Don’t stop make-believing

ABSTRACT

How is it that we can rationally assert that sport outcomes do not really matter, while also seeming to care about them to an absurd degree? This is the so-called puzzle of sport. The broadly Waltonian solution to the puzzle has it that we make-believe the outcomes matter. Recently, Stear has critiqued this Waltonian solution, raising a series of five objections. He has also leveraged these objections to motive his own contextualist solution to the puzzle. The aim of this paper is to defend the Waltonian solution. The general upshot is that, contra Stear, a make-believe based solution to the puzzle is viable after all.

KEYWORDS:

• Puzzle of sport
• Walton
• Ken
• make-believe
• fiction

Introduction

Let me begin with a confession: I get very emotional when watching sport. A regular in the home stand at Willem II (Tilburg’s local football team) matches, I am an overly loud, vocal supporter, shouting abuse at opposing players, moaning when they score, and cheering wildly when we do so (a sadly far too rare occurrence). For those 90 min, what happens on the pitch is so important to me that, to paraphrase Bill Shankley, calling it a matter of life or death does it a disservice. More than anything else, the outcome of the match matters – and the severity of my emotional states corresponds to this presumed significance.

But once the whistle blows and the match is over, something funny happens: I march off to the pub with my friends, and am quickly laughing and light-heartedly chatting. It is as if the significance of the heart-breaking loss (or, more rarely, uplifting win), which earlier felt like the whole focus of my being, simply vanished. The outcome no longer matters. Indeed, if you asked, I would say that it never did.

I am far from the only person that this happens to.¹ For many of us, the outcome of a sporting event or a competitive game seems to be a matter of ultimate importance.² However, when pressed, those of us who get so emotionally fired up about these outcomes will, in our more sober moments, acknowledge that they do not in fact matter much at all. This apparent tension constitutes the Puzzle of Sport: we both appear to care intensely about the outcomes of sport/competitive games, but also seem to recognize that these outcomes are utterly unimportant. How, then, can we reconcile these prima facie contradictory attitudes? That is, ‘why are participants’ caring attitudes toward [game] outcomes so intense when they do not believe those outcomes matter?’ (Stear 2017, 276).³

As well as being intrinsically interesting, addressing the puzzle should be a concern of anyone interested in philosophy of sport. For if we cannot find an adequate solution, then it seems that most sports fans (and players) are deeply irrational, caring deeply about outcomes that they believe do not matter.

Walton (2015) offers a solution to the puzzle, based upon sport participants playing games of make-believe. Recently, however, Stear (2017) has objected to this Waltonian story. Further, Stear has leveraged these objections to motivate his own solution to the puzzle, which appeals to the volatility and context sensitivity of our motivational attitudes.

The aim of this paper is to defend the Waltonian account from Stear’s objections. Along the way, I also raise a problem for Stear’s solution to the puzzle.

To do so, I begin (§1) by spelling out the Waltonian solution to the puzzle. Next (§2), I detail Stear’s five objections, as well as his own, contextualist solution. I then proceed (§3) to reply to four of Stear’s objections. Finally, before concluding, I offer an objection to Stear’s solution, alongside a tentative rebuttal (§5) to Stear’s fifth objection. The upshot is that Walton’s make-believe solution to the puzzle of sport is more viable than Stear would have us believe.

Before proceeding, two points about terminology. First, following Stear (2017, 275fn3), I will treat ‘sport’ and ‘competitive game’ as interchangeable, despite the fact that the two are clearly distinct notions.⁴ Second, also following Stear (2017, 275fn2), I will use ‘participate’ and its cognates to denote both playing and spectating.

Walton’s solution to the puzzle

To assess Stear’s criticisms, it is useful to familiarize ourselves with Walton’s solution to the puzzle. And the best way to do that is to first consider Walton’s solution to a different, structurally similar puzzle. The paradox of fiction, originally put forward by Radford (1975), concerns our emotional response to fiction. It emerges from an inconsistent triad of equally plausible claims:

• (PF1) 1. Things that we believe to not exist cannot be the intentional objects of our emotions

• (PF1) 2. We believe that fictional entities do not exist

• (PF1) 3. Fictional entities are often the intentional objects of our emotions⁵

Clearly, these three cannot all be true – something needs to give. However, it is not obvious which to reject: (PF1) looks plausible (especially given a cognitivist conception of emotions),⁶ (PF2) is just an expression of the standard anti-realist understanding of fictional entities,⁷ and (PF3) looks almost trivial given our pre-theoretic claims about fiction (e.g. whenever I watch John Carpenter’s The Thing, I am utterly terrified by the eponymous monster). The challenge, then, is to find a way to dissolve the paradox by denying at least one of (PF1)-(PF3) while concurrently explaining away their apparent truth. Otherwise, most readers of fiction will turn out to be irrational.

