenience in coloring it brown is made into tobacco pipes and smoked by the workmen engaged in that industry. The purpose of coloring it has not been disclosed by the manufacturers.

There was a youth (you've heard before,
This woful tale, may be),
Who bought a meerschaum pipe and swore
That colour it would be!

He shut himself from the world away,
Nor any soul he saw.
He smoked by night, he smoked by day,
As hard as he could draw.

His dog died moaning in the wrath
Of winds that blew aloof;
The weeds were in the gravel path,
The owl was on the roof.

"He's gone afar, he'll come no more,"
The neighbors sadly say.
And so they batter in the door
To take his goods away.

Dead, pipe in mouth, the youngster lay,
Nut-brown in face and limb.
"That pipe's a lovely white," they say,
"But it has colored him!"

The moral there's small need to sing—
'Tis plain as day to you:
Don't play your game on any thing
That is a gamester too.
Martin Bulstrode.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Bob Hessen sent a paper version of this essay, which I read this morning and just found online. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I enjoyed it not because I hate England, but in spite of my love of England.

Here.

In a sense, the Lewis and Clark expedition began on 31 August 1803, when Meriwether Lewis penned his first journal entry—on the day he departed from Pittsburgh in his newly built keelboat. If this is so, then the expedition ended today (i.e., on 26 September 1806), when William Clark wrote his final journal entry. See here. I hope you enjoyed reading my occasional posts about the expedition. For the record, I just completed my third real-time reading of the journals. I began the first reading on 31 August 1993, which was 190 years after the fact. This reading ended on 26 September 1996. I began a second reading less than a year later, on 31 August 1997, which was 194 years after the fact. This reading ended on 26 September 2000. With the bicentennial of the expedition approaching in the summer of 2003, I decided to conduct a third real-time reading, which began on 31 August 2003. This one—my bicentennial reading—ended today. Thus, I have spent more than nine years of my life—roughly 18% of it—with Lewis and Clark. The first two readings were of Gary Moulton's new edition of the journals, published by the University of Nebraska Press. The third reading was of the narrative written by Nicholas Biddle and edited many decades later by Elliott Coues. I don't rule out another real-time reading, but it will be many years from now. (Perhaps by then I'll have children with whom to share my love and knowledge of the expedition.) I've acquired a great deal of secondary literature on the expedition over the years. To paraphrase William Clark, it's time to "commence reading."

The American League Central Division pennant race has me a nervous wreck. Tonight I get two games on television: the Houston Astros against the Pittsburgh Pirates (the Astros are chasing the St Louis Cardinals, who are faltering) and, later, the Texas Rangers against the Los Angeles Angels. I have to follow my beloved Detroit Tigers from afar, by watching the scoreboard on ESPN's website. Check this out. First, go here. Find the Tiger game. Click "GameCast." Keep your eye on it and watch it change. It's the next best thing to watching the game on television or listening to it on the radio.

Addendum: We've come a long way from the transistor radio, haven't we? I grew up in rural Michigan, about 100 miles north of Detroit. There were many nights in which I fell asleep with my transistor radio near my pillow, listening to Ernie Harwell call the Tiger game. I can still hear his voice in my mind's ear.

Addendum 2: Doesn't "Los Angeles" mean the angels? If so, then "Los Angeles Angels" is pleonastic. It means the angels of the angels. Sometimes I wish I could shut philosophy off. Do you think Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) ever shut it off?

Addendum 3: The Minnesota Twins began the day one game behind Detroit. Each team has six games remaining, counting today's games, and all of them are at home. If the Tigers can take two of three games from both Toronto and Kansas City, which is well within the realm of possibility, the Twins would have to win five of six to tie, and that'll be hard. I might add that, as of this morning, the Tigers and the New York Yankees were tied for the best record in the American League. I don't want to be greedy, but it would be nice if the Tigers, who had the best record in Major League Baseball for most of the season, finished ahead of the Yankees. (Sorry, Tom.) That would give them home-field advantage throughout the American League playoffs. But first things first: The Tigers need to win the division.

