March 18, 2009
Would you care to know what nearly drives me mad?
Skeptics from the way back, those Pyrrhonean sorts, had a way of undermining every assertion. It consisted of muddling the argument. When a person proposed a belief, they would propose the opposite of the belief. Take, for instance, the exterior world. A well-meaning victim would say to Pyrrho, "It is blatant that the world exists. Look here, we are interacting with it right now. Whatever it is, we are touching it, looking at it." He would pick up a book, smash it onto a nearby table and exclaim, "That noise is real! It is evidence that the outside world exists. Close your eyes, I'll prove it once more." With eyes closed, he would again slam the book down with vigor. "Did you hear that? It was the real book, which existed though we did not see it. It existed so much that it caused a sound without our seeing it."
And Pyrrho, he would be smirking all the while. He would retort, "I grant you that there are sense perceptions, that they are with us so long as we are conscious. But what of unconsciousness? What of dreams? Are they not equally assertive in the way they are when we are awake? It is nothing but brashness to assert something you have no criterion to decide between. If you can offer me no distinct method of deciding between a given dreamed and waking phenomena, then I can grant you no such reality. Perhaps it is real, independent of us. Perhaps it is not. I can make no commitment either way."
This muddling can take root everywhere. Take the proposition you are most sure of ("that your boyfriend loves you," "that you work at the Starbucks on 9th and Elm," "that you are a man,"), and they can offer you a convincing argument for the possibility of the contrary ("that he is putting on a show," "that 9th and Elm is only in your mind," "that you have no body at all"). They poke a hole, pry open a little daylight (perhaps a little darkness), and with that--they have you! And my mind has me in such a way all the time (or at least it wants to).
But here is what makes the Pyrrhonean such a fool: that the possibility does not necessitate falsity. Just because you can assert the contrary with a modicum of plausibility, does not entail that the preponderance of evidence in favor of the original position is refuted.
So, the skeptic is written off with a blank stare and a quip, "So what? I'll place my bet on the truth of my assertion. You may place your bet on yours. And, time will tell who wins."
He has already gotten a hold of you, though. And when the well-meaning victim walks away, laughing to himself, the seed is already planted. Days later, after a depressing circumstance, the sprout shoots up. "What if?" he asks himself. "How am I to tell which, if any, is right?"
"No, no. It is entirely irrational. The possibility is too outlandish to entertain." Still, it lingers in the background--it refuses to be erased from the mind's blackboard.
The strength of every "what if?" is multiplied by the force of habit. Before he knows it, he's a sick man. All the while, he can laugh at the silly skeptical objections from a certain perspective on things he can take. Still, they weigh on his heart because his mind cannot let them go.
How does he become well? Only when he makes peace with the possibility of being in error. "Hah hah! I am fallible. Thank you, Pyrrho, for teaching me about myself. Thank you for giving me the gift of humility. I will prune the plant, and not let it grow into self-loathing and fear. No, I'll let it live, but not flourish. It will be my little doubter's bonsai. It shall have a privileged place in my mind's garden, so resilient is it. But, it will be dwarfed by the oak of common-sense and the redwood of will."
Showing posts with label risk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label risk. Show all posts
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Trappings of Falseness
1: "What do you make of habits? Do you believe in them?"
2: "What do you mean 'believe in them'?"
1: "Do you think people are 'creatures of habit,' as they say? I mean, do you think habits play a central role in an individual's life?"
2: "I suppose so, yes. Students sit in the same seats in classes without seating charts because they are comfortable with the seat they first sat in. It's the path of least resistance. Do what you've done before because you already know how to do it. You have to designate less thought to the action. We all favor autopilot."
1: "Right. I couldn't agree more. Does that fact scare you, though--our penchant for autopilot, that is?"
2: "Not really. It doesn't seem to me like it's any better or worse than anything else that is a common human trait. The phenomenon of forming habits is neutral because you could just as easily form a good habit as much as a bad habit. There's nothing about habits in the abstract that should scare anyone."
1: "In the abstract, right. Again, I am with you. But what about in the particular, what about for you or me? When we form habits, is it really so neutral? I'm not so convinced. Sure we have many benign habits, like the chair-sitting you mentioned. But habits are the grease that makes slopes so slippery."
2: "No. Slopes are slippery because people are given to being recalibrated so often. We like novelty so much--or loath staleness, whichever--that our scales are frequently being zeroed, as it were. Take romantic love, for instance. Everyone knows about honeymoons and their "wearing off." Infatuation leads to institutionalization, and then love is dead. Was the relationship any different? Not necessarily. The only thing that definitely changed was the fact that each person became comfortable, got used to it, and then we hardly take notice of those things we once found endearing. So we need more all the time. And porn--everyone whose ever been caught in the web of porn knows you start with Sears catalogs and end with snuff films. It's like hunger. You have to keep eating, more and more and more--because you are a grist. So, you start walking downhill, and that gets boring, then you start jogging, and that gets boring, then you start running--and before you know it you're buttering up your sneakers and trying to ski down that slope. That's how slopes get slippery."
