1.0 Generalizing normative entanglement
Stan Patton created and posted the following comic on Twitter, accompanied by the remark “99% of metaethics discourse.”
This is an accurate characterization of much of the discourse, and is an excellent example of normative entanglement, which I have discussed numerous times on this blog, including here, here, here, here and on my channel here.
In my previous entries on normative entanglement, I confined the concept to conflations between metaethics and normative ethics. However, I have expanded the concept to a more generalized occurrence:
Normative entanglement occurs whenever a person conflates another person's position on a non-normative issue with their normative stance or attitudes in order to give the misleading impression that the person expressing that non-normative position has an objectionable normative stance or attitude.
For example, a person engages in normative entanglement when they imply that a person who denies phenomenal consciousness doesn’t believe pain exists, and is therefore not opposed to torture, or they may imply that the person rejects even the functional states associated with putative conscious experience, e.g., they may insist that a person who denies phenomenal consciousness cannot make sense of a person distinguishing red objects from non-red objects. Or someone may insist that if someone is a free will skeptic, that they must release everyone from prison and cannot object if someone attempts to harm them. Such implications are not entailed by the denial of phenomenal consciousness or skepticism about free will, yet critics will sometimes maintain that those who hold such positions in fact accept these views or are at least committed to them.
Alternatively, critics may insist that because these are entailments, the person who claims to hold these positions doesn’t judge or act in accordance with these entailments, that the person in question is confused or disingenuous, and doesn’t sincerely hold their position. In short, those who exploit normative entanglement imply or accuse others of either being (a) terrible people or (b) confused or dishonest people, by insisting that a disagreement over a non-normative issue carries certain implications about the normative standards or character of the person with a contrary view.
2.0 Bullies and naysayers
It is a devious and repugnant practice, because it allows the critic to pivot from an intellectual critique of a person with an opposing philosophical view to a personal critique of that person’s character or competence. This tactic is behind a lot of the rhetorical posturing many philosophers engage in: academic philosophers and laypeople alike routinely engage in a kind of smug grandstanding when they dismiss illusionism, free will skepticism, moral antirealism, and other generally “skeptical” positions, and often do so by implying or outright insisting these positions have “outrageous” implications. Historically, proponents of these “outrageous” positions have tacitly accepted that their positions are “radical” or “outrageous” or “biting the bullet” to varying degrees, putting them on the dialectical back foot.
Critics then leverage this, along with the insistence that their “non-skeptical” positions are “commonsense” positions, to denigrate and bully proponents of skeptical views, and to treat skeptical positions with scorn and ridicule. It is a form of narrative control, and I suspect it does much (perhaps most) of the heavy-lifting in favor of the “non-skeptical” positions.
This bandwagon bullying is a natural feature of human social behavior. We are all familiar with the classic trope of bullies picking on someone for being different. Perhaps evolution shaped the human mind to maintain social cohesion by motivating people to stabilize a shared set of norms within a given community, so as to enhance the uniformity and homogeneity. And perhaps this is achieved by motivating people to enforce the views of those who hold a position of power or authority. Such power and authority often correlates with a majority or consensus view, though it may at times be a view endorsed by authority figures (hence why people will appeal to what most “experts” think, which adds value to the enforcement of a norm).
I’m not suggesting anyone consciously realizes they’re doing something like this, and does it anyway. Instead, I hypothesize that people are unconsciously motivated to act this way, and I do believe this partially explains why philosophers are often rude towards “skeptical” or “radical” views. Denigration, scorn, mockery, and ridicule aren’t proportionately distributed between more and less popular positions, but occur to a disproportionate extent among those who feel their positions enjoy greater support in general or by authorities. Such support loosens people up to flex their rhetorical muscle and strong-arm dissidents.
This is part of the reason why those who employ these tactics are so quick to appeal to “expertise,” so quick to appeal to “consensus” or the “majority view.” All of these appeals have legitimate applications and serve as some evidence for a view. But people frequently appeal to what “most experts/philosophers think” to dismiss less popular views, rather than engaging with them. What many of these appeals really are is a type of social power move: we’re in the majority, we have the power, we control the narrative, so shut up and go away. Such posturing, bullying, and suppression persists in part because it can cloak itself in plausibility deniability: “we’re simply pointing out that most experts agree, just like most experts on climate change agree that climate change is real.”
Only they’re not just pointing out that most experts agree. If they were, such a point wouldn’t be used to shut down dispute. Instead, those who make such appeals would simply throw this piece of evidence on the pile and continue discussion as normal, either exhibiting an attitude of neutrality or even curiosity about opposing views. Sometimes they do. But oftentimes they don’t, and the appeal to the majority/expert consensus is used to shut down debate or imply that the person holding the less popular view is stupid or ignorant or a crackpot. There is often the subtle whiff of implication that if you don’t agree with what most philosophers think, that you’re in roughly the same category as conspiracy theorists. This is why comparisons to flat earthers or moon landing hoaxers aren’t so innocent. They aren’t merely used to illustrate the epistemic virtues of appealing to the majority or to authority. They are a way of associating the philosopher with unpopular views with something most people would regard as ridiculous. It is a subtle form of guilt-by-association. This, too, flies under the radar through the guise of plausible deniability.
