A really big choice

A messy Irenaean world which leaves much to be desired and then grows in value due to our contribution has a great value.

A perfectionistic world where everyone is already perfectly virtuous and everything is good and we just maintain that level of good also has great value.

Quite plausibly the two worlds have incommensurable value.

God could just choose between these incommensurable values. But what God does is something else: he leaves it to the first humans to choose. This seems an especially great gift: we get to choose the basic shape of the value that our world takes.

We sin, and we get the Irenaean world.

Is it permissible to fix cognitive mistakes?

Suppose I observe some piece of evidence, attempt a Bayesian update of my credences, but make a mistake in my calculations and update incorrectly. Suppose that by luck, the resulting credences are consistent and satisfy the constraint that the only violations of regularity are entailed or contradicted by my evidence. Then I realize my mistake. What should I do?

The obvious answer is: go back and correct my mistake.

But notice that going back and correcting my mistake is itself a transition between probabilities that does not follow the Bayesian update rule, and hence a violation of the standard Bayesian update rule.

To think a bit more about this, let’s consider how this plays out on subjective and objective Bayesianisms. On subjective Bayesianism, consistency, the Bayesian update rule and perhaps the constraint that the only violations of regularity are entailed or contradicted by my evidence. My new “mistaken” credences would have been right had I started with other consistent and regular priors. So there is nothing about my new credences that makes them in themselves rationally worse than the ones that would have resulted had I done the calculation right. The only thing that went wrong was the non-Bayesian transition. And if I now correct the mistake, I will be committing the rational sin of non-Bayesian transition once again. I have no justification for that.

Moreover, the standard arguments for Bayesian update apply just as much now in my new “mistaken” state: if I go back and correct my mistake, I will be subject to a diachronic Dutch Book, etc.

So, I should just stick to my guns, wherever they now point.

This seems wrongheaded. It sure seems like I should go back and fix my mistake. This, I think, shows that there is something wrong with subjective Bayesianism.

What about objective Bayesianism? Objective Bayesianism adds to the consistency, update and (perhaps) regularity restrictions in subjective Bayesianism some constraints on the original priors. These constraints may be so strict that only one set of original priors counts as permissible or they may permissive enough to allow a range of original priors. Now note that the standard arguments for Bayesian update still apply. It looks, thus, like correcting my mistake will be adding a new rational sin to the books. And so it seems that the objective Bayesian also has to say that the mistake should not be fixed.

But this was too quick. For it might be that my new “mistaken” posteriors are such that given my evidential history they could not have arisen from any permissible set of original priors. If so, then it’s like my being in possession of stolen property—I have posteriors that I simply should not have—and a reasonable case can be made that I should go back and fix them. This fix will violate Bayesian update. And so we need to add an exception to the Bayesian update rules: it is permissible to engage in a non-Bayesian update in order to get to a permissible credential state, i.e., a credential state that could have arisen from a permissible set of priors given one’s evidential history. This exception seems clearly right. For imagine that you are the mythical Bayesian agent prior to having received any evidence—all you have are your original priors, and no evidence has yet shown up. Suddenly you realize that your credences violate the objective rules on what the priors should be. Clearly you should fix that.

Thus, the objective Bayesian does have some room for justifying a “fix mistakes” exception to the Bayesian update rule. That exception will still violate the standard arguments for Bayesian update, and so we will have to say something about what’s wrong with those arguments—perhaps the considerations they give, while having some force, do not override the need for one’s credences to be such that they could be backtracked to permissible original priors.

Considerations of mistakes gives us reasons to prefer objective Bayesianism to subjective Bayesianism. But the objective Bayesian is not quite home free. Consider first the strict variety where there is only one permissible set of original priors. We have good empirical reason to think that there are about as many sets of original priors as there are people on earth. And on the strict version of objective Bayesianism, at most one of these sets of original priors is permissible. Thus it’s overwhelmingly unlikely that my original priors are permissible. Simply fixing my last mistake is very unlikely to move me to a set of posteriors that are correct given the unique set of permissible original priors and my evidential history. So it’s a matter of compounding one rational sin—my mistake—with another, without fixing the underlying problem. Maybe I can have some hope that fixing the mistake gets me closer to having posteriors that backtrack to the unique permissible original priors. But this is not all that clear.

What about permissible objective Bayesianism? Well, now things depend on our confidence that our original priors were in fact permissible and that no priors that generate our new “mistaken” posteriors given our evidential history would have been permissible. If we have a high enough confidence in that, then we have some reason to fix the mistake. But given the obvious fact that human beings so often reason badly, it seems unlikely that my original priors were in fact permissible—if Bayesianism is objective, we should believe in the “original cognitive sin” of bad original priors. Perhaps, just as I speculated on strict objective Bayesianism, we have some reason to hope that our actual original priors were closer to permissible than any priors that would generate our new “mistaken” posteriors. Perhaps.

So every kind of Bayesian has some difficulties with what to do given a miscalculation. Objective Bayesians have some hope of having an answer, but only if they have some optimism in our actual original priors being not too far from permissibility.