Addendum 4: The Tigers beat the Blue Jays, 4-3. The Twins beat the Royals, 3-2. Can you say "tense"? The Tigers continue to lead by one game, with five games remaining for each team. The magic number for the Tigers is five. Any combination of Detroit victories and Minnesota losses adding up to five gives the Tigers the divisional title.

Congratulations to Ally Eskin, who recently married. See here. I met Ally in the blogosphere.

Happy birthday, Peg! Are you 40 yet?

If this isn't the best album ever made, then I'm a monkey's uncle.

To the Editor:

I am dismayed that so many young women hold a dim view of all-women’s colleges. These colleges are not shelters from men. Many are part of a larger consortium that includes coed schools. Any student can register for a course at another campus, so interaction with men is inevitable.

There are women who play down their intellectual aptitude in a mixed environment. This was a concern for women of my generation. The logic of going to an all-women’s college to overcome this type of self-censure made sense to us.

To this generation of young women, this logic sounds paternalistic. But it’s unfortunate that they feel they have no need to attend an all-women’s school.

All-women’s colleges need to promote themselves as institutions where women should want to attend, not need to.

Maria Chavez
Athens, Ohio, Sept. 21, 2006

Here.

Manes, n. The immortal parts of dead Greeks and Romans. They were in a state of dull discomfort until the bodies from which they had exhaled were buried and burned; and they seem not to have been particularly happy afterward.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Roger Scruton is a brave man. By taking on Noam Chomsky, he incurs the wrath of Chomskyan sycophants such as Brian Leiter, who are so gripped by ideology and so consumed by hatred as to be oblivious to truth, fairness, honor, and decency. I hereby predict that Leiter will abuse Scruton—not because Scruton is wrong, but because Scruton has exposed an ugly truth about Leiter's idol. (This is how sycophants operate: They demonstrate their worth by attacking those who criticize the revered. It's why I've been attacked by Leiter's sycophants. They're fellating him, in the hope that he will [1] take notice and [2] reward them.) Since I no longer read Leiter's blog, which is little more than the ravings of a lunatic, someone please inform me if this is the case.

Here.

Here is a review of the latest book by Richard Dawkins.

Moral norms are shaped for us, with all our limitations. There are no moral norms outside the boundary set by our capacities. Ethics, particularly the ethics studied in modern universities, strikes me as often too ambitious. It usually fails to operate with a realistic conception of human agency.

(James Griffin, Value Judgement: Improving Our Ethical Beliefs [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996], 100)

9-25-86 . . . The surprising Houston Astros clinched the National League Western Division title this evening, and with style! Astro pitcher Mike Scott, who has pitched well all year, threw a no-hitter at the San Francisco Giants in the Houston Astrodome. It is the first time that a title of any kind has been clinched with a no-hitter. Now the Astros must prepare to face the New York Mets in the playoffs. Both teams have excellent pitching staffs, but Houston’s is hotter right now. It should be a good series. I have nothing against either team.

Lewis and Clark are the toast of St Louis. Today's events included dinner and a ball, held at Christy's Tavern. Someone recorded the toasts, which are interesting. See here.

Here is John Fund's column about Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney, who is my choice for president in 2008. Romney is going to be a formidable candidate. He is intelligent, articulate, experienced, photogenic, charismatic, and, most importantly, right about most things.

To the Editor:

Paul Krugman has it right—a single-payer system is the only way out of our health care nightmare. Everyone knows that except the American public.

The real question is: How has the right managed to convince Americans of so much that is demonstrably not true?

Why do we believe in unregulated markets, when over and over again, from Enron to airlines to automakers to health care, the free market has failed to provide the products and services we really need?

We will not fix our health care system, or anything else, until the American voter starts paying attention to reality.

David Berman
New York, Sept. 22, 2006

Here.

