Month: August 2025

By https://www.marvel.com/articles/movies/sdcc-2019-all-of-the-marvel-studios-news-coming-out-of-hall-h-at-san-diego-comic-con, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=62990603

If you have yet to see the first episode of season one of Disney’s Loki series, this essay contains spoilers. This episode presents some of the metaphysics of the MCU: there are many timelines (alternate realities) and variants of people, such as Loki and Deadpool, exist in some of them.

Loki is, obviously, the main character of Loki. In fact, he is two main characters: the anti-hero Loki and the hero-anti Loki (the villain). Since the metaphysics of the MCU includes time travel, this entails that the same person can be at different places at the same time. They can even fight, as happened with Captain America. While this is a metaphysical mess, this means time travel can be used as a multiplier: a person can time it so different versions of themselves arrive at the same place at the same time. So, for example, Loki could show up to fight an enemy at a set time and arrange for himself to go back or forwards in time ten times and end up with eleven of himself to overwhelm the foe. This, of course, leads to the usual paradoxes and problems of time travel. A future Loki could tell a distant past Loki about things that a middle past Loki did not know, but then the middle past Loki would know it. While this is even more of a mess, the time travelling Lokis could remain there in that time and start their own lives or perhaps travel back to a more distant past over and over to create a vast army of Lokis that meet up at a future time to do whatever it is that his character arc directs him to do.

Such time travel has various other problems. A point often made in time travel tales is the importance of not changing the past. Some sci-fi stories do allow a change in the past to change the future; other stories simply make it so that whatever the time travelers do is what happened anyway. That is, they make no change in the past because what they do is what they did and will always done did (Star Trek IV implies this). The classic grandfather paradox falls into this family of problems: if a person goes back to the past and changes things that impact their ability to go to the past (such as killing their grandfather), then they could not go back to change the past and hence the past would be unchanged and so they could go back to the past. But they could not, because if they made that change then they could not go back. And so on. In fiction, the writers simply write whatever they wish, but this does not address the matter of how this would all “really” work.

There is also the problem of personal identity: in the metaphysics of the MCU variants arise and a new timeline branch could presumably also spawn variants that create additional branches. As there are multiple Lokis in the show, they both spawned off the main timeline. Perhaps one Loki “divided”, or one Loki “split” from the other Loki. Or perhaps there are three (or more) Lokis: there is the Loki who remained on the timeline and was killed by Thanos. There is the Loki who escaped from the Avengers because of their time heist (the anti-hero of the show) and the third Loki who is the villain. Because of time travel, the third Loki might have split from the second Loki in the future. As always, time travel is a mess.

Having multiple Lokis does create the usual problems for personal identity. After all, what provides personal identity is supposed to make a person the person they are, distinct from all other things. As such, it would seem to be something that should not be able to be duplicated. Otherwise, it would not be what makes an entity distinct from all other things. If there are two Lokis in a room, there must be something that makes them two rather than one. There must also be something that makes each of them the Loki they are. But is this true?

One approach is taking inspiration from David Hume’s theory of personal identity.  After he argues a person is a bundle of perceptions, he ends up saying that, “The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion, which is of great importance in the present affair, viz. that all the nice and subtle questions concerning personal identity can never possibly be decided, and are to be regarded rather as grammatical than as philosophical difficulties.” While this might be true, it does not satisfy. But it does provide a way of resolving a room full of Lokis: it’s a matter of grammar.

Another approach is trying to sort out the metaphysics of personal identity in the context of time travel. After all, time travel requires that entities can be multiply located while personal identity would seem to forbid duplication of what individuates. The reason time travel requires multiple location is that something from one time travels to another time and the matter or energy that makes up what travels will also be present when it arrives. So, the same thing will be in two places at the same time; something that is not normally possible. But one could accept the existence of metaphysical entities that allow this.

Yet another approach, and one that seems to match how the timelines were presented in the show, is that a branching creates an entire new reality that is similar but not identical to the first. This would also duplicate the people, perhaps creating them ex nihilo. So, the various Lokis would be similar people, but not the same person.

By Timdwilliamson. Creative Commons.

On a morning run I came across a sign in the park informing me that the city was “helping nature by controlling invasive plants.” This help involves herbicides and machetes as my adopted city of Tallahassee is quite active in addressing invasive species. Laying aside concerns about herbicides; this raises philosophical issues.

On the one hand, the phrase “helping nature” can be dismissed as a rhetorical device. It presents the destruction of invasive species as a benign act and might be intended to offset negative feelings about use of herbicides. As you smell chemicals and feel your skin and mouth itch a bit, you will know that this for the good of nature. On the other hand, it does imply a value position on what helps nature. I’ll look at this notion.

Taken at face value, sign implies invasive species harm nature and thus it is good for us to kill them. But these is the obvious concern that invasive species are also part of nature. For example, feral hogs, Burmese pythons, and Nandina are natural beings and they are, one would assume, not helped by being killed by us.

