"THERE IS ONLY ONE PROBLEM IN PHILOSOPHY, NAMELY ALL OF THEM."
—Paul Grice, "Reply to Richards"
DANIEL JOHN SPORTIELLO
I am an Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Mary in North Dakota, where I won the Outstanding Faculty Award in 2020. I earned my doctorate in philosophy from the University of Notre Dame in 2015. Prior to this, I won two other teaching awards and served as a Graduate Fellow at the Notre Dame Institute for Advanced Study.
In my teaching, I show my students that philosophy addresses the questions and concerns that they already have—the same questions and concerns that make them human. This means, of course, that philosophy is an expression of our condition—but also that it is a tool to interrogate that condition, to reorder our society and ourselves.
In my research, I am interested in the ways that ethics intersects with other subfields of philosophy. I am also interested in the work of Immanuel Kant, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and others.
SELECTED COURSES TAUGHT
SEARCH FOR TRUTH
Taught Most Recently at the University of Mary
Thousands of years ago, a sort of revolution hit Greece. As the region became wealthy—and as it was riven by endless warfare—more and more individuals questioned convention: witness to the apparent limitations of the gods, they decided that wisdom was to be discovered elsewhere than in the old stories.
Some of these individuals—call them the "Presocratics"—came to see the world as a mechanism. They said that the gods are irrelevant: things happen as they do because the order of the world determines that they should happen in that way. Wisdom is a matter of learning this order—of doing what we now call "science." Others—call them the "Sophists"—came to see the world as a setting for violence. They too said that the gods are irrelevant, albeit for another reason: things happen as they do because the mighty impose their decisions on the weak. Wisdom is a matter of learning to be mighty oneself—whether in words or in deeds. Still others—specifically, Plato and Aristotle—came to see the world as the expression of something more than itself. They too said that the gods are irrelevant, albeit for yet another reason: what we call "gods" are merely expressions of our own desires and fears. Wisdom is a matter of liberating ourselves from these desires and fears—and of discovering, in the process, a God who is quite otherwise than the stories tell us.
It was Plato and Aristotle who founded our tradition. Though they were not the first to do philosophy, they were the first to reflect on their activity as philosophers—and so they saw what the others did not: at its heart, wisdom is a decision—specifically, the decision to be brutally honest about who we really are. In this course, we will study the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle—and, for that matter, of the Presocratics and the Sophists whose insights served as their raw material. In the process, perhaps the revolution that hit Greece will hit us too.
ETHICS
Taught Most Recently at the University of Mary
Maybe you're here only to meet a graduation requirement. But if that's all that you get out of this course, then I've tricked you into giving me your money. And I want this course to be more than that.
Maybe you're here to be told to do the right thing. My suspicion is that this would not work. More importantly, though, it would not take you seriously as adults.
Maybe you're here to be told that doing the right thing will make you rich. This would at least take you seriously as adults. But my suspicion is that it is false.
The point of this course is for you to make sense of your life. So what is it that, in your heart, you really want? And what is it that prevents you from attaining it?
BUSINESS ETHICS
Taught Most Recently at the University of Mary
Ours is a business world.
We have built a world that is in every way astonishing. Indeed, we have become—in a way—the gods whom we once blessed. It may seem obvious that this has made us happier. But that turns out to be less than obvious. For, though business makes humanity powerful, it leaves particular humans more or less powerless.
Each of us can learn economics—can learn about externalities, rents, and so on. But none of us can do much with this knowledge. Certainly we cannot much alter the price of any particular product. Not alone, anyway!
Much less can we halt climate change or economic inequality. Not alone, anyway. And yet we have built this world! Sometimes it seems that we have become—in a way—the gods whom we once cursed.
Certainly no political party offers answers to these issues that are entirely satisfying. Nonetheless, they are the sort of issues that we will investigate in this course: as students at the University of Mary, you will soon be business leaders on the Great Plains and beyond—and so many will look to you for answers.
INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY
Taught Most Recently at Bismarck State College
An introduction to any discipline ought to be straightforward. An introduction to physics, for example, ought to begin with the Laws of Motion of Isaac Newton. Just so, an introduction to chemistry ought to begin with the Periodic Law of Dmitri Mendeleev, and an introduction to biology ought to begin with the Theory of Evolution of Charles Darwin.
But philosophy is not like physics, chemistry, or biology: philosophers disagree about where they ought to begin. Perhaps this is because they disagree about the point of doing philosophy.
According to René Descartes, for example, the point of doing philosophy is to secure our insight into the world. Philosophy, in other words, is a matter of foundations. According to Plato, by contrast, the point of doing philosophy is to change ourselves into who we ought to be. Philosophy, in other words, is a matter of practice.
This course will explore these two conceptions of philosophy in turn. By the end, perhaps we will discern what an introduction to philosophy ought to be; in the meantime, we will explore at least three subfields of philosophy—epistemology, ethics, and metaphysics.
