Category Archives: Discourse

Congressional SnowFlakes

I wasn’t going to write anything about this as it seemed too obvious to comment on, but I haven’t seen others do so—and it is worth noticing.

There has been, and continues to be, talk about college students and people on the left as “snow flakes” and weak/soft/thin-skinned, too easily hurt by speakers on campus. The extent to which college students take offense at comments may (or not) be greater than it was in the past. Last week, though, we saw Republican Congresspeople doing the same thing. See this.

Liz Cheney has been telling the truth about the 2020 election and (some of) the lies coming from Donald Trump and his sycophants. She has not, so far as I have seen, been particularly rude about it. She has simply pointed out that some people seem intent on enabling and spreading Trump’s lies. The response includes claims of being offended and “hurt.” (TN Rep. Chuck Fleishmann: “It hurt me very much.” A lobbyist: “what she’s said was offensive to me, and many others.”)

It is not unusual on college campuses to hear claims that speech can harm so badly that we should not only be concerned, but also set policies to prevent such. Speech codes were/are meant to prevent harm. This is the sort of concept creep—where we talk of things previously thought non-harmful as harmful—that I worried about in my Toleration and Freedom from Harm and that Frank Furedi worried about in his On Tolerance.

Furedi’s concern was with acceptance of a “transformation of distress into a condition of emotional injury” (106) that would be used to justify interference meant to silence discussions that might somehow endanger those offended (or those they pretend to protect). A standard response is that such people are too weak to hear (or have others hear) anything that might offend them, cause them to doubt themselves, or that simply might not put them in the best light. Cheney is clearly not putting most of those in her party in the best light and offending some to the point of “hurt.” One wonders if her detractors will try to pass some sort of congressional speech code.

What Shouldn’t Be Surprising about Democracy

The following is a guest post from John Hasnas of the McDonough School of Business at Georgetown University.


One of the drawbacks of not being a committed supporter of democracy is that one loses the ability to be continually surprised by the discovery of the obvious. Currently, the intelligentsia is shocked to find that significant percentages of the public 1) subscribe to “conspiracy theories”–the current euphemism for beliefs held without supporting evidence and in the face of strong disconfirming evidence–and 2) don’t seem committed to the preservation of democratic institutions. But to those of us who view democracy dispassionately rather than as true believers, there is nothing surprising about this at all. It is precisely what we would expect. 

1) Under democracy, the person or policy that receives the most support prevails. But majority support has no necessary connection to the facts of reality. For example, a majority that wanted to stop illegal immigration could vote for a politician who promises to build a wall across the southern border of the United States, even though, as a matter of fact, this would have almost no effect on illegal immigration. Or a majority that wanted to help the poorest members of society could vote to raise the minimum wage to $15 per hour, even though this would reduce employment for the poorest unskilled workers.

When we make decisions for ourselves, most of us pay close attention to the facts of reality. We look both ways before we cross the street. When we drive, we stop at red lights and refrain from driving 90 miles an hour through residential streets. We consider how much money we make in deciding how much money to spend. We comparison shop, consider the prospects for return before making investments, perform regular maintenance on our cars and homes, and purchase automobile, life, health, and homeowner’s insurance. We don’t just walk up and take other people’s stuff. 

We do this because each of us would personally suffer the consequences of ignoring the facts of reality. Failure to look both ways means that we might be hit by a car. Reckless driving means that we might crash. Profligate spending means that we might go bankrupt. Failure to comparison shop, invest carefully, perform necessary maintenance, and purchase insurance means that we may suffer financial losses. Failure to observe property rights means that we may be punched in the nose. 

Things are different when we vote. Because voting one way rather than another imposes no direct consequences on us personally, there is little reason to consider the way the world actually works. Thus, we are free to indulge our imagination and vote for the way we want the world to be. We can imagine that a big, beautiful wall across the southern border will stop illegal immigration, so we vote for the politician who promises to build it and have Mexico pay for it. We feel compassion for low skilled, low wage workers, so we vote to give them all $15 per hour. 

The incentive structure of democratic decision-making encourages people to indulge their fantasies and vote in ways that make them feel good about themselves. This good feeling can be obtained by signaling that one cares about the poor or that one cares about family values, or that one supports his or her team or that one is a loyal member of the tribe. There is no need for one’s vote or other political activities to be tied to the facts of reality to obtain these psychological benefits. After watching large segments of the population believe that a border wall will stop illegal immigration, that Russian interference determined the outcome of the 2016 election, that the Chinese pay tariffs rather than American consumers, and that deficits don’t matter, can it really be surprising that many people believe that there was widespread voter fraud in the 2020 election? Since the believer suffers no personal harm from indulging in such a belief and can gain significant psychological benefit from doing so, how can we be surprised by the prevalence of political conspiracy theories?

