Frances Howard-Snyder

Some philosophers have argued that value and modality might be such that even God, an omnipotent being, could be forced into a tragic dilemma where every available choice is wrong, and hence fail to be morally perfect. The short story, “Time of Trial,” imagines a young man, Seth, who, through no fault of his own, is forced into an intolerably difficult moral situation. If tragic choices imply that moral perfection is impossible, then Seth must act wrongly and lose his moral integrity. If not, then perhaps God can be the morally best possible being (perfect) even in such a universe.

This paper explores the problem of how it can be rational and morally required to do things like vote and eat a vegetarian diet where it is very unlikely that one’s action will produce any benefit, and exceedingly likely that it will involve some (at least mild) cost (wasted time, displeasure, or discomfort). The author discusses three responses to this puzzle, Alvin Goldman’s, Carolina Sartorio’s, and Derek Parfit’s, and concludes that it can be rational and moral to do these things if there is even a small chance that one’s action will make a difference. If this is true it may be necessary to rethink what it means for something to be “gratuitous,” and in particular how gratuitous evils are thought about in the context of the argument from evil against theism.

This chapter defines hypocrisy as moral inconsistency where the subject does x, while making some verbal or behavioral expression of the claim that x is wrong. It considers purported counterexamples and argues that the original definition survives most of these, although it may need a little tinkering. The second half deals with the concern that moral realism has a difficult time explaining why hypocrisy is so objectionable, while constructivist moral theories can more easily explain this. In response the author argues that, even if realism is true, the hypocrite is guilty of the special vice of knowingly doing what is wrong. Either she is acting wrongly or she is wrongly condemning or blaming others or placing unnecessary burdens on them. This is true even (or maybe especially) in cases where it isn't clear what the right action is. If we think of hypocrisy as a vice (rather than a wrong action) this seems to illuminate its special sort of badness.

Infallibilism is the view that a belief cannot be at once warranted and false. In this essay we assess three nonpartisan arguments for infallibilism, arguments that do not depend on a prior commitment to some substantive theory of warrant. Three premises, one from each argument, are most significant: (1) if a belief can be at once warranted and false, then the Gettier Problem cannot be solved; (2) if a belief can be at once warranted and false, then its warrant can be transferred to an accidentally true belief: (3) if a belief can be at once warranted and false, then it can be warranted and accidentally true. We argue that each of these is either false or no more plausible than its denial. Along the way, we offer a solution to the Gettier Problem that is compatible with fallibilism.

Fiction writers often write with the goal of changing minds about the real world. To do this, they often write to convince us that x causes y in the actual world. To do this, they need to convince us that x causes y in the fictional world and that what is true in the fictional world can be exported to the actual world. To see this, I consider realistic works of fiction, PersuasionPersuasion and The Bluest EyeThe Bluest Eye, and several works of speculative fiction. I conclude by arguing that, in both sorts of fiction, writers and readers rely on what I call “counterfactual thinking,” which will be the subject of the next chapter.

In this chapter, I discuss the causal impacts of setting or environment on characters and events in stories. To do this, I explore six short stories that show a range of these effects: the way harsh physical environments limit characters’ actions; the way harsh social environments impact characters; the effects of moving between two very different environments; the ways speculative fiction might allow unrealistic settings to impact characters; the ways physical environment and weather may affect characters’ moods and, indirectly, their actions; and lastly, what to say about a story that has virtually no setting at all.

In this chapter, I explore the nature of causationcausation in light of several philosophical theories: Hume’s regularity theory, NecessitarianismNecessitarianism, counterfactual accounts, the transfer of energy account, and a few others. I point out that the exact nature of causation is difficult or impossible to pin down, particularly in a short chapter, but note that we can glean some desiderata for an adequate theory of causation from this discussion. Next, I turn to the nature of causation in fiction, and argue that the preceding discussion sheds some helpful light on what to look for or aim at in causation in fiction.