One way to address the ethical concerns is by using a utilitarian argument: allowing invasive species to thrive will do more harm to the ecosystem and its inhabitants than killing the invaders. As such, killing invasive species is the right thing to do in such cases. This approach would allow for invasive species to be left alone if their presence created more good than harm for the ecosystem. Whatever that might mean.

While this seems reasonable it suffers from an obvious practical challenge of making a rational and informed calculation of what is likely to be best for nature. Humans have generally proven bad at this, so such assessments need to be critically evaluated.

Another counter to the idea that we should “help nature” is that it is natural for species to migrate to new areas. Animals are usually mobile and have spread around the world. Plants have spread far and wide, such as when seeds are transported by birds. If life originated in one or a few locations, this has been going on since the beginning. And it continues to this day; the natural world is not static, and species are constantly on the move.

I am not arguing that this feature of nature is “good” because it has always been (that would be a fallacy). Rather, the point is that species moving is natural and interfering with it does not seem to really “help nature.”

Yet another counter to “helping nature” is to note that the idea of helping nature suggests nature has a purpose, goal, or end that we can assist with. The idea of nature having an end is well known in philosophy, although it is generally rejected these days.

Aristotle famously claimed that all natural beings have ends, thus arguing for a teleological reality. To use a simple example, an acorn has the purpose, goal, or end of becoming an oak tree. If one looks at nature in teleological terms, then we could help nature by assisting it in achieving its purpose. This matter can get complicated if natural being have competing ends (which they usually do), but it could make sense to help or harm nature if one holds to a teleological view. There is also the religious option.

One could embrace a religious view that grounds a teleological view of the natural world. One could accept a goddess of nature and help nature by helping her achieve her ends. Or one could accept the existence of God and help God by assisting the natural world achieve God’s ends. One would just need to sort out what the deity wanted in terms of help. As some might find supernatural things problematic, they could rely on human values.

If we accepted a teleological view of nature, then we can argue that we should deal with the invasive species we introduced by accident or design. These would include creatures such as cane toads, rats, mussels, and various plants. We are accountable for our actions, perhaps even when they are unintentional. One could even argue that what we do is artificial rather than natural, hence we need to undo the unnatural things we have done. Interestingly, this seems to entail we are the most invasive species and we should restore ourselves to our original habitat and return the world to some earlier time of species distribution. Interestingly, this does make this sort of conservation analogous to the conservative world view in politics: a desire to restore the world to some preferred (usually imagined) past. The obvious problem, given all the change, is deciding which time defines the “correct” past state of things. This leads us to human values.

Species tend to be condemned as invasive based on their impact on human beings. For example, we North Americans do not usually label our dogs as an invasive species. This is not because our dogs are original inhabitants of North America, but because we like dogs.  Recently arriving species generally get labeled as invasive when we do not like what they are doing. For example, Floridians generally do not like the non-native species that are overrunning bodies of water in the state. This is because of the impact they have on us. This is analogous to how people look at the migration of other people: people are fine with other people they like coming here. But they get very angry when the people they think should not be here come here. And, of course, they slap negative labels on them and argue for their removal. But let us get back to non-human species.

Since humans matter morally, I think we have the right to consider the impact of species on our well-being. But we should be honest when we do this: we should not claim that we are helping nature, we should acknowledge that we are doing what we think will benefit us.  This is something to be addressed in ethics, sorting out what is right based on the correct moral theory (if there is one).

Being a self-interested human, I agree with some efforts to address species we call invasive. For example, the park near my house is infested with tung trees. These trees were introduced to the United States intentionally to produce tung oil. This industry failed, but the trees spread throughout Florida. I dislike the trees because every part of the tree is poisonous. The leaves can cause a reaction like poison ivy and a single seed can be a fatal dose of poison. I recognize they are as much a part of nature as I am and hence do not argue that they should be removed because they are not native. Rather, I am fine with their removal for the same reason I would be fine with removing broken glass from the park: they are a hazard.

To close, merely being invasive does not warrant the removal or destruction of a species. Otherwise, we would need to be removed or destroyed. Rather, this is a matter for moral (and practical) assessment. Talking about “nature” and labeling species as “invasive” is mostly a matter of rhetoric and we would be better off being honest about what we are doing and why.

As a philosopher, I annoy people in many ways. One is that I almost always qualify the claims I make. This is not to weasel (weakening a claim to protect it from criticism) but because I am aware of my epistemic limitations: as Socrates said, I know that I know nothing. People often prefer claims made with certainty and see expressions of doubt as signs of weakness. Another way I annoy people is by presenting alternatives to my views and providing reasons as to why they might be right. This has a downside of complicating things and can be confusing. Because of these, people often ask me “what do you really believe!?!” I then annoy the person more by noting what I think is probably true but also insisting I can always be wrong. This is for the obvious reason that I can always be wrong. I also annoy people by adjusting my views based on credible changes in available evidence. This really annoys people: one is supposed to stick to one view and adjust the evidence to suit the belief. The origin story of COVID-19 provides an excellent example for discussing this sort of thing.