2) And it surely should not be surprising that the abstract support for “democratic institutions” disappears when one’s side loses an election. In the first place, supporting democracy in the real world borders on the irrational. A commitment to democracy requires one to believe that the policy of the candidate who receives the greatest number of votes should be adopted. But when one votes, he or she is expressing a personal belief about the desirability of a proposed policy. If our committed democrat’s opponent receives more votes, he or she must now simultaneously believe that the policy of the candidate he or she opposed should be adopted based on the belief that social policy should be determined by the democratic process and that the policy of that candidate should not be adopted based on his or her personal belief. 

Imagine that a candidate runs for President on a platform of building a wall across the southern border of the United States, temporarily banning Muslims from entering the United States, and imposing tariffs on products manufactured overseas. Also imagine that Debbie Democrat, a firm believer in democratic governance, strongly opposes all of these measures and believes that their adoption is both immoral and would be disastrous for the country. Accordingly, she votes for the opposing candidate. Assume however that after the votes are counted, her candidate loses. Debbie Democrat is now in the uncomfortable position of simultaneously believing that a wall should be built across the southern border of the United States, Muslims should be temporarily banned from entering the United States, and tariffs should be imposed on products manufactured overseas based on her belief that social policy should be determined by the democratic process and that none of these measures should be adopted based on her personal belief that they are immoral and counterproductive. 

How surprising can it be that the losers of an election will try to obstruct the will of the majority whether through protests, lawsuits or other procedural impediments, civil disobedience, or even intimidation and violence? What wouldbe surprising would be for Debbie and those who voted with her to say, “Well, we lost the election, so we should do all we can to help put the will of the people into effect and support building the wall, banning Muslims, and imposing tariffs at least until the next election.” 

For most people, democracy is like religion. Belief that democracy is a morally justified and necessary form of government is accepted as a matter of faith. It is only we few heretics who actually examine democracy’s features. We are the ones who notice that democracy is a zero sum game; that under democracy, all must conform their behavior to the will of the majority, and that this makes democracy a winner-take-all game that creates an incentive to defeat one’s opponents at all costs.

In Chapter 10 of his 1944 book, The Road to Serfdom, Freidrich Hayek explained why, in a winner-take-all political system, adherence to principle is self-eliminating. The politician whose commitment to principle prevents him from doing what is necessary to gain power is washed out of the system, or as Bill Clinton more succinctly put it when asked why he lied during the 1996 Presidential campaign, “You gotta do what you gotta do.” In a democracy, any politician whose commitment to abstract moral or political principles prevents him or her from doing what will generate the most votes, loses. This makes politicians’ explicitly hypocritical behavior and application of double standards, which is so shocking to democracy’s true believers, such a mundane observation to us. It is also why we know that it is pointless to exhort people to eschew “whataboutism” as a form of political argument. Far from an aberration, such argumentation is baked into government by electoral majority. 

Many intellectuals seem surprised that Republican politicians who were running for their lives from a mob whipped up by President Trump on January 6 could vote overwhelmingly not to impeach Trump less than three weeks later. But to those of us with a realistic view of the incentive structure of democracy, nothing could seem more natural. You don’t get to make policy if you don’t get elected. So, in the words of Bill Clinton, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

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.

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.

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.

Section 230: Platforms and Publishers

There has been a lot said lately about Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act. President Trump had threatened to veto the defense budget unless it were repealed. Trump and others are upset with internet platforms Facebook and Twitter because of their censoring users—users that might propagate false claims about widespread voter fraud or foreign governments somehow hacking our voting system and users promoting false claims about COVID-19 being a hoax, for obvious examples. So what is the issue here?

Here’s the heart of the matter in §230: “No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.”  This does not mean the provider (the platform) can’t be sued; it means they can’t be sued for information (good or bad) someone posts on their site from another source.  In short, they aren’t publishers.  That all seems good to me.  It would also seem like a simple extension of everyday thinking about private property. 

Consider: if I install a bulletin board on my property (outside my house, near where people walk), I can post what I like on that board and I can allow others to put up posts as well. Intuitively, we wouldn’t think I should be held responsible for what other people post there.  One simple reason for this is that it would be too much to expect me to monitor everything. If someone posts something on my bulletin board—which, assume, I offer my community as a way to increase communication—and I can be sued for false claims they post, I am very unlikely to install such a board in the first place. I don’t have the time or inclination to check the truth of everything posted by others. Section 230 essentially treats internet platforms just like that, though obviously much larger, with millions of posts on their “boards.” If we want them to offer their means of public communication, we shouldn’t hold them responsible for the truth (or fairness) of everything posted on their service. This is why §230 treats platforms as good Samaritans rather than as publishers.

