Kyle York

Vegans face a problem, at least if they base their arguments upon principles against causing harm. As Donald Bruckner (2020) has pointed out, these same principles risk ruling out a great many other practices – even eating dessert. Eating dessert risks being impermissible because of the crop deaths associated with agricultural practices, especially the use of insecticides and rodenticides. I suggest that the extent to which this problem emerges depends on the exact principle vegans appeal to. Under some principles against causing harm, the problem indeed stands. I suggest that the vegan has a couple of options for escaping this problem. She might appeal to a principle that doesn’t have such implications. Alternatively, she might simply bite the bullet and accept that morality really is much more demanding here than we might have thought. I’ll give some reasons why biting this bullet isn’t as bad an option as one might suppose.

When Link approaches a random Bokoblin camp, fully armed, it does not seem that unreasonable for them to attack him. Monsters are the sort of creature that forms beliefs about things, desires that things go a certain way, has preferences, wants their life to go well, and would be opposed to being harmed. These basic facts are enough to establish that Link has prima facie reasons not to kill monsters. Sometimes, unsurprisingly, Link has very good reasons to kill monsters, reasons that outweigh his reasons not to kill them. And because the Zelda series is at its heart a role-playing game, it would make sense for some of the obstacles to be set up by the sort of character that we are playing as. Link is a good guy. He wants to save Hyrule, but in some ways, he is a bit of a monster himself.

Trophy hunting is probably bad. Timothy Hsiao (2020), however, thinks that it isn’t bad. This is because he thinks that animals lack moral status. Other philosophers have tried to argue against the theoretical grounds upon which Hsiao denies moral status to animals. I suggest that Hsiao’s arguments for trophy hunting should be rejected simply because they have extremely unintuitive implications. They imply that it would be fine to play ‘panda-ball,’ a variation of baseball where players use panda cubs as bases and balls, or even to blow up planets full of panda cubs just for the fun of it. As I suggest, these implications alone give us sufficient grounds to reject Hsiao’s arguments.

Existential happiness is happiness that one has a basic life at all. Having a basic life, as I understand it, involves being the subject of experiences and being an agent in some minimal sense. As I argue, existential happiness is a fitting response to having a basic life. To make this argument, I look at two possible accounts of the fittingness of existential happiness: the value of a basic life and attachment to the constitutive elements of one’s life. I also consider a few possible sources of existential happiness, including encounters with death, counterfactual thinking, and hedonically positive feelings of awe directed toward one’s own consciousness.

Many philosophers and Effective Altruist researchers have argued that the overall welfare of wild fish is negative. Since there are more fish than any other kind of wild vertebrate on earth (even when taken together), the view that suffering is predominate among wild fish is a key part of their larger suggestion that the overall welfare of wild vertebrates is negative, a view I’ll call ‘wildlife pessimism.’ Correspondingly, undermining the wildlife pessimist’s view might largely be accomplished simply by taking a closer look at their arguments concerning fish. Focusing on fish alone will allow for a greater depth of empirical analysis than has hitherto been possible in the wildlife welfare debate, which usually features attempts to discuss all wild animals at once. As I will show, wildlife optimism is at least as likely as wildlife pessimism. That is, it seems just as plausible that wild fish have a welfare level that is neutral or positive overall.

The cosmic perspective (or view sub specie aeternitatis) is associated with concerns about the meaning of life, our significance in the universe, and the universe’s indifference. I suggest that there is another important and common, albeit tacit, concern related to the cosmic view. Adopting the cosmic view can justifiably bring about a sense of disconnection from one’s life. Moreover, many of the explicit concerns we have regarding the cosmic view are issues that have a rational bearing upon this sense of disconnection. As I argue, issues concerning our normative reasons (viewed from the cosmic perspective), our cosmic significance, and the universe’s vastness and indifference all warrant a sense of disconnectedness from our lives. At least, such disconnection is warranted for the duration of our attentive engagement with the cosmic view. But in small enough doses, this can be a good thing. The cosmic view and the sense of disconnection it brings about can foster experiences of awe. Awe, in turn, can promote a greater feeling of connection to the world around us and make us, as Bertrand Russell (1935/1973) would put it, less ‘trivial’ and ‘arrogant.’

My aim is to propose a better way to understand moral demandingness: a counterfactual view that requires us to consider the demands that moral theories make across other possible worlds. Seemingly, the demandingness of any moral theory or principle should be evaluated in terms of that theory’s general demandingness. This, in turn, implies that we ought to be concerned about the possible demandingness of moral theories and not just about how demanding they actually are. This counterfactual view might also have some surprising implications about how demanding commonsense morality really is. After all, commonsense morality might be extremely demanding in many possible worlds. This consideration, in turn, risks undermining the commonsense moral theorist's ability to make purely cost-based demandingness objections against consequentialism, giving us strong reasons to worry about the purely cost-based demandingness objection’s viability in general.

Wittgenstein’s statement that “if a lion could talk, we would not understand him” seems to be in contradiction with his general understanding of how language works. Some scholars, such as Gary Levvis, have sought to explain Wittgenstein’s point by emphasizing certain features of animals that may prevent us from understanding them. Levvis (1992, 160) suggests that, "If Wittgenstein’s view is correct, then the assignment of rights to animals becomes tricky. I would suggest that before an individual can be assigned rights it is necessary for that individual to be understood.” But in a more traditional reading of Wittgenstein, I focus instead on our practices of attributing meaning to animals' ostensively communicative behavior. In particular, I look at whether we allow expressions of pain to coordinate with our own actions. In cases like this, we sometimes forcefully exclude animals from our communicative practices. The fur industry is an extreme case of this. While furriers might register a fox’s growls, they do not allow foxes to express pain or a desire for freedom. Respecting the moral status of such animals would simultaneously include them in our communicative practices regarding, for example, responses to requests for help, personal space, or basic freedom.

Recent work by philosophers such as Harry Chalmers and Hallie Liberto has called into question the moral permissibility of monogamy. In this article, I defend monogamy on a number of grounds, including practical reasons and reasons relating to commitment, specialness, and jealousy. I also attempt to reframe the debate about monogamy as not just relating to the permissibility of restricting one’s partner but as equally about one’s freedom to leave a relationship. Finally, I make a case against Liberto’s claim that monogamous agreements are over-extensive.

For me, belief is not an all-or-nothing thing—believe or disbelieve, accept or reject. Instead, I have degrees of belief, a subjective probability distribution over different possible ways the world could be. This means I am constantly changing my mind about all sorts of things, as I reflect or gain more evidence. While I don’t always think explicitly in terms of probabilities, I often do so when I give careful consideration to some matter. And when I reflect on my own cognitive processes, I must acknowledge the graduated nature of my beliefs.

It is normal to think that philosophers’ first dedication is to the truth. Publishers and writers consider ideas and papers according to criteria such as originality, eloquence, interestingness, soundness, and plausibility. I suggest that moral consequence should play a greater role in our choices to publish when serious harm is at stake. One’s credence in a particular idea should be weighed against the potential consequences of the publication of one’s ideas both if one turns out to be right and if one turns out to be wrong. This activist approach to philosophical writing combines moral concern with epistemic humility.

Harry Chalmers argues that monogamy involves restricting one’s partner’s access to goods in a morally troubling way that is analogous to an agreement between partners to have no additional friends. Chalmers finds the traditional defenses of monogamy wanting, since they would also justify a friendship-restricting agreement. I show why three traditional defenses of monogamy hold up quite well and why they don’t, for the most part, also justify friendship-restricting agreements. In many cases, monogamy can be justified on grounds of practicality, specialness, or jealousy.