Macrobian, n. One forgotten of the gods and living to a great age. History is abundantly supplied with examples, from Methuselah to Old Parr, but some notable instances of longevity are less well known. A Calabrian peasant named Coloni, born in 1753, lived so long that he had what he considered a glimpse of the dawn of universal peace. Scanavius relates that he knew an archbishop who was so old that he could remember a time when he did not deserve hanging. In 1566 a linen draper of Bristol, England, declared that he had lived five hundred years, and that in all that time he had never told a lie. There are instances of longevity (macrobiosis) in our own country. Senator Chauncey Depew is old enough to know better. The editor of The American, a newspaper in New York City, has a memory that goes back to the time when he was a rascal, but not to the fact. The President of the United States was born so long ago that many of the friends of his youth have risen to high political and military preferment without the assistance of personal merit. The verses following were written by a macrobian:

When I was young the world was fair
And amiable and sunny.
A brightness was in all the air,
In all the waters, honey.
The jokes were fine and funny,
The statesmen honest in their views,
And in their lives, as well,
And when you heard a bit of news
'Twas true enough to tell.
Men were not ranting, shouting, reeking,
Nor women "generally speaking."

The Summer then was long indeed:
It lasted one whole season!
The sparkling Winter gave no heed
When ordered by Unreason
To bring the early peas on.
Now, where the dickens is the sense
In calling that a year
Which does no more than just commence
Before the end is near?
When I was young the year extended
From month to month until it ended.

I know not why the world has changed
To something dark and dreary,
And everything is now arranged
To make a fellow weary.
The Weather Man—I fear he
Has much to do with it, for, sure,
The air is not the same:
It chokes you when it is impure,
When pure it makes you lame.
With windows closed you are asthmatic;
Open, neuralgic or sciatic.

Well, I suppose this new régime
Of dun degeneration
Seems eviler than it would seem
To a better observation,
And has for compensation
Some blessings in a deep disguise
Which mortal sight has failed
To pierce, although to angels' eyes
They're visibly unveiled.
If Age is such a boon, good land!
He's costumed by a master hand!
Venable Strigg.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Here.

What would you do on the day after returning from two years in the wilderness? See here for William Clark's journal entry, in which he describes his and Meriwether Lewis's activities.

Glory hallelujah! My beloved Detroit Tigers have clinched a playoff spot for the first time since 1987. See here. I'm 49 now; I was 30 then. A generation of children has been born since the Tigers went to the playoffs. The team's work is not done, though. There's a division title to be won and the best record in the American League to be had. Obviously, I want the Tigers to go as far as they can; but I don't want the Tigers to reach the World Series without winning it. I'd rather not make it to the World Series than make it and lose.

To the Editor:

I agree with Frank Rich’s assertion that the Bush administration is afraid to ask Americans for more sacrifices, but I would go one step further.

Specifically, if we need more troops in Iraq and even Afghanistan, it would make sense to reinstate the draft.

After all, the president has said on many occasions that this is a fight to the death and that America’s safety is at stake.

But the simple answer is that a draft would be a kind of referendum on the war. People would vote with their feet and not go. President Bush’s war policy would be rejected, and street demonstrations would force his popularity down into the single digits.

Jim Calio
Marina del Rey, Calif., Sept. 17, 2006

Here.

Lord, n. In American society, an English tourist above the state of a costermonger, as, Lord 'Aberdasher, Lord Hartisan and so forth. The traveling Briton of lesser degree is addressed as "Sir," as, Sir 'Arry Donkiboi, of 'Amstead 'Eath. The word "Lord" is sometimes used, also, as a title of the Supreme Being; but this is thought to be rather flattery than true reverence.

