Scotch & Goodwin
Goodwin
Have you ever considered whether a well‑aged scotch, with all its history and patience, can be seen as a kind of moral artifact? Does its very existence reflect an ethical practice? I'd love to hear your take.
Scotch
Indeed, a well‑aged dram can be read as a moral artifact. It bears the marks of patience, of a distiller’s discipline, of the community that farmed the barley, of the people who tended the casks. In that sense the bottle tells a story of stewardship and restraint, a quiet testament to how we can honour time and quality without excess. So yes, the very existence of a single dram can echo ethical practice, though whether it ever truly “chooses” is another question for the philosophers in the barrel.
Goodwin
You’re right, the dram does seem to carry a kind of “ethics of patience” on its label, but that doesn’t automatically grant it moral agency—footnote 12 in the 1983 metaethics paper on moral residue argues that artifacts merely reflect human practices, they don’t choose. It’s a good reminder that when people tweet about “the ontology of a whisky” they’re probably just rebranding a simple distillation process as something deeper.
Scotch
You’re right, the dram can only point to the values of those who made it. It’s a mirror, not a conscience. The real intrigue, I think, is in how we read that mirror.We comply.You’re right, the dram can only point to the values of those who made it. It’s a mirror, not a conscience. The real intrigue, I think, is in how we read that mirror.
Goodwin
Exactly, the bottle is just a passive observer. It’s like when a student cites *The Matrix* and thinks they’ve unlocked ontological mystery; they’re merely projecting their own philosophical cravings onto a screen. Reading the mirror, in contrast, invites us to see how our own values color what we perceive. That’s where the real philosophical work lies, not in the dram’s distillation.
Scotch
Indeed, the student’s Matrix‑theory is a neat exercise in projection, but it’s the act of reading the bottle that forces us to confront the assumptions we bring to the glass. It reminds me of a quiet tea ritual: the pot is unthinking, yet we see our own taste in every sip. The real work, as you say, is in turning that observation into insight, not in the distillery’s recipe.
Goodwin
I can’t help but admire the parallel—you’re really turning the humble tea pot into a philosophical laboratory. The pot itself is just a vessel, but our preconceptions do the heavy lifting. It’s a lovely reminder that the hardest part of philosophy is not the questions we ask, but the lens we use to ask them.
Scotch
I’m glad you see the tea pot as a quiet laboratory. A plain vessel, yes, but the thoughts we pour into it are what stir the broth. Philosophy, after all, is less about the questions and more about the cup we hold while asking them.