Two Reasons for Conversation. When stop?

There are two basic reasons for conversation.

First, we converse to convey information, either providing others (what we take to be) true claims or being provided such claims by them. We do this in schools, of course, but also in our daily lives. We ask, for example, about the weather so that we know if we need to dress warmly, for rain, etc. We ask about meetings others attend, for a different example, to learn if we missed something important. We ask about our loved one’s day, for a final example, because we are interested in their lives.

But we also converse—here’s the second reason—to develop or maintain relationships. We comfort our spouse who is upset about a bad day by listening and perhaps suggesting reasons to believe things will get better. This is in addition to genuinely wanting to know about what went wrong (the first reason), but may be the primary reason we speak in the situation. In some cases, it may even be the only reason. Perhaps one is unsure and unconcerned if one’s spouse is giving an accurate portrayal of what happened, but wants to maintain, develop, and deepen, the spousal relationship. Differently, you don’t speak with your four year old child you just saw fall off a bike because you need any information; you simply talk to them to sooth and thereby help the child and also help deepen the parental relationship.

The two reasons for conversation often overlap; we often have both reasons for having a discussion. But not always. If one goes to couples counseling, one learns to speak in “I statements” to indicate, for example, how one feels when the other leaves the dishes out, rather than using “You statements” which, apparently, are necessarily (perceived as?) judgmental (“you always leave the dishes out!”) and cause the other to dig into the fight more—even if they are also true.

Braver Angels is a great organization. Its premise is essentially that we can teach people to speak with one another about politics or anything else without digging in and weakening the relationship, just as marriage counselors do with couples. And just as with couples, we might even strengthen the relationships. Having participated in Braver Angels workshops, I believe this is all true. I’ve witnessed it and it works.

But as the economist Glenn Loury suggested to John Woods of Braver Angels, sometimes it seems the project is misguided: we know the truth, the others’ views are misguided and we should just shut them down. With Richard Freen, we might think “enough is enough;” ridiculous views should simply be met with ridicule and, if that doesn’t encourage those with such views to reconsider them, they should be condemned.

Speaking as someone who wants to encourage more speech, I admit to being torn. My worry comes from the difference between the two reasons for conversation: if one is engaged in conversation with another only to maintain or improve the relationship, one is engaging in a relationship with a significant limit—call it a “truth deficit.” For that part of the relationship, one is giving up on the sharing of truth. One is “agreeing to disagree” and not improve anyone’s (one’s own or the other’s) understanding about the topic of disagreement. It’s true that both parties are likely to gain greater understanding of each other and may find some common ground in shared beliefs they take as even more important than what they disagree about, but about the substantive issue in question, the truth deficit will remain—as the discourse participants agree not to dig in to their positions, they also stop digging into the issue to figure out anything more, as if unconcerned with truth in that regard.

In many cases, this resting easy without uncovering the truth—accepting the truth deficit there—is unproblematic. If one’s spouse had a bad day, one does not need to know if the spouse misinterpreted any events. Presumably, the two share enough true beliefs, that this one is insignificant. Not something to be concerned about. But is the truth deficit present when someone responds to the conspiracy theorist Trumpian by saying “I understand that you doubt the legitimacy of the election; I don’t share that doubt, but we don’t have to agree about it to get along” insignificant? Is the truth deficit present when someone responds to a flat-earther by saying “I get that you believe the earth is flat rather than spherical; I think you are mistaken, but we don’t have to agree about it to get along” insignificant? (How about similar responses to those that want mandatory equal incomes for all? Or those that think that individuals just are whatever they think they are (“identify as”)?) Are those gulfs large enough that one says “there is simply no point in maintaining this relationship?” If they are, does America have such a gulf (or gulfs)? If it does, what should we do?

As much of what I am interested in these days has to do with reducing those gulfs and the truth deficits they create, I am happy to take comments about this one. Suggestions about how to get past the gulfs without creating truth deficits especially welcome.

Why aren’t more women Libertarians?

Clearly, climate is an issue and one that should be addressed by everyone.  Libertarians want less government and fewer laws, which means that civil society – communities, organizations, families – needs to take on roles that government has taken on.  That means using our influence to dissuade others from poor behavior: holding ourselves to high standards of behavior, critiquing harmful and rude behavior out loud, restraining those who persist in poor behavior from opportunities to do so.  

So why aren’t more women committed to libertarianism?