Miss Sallie Ann Splurge, of her own accord,
Wedded a wandering English lord—
Wedded and took him to dwell with her "paw,"
A parent who throve by the practice of Draw.
Lord Cadde I don't hesitate here to declare
Unworthy the father-in-legal care
Of that elderly sport, notwithstanding the truth
That Cadde had renounced all the follies of youth;
For, sad to relate, he'd arrived at the stage
Of existence that's marked by the vices of age.
Among them, cupidity caused him to urge
Repeated demands on the pocket of Splurge,
Till, wrecked in his fortune, that gentleman saw
Inadequate aid in the practice of Draw,
And took, as a means of augmenting his pelf,
To the business of being a lord himself.
His neat-fitting garments he wilfully shed
And sacked himself strangely in checks instead;
Denuded his chin, but retained at each ear
A whisker that looked like a blasted career.
He painted his neck an incarnadine hue
Each morning and varnished it all that he knew.
The moony monocular set in his eye
Appeared to be scanning the Sweet Bye-and-Bye.
His head was enroofed with a billycock hat,
And his low-necked shoes were aduncous and flat.
In speech he eschewed his American ways,
Denying his nose to the use of his A's
And dulling their edge till the delicate sense
Of a babe at their temper could take no offence.
His H's—'twas most inexpressibly sweet,
The patter they made as they fell at his feet!
Re-outfitted thus, Mr. Splurge without fear
Began as Lord Splurge his recouping career.
Alas, the Divinity shaping his end
Entertained other views and decided to send
His lordship in horror, despair and dismay
From the land of the nobleman's natural prey.
For, smit with his Old World ways, Lady Cadde
Fell—suffering Cæsar!—in love with her dad!
G.J.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

What a day! This morning I did a 5K race in the historic Fort Worth Stockyards. I got home at ten o’clock, and by noon I was on the campus of my university, picking up my friend Wendell Hawkins and his daughter Holly to attend a baseball game at the Ballpark in Arlington. I’m glad I raced today instead of yesterday, when it was hot and humid. A cold front moved in yesterday afternoon, and it was gloriously cool and dry when I got up this morning. Perfect running weather (except for a marathon, where it needs to be cooler). I had a great time at the race: before, during, and after. The course went out on a horse trail, then followed the Trinity River for a mile or so. At a mile and a half we turned around and came back, which meant we finished on the horse trail, which, not to be too delicate about it, was littered with horse droppings. We ran over a rough wooden bridge, which felt funny. I felt like I was in the Old West.

My goal was to run hard. If you have the goal of winning trophies or medals, you’ll be frustrated, because whether that happens depends on who shows up, and that’s not something you can control. The Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex contains several fast men in my age group (45-49), as well as quite a few who are not fast. When there are only three trophies or medals available, I’m far from assured of winning one. Today I lucked out. One of the men in my age group worked the race instead of participating in it. Another, unbeknownst to me, had moved into the 50-54 age group. A couple of others must have taken the day off or gone to another race. I ended up with second place. Here (on the right) is my newest trophy (click to enlarge):

That’s two trophies in two races this fall. All the running (and suffering) this summer is paying off. Twenty days ago, when I did the Fort Worth Labor Day 5K, my mile pace was 6:53.55. Today, despite a tougher course (small hills and a brisk wind on the return), my pace was 6:45.97 (elapsed time = 21:01.35). I did the first mile in 6:37 and the second in 6:51. I did the final 1.107 miles at a 6:49.53 pace. This is my fastest run at any distance since 7 December 2002. It’s my fastest run at 3.1 miles or more since 1 December 2001. When my body told me (in 2003) not to run marathons any longer, I didn’t despair. I just shifted my focus to shorter distances. I expect to get faster as the air cools and my fitness improves. I think I can break the 20-minute mark this fall or winter. That’ll be my next goal. I’ve now won awards in 37 of the 110 races I’ve entered.

I had fun at the baseball game, even though my adopted Texas Rangers lost, 11-6, to the Cleveland Indians. It was the final home game of the season for the Rangers, who are 78-78 on the year. The club drew 2.3 million fans this season, which is down some 140,000 from a year ago. It’s not my fault! I attended three games this season, which is about the norm in recent years. Seven-year old Holly had fun. Hawk and I kept her busy eating. Among other things, she had blue cotton candy. Yuck! Only a kid could even think of eating such a thing—and I noticed that Holly ate only half of it. Here is a picture of Hawk and Holly after the game (click to enlarge):

It’s been a busy and enjoyable day, even though my allergies have been terrible. Tomorrow I do a longer, more leisurely run. I hope you had a great weekend.