In this chapter, I consider the idea of stories as hypotheticals, that is, as complicated counterfactuals. I discuss David Lewis’ account of truth in fiction which argues that we treat fictional narratives as counterfactuals. I consider an extension or variation of Lewis’ view that can explain some of our experience of reading and writing fiction. At the end, I note the intimate relation between counterfactuals and causation. If fiction is tightly connected to counterfactuals and counterfactuals are closely connected to causation, then fiction and causation are linked. In the last section of the chapter, I consider evolutionary explanations for why we engage with fiction and whether this can partly explain the importance of causation within fiction.

This chapter introduces the topic of the book: causationcausationcausation within, or according to, stories, and my intention to explore and defend George SaundersGeorge Saunders’ claim that the successful deployment of such causation makes fiction better. In addition, this chapter tries to make sense of the notion of literary merit. If no stories are better than any others, there is no point writing about what makes stories better. I explore several different accounts of literary merit and argue that some of these are false, and the ones that remain provide a sensible basis for exploring the question of whether and how and why causation makes fiction better.

This book explores and defends George Saunders’ causal thesis that successful stories are those that establish causation well. The book includes an in-depth discussion of causation’s role in several different key craft elements of fiction writing and examines different theories of causation and their implications for causation in fiction. Other discussions include the role of causation in building suspense, character and causation, causation in dialogue and connections between fiction and counterfactuals (or hypotheticals). The book also considers a number of objections to the causal thesis and offers a reply.

Agnes's brakes fail. Should she continue straight into the busy intersection or should she swerve into the field? Add to the story, what Agnes does not and cannot know, that continuing into the intersection will cause no harm, whereas swerving into the apparently empty field will cause a death. I evaluate arguments for the claim that she should enter the intersection, i.e. for objectivism about right and wrong; and arguments for the claim that she should swerve, i.e. for subjectivism about right and wrong, and conclude that subjectivism is more plausible. I also consider the view that ‘ought’ and ‘wrong’ are systematically ambiguous, that she subjectively ought to swerve and that she objectively ought to enter the intersection. I argue that most versions of this suggestion are unworkable, and that even the best version is less plausible than pure subjectivism.

What kind of love does the commandment "Love your neighbor as yourself" enjoin? On the basis of textual and analogical evidence, I argue that in enjoins love not unlike the natural loves we have for our family and lovers. If this is right, we can use our experience of those loves as models for how we should feel and act towards other human beings. I argue that the love this commandment advocates is emotional love, rather than practical love. I respond to a number of objections to this, and in the process, present some support for the view that we ought to love our neighbors. ;This leads to the question: "If the love commanded by the commandment is psychological love, what does it have to say about how I should act? And if it has nothing to say about action, isn't it a pretty poor sort of morality?" I argue that, since love involves desires for the well-being of the beloved, one couldn't genuinely love without pursuing that well-being. I concede, however, that it cannot provide a complete guide to action: there are many morally significant choice situations where it would not tell us what to do because it doesn't say what people's interests consist in. The commandment needs to be supplemented with some other moral facts. An objector might complain that these extra facts do all the work, that the commandment is a mere moral tautology, "Try to do what is right by others." This is a false impression. The commandment entails several controversial moral claims. ;The rest of the dissertation discusses the more interesting of these, and tries to argue that where the commandment entails a controversial ethical position, it is correct in doing so. For example, in chapter 4, I argue that it would not attach moral significance to the distinction between killing and letting die. In chapter 5, I argue that it would allow very little room for supererogation. These two conclusions raise the question of whether it is equivalent to utilitarianism. This is not the case. There are several respects in which the commandment is inconsistent with utilitarianism. Among other differences, I point to the fact that the commandment rejects claims which are central to the very essence of consequentialism. I argue that the commandment includes agent-centered restrictions and agent-centered prerogatives

The fact that our asking God to do something can make a difference to what he does underwrites the point of petitionary prayer. Here, however, a puzzle arises: Either doing what we ask is the best God can do or it is not. If it is, then our asking won’t make any difference to whether he does it. If it is not, then our asking won’t make any difference to whether he does it. So, our asking won’t make any difference to whether God does it. Our asking is therefore pointless. In this paper, we try to solve this puzzle without denying either that God must do the best he can or that petitioning God can make a difference to what he does