Walton’s solution to the paradox is a natural application of his account of fiction in terms of playing games of make-believe.⁸ In particular, he claims (1978) that we do not genuinely feel emotions that take fictional events/characters as their intentional object, however much it might seem so at first glance. Rather, we play games of make-believe according to which it is the case that we feel the relevant emotion towards the relevant event/object. That is, we fictionally feel the emotion, though we in fact do not do so. So his solution is to replace (PF3) with:

(PF3-W) Fictionally, fictional entities are often the intentional objects of our emotions

This is compatible with (PF1) and (PF2), thereby ensuring that ‘emotional’ readers are rational after all.

The puzzle of sport can be construed in a structurally similar manner, since it too emerges from an inconsistent triad of equally plausible claims:

• (PS1) 1. How much we care about something cannot (rationally) exceed the amount we believe it matters

• (PS1) 2. We do not believe that the outcomes of sport/competitive games matter very much

• (PS1) 3. We care a great deal about (some) sport/competitive game outcomes

As with the paradox of fiction, these three cannot all be true, though they are all equally plausible: (PS1) looks partially constitutive of rationality, while (PS2) and (PS3) seem to be supported by a bevy of anecdotal evidence (just consider our opening confession). The challenge is the same as before: find a way to dissolve the puzzle, most likely by motivating a rejection of at least one of (PS1)-(PS3) while also providing a satisfying explanation for its apparently obvious truth. Otherwise, most sport participants will turn out to be irrational.

Walton (2015, 75–6) develops a response to the puzzle of sport that is similar to his solution to the paradox of fiction. In particular, Walton claims that sometimes, when we participate in sport/competitive games, our doing so involves playing a game of make-believe. This opens up a potential Waltonian solution to the puzzle: while we in fact believe that the outcome does not matter and do not care a great deal about said outcome, our engagement with the competitive game involves playing a game of make-believe. And within the affiliated game of make-believe, the outcome is of great importance and we are (appropriately) heavily emotionally invested in it. That is, it is fictionally the case that we believe the outcome matters, and we care about the outcome a great deal. In this way, we can see the Waltonian solution to the puzzle as denying (PS3), instead replacing it with something like:

• (PS3-W) 1. Fictionally, we care a great deal about (some) sport/competitive game outcomes

the truth of which is perfectly compatible with (PS1) and (PS2).⁹ In this way, the Waltonian approach seems to offer an elegant solution to the puzzle.

Stear’s objections & alternative solution

Stear (2017) raises five objections to the Waltonian solution. The first three concern arguments that Walton uses (or could use) to motivate his solution. First, Walton notes that we just as easily recover from game outcomes as we do from fictional tragedies. According to Walton, this suggests that we should think of these situations in the same manner:

It is hard to resist comparing the avid sports fan to the playgoer who sheds bitter and voluminous tears over the tragic fate of Romeo and Juliet, and twenty minutes later has a jolly good time with her friends at an expresso bar. … Afterwards, like the playgoer, [the sport participant] steps outside the make-believe and goes back to living her life as though nothing much had happened – even if the home team suffered a devastating and humiliating defeat. It’s just a story, Walton’s (2015, 77).

Stear notes that a care-value mismatch about an outcome is a fairly common occurrence in numerous non-sports cases. For example, it crops up when we consider practical jokes,

… narrowly catching or missing a bus, losing a desirable parking spot; finishing War and Peace; having the radio cut out… halfway through a gripping story one happened upon.; making a … traffic light; settling a petty argument; binge-watching a TV series; having the last word; looking up trivia once made curious; solving a puzzle; completing a flawless musical passage. … Such cases involve the kinds of apparently ‘life or death’ reactions any relevant sport fan exhibits (Stear 2017, 278).

