Snowflake morality

Some of you may find this exchange at Susan Walsh’s place to be as familiar as it is amusing. INTJ attempts to call JutR and me to account on the basis of our bigoted belief in the superiority of Western culture:

The level of arrogance and superiority you seem to have for Western culture is frankly shocking to me. I have better things to do then to have a lengthy argument about your bigoted views, but I’ll throw in a couple of points:

First, if the Bible and the Quran are interpreted literally, both Islam and Christianity are absolutely horrific religions. Christianity has no right to hold the moral high ground here. The only difference between the two religions is that radical Islam is far more prevalent and powerful than radical Christianity. But this has nothing to do with religion. The only reason for this is Cold War politics. It was the American government that propped up reactionary governments like the Saudis, and it’s the America and Israel that funded jihadist groups in the Middle East to destabilize pro-Soviet governments.

Second, it is clear cut that the West as a whole is far more promiscuous than the East, reflecting a cultural legacy of individualism. This culture had its pros (such as work ethic, meritocracy) and cons (promiscuity, narcissism). But there’s no question that the West is more individualist, and in America in particular, more materialist due to the consumer society.

I’ve spent time in enough third-world shitholes to vastly prefer Western culture to all of the alternatives, yes. I’m not excusing the USA’s insane meddling in empire and the West is now indubitably in decline, but if you’re going to defend cannibal cultures and pagan ones that couldn’t figure out the wheel, running water, or the rule of law, well, I’m simply going to laugh at you. Perhaps when the West collapses economically and you end up in a part of it dominated by non-Western cultures, you’ll learn to appreciate what was once Christendom.

Oh, this should be amusing. By what universal moral standard are Islam and Christianity “absolutely horrific”? Your personal and subjective one? Some pagan Indian one? If you are clueless enough to try to claim they are self-condemning by their own standards, this is going to get very embarrassing for you very fast. You would appear to be unaware that Doug Wilson absolutely handed Christopher Hitchens his head on a platter when Hitchens tried to make this very argument.

Cannibal cultures? Seriously? You should at least reread what you type before you post such shit.

You conveniently overlooked the conditionality of my statement: “if the Bible and the Quran are interpreted literally”. Yes, slavery, rape, and genocide are horrific according to my own moral standard. Do you disagree with this aspect of my own moral standard? If so, feel free to fuck off.

What, you didn’t hear about the German who got eaten earlier this year in Papua New Guinea? It’s not “shit”, it’s historical fact and it is still happening today. Do you really not know that albinos are being slaughtered across Africa and even in Europe now for “muti”? Or that the UN confirmed that pygmies were being eaten in the Congo in 2003?

I didn’t overlook it at all. In fact, the literal interpretation of both the Bible and the Koran is obviously assumed if one is going to judge their respective moralities by the standards imposed by the respective scriptures. And you call yourself an INTJ….

Who cares about your stupid little personal moral standard? It is no more valid to the other seven billion people on the planet than Hitler’s, Stalin’s, or anyone else’s who doesn’t subscribe to an objective one with a universal warrant. “Fuck off if you don’t agree with me” is a borderline retarded argument, but by all means, feel free to run away crying like a little girl who can’t make a rational case for her own position if you like. And you should care what that fool Hitchens did, because he was trying to defend exactly the same position you appear to be holding.

As an INTJ, I come to my own conclusions and make sure they’re internally sound. Hitchens may or may not share my conclusions, and may or may not have sound reasons for those conclusions. Either way, I don’t care, as I do not attribute much value to Hitchens’ political/philosophical activity.

And I’m not arguing with you when I tell you to fuck off. I’m simply following my own “not very valid” moral standard, which requires me to take react aggressively to those who aren’t against slavery, rape, or genocide.

You may subscribe to the moral standard as literally expounded in the scripture of the Bible, which includes Exodus 21, Numbers 31, and Deuteronomy 20 & 21. If so, I repeat what I said earlier: feel free to fuck off.

An appeal to the authority of your personality type. That’s certainly a creative logical fallacy. Since you are the author of those conclusions, no doubt you are the ideal person to be certain your conclusions are internally sound.

How very admirable [. I suppose I must be doing the same thing, although my unique and subjective moral standard requires me to point and laugh at philosophically ignorant individuals who genuinely believe they have constructed a sound and logically consistent moral standard when they are doing little more than attempting to rationalize their feelings. Seriously, speaking as a fellow INTJ, you’re really letting the side down here. In fact, we appear to have a real conundrum here, as I can appeal to the same authority to which you are appealing in defense of a very different conclusion.

I most certainly do. God’s Games, God’s Rules. Even Socrates couldn’t quibble philosophically with that; it solves the second horn of his false dilemma. To paraphrase the voice in the whirlwind, who do you think you are, creature, to judge your Maker? You are like an NPC on a World of Warcraft server shaking its fist at Rob Pardo, demanding to know why it has to watch orc after orc after orc die at the hands of invading parties, seeing them rise again from the dead only to die in agony once more. Slaver! Murderer! Genocidal Maniac! And then Pardo flicks a switch and that entire universe vanishes in an instant.


On closing comments

Walter Russell Mead shuts down comments at The American Interest:

After almost three years and well more than 40,000 published reader comments (and half a million spam comments that either we or our spam filter managed to identify and trash), Via Meadia is joining the ranks of non-comment blogs. We’re grateful to readers over those years who have shared their reactions to what they read here, and hope to develop new ways to interact with readers even as we continue to benefit from their thoughts and responses, but the traditional comments section no longer seems like the right way to go. To make the comments section work in its present form we would have to edit and curate much more aggressively than we do now and in our current judgment the effort needed to do that is better spent improving other features of the blog.

One uncomfortable truth I have observed over time is that most bloggers really don’t want “to interact with readers”. What they appear to really want is to be admired, to be praised and to see their opinions echoed back to them. The primary reason they permit comments in the first place is because comments serve as a metric of both status and success; one of the hallmarks of a successful blog is a plethora of comments following every post. In most cases, even if they claim to value discourse and diversity of opinion, the spectrum of permissible discourse is quite strictly limited, regardless of the blogger’s place on the ideological spectrum.

Contra the assertion above, it is really not very much work keeping comments from getting out of hand. Mr. Mead purports to be overwhelmed by the difficulty of managing 40,000 comments in three years, whereas there have been 33,494 comments here at VP in the last five months alone. During that time, precisely one person had to be banned and that one person was only banned after first making dozens of comments and even having multiple posts dedicated to directly responding to him. The reality is that if you have a few good commenters capable of defending their own arguments and criticizing the overtly nonsensical arguments presented by others, there is very little that the blogger has to do himself. In nine years of this blog, which began in October 2003, I don’t think there have been more than 20 people banned out of the thousands who have left a comment here at one point or another.

Granted, a few of those 20 or so people have been banned repeatedly under an impressively long list of pseudonyms. Who, after all, can remember all of the various identities belonging to the infamous Jefferson or that would-be literary critic, Dimwit Dan? However, the true troll is both rare and very easy to identify. As a general rule, the sort of individual who doesn’t have the self-control to avoid getting banned in a comparatively relaxed environment also lacks the self-awareness to stop doing what got him previously banned.