When COVID first appeared in China, speculation about its origin began and people often combined distinct claims without considering they need not be combined. One set of claims is the origin of COVID. Some claims are that it is either naturally occurring or was engineered in the lab. At this point, the best explanation is that the virus is naturally occurring. But since humans do engineer viruses, it is possible the virus was engineered. The obvious challenge is to provide proof and merely asserting it is not enough. So, at this point my annoying position is that the best evidence is that the virus is naturally occurring, but new evidence could change my position.

Other claims are about the origin of the infection. Some claim it entered the human population through a wet market. Some claim it arrived via some other human-bat interactions. There is also the claim that it originated from a lab. All of these are plausible. We know diseases can originate in markets and spread. We know that labs are run by people and people make mistakes and can be sloppy at work. We know humans interact with animals and disease can spread this way.

Back at the start of the last pandemic, I favored the wet market hypothesis because it seemed  best supported by the available evidence. Diseases do jump from livestock to humans, so this claim was plausible. However, the possibility that the virus leaked from the lab has gained credibility. While there is not yet decisive evidence, this hypothesis is credible enough to warrant serious investigation. I do not have a vested interest in backing any particular hypothesis.

There are also claims about whether it was intentional. Some it was an accident. Some claim the virus was intentionally introduced, and nefarious reasons vary between the hypotheses. Accidents are regular occurrences and things are always going wrong. But people intentionally do evil and have various reasons for doing so, ranging from making money, to getting more power, to seeking revenge, to all the other reasons people do bad things. As it now stands, there is little or no evidence that a malign actor intentionally introduced the virus into the population. But evidence could certainly arise. People have done worse things. The malign actor hypothesis is also an umbrella: one must select specific evildoers as the culprit, though there could be many. As always, evidence is needed to support any claims.

It is important to distinguish between the different claims and to keep in mind that evidence that supports one claim might not support another claim often associated with it.

A common mistake is confusing how conjunctions work with how disjunctions work. In logic, a disjunction is an “or” claim which is true when one or both disjuncts is/are true. For example, if I say that I will bring beer or tequila to the party, then my claim is true unless I show up with neither. Showing up with one or the other or both makes that disjunction true.

In the case of a conjunction, both conjuncts must be true for the statement to be true. So, If I say I will bring hot dogs and buns to the party, then I must show up with both for my claim to be true. While it might seem like an odd and obvious mistake, people can treat a conjunction like a disjunction when they want to claim the conjunction is true. In some cases, people will do this intentionally in bad faith. This has been done in the case of COVID.

As noted above, the lab leak hypothesis for COVID has gained credibility. Because of this, some might conclude the virus was also manufactured. The person could think that because there is reason to believe the virus leaked from a lab, then it is also true that it was manufactured. If it is true that the virus was leaked, then one part of the claim “the virus was manufactured and leaked” would be true, namely that it was manufactured. So, someone might be tempted to take the entire claim as true (or make the claim in bad faith). After all, if it were true that the virus was leaked, then it would be true that it was leaked or it was manufactured. But this would be a matter of logic; it would thus also be true that the virus was leaked, or unicorns exist. As always, it is important to determine which part of a conjunction is supported by the evidence. If both claims are not supported, then you do not have good reason to accept the conjunction as true. The last annoying thing I will look at is the fact that being right does not mean a person was justified.

Suppose tomorrow brings irrefutable proof the virus was leaked from a lab. Those devoted to this claim would probably take this as proof they were right all along. On the one hand, they would be correct: they were right all along, and other people were wrong. But since at least Plato philosophers have distinguished between having a true belief and having justification for this belief. After all, one can be right for bad reasons, such as guessing or from prejudice. For example, a person who likes horror-sci fi might believe the lab leak because they like that narrative. As another example, a racist might accept the lab leak hypothesis because of their prejudices. A nationalist might go with the lab leak because they think China is an inferior country. And so on. But believing on these grounds would not justify the belief; they would have just gotten lucky. As such, their being right would be just a matter of luck—they guessed right based on bad reasons.

One thing people often find confusing about critical thinking and science is that a person can initially be justified in a belief that ultimately turns out false. This is because initial evidence can sometimes warrant belief in claims that are later disproved. In such cases, a person would be wrong but would have all the right reasons to believe. Some of this is because of the problem of induction (with inductive reasoning, the conclusion can always turn out to be false) and some of it is because humans have limited and flawed epistemic abilities.

People who do not understand this will tend to think these good methods are defective because they do not always get the truth immediately and they do not grasp that a person can be reasoning well but still end up being wrong. Such people often embrace methods of belief formation that are incredibly unreliable, such as following authoritarian leaders or unqualified celebrities.  If the evidence does turn out to eventually support these initially unjustified beliefs, they do not seem to get that this is how the process works: false claims, one hopes, eventually get shown to be false and better supported claims replace them. As such, those who rejected the lab hypothesis earlier because of the lack of evidence but are now considering it based on the new evidence are doing things right. They are adjusting based on the evidence. I suspect that some approach belief in claims like they might see belief in religion: you pick one and stick with it and if you luck out, then you win. But that is not how rational belief formation works.