1: "I see your point. But habituation has a hand in it..."
2: "You know slippery slopes are logical fallacies, right?"
1: "Logical fallacies, yes. But I am talking about human nature, where logical fallacies become actionable. And I am trying to make an ethical observation if you would only indulge me."
2: "By all means, continue. I was only making sure you weren't confused from the start."
1: "It's interesting you should put it thus. Because that is what frightens me so much about people being creatures of habit. Err once, and you're more likely to err again. And err consistently in one area of life, i.e., make a habit of it--and you'll make errors in another area of life. And then, you find yourself sliding uncontrollably. Or rather, you would find yourself sliding if you could even recognize motion anymore. But if you start in a confused state--though you think you are thinking clearly because it seems to you like any other accurate thought you have experienced--well...that just damning. Right?"
2: "I'm sorry. I can't agree. I'll grant you that if you don't understand arithmetic, you'll be poor at algebra. I agree that a erroneous pattern of mathematical thought will increase the likelihood of all you mathematical thoughts--but I hardly see how it has any bearing on your aesthetic thoughts, say."
1: "Think of falseness as a fatal disease. Maybe it starts in the kidneys, but it progresses throughout the whole body until you're dead. Health engenders health, illness, illness."
2: "Just because you break your arm doesn't mean you won't be able to think straight anymore."
1: "That's silly--and a red herring. I'm not saying that a illness in one spot will engender illness in another given spot. I'm saying that it tends to propagate though, if left untreated."
2: "I hardly think the body is an analogy for the mind. The mind isn't so interrelated."
1: "Well, humans aren't so compartmentalized as you take them to be."
2: "So, you're telling me that if I am wrong in my estimation of what the good life is--since you wanted to bring ethics in--then I am going to be wrong in my scientific investigations? I'm sorry. I don't think habits have that much sway."
1: "If you are wrong about something so fundamental, how could you ever be right about anything--short of being right by accident?"
2: "There are plenty of asshole scientists and ignorant poets who, though excelling in one area of life, are off base in another area."
1: "Of course, of course. I'm not talking about guarantees, here. Perhaps even so much emphasis on forming good writing habits, for instance, depletes the energy needed for forming good social habits. Nevertheless, let falsity in somewhere and I think you ruin your own credibility. And now we have full warrant to be paranoid, because falsity and truth hardly seem different to the person holding the beliefs--provided that have an equal amount of conviction."
2: "So, you want everyone to excel at everything, only accept that truth everywhere, and never function on hypotheses and hunches?"
1: "I just want everyone to be careful about everything they do, because everything takes us one step closer to habits. And bad habits have a way of multiplying."
2: "Well--I find this desire of yours a hopeless one. Why emphasize something that you yourself admit escapes our own scrutiny?"
1: "Well, it doesn't have to escape our scrutiny, it just does. Because we have formed a habit of being credulous. If you pause and reflect on what you do and why often enough, if you try to pay attention to that conglomeration of your self--heart, mind, body, etc.--then you'd have a better nose for falsity."
2: "I have better things to do than stop all my forward momentum and reflect all the time."
1: "So you'd rather have more beliefs and risk them being false, act on more principles and risk them being false--than have fewer ones with greater assurance of truth?"
2: "What is this assurance of truth nonsense, and all this talk about 'having a nose' and listening to your 'heart'? That's all drivel. You said yourself you can't tell, and I agree with you. Falsity feels like truth sometimes."
1: "Yes. But that's because you want it to be."
2: "What? No. I don't want the world to be as it is, but I take it like I see it just the same."
1: "Not all error is willful. I'm not speaking clearly. Sometimes error is a result of the force of habit. And so we return to my point. Perhaps your 'taking' of the world is as it is because that's the way the world hit you a long time ago and now you can't help talking it otherwise. Because it practically unquestioned by you. And now you can't discern between truth and fiction."
2: "Oh, please! Let's not start dragging armchair psychology into this."
1: "Fine, fine... how are your classes going?"
2: "What do you mean 'believe in them'?"
1: "Do you think people are 'creatures of habit,' as they say? I mean, do you think habits play a central role in an individual's life?"
2: "I suppose so, yes. Students sit in the same seats in classes without seating charts because they are comfortable with the seat they first sat in. It's the path of least resistance. Do what you've done before because you already know how to do it. You have to designate less thought to the action. We all favor autopilot."
1: "Right. I couldn't agree more. Does that fact scare you, though--our penchant for autopilot, that is?"
2: "Not really. It doesn't seem to me like it's any better or worse than anything else that is a common human trait. The phenomenon of forming habits is neutral because you could just as easily form a good habit as much as a bad habit. There's nothing about habits in the abstract that should scare anyone."