MODERN PHILOSOPHY
Taught Most Recently at the University of Mary
Some insist that modern philosophy was the start of philosophy. Those who say this insist that medieval philosophy was not philosophy at all—that it was, in reality, mere piety. Others insist that modern philosophy was the end of philosophy. Those who say this insist that modern philosophy was not philosophy at all—that it was, in reality, mere impiety.
Both of these interpretations are oversimplifications. Nonetheless, there is something to each of them: modern philosophy was the end of something—and the start of something else.
For medieval philosophers, faith was at the heart of wisdom. For modern philosophers, by contrast, doubt was at the heart of wisdom. Maybe it was Immanuel Kant who put the point best: what he calls "enlightenment" is a matter of thinking for oneself. This semester, we'll think with him.
CONTEMPORARY PHILOSOPHY
Taught Most Recently at the University of Mary
According to Immanuel Kant, modernity is a matter of liberation. No more do we say whatever others tell us to say; we say only what we have reason to say. No more do we do whatever others tell us to do; we do only what we have reason to do.
The hope was that, because of this liberation, there would be progress. Saying only what we had reason to say, we would converge on truth; doing only what we had reason to do, we would converge on justice. In both cases, we would admit only what was obvious to everyone—no matter his or her condition.
But, according to Michel Foucault, it turns out that nothing is obvious to everyone; all that we say and do is the result of whoever we happen to be. This was the lesson, it seems, of the twentieth century. In any case, we hope no more for progress.
Only liberation remains.
PHILOSOPHY AND THEOLOGY IN THE AXIAL AGE
Taught Most Recently at Louisiana Tech University
Approximately two-and-a-half millennia ago, a sort of revolution swept across Eurasia—a revolution not of the sword but of the heart. As what had been empires were riven by war, a few sages questioned conventional wisdom: reflecting on the limits of fame and fortune, they came to the conclusion that lasting satisfaction required a sort of conversion—a reordering of oneself so that one was no more a slave to desire and fear. In coming to this conclusion, they relocated the source of authority: salvation would come through devotion not to this or that local god but rather to an order that transcended the particularities of time and place. And in coming to this conclusion, they saw that another world could arise—a world wherein all men and women were brothers and sisters, wherein justice mattered more than power and mercy more than justice.
Or so says the Axial Age Thesis. According to this thesis, the wisdom traditions of China, India, and Israel are continuous with that of Greece: born at the same time—and motivated by the same anxieties—they articulate the same insights into the human condition. But for this thesis to be true, the traditional distinction between philosophy and theology must be false: the dissimilarities between Socrates and the Buddha—and, for that matter, between Confucius and Laozi—must be superficial.
This course will explore the Axial Age Thesis by investigating these dissimilarities: we will read texts from six of the relevant wisdom traditions—specifically, from Confucianism, Daoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, and what the Greeks called “philosophy.” In doing so, perhaps we will learn whether and how these wisdom traditions can still speak to us.
SELECTED PUBLICATIONS
ELIZABETH ANSCOMBE ON RATIONALISM
In Critics of Enlightenment Rationalism Revisited, Edited by Eugene Callahan and Kenneth B. McIntyre (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2022)
Elizabeth Anscombe’s “Modern Moral Philosophy” is rightly famous. In it, she argues explicitly for several theses and implicitly for several more; studying the essay, one gets the impression that these theses are related to one another by implication—but it’s not obvious precisely how they are related. In this chapter, I suggest—less controversially, perhaps—that at the heart of “Modern Moral Philosophy” is Anscombe’s rejection of what she calls “consequentialism.” I also suggest—more controversially, perhaps—that Anscombe is articulating a tension within consequentialism: the form of consequentialism presupposes the existence of a divine legislator, while the content of consequentialism presupposes the nonexistence of a divine legislator. In making this argument, I employ the work of David Solomon, a senior scholar of the work of Elizabeth Anscombe.
THE UNIVERSITY AS A SITE OF RESISTANCE
Saints and Scholars: A Journal of Irish Studies 1 (2021): 71–95
Saint John Henry Newman’s Idea of a University may not be the best meditation on higher education—Plato’s Republic has that honor—but it is nonetheless a classic. At its heart is a simple idea: to know any discipline well, one must also know well every other discipline—for only in knowing well every other discipline does one know the limits of that discipline. It is only by knowing history, for example, that one can know the limits of economics: the assumptions of economics are assumptions—and, as such, hold only in certain times and places.
But what does Ireland have to do with any of this? Well, Saint John Henry Newman argues that studying at a university makes one a gentleman—but I argue that it does rather more than this: at its best, the university is the site of resistance. For it puts into context the claims of the mighty: it shows their assumptions to be no more than assumptions—and so open to question.
