The APA blog is working with Cliff Sosis of What is it Like to Be a Philosopher? in publishing advance excerpts from Cliff’s long-form interviews with philosophers.
The following is an edited excerpt from the forthcoming interview with Alastair Norcross which will be released in full next week.
So, when exactly did you decide you wanted to do philosophy for a living?
I was a pretty bad student as an undergrad. Most of my time was spent acting in plays (I acted in 18 plays in 5 years at Oxford), drinking, smoking, partying, being a bit involved in politics, doing a bit of student journalism. The Oxford system, with all the weight being placed on exams at the end, allowed for that to happen. When I really started concentrating on studying for my upcoming finals, I discovered a deep interest in philosophy. I had enjoyed the philosophy part of my Greats more than the literature part (though I liked that too), but I never thought that I would want to pursue it further, until I gave it the kind of attention that I should have given it earlier. After I graduated, and surprised myself by getting a respectable, but by no means spectacular, class of degree, I decided to apply to graduate school. When I asked Julia Annas for advice, she advised me to apply to the US, because there were far more opportunities than in the UK, and there was a lot more funding. My degree would have qualified me for a postgrad grant in the UK, but it would certainly not have guaranteed me acceptance to the programs I was looking at. When I looked into graduate work in the US, I discovered that there were lots of universities there, and not just Harvard and Yale. This sounds incredible now, but I had actually not heard of any US universities beyond those two. I took the GRE, and scored in the 99th percentile in two areas and the 94th in the third. That was the only reason why Syracuse offered me acceptance and funding (Jonathan Bennett later told me that it was the GRE scores that convinced them to take a chance on me). I’m sure my recommendation letters were, justifiably, fairly weak, and my writing sample was something I threw together over a weekend.
I had been working as a private tutor in Oxford the fall after I graduated, and didn’t get around to applying to graduate school until early in the new year. I was surprised to discover that I’d missed the deadline for application for a lot of programs (the deadlines for international students were often earlier than for US students). Syracuse just happened to be one of the few that had late enough deadlines for me to apply. I think I applied to a total of four programs, and was rejected from the other three. I didn’t know anything about Syracuse, but when I mentioned it to Julia Annas, she said that Jonathan Bennett was there, and that he would be a good person to study with.
She was right on both counts.
What did you want out of your experience at Syracuse?
I went to Syracuse to pursue a Ph.D in philosophy, but I just wanted to study philosophy some more. I really hadn’t given any thought to what I would do with an advanced degree in philosophy. It was when I saw some of the more advanced students in the Syracuse program applying for, and even getting, jobs teaching philosophy in universities that it dawned on me that I was on the same trajectory. Before that, I was just in the program to study philosophy. I know that no-one thinks like that anymore, but this was before the internet and all the professionalization of graduate students. It was very rare back then for graduate students to go to conferences, or to publish papers. The first conference I went to was the Creighton Club, which took place within an hour’s drive of Syracuse every year, on the shores of a beautiful lake. I gave comments on a paper, and then, the next year, gave a paper there myself. But that was only a year before I graduated. I didn’t go to a national conference, until I was interviewing for jobs at the Eastern APA.
Was moving to the states a culture shock?
A bit, but not nearly as much as the culture shock eight years later of moving from Syracuse to Dallas. Upstate New York is far more similar to England than it is to Texas! It was the practical things that took the most getting used to. Cars on the wrong side of the road, paper money all the same size, some words that meant different things on different sides of the Atlantic.
So, what was trending philosophically at Syracuse? What was your dissertation on? How did your philosophical views evolve in grad school?