Women are pros at building and maintaining civil society. Women still complete a disproportionate share of household chores for their own families, giving up their leisure and market work time to raise children and care for elderly parents.  Women are more likely to attend religious services regularly. Women are more likely to volunteer.   I presume that women engage in other community building activities more often, too, even when it’s not well measured in surveys.  Neighbor had surgery? A woman probably baked that casserole or organized that meal train to bring over for dinner.   Spouse is sick?  A woman probably took your kids out for the day to give you time to rest.[1]  Christmas and New Years’ cards, birthday greetings, celebration planning – all those interactions that maintain connections among friends and family are more often made by women.  

Consider a thought experiment of what might change as government shrunk. Certainly, I expect entrepreneurs to deliver some services – more private security, more private schools, health care services produced and priced for lower income households, and the like.  And, given the literature on crowd out (here or here or here, for example), I expect philanthropists to expand their charitable endeavors when government reduces its transfer activities.  Given opportunities to retain more of their earned income, generous people in our communities would give more, and more effectively, to help the less fortunate.

Less government increases the need for civil society in all its forms: charitable organizations of all sorts, religious institutions, civic institutions (like Rotary International), community groups, professional organizations, and more.  One hesitation some might have about the feasibility of less government is whether and how much groups like these will step up to help the less fortunate.  And, like many courses of action that liberty-lovers advance, it is impossible to say for sure what will emerge. Spontaneous order is annoying like that. 

But women know this: they know they’ll step into the gaps.  Cooking extra to bring to the neighbor in need. Organizing a coat drive for the trailer park residents as winter approaches.  Checking on the elderly neighbor for a chat and to make sure her heat functions, then sending an older child over to shovel snow from her driveway. Filling the Little Free Pantries and Little Free Libraries around town. Women are the backbone of civil society.   Women build the trust and the community and care for their friends and neighbors.  We know these transfers of time, money, energy, and love can happen in a free society. Because they happen every day. 

I suspect many women understand that, unless more men step up to the community-building plate, that less government means more unpaid, and too often unrecognized, work for women. I suspect some turn away from smaller government ideas, not eager for more of this load of worrying about and caring for those in need.   

For me, seeing people care for their friends and neighbors reassures me that good people in our communities already work to help the less fortunate. Just in our small town, we have a woman who collects items for new foster children (and others) who may arrive to new homes with only the clothes on their backs; a couple who helps the homeless and nearly homeless find or keep their homes, providing emergency supplies and assistance; angel trees to provide Christmas gifts for children whose parents might not be able to afford them. 

There are organizations and businesses run by people who have taken their passion for their community and love for their neighbors, gotten to know the specific needs, and found ways to collaborate to meet them. There are friendship networks and support systems that look out for changing needs and work to meet them, efficiently and effectively providing assistance in ways government welfare programs don’t. I mean, when’s the last time the Department of Social Services baked a casserole for an overwhelmed family? 

In a society with less government, more of that work may need to be done. I firmly believe that local knowledge allows private charitable behavior to more efficiently and effectively meet the needs of the less fortunate. I hope, though, that men will join women in taking on these tasks instead of waiting for women to manage even more of the caring. 

Thanks to Andrew J. Cohen and Sean Mulholland for conversations about the above.  

[1] Not saying men don’t do these things. They do! You can see it in the surveys on volunteering. Men are just less likely to do so.  But it happens, both formally and informally. One small example: when my husband was sick recently, his friend Bill picked up our energetic dog every afternoon to exercise her. Thanks Bill! 

Private “censorship”

Here’s a thought experiment about what some people call censorship.

Let’s imagine we all live in a community called Mayberry. This is a pre-internet time, and imagine too that very few of us have a TV or a radio. The main media outlet in our town is the Mayberry Gazette.

Some community leaders worry our town is getting a bit overweight. They want to pass a law that enacts a 10 cent tax on the sale of any ice cream cone in Mayberry. They plan to use the revenue to fund free community tai chi classes in the Mayberry Community Center each morning.

I draft an op-ed to argue against the proposed tax. I make economic arguments about how this will impact the ice-cream marketplace (“it’ll encourage bigger cones!”). I warn of the adverse effects on our beloved local ice-cream parlor. I also make moral appeals. I say that people should be free to choose their treats and decide which if any exercise they will pursue. And so on.

I submit that to the Mayberry Gazette, which refuses to publish it. I spot the editor coming out of Floyd’s Barbershop. I ask why the paper declined my op-ed. The editor tells me that the proposed tax is a great idea and so the paper has no room for my views.