Here.

Here is the lecture that got Pope Benedict XVI into trouble.

It is difficult to imagine anyone who could have brought more good out of the Civil War—a war that took more American lives than all the rest of the nation’s wars combined—than Abraham Lincoln. He continued in the White House the unique combination of moral commitment and pragmatic instinct that had taken him there in the first place. Judgment is everything in politics, and Lincoln’s political judgment was superb.

His view of the war evolved with events. At the outset, the war’s purpose had simply to do with preservation of the Union, the necessity, in Lincoln’s words, “of proving that popular government is not an absurdity.” Lincoln and the Republicans held firm against slavery’s extension, but they had no intention of extirpating it where it existed. It was secession they held unacceptable, not the South’s peculiar institution. Lincoln, of course, hoped and believed that over time slavery would die of its own weight, but in the secession crisis of 1861—where his immediate priority was maintaining the loyalty of the border slave states—he was willing to offer constitutional guarantees that slavery would end only at the will of the slave states themselves. The war, he insisted early on, is “for a great national object, and the Negro has nothing to do with it.”

He changed his mind as the conflict developed. When what he had hoped would be a short war turned into a long one, he came to see that slave labor gave the South a significant logistical advantage. He also recognized that those in the North most committed to prosecution of the war were those committed to slavery’s demise. Thus his gradual development of an emancipation policy—first as an adjunct to the war effort, eventually as a war end in itself—that finally culminated in the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment. Along the way, Lincoln skillfully read and adroitly led public opinion, even as he maneuvered carefully between the conservative Republicans and war Democrats committed to the Union but leery of emancipation and the radical Republicans for whom commitment to the Union required an end to slavery.

(James Nuechterlein, “Lincoln Both Great and Good,” First Things [August/September 2006]: 36-41, at 40)

The Corps of Discovery has reached St Louis. What a joyous occasion this must have been! Imagine the feeling of relief and triumph Lewis and Clark and their enlisted men had. They must have felt as though they had gone to the moon and back. The most amazing thing of all is that, during more than two years in a howling wilderness, with grizzly bears, rattlesnakes, wolves, rampaging bison, deadly hailstorms, blizzards, turbulent waters, dangerous mountain passages, and belligerent, treacherous Indians, only one man—Sergeant Charles Floyd—died, and he probably would have died in a place like Philadelphia, with the best physicians at his disposal. See here for the journal entries of this day.

A cynic questions people's motives. This is anathema to philosophy, which consists in evaluating reasons. If I dismiss your argument on the ground that your motive for making it is suspicious, I commit the ad hominem fallacy, and in particular that version of it known as poisoning the well. Just as poisoning a well renders all the water in it unfit for use, imputing bad motives to a person calls everything he or she says into question. But people are not arguments. The argument I make and my motives for making it are distinct. Poorly motivated people can make good arguments. Well motivated people can make bad arguments. The job of the philosopher, as such, is to focus on the arguments, not on the motives. (This is why Brian Leiter lacks philosophical aptitude. He systematically conflates arguers and arguments, motives and reasons. He is a professional cynic.)

Read this. The editorial board of the New York Times fails to grapple with the arguments for dividing the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. The Times merely asserts, without adducing either evidence or argument, that the Ninth Circuit's workload is tolerable. Instead of addressing the arguments of those who think otherwise, the Times questions their motives, calling them conservative ideologues. How convenient! Reconstructing and evaluating arguments is hard, painstaking work. Imputing bad motives to those with whom one disagrees is easy—and disgraceful.

Here is Mark Oppenheimer's essay "Where Have All the Intellectuals Gone?"

Here is the latest on Floyd Landis.

Here.

To the Editor:

Your disturbing article “When Is Thin Too Thin?” (Thursday Styles, Sept. 21) left me with the question: What do designers (and the linked model agencies) think they are doing?

You quoted a beauty editor noting the audible gasps in the audience as these emaciated young women came out—gasps not, as one would think, designers wanted, for the stunning outfits, but shock at the spectral figures walking down the runway.