Metaphysics and Epistemology (including the epistemological issues in Philosophy of Religion) were big when I was there. Because of Peter van Inwagen, pretty much all the grad students were incompatibilists about free will and determinism. They split between the hard determinists, who were mostly the atheists, and the libertarians (about free will), who were the theists. Any attempt to defend compatibilism at one of the many grad student parties was met by howls of derision from both sides of the theological divide. Since escaping that echo chamber, I have become a compatibilist (I probably was all along, but didn’t dare state the view). See the final chapter of my forthcoming book for an explanation. Van Inwagen (known to the grad students as “PvI”) also had a big influence with his views on ontology. Successive graduate students, starting with Mark Heller (who left Syracuse weeks before I arrived, but was subsequently my colleague at SMU for ten years), and continuing through Michael Patton and Eric Olson, wrote as their dissertations better versions of PvI’s Material Beings. There was also a lot of work on Philosophy of Religion, because of William Alston and, again, PvI. Those of us who worked in Ethics were definitely in the minority, which actually helped when it came time to find a job, because we weren’t competing with so many of our fellow Syracuse graduates.
Grad programs aren’t cults, but they’re not not cults! What was your dissertation on?
My dissertation, under Jonathan Bennett’s supervision, was on moral conflicts. I argued, in particular, that consequentialist theories have no trouble accommodating the existence of choice situations in which a morally good person will feel negative moral emotions, no matter which option they choose. These are importantly different from moral dilemmas, which are situations in which every option is all-things-considered morally forbidden, and which don’t exist (even if scalar utilitarianism is not the correct version of the theory).
How’d your views change in grad school?
In grad school, my philosophical views evolved from an attraction to rule utilitarianism to an acceptance of act utilitarianism, and the beginning of my development (at first in collaboration with Frances Howard-Snyder) of the scalar version. In epistemology, I evolved from having pretty much no views to being attracted to some kind of reliabilism (which has since taken a contextualist form). In metaphysics, I became a realist about the external world and a conventionalist about classification (there are objective mind-independent facts about what there is, but how we classify what there is—chairs, tables, organisms, species, pretty much everything—is just a matter of convention, heavily influenced by pragmatic considerations). In philosophy of religion, I realized that there are, in fact, interesting and challenging arguments to grapple with about the existence and nature of putative supernatural entities. I didn’t become any more likely to believe in such entities, but I understood how some smart people could be attracted to them.
Were you still involved in the dramatic arts in Syracuse?
Yes. In fact, I started a theatre group with Philosophy graduate students and friends, called “The Unbound Variables”. We put on Twelfth Night (I’ve acted in Twelfth Night three times, directing one of them), Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Country Wife in successive summers in Syracuse.
Favorite play?
Again, really difficult. It’s between Twelfth Night, Waiting for Godot (I’ve been in Waiting for Godot twice), and Noises Off. I’d love to be in Noises Off. I’m always delighted to go to a production of any of these.
After Hobart, you spent ten years in Texas.
14 (1992-1999, and 2000-2002 in Dallas (1999-2000 in Tucson), 2002-2007 in Houston.
Highlights in Texas?
Shelly Kagan visiting SMU to give an early version of his Geometry of Desert talk, and laughing that the campus was closed because of 1/2 inch of snow (he was coming from Chicago). The Texas State Fair. Giving the beginning of year commencement address at my college at Rice, and doing my imitation of Phil Gramm’s infamous “Ah haaaave mo guns than aaaah neeeud, buuuut less than ah waaaunt” speech to the NRA, and then being told afterwards by the Master of the College that Gramm’s son was in the audience (he was a freshman in Baker College that year). Being asked by Rice students to teach a course on Philosophy and the Simpsons, which I did three times.
Low points in Texas?
Seeing George W. Bush dedicate a library extension at SMU, joking that this was the closest his wife Laura (an SMU grad) had ever been to the library. What a dick. Flooding in Houston. Trillions of mosquitos and cockroaches in Dallas and Houston. Asking an employee at a sub shop next to the SMU campus whether they had any sandwiches without meat, and being told that yes, they had turkey.
So you’re in Colorado now. Biggest differences between Colorado and Texas?
Colorado is higher (in both senses), much more scenic, has more varied weather. Colorado is also, on the whole, a much more progressive state, though there are millions of progressives in Texas (but even more millions of regressives). Colorado, at least the parts I am most familiar with (Boulder and surroundings, Denver, Fort Collins) is much more amenable to outdoor activities, and thus the people tend to be more concerned both with their own health, and that of their environment (these are generalizations, of course).