What seems to upset people, I should note, is the removal of posts rather than the leaving of posts that are false or unfair in some way. Consider my bulletin board again. While I am not to be held responsible for things others post, I can take things down as I please. What §230 makes clear, as I read it, is that since its my bulletin board, I can remove stuff you hang even if what I remove would be constitutionally protected if on some state owned medium. I can help you post stuff I like and I can remove stuff I do not. I’m not required to do either, but (because it is my property), I can do either.  Facebook, Twitter, etc, can do the same—remove your posts or help you post—as they wish. And just as my helping you post on my board does not mean I am responsible for your posts, Facebook, Twitter, etc are not responsible for what you post there.

In short, §230 treats firms offering platforms as providing a valuable service on their property that thus should not be overly burdened. Nothing in §230, so far as I can tell, gives platforms any special privileges such that they can reasonably be seen as an extension of the state (which would mean that posts would be constitutionally protected).

The only thing I might find worrisome is if a platform knowingly lied (or knowingly forbid true posts). In knowingly forbidding true information, a platform might cause actual harm. If that can be demonstrated, I might agree that there should be legal interference. Given, though, that users are voluntary participants, this seems unlikely—you can’t claim to be harmed if you are a voluntary participant. To explain: If you come into my house after I tell you I might lie to you when inside, on my view, there should be no legal interference. Of course, in such a situation, you shouldn’t visit me. Indeed, you’d be well advised to unfriend me. Similarly, if you think the internet platform is being dishonest in the way it censors posts, you should probably leave it. At least this is a reasonable response if you’ve given it serious thought and conclude that the benefit to staying is minimal. I would suggest that staying has a clear benefit: exposure to views one doesn’t know or agree with. That can help one improve if one is open to it. But though I think we should all be open to hearing rational discourse, I don’t know that anyone is obligated to do so.

Preferring Purple: Rules for Honest Conversation

My home state, Georgia, has now certified that its Electoral College Votes will go for Biden (as have other states that were in play). Even before the steps for certification were complete, many on the left were thrilled to proclaim that Georgia has turned blue. I think this wishful thinking on their part (and fearful thinking for those on the right). After all, both of our seats in the US Senate are still up in the air. More importantly, this sort of thinking—that the state is blue or red—perpetuates an us-them mentality that, I suggest, is the underlying problem throughout the U.S. right now. (“The state is Blue! I finally can call it Home!” Or “Oh crap! The state is Blue? Carpetbaggers!”) I prefer to say GA is purple. It’s not, of course, a consistent purple throughout the state (far from it). This does not strike me as a bad thing—different people have different views and are somewhat geographically divided. I’m fine with that—It’s hardly surprising and it makes the world interesting. The U.S. is purple in the same way. If we start thinking in those terms, we might get past some of the hostility we see now and see a more consistent purple throughout. Those who have read my previous posts on RCL will not be surprised to hear that I think the way we do that is by improving the way we talk with each other. To that end, here is my working list of rules for honest conversation. (These were started by looking at Braver Angels’ “Ten Principles for Productive Political Disagreement.”)