Do designers want to turn people off their clothes, as they seem to be doing by demanding extreme thinness? Are these models, said to be from broken homes, poor nations and barely speaking English, being abused by the agencies and designers?

Does no one care about the impact on young girls already overanxious about weight? London and Madrid are taking notice: Shouldn’t the United States?

E. Ann Kaplan
Stony Brook, N.Y., Sept. 21, 2006

Here, for those of you who haven't seen it, is the website of Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary. Here is the Prairie Blog.

Lock-and-key, n. The distinguishing device of civilization and enlightenment.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

It’s needles-and-pins time for fans of the Minnesota Twins and Detroit Tigers. As of this morning, the Tigers are 92-62. The Twins are 90-63. The Chicago White Sox—the defending World Series champions—are all but out of it at 85-69. If the Tigers split their remaining eight games, they’ll finish 96-66. The Twins would have to go 6-3 to tie. If the Tigers go 5-3, the Twins would have to go 7-2. If the Tigers go 6-2, the Twins would have to go 8-1. I’d rather be ahead by a game than behind by a game at this point in the season, especially when I have no more games with the team chasing me. The Tigers have two more games in Kansas City (against the Royals) before finishing the season with six home games (against the Toronto Blue Jays and the Royals). I’m optimistic, but not confident, that the Tigers will hold on. But even if they don’t, they’ll secure the wild-card spot and make it to the playoffs. If anyone had told me before the season began that the Tigers would make the playoffs, I would have laughed. I would have been happy with an 81-81 season and a third-place finish (in the five-team division). But now I have higher hopes. Go Tigers!

Addendum: Second baseman Placido Polanco is supposed to return to the Tigers today after taking time off to recuperate from a shoulder injury. Even if he is not at 100%, his presence will energize the team. We now know that he was the player who made the team go for most of the season.

Here is a New York Times story about Noam Chomsky, the crazy uncle in the American attic.

Here is a New York Times story about College Station, Texas, home of Texas A&M University. I taught at A&M during the 1988-1989 academic year. It's where I completed my Ph.D. dissertation. The following year, having accepted a tenure-track position, I began teaching at the University of Texas at Arlington, where I've been ever since. I wish I could comment on the places mentioned in the story, but I didn't own a car during my stay and didn't go anywhere other than to campus. Each Sunday, I rode my bike to Navasota and back, a distance of 50 miles. (Occasionally I went in a different direction.) I took the shuttle bus back and forth to campus, which I got to know pretty well. I attended a football game (the Hurricane Bowl against Alabama) and the bonfire. To buy groceries, I walked a couple of miles to the nearest store and called a cab when I was done shopping. The cab driver helped me put the bags in the back seat. Strange but true. By the way, my students at A&M were excellent. They were also friendly and self-effacing. Most of the Aggie jokes I know were told to me by Aggies. I have nothing but fond memories of College Station.

The Corps of Discovery is almost to St Louis. See here. The men spent the night in the homes of citizens of St Charles, which must have been a treat after sleeping on the ground for more than two years. I assume they had baths and a nice dinner—at a table—of meat, potatoes, bread, vegetables, dessert, and milk (or tea). Today the Corps reached Fort Bellefontaine, which had been built since their departure from Camp Dubois in May 1804. What a joy (and a shock) it must have been to return to civilization! Tomorrow the Corps reaches St Louis. Stay tuned.

Here is Peggy Noonan's latest column.

Here.

To the Editor:

Re “Iran’s Leader Relishes 2nd Chance to Make Waves” (front page, Sept. 21) and “Iran Who? Venezuela Takes the Lead in a Battle of Anti-U.S. Sound Bites” (news article, Sept. 21):

I was appalled to read about the insults heaped on President Bush by the leaders of Iran and Venezuela. Even if I do not completely agree with many of President Bush’s policies, he does after all represent us Americans on the world stage and deserves some dignity and respect.

While it is perfectly acceptable to state one’s disagreements with another’s policies, it is not acceptable to heap such vile personal attacks on them.