Now, please note that I’m not criticizing Mr. Mead’s decision to shut down comments, any more than I have criticized John Scalzi’s decision to aggressively delete all comments from all sources that he so elegantly labels “assbags”, or Instapundit’s decision not to permit comments in the first place. Every blogger has a perfect right to run things however he happens to see fit and I can’t see that comments would actually suit Instapundit’s quick-hit, news-breaking format anyhow.

What I am criticizing in both the Mead and Scalzi situations is the pretense involved. In the former case, it is provably untrue that it is a lot of work to permit comments. In the case of the latter, it is provably untrue that differences of opinion on many subjects are permitted. As a blogger, one should do what one wants, but one should also be honest about what that is. If you want a one-way megaphone or you only want to permit dissent within certain parameters, that’s not a problem.

But in such cases, you cannot try to claim that you also value the sort of open discourse and competitive exchange of ideas that takes place on a regular basis here at Vox Popoli. That is simply false advertising. What John Scalzi describes as “a feculent miasma” is actually the rich and pungent aroma of intellectual freedom. But his description is extremely informative. Only a man who spends his days with his nose up his own ass could mistake the scent of freedom for bullshit.

Vox Popoli is not, and will never be, an echo chamber. There are not, and will never be, any topics that are definitively outside the scope of permissible intellectual discourse. If, for whatever reason, you wish to defend racism, sexism, cannibalism, the Holocaust, the designated hitter, the nonexistence of God, or even the novels of Robert Jordan, you can certainly do so here provided that you do so on-topic – I’ll even create a topic for you if necessary – and in an intellectually honest manner. The only commenters whose participation I will not tolerate is those who repeatedly lie, who demonstrate proven intellectual dishonesty, and who simply refuse to admit it when someone else has publicly shown them to be wrong. If you are not at least capable of acknowledging that you could be wrong about an idea, no matter how near and dear it is to you, then you will probably be better served commenting at a place where your ideas will not be questioned or criticized.

This may not be the best blog on the Internet, but I do hope that it is at least among the most open to ideas, however crazy they might be, and to genuine debate and discussion. I know I have changed my mind on numerous topics, from universal suffrage to free trade, as a direct result of the discussions that have taken place here, and I suspect I am not the only one.


On rights

The conflict between the idea that Man has an intrinsic right to free trade and the observation that virtually no man has ever been able to engage in most of the activities that are necessarily aspects of that supposed right got me thinking about the concept of rights.

Now, there is obviously a significant difference between the “human rights” asserted by the UN Declaration of Human Rights and the supposedly unalienable rights laid out in the US Declaration of Independence. The former are entirely conditional and are subordinate to both national law, (namely, such limitations as are determined by law meeting the just requirements of morality, public order and the general welfare in a democratic society) as well as the purposes and principles of the United Nations.

The supposedly self-evident rights of the Declaration of Independence are clearly nothing of the sort, in that they are observably wrong. All men are not created equal in any way, genetically, legally, or spiritually, and furthermore, these rights are totally contingent upon the Creator by whom they are endowed. Atheism and a number of theisms necessarily preclude the existence of these rights.

But in either case, it seems obvious to me that neither is a reasonable basis for any rights upon which a case for free trade, or many other human actions can be made. Therefore, I think it is necessary to go back and look at what is the definition of the rights of Man. It’s not my purpose to consider all of the various 18th century theories about this, but rather to begin at the beginning, which is to say that in order to be coherent, consistent and materially relevant, a right must be something that a) applies to an individual, b) supersedes all other claims by all other parties, c) is consistent with observable human action in the real world.

So, for example, a claimed right to breath oxygen would potentially fit all of these categories, whereas the right to vote would not, since no one has ever observed a right to vote regardless of where they live or possess citizenship. A right to shelter cannot exist, since the competing right to property has historically taken precedent.

I propose, then, the following definitional metric. A right of Man is that for which the individual can justly, morally, (and in ideal terms, legally), kill another individual for attempting to deny him.

What are the proposed rights that can fit within this metric? The right to life, clearly. The right to self-defense is equally apparent. The right to think, the right to believe, the right to speak, the right to eat, the right to void, and the right to sensory input are not only self-evident, but inherent to the being of Man. But do any of the other rights that we habitually assume to exist on the mere basis of the fact that they were historically asserted actually hold up from this perspective?


The Austrian critique of force

Since so many free traders keep appealing to the supposed reliance of tariffs on force, or the “badges and guns” argument, as if it actually bolstered their case, I thought it would be a good idea to go to the source and examine in detail precisely what their case against force was. I was motivated to do so by Unger’s citation of George Washington’s famous analogy in which he warned about the dangers of government by comparing it to fire.

I believe the free traders, in their religious hysteria, are failing to grasp the obvious, which is that nations and governments exist, have always existed, and always will exist regardless of what utopian fantasies are concocted in order to imagine a world without them. Fire is dangerous, to be sure, but fire is also a very material element of the world and is necessary for a wide range of human activities. Washington did not make his point in order to encourage Americans to rid themselves of government entirely, but rather to remind them to be cautious in how they utilized it. Washington’s speech is not intrinsically anti-government, but rather speaks to the necessity and the utility of properly controlled government in the service of the nation.

So, let’s turn to Mises and see what he has to say about the matter in his Critique of the Doctrine of Force:

The champions of democracy in the eighteenth century argued that only monarchs and their ministers are morally depraved, injudicious, and evil. The people, however, are altogether good, pure, and noble, and have, besides, the intellectual gifts needed in order always to know and to do what is right. This is, of course, all nonsense, no less so than the flattery of the courtiers who ascribed all good and noble qualities to their princes. The people are the sum of all individual citizens; and if some individuals are not intelligent and noble, then neither are all together.

Since mankind entered the age of democracy with such high-flown expectations, it is not surprising that disillusionment should soon have set in. It was quickly discovered that the democracies committed at least as many errors as the monarchies and aristocracies had. The comparison that people drew between the men whom the democracies placed at the head of the government and those whom the emperors and kings, in the exercise of their absolute power, had elevated to that position, proved by no means favorable to the new wielders of power. The French are wont to speak of “killing with ridicule.” And indeed, the statesmen representative of democracy soon rendered it everywhere ridiculous. Those of the old regime had displayed a certain aristocratic dignity, at least in their outward demeanor. The new ones, who replaced them, made themselves contemptible by their behavior. Nothing has done more harm to democracy in Germany and Austria than the hollow arrogance and impudent vanity with which the Social-Democratic leaders who rose to power after the collapse of the empire conducted themselves.

Thus, wherever democracy triumphed, an antidemocratic doctrine soon arose in fundamental opposition to it. There is no sense, it was said, in allowing the majority to rule. The best ought to govern, even if they are in the minority. This seems so obvious that the supporters of antidemocratic movements of all kinds have steadily increased in number. The more contemptible the men whom democracy has placed at the top have proved themselves to be, the greater has grown the number of the enemies of democracy.

First, I think it is important to note that Mises is not talking about actual democracy, but rather the perverted form of it known as representative democracy. But regardless, he is entirely correct, as there are few better arguments against representative democracy than to point to the deficient character and ludicrous behavior of the current representatives of the American people. In this regard, little has changed since the days of the Weimar Republic, as the democracies of the West are still almost uniformly led by buffoons, charlatans, and the corrupt.