I say to the editor, “Shouldn’t we have open discussion?”

“Of course,” the editor replies. “We should have open discussion of sensible views. But, Andrew, your views threaten to undermine public health and morals.”

I then appeal to fairness. “Your refusal to publish my views is not right. You have the only newspaper and the only printing press in our town! You’re making it nearly impossible to get my views to the community. You’re censoring me!”

The editor then says: “If you don’t like that, go get your own newspaper.”

There are several issues here. Bracket whether the proposed law has merit. If you think it does, substitute another one that does not. Consider instead three issues about what the newspaper may, should, or should not do. First, there is a conceptual issue about whether to call the newspaper’s conduct “censorship.” Second, there is the issue of whether the newspaper has a right to do (or not do) what they do. Third there is the question about whether the newspaper is doing the right thing.

I am uneasy calling it censorship when the Mayberry Gazette refuses to publish my op-ed. My unease revolves around using the same term for what private people do as compared to what people who wield political power do.

Suppose I say you may remain in my home only if you make no mention of a certain politician’s name. That does not seem to be censorship. I offer you terms of our association, which you are free to decline by not entering my home. If you come in my home and speak that person’s name anyway, I am within my rights to demand that you leave. If you complain of censorship, I might reply, “whatever you want to call it, if you don’t like it, go speak your views elsewhere.”

I take the notion of censorship to include some notion of impermissibility. Whether something is permissible turns significantly on whether one has a right to do it. As a private party, the newspaper can do what it wants with its resources, just as you may decide what speech is permissible in your home.

Suppose instead the Mayberry Police tells the Gazette that if it publishes my op-ed, they will shut down the newspaper. That would surely be censorship. What seems to make it censorship is the legal prohibition, supported by the force of the state, against the dissemination of certain ideas. (This formulation is incomplete, since some legal prohibitions on speech and writing seem justifiable but don’t easily seem to be censorship.)

I do not want to press too hard on the conceptual point. It might come down to a battle of intuitions. Many people think of censorship more capaciously than I do. (See Andrew Jason Cohen’s recent post.) Let us bracket the conceptual point and move forward. Consider what private parties do when they withhold their own property as vehicles for disseminating certain ideas. Call that “schmensorship.” When if ever may someone schmensor?

The US Supreme Court restricts some private parties’ rights to schmensor. In Pruneyard Shopping Center v. Robins (1980), the Court said the state of California may require owners of shopping malls to allow people to petition on their premises. The Court said a state may require this of malls provided it does not clash with other constitutional protections. Suppose there is a compelling argument that shows it is not a restriction (or not a worrisome restriction) on private parties’ rights of free speech, free association, and property, when the state forces them to open their property to views they reject. Maybe we can argue shopping malls are (well, perhaps they were) the modern “town square” to which everyone must have access. I doubt the public’s access to a shopping center implies the owner’s diminished private authority over what happens in and through the private resource.

Back to Mayberry. I’m the local llama farmer (a seldom-mentioned business in the episodes). I am too busy with my llamas to have the time, the resources, or the know-how to “go get my own newspaper.” Nothing beats the Gazette for publicly airing views. When the paper schmensors me, the economic barriers to getting my views out are formidable. I can still print up my ideas and spread my brilliant prose. Doing so might be hard. It might be expensive. It might be time-consuming. But I could do that without jeopardizing my freedom.

In contrast, when the Mayberry Police censors me by threatening to shut down newspapers or imprison people who speak my ideas, the barriers they put up against my views seem importantly different. I may not then “go get my own newspaper” to publish my views. The barriers on disseminating ideas under censorship seem different in kind, and not just degree, compared to those of schmensorship. The prohibitions track different moral stakes. Schmensors leave me free to speak my mind if I can find the resources. Censors deny me the freedom to speak my mind no matter what resources I have.

Here’s a wrinkle to my little thought experiment. For fans of the show: who was the editor of the Mayberry Gazette?

That was none other than Sheriff Andy Taylor, who was also the local justice of the peace. That… complicates things. Even then, his schmensorship regime is not necessarily a censorship one. Will Andy lock me up for handing out my essay to willing passersby on property where I have permission to stand? If not, then he’s merely a schmensor. When I’m merely schmensored, I still have a shot at speaking my mind.

(Thanks to Andrew Jason Cohen for feedback on an earlier draft, and also for neither schmensoring nor censoring me.)