What, then, about someone who believed in the lab hypothesis early on and was rational about it? Well, to the degree they had good evidence for their claim, then they deserve credit. However, if they believed without adequate justification, then their being correct was a matter of chance and not the result of some special clarity of reason. To close, people should keep advancing plausible alternatives as this is an important function in seeking the truth. So those who kept the lab hypothesis going because they rationally considered it a possible explanation do deserve their due credit.

Dice (unloaded) seem a paradigm of chance: when rolling a die, one cannot know the outcome in advance because it is random. For example, if you roll a twenty-sided die, then there is supposed to be an equal chance to get any number. If you roll it 20 times, it would not be surprising if you didn’t roll every number. If you rolled the die 100 times, chance says you would probably roll each number 5 times. But it would not be shocking if this did not occur. But if you rolled a thousand or a million times, then you would expect the results to match the predicted probability  closely because you would expect the law of large numbers to be in effect. 

While dice provide a simple example, the world seems full of chance.  For example, diseases are presented in terms of chance: a person has X% chance of catching the disease and, if it can be fatal, they have a Y% chance of dying. While the method of calculating chance in the context of disease is complicated, the rough process involves determining the number of people in a category who become infected and the number in that group who die. To use a made-up example, if 1 person out of every 100 dies, then the chance of dying from infection would be 1%.

This estimate can be off for many reasons, but one obvious concern is that probability is being estimated based on the outcome. Why this is a problem is illustrated by considering a scenario in which you are given the results of repeated rolling of a die, and you are trying to figure out the type of die being rolled and whether it is weighted. You can, obviously, make some reasonable inferences. For example, if the highest number you are given is a 30, you know the die has at least 30 sides. Matters become more complicated if you are not sure that a die is really being rolled. Perhaps you have been given numbers generated by some other means. They might, for example, be selected to give the impression of chance. One could, for example, create the impression that they are rolling a 20-sided die by picking the appropriate numbers. A similar sort of thing could occur in the world, and this can be illustrated with the disease example.

Let us imagine two universes. Universe A is a random universe that has random chance and probability (whatever that means). In that world, there would be a metaphysical and metaphorical roll of the dice to determine outcomes arising from chance. For example, a disease that had a 1% fatality rate would work metaphorically like this: each infected person would get a roll with a 100 sided die (a d100 for tabletop gamers) and if they roll a 01, then they die. Thanks to the law of large numbers, if enough people got infected then this would work out to 1 in 100 people dying in this random universe.  Naturally, smaller numbers will not match the 1 in 100 perfectly, but with a large enough number of infections the 1 in 100 will be achieved (oversimplifying things a bit). Now to universe B.

Universe B is not random. It could be a deterministic or pre-determined universe or whatever non-random reality you want. In this universe the disease kills 1 in 100 people, but this is not the result of chance. Out of every 100 infected people, there will be one who will die (this oversimplifies things a bit for the sake of the example). This is not due to chance since this is not (by hypothesis) a random universe. In terms of why it occurs, this will depend on the sort of non-random universe one has picked. For example, perhaps the universe is run by a god who created the 1 in 100 death disease and has sorted out humans into groups of 100 using whatever standard the god has chosen and then selects one to kill with the disease.

From the standpoint of humans, this universe will (probably) appear identical to random universe A. After all, the samples people use will be imperfect and will create the impression that it is not a perfect 1 in 100 every time.  As such, it will seem random. Unless, of course, humans can figure out how the 100 person groups work. One could imagine a short story based on this idea in which scientists find that a disease is always fatal to 1 person out of a group of 100 people and the 100 person groups are divided up by the X factor they find. But if humans do not sort out the grouping, then the non-random universe would seem random because of human ignorance.

We do not, of course, know what sort of universe we live in. Roughly put, this might be a random universe and a 1 in 100 chance is “rolled” with metaphysical metaphorical dice. Or it might be a non-random universe in which a 1 in 100 “chance” means that it is “set” to happen once out of every group of 100. Unless we can identify the groupings and get adequate data, then we will never know what sort of universe we inhabit.

One approach to time travel is to embrace timeline branching: when someone travels in time and changes something (which is inevitable), then a branch grows from the timeline. This, as was discussed in the previous essay, allows a possible solution to the grandfather paradox. But it also gives rise to various problems and questions, such as the need to account for the creation of a new universe for each timeline branch. The fact that these universes are populated also creates a problem, specifically one with personal identity. Since I used the grandfather paradox as the context previously, I will continue to do so.

Suppose that Sally and Ted travel back in time and Sally kills her grandfather Sam. Ted does not murder his grandfather. Assuming the timeline branching solution to the grandfather problem, Sally creates a new timeline branch in which Sam is killed. While Sally does not exist (one assumes) in the new timeline, Ted does. There would be at least two Teds now: one that is in the original timeline and the Ted in the new timeline. In fact, anyone who was alive for the creation of the new timeline would presumably also in the new timeline as the entire population of the universe would be replicated. This raises some obvious questions about how this would work and issues within the context of personal identity. For the sake of simplicity, I will focus on Ted as my example, but this would also apply to anyone who ends up being branched.