It is interesting that the intuition that we should fix our “mistaken” posteriors leads to a rather “Catholic” view of things: although doubtless there is original cognitive sin in our original priors, these priors are sufficiently close to permissibility that cognitive repairs make rational sense. We have depravity of priors, but not total depravity.

A dialog on rhetoric, autonomy and original sin

L: Rhetorical persuasion does not track truth in the way that good arguments do. The best way for us to collectively come to truth is well-reasoned arguments presented in a dry and rigorous way, avoiding rhetorical flourishes. Rhetoric makes weaker arguments appear stronger than they are and a practice of giving rhetorically powerful arguments can make stronger arguments appear weaker.

R: Rhetoric appeals to emotions and emotions are truth-tracking, albeit their reliability, except in the really virtuous individual, may not be high. So I don't believe that rhetorical persuasion does not track truth. But I will grant it for our conversation, L. Still, you're forgetting something crucial. People have an irrational bias against carefully listening to arguments that question their own basic assumptions. Rhetoric and other forms of indirect argumentation sneak in under the radar of one's biases and make it possible to convince people of truths that otherwise they would be immune to.

L: Let's have the conversation about the emotions on another day. I suspect that even if emotions are truth-tracking, in practice they are sufficiently unreliable except in the very virtuous, and it is not the very virtuous that you are talking of convincing. I find your argument ethically objectionable. You are placing yourself intellectually over other people, taking them to have stupid biases, sneaking under their guard and riding roughshod over their autonomy.

R: That was rhetoric, not just argument!

L: Mea culpa. But you see the argumentative point, no?

R: I do, and I agree it is a real worry. But given that there is no other way of persuading not very rational humans, what else can we do?

L: But there are other ways of persuading them. We could use threats or brainwashing.

R: But that would be wrong!

L: This is precisely the point at issue. Threats or brainwashing would violate autonomy. You seemed to grant that rhetorical argument does so as well. So it should be wrong to convince by rhetorical argument just as much as by threats or brainwashing.

R: But it's good for someone to be persuaded of the truth when they have biases that keep them from truth.

L: I don't dispute that. But aren't you then just paternalistically saying that it's alright to violate people's autonomy for their own good?

R: I guess so. Maybe autonomy isn't an absolute value, always to be respected.

L: So what objection do you have to convincing people of the truth by threat or brainwashing?

R: Such convincing—granting for the sake of argument that it produces real belief—would violate autonomy too greatly. I am not saying that every encroachment on autonomy is justified, but only that the mild encroachment involved in couching one's good arguments in a rhetorically effective form is.

L: I could pursue the question whether you shouldn't by the same token say that for a great enough good you can encroach on autonomy greatly. But let me try a different line of thought. Wouldn't you agree that it would be a unfortunate thing to use means other than the strength of argument to convince someone of a falsehood?

R: Yes, though only because it is unfortunate to be convinced of a falsehood. In other words, it is no more unfortunate than being convinced of a falsehood by means of strong but ultimately unsound or misleading arguments.

L: I'll grant you that. But being convinced by means of argument tracks truth, though imperfectly. Being convinced rhetorically does not.

R: It does when I am convincing someone of a truth!

L: Do you always try to convince people of truths?

R: I see what you mean. I do always try to convince people of what I at the time take to be the truth—except in cases where I am straightforwardly and perhaps wrongfully deceitful, sinner that I am—but I have in the past been wrong, and there have been some times when what I tried to convince others of has been false.

L: Don't you think that some of the things you are now trying to convince others of will fall in the same boat, though of course you can't point out which they are, on pain of self-contradiction?

R: Yes. So?

L: Well, then, when you strive to convince someone by rhetorical means of a falsehood, you are more of a spreader of error than when you try to do so by means of dry arguments.

R: Because dry arguments are less effective?

L: No, because reasoning with dry arguments is more truth conducive. Thus, when you try to convince someone of a falsehood by means of a dry argument, it is more likely that you will fail for truth-related reasons—that they will see the falsehood of one of your premises or the invalidity of one of your inferences. Thus, unsound arguments will be more likely to fail to convince than sound arguments will be. But rhetoric can as easily convince of falsehood as of truth.

R: I know many people who will dispute the truth conduciveness of dry argument, but I am not one of them—I think our practices cannot be explained except by thinking there is such conduciveness there. But I could also say that rhetorical argument is truth conducive in a similar way. The truth when attractively shown forth is more appealing than a rhetorically dressed up falsehood.

L: Maybe. But we had agreed to take for granted in our discussion that rhetorical persuasion is not truth tracking.

R: Sorry. It's easy to forget yourself when you've granted a falsehood for the sake of discussion. Where were we?

L: I said that reasoning with dry arguments is more truth conducive, and hence runs less of a risk of persuading people of error.

R: Is it always wrong to take risks?

L: No. But the social practice of rhetorical presentation of arguments—or, worse, of rhetorical non-argumentative persuasion—is less likely to lead to society figuring out the truth on controversial questions.

R: Are you saying that we should engage in those intellectual practices which, when practiced by all, are more likely to lead to truth?