Tough GUYS Like Trump

The following is a guest post from Jennifer Baker from the College of Charleston’s Department of Philosophy.

“You know what I call COVID? A solution to Social Security.”  

“If they try to impeach Trump, if they even DARE, you realize there will be BLOOD in the streets. Blood in the streets.”  

“It’s true, it’s legal to kill born babies in New York State.”   

“Liberals. Liberals. Liberals. Liberals. Liberals. Liberals. Woke. Woke. Woke.”   

“Cry more, Libs.” 

If you know a tough guy, this is the kind of thing you get used to hearing.   

When the tough guy says their tough guy thing, it’s not an invitation to debate, it’s a flag in the sand. My husband and I treat the aggression differently. I might scrunch my face but then deftly change the topic. He, especially lately, puts an end to it immediately, calling his Trump-supporting friends idiots and morons and hanging up the phone.  

If you listen to Rush Limbaugh or Sean Hannity or Glenn Beck, you are listening to some tough guys. My first thought on learning that Limbaugh had gotten cancer was to worry about how he would find a non-liberal team of physicians. I actually had the worry. It was only for a moment, but it shows that I had gotten used to the idea that liberals are Limbaugh’s enemies, out to thwart him at every turn. And that is patently ridiculous. That is absurd.

I listen to right-wing radio hosts whenever I am alone in the car. I am usually just observing their fears and imaginations, not caught up in them myself, but always fascinated. My husband asks how I can stand their voices. Their voices have the same tone, even the local woman host on the station. It is kind of begging and barking at once. Despite all of the bluster, it is plaintive and uncertain, which is why it is so much more interesting to me than how people normally address others. It always feels like they really, really need listeners to just believe them. I was never surprised when the hosts would kind of break down on air, which I caught a few times, saying how hard their work was and they just could not do it anymore. It does not sound possible to maintain. They often begin, in what sounds like full salivating rage, to describe liberals and then just sputter. Literally, they can’t find a description that makes sense. Sometimes liberals are unfun. Sometimes liberals just don’t get it. Sometimes liberals are obsessed with death. Before the election Limbaugh said liberals are “obsessed” with voting.  It’s too much. It never adds up.  

There would be a cycle where something Trump was accused of was “fake news” and then a day or so later it would be defended as being a normal thing for a President to do. The case being made just seemed exhaustingly ad hoc. In fact Hannity used to defend Trump because he said we would be so “bored” without him.

None of our friends, and of course not the radio hosts either, have been supportive of the Capitol raid since it happened. Glenn Beck, who has been saying conservatives are at “war” (he uses that word and all the associated imagery) for as long as I can remember, sounded very nervous after the raid and told listeners that they should now just “defend their homes.” This was news to me and to at least one caller he let on, who asked how we would have ever had the Revolutionary War if we had only defended our home.

Beck, who might be an extreme case, after all, often says the apocalypse is coming and he welcomes it, due to what liberals do to him here. It has gotten that bad, he explains day after day. This is, of course, audibly a man in incredible despair. But due to…liberals? How does a person become this dramatic? Can other people be torturers just by being more liberal than Glenn Beck?

If you have read Edmund Burke on the sublime or Corey Robin on Burke , you know there is an explanation for Beck’s strange suffering. And it’s one that conservative writers have often embraced (Robin is an actual scholar on this subject and finds Burke’s argument recreated in Joseph de Maistre, Roosevelt’s speeches, Carl Schmitt and Leo Strauss, Churchill, Goldwater and Fukuyama). The idea is that for some of us, the churn of life becomes tedious. Pleasure and enjoyment are not doing it for you. It becomes clear that your life is not one that involves the high stakes you want to envision: danger and threat at every turn. So you try to rule over others, and this becomes dull, too (as they too easily comply, and the thrill dissipates). What next? You get into a little freelance violence as philosophy. Maybe it is just talk of all of your guns. Maybe it’s actually stockpiling guns as the radio hosts brag about. Maybe it’s wearing patches that say “I am just here for the violence” like we saw at the Capitol raid. Maybe it is leaving scathing and bizarrely cruel comments under local news stories on Facebook like moms in my area do.  

We work ourselves up until we see enemies and get terrified. Burke describes the moral psychology so that in this mode your sense of self gets enlarged and vacated: “The mind is hurried out of the self.” We imagine ourselves as exalted heroes in a great cause but it’s all in our minds, imaginary.

