Kellan Head is a Ph.D. student at Syracuse University. His interests are largely metaethical: Kellan’s research primarily examines normativity and the nature of value, especially in the epistemic realm. He is also interested in theories of well-being.
What is your favorite book of all time?
Nightwood by Djuna Barnes. It’s a fairly short novel published in 1936. Its most remarkable feature is its beautifully florid—but not cloying—prose. For my money, Barnes’s writing style is simply the best there is. Some other High Modernist works can come off as pretentious because of their abstruseness. But while Nightwood might be complex, it’s not alienating. It’s able to extend its appeal beyond the merely academic and manages to be authentically captivating.
What also resonates with me is the immense tenderness Nightwood is able to express, a tenderness I have not seen other authors come close to successfully embodying in their work. Barnes’s characters, purportedly based on herself and her real-life acquaintances, are exceptionally vivid, and it’s the sympathy that she has for them which is so engaging. The characters radiate with such incredible depth, and while reading you can almost feel them existing as real, genuine, emotional beings beyond and undefined by any context of time, place, or situation. They’re real people, just as confused or frustrated or exuberant or love-drunk as we are. But what stands out most is the fact that Barnes refuses to impart any judgment on them. Whatever flaws a character might have don’t come back to haunt them like they would in some hoary morality tale. Like other modernist works, Nightwood tackles various existential themes, but despite its consistently dark tone it is able to do so with an insightful, even warm, human sensitivity. Totally recommended.
What are you working on right now?
I’m putting the final touches on a paper that argues against moral encroachment in epistemology. Moral encroachment theorists claim that moral considerations regarding a belief/belief state can encroach upon the epistemic and can directly affect the belief’s epistemic justificatory status. I argue this is false and claim that the epistemic and the moral are in fact separate, distinct normative realms. I point to cases in which it seems that an agent is sacrificing an epistemic good in favor of a moral good. If moral encroachment were true, agents could not engage in such a sacrifice.
I’m also writing a paper that examines alienation problems for judgment subjectivist theories of well-being. Judgment subjectivism says that our doxastic attitudes (judgments) establish our welfare goods: x is a good that positively contributes to our well-being iff we have the belief that x is good for us. But I’m unconvinced. We can often find ourselves holding beliefs that don’t reflect ‘who we really are’ especially since our beliefs are typically at the mercy of whatever our evidence happens to be. In short: it’s possible to believe that some x is good for us even when we are effectively alienated from x, and nothing alien could actually be good for us (according to the core tenets of subjectivism).
Ultimately, my dissertation will examine the nature of epistemic value. I claim that there are (at least) two distinct kinds of epistemic value—value derived from veracity and truth, and another type of value (that still is wholly epistemic) which has to do with coherence and intelligibility. The second sort of value is the one achieved when we experience the ‘making sense of’ phenomenon when we grasp a body of knowledge and understand it.
If you could only use one condiment for the rest of your life, which condiment would you pick and why?
Mustard, all kinds. But my favorite in particular is cheap, bright yellow, plastic-bottle mustard. It’s so piquant and lively. Since I was a very small person, my go-to quick snack has been a mustard sandwich—two (or, when I’m feeling ambitious, three) pieces of plain bread stuck together with goopy yellow mustard. Amazing.
What excites you about philosophy?
I am excited by the standard exciting things about philosophy: gaining clarity of thought, acquiring more knowledge, spending time thinking about important topics, etc. But one thing that I’ve noticed doesn’t get mentioned often in this conversation is philosophy’s ability to forge connections between individuals and communities. There’s something profoundly empathetic about holding and working with the same thoughts as others, or about (aiming at) understanding them and their subjective experiences. I think it’s difficult to do this when we’re uninterested in inquiring past our own subjective and immediate worlds, or when we’re not willing to abide by the demands of rationality. Philosophy can at least aim to stretch across the crevices that separate us from each other.
And here when I talk about doing philosophy, I don’t mean doing strictly academic philosophy. I just mean questioning assumptions, engaging in dialogue with other people, fostering a love for learning new things, and holding your own thinking and reasoning processes to certain standards.
What’s your poison? (Favorite drink.)
I could wax Dionysian talking about wine for hours, so instead I’ll just focus on cocktails. My favorite is the Negroni. An equal measure of just three ingredients: gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth. What is exceptional about the Negroni is that it is, as far as I’m concerned, a perfect example of a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. Somehow, the unforgiving bitterness of Campari can harmonize with the spicy warmth of gin, and the sweet vermouth adds a comfortable dried-fruit base that calms everything down just enough to make an incredibly complete and refreshing drink. The balance of the three components is a delicate one that’s difficult to replicate, so I am particularly impressed by slight variations on the Negroni that are still able to effectively do the Negroni thing.
Runner-up would be what’s called a Scotch Violets. This time, four ingredients: moderately smokey Scotch, a fair amount of crème de violette, honey syrup, and lemon juice. The proportions will differ based on the strength of the honey syrup and type of Scotch used. I highly recommend this.
This section of the APA Blog is designed to get to know our fellow philosophers a little better. We’re including profiles of APA members that spotlight what captures their interest not only inside the office, but also outside of it. We’d love for you to be a part of it, so please contact us via the interview nomination form here to nominate yourself or a friend.
Dr. Sabrina D. MisirHiralall is an editor at the Blog of the APA who currently teaches philosophy, religion, and education courses solely online for Montclair State University, Three Rivers Community College, and St. John’s University.