There are, however, serious fallacies in the antidemocratic doctrine. What, after all, does it mean to speak of “the best man” or “the best men”? The Republic of Poland placed a piano virtuoso at its head because it considered him the best Pole of the age. But the qualities that the leader of a state must have are very different from those of a musician. The opponents of democracy, when they use the expression “the best,” can mean nothing else than the man or the men best fitted to conduct the affairs of the government, even if they understand little or nothing of music. But this leads to the same political question: Who is the best fitted? Was it Disraeli or Gladstone? The Tory saw the best man in the former; the Whig, in the latter. Who should decide this if not the majority?

And so we reach the decisive point of all antidemocratic doctrines, whether advanced by the descendants of the old aristocracy and the supporters of hereditary monarchy, or by the syndicalists, Bolsheviks, and socialists, viz., the doctrine of force. The opponents of democracy champion the right of a minority to seize control of the state by force and to rule over the majority. The moral justification of this procedure consists, it is thought, precisely in the power actually to seize the reins of government. One recognizes the best, those who alone are competent to govern and command, by virtue of their demonstrated ability to impose their rule on the majority against its will. Here the teaching of l’Action Fran?aise coincides with that of the syndicalists, and the doctrine of Ludendorff and Hitler, with that of Lenin and Trotzky.

Here is where Mises begins to go astray. Who should decide “the best” except the majority? Based on the observable results of the last 100 years of representative democracy, almost any method would work better. Politicians have not improved any since the days of Weimar, indeed, on a number of measures they have declined dramatically. In a time when politicians hire others to write the speeches they then read awkwardly from teleprompters, it is clear that we are much closer to the days of President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho than Cicero, or even Paul von Hindenburg. And furthermore, what is the moral basis for majority rule in the first place? Is it not simply the weight of numbers? Is it not simply the majority’s “demonstrated ability to impose their rule” on the outnumbered remainder of the population? What Mises fails to realize is that the doctrine of force he decries on the part of the minority relies upon precisely the same basis as his preferred doctrine of the majority, especially since we are not actually discussing the rule of the actual majority, merely the rule of a different minority which purports to claim the approval of “the majority”, whether that is actually the case or not.

I further note that the majority upon which the right of the representative minority to rule is claimed is in reality almost never an actual majority, but usually amounts to a mere plurality. So, Mises is actually doing nothing more than attempting to justify the rule by force of one small minority supported by a larger minority versus the rule by force of a different small minority.

Many arguments can be urged for and against these doctrines, depending on one’s religious and philosophical convictions, about which any agreement is scarcely to be expected. This is not the place to present and discuss the arguments pro and con, for they are not conclusive. The only consideration that can be decisive is one that bases itself on the fundamental argument in favor of democracy.

This is a naked assertion with absolutely no support in fact or logic. Mises doesn’t even attempt to show that it is conclusive, he simply pronounces that it is so, and the inaccurate way in which he is using the terms “democracy” and “majority” should suffice to give us cause, at the very least, to reject his assertion that the only decisive consideration is the “democratic” argument.

If every group that believes itself capable of imposing its rule on the rest is to be entitled to undertake the attempt, we must be prepared for an uninterrupted series of civil wars, But such a state of affairs is incompatible with the state of the division of labor that we have reached today. Modern society, based as it is on the division of labor, can be preserved only under conditions of lasting peace. It we had to prepare for the possibility of continual civil wars and internal struggles, we should have to retrogress to such a primitive stage of the division of labor that each province at least, if not each village, would become virtually autarkic, i.e., capable of feeding and maintaining itself for a time as a self-sufficient economic entity without importing anything from the outside. This would mean such an enormous decline in the productivity of labor that the earth could feed only a fraction of the population that it supports today. The antidemocratic ideal leads to the kind of economic order known to the Middle Ages and antiquity. Every city, every village, indeed, every individual dwelling was fortified and equipped for defense, and every province was as independent of the rest of the world as possible in its provision of commodities.

This is a red herring. The constant struggle for power is as easily settled by hereditary monarchy or aristocracy as representative democracy. Furthermore, Mises here points the way to the foundation of an argument against free trade and open borders, as nothing throughout history has ever created more war than the movement of peoples. If Mises genuinely considers peace and the division of labor to be paramount, then a heterogeneous population must be avoided at all costs, as such a population will be inherently divided and prone to the very civil wars that Mises wishes to avoid.

The democrat too is of the opinion that the best man ought to rule. But he believes that the fitness of a man or of a group of men to govern is better demonstrated if they succeed in convincing their fellow citizens of their qualifications for that position, so that they are voluntarily entrusted with the conduct of public affairs, than if they resort to force to compel others to acknowledge their claims. Whoever does not succeed in attaining to a position of leadership by virtue of the power of his arguments and the confidence that his person inspires has no reason to complain about the fact that his fellow citizens prefer others to him.

Translation: representative democracy is a supremely efficient way to ensure that society is always led by liars, con men, and sociopaths. The representative democrat is of the opinion that the best salesman ought to rule. Does anyone seriously doubt we’d be better off sticking with pianists?

To be sure, it should not and need not be denied that there is one situation in which the temptation to deviate from the democratic principles of liberalism becomes very great indeed. If judicious men see their nation, or all the nations of the world, on the road to destruction, and if they find it impossible to induce their fellow citizens to heed their counsel, they may be inclined to think it only fair and just to resort to any means whatever, in so far as it is feasible and will lead to the desired goal, in order to save everyone from disaster. Then the idea of a dictatorship of the elite, of a government by the minority maintained in power by force and ruling in the interests of all, may arise and find supporters. But force is, never a means of overcoming these difficulties. The tyranny of a minority can never endure unless it succeeds in convincing the majority of the necessity or, at any rate, of the utility, of its rule. But then the minority no longer needs force to maintain itself in power.

History provides an abundance of striking examples to show that, in the long run, even the most ruthless policy of repression does not suffice to maintain a government in power. To cite but one, the most recent and the best known: when the Bolsheviks seized control in Russia, they were a small minority, and their program found scant support among the great masses of their countrymen. For the peasantry, who constitute the bulk of the Russian people, would have nothing to do with the Bolshevik policy of farm collectivization. What they wanted was the division of the land among the “landed poverty,” as the Bolsheviks call this part of the population. And it was this program of the peasantry, not that of the Marxist leaders, which was actually put into effect. In order to remain in power, Lenin and Trotzky not only accepted this agrarian reform, but even made it a part of their own program, which they undertook to defend against all attacks, domestic and foreign. Only thus were the Bolsheviks able to win the confidence of the great mass of the Russian people. Since they adopted this policy of land distribution, the Bolsheviks rule no longer against the will of the great mass of the people, but with their consent and support. There were only two possible alternatives open to them: either their program or their control of the government had to be sacrificed. They chose the first and remained in power. The third possibility, to carry out their program by force against the will of the great mass of the people, did not exist at all. Like every determined and well-led minority, the Bolsheviks were able to seize control by force and retain it for a short time. In the long run, however, they would have been no better able to keep it than any other minority. The various attempts of the Whites to dislodge the Bolsheviks all failed because the mass of the Russian people were against them. But even if they had succeeded, the victors too would have had to respect the desires of the overwhelming majority of the population. It would have been impossible for them to alter in any way after the event the already accomplished fact of the land distribution and to restore to the landowners what had been stolen from them.