This seems right to me. This seems to be what is happening when our friends get in the tough- guy mode. I think my husband cannot tolerate it because it’s a cringey and embarrassing put-on. In fact, the internet seems the perfect way to enact this “mode” because to any actual friend, it’s obviously phony.  

This is the reassuring thing about this particular thirst for violence, as Burke explains it: it really is a put on, a show, all for a feeling. It’s not that the violence won’t be engaged in (as we saw at the Capitol), but does not end up being quite what a dreamer would hope for. The Trump fans who are now facing federal charges had, I assume, no idea how difficult it is to face federal charges. The men and women who were put on the no-fly list are assuring us that this is not what they imagined. These were not people at war in any kind of realistic way.   

So my question is, how do you let a person know that?

My own non-confrontational approach hits several of the markers of “success” according to a few psychologists and philosophers on the subject of political polarization.  

  •  I am not the much-blamed bubble. I hear directly from supporters of a President who I think had no respect for values like rule of law or even ethical principle.  
  • I have plenty of what Bob Talisse, in Overdoing Democracy: Why We Must Put Politics in its Place calls “civic friendships,” which is a matter of maintaining “nonpolitical” bonds and engaging in “nonpolitical cooperative endeavors.”
  • I am also not a snob (which might be all it takes to achieve 1 and 2) nor mistaken about the socio-economics of the “Trump fan.” See Caitlin Flanagan’s recent critique of the Capitol violence for an example of both of these. I don’t buy that this kind of snideness causes the attitudes that (I do buy) are much deeper, a la Burke. It’s just that to a non-snob the jokes don’t even land. None of those things she lists are the issue.  

So despite these things, seeing the Rambo-talk turns into action makes a person want to be a bit clearer on what they have against the tough-guy talk. If how to keep people from dreaming of civil war for reasons they can hardly articulate is a very complex topic (see summaries of how to deradicalize terrorists, histories of uprisings in other countries, new work on political tipping points and on the way we select information), this still does not solve the issue of what I should do when on the receiving end of some ridiculous ranting.

And I am starting to think my husband’s approach is better than my own. He’s plain and blunt and critical and it seems like we often assume you cannot be that way towards a Trump fan, as if they cannot be engaged directly in terms of the things they are actually saying. Maybe people fear Trump fans, I think that is part of it. I also think many people (and especially media columnists) think telling a Trump fan they are wrong is to engage in some kind of snobbery, no different than mocking Olive Garden, as if political views and restaurant-taste are in some blend that has to be considered only at a remove or you sound like Flanagan. Maybe this explains the lack of critical engagement with the actual things the right-wing hosts say. And I would submit that each of these reactions is actually harmful to anyone caught up in Burkean revery, just adding fuel to the fire. I think writers should be less afraid of being a snob (who cares? why hide it? no one wants to be like you!) and more conscious of pitying someone to the extent you do not even take on their stated views directly. You can only pity people you do not know. You do not pity a person you understand. Ergo, any attempt to avoid dealing with actual Trumpian claims as a way to show respect seems very poorly motivated.

And to the extent I do understand, I think my husband is right to tell a tough talker to snap out of it. To say call back when you are being reasonable, or not at all. They do call back.  

Censorship, Free Speech, Social Media, and The First Amendment

According to the state action doctrine, only government entities can violate the First Amendment. Twitter, Facebook, etc, are not government entities. They don’t violate anyone’s constitutional rights when they take down posts or remove their accounts. That does not mean that Twitter, FB, etc, aren’t censoring speech.

Some worry that Twitter, Facebook, etc are monopolies, violating anti-trust laws and that they thus ought to be regulated as common carriers. This strikes me as pretty obviously mistaken. Not only are they competitors, but others have sought to compete with them (MeWe, Parler, etc) and nothing rules out others trying to do so in the future. Some also worry that Twitter, Facebook, etc might act in ways meant to curry favor with the Federal government and that if that is true, since its plausible that federal regulators know this and might thus signal their desires to these firms, really Twitter, Facebook, etc are agents of the state and so they can, after all, violate individual constitutional rights. This also strikes me as pretty implausible, both legally and morally. Whatever control would be present would be pretty tenuous. If it weren’t, it seems unlikely that Twitter would have closed President Trump’s account.

