1. What does American philosophy mean to you? It means a pursuit of wisdom and happiness informed and guided by the best and brightest lights in our heritage, pre-eminently Emerson's repudiation of "borrowed traditions and living at second hand" and his affirmation of the ever-renewing "present hour"; Thoreau's sunny dawn spirit ("to be awake is to be alive," "the sun is but a morning star"); James's "really vital question for us all... What is life eventually to make of itself?"; Dewey's democratic commitment to "the continuous human community in which we are a link"; John McDermott's culture of experience; John Lachs's celebration of immediacy. It is pragmatic, pluralistic, melioristic, impatient with scholastic obfuscation, eager always to identify some practical difference our ideas might make in our lives and communities. And particularly noteworthy in this semiquincentennial year, American philosophy signifies political freedom from tyranny and mental freedom from dogmatic slumber.
2. How did you become an American philosopher? I became disillusioned with my undergrad Political Science major at the University of Missouri and, motivated by Durant's Story of Philosophy and Carl Sagan's Cosmic Connection, went looking for something more expansive. I found what I was looking for in Mizzou's philosophy program. Professor Peter Markie, just a shade older than my cohort, came to our Friday afternoon "Hegel Society" meetups at Michael's Bar and Grill on campus and made philosophy seem cool. Professor Alex von Schoenborn made it seem profound. My pal Andy Cling, a year ahead of me (and recently retired from the University of Alabama in Huntsville), went down to Nashville for grad school at Vanderbilt and sent back positive reports. I followed him, and there found American philosophy via John Lachs, John Compton, Michael Hodges, John Post, and a raft of congenial pluralists and fellow students.
3. How would you describe your current research?
I'm an applied ethicist (environmental and bioethics), so I'm always researching and reflecting on the dangers humans engender for ourselves with our Dr. Seussian "Onceler" approach to commodified nature and, lately, with a potentially dehumanizing infatuation with artificial minds.
I've long taught a course on the Philosophy of Happiness, and intend to write more about how to flourish in troubled times. "How to gain, how to keep, how to recover happiness" is, as James said, crucial.
I'm a peripatetic (in the walking-and-thinking sense), and want to emulate public-facing scholarship akin to our recent MTSU Lyceum speaker Megan Craig's Thinking in Transit: Explorations of Life in Motion (co-authored with Ed Casey).
And I want to turn my long collaboration with a former student, who earned a post-retirement philosophy degree, into a book on the value of philosophy as a "golden years" pursuit. Also, I'm inheriting a retired colleague's Existentialism course so I look forward to teaching and researching that for the first time (inspired by another of our recent Lyceum speakers, Mariana Allesandri).
4. What do you do when you’re not doing American philosophy?
I walk the dogs, watch baseball, read fiction and history, post to my blogs, Substack, and Blue Sky (where I channel William James), and I try to promote American philosophy (I'm current president of the William James Society).
5. What’s your favorite work in American philosophy? What should we all be reading? It's hard to pick just one. James's Pragmatism, I suppose, or his collected correspondence. But I'm extremely fond of the essays addressed to students at the end of Talks to Teachers, "on some of life's ideals" - especially "On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings". But I also think we should all be reading good literary fiction, which remains the best virtual reality technology humans have yet devised. I'm teaching "Philosophy in Recent American Fiction"; there's a lot of it. My personal favorite contemporary novelist is Richard Powers. Everyone should read Overstory, Bewilderment, Playground... and maybe go back to his incredibly prescient anticipation of AI from 1995, Galatea 2.2. The message for students these days is simpler, though: Read books. I'm always quoting Twain at them: there's no practical difference between someone who doesn't read and someone who can't. We see the spoiling fruits of increasing functional illiteracy all around. It's scary. But I do still have confidence in the top crop of this generation of students. They're bright. If they can resist distraction and stay engaged, they'll do us proud.