To keep it simple, let us suppose that Sally and Ted are the first time travelers, so there have been no time branches. When they travel back, they create the first branch. While Sally will not exist in the new branch (and her act of murder might result in other people not existing or even new people existing), Ted will exist in both. So how would this work?

One option is to take the time splitting metaphor literally: the universe and the people in it are split into two. Think of this as like an amoeba dividing. This does raise the obvious question of whether whatever makes a person the person they are can be split. For example, Leibniz took a person to be a monad, and his monads are metaphysically simple: they cannot be split. But if personal identity rests on something that can be split up, then this would be possible. For example, Hume (sort of) advances a bundle theory of personal identity. On his view, the self is not a simple, indivisible entity. It is a collection or bundle of perceptions. To use a metaphor, just as a bundle of marbles could be divided up, this bundle could also be divided between timelines. This would lead to questions about trans timeline identity: would there be one divided person or two people who arose from a past person? In the case of Ted, there would be one Ted in each timeline, and they might (or might not) be the same person.

Another option is that the people in the new timeline are identical duplicates. This would require that the basis of personal identity be something that can be copied. Locke, for example, makes consciousness (memory) the basis of personal identity and even considers a case in which a person’s consciousness (memory) is duplicated. With a basis of personal identity that can be copied, the problem is solved: each new timeline person is a copy of the original. This also leads to the question of whether they are a trans timeline person or multiple different people who happen to have originated from the same person. One obvious consideration is that the basis of personal identity is supposed to be what makes a person distinct from all other things and this suggests that there should only be one of each person. But this view can be countered by arguing that it is philosophically fine to have multiples of the same person. This could be reined in a bit by limiting it to one person per timeline, the challenge would be justifying and explaining this restriction. On this view, there would be Ted in the original timeline and a Ted copy in the new timeline, who might or might not be the same person.

A third option is that the new timeline is a completely new creation that just resembles the original. The people do exactly resemble each other, but this is analogous to having two unrelated people that happen to look exactly alike: while the appear to be the same, this is not due to any connection between them. This is essentially an alternative reality view in which the reality begins with a timeline branch. While this does have some appeal, if the branch is not connected to the main timeline, then one must explain how it connects to time travel. One way to do this is to take the view that what seems to be time travel just creates an alternative reality and there is, in fact, no travelling. In this case, there would be a new Ted-like person who just happens to be exactly like Ted but has no metaphysical connection to the original Ted.

This matter becomes even more complex is one starts to consider theological and moral matters. For example, if God exists and people are souls that are sent to an appropriate afterlife, then God would need to sort out who is responsible for what. This should be super easy for God, barely an inconvenience. But without God, the ethics become more challenging: if a person is split into two people, which one is accountable for the past deeds? Perhaps they both are, like an amoeba who has split into two. If a new alternative reality is created and all the people are new, they should not be accountable for any past deeds, because they have no past at that moment of creation. Time travel is, of course, an even bigger mess than one would imagine.

The grandfather problem is a classic time travel problem. Oversimplified, the problem is as follows. If time travel is possible, then a person should be able to go back in time and kill their grandfather before they have any children. But if they do, then the killer would never exist and would not be able to go back in time and kill their grandfather. So, their grandfather would not be killed and they would exist and be able to go back in time and kill him. But if they kill him, then they would not exist. And so on. There have been attempts of varying quality to solve this problem and one is to advance the notion of timeline branching. The simple version is that time is like a river and travelling back in time to change things results in the creation of a new branch of the river, flowing onward in a somewhat different direction.

So, imagine that Sally goes back in time to kill her grandfather. She succeeds and thus creates a new timeline in which he dies. Presumably, she returns to her own timeline and finds that her original grandfather was never killed by her. She might keep trying and from her perspective she would kill him over and over, only to return to find that she never succeeds. But with each trip to the past, she creates another new timeline. For those who prefer their time travel murder free, any change a time traveler made would presumably create a new timeline and this would include the smallest change. Time travelers would certainly end up creating new timelines in which they (or, more likely, someone like them) exist and would probably keep traveling in time, thus creating branches off the branches. While having so many branches would seem excessive, there are metaphysical concerns for even having one additional timeline branch.

Each extra timeline branch would seem to require the creation of an entire new universe. But even if it created less than that, there would still be the same concern, albeit on a smaller scale. This concern is the origin of the stuff that makes up the new timeline. One solution is to just allow ex-nihilo creation: the new universe appears out of nothing, mostly duplicating the original with the relevant changes arising from the time travel. Allowing ex-nihilo creation would have implications beyond time travel and is generally considered sketchy metaphysics. It can, of course, be given a divine twist: God or other supernatural beings are kept busy creating new universes in response to time travel. This would also involve some interesting problems but is not any more problematic than having just one universe created by God or other supernatural being(s). As such, if you already accept that God can create a universe out of nothing, then the problem is solved. One could even endorse pantheism: everything is God and God just “creates” new modes “in” Himself that are the new timelines. Pantheism to the rescue.