1: "In the abstract, right. Again, I am with you. But what about in the particular, what about for you or me? When we form habits, is it really so neutral? I'm not so convinced. Sure we have many benign habits, like the chair-sitting you mentioned. But habits are the grease that makes slopes so slippery."
2: "No. Slopes are slippery because people are given to being recalibrated so often. We like novelty so much--or loath staleness, whichever--that our scales are frequently being zeroed, as it were. Take romantic love, for instance. Everyone knows about honeymoons and their "wearing off." Infatuation leads to institutionalization, and then love is dead. Was the relationship any different? Not necessarily. The only thing that definitely changed was the fact that each person became comfortable, got used to it, and then we hardly take notice of those things we once found endearing. So we need more all the time. And porn--everyone whose ever been caught in the web of porn knows you start with Sears catalogs and end with snuff films. It's like hunger. You have to keep eating, more and more and more--because you are a grist. So, you start walking downhill, and that gets boring, then you start jogging, and that gets boring, then you start running--and before you know it you're buttering up your sneakers and trying to ski down that slope. That's how slopes get slippery."
1: "I see your point. But habituation has a hand in it..."
2: "You know slippery slopes are logical fallacies, right?"
1: "Logical fallacies, yes. But I am talking about human nature, where logical fallacies become actionable. And I am trying to make an ethical observation if you would only indulge me."
2: "By all means, continue. I was only making sure you weren't confused from the start."
1: "It's interesting you should put it thus. Because that is what frightens me so much about people being creatures of habit. Err once, and you're more likely to err again. And err consistently in one area of life, i.e., make a habit of it--and you'll make errors in another area of life. And then, you find yourself sliding uncontrollably. Or rather, you would find yourself sliding if you could even recognize motion anymore. But if you start in a confused state--though you think you are thinking clearly because it seems to you like any other accurate thought you have experienced--well...that just damning. Right?"
2: "I'm sorry. I can't agree. I'll grant you that if you don't understand arithmetic, you'll be poor at algebra. I agree that a erroneous pattern of mathematical thought will increase the likelihood of all you mathematical thoughts--but I hardly see how it has any bearing on your aesthetic thoughts, say."
1: "Think of falseness as a fatal disease. Maybe it starts in the kidneys, but it progresses throughout the whole body until you're dead. Health engenders health, illness, illness."
2: "Just because you break your arm doesn't mean you won't be able to think straight anymore."
1: "That's silly--and a red herring. I'm not saying that a illness in one spot will engender illness in another given spot. I'm saying that it tends to propagate though, if left untreated."
2: "I hardly think the body is an analogy for the mind. The mind isn't so interrelated."
1: "Well, humans aren't so compartmentalized as you take them to be."
2: "So, you're telling me that if I am wrong in my estimation of what the good life is--since you wanted to bring ethics in--then I am going to be wrong in my scientific investigations? I'm sorry. I don't think habits have that much sway."
1: "If you are wrong about something so fundamental, how could you ever be right about anything--short of being right by accident?"
2: "There are plenty of asshole scientists and ignorant poets who, though excelling in one area of life, are off base in another area."
1: "Of course, of course. I'm not talking about guarantees, here. Perhaps even so much emphasis on forming good writing habits, for instance, depletes the energy needed for forming good social habits. Nevertheless, let falsity in somewhere and I think you ruin your own credibility. And now we have full warrant to be paranoid, because falsity and truth hardly seem different to the person holding the beliefs--provided that have an equal amount of conviction."
2: "So, you want everyone to excel at everything, only accept that truth everywhere, and never function on hypotheses and hunches?"
1: "I just want everyone to be careful about everything they do, because everything takes us one step closer to habits. And bad habits have a way of multiplying."
2: "Well--I find this desire of yours a hopeless one. Why emphasize something that you yourself admit escapes our own scrutiny?"
1: "Well, it doesn't have to escape our scrutiny, it just does. Because we have formed a habit of being credulous. If you pause and reflect on what you do and why often enough, if you try to pay attention to that conglomeration of your self--heart, mind, body, etc.--then you'd have a better nose for falsity."
2: "I have better things to do than stop all my forward momentum and reflect all the time."
1: "So you'd rather have more beliefs and risk them being false, act on more principles and risk them being false--than have fewer ones with greater assurance of truth?"
2: "What is this assurance of truth nonsense, and all this talk about 'having a nose' and listening to your 'heart'? That's all drivel. You said yourself you can't tell, and I agree with you. Falsity feels like truth sometimes."
1: "Yes. But that's because you want it to be."
2: "What? No. I don't want the world to be as it is, but I take it like I see it just the same."
1: "Not all error is willful. I'm not speaking clearly. Sometimes error is a result of the force of habit. And so we return to my point. Perhaps your 'taking' of the world is as it is because that's the way the world hit you a long time ago and now you can't help talking it otherwise. Because it practically unquestioned by you. And now you can't discern between truth and fiction."
2: "Oh, please! Let's not start dragging armchair psychology into this."
1: "Fine, fine... how are your classes going?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)