Not inaccurate, from what I understand! What do you miss about Texas?
My friends.
Favorite parts of Colorado?
Personally, the running community, the theater community, in particular the Rocky Mountain Revels, for whom I’m the stage director and an actor. Getting to meet Olympians and famous ultra-runners, all of whom (the ones I’ve met) are really friendly and interesting people. Drinking good wine and beer, movies, hanging out with friends. In Boulder, we are fortunate to have a summer concert series every year, often including my favorite composers, at a beautiful location. My wife and I get to at least three concerts each summer.
Favorite aspects of CU Boulder, academically?
Professionally, the CU Boulder Philosophy department is a great community of scholars and teachers, from whom I’m constantly learning. The graduate students here are also terrific. I’ve been very lucky to direct a bunch of great dissertations and theses. We have one of the largest undergraduate majors in the country, and I’ve been lucky to teach some great undergrads and direct some really original honors theses.
Research routine nowadays?
I don’t really have a routine. I have so much on my plate at any one time (organizing the Rocky Mountain Ethics Congress, directing a Residential Academic Program here, supervising grad students, teaching all levels, running, theatre, etc.) that I just squeeze in the research when I can. It often comes in clumps. I am somewhat envious of others who have a routine, to which they stick.
If you could give yourself advice when you were younger, what would it be?
Exercise more! Take up running now, rather than wait until you’re nearly fifty. Be more tolerant of undergrads who can’t write well. Don’t expect all philosophers to be left-wing atheists. Don’t take so long to become vegetarian and then vegan.
Why did it take you so long to convert to vegetarianism?
Weakness of will. I have no excuse.
Most serious objection to utilitarianism?
Difficulty of application. I don’t think any of the theoretical objections are serious, in the sense of having any chance of being successful.
Why do people, even thoughtful philosophers, bash on utilitarianism (and Singer)?
It’s psychologically difficult to accept that we’re all pretty bad. Two of the most important features of utilitarianism (and most other versions of consequentialism) are the radical equality of moral standing of all sentient creatures (and the associated agent-neutral value theory), and the denial of moral significance to the doing/allowing distinction. The denial of one or both of these allows the privileged among us, which at least includes all academics, to avoid guilt about our neglect and mistreatment of other sentient beings (including other human beings).
I always thought the demandingness objection odd. How do you deal with the casual dismissal of utilitarianism?
I remind myself of the psychological difficulty of facing up to the truth, which I also experience in many aspects of my life.
I like utilitarianism a lot, but sometimes, I think to outsiders, it seems like it is such a straightforward theory, that there is little left to say about it, beyond exploring its application to new cases. Does it ever seem sort of stale to you (even if right)?
No, it never seems stale to me. In fact, every time I teach Mill, I find more to like and admire in his work. My own version of utilitarianism, the scalar view, still seems strange to many utilitarians, so there’s lots still to do. I have a book coming out soon on that (Morality by Degrees: Reasons Without Demands, OUP 2019).
Do you find any trends in philosophy disconcerting?
I’m not sure whether you can call this a trend, because it seems to have been the dominant approach for the last forty years, but the over reliance on intuitions about artificial fanciful cases in both ethics and epistemology is something that I think will be looked back on with the same kind of disdain and amusement as we now look back on the ordinary language philosophy of the early to mid-twentieth century. We all do it, of course, but some of us try to do it mainly as part of our critical engagement with the views of those who rely on such things, and not as providing the main arguments for positive views. Another trend that I am vaguely aware of is that of a small number of philosophers generating a large literature on some obscure, and frankly silly, debate in metaphysics or epistemology, by writing endless replies to each other. This is probably partly the result of university administrators demanding large citation counts in the humanities to match the ridiculous numbers in the sciences. If a paper has a large citation count, almost exclusively as a result of the same small set of friends endlessly citing each other, what does that really tell us about its “impact on the field”?
[interviewer: Cliff Sosis]
This interview has been edited for length. The full interview will be available at What Is It Like to Be A Philosopher?
You can get early access to the interview and help support the project here.