Because these cases often feature a care-value mismatch, consistency demands that the Waltonian understand them as featuring games of make-believe (and holding that the associated make-believe explain the mismatch). But, once we begin to extend make-believe out to so many activities, it becomes hard to see how simply caring about something differs from make-believing that we care about it. As Stear puts it, ‘if make-believe is everywhere, then it is nowhere’ (ibid).

Second, Walton draws a similarity in behaviour between those participating in sport and those engaged with fiction, both in terms of how seriously they take things while ‘inside’, and how happy they are to agree that nothing is really at stake once they are removed from the goings-on.

Stear objects that this argument, like the first, radically overgeneralizes. For we ‘often move past extremely significant events very quickly’ (Stear 2017, 278); for example, I might read about yet another mass shooting in the US, momentarily feel saddened, then put the news down and go about my day. This either suggests that we are nearly always engaged in make-believe (which leads to the above point about make-believe being so thin as to not be different from everyday belief) or that some other mechanism (whatever is in play for these cases) can account for sport cases of care/value mismatch. Either way, the result is bad for Walton.

In light of the above, Walton might instead argue that many competitive games feature mimetic elements, which suggests that they involve make-believe. However, says Stear, these make-believe aspects are irrelevant to the games qua games. One can play chess, says Stear, as a competition without invoking any of chess’s representational content – e.g. without thinking that the utility of the pieces corresponds to their rank in the social hierarchy. This not only undercuts the attempted argument for Walton’s position, but also suggests that make-believe is irrelevant to participating in these games.

Stear’s fourth objection concerns authenticity. Specifically, we think it is important that players of sports/competitive games really try – if they do not, then it cheapens or damages the game. But there does not seem to be any comparable requirement when we consider traditional fictions: there is no authenticity or effort condition that must be satisfied in order for us to properly engage with fiction. This suggests that engagement with fiction and participation in sport are different kinds of activities, for if ‘sports participation involved make-believe, one would expect authenticity to be irrelevant to one’s ability to get behind a competitor’ (Stear 2017, 282).

The fifth and final objection begins with the observation that it is not clear what, if any, propositions we are prescribed to make-believe when we participate in sport, with the exception of those propositions that are actually true. For example, when participating in a football match, to play the Waltonian game of make-believe, I am prescribed to imagine that the field has the dimensions it actually does, that the ball is, in fact, a ball, that there are 11 players on each side (who are identical to the people they actually are), that it is taking place in the city it is, in fact, taking place in, etc. Nothing further seems to be prescribed. But, if all that we are meant to imagine are those propositions that are in fact true, then the level of care we should feel for the outcome within the game of make-believe should be identical to the level we should have in the actual world – after all, nothing that would justify any variation has been introduced into the make-believe game. And if there is nothing we are adding to fiction that justifies caring so much about the outcome, ‘[h]ow, then, does positing such a fictional world help explain our apparently incoherent attitudes towards competitive game outcomes?’ (Stear 2017, 281)

In summary, these five objections seem to raise significant problems for the Waltonian approach to the puzzle. Not only do they call into question the approach’s main motivations, but they also suggest that, contra Walton, participation in sport does not involve playing games of make-believe.

Taking these objections to undercut the Waltonian approach, Stear goes on to detail his own solution to the puzzle. This solution hinges upon two insights: first, different contexts make different motivational attitudes more or less salient, which can, in turn, make certain concerns more or less substantive. Second, ‘competitive games, if we let them, can supply such contexts’ (Stear 2017, 283). Using these, we can say that what happens when we participate in sport is that we enter into a certain context which highlights specific motivational attitudes. Because these specific attitudes are highlighted, we then come to care intensely about particular related outcomes (e.g. the home team winning). Later, after we have ceased participating and are in a different context, different particular motivational attitudes will rise to the fore. Correspondingly, we will then come to care much less about those same outcomes.¹⁰

So understood, Stear’s solution is that (PS2) and (PS3) contain hidden contextual restrictions:

• (PS2*) 1. In context C1, we do not believe that the outcomes of sport/competitive games matter very much

• (PS2*) 2. In context C2, we care a great deal about (some) sport/competitive game outcomes

Provided that context C1 ≠ context C2, there is no problem with accepting these two, together with (PS1). Hence, the puzzle is apparently dissolved.