Capitalism cannot allow its assumptions to be called into question. But capitalism needs the university—needs, at any rate, the specialists whom the university trains. And so capitalism has within itself, potentially, a site of resistance to itself. And something similar was true of subjugated Ireland, whether Saint John Henry Newman knew it or not.
LUDWIG WITTGENSTEIN ON RATIONALISM
In Critics of Enlightenment Rationalism, edited by Eugene Callahan and Kenneth B. McIntyre (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020)
If “rationalism” refers to the thesis that there is a right way to do whatever it is that we do—a way that we, with our reason, can discover—then Ludwig Wittgenstein is a critic of rationalism. For our words and deeds are justified only by the rules of particular language-games—but these language-games are themselves justified only insofar as they meet our needs; certainly none of them need be justified by reference to any of the others. Together, our language-games constitute our form of life; though this form of life is not entirely arbitrary—some of its features can be explained by reference to our nature—nonetheless it could be different in many ways. Indeed, it has been—and therefore probably will be—different in many ways; on some level, we all know this. Philosophy at its worst is the attempt to forget it; philosophy at its best is, therefore, the attempt to remember it.
MACINTYRE AND WYMA ON INVESTMENT ADVISING
Business Ethics Journal Review 7, Number 1 (Spring 2019): 1–6
In “The Case for Investment Advising,” Keith Wyma argues that investment advising is what Alasdair MacIntyre calls a “practice”—that is, it is an activity marked by what MacIntyre calls an “internal good.” In this Commentary, though, I argue that Wyma seriously misunderstands what internal goods are.
MONUMENTAL QUESTIONS
Northern Plains Ethics Journal 6, Number 1 (Fall 2018): 1–17
In recent years, there has been renewed controversy about monuments to the Confederacy: these monuments, their detractors insist, are instruments of white supremacy—and, as such, ought to be lowered immediately. The dialectic is by now familiar: though some insist that these monuments are mere sites of memory, others note the relevant memory is that of the Confederacy—and that, because of this, the monuments are inevitably racist. Worse, the monuments were raised by racist individuals for racist ends; no surprise, then, that so many experience them as racist—that is, as instruments of white supremacy. For all of these reasons, the monuments ought to be lowered.
And probably it is so. But what does one do when the instrument of white supremacy is a mountain? What does one do, moreover, when it is less than clear whether that mountain is an instrument of white supremacy? What does one do, in other words, when that mountain is a monument to a regime only ambiguously racist? What does one do when it was raised by a racist individual for a racist end—but has since that time come to be seen as a monument to precisely the opposite ideals? What does one do, in other words, when it is experienced by most not as a symbol of white supremacy but as a symbol—indeed, as the symbol—of freedom and equality?
What does one do, in short, with Mount Rushmore at this moment—that is, in the wake of the Charleston shooting and the Charlottesville rally? And can the experience of those who saw the mountain prior to its status as a monument—that is, the Lakota—illuminate this question? In this essay, I examine these monumental questions. I ask them—and try to answer them—first as a consequentialist, second as a deontologist, and third as a virtue ethicist.
RATIONALISM IN ERIC VOEGELIN
In Tradition v. Rationalism: Voegelin, Oakeshott, MacIntyre, Polanyi, Hayek, and Others, edited by Eugene Callahan and Lee Trepanier (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2018)
In his New Science of Politics, Eric Voegelin offers an analysis of modernity: at its heart, it is a radicalization of Christianity—a radicalization that counts as a betrayal. Like other movements of its time, Christianity judged this world in terms of another—one wherein all of us were brothers and sisters, wherein justice mattered more than victory and mercy more than justice. But rather than endure in patience their own limitations, those whom Voegelin calls “gnostics” tried to build heaven on earth—inevitably, by violence. This serves as his postmortem on the twentieth century: liberalism, communism, and fascism are all, according to Voegelin, trying to do what cannot be done—specifically, to do what Voegelin calls “immanentizing the eschaton.” Each is, in its own way, a revolt against the human condition—and so a revolt against God.
But these gnostics would hardly have seen themselves in this demonic light. Indeed, they often called themselves “rationalists” and saw themselves as a brave few who might lead humanity out of the madness of the past. Of course, Voegelin would hardly grant that Plato or Saint Augustine were less rational than, say, Thomas Hobbes. But he would certainly grant that the gnostics hoped to render the world “rational” by abolishing whatever aspects of the human condition were “irrational”—in the case of Hobbes, our capacity for mystical experience of God.
Of course, this is hardly how contemporary political scientists would explain Hobbes. In the introduction to his New Science of Politics, though, Voegelin offers an indirect explanation of this. He warns that the social sciences are prisoners of their idolatry of the natural sciences: they ignore any data that cannot be rendered in language that is entirely descriptive—insisting as they do so that this methodology is only “rational.”