When Twitter bans President Trump from its platform, it prevents him from speaking to a certain audience, limiting his speech. It does not thereby successfully prevent him from speaking to everyone; he has other avenues of communication. Of course, if the government censors someone, they also will typically have other avenues of speech. Consider the Comstock Act of 1873; it made it illegal to send certain “lascivious” material through the mail. Those wishing to share (speak about) those materials with others, could still do so—for example, by walking to others and talking to them directly. More generally, any governmental act meant to silence someone will close some avenues of communication while leaving others open. The fact that a social media company only closes some avenues of communication to (i.e, only partially silences) someone it bans from its platform is no different than what government does. If the latter is censorship, so is the former. Or so it seems to me.

If I am right, “government censorship” is a specification of “censorship,” as is “parental censorship,” “school censorship,” etc. “Social media censorship” would simply be censorship by a social media company. If this is wrong, we need another term for what the other agents just named do when they limit speech. That’s fine, of course. It’s a mere conceptual matter, one we needn’t worry too much about—what we are really interested in, I think, is whether social media companies or other private agents should seek to silence anyone. Still, if this is not censorship because only speech limitation by government is censorship, then “government censorship” is redundant—and I do not think it is.

That I think social media companies sometimes engage in what is properly called “censorship” does not mean those companies do anything wrong. Free speech is valuable—and so, I think, the first amendment leaves the US more or less absolutist in forbidding government intervention in speech. But that doesn’t mean private agents can never morally limit speech. Of course they can. Of course we can. For example, I stop my son from using certain words that are not appropriate for polite society. I censor him. There are also certain speech acts I would forbid in my classroom if I had to, but thankfully don’t—they don’t ever seem to come up; that is, my students don’t use them (in the classroom, anyway). Similarly, book burning (in some circumstances) by private individuals and book banning in private schools are likely forms of censorship. They’re both legal, even if disturbing.

Some censorship is not only permissible, but expected and probably morally good—disrespectful speech in the classroom, for example, is something we do well to make unacceptable (through non-legal, social means). Is censorship by Twitter, Facebook, etc, of President Trump and his followers good? I don’t honestly know. I am conflicted. On the one hand, I generally agree that more speech is the way to counter bad speech and that airing all views is likely to leave the bad (morally and epistemically) views with fewer believers. And (on the same hand), I worry that people are too often attracted to beliefs they are told they shouldn’t have (the “taboo effect”). Certainly, letting people discuss racist and anti-Semitic views hasn’t (yet) stopped them from spreading and letting people discuss conspiracy theories about fraudulent elections—for which there is no evidence—hasn’t stopped them from spreading. On the other hand, I don’t have any significant doubt that President Trump lies and that his followers are mistaken about a number of important factors, including the supposed fraudulence of the election, and preventing the spread of those false beliefs seems worthwhile. And, I admit, I simply love that in our society government officials face limits imposed by private entities. Corporate CEOs can tell the President of the United States that he can’t use their service; this is not something one can say in Russia or China.

Conclusion: like it or not (and I am conflicted), Twitter and Facebook do not violate any constitutional rights by censoring the President and his followers. As I said previously, this is a matter of property rights. Twitter and Facebook own their platforms just as I own my home. Just as I can forbid someone from entering my home to tell me why Nazi’s were right—or anything at all that I don’t want to hear—Twitter and Facebook can forbid people from using their platforms to say thinks Twitter and Facebook do not like. Twitter and Facebook have the right to censor those using their platforms. Whether they should or not, I cannot presently say.

Thinking about Covid Vaccine Distribution

Although the ideal is to get everyone vaccinated, there currently are not enough doses, so while they’re making more, we get to argue about who should receive the doses that already exist.  Different suggestions imply something about underlying ethical principles and intuitions.  It seems mostly uncontroversial that health care workers ought to be vaccinated first.  If you can remember back to when we used to go places on airplanes, recall the safety announcements: please make sure your oxygen mask is secure before helping others.  The logic here is impeccable, if slightly counter-intuitive.   Even if you feel strongly that you need to tend to the needs of others above your own, if you pass out from oxygen deprivation, you can’t help anyone, plus you’re dead too, so that’s the wrong answer.  Securing your own oxygen first is thus not merely self-interested, it’s also the necessary condition for your helping others.  This is allegorical for lots of things, but particularly on-point here: if we’re worried about a global pandemic, it’ll just make things even worse if the health care workers get sick.  If they get sick, who will take care of me?  So it makes good sense for them to vaccinated first.  And of course we wouldn’t have this problem if there were more doses available. So people who work in labs that study and create the virus seem like they ought to receive priority as well.