Addressing Stear’s first four objections

Before directly addressing Stear’s first four objections, I would like to briefly offer two alternative arguments for the idea that sometimes, participation in sport involves playing games of make-believe.

The first argument emerges from competitive art-production games, games the playing of which essentially involves producing and critically engaging with artwork (Wildman and Archer 2019, 10). An example of such a game is Wildman and Archer’s Visual Art Challenge. This game has two parts. In the first part, players produce a visual artwork that makes use of five randomly selected colours and which embodies three randomly selected aesthetic themes or qualities. In the second part of the game, these artworks are jointly displayed. After some time critically examining the art, players then secretly vote on which work (i) best exemplifies the themes/qualities, (ii) makes best use of the specified colours, (iii) least exemplifies the themes/qualities, and (iv) makes worst use of the colours. (To keep it fair, players cannot vote for their own artworks.) These secret votes are then tallied, with each vote earned in the first two categories scores one point, and each vote in the latter two worth subtracts one point. The winner is the player with the highest overall score.

The game includes a specific competitive element, as players are competing with each other to win. Further, it can get quite competitive (even among people who are not very talented visual artists or experienced art critics), evoking a far greater emotional response than it properly warrants. So it is fair to say that it falls in the category of competitive game. More importantly, this, together with the assumption that the Waltonian account of visual art is correct, entails that sometimes, participation in sport involves make-believe. The Waltonian account of visual art entails that engagement with visual art involves playing a game of make-believe. Since playing Visual Art Challenge essentially involves making and critically engaging with visual art, it follows that participating in this game involves playing a game of make-believe. Consequently, sometimes participating in a competitive game involves playing a game of make-believe.

A second argument concerns esports. Esports commonly take the form of organized, multiplayer videogame competitions. Recent years have seen a rapid rise in the popularity of esports, with an estimated 427 million people participating in 2019 (either through watching or playing).¹¹

Clearly, esports are a sport in the sense that Stear (and I) are using the term (though it is not clear whether they are a sport in standard usage).¹² They are also highly competitive, and readily generate the care-value mismatch cases that lie at the heart of the puzzle of sport. Further, many of the videogames that are played in esport competitions are self-involving interactive fictions (Robson and Meskin 2016); that is, they are fictions that, in virtue of being interactive, are partially about the players because, within the fiction, players identify themselves with certain fictive elements (e.g. player-characters). For this reason, it is fair to categorize these games as Walton-style fictions.¹³ Then, assuming a Waltonian account of engagement with fiction, it follows that participating in esports involves engaging in a game of make-believe. Consequently, some cases of participation involve playing games of make-believe.

When it comes to both art-production games and esports, participation involves games of make-believe. Further, these games of make-believe essentially structure the nature of our participation; that is, the nature of the sport/competitive game means that you cannot properly participate in them without make-believing. If you did not make-believe while participating in an art-production game, then you could not critically engage with the artwork. Consequently, the game would break down, and you’d no longer be participating (or there would be nothing to participate in). Similarly, in the case of esports, not make-believing entails not engaging in the fictional identification that lies at the heart of self-involving interactive fictions. So players who are not make-believing would not be playing the game in an authorized manner. And spectators who did not make-believe could not engage with the in-game action in an authorized manner either.

Together, these push us into thinking that, sometimes, participation essentially involves playing a game of make-believe. This is the first step in motivating the Waltonian solution to the puzzle.

Now, consider Stear’s first objection that Walton’s argument that sport participation involves make-believe because of the similarity between responses to sport outcomes and fictional tragedy over-generates; lots of non-sport cases also have this feature. The Waltonian must either identify a relevant difference or render the notion of make-believe so applicable as to be useless.

However, several of Stear’s non-sport cases – i.e. finishing War & Peace, having the radio cut out during a gripping story, watching a TV-series, and, plausibly, joking – are things that, for Walton, explicitly involve playing games of make-believe. That at least partially diffuses the objection, since, on closer inspection, many of the ‘bad’ cases should be understood in terms of make-believe.

Moreover, it is not clear how threatening the challenge really is. If the Waltonian claimed that bringing about a care-mattering mismatch was sufficient to make some activity involve playing a game of make-believe, then there would be a significant problem. But the Waltonian need not (and should not) say anything like this. They definitely should tell us what it is that makes some mismatch cases irrational and others rational. But, even lacking this story, the Waltonian can maintain that, when it comes to the cases where we agree the participant is rational, the best explanation is to think that they are playing a game of make-believe.

