This chapter introduces the three foundational questions of IP: what are intellectual things (the metaphysical question)? Is intellectual property really property (the conceptual question)? And should intellectual things be property (the normative question)? It highlights the role of argument and reason in contemporary IP law.

This chapter examines the notion of being in the Consolation of Philosophy and contrasts it with modern notions of existence. The notions in the Consolation relevant to this inquiry are those expressed by the verbs esse and exsistere. The chapter argues that the basic notion of exsistere in the Consolation should be understood as “to be manifest,” while the basic notion of esse should be understood as “to be something or other” or “to be intelligible.” Furthermore, the chapter demonstrates that the notion of esse in the Consolation differs from typical modern notions of existence in two significant ways. First, unlike modern notions of existence, according to which there are things that do not exist, the notion of esse or being in the Consolation has no contrary. Everything that can be spoken of or thought about “is” in some way. Second, the notion of esse in the Consolation, as in Aristotle, is “said in many ways.” In this it differs from modern notions of existence, which tend to be univocal. The chapter shows that once the notions of exsistere and esse are properly understood, certain arguments in the Consolation that might initially appear confused turn out to be quite clear and highly plausible.

‘Concepts and Universals in Aristotle’s Metaphysical Thought’ by Christof Rapp starts with the recognition that Aristotle does not have a general term for ‘concept’ and examines which entities in his metaphysical theory might play the role of concepts. According to Rapp, many of Aristotle’s discussions focus on the meaning of general terms and whether they signify something real and existing independently in its own right. Aristotle remains committed to the view that universals as captured by genuine definitions are crucial for human knowledge and understanding. Insofar as Aristotle resists a conception of universals as existing in the way that particular substances do, he can be taken to intimate that universals are ‘merely conceptual’. In the Metaphysics, he distances himself from the view that universals such as genera and species qualify as substances. His main contribution to our thinking about concepts consists in the view that both universals and embodied substantial forms have mental counterparts, by which we grasp and understand the things falling under the conceived form or essential definition.

Nietzsche wrote in 1870 while preparing The Birth of Tragedy (1872), “Science, art, and philosophy are now growing into one another so much in me that I shall in any case give birth to a centaur one day.” The project of synthesizing philosophy, science, and art Nietzsche adumbrates here actually gets realized in The Birth of Tragedy, explaining the work’s distinctive character. It is a project whose origins lay with Friedrich Schlegel, the leading German Romantic philosopher, at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Schlegel had warded off the obvious objection to incorporating art into philosophy/science that this would falsify the latter by championing a radical general skepticism about the veracity of cognition. Nietzsche takes over this aspect of Schlegel’s project as well. Moreover, this whole project of synthesizing philosophy, science, and art in light of a radical general skepticism survives after The Birth of Tragedy to reappear in different, more refined permutations throughout Nietzsche’s later works, constituting an indispensable key both to their character – in particular, their metaphysical-epistemological framework – and to their development. The chapter concludes with an assessment of the viability of the project, especially concerning the question of whether or not the radical general skepticism on which it rests is coherent.

This chapter argues that Wagner’s Schopenhauerian understanding of music reveals important aspects of video game music, particularly its erotic dimensions. Armed with, on the one hand, a Wagnerian-Schopenhauerian understanding of music, erotics, and metaphysics, and on the other Kulezic-Wilson’s erotics of cinematic listening, the chapter proposes a Wagnerian erotics of game music on three counts. First, music is an element of the video game medium that dissolves hard boundaries of a single ‘self’ of the player’s identity and takes players ‘out of themselves’. Secondly, games give musical voice to the will, and chart our interaction with it. Finally, games often use musical structures that arrest any broader sense of development, creating a temporal suspension and denial of the will that Wagner sought to reflect in his musical fabric. This chapter concludes with a brief case study that identifies these three elements – identity, the will, and temporality – in The Dig (1995).

Friedrich Nietzsche’s relationship to Richard Wagner and his music was complex, contradictory, even paradoxical. Neither Nietzsche’s emphatic allegiance to Wagner in his early years nor his later rejection should be taken literally. The revaluation of the performative moment in cultural analysis is part of a core of thoughts that Nietzsche chewed over again and again from his first years in Basel until his collapse in Turin. His conception of the Attic tragedy is based on the assumption that the tragedy must be considered in the original context, with its cultic background and performative outcome, as opposed to the reduction of the drama to a written text, as introduced by Aristotle and continued by the Alexandrian philologists. It is here that Nietzsche demonstrates the most in common with Wagner. Yet for Nietzsche, performativity becomes a type of thinking and writing through which he ultimately distances himself from metaphysical thinking and from Wagner.

Carnap is commonly considered a great opponent of metaphysics. For good reason, as he made numerous derogatory remarks about metaphysics and metaphysicians. But what does Carnap reject when he rejects metaphysics? I distinguish between Early Carnap (before 1930) and Late Carnap (after 1930) and argue that Late Carnap does not reject a specific set of questions or views. Rather, he rejects a particular methodology that he regards as conflicting with empiricism. For example, in “Empiricism, Semantics and Ontology,” Carnap does not reject the thesis that numbers exist as meaningless. Instead, he defends the acceptance of numbers against empiricist concerns. But if merely the methodology and not the subject matter is the problem, then metaphysics can perhaps be saved by fixing the methodology. Indeed, I contend, much of contemporary metaphysics is, from Late Carnap’s perspective, in good standing.

This chapter provides a critical survey of six of the most important interpretations of Carnap’s Logical Structure of the World or Aufbau. I argue that the variety of interpretations of the Aufbau reflect a reasonable pluralism of approaches. This pluralism can be traced to two factors. First, an interpretation of a philosophical text is sensitive to both normative and descriptive elements. Second, there is a reasonable pluralism with respect to the normative elements of an interpretation, especially the philosophical aim that an interpreter attributes to the author of the text. This analysis builds on recent discussions by Beaney of how the history of analytic philosophy should be done. The upshot of the chapter is that a more reflective approach to writing the history of philosophy should help us to acknowledge the plausibility of interpretations of a text that we refuse to endorse.

In the first two books of his massive commentary on Aristotle’s Physics (in the third and final redaction), Buridan pays ample attention to the composition of natural substances. Natural substances are composed of matter and (substantial) form. But what exactly does Buridan mean by the notions of “matter” and “(substantial) form”? Does matter possess some kind of being of its own? Is it pure potency? Does matter somehow possess a disposition (or “appetite”) to receive substantial forms, and what precisely are such forms? Buridan also offers a detailed account of the relation between natural substances and artificial things. How do artificial things (such as houses, tables, and axes) relate to the natural substances of which they are (somehow) made? What kind of change is involved in making an artifact and what kind of form makes an artifact the thing it is?