After that, it’s less obvious.   Some considerations pro and con for various candidates:
The Elderly
Pro: they’re more at risk of serious complications and death
Con: they’re also more at risk of dying of other things
The Young
Pro: they’re more likely to violate social distancing protocols and participate in spreader activity. 
Con: they’re less vulnerable to serious complications and death.
Note that the analysis of old-vs-young folds in on itself.  It’s not the 80-somethings who are going to bars, nail salons, gyms, frat parties, the mall.  So if the main concern is spreader activity, that’s an argument for vaccinating younger people, but if the main concern is harmful consequences of actually getting the virus, that looks more like an argument for vaccinating the elderly.

Front-Line Workers – no one has a precise definition for this, but it seems to be a way to categorize people like the grocery store workers and bus drivers.  The argument here is that we are all dependent of the continued functioning of things like supermarkets and transportation systems, so it’s in everyone’s best interest to make sure they’re healthy.  But how about:
Teachers – since the schools are closed, not only are students suffering from suboptimal education, but parents of school-age kids have had their work disrupted, and in many cases were obliged to stop working entirely.  And indeed, many heath care workers and people in the “front-line” category are parents of school-age children, so it’s in everyone’s best interests to reopen the schools as soon as possible.
The counter-argument to both of those is that there’s no precise and uncontroversial way to prioritize how important one job is relative to another. 

What about political leaders?  If politicians get sick, how will we ever manage as a nation? Maybe the sarcasm of that remark doesn’t translate into writing, but seriously, one argument in favor of vaccinating political leaders is that it might mitigate the sort of conspiracy-theory resistance to vaccination.  While I don’t think politicians deserve greater protection from the virus, there’s a consequentialist argument for them being vaccinated publicly, if it helps disabuse people of irrational fears.

Another dilemma arises from the suggestion that even though one is supposed to get two doses, maybe we could trade off instantly doubling the supply for mitigated effectiveness.  That’s a different sort of approach to thinking about who gets it.  That seems like a tradeoff that, in principle, we could evaluate empirically, but in reality will take more time than we have.  So proponents of either are gambling, to some extent.  If two people have headaches, and there is only one 500-mg Tylenol in the house, one way to go would be to have one person take it, reducing the total number of headaches by half, but the other way to go would to break it in half and give each person 250 mg.  That seems “more fair” in one sense, but would this result in two people with slightly-improved headaches, or two people who still have headaches?  If it’s the latter, that means the medicine has been wasted.  Again, before moral reasoning can be applied, we’d need some empirics.

So, it looks like the right order of priority is:
Health care workers
Lab scientists and workers who study and create the vaccine
Philosophers (because the rest of the dilemmas are still not obvious)

I, Lockdown

There’s tons of online debate about whether lockdowns are helpful to fight the pandemic.  I have no idea whether they’d be helpful or not, but I suspect that they’re impossible anyway.  In his essay “I, Pencil,” Leonard Read famously highlights the vast interconnectedness of millions of people that lies behind seemingly-mundane phenomena like 20-cent pencils at Staples.  Echoing more academic treatment of similar themes in Hayek and Simmel and others, Read reminds us in laymen’s terms just how complex these networks are: not only do you need someone cutting down cedar trees, you need someone making saws and work boots and rope and chains; then you need trucks to transport the lumber to a mill, which means truck drivers, and people who manufacture trucks, and fuel for the trucks, which means people who drill for oil, and refine the oil, and all these people need coffee, which means coffee growers, exporters, importers, roasters, and so on.  I have been reminded of this fundamental lesson several times during the pandemic as pundits would occasionally say things like “if we could just shut everything down for a few weeks, we could stop the spread.”  But the problem is not that people are too selfish or stupid to stay home (though some are, to be sure), it’s that the very idea of “shut everything down” is a misnomer at best; at worst a deliberate red herring.

The Read-ian reason why we can’t actually “shut everything down” is that there are so many exceptions, each of which entails a vast web of corollaries.  Thinking about it just for a moment, look how deep it gets.  Don’t worry about whether you think any of these is essential; what matters for the exercise is that most people would.