The Waltonian can offer a similar response to Stear’s second objection. This is only a problem for the Waltonian if they claim that an outcome’s generating a care/mattering mismatch suffices for the outcome’s involving playing a game of make-believe. But a Waltonian need not say that (whatever Walton himself might have mistakenly claimed). Instead, they can grant that many mismatch cases are irrational (and potentially also immoral), and hence do not generate a puzzle. Meanwhile, in the rational cases – i.e. in the instances where there is a genuine puzzle – they can claim that the best explanation – and hence solution to the puzzle – involves appealing to make-believe.

Of course, this abductive argument only gets us so far. To make it work, the Waltonian must show that their solution is better than Stear’s own solution; this is a point we will return to shortly. Notably, this argument does not help us delineate between mismatch cases where the individual involved is rational and those where they are irrational. But that is not an objection to the view, since this is not the question it was designed to answer.¹⁴

Stear’s third objection also aims to undercut an argument Walton might offer for his position. However, as Stear presents it, this objection is mis-targeted. To see why, let us distinguish between claims the Waltonian can make:

Strong-SMB Competitive games & sports are Waltonian fictions – i.e. to participate in sport/competitive games essentially involves engaging in a game of make-believe

Weak-SMB Sometimes, participating in sport involves playing a game of make-believe

Importantly, Walton (2015) is only interested in defending Weak-SMB.¹⁵ But Stear’s third objection is only a problem for Strong-SMB. That we sometimes participate without make-believing is incompatible with the claim that all cases of participation involve make-believe, but is perfectly compatible with it being that case that some instances of participation involve make-believing. Further, in light of the above arguments, any attempt to extend this objection to Weak-SMB is bound to fail: our participation in art-creation games and e-sports involving self-involving interactive fictions shows that it is false that participation never involves make-believing. So, this objection is at best mis-targeted, and at worst bound to fail.

Stear’s fourth objection was that sport requires a kind of authenticity – a genuine effort – from players, but this demand for authenticity is not present in other games of make-believe. This suggests that engagement with typical fictions and participation in sport are different kinds of activities.

However, the fact that sport has an authenticity requirement that is not obviously present in other typical fictions (i.e. in other games of make-believe) does not undercut the idea that (some) participation in sport involves playing a game of make-believe. Different kinds of games of make-believe can have different pre-requisite conditions. If these pre-requisites are not met, then it is not possible to properly play the game. For example, one pre-requisite for properly playing table-top role-playing games that feature dice-based resolution mechanics like Dungeons and Dragons is that players commit to not cheat when rolling dice (no ‘dirty pool’). If these conditions are not met – e.g. because one of the players brings a loaded die or intentionally miscalculates some value – then the game breaks down. In turn, this makes playing the associated game of make-believe in an authorized manner difficult, if not impossible, since some of the props we need are either absent (if we think that the props are non-cheating-players/fair dice rolls) or have the wrong features (if the props are the players/dice). Players must be honest; otherwise, they spoil the game (of make-believe).

Further, engagement with most fictions – e.g. literary fiction, visual art, etc. – does not involve this honesty requirement. So, following the reasoning in Stear’s objection, it follows that participating in these table-top role-playing games does not involve make-believe; if it did, then honesty should be irrelevant. But if any activity fits the Waltonian paradigm, table-top role-playing games do. So we have effectively run a reductio on Stear’s argument.

Similarly, it is plausible that a pre-requisite for participating in sport is that the players are authentic. If players are not, then the needed props are either absent (if the props are players-who-are-trying) or have the wrong features (if the props are the players). Either way, the game of make-believe cannot be properly played. But the presence of this authenticity requirement says nothing against participation involving make-believe.