Mises makes another mistake when he attempts to convince the reader that force is “never a means” of overcoming temporary difficulties due to its asserted inability to prevail in the long run. This is obviously false, both logically and historically, as the Roman office of dictatura was limited to a period of six months, thus allowing extralegal force to be utilized to deal with short-term situations without creating the long-term problem that Mises cites. More importantly, Mises fails to notice that he disembowels his own argument intended in favor of representative democracy by noting that the Bolsheviks were able to stay in power, despite their initial reliance upon the use of force, due to the imputed consent and support of the Russian people despite the complete absence of any form of democracy, representative or otherwise. In doing so, he inadvertently justifies the very use of force that he intended to criticize, as by his metric, the right of a small minority to rule over the people is justified by its continued rule regardless of how it happened to take power.

Only a group that can count on the consent of the governed can establish a lasting regime. Whoever wants to see the world governed according to his own ideas must strive for dominion over men’s minds. It is impossible, in the long run, to subject men against their will to a regime that they reject. Whoever tries to do so by force will ultimately come to grief, and the struggles provoked by his attempt will do more harm than the worst government based on the consent of the governed could ever do. Men cannot be made happy against their will.

Given that representative democracies collapse on a regular basis, and in fact tend to have shorter lifespans than many hereditary monarchies, it should be clear from this failed critique that not only is the use of force justified so long as the force-reliant minority can maintain its rule, but that despite its pretensions, representative democracy is actually a very poor means of respecting the consent of the governed.

Now, I hope readers will not conclude that simply because I have shown von Mises’s critique of force is both inept and self-defeating, I am necessarily attempting to declare that the use of force is always justified. I am not. I am not even declaring that there is no valid Austrian critique of force. Nor should anyone conclude that I do not respect and admire one of the great thinkers of mankind simply because I am willing to point out the errors in his arguments. But this critique of a critique should suffice to show that this Austrian critique of force is invalid and that appealing to Mises with “badges and guns” rhetoric is indicative of a failure to seriously think through the topic in an intelligent manner.


Free will and the utilitarian objective

Sam Harris disagrees with Daniel Dennett concerning the existence of free will:

Dan seems to think that free will is like color: People might have some erroneous beliefs about it, but the experience of freedom and its attendant moral responsibilities can be understood in a similarly straightforward way through science. I think that free will is an illusion and that analogies to phenomena like color do not run through. A better analogy, also taken from the domain of vision, would liken free will to the sense that most of us have of visual continuity.

Take a moment to survey your immediate surroundings. Your experience of seeing will probably seem unified—a single field in which everything appears all at once and seamlessly. But the act of seeing is not quite what it seems. The first thing to notice is that most of what you see in every instant is a blur, because you have only a narrow region of sharp focus in the center of your visual field. This area of foveal vision is also where you perceive colors most clearly; your ability to distinguish one color from another falls away completely as you reach the periphery in each eye. You continuously compensate for these limitations by allowing your gaze to lurch from point to point (executing what are known as “saccades”), but you tend not to notice these movements. Nor are you aware that your visual perception appears interrupted while your eyes are moving (otherwise you would see a continuous blurring of the scene). It was once believed that saccades caused the active suppression of vision, but recent experiments suggest that the post-saccadic image (i.e. whatever you next focus on) probably just masks the preceding blur.

There is also a region in each visual field where you receive no input at all, because the optic nerve creates a blind spot where it passes through the retina. Many of us learned to perceive the subjective consequences of this unintelligent design as children, by marking a piece of paper, closing one eye, and then moving the paper into a position where the mark disappeared. Close one eye now and look out at the world: You will probably not notice your blind spot—and yet, if you are in a crowded room, someone could well be missing his head. Most people are surely unaware that the optic blind spot exists, and even those of us who know about it can go for decades without noticing it.

While color vision survives close inspection, our conventional sense of visual continuity does not. The impression we have of seeing everything all at once, clearly, and without interruption is based on our not paying close attention to what it is like to see. I argue that the illusory nature of free will can also be noticed in this way. As with the illusion of visual continuity, the evidence of our confusion is neither far away nor deep within; rather, it is right on the surface of experience, almost too near to us to be seen.

Of course, we could take Dan’s approach and adjust the notion of “continuity” so that it better reflected the properties of human vision, giving us a new concept of seamless visual perception that is “worth wanting.” But if erroneous beliefs about visual continuity caused drivers to regularly mow down pedestrians and police sharpshooters to accidentally kill hostages, merely changing the meaning of “continuity” would not do. I believe that this is the situation we are in with the illusion of free will: False beliefs about human freedom skew our moral intuitions and anchor our system of criminal justice to a primitive ethic of retribution. And as we continue to make advances in understanding the human mind through science, our current practices will come to seem even less enlightened.

Ordinary people want to feel philosophically justified in hating evildoers and viewing them as the ultimate authors of their evil. This moral attitude has always been vulnerable to our learning more about the causes of human behavior—and in situations where the origins of a person’s actions become absolutely clear, our feelings about his responsibility begin to change. What is more, they should change. We should admit that a person is unlucky to inherit the genes and life experience that will doom him to psychopathy. That doesn’t mean we can’t lock him up, or kill him in self-defense, but hating him is not rational, given a complete understanding of how he came to be who he is. Natural, yes; rational, no. Feeling compassion for him would be rational, however—or so I have argued.

We can acknowledge the difference between voluntary and involuntary action, the responsibilities of an adult and those of a child, sanity and insanity, a troubled conscience and a clear one, without indulging the illusion of free will. We can also admit that in certain contexts, punishment might be the best way to motivate people to behave themselves. The utility of punishment is an empirical question that is well worth answering—and nothing in my account of free will requires that I deny this.

How can we ask that other people behave themselves (and even punish them for not behaving) when they are not the ultimate cause of their actions? We can (and should) make such demands when doing so has the desired effect—namely, increasing the well-being of all concerned.

Given his intellectual track record, one of the more powerful arguments for the existence of free will is that Sam Harris believes it does not exist. One could easily go through life with far less effective guides than simply assuming the precise opposite of what Sam Harris asserts to be true. Harris has always been intellectually careless and lazy, but his latest foray into free will appears to border on barely bothering to show up. His new “book” is all of 66 pages and apparently those are generously-margined pages filled with large type as it’s only 13,000 words; a trade paperback has 410 words per page, a mass-market paperback 310; Free Will has only 196. I haven’t read it yet, but I will soon, if the deterministic processes that wholly dictate my actions regardless of my perception of control happen to permit me to do so. Since we are reliably informed that our notions concerning our future actions are illusory, it is entirely possible that I will instead move to Albania and devote myself to writing homosexual love poetry in their guttural, but hauntingly beautiful language.

Isn’t it fascinating how what passes for the thinking of the most popular atheists so closely resembles that of the omniderigent Christians? The sovereign God of the hyper-Calvinist and the nonexistent God of the atheist lead the adherent to the same conclusion: Man is not responsible for his actions.

Harris’s analogy is a poor one because free will is more analogous to vision than to visual continuity. We fail to understand our own motivations and even our actions in much the same way that we cannot simultaneously focus on everything in our field of view. And yet, accurately or inaccurately, we still see something. Regardless of whether our brains light up before our finger moves or afterwards, our finger moves and something connected to our conscious minds made it move. Harris completely fails to realize that the Libet experiment is at least as indicative of a trialist Body-Mind-Soul construction consistent with free will as the mechanistic singular one consistent with its absence.