This strategy of masking rhetoric (e.g., “illusionists are bad people, and kind of like conspiracy theorists”) behind legitimate points in one’s favor (e.g., “most experts agree and this is evidence of the view”) is so common in philosophy that “philosophy” is often, in practice, just dirty tricks and devious rhetoric masquerading as something legitimate. Academic credentialism lends a false sense of legitimacy to these practices because people are too oblivious or charitable, and this happens because of a natural propensity to defer to and respect expertise and authority. This expertise and authority even rubs off onto people who don’t have degrees, which is why people without credentials of their own are so quick to cloak their claims in the words of those who do have credentials.
People who argue about philosophy absolutely love to quote famous and respected philosophers, or draw on their views. Again with the plausible deniability: it is completely legitimate to draw on the works of such people, but we should not forget that doing so can lend undue gravitas to the claims being made. It is easier to argue against a view when it isn’t something articulated by Kant or Parfit. Now if you want to go up against a person defending that view, they can draw on the entire corpus of this or that philosopher or school of thought. This is part of why people are so quick to slap a philosophical tabard emblazoned with some famous philosopher, principle, or school of thought: one isn’t going up against a wandering knight-errant, but a representative of a kingdom.
Another sign that appeals to experts mask a power play to silence unpopular views behind the plausible deniability of a legitimate philosophical appeal is how incurious those who employ these moves often are about rival views. Sometimes the person who makes such moves really is curious and will engage, though at times they come off as humoring the foolish skeptic. Yet often they show a total lack of curiosity. Even if they don’t mock the skeptic, they may disengage from the conversation or seem impatient. At the very least, they often show little interest in skeptical perspectives, and the substantive philosophies that coexist with them. The skeptic is treated as a mere naysayer, one who has nothing positive or meaningful to contribute to philosophy.
This is often simply untrue: the skeptic is often skeptical of a particular discourse or framing or popular position, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have positive views or a perspective about the world. Yet critics often show no interest in this, pigeonholing the skeptic as one who merely seeks to undermine others. They seem to forget, or to be unaware, that many of us with a skeptical inclination are skeptical of so much because we see the baroque metaphysics and dubious methods of mainstream analytic philosophy as an impediment to progress. We could be mistaken, but we often believe that were our critics to adopt our skeptical perspectives towards their perspectives, this would open the door to redirect philosophy towards more fruitful endeavors.
Our critics depict the skeptic as one who wishes merely to stop, to give up, to abandon our question, and content ourselves with failure. This may be true of some skeptics. But for many of us, skepticism is not an end to inquiry. It is a beginning. Many of us skeptics are like a member of a group of explorers who believe our party is on the wrong path, and want us to stop, get our bearings, and proceed in another direction. This may involve backtracking a bit, but we are often just as motivated by that intrepid spirit of adventure. We simply think adventure is that way rather than this way.
There is a particular essay that I have in mind that exemplifies the kind of rhetoric I describe here, which I will discuss in further entries. This is Galen Strawson’s “The Consciousness Deniers,” which characterizes the rise of views which deny phenomenal consciousness as “the Great Silliness,” which begins with the remark:
What is the silliest claim ever made? The competition is fierce, but I think the answer is easy. Some people have denied the existence of consciousness: conscious experience, the subjective character of experience, the “what-it-is-like” of experience. Next to this denial—I’ll call it “the Denial”—every known religious belief is only a little less sensible than the belief that grass is green.
Strawson goes on to call this “the Great Silliness.” This is an amusing term and I can appreciate levity in the critique, but the levity serves two purposes: it both lightens a heavy topic, and serves to denigrate the target of Strawson’s critique.
I will also endeavor to gather a decent range of examples, as well. In the meantime, I want to ask my readers what they think. Are there any particular philosophers that you think employ this kind of rhetoric? Have they done so in publications or elsewhere (such as social media)? What about people who are not professional philosophers? Feel free to provide examples in the comments, or to email me examples.
Either way, I may wish to make use of such examples, and in any case I think it would lend weight to my claims if others have observed, and have identified examples, of what I describe. If, on the other hand, you disagree, and don’t think this sort of thing is that common (among professional philosophers, or in general) I’d be curious to hear from you as to why that is. Perhaps I am too cynical and pessimistic about the state of public philosophical discourse, and those who are more optimistic can temper my negativity.