Interestingly, Stear tries to anticipate something like this reply. Specifically, he claims that it is ‘dialectically unhelpful’ because it ‘simply restates the difference between sports and traditional fictions without explaining why sports spectators require authenticity’ (Stear 2017, 282). But this counter conflates two different issues. The first, and the one that concerns us here, is whether this (apparently) distinctive feature shows that engagement with sport is distinct from engagement with typical fiction. Pointing out that different games of make-believe have different prerequisites is perfectly dialectically relevant to this matter, since it shows that not every game of make-believe involves the exact same kind of activities. The second is determining why it is that different games of make-believe have the prerequisites that they do. This is a totally different issue, one which is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Importantly, this question already concedes that participating in sport involves playing a game of make-believe; all that is left to do is sort out why it is that the different games have the features that they do.¹⁶ To think that the reply is ‘dialectically unhelpful’ is to misunderstand the dialectic.

The general upshot is that the Waltonian can, it seems, adequately respond to Stear’s first four objections.

A problem for Stear and a reply to his fifth objection

Recall that Stear’s proposed solution involves appealing to shifts in context making specific motivational attitudes more or less salient. The central claim is that we can remain rational while maintaining our commitment to sport outcomes not mattering and also caring a great deal about them because these two affective states emerge in different contexts.

Consider a typical Saturday in Tilburg. My friends and I are sitting in the stands, cheering on Willem II. After a fancy bit of build-up, the William II striker deftly slots home a goal. The home crowd immediately goes wild, shouting and hollering. While still wildly celebrating, I turn to my friend and say:

• 1. I know that goal doesn’t really matter, but that was the greatest thing that ever happened

The utterance in (1) is a conjunction, with the first conjunct expressing my thoughts about the real significance of the outcome while the second expresses a different thought concerning my emotional investment in the outcome. In this way, my uttering (1) looks like a paradigmatic instance of the puzzle.¹⁷ Note also that the same context governs both the first, mattering conjunct and the second, valuation conjunct. This means we cannot appeal to a shift in context to explain away the apparent contradiction between the two conjuncts.

Recall that Stear’s account only works if the utterances about how much the outcome matters and how much we value the outcome are made in different contexts. In these conjunctive utterance cases, the two are made as part of the same utterance, and hence are occur in the same context. Consequently, Stear’s solution is structurally unable to handle them. And this kind of conjunctive utterance is, I contend, not uncommon; anecdotally, I’ve heard something like this numerous times in pubs, sidelines, and stands. In this way, these cases indicate a significant flaw in Stear’s solution to the puzzle.

The Waltonian approach, however, can accommodate these conjunctive utterence cases. According to the Waltonian, the second, valuing conjunct of my utterance of (1) contains a hidden, ‘in the fiction’ operator. Thus, a more explicit formulation of the utterance is something like:

• 2. I know the goal does not really matter, but, in this football fiction, that was the greatest thing that ever happened

Being able to account for these conjunctive utterance instances of the puzzle is a significant point in favour of the Waltonian solution, thereby bolstering the abductive argument described above.

This brings us to a final point: what should the Waltonian say in response to Stear’s fifth objection? What is it that explains how the content of the games of make-believe participants supposedly play justifies their heightened levels of caring within the fiction?

This, I think, is a hard problem for the Waltonian. That said, I would like to suggest one possible answer: what explains the fictional heightened level of caring is the level of mattering the relevant outcome has within the fiction.

Consider John Carpenter’s The Thing. According to the Waltonian account, engagement with this film involves playing a game of make-believe. Part of this game involves fearing the eponymous monster; when engaging with the film, there is a prescription to imagine that you are afraid of the Thing. However, there is no specific amount of fear that you are prescribed to imaginarily feel. Rather, there is a permission to imagine any one of various levels, from mild fear to abject terror.¹⁸ But if you do not fear the monster, then you are not playing the game of make-believe appropriately.

Extending this idea, the Waltonian might say that the games of make-believe we play when participating in sport involve prescriptions to imagine that the outcome matters. This might be because we are players and taking it to matter is part of what it is to be authentic, or because we are spectators and ‘getting into the game’ involves taking up, even if only fictionally, an investment in the action. Either way, participating involves imagining that the outcome matters. However, while there is this prescription to imagine that the outcome matters, no specific amount of mattering is required. Rather, participants are permitted to imagine any one of a number of mattering-levels, from vaguely interesting to Shankley’s more important than life or death.

This range of permitted imaginings supports a variety of levels of affective reaction. We can imagine that the outcome matters a great deal, which then allows us, within the fiction, to care about it to an appropriately high level. Alternatively, we can take it to not matter much, which goes hand-in-hand with an equally low level of (fictional) caring.

