What David K.

Lewis and Roger Federer have in common1

Jacopo Tagliabue

While reading some new paper in philosophy or, even better, while writing some
new paper in philosophy I often ask myself: does this add anything to David Lewis
work on the subject? Of course, most of the time the answer is No so, there is
really no need to read/write forward.
I have been asked many times why I adopt such an intransigent attitude. My usual
reply is that, simply put, there is David Lewis and then there is the rest of us2: so,
why read the second-best (or nth) best if you can read the best? Friends and colleagues
often dismissed the point saying that my perspective is biased because 1) I work in
the same field as Lewis did and/or 2) I have the same philosophical attitude3.
Yes, I am trained in ontology. Yes, I do love desert landscapes. But I was sure there
was something deeper, something I couldnt really point out to colleagues and
friends. Finally, while watching Wimbledon 2012 mens final it occurred to me why
David Lewis is the greatest philosopher in the analytic tradition of the past forty
years: it is for the very same reasons Roger Federer is the greatest player in modern
tennis4.
Lets start the following thought experiment. An alien comes to you fascinated by the
human activity known as tennis: dear human friend, who should I watch to learn
what tennis is?. Lets further stipulate that we shall restrict the answer to one and
one player only, and that we shall only consider modern tennis players (say, those
playing in the last thirty/thirty-five years basically after composite materials and
professionalism changed the very structure of the game). What would a fair answer
be?
Maybe, our first, immediate answer would be influenced by our own tennis style: I
myself am a baseline tennis player, so I could go for, say, Borg or Lendl; or, maybe,
our first, immediate answer would be influenced by the tennis attitude we like the
most: I love serve and volley, so I could go for, say, Pete Sampras. But truth is, upon
reflection, there is only one fair answer to the aliens question: Roger Federer. Why?

1 Caveat: this is not a scholarly paper by any sensible standard. I dont claim to have the authority (?), the
experience or the time to engage in some comprehensive comparison among great contemporary
analytical philosophers (or, for what matters, among tennis players). However, this isnt a purely
rhetorical exercise, since I do believe in the analogy the article puts forward: at the end of the day, it may
just help newcomers getting interested in Lewis work and stimulate the reader to answer for himself the
question: why do I like philosophy?.
2 Here I am deliberately quoting Earvin Magic Johnson talking about Michael Jordan.
3 The only good answer I got is a tu quoque: why do you listen to Muse if you agree that, say, Beatles and
Pink Floyd did it better? Well, I guess I just care more about philosophy than music.
4 I am assuming the uncompromising position of realism about rankings (in philosophy, tennis,
Hollywood actresses, ex-girlfriends and many other fields): the epistemicist view we cannot know if
X is better than Y, even if X is better than Y or the conventionalist view X is better than Y in
virtue of a social construction/implicit stipulation/cognitive salience are not touched by the
argument. Statistically, anti-realists about rankings are boring people, so we can dismiss their views in
the present work.

Not because he is the most-winning player in the pro era. Actually, this is an
independent proof of his greatness, not a cause: Federer wins games because of his
greatness, not vice versa. In a nutshell, it is because Federer plays tennis as it should be
played5. There are many ways to spell out this intuition none of which I believe
exactly conveys the (quoting the famous David Foster Wallace phrase6) religious
experience that is watching a Federers game.
The easiest way is to note that Roger is among the best players in the circuit in each
and every part of the game: service, forehand (a great liquid whip), volleys, drop
shots even if the backhand is arguably less effective than the rest of the repertoire,
its not hard to verify that it is not really a weak spot (especially considering how
effective his slice is). A slightly more sophisticated observer could also point out that
Federer appears to be graceful in every moment of the game: he is chasing a ball in a
defense attempt, he is playing a volley at the net, he decides to play a demi-vol from
the baseline whatever happens on the court, his gesture is always pure, elegant. You
easily get the impression that no matter how hard a shot is, if someone can do it at
all, thats Federer7 and the best thing is that, when he actually does it, he makes it
looks like a child play (but, of course, we know better). An even more sophisticated
observer would be amazed by the essentiality of his gestures: nothing is wasted in his
body movements there is nothing you can take away without destroying the shot
(as someone would have put it: Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing
more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away). Finally, as a further,
independent proof of his greatness, it should be noted that almost all other
competing candidates for the role Nadal, Agassi, Sampras, McEnroe, Borg, Lendl,
Laver have honestly admitted that Federer would be their answer to the aliens
question.
Lets say that now our alien friend becomes interested in philosophy: dear friend, who
should I read to learn what philosophy is?. Lets further stipulate that we shall
restrict the answer to one and one philosopher only, and that we shall only consider
contemporary (say, the last forty years) analytic philosophers. What would a fair
answer be?
Maybe, our first, immediate answer would be influenced by our own philosophical
style, or, maybe, our first, immediate answer would be influenced by the
philosophical attitude we like the most. But truth is, upon reflection, there is only one
fair answer to the aliens question: David K. Lewis. Why?
Not because he is the most-argument-winning philosopher of his era. Actually, this is
an independent proof of his greatness, not a cause: Lewis wins arguments because of
his greatness, not vice versa. In a nutshell, it is because Lewis does philosophy the way
it should be done8. There are many ways to spell out this intuition none of which I
believe exactly conveys the religious experience that is reading a Lewis paper.
The easiest thing to note is that Lewis influence in philosophy has been
exceptionally broad: quoting from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, he

It is still not clear if this solves an instance of the is-ought problem.

His article in the New York Times is the single best literary description of Federers tennis I know
of.
7 Indeed, a quick look at YouTube videos will just confirm the impression.
8 It is still not clear if this solves an instance of the is-ought problem.
5

made significant contributions to philosophy of language, philosophy of

mathematics, philosophy of science, decision theory, epistemology, meta-ethics and
aesthetics. In most of these fields he is essential reading; in many of them he is
among the most important figures of recent decades. And this list leaves out his two
most significant contributions [philosophy of mind and metaphysics]. A slightly
more sophisticated reader could also point out that Lewis appears to be at ease in
every part of the job: summarizing a debate, proving a theorem, solving a problem,
anticipating and rebutting possible objections each part of each work effortlessly
fits with the others and (spoiler alert: no direct tennis analogy beyond this point) with
all his other works. An even more sophisticated reader would be amazed by the
essentiality of his writings: no word is wasted in his arguments, so that there is nothing
you can take away from Lewis paragraphs without missing something important.
Finally, it should be noted that many of the greatest contemporary philosophers
David Chalmers, Ted Sider, Graham Priest, Frank Jackson have honestly admitted
that Lewis would be their answer to the aliens question.
Obviously enough, this argument from analogy hardly settles the dispute9. But by
answering the question why do I like Lewis so much and others so little? I was
forced to make up my mind about another, more general question: why do I like
philosophy at all?
What about you?

last update: July 30, 2012

tagliabue.jacopo@gmail.com

One could argue that the analogy could be carried further still for example the honesty both Federer
and Lewis showed in acknowledging opponents merits.