  1. Speak! Don’t be afraid to ask honest questions. Realize you can only learn from others—and they can only learn from you—if you engage with them.
  2. The Golden Rule. Be respectful and kind, just as you want others to be to you. This means really listening, not just using the time your interlocutor is talking to plan your next statement. What you say should genuinely respond to them. Otherwise you’re having competing monologues, not dialogue.
  3. Admit conflict. And commonality.  We learn by recognizing that parts of our beliefs bother others; those others aren’t likely to engage us if we portray ourselves as completely different. (And we’re never completely different.)
  4. Recognize your feelings. As motivations, not reasons. Relying on feelings in discussion is likely to shut down the conversation and “motivated reasoning” is unlikely to be honestly open. In any case, while you might feel offended, worried, or hurt, declaring that as if it is somehow decisive is asking others to accept your feelings as more important than their feelings and their reasons. Asking yourself why you feel what you do, on the other hand, provides you fodder for discussion and might even make you realize you have no reason for the feeling (and perhaps should try to change).
  5. Use shared terminology. This can be hard, but without it, you may just end up arguing past each other. Getting clear on the terms, though, may show you and your interlocutor that you don’t disagree after all.
  6. Recognize your fallibility. Be humble, open. Qualify your claims, admit nuance. You’re meant to be having a conversation after all and conversations necessarily have more than one view presented (you give a verse, they give a verse, together you converse). If you assume your view is completely right or that your interlocutor has nothing of value to say, you’re not really there for a conversation—and your interlocutor is likely to realize it.
  7. Question Stereotypes—yours and your interlocutors. This should go without saying, but if you don’t question stereotypes, you may as well go home and guess what your interlocutor would have said according to your stereotype of them. That’s not helpful.
  8. Respect the other, even if not their ideas. This is really important both because respect is a fundamental value and because it does not entail thinking all ideas have the same value. Lots of people far smarter than I think my views are wrong. I still benefit from conversation with them because they treat me with respect. I try to do the same.
  9. Recognize it may not be either/or. Sometimes what seem like conflicting views are not really conflicting at all. And sometimes, of course, both are wrong. (See cartoon below–someone posted it on Facebook.)
  10. Be specific about disagreement. You may disagree with your interlocutor about more than one thing, but concentrate on one at a time. Bracket the rest so you can make progress on something. It may be that as you concentrate on one thing, you realize the disagreement is really due to some deeper (or higher?) issue; if so, bracket the original issue and move to this one. You can return to the first when you and your interlocutor better understand the deeper point of contention.
  11. Realize when compromise or civil disagreement is needed. You don’t have to convince your interlocutor and you don’t have to be convinced by them. You can disagree and still respect each other. Indeed, respecting the other means recognizing you might disagree—it means they are as entitled to a view as you are. Sometimes, you’ll disagree but compromise. Sometimes there isn’t any way to compromise and you just disagree. The world is interesting.
  12. Keep the conversation going. When real friends get together, they “pick up right where they left off.” While we won’t develop that sort of intimacy with all of our interlocutors, we should want to be able to come back to at least some of them—and have them come back to us—to ask further questions, raise other points, etc.

If I was to boil all of that down to an overly simple statement, I would say “be rational and reasonable!” This requires being able to step back from one’s own commitments and it requires being fair—and perhaps working to appear fair—to one’s interlocutors. I don’t think there is enough of this today. Polarization pushes us away from each other, reducing honest conversation. Honest conversation, though, has the power to reduce polarization. Which is stronger depends on us.

Honest Dialogue Needed on Social Media

In my last post, I issued a plea for civil discourse. This post is something of a possible explanation for its rarity on social media couple with a further plea. Most people in the US seem to have chosen sides, picked a team. More than that, they seem to have made their chosen team a large part of their identity—who they take themselves to be. If they see someone post negative things about their candidate, they react against that person. If they repeatedly see that person posting negative things about their candidate (and perhaps positive things about the other candidate), they see the other person as attacking who they are. Or as completely fooled. This is, of course, polarization.

Here’s the thing: in reality, someone who posts only positive things about a candidate and nothing negative, is—at least in the US over the last several decades—not doing what is necessary to be rightly seen as posting truth. If what you believe to be true about the current candidates for president (and thus post on social media) is all one-sided, you’re almost certainly wrong. The duopoly candidates are all bad and have been for years. The truth is complex. Trump has had some good policies and done some good, but he’s also done some things badly and caused problems. The same would be true of a Biden presidency (judging from his history).

I agree that one of the candidates is better than the other. And I voted for that candidate. Honestly, I’ve voted in all or most national elections I’ve been eligible to vote in. I’ve always gotten a kick out of it. I did again this time, but I felt dirty in a way I never have before when voting. (Which is at least partly explained by having voted for third party candidates, skipped votes for some positions, writing in candidates, and never before voting for a whole party line.)

So what can be done? Here’s the plea: post honestly and recognize that if all your posts are pro-Candidate A and against Candidate B, you are not likely posting honestly. Civil discourse requires that interlocutors trust each other to speak honestly. If people see your posts as all one sided, they will rightly conclude that you are not being an honest interlocutor. There are at least 2 possible bad outcomes from that: your social media will become more of a bubble as people for the other candidate unfriend you or you’ll get into unnecessarily heated debates with people seeking to prove you wrong, no matter how futile that might be.

By contrast, if you are willing to see—and show that you see—the faults of the candidate you prefer (even if you think they are great!), you can invite and sustain honest dialogue with others. In all likelihood, you will discover that you have things in common with them even if you disagree about the candidates. The fact is we are all multi-faceted and not well represented by any single label. When we hide behind superficial identities or labels—or force others behind them—we fail to learn who our interlocutors really are. When we do that, we miss out on all there is to discover and make it more likely that we stagnate instead of growing. (For more on this, see Irshad Manji’s Don’t Label Me-CE*.)

CE*=RCL earns commissions if you buy from this link; commissions support this site.