Of course, this looks like I have just moved the bubble in the carpet. After all, what fixes how much we take the outcome to matter?

Here I think the Waltonian can make use of Stear’s insight that different contexts can make different motivational attitudes more or less salient. For if we link this point together with the prescription to imagine that the sport outcome matters, what can explain why a particular individual takes it to matter to such-and-such degree is the motivational attitudes made salient by the imagined context. Waltonians could then repeat whatever contextualist story Stear uses to explain how it is that participants care as much as they do, but all within the scope of the game of make-believe. That would then provide a solution to the fifth objection.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Amanda Cawston, Alfred Archer, Georgina Mills, and Carlo Garofalo for useful discussion and feedback, and to Richard Woodward for lengthy discussion about the Waltonian approach in general.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes

1. For example, my parents are both huge Alabama fans, and can get quite emotional when they win/lose.

2. Pinning down exactly down what activities are sports or competitive games is tricky business. However, thinking about paradigmatic instances can give us a sufficient, even if rough-and-ready, grasp: football (both Association and American), basketball, cricket, tennis, and baseball are all the sort of thing that I mean by ‘sport’, while DOTA 2, Monopoly, Warhammer 40k, and chess are examples of competitive games.

3. Obviously, some sport outcomes do matter, and we care about them in virtue of some instrumental value. For example, Stear (Stear 2017, 276) mentions Uday Hussein threatening to amputate the legs of the members of the Iraq national football team if they lost (see, e.g., Kuper and Szymanski 2009, 278). However, we can set those cases aside and focus exclusively on those that, in our sober moments, we all agree lack this instrumental value.

4. For more on the difference between sport and competitive games, see, e.g. Suits (1978) and Schnieder (2001).

5. This and the following are slightly modified versions of the presentation in Stear (2017, 276–7).

6. In brief, the cognitivist theory of emotions holds that some kind of cognitive activity (e.g. judgements, evaluations, thoughts, etc.) are necessary constituents of emotions. For more on cognitivism, see, e.g. Solomon (2003), Neu (2000), and Nussbaum (2001), and for criticisms of cognitivism, see, e.g. James (1884), Prinz (2004), and Deigh (1994). Here, I simply accept the plausibility of (PF1), and leave the debate about the nature of emotions for another day.

7. Fictional realists claim that fictional entities (characters, events, objects, etc.) exist, while fictional anti-realists say that they do not. Pre-theoretically, anti-realism is extremely plausible. However, there is much debate about the matter. For an overview of the debate, see Friend (2007). For a sustained defence of fictional anti-realism, see Everett (2013) .

8. For further details about Walton’s broad theory, see, e.g. Walton (1990, 1993) and Woodward (2014).

9. The solution also involves taking it to be the case that, fictionally, we do believe that the outcomes matter a great deal, which is compatible with the truth of (PS1) and (PS2).

10. This presentation glosses over several irrelevant finer details.

11. Figure from Rovell (2016).

12. Remember that I, like Stear, treat ‘sport’ and ‘competitive game’ interchangeably. For a case against esports as (proper) sport, see Parry (2018).

13. Whether all videogames are fictions in Walton’s sense is debatable. For further discussion, see, e.g. Tavinor (2005, 2009), Robson and Meskin (2016) and Meskin and Robson (2012).

14. And, for what it is worth, it is not clear how Stear’s own solution to the puzzle gives us a way for delineating between the rational and irrational cases.

15. It is worth noting that one can accept Strong- or Weak-SMB while denying the Waltonian solution to the puzzle: thinking that participating in sport involves engaging in a game of make-believe does not entail thinking that make-believe explains any puzzle case. Compare the paradox of fiction. Accepting a Waltonian account of fiction does not entail accepting the Waltonian, quasi-emotion solution to the paradox. In fact, the Waltonian account of fiction as games of make-believe is compatible with numerous paradox solutions, including, but not limited to, Walton’s own.

16. One potential approach might be to appeal to Walton’s conception of categories of art (Walton 1970), and use these to help delineate different ‘categories of make-believe’. But I leave this issue for another day.

17. To avoid any undue complications, we can also stipulate that, in this case, I am behaving rationally.

18. For more on permissions to imagine, see Williams and Woodward (ms), Wildman and Woodward (2018), and Wildman (2019).