Harris’s real purpose in attacking free will is no different than his real purpose in attacking both the existence of God as well as Christianity. He’s a pan-global utilitarian and his books are neither philosophy nor science, they are political polemics intended to provide intellectual cover for the global, macro-societal restructuring he envisions. This is not readily apparent, but it is the one clearly identifiable theme besides intellectual laziness that is woven into all his works.

UPDATE: I haven’t finished the book yet, but I got through about three-quarters it in between sets at the gym. It’s that short and it’s that fluffy; the contrast with the Popper I’ve been reading over the last week or so is rather glaring. Anyhow, I’ve already identified the core error in his reasoning and will explicate it tomorrow. The short summary: Harris believes he is his feelings. This goes a surprisingly long way towards explaining the man’s oft-demonstrated intellectual shortcomings.


Mailvox: why flaunt IQ?

NorthernHamlet doesn’t understand why I flaunt – not flout – my intelligence:

How would one describe that you trot out “superior IQ” during conversations, even while you acknowledge that neither you nor many of your readers think the criteria for it is legitimate?

First, I wouldn’t say that IQ is totally meaningless or even illegitimate. It clearly measures something real and objective; you will try in vain to discuss anything even remotely intellectual with an individual possessed of a 50 IQ, and I have yet to see someone with an IQ of 100 that I consider, upon the basis of non-IQ related factors, to be more intelligent than someone with an IQ of 150. That being said, it is clearly an imperfect measurement, and it can even be misleading as two people with the same IQ, one stronger on the verbal side and one stronger on the mathematical side, can look either much smarter or much more stupid than the other depending upon the subject.

Ironically enough, I’m a very good example of someone whose measured IQ score tends to significantly underestimate my relevant intelligence in my primary areas of interest because I am so handicapable when it comes to spatial relations. Anyone who has seen me packing a car or even a suitcase would be justified in thinking that I should qualify for special parking privileges, and probably three spaces at that. On the other hand, my ability to recognize patterns and generate useful predictive models from them has been considered to be rather remarkable by many. Am I a retard or a genius? The IQ score is an ineffective metric because it alternatively answers both and neither, depending upon the perspective.

(My answer, of course, is neither. I don’t believe genius is denoted by IQ or any other quantitative measure, but rather unique and significant intellectual accomplishments.)

Long before I wrote my first WND column 11 years ago, I recognized that the arguments presented by the Left, especially those that were blithely accepted by the Right, seldom amounted to more than crude appeals to intelligence. We’ve seen it on this blog time and time again, most recently in the recent series that focused on the dissection of the skeptics. Their main argument, indeed, their only real argument, is “don’t argue with me because I’m smarter than you.” It’s often couched in terms of academic credentials, but since universities no longer provide educations, but primarily serve as intellectual brand markers, credentialist-based arguments are simply slightly modified version of the same position. The reason a Harvard PhD trumps one from Auburn University isn’t because there is any legitimate reason to believe the Harvard PhD has received a better education, indeed, in at least some fields it can be easily demonstrated that the reverse is the case, but because Harvard places more stringent IQ requirements on its applicants. An appeal to academic status is mostly an appeal to intelligence, once-removed.

This is, of course, why the Left repeatedly cites study after study, many of them fake, showing that Blue state residents possess higher average IQs, why Democratic presidents are smarter than Republican presidents, and so forth. It’s all they’ve got. And so, when I flaunt my official, Mensa-approved, readily observable high intelligence in their faces, it removes from them their only rhetorically effective argument by virtue of their own metric. In other words, I’m simply playing by the rules of their game that they have established. Notice how few on the Right, even if they are highly intelligent academics with hard science PhDs, take any exception to my assertions of superintelligence, especially compared with the way the Left instinctively reacts to it rather like vampires to holy water. Of course, since they can’t convincingly claim that I am not every bit as intelligent as they are, they have no choice but to resort to the customary claim of craziness. The path that Delavagus recently trod was not only predictable, it was inevitable, as we’ve been witnessing exactly the same responses to exactly the same stimuli for more than a decade now. One could quite credibly write a paper on it with a larger sample set than one often sees in the social sciences.

Is the appeal to intelligence game nonsense? Of course it is! This is where and why I part company with the modern philosophers. Since true belief is true regardless of whether it is justified or not, whether it is known to be true or not, whether it is even believed or not, it is entirely possible for the 50-IQ retard to be correct and the 175-IQ statistical genius to be completely wrong, regardless of whether the former can even begin to reasonably articulate his beliefs or not, let alone justify them. Indeed, the history of the 20th century is riddled with example after example of the false beliefs to which the intelligentsia subscribed that were rightly rejected by hoi polloi. The reason is that tradition is more than the democracy of the dead, it is also the cumulative intelligence of the centuries. It takes considerable intelligence, intellectual humility, and usually, significant temporal and technological advantages to correctly supersede that cumulative intelligence. No doubt that is why even the most brilliant of the ancient skeptics demanded that custom and traditions be given their due.


The skeptic’s defense

Delavagus piles on more bovine excreta, more than six thousand words worth, as a matter of fact, in a futile attempt to obscure the heaping, steaming mass he had previously produced. A brief excerpt:

The Second Error Vox identifies concerns my use of ‘justified true belief’ as an analysis of knowledge. The oddity of labeling this an ‘error’ is so startling I’m not even sure what to say about it. I’ve already explained elsewhere to Vox the wrong-headedness of appealing to the dictionary as a final word on the matter even in ordinary contexts, let alone in philosophical contexts. As far as I’ve seen, Vox has not responded to these remarks. I will not repeat them here. Suffice it to say that ‘justified true belief’ is the standard philosophical analysis of knowledge. It is not intended to capture everyday usage of variants of ‘to know,’ and thus pointing out that it fails to do so is not a criticism. This is such an elementary point that, again, I’m not sure what to say about it. I can only marvel at Vox’s shallowness.

Now, Vox seems to think that the proffered philosophical analysis is just one more definition, on a par with the nine he pulls from whatever dictionary he consults. But that is to fundamentally misunderstand the nature and purpose of a philosophical analysis of a concept. In short, the idea behind the ‘justified true belief’ formulation (as I say in my first post) is that there are, on the one hand, beliefs, while on the other hand there is the truth. A certain kind of person—most of us, I would hope—ideally want our beliefs to be true, that is, we want to believe true things. We have this word, knowledge, that is generally (my God, I said ‘generally’! ‘error’! ‘error’!) taken as a contrast to belief, in the sense that ‘knowledge’ differs from (mere) belief in also being true. This is backed up by most of the definitions Vox trots out: knowledge has to do with ‘facts’ and ‘truths.’ The question, then, is how we can bridge the prima facie gap between ‘belief’ and ‘truth.’ We do so, philosophy has long maintained, by way of justification. Hence, ‘justified true belief’ is an analysis of the concept of knowledge, not a definition of the use of the word.

A brief comment on ‘generally.’ I wrote: “Knowledge is generally taken to be justified true belief.” Vox claims: “Weasel words such as ‘generally’, ‘basically’, and ‘pretty much’ are always red flags, particularly when they precede something as important as the definition of an argument’s foundation or central subject.” This is such a bizarre criticism that it boggles the mind. ‘Generally’ is not (or needn’t be) a ‘weasel’ word; it is simply a qualifier. It appears all the time in scholarly literature, or anything written by people who are actually conversant with the welter of views on a complex subject. When it comes to something like the proper analysis of ‘knowledge,’ it is to be expected that not all philosophers agree. In other words, it is to be expected that any analysis is, at best, only ‘generally’ accepted.