A second solution is that the basic stuff (prime matter or similar) for new timelines already exists and just needs to be formed by whatever it is that does that sort of thing. The easiest answer is to just use whatever originated the first universe to fill the role of creating the new timelines. While there would be the question of why it keeps doing that, it seems sensible that if it can do it once, it can keep doing it.

In terms of the stuff, perhaps there is a finite amount of stuff and eventually time travel would no longer be possible because no new timelines can be created. But an easy fix is to make a clever appeal to the infinite: if there is infinite stuff, then no matter how much stuff is taken to make a new timeline universe, then there would still be infinite stuff left to keep creating new timelines. Infinity to the rescue once again.

One could also use various clever workarounds. For example, maybe solipsism is true and only I exist, so there would be no need to create new timelines. Or perhaps Descartes got it right and it is just him and the evil demon; the demon can just deceive Descartes about time travel without creating anything. But if the evil demon travels in time and changes things, then the problem would still arise. Or maybe there is actually nothing, no self, no reality and no time travel. In that case, there would also be no problem.

Texas’ power infrastructure collapsed in the face of a winter storm, leaving many Texans in the frigid darkness. Ted Cruz infamously fled Texas in search of warmer climes, ensuring his ongoing success as an ideal Republican politician. You might expect that Texans would have responded to this disaster by addressing the underlying problems. You might, if you did not understand the Republicans of Texas.

During the crisis, the leadership of the state engaged in what seems a standard Republican response to a real crisis: they lied and blamed others. For example, one dishonest talking point was that renewable energy sources were the primary causes of the blackout. This untruth was advanced by Greg Abbott, the Texas Public Policy Foundation, and Dan Crenshaw. While the failure was complicated, the facts are clear. First, while renewable energy is part of Texas’ energy infrastructure, it is not the dominate source. Second, even in the case of renewable energy, the problem was not that the energy sources are renewable. The problem was they were not properly winterized. After all, wind turbines are reliably used in Alaska. As to why they lie, the answer is that it works for the GOP. They know that their base does not care about the truth, is in on the lie, or is unwilling to critically assess their claims. They also know that truth would hurt them; so, lying is a win and the truth is a loss. They have no good reason to tell the truth about the Texas power failure, other than to solve a real problem.

While Texas lawmakers took some action, it seems that they did not do enough to address the problems. This also seems to be a general Republican strategy: do little or nothing to address real problems. Given that the blackout was a disaster for many Texans, there is the question of why the leaders did not seriously address the problem.

One reason might be that they forgot that they made the Kool Aid. That is, they now believe their own narrative about the situation and hence are not taking action to address the real problem because they do not believe in the real problem.

A second reason could be ideological: Republicans profess to be anti-regulation (except when they are regulating what they dislike), small government (except for expanding what they like), pro-free market (except when they do not like the results of the free market), and pro-business (except when businesses do things they dislike). A small-government, pro-business, anti-regulation, and pro-free market approach would be to the situation would be to do little or nothing (except offer tax cuts for and government handouts to businesses). As such, they are acting in accord with their professed ideology. Staying the course will mean that they will sail into another iceberg in the future; but then they can lie about it again.

A third reason is that while some businesses did lose money during the disaster (for example, Vistra is estimated to have lost around $1 billion), many companies profited. Macquarie Group made at least an extra $213 million from the blackout. CFO Roland Burns, of Comstock Resources, provided a clear explanation of how his company did so well in what would seem to be a disaster: he said, “we were able to get super premium prices.” The company was able to get such a great payoff from the disaster that inflicted great suffering that Burns said that the devastation was “like hitting the jackpot.” He did have to apologize for that statement later, since gleefully profiting from large-scale human suffering can be bad for the brand.

While companies that lost money during the disaster do have a financial incentive to act, companies that profited would benefit should the situation occur again. As such, they have a financial incentive to maintain the status quo. When an unprepared Texas is plunged into darkness once more, they will hit the jackpot again. This also exemplifies a key Republican (and mainstream Democrat) value: prioritizing short-term profits of the rich over the basic well-being of millions of citizens. But this has been working very well for them in Texas and hence they have little reason to act; aside from whatever concern they might have for the citizens of Texas. Which they clearly lack.

In the context of the war on “cancel culture” Republicans professes devotion to the First Amendment, freedom of expression and the marketplace of ideas. As noted in earlier essays, they generally frame such battles in disingenuous ways or lie. For example, Republicans raged against the alleged cancellation of Dr. Seuss, but the truth is Dr. Seuss’ estate decided to stop selling six books. As another example, Republicans went into a frenzy when Hasbro renamed their Mr. Potato Head product line to “Potato Head” while keeping Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head. In these cases, the companies were not forced to do anything, and these seemed to be marketing decisions based on changing consumer tastes and values.

