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Call for Papers for American Philosophical Quarterly’s special issue on The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence

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Call for Papers for American Philosophical Quarterly ’s special issue on The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence Editor in chief: Patrick Grim Guest editor: Luciano Floridi Artificial Intelligence (AI), from machine learning to robotics, generates enormous opportunities and significant challenges. In the past few years, many of them have led to a flourishing of international initiatives and growing research concerning the ethics and governance of AI. This special issue solicits the submission of original articles that investigate how AI is transforming classic questions or leading to new ones in moral thinking, and how such questions may be addressed successfully. Topics of special interest include but are not limited to AI and: authenticity, creativity, and intellectual property rights; bias, discrimination and fairness; the digital divide; digital sovereignty; capabilities and empowerment; cyberconflicts and cybersecurity; fake news and deep fakes; ethical frameworks and principles; et

Futuro Antico. Intervista al filosofo Luciano Floridi By Marco Bassan -11 Gennaio 2023 per Arttribune

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Condivido la versione corretta dell'intervista uscita su Arttribune . Purtroppo la versione pubblicata per errore è la prima bozza.

On Kia and Pelé (series: notes to myself)

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They say there are only six connections between any two people on this planet. Maybe. My mum once danced with Juan Carlos I (her mother taught piano at the Spanish Embassy in Rome). My sister-in-law knew the Queen. And my brother met Pope Benedict XVI. I should be indirectly connected to a lot of people. But the most amazing link is another. And this is the story I wish to tell you. 21 June 1970, Mexico, world cup final. A memorable game, even for a child born in Rome in 1964. Italy lost against what is still considered the greatest Brazilian football team of all time . But this is still history, not my story yet, which beings a year earlier.   In 1969, the Brazilian team was training in Rio de Janeiro. They had their headquarters in São Conrado. At the time, the place was far from downtown. The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, with people meeting the players, and the occasional BBQ.  One girl, six years old, was often seen mixing with the team. She liked football. Her parents took

On two of my philosophical earworms - part 1 (series: notes to myself)

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Of all the philosophical problems crowding my mind, four are recurrent and pressing. They are like two roundabouts to which I return regularly, inevitably. If I let my mind wander, there I am, thinking about one of them. I hear them silently, like earworms that take turns, melodies stuck in my head. Let me tell you about two of them (the other two will have to wait for another note). One is about the nature of reality. What comes first, things or relations? Not chronologically, of course, but in terms of ontological priority. We cannot help but perceive and conceptualise the world in terms of stuff. We are stuff. We are surrounded by stuff. We eat stuff and bump into stuff. Stuff does stuff, causally. Stuff is made of more stuff, it changes, moves, grows and shrinks, is gathered, modelled, built and broken. Stuff everywhere, every time. Anything else is what happens to stuff. Properties, transformations, relations. From Aristotle onwards, the problem of Being is the problem of stuff: s

On a geography lesson, determination, and a giant sycamore tree (series: notes to myself)

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I must have been eight or nine years old, for I had just finished my third (or was it fourth?) grade (terza o quarta elementare). It was the usual, long summer in Guarcino, the small village between Rome and Naples, where I spent all my childhood holidays. Soon we would have returned to Rome, the school would have restarted, and I would have failed all the geography tests. Again. I had no memory. Never did and never will. Yet the teacher kept quizzing me about the names of the regions of Italy, the names of the cities in the regions and of the main rivers, and their length, the names of the highest mountains in the Alps and the Apennine... There was no reasoning, no logical inference, nothing to understand, criticise, or debate. I remember her asking me about the “orography” of the Val d’Aosta region. The word in Italian is very similar: “orografia”. I had no recollection. So I started talking about the importance of “oro” in Val d’Aosta (“oro” means gold in Italian). She kindly and ge

On a tear off calendar (series: notes to myself)

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We live as if we added time to our existence. Days pile up, like read books. Age increases, like memories. Years accumulate, like old photographs yellowing in an album. The journey accrues special moments, like points in some loyalty card. Not knowing the end, we consider only the beginning, and we start counting from there. Like using a digital calendar that has as many days as you need, our time as boundless as the natural numbers, plus one being the rule. But I remember that in our old house, in the small village, in the countryside, when celebrating the end of the year, we used to get a daily, tear off calendar. It was a free gift from a local shop. Days did not pile up, you tore them off, once a day, every day, until only the 31st of December was left, a lonely square of white paper, the date written in red, large and bold, deprived of all its dead siblings, already thrown into the dustbin. Going back to that house months later, you had to cut off a whole block, months were gone,

On being immortal (series: notes to myself)

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I grew up with two conceptions of immortality in my mind. It took me a while to realise that they shaped my behaviours and my choices. My identity. Neither turned out to be credible. But both were useful, for they taught me a lesson. As a Catholic, I was brought up believing in a dream. I was immortal. Not backwards, for I was born. But forward, because I would not die. Actually, this is not the dream, for it may be the worst of all nightmares. It is the second part that turned it into the best deal ever. I was taught, since I can remember, that if I behaved decently and repent about the rest, I was going to live a life of heavenly bliss forever, and ultimately resurrect, just the way I was (or even better), and join all the people I had ever loved and indeed billions more.  As a kid, I worried, not deeply yet frequently, about eternal damnation, the nasty side of being immortal. Speak of side effects! Better be annihilated, I calculated, than suffer horribly forever. And sometimes I a