Vox concludes: “As should be clear, Delavagus’s definition of knowledge isn’t a valid one in common usage, but instead represents a different concept altogether. His statement is provably incorrect, as knowledge is quite clearly NOT ‘generally taken to be justified true belief’.”

To sum up: Vox mistakes a philosophical analysis of a concept for a definition of the everyday usage of a word. Now, of course, I could have been clearer. I could have said, “Knowledge is generally taken by philosophers to be ‘justified true belief.’” But this admission merely underscores the shallowness of the criticism. Vox’s remark here also demonstrates clearly his arrogant uncharitability.

I’ll respond to this in detail, of course, as an extension of the Dissecting series. But I doubt it will surprise anyone here to know that it is little more than false assertions, convoluted self-justifications, and repeated claims to be have been misunderstood due to my superficial and uncharitable reading. At one point, Delavagus even goes so far as to assert that I am “bound by the principle of charity”, which of course is a notion that I absolutely reject.

UPDATE: Delavagus tries another Fighting Withdrawal:

So you still think there’s no difference between a philosophical analysis of a concept and the definition of the use of word. Please, explain to me your reasoning here. That is, actually respond to my arguments.

Sure, in fact, I’ll point out that you are wrong no matter which way you try to defend yourself. Because, you know, that’s what we superintelligences do.

1. You are writing in the context of addressing a non-philosophical crowd. You admit as much.

2. You asserted that your theme was “human stupidity”, refer to empirical evidence that humans are “stupid, stupid creatures”, then claimed that Sextus Empiricus thought it was possible to conclude that “we are all idiots” a priori. You also concluded your first post with the assertion “We are all idiots”.

3. You clearly implied that stupidity and idiocy are negatively correlated with knowledge. This implication was necessary for you to even begin making your case. It is the absence of knowledge that marks us as being stupid and idiotic.

4. You then raised the question “What, if anything, do we know?” At this point, you switched from the implied common definition to the highly technical definition, claiming that knowledge, which stupid, stupid people and idiots necessarily (as per your argument) lack, is justified true belief.

5. Wikipedia entry: “Justified true belief is one definition of knowledge that is most frequently credited to Plato and his dialogues. This is not to say that Plato was the first to come up with such a definition, but he is commonly referenced as the original author.” In other words, it is a definition, albeit not one that matches the one implied by your argument.

Now, this is enough to prove that you’re intellectually dishonest and your argument fails. But, I’m not done exposing you yet. Having been busted on your definitional switch, you’ve chosen to engage in a Fighting Withdrawal, claiming that you were not substituting a definition for a definition – even though I just proved you literally did just that – you were substituting an analysis for a definition. Let’s see if that holds up.

1. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “According to the following analysis, which is usually referred to as the “JTB” account, knowledge is justified true belief”.” So far, so good. it is an analysis as well as a definition.

2. However, the encyclopedia goes on to say: “The objective of the analysis of knowledge is to state the conditions that are individually necessary and jointly sufficient for propositional knowledge: knowledge that such-and-such is the case. Propositional knowledge must be distinguished from two other kinds of knowledge that fall outside the scope of the analysis: knowing a place or a person, and knowing how to do something.” Oops! So, even if we accept your evasive retreat, we see that your non-definitional analysis is limited in scope, it’s not knowledge to which you were referring, but rather that subset of knowledge called “propositional knowledge”.

3. Even ignoring the various errors related to the justified true belief aspects of your argument, you neglected to provide the any link between “absence of propositional knowledge” and human stupidity. How stupid can we be even if we merely possess knowledge concerning people, places, and how to do things? How idiotic are we if we only possess two of the three types of knowledge delineated by your non-definitional analysis?

If you were intellectually honest, you would have either a) stuck with one of the common dictionary definitions of “knowledge” or b) provided similar technical philosophical analyses of the words “stupid’ and “idiot”. The amusing thing isn’t that you made various errors in the course of your argument, but rather, that it could never have succeeded given the way in which you attempted too construct it. The entire thing is fundamentally and structurally deficient.


Dissecting the skeptics VIII

In the previous section of To Unknow Our Knowing, Delavagus managed to avoid committing any new errors, mostly due to the fact that he wandered off into an irrelevant tangent in such a nebulous manner that it was impossible to pin down any actual claims, much less examine their veracity. However, he does return from his contemplation of contextualism to the topic at hand on the home stretch, and in doing so, commits an error so fundamental and easily proven that it is hard to imagine it not being a willful and knowing deception:

The obvious problem with this sort of contextualism is that it seems to sever the link between knowledge and truth, focusing instead on assertability conditions (which amount to answering the question, “When do we consider it okay to claim to know x?”, as opposed to answering the question, “When are we justified in claiming to know x?”). The Pyrrhonian’s contextualism is different. It accepts the variability of assertability conditions, namely, that common life introduces uses of ‘to know’ that fail to satisfy the philosophical constraints on justification. In an everyday sense, then, Pyrrhonians think they know all sorts of things, the same as anyone else. But, unlike a contextualist such as Lewis, Pyrrhonians will maintain that this sort of knowing is, as Thompson Clarke put it in an influential paper, knowing in a manner of speaking only. As a human being in the world, thrust into a family, a culture, an environment, Pyrrhonians will believe all sorts of things—in an everyday way. And, in an everyday way, they will claim to know all sorts of things. But they will not mistake the degree of their doxastic commitment to x for the degree of x’s objective justification. They will not believe that their everyday beliefs are justified—except with reference to the presuppositions (the brute assumptions) that frame their communal epistemic practices. Like their ‘knowledge,’ the Pyrrhonians’ ‘justifications’ have a merely local force, as do (by their lights) everyone else’s—though non-Pyrrhonians are by and large too stubborn or conceited to admit as much.

Pyrrhonians, in other words, will live adoxastōs—free of the second-order belief that their first-order beliefs are (ultimately) justified.

This might sound like a trivial accomplishment, but I don’t think it is. The desire—the felt need—for objective justification is what leads people to claim to possess it (or at least to act as though they possess it), and I would argue that it is this myopic privileging of one’s own prejudices—the baseless elevation of the parochial to the universal—that has underwritten history’s greatest atrocities and that continually threatens to give rise to any number of fresh horrors.

To unknow our knowing, in the Pyrrhonian sense, is not to rob us of our everyday certainties, to deprive us of something substantial we previously possessed. Rather, it is to adopt a particular attitude toward ourselves, one that opens up a critical distance between what we believe to be true (often what we cannot help but believe to be true) and what we believe we know, a critical distance that allows us to live on the basis of an understanding of ourselves as reflective beings caught in a whirlwind of culture and biology, as consciousnesses at least partly shaped by forces whose power and scope we neither fully understand nor fully control.

As I previously observed, the contextualism tangent is irrelevant and is shown to be so by Delavagus’s assertion that Pyrrhonian contextualism is different. It is both fascinating and a little amusing to see that finally, at the end of his second post, Delavagus abruptly admits that he has been ignoring “uses of ‘to know’ that fail to satisfy the philosophical constraints” long after claiming that no one can know anything. And this leads him to commit his ninth error, a bait-and-switch even more substantial, and even more shameless, than the one he utilized with regards to the definition of knowledge. For what he does is attempt to substitute “first-order belief” for phenomena, “second-order belief” for “belief”, and “free of the second-order belief that their first-order beliefs are (ultimately) justified” for “suspension of judgment”.