A. Soldiers

B. Cops

C. Firefighters

D.  EMTs/Ambulance drivers

E.  All of these need support staff, road maintenance, mechanical and fuel supply workers, etc.

F.  All people who work in hospitals, including but not only health care workers

G. E again, for the people in F

H. Lawyers and judges and corrections officers

I. E again, for the people in H

J. child care workers for the people in A-I

K. Grocery store workers

L. The people who make/grow the food

M. The people who transport the food from L to K

N. E and J for people in K-M

O. That means we’ll need public transportation operators, and E and J for them also

P. Journalists, broadly construed to include people who make newspapers, tv, radio

Q. Power supply workers

R. So, even more E and J

And so on.  This exposes the fundamental fallacy in saying “shut it all down.”  We couldn’t if we tried.  That’s not to say, of course, that we shouldn’t practice social distancing until the pandemic is over.  But an actual shutdown, like a pencil, is something no one actually knows how to make.

Moralism, Community, and Civil Discourse

I’ve begun to think that one of the largest problems facing society is moralism, in a variety of forms. I want to try out this claim here. For the moment, take moralism to be a commitment to the view that some acts must be forbidden, socially or legally, because they are (a) judged wrong by the general populace, (b) in some way opposed to the continued survival of the general populace, or (c) simply immoral even if no one is hurt by them. I expect to return to this in future posts, but here want to discuss a possible relationship between moralism and our problems with civil discourse.

There are at least three ways to get someone else to believe or act as you. First, one can use force or coercion on the other, perhaps yelling at or bullying them. Second, one can appeal to the other’s emotions, perhaps getting them to feel bad if they don’t accept your view or do what you want. Third, one can use reason, trying to explain why what you want them to believe or do is what they actually should believe or do. All of these are ways that people “argue,” though only the last is “argument” in the philosopher’s sense. I take it as obvious that we should reject the first (as it treats persons as non-agents) and prefer the third (it alone treats persons as what they are, rational agents). Philosophers would prefer only the third be used; we sometimes find it hard to accept how much more prevalent and successful the second is. Advertising, public relations, and politics all rely on emotional appeals far more than reason. In doing so—in relying on appeals to emotions—they treat persons as agents, but not rational agents. This is better than coercion, but not as good as reason.

One sort of appeal to emotions I see a good bit of is an appeal to community. If we care about our community, we’re told, we’ll do this. If we care about each other, we’ll do that. This can be turned into a rational argument, of course: community is important, so we should do X which is necessary for community. Even then, we are rarely told why community is important or how X is necessary for it. Still less are we likely to be told how the particular community in question actually has the qualities of community that give it value. (Community can be a real value even if this particular community is not.). In most cases, the appeal is a form of the second type of moralism, where we are supposed to believe that the community requires what the appealer says—that absent our acquiescence the community will be endangered.

Generally, when one appeals to community, the goal is simply to get other people to do, believe, or live as one wants. It’s community as the appealer conceives it. If the appealer wants help with child care, the conception of community will be one where child care duties are shared, including by those who did not wish to have children. If the appealer believes women are or should be subordinate to men, the sought after community will be chauvinist. If the appealer is egalitarian, the sought after community will be egalitarian. If the appealer thinks people currently in the community are of more value than those elsewhere, the sought after community will be anti-immigrant. If the appealer thinks allopathic medicine, western education in STEM fields, or the like are necessary for decent or good lives, the sought after community will be one where those things are provided or even required of all.

Here’s the thing: if one is willing to appeal to emotions in this way to convince others to do, believe, or live as one wants, one does not value the other as a person. While appealing to emotions may be better than coercion, it still treats the other as less than oneself. It is manipulation with an assumption that the other is no more than a being to be manipulated to get what one wants. It excludes belief that the other should be reasoned with, that their reason matters. It thereby excludes, in the instance, belief in rational discourse with the other.

I expect to be discussing moralism further in future posts, but here hope only to have shown how continued reliance on moralism of one form prevents use of rational dialogue. This should be obvious: if we are genuinely committed to rational dialogue with our fellow citizens, we don’t coerce them and we don’t try to suade them with appeals to emotions, even if designed to protect our community as we see it.

The Saga of David Friedman

In my latest YouTube video, I chat with economist and legal scholar David Friedman on free-market anarchism; the Society for Creative Anachronism; tectonic geology; the quasi-anarchic legal systems of medieval Iceland and 18th-century England; being converted to anarchism by Robert Heinlein; how getting a Ph.D. in physics led to being an economist at a law school; the joys of fomenting war and exploiting one’s students; how he repeatedly achieved promotion through violence against his predecessors; how to make medieval armor both for humans and for turnips; how innovations in fireplace design facilitated adultery; and the perils of central planning for wizards.