What really saddens me is how we got here. I feel that it has less to do with the policies of President Bush and more to do with the world’s extreme dependence on oil.

America really needs to lead the way in finding alternate sources of energy so that bullies like President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran and President Hugo Chávez of Venezuela will no longer be offered a place at world forums to practice their politics of hate, which distract from the real issues their peoples and countries face.

Shankar Ramaswamy
Chapel Hill, N.C., Sept. 21, 2006

Here.

I'd like to wish my fellow Northern Hemisphereans a happy autumnal equinox. For the Southern Hemisphereans, such as my friend John Ray in Australia, happy vernal equinox. According to this site (if I read it correctly), the equinox occurs at 11:02 this evening, Fort Worth time.

See here for the latest harebrained idea. There may be reasons to abolish the electoral college, but there are better reasons to retain it.

Linen, n. "A kind of cloth the making of which, when made of hemp, entails a great waste of hemp." —Calcraft the Hangman.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

See here.

See here for Bill Vallicella's latest post at The Conservative Philosopher.

The Corps of Discovery is two days from St Louis. Today the party reached St Charles, the townspeople of which showed great hospitality to the men who have been away from civilization for more than two years. Here are the journal entries.

To the Editor:

You quote President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran as asking at the United Nations, “If the governments of the United States or the United Kingdom, who are permanent members of the Security Council, commit aggression, occupation and violation of international law, which of the organs of the U.N. can take them to account?” (front page, Sept. 20).

This from a man who has fostered savage terrorism by supplying arms and money to Hamas and Hezbollah.

This from a man who denied the slaughter of six million Jews in the Holocaust. This from a man who said Israel should be wiped off the map.

This from a man who would like the world to believe that Iran is interested only in peaceful nuclear energy even though oil and gas reserves in his country have been estimated to last for the next several hundred years. What chutzpah!

Paul Schoenbaum
Williamsburg, Va., Sept. 20, 2006

Knight, n.

Once a warrior gentle of birth,
Then a person of civic worth,
Now a fellow to move our mirth.
Warrior, person, and fellow—no more:
We must knight our dogs to get any lower.
Brave Knights Kennelers then shall be,
Noble Knights of the Golden Flea,
Knights of the Order of St. Steboy,
Knights of St. Gorge and Sir Knights Jawy.
God speed the day when this knighting fad
Shall go to the dogs and the dogs go mad.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

Here.

The other day, by accident, I discovered that Ronnie Montrose's 1986 album Territory has been released in compact-disc format. I've owned the cassette version of this album for 20 years, but haven't listened to it in many years, since the sound quality is poor. (Once you go compact, you can't go back.) I must have searched for this album on compact disc 100 times over the years. Without batting an eye, I ordered it. A day later, I got to wondering whether other hard-to-find albums are available. Sure enough, I found the debut album of 1994, which was released in 1978. I had this album on eight-track tape and loved it dearly. Since I haven't listened to an eight-track tape in 20 years, I haven't listened to this album in 20 years. But I remember it well. I've long considered it one of the albums that I must acquire on compact disc.

While I was at it, I ordered two albums by King's X (Out of the Silent Planet [1988] and Gretchen Goes to Nebraska [1989], the former of which contains the stunning song "King") and Yes's Tormato (1978), which has been expanded and remastered. I'm in seventh heaven this afternoon. I'm 21 again. My study is rocking.

Addendum: Pay no attention to the "review" of Territory. It's a magnificent album. Just to show you what an idiot the reviewer is, the song "Love You To" (written by George Harrison) is listed correctly on the cassette tape and on the liner of the CD, which contains an image from the original album. Unfortunately, the song came out as "Love to You" on the back cover of the CD. In other words, it's a typographical error. Yes, that's sloppy, but it has nothing to do with artistic integrity or with the quality of the music. I don't pay attention to reviews of music. Do you? If I like a song, no criticism of it is going to make me dislike it. If I don't like a song, no praise of it by a critic is going to make me like it.