Either Delavagus truly does not understand Pyrrhonian skepticism on a fundamental level or he is blatantly misrepresenting it in order to provide a false foundation for his own dogmatic opinions. It is simply wrong to say “Pyrrhonians will believe all sorts of things—in an everyday way” or that “they will claim to know all sorts of things”. The genuine Pyrrhonian absolutely will not do this! Sextus is very clear on the distinction between the acceptance of phenomena and the suspension of judgment concerning first-order belief, as can be seen in Chapter VII:

“We say that the Sceptic does not dogmatise. We do not say this, meaning by the word dogma the popular assent to certain things rather than others (for the Sceptic does assent to feelings that are a necessary result of sensation, as for example, when he is warm or cold, he cannot say that he thinks he is not warm or cold), but we say this, meaning by dogma the acceptance of any opinion in regard to the unknown things investigated by science. For the Pyrrhonean assents to nothing that is unknown…. The principal thing in uttering these formulae is that he says what appears to him, and communicates his own feelings in an unprejudiced way, without asserting anything in regard to external objects.”

From this, Delavagus proceeds to his tenth, and overtly anti-Pyrrhonian, error. He rephrases the baseless assertions of Sam Harris and R. Scott Bakker in claiming that the “privileging of one’s own prejudices… has underwritten history’s greatest atrocities”, which is no more than the very claim about the material dangers of certainty that Bakker has been unable to address for eight months and counting. Instead of taking the Pyrrhonian position that certainty is neither good nor bad in itself and neither seeking nor avoiding certainty, Delavagus attempts to contort the Sceptical philosophy into support for his first-order, dogmatic belief in the evils of self-privileged prejudices.

His conclusion simply underlines his ninth error. The entire purpose of Pyrrhonian scepticism is to rob us of our judgment, to suspend it, in the interest of our tranquility. It is not to adopt a particular attitude towards ourselves, but rather to adopt a balanced attitude towards matters of opinion. How Delavagus could show such little understanding of his own supposed area of expertise nearly defies reason, but we are given a clue in his final paragraph. When he describes Pyrrhonianism as “the basis of an understanding of ourselves as reflective beings” rather than a practical method for achieving psychological tranquility, he offers us a reason to suspect that it may only be the common philosopher’s inability to pull himself out of his customary navel-gazing that is responsible for his misunderstanding and consequent misrepresentation of the philosophy. Or, alternatively, he may be simply another shameless and intellectually dishonest academic taking a “by any means necessary” approach to pushing his conventional left-wing dogma. We can harbor our suspicions, but we really cannot express a meaningful opinion on the basis of the information provided.

In any case, I will conclude by observing that I have, as requested, given Delavagus’s posts a fair and detailed reading. I have considered his attempt to defend Pyrrhonism against the charge of peritropē and found it wanting, I have identified no less than 10 specific errors in the arguments he presented, and finally, I have demonstrated that he has either not understood Pyrrhonism or has shamelessly misrepresented it for his own purposes. I leave it to the reader to determine the validity of those four observations.

In the end, Delavagus leaves one feeling rather like Jaime Lee Curtis in A Fish Called Wanda, given that the central message of Pyrrhonism is no more that second-order belief in justified first-order belief is bad by nature than the central message of Buddhism is every man for himself.

Now, some may have forgotten that fourth question I mentioned at the very beginning. What is the author trying to prove? Having finished the reading, it’s easy to see that Delavagus was trying to prove that ancient scepticism supports the modern notion that belief is bad and uncertainty is good. We can further observe that the actual argument was not the one he was purporting to prove in his title or in the introduction.

Previous sections
Dissecting the skeptics I
Dissecting the skeptics II
Dissecting the skeptics III
Dissecting the skeptics IV
Dissecting the skeptics V
Dissecting the skeptics VI
Dissecting the skeptics VII

Related
Exposing the False Skeptic
The “Skeptic” Confesses


Dissecting the skeptics VII

Now that we’ve considered Delavagus’s explication of the skeptics’ dialectical strategy, described in To Unknow Our Knowing, we’ll turn to his description of Pyrrhonism’s aims.

[S]kepticism is simply philosophico-rational thought coming to an awareness of its own rational groundlessness. But Pyrrhonism doesn’t stop there, for the conclusion that philosophico-rational thought is rationally ungrounded is itself rationally ungrounded. In other words, for Pyrrhonians, the skeptical conclusion is just one more thing to be skeptical about. If it has any force, it is only as a hypothetical: if x, then y, where ‘x’ is the framework of rationality as we understand it and ‘y’ is the skeptical conclusion (which, of course, wraps back around and consumes ‘x’). Pyrrhonians are willing to accept that philosophico-rational thought may not in fact be rationally ungrounded; they claim merely that, given these apparently unavoidable rational commitments—commitments without which it seems impossible that there could be any such thing as a search for truth—it seems that our justifications fail, that our thinking turns back on itself, like a mother consuming her offspring, that our knowing drops out of the picture.

Where does this leave Pyrrhonians? It leaves them not as some brand of philosophical skeptic, but rather as skeptics about philosophy.

Throughout its history, philosophy has displayed a tendency toward stunning arrogance and pretentiousness, which in turns has tended to give rise to condescension with respect to what I’ll call ‘common life.’ By ‘common life,’ I mean—simply but roughly—ordinary life as lived by ordinary people. From the rarefied heights of philosophical sagehood, common life seems a paltry, precarious, self-deluded thing. Common life is life bound in Plato’s Cave, seeing naught by shadows (appearances), whereas the Philosopher is the Great Man who has thrown off his shackles, escaped the cave, and beheld the Sun (reality).

Pyrrhonians reject the pretensions of a philosophy that would arrogate to itself the right, to say nothing of the ability, to sit in judgment over common life as such. They live according to appearances—without the baggage of a philosophically loaded notion of ‘reality’ undermining it. To Pyrrhonians, common life (that is, the appearances) is a sort of pragmatic-transcendental framework, an immanent, ground-level framework that comes into view only upon the collapse of the illusory philosophico-rational framework built atop it. Common life is ‘pragmatic’ in the sense that it seems as though the appearances (the ways in which the world shows up for us, in all its phenomenological richness) arise from our social practices; it is ‘transcendental’ in the sense that the appearances seem at the same time to underlie or make possible our social practices.

(Consider: the framework-claim that the world did not pop into existence in the year 1900 both arises from various of our practices—in the sense that if we did not have such practices then the claim would not belong to the framework of common life—and constitutes those practices, since doubting it would render impossible, or at least deeply problematize, those practices.)

Throughout his texts, Sextus claims to champion ‘common life’ over the ‘conceit and rashness of the dogmatists.’ But he is also clear that Pyrrhonians differ importantly from those who have not undergone the skeptical therapy. He marks this difference by telling us that, unlike dogmatists and pre-reflective ‘ordinary people’ alike, mature Pyrrhonians live adoxastōs, without beliefs or opinions. What does this mean? I want to suggest that it represents a sort of proto-contextualism.

