Randall Dipert

(1951 - 2019)

Almost all discussions of cyberwarfare, other cyber-attacks, and cyber-espionage have focused entirely on the Internet as the chief means of damage – the Internet as a ‘vector,’ using a term from the theory of infectious diseases. However there are a variety of means, some of which have already been used, that involve cyber-exploitation using vectors other than the Internet. Malware can be installed in the integrated circuits of computers and servers, but also in any devices attached to them – thumb drives, CDs, printers, scanners, and so on. One can also use various forms of electromagnetic radiation at a distance of meters or more to exfiltrate data or to infiltrate corrupt data. I call this large and diverse family of unwanted interference with the functioning of information processing systems other-than-Internet (OTI) attacks on information systems. Stuxnet, and probably the 2007 Israeli corruption of Syrian air defenses, were OTI attacks. Such OTI techniques are more difficult to develop than creating malware, requiring electronic manufacturing facilities or novel technologies, and are thus accessible only to larger corporations and technologically sophisticated countries. Particularly vulnerable would be countries (like the United States and Europe) whose information processing devices are mainly produced outside of the country. Once exploitations via the Internet become harder to perpetrate, OTI exploitations are certain to grow dramatically, eventually requiring equipment for critical uses to be expensively fabricated in (and transported using) secure facilities; expensive detection measures will have to be instituted. This will create challenges for policy, law, and ethics, as well as greatly increasing the cost of many electronic devices.

Philosophers have almost always said something about emotions and passions whenever they have discussed human mental life. Many have asserted that it is some emotions or, more broadly, passions, that are to be primarily valued and sought. These valued passionate states of mind might include emotions, moods, desires, belief-like feelings of conviction and commitment, and romantic or erotic love, which are typically scarcely distinguished. Not only are these states of mind lumped together, but the reasons why they are valued may likewise be various: they may be valued because of their intrinsic feeling (especially insofar as they are intense), through their long-term or deep effects on the rest of our practical and mental lives, through their effects on others’ lives, or even in the glimpse they give us of an object that transcends our mundane and superficial concerns, as in love, peak experiences, or intimations of God, Beauty, or Nature. Others have claimed that it is in the subduing or elimination of some or all of these passions that the ideal human life consists. Again, what precisely are the objectionable passions is typically not delineated, and why such mental states are objectionable may be diverse and even unspecified. One might resent their "disruptive" nature on our mental life, especially insofar as some of them stem from external, uncontrollable sources, and instead seek a calm state that is within one’s control and not subject to these whimsical externalities. Or one can see many or all passions as disruptive of control and success in our inner or outer life, or in the lives of others. We might call this latter group the anti-emotional Rationalists, and the former group the pro-emotional Romantics.

One of the most significant discoveries of early twentieth century mathematical logic was a workable definition of ‘ordered pair’ totally within set theory. Norbert Wiener, and independently Casimir Kuratowski, are usually credited with this discovery. A definition of ‘ordered pair’ held the key to the precise formulation of the notions of ‘relation’ and ‘function’ — both of which are probably indispensable for an understanding of the foundations of mathematics. The set-theoretic definition of ‘ordered pair’ thus turned out to be a key victory for logicism, providing one admits set theory is logic. The definition also was instrumental in achieving the appearance of ontological economy — since it seemed only sets were needed — although this feature was emphasized only later.

Few philosophers today know much about Charles Peirce’s metaphysics, although a great many know something about his epistemology, philosophy of science, and logic. Indeed, few Peirce experts have written much on his metaphysics or made it the focus of their research. To an extent, this is understandable. Peirce’s writings were left in a disastrously disorganized state (mostly unpublished), and the crucial papers on metaphysics from his later years have not yet been republished in the first-rate chronological edition, the incomplete Writings of Charles S. Peirce: A Chronological Edition, edited at Indianapolis by my friends. And then there is Peirce’s writing: an awkward, abrasive, arrogant, eclectic style that demands technical knowledge in diverse fields, especially logic, mathematics, and the natural sciences. His worst personality traits manifested themselves in his highly technical metaphysics—with its idiosyncratic, anti-Cantorian conception of continua, a pecularly mathematical phenomenology, and elaborate views on Darwinian and non-Darwinian evolution, for example. Finally, there is what might appear to be the bizarreness of the theory itself, as we shall see. Peirce was a kind of philosophical swashbuckler, a bold, courageous speculator on philosophical questions beyond most of our temperaments even to ponder. Ours is not the philosophical age of Errol Flynn but the minimalist age of Harrison Ford, with no grand gestures or speeches, just a series of small, no-nonsense gestures: we typically like our philosophy short, neat, "science-like," and isolated from other philosophical issues.

Randall R. Dipert argues that, at first glance, Rand's view of representational arts, such as literature and the visual arts, might seem to have little applicability to pure music. Nevertheless, Rand took music without words as a serious art form, and struggled to develop a plausible theory of music. As Torres and Kamhi note in What Art Is, Rand's approach probably contradicted certain elements of her full aesthetic theory. But her theory of music and its relationship to emotions offers some fascinating suggestions that accord with—and in some respects go beyond—the best recent thinking in musical aesthetics.