While I oppose these made-up battles over free expression, I agree with the Republicans professed principles about free expression and the First Amendment. I believe in a presumption in favor of free expression and hence the burden of proof rests on those who would limit this liberty. I go beyond most Republicans and hold that this liberty should also protect employees from their employers. While the Republicans, as I have argued elsewhere, have advanced bad faith arguments about tech companies and free expression, I think the power of corporations and the wealthy to control and dominate expression needs to be countered by the state. I favor free expression even when I disagree with the expression. That is, obviously, what it means to be for freedom of expression. In contrast, Republicans do not seem to believe in free expression (though there are some individual exceptions). Some clear evidence is that Republicans have been busy passing  laws banning teaching critical race theory in public schools and imposing their ideology on higher education using the coercive power of the state to destroy the free market of ideas.

Critical race theory arose in United States law schools in the 1970s and gradually expanded. It is the view that laws, regulations, and values should be critically examined to determine if they have different impacts on different racial groups. Given the truism that people in different groups will often be impacted in different ways by the same thing, this theory seems reasonable. Since it is a broad academic theory, people do disagree about the particulars. Academics is, after all, a place for debate and rational disagreement. Or for ideological conformity, depending on what one thinks of academic freedom.

Critical race theory also contributed to the development of diversity training and has implications across academic disciplines. Being exposed to critical race theory can incline a person towards being critical about matters of race, such as considering how a law might impact people differently depending on their skin color. It can also influence people to be critical about American history and make them less inclined to believe the often-dubious historical narrative advanced by the right. As such, it is hardly surprising that Republicans  worked at “cancelling” critical race theory.

On the one hand, one could make a liberty-based argument in favor of these efforts. Students should have the freedom to choose their own values, so schools forcing students to “affirm, adopt or adhere” to an academic theory would be morally wrong. An obvious reply is that professors are already not supposed to do this to students and a student can justly complain if they are compelled to affirm, adopt, or adhere to the tenets of a theory.  For example, if I started compelling my students to affirm trope theory, then the administration would put a stop to my metaphysical misdeeds. Thus, this sort of law can be seen as another example of Republicans addressing problems that either do not exist or are already adequately handled by existing mechanisms.

On the other hand, there is a reasonable concern that such laws are aimed at banning teaching this theory. This directly conflicts with the Republican’s alleged devotion to free expression, the First Amendment, and the marketplace of ideas. But their actions show they do not subscribe to these principles. Rather they subscribe to the principle that people should be able to express views Republicans at least tolerate and should be prevented from expressing views Republicans do not like. As noted above, the past “cancel culture” examples presented by Republicans are cases where companies made marketing decisions, and no one passed a law to compel them to make these changes. In the case of critical race theory, Republicans use the compulsive power of the state to forbid the expression of specific types of ideas, which seems to be a violation of the First Amendment. Their base generally either does not recognize the inconsistency or does not care. As such, it is a clever move on their part: they can praise free expression out of one corner of their mouth while calling for censorship out of the other corner.

In terms of cancelling mandatory diversity training, it can be argued that this does not interfere with freedom of expression: such training can be offered, but people can opt out.  Having been compelled to take a such training over the years, I am sympathetic to the liberty to refuse training. However, there are obvious problems with allowing people to avoid training. One is that people who need the training might skip it, to the detriment of the school and it is reasonable to expect people to be competent at their jobs and learn the values of the institution. As such, it is not a matter of freedom from mandatory training in general or even mandatory values training, but a very specific sort of mandatory value training, values that Republicans dislike. Arguments can certainly be made against specific types of mandatory value training on moral grounds. For example, if a school mandated that students be trained in fascist values or Western supremacy, then a solid moral case can be made against that. In the case of diversity training, the challenge is to show how teaching people to be tolerant of those they must work, learn, or live with is morally wrong.

In closing, Republicans obviously do not subscribe to their professed principles of free expression, their claimed love of the First Amendment, and their alleged devotion to the marketplace of ideas. If they did, they would not be doing what they do. They would, rather, let the marketplace of ideas sort out the good and bad ideas, something that they always say when they defend ideas of the extreme right. But they are operating in bad faith and disregard their professed principles when it suits them.

When I am critical of the current economic system in the United States I am often countered by the argument that the system is good because most Americans own stock. Some also say that this show how anyone can  work their way towards wealth by investing.

It is true that most Americans own stock. At 51.9% this just barely suffices to make the claim true. But the positive view is a matter of perspective as this also means 48.1% of Americans do not own stock. To use an analogy, if someone said that most passengers survived a crash, then that sounds good: while the crash was bad, at least most people survived. But if you inquired more and found that 52% of the passengers survived, sounds less good since as 48% did not. As such, some stock rhetorical techniques are in play here.

One is to use the vagueness of “most.” Psychologically, people tend to think in terms of “most” referring to a significant majority rather than just barely over half. As such, it is wise to consider the numbers rather than uncritically accepting “most.”

Another technique is the emphasis. When numbers are used, presenting them with the positive or negative statement can influence people. So, saying 52% of Americans own stocks makes it sound good. But saying 48% of Americans do not own stocks makes it sound bad. Looked at neutrally, 48% is a significant lack. After all, if 48% of Americans lacked shelter or adequate food, we would hardly rejoice that 52% had those things. So, gushing about 52% of Americans owning stock is a bit absurd.