In my previous post, I mentioned a few schools of epistemological thought, namely, foundationalism and coherentism, internalism and externalism. Contextualism is another. It comes in a variety of forms, but roughly, contextualists hold that the truth or justification of a claim is determined or constrained by various contextual factors. David Lewis, for instance, (in)famously argued that ‘conversational contexts’ are defined by rules, the last of which he calls the Rule of Attention, which holds that any possibility that is in fact entered into a conversation is thereby not properly ignorable, even if the possibility (such as, e.g., that we are all living in the Matrix) was properly ignorable prior to the possibility being raised. What this means is that we might know all sorts of things one moment, then in the next moment—after the unanswerable Matrix possibility is raised—no longer know anything. On this view, philosophy is actually in the business of, as Lewis puts it, ‘destroying knowledge.’ To philosophize, in other words, is to unknow our ordinary knowing.

In part VI, I showed that Delavagus shows no understanding of the Pyrrhonian skeptic’s responsibility to exclusively utilize the beliefs, convictions, and assumptions of his interlocutors, and also illustrated how Scepticism is a direct attack on human reason. In this section, Delavagus admits the latter, but then qualifies his admission by noting, correctly, that the Sceptics are open to the possibility that they might be wrong about the unreliable nature of rational thought. Is his claim that this transforms them from philosophical skeptics to skeptics about philosophy also correct?

Yes and no… but ultimately, no. I will not count this as an outright error, however, since it is simply a complicated repeat of his mistaken claim that Scepticism is not a philosophy. Let me explain by first noting that Sextus explicitly asserts that Scepticism is not only a philosophy, but one of the three major schools of philosophy. So, it’s much more accurate to say the Pyrrhonian possesses one philosophy about which he is skeptical and a second one by which he attempts to live his daily life than to say that he does not possess one at all. The first is a sort of Schroedinger’s Philosophy, which is either valid or not valid depending upon something that the philosopher does not know. Ironically enough, one could point towards this sort of if/then approach being in practice much more akin to my probability-oriented perspective than to the Uncertainty dogma championed at Three Pound Brain. What, really, is the material difference between the highly rationalized Pyrrhonian arguments against philosophy and rational thought and the common, instinctive observation that philosophy is nothing more than useless mental masturbation committed by navel-gazing perverts? Furthermore, because the Pyrrhonian observably possesses two distinct philosophies, one focused on opinion and the other concerned solely with phenomena, the potential invalidity of the first philosophy says nothing about the existence of the second.

Indeed, the attempt to simultaneously champion the common life while holding themselves superior to the unsceptical masses appears to show that Pyrrhonianism is an intellectual drug for the philosophy addict, who recognizes the sterility and enervating uselessness of his addiction, but cannot bear to give it up for fear that doing so would render him one of the common herd that he despises. That this attempt to separate himself from the philosophers and the ordinary people alike is doomed to failure can be seen in the impossible metric that Sextus imposes upon the sceptic, since it is quite obvious that no one manages to live adoxastōs. For example, Delavagus may call himself a modern Pyrrhonian, but he is quite clearly not a mature one since he has expressed more than a few opinions and beliefs, while despite his constant advocacy of uncertainty, Scott himself pretends only to “skeptic naturalism” rather than Scepticism.

Delavagus next makes a fascinating and revealing statement that is of far more interest than his subsequent attempt to engage in another definitional switch. He brings up David Lewis’s assertion that philosophy is not in the business of truth, but rather “destroying knowledge”. Which, combined with Delavagus’s earlier definition, means that philosophy exists in order to destroy justified true belief. However, this is Lewis’s view and is not necessarily shared by Delavagus, especially since he promptly switches definitions and claims that to philosophize is to unknow our “ordinary knowing”, which is the very sort of knowledge he specifically precluded through his choice of the philosophical definition. Now, it’s important to recognize that a) Lewis may not be referring to Delavagus’s knowledge, and b) there is no conflict between Delavagus’s assertion about the purpose of philosophy being the destruction of “ordinary knowledge” in favor of “justified true belief”. However, what is completely lacking is any justification or logical support for the legitimacy, or even possibility, of that goal, especially in light of the Sceptical argument that justified true belief does not appear to exist.

If this sounds incoherent, it is because Delavagus has deviated from the argument he was originally presenting, and is now meandering off course into tangential issues that have little relation and no relevance to his defense of Pyrrhonism. We’re rapidly approaching the end of his second post here, so in part XVIII, we shall see if he’s able to somehow pull it all together into an argument that is at least coherent, if not necessarily convincing.

Next section
Dissecting the skeptics VIII

Previous sections
Dissecting the skeptics I
Dissecting the skeptics II
Dissecting the skeptics III
Dissecting the skeptics IV
Dissecting the skeptics V
Dissecting the skeptics VI


The “skeptic” confesses

After all of his endless babbling about the necessity of uncertainty and the terrible dangers of certainty, to say nothing of his attempts to criticize others on the basis of their presumed certainty, the Prince of Wängst finally comes clean and admits that he is not, in fact, the skeptic he presents himself as being:

I’m a skeptical naturalist. Have been for quite some time now…. The fact is, I am dogmatic. I do have unwavering faith in a set of claims. I may affect suspicion of them, but FAPP, I use them as apodictic truths. So what are they? Since you can only criticize explicit assumptions, it would probably be a good idea to enumerate them here, if only to make the shape of my bias clear.

The No-Dogma Dogma

1) Not all claims are equal.

2) The world is ambiguous because it is supercomplex.

3) Humans are cognitive egoists. We are hardwired to unconsciously game ambiguities to our own advantage – to make scripture out of habit and self-interest.

4) Humans are theoretical morons. We are hardwired for groundless belief in invisible things.

5) The feeling of certainty is a bloody pathological liar.

6) Science is a social cognitive prosthetic, an institution that, when functioning properly, lets us see past our manifold cognitive shortcomings, and produce theoretical knowledge.

7) Contemporary culture, by and large, is bent on concealing the fact of 2, 3, 4, and 5.

These are the biggies, I think, the one’s that trouble me the most because I seem to repeat them ad nauseum.

It’s not exactly up there with the Golden Rule or the Ten Commandments, but at least it’s something, even if they are no more intrinsically valid postulates than “God created the Heavens and the Earth” or “The world rests upon the shell of a giant turtle”. What his dogma reveals is that he’s just another incoherent science fetishist wrapped up in philosopher’s clothing, which is pretty much what I’ve been pointing out since last August. The thing is, even when Bakker is coming clean, he’s still attempting to strike philosophical poses, as there is absolutely no justification for claiming that his dogma is “No-Dogma”. But let’s look at his seven claims.

1) Observably and logically true.
2) Begs the question and debatable at best. Complexity does not necessitate ambiguity.
3) Perhaps, but hardly a certainty. And is contradicted by four.
4) False. Most people are idiots whose actions are not in accordance with their objectives, but not all of them. One wonders what his metric is for supporting the claim of theoretical moronism. If it’s the philosophical definition of knowledge, then we know his claim is false.
5) Trivially true. What feeling is reliable? One seldom sees anyone building bridges using their feelings as a guide.
6) False. Science doesn’t allow us to see past our “cognitive shortcomings”, but rather, acts as a force multiplier for them.
7) False. To the extent contemporary culture is bent on concealing anything, which strictly speaking, doesn’t even make sense, it is demonstrably much more focused on 1 and 5 than any of the others.

It must be admitted that FAPP is an excellent description of Wängsty’s No-Dogma Dogma, especially if one loses the second P. And those with sufficient recall will no doubt note that none of this serves as any rational basis for claiming that certainty is more dangerous, or less moral, than uncertainty.