Another rhetorical tool in use here is leaving out critical information. By simply asserting that most Americans own stock, this suggests most Americans are doing well. While no one thinks that the average American is crushing the stock market the way Bill Gates, Trump, Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos is; this language just lumps all stock ownership together without considering the distinctions. To use an analogy, it is true that most Americans own vehicles, but there is a huge difference between someone who has an old car and someone who owns yachts and rockets.

While there are some disputes about the exact percentages, the value of stock owned is rather like athletic talent: it is unevenly divided, and a small percentage have most of it. In the case of stocks, 10% of households are estimated to own 84-90% of the value of stocks. 1% of the population is estimated to own about 50% of the value of stocks. As such, while about 52% of Americans own stocks, the 1% own the lion’s share of the value of these stocks. For those even vaguely familiar with the American economy, this makes sense: why would the stock market be different from any other aspect of the economy?

As such, while most Americans own stocks, this does little to refute concerns about the imbalance and unfairness of the current system. In fact, looking at the numbers reveals stock ownership as another example of the imbalance and unfairness of the existing system.

In addition to being evil, bigotry also tends to be repetitive. For example, racists and xenophobes have relentlessly claimed that migrants are diseased job stealing criminals. This has gone on so long in the United States that descendants of migrants who were subject to these bigoted attacks are now using them against the latest wave of migrants. Another classic is the “what about the children!” tactic.

The gist of the “what about the children” tactic is to claim that allowing something, such as library books that include non-traditional characters, will harm children. Therefore, it should not be allowed. Since people tend to care about children, this tactic has emotional power. After all, only a terrible person would favor something that would harm children, such as lax child labor laws. While its emotional power comes from concern for children, it also draws from good moral reasoning. After all, if something would harm children, then it would usually be morally wrong under a broad range of moral theories. While using this tactic in good faith is reasonable, it has been weaponized for bad faith use over the years.

Using this method in bad faith usually begins with asserting, without evidence, that something would harm the children. In many cases, the claims about the harms are not only unsupported but false. Naturally, people can make good faith arguments out of concern for children and be mistaken; but that is another matter. Bad faith “what about the children!” arguments are often used to “argue” against expanding civil and political rights or to restrict them.

In the United States, some arguments advanced against women’s suffrage focused on how voting would harm reproduction and harm the children. One odd claim was that women would ignore their children in order to vote, thus doing terrible harm. What makes this an absurd claim is that elections do not happen often, and voting generally does not take long. Obviously enough, women being able to vote did not harm the children.

During desegregation, school segregationists advanced arguments that allowing black girls into the same bathrooms as white girls would expose the white girls to venereal diseases. This was of great concern because venereal diseases were said to be especially harmful to children. This was an absurd argument for many reasons known at the time. One fact is that venereal diseases are not transmitted through restrooms; so such fears were and are unfounded. As bathrooms have been desegregated for a long time and this claim has been thoroughly  disproven. Although, once again, people knew that these claims were untrue when they were made.

Not surprising, “what about the children!” was also used against gay men. My adopted state of Florida was a “leader” in this, and the impacts are still felt today. While gay men were presented as a general threat to children, the narrative was that they prowled bathrooms for their victims. I remember being warned about this when I was a kid and when I moved to Florida as an adult, people still told me to be careful if I used a park bathroom while on a run. But, of course, this was fear mongering. Eventually the idea of the gay male bathroom predator faded, and the focus shifted to how same-sex marriage would harm the children. These claims were unfounded and there is some evidence that children raised by same-sex couples do better in school.

A recent version of “what about the children!” is aimed at trans people. Not surprisingly, the focus was initially on bathrooms: the new imaginary predator of the restroom is the trans person. This was used to “argue” for a slew of bathroom bills. Somewhat ironically, past focus on alleged bathroom threats seems to have reduced the effectiveness of this fear mongering as the prophecies of danger never come to pass. So, the bigots have shifted focus from bathrooms to sports.  Those pushing the new anti-trans agenda profess they just care about fairness and are worried about the children. But, as I have argued elsewhere, they are not concerned about fairness, otherwise they would also be passing bills addressing actual unfairness, such as in wages. They are also not very concerned about the children. If they were, they would be passing bills addressing such matters as child poverty, inequality in public education, and children’s health. They would also be addressing the leading preventable causes of death among children. Not surprisingly, the states that are most anti-abortion and anti-trans also have higher infant mortality rates; yet they do not seem to think about this. One must infer that they do not care about the children, but are just using them as weapons against groups they wish to harm.

The bad faith “what about the children!” argument of the bigots keeps getting reused, often with a special focus on bathrooms. Even worse, while they push bad faith arguments and bills, they do little or nothing to address the very real dangers and problems children face. In some cases, they pass laws and implement policies that are actively harmful to children, as exemplified by Flint, Michigan. I am certainly not claiming that the bigots do not care about their children; but they do not seem to care about the children.