L: I am not sure I want to commit myself to this in all cases, but in this one, yes.

R: I actually think one can question your claim about social doxastic utility. Rhetorical persuasion leads to a greater number of changes of mind. A society that engages in practices of rhetorical persuasion is likely to have more in the way of individual belief change, as dry arguments do not in fact convince. But a society with more individual belief change might actually be more effective at coming to the truth, since embodying different points of view in the same person at different times can lead to a better understanding of the positions and ultimately a better rational decision between them. We could probably come up with some interesting computation social epistemology models here.

L: You really think this?

R: No. But it seems no less likely to be correct than your claim that dry argument is a better social practice truth-wise.

L: Still, maybe there is a wager to be run here. Should you engage in persuasive practices here that (a) by your own admission negatively impact the autonomy of your interlocutors and (b) are no more likely than not to lead to a better social epistemic state?

R: So we're back to autonomy?

L: Yes.

R: But as I said I see autonomy not as an absolute value. If I see that a person is seriously harming herself through her false beliefs, do I not have a responsibility to help her out—the Golden Rule and all that!—even if I need to get around her irrational defenses by rhetorical means?

L: But how do you know that you're not the irrational one, about to infect an unwary interlocutor?

R: Are you afraid of being infected by me?

L: I am not unwary. Seriously, aren't you taking a big risk in using rhetorical means of persuasion, in that such means make you potentially responsible for convincing someone, in a way that side-steps some of her autonomy, of a falsehood? If by argument you persuade someone, then she at least has more of a responsibility here. But if you change someone's mind by rhetoric—much as (but to as smaller degree) when by threat or brainwashing—the responsibility for the error rests on you.

R: That is a scary prospect.

L: Indeed.

R: But sometimes one must do what is scary. Sometimes love of neighbor requires one to take on responsibilities, to take risks, to help one's neighbor out of an intellectual pit. Taking the risks can be rational and praiseworthy. And sometimes one can be rationally certain, too.

L: I am not sure about the certainty thing. But it seems that your position is now limited. That it is permissible to use rhetorical persuasion when sufficiently important goods of one's neighbor are at stake that the risk of error is small relative to these.

R: That may be right. Thus, it may be right to teach virtue or the Gospel by means that include rhetorical aspects, but it might be problematic to rhetorically propagate those aspects of science or philosophy that are not appropriately connected to virtue or the Gospel. Though even there I am not sure. For those things that aren't connected to virtue or the Gospel don't matter much, and error about them is not a great harm, so the risks may still be doable. But you have inclined me to think that one may need a special reason to engage in rhetoric.

L: Conditionally, of course, on our assumption that rhetoric is not truth-conducive in itself.

R: Ah, yes, I almost forgot that.

A variant of the genetic fallacy

Consider the following argument form:

1. p is believed because of argument A.
2. If A is a good argument, then q.
3. Not q.
4. Therefore, not p.

This is a kind of cross of the genetic fallacy with a denial of the antecedent (in the conditional: If A is a good argument, then p). For example:

5. The Immaculate Conception (the doctrine that Mary was saved by grace alone in the first moment of her existence) is believed because of the argument that Jesus would be subject to original sin if Mary was.
6. But if Mary's original sin would have infected Jesus, then the original sin of Mary's parents would have infected Mary, and so on, and hence all of Mary's ancestors would need to be without original sin.
7. But not all of Mary's ancestors are without original sin.
8. Therefore, the Immaculate Conception is false.

Notice, however, that there is an argument form in the vicinity of (1)-(4) that is better. Namely, we replace (4) with:

9. Therefore, the belief that p is not justified.

However, if we do that, we need to read (1) as saying "p is only believed because of argument A". But people are not very good at figuring out the reasons why they themselves believe something, and are much worse at figuring out why others believe something (that explains why so much political discussion is heated—for it is often difficult for people to figure out why someone might take a political position that disagrees with theirs, unless that person is stupid or vicious). So if the implied epistemic agent in (1) and (9) is someone other than the person offering the argument (1)-(3),(9), the argument is likely to be unsound in step (1). I think that when the argument form is found in the wild, it is common for (1) to fail.

Furthermore, it is important to keep constant the epistemic agent constant between (1) and (9).

I think the Marian case likely screws up on all of these counts. First of all, in (5) the epistemic agent is likely some ordinary believer or at best an incautious rookie apologist. In the analogue of (9), the epistemic agent is the Church. Second, even in the case of the ordinary believer or the rookie apologist, (5) ceases to be true if we read "is believed" as "is only believed", because in fact the ordinary believer and the apologist believe in the Immaculate Conception not just on the basis of their flawed argument, but primarily on the basis of the Church's authority.

Moreover, arguments of the form (1)-(3),(9) are often annoying to the interlocutors. I remember a job interview where a candidate tried to convince me that I only rejected his or her view because of thinking about a topic under the influence of a certain other position. This bit of mind-reading not only was incorrect (I can be accused of many things, but not of that particular influence; I rejected the candidate's view cause the conjunction of its claims obviously entailed some absurd proposition that we were both committed to the denial of), but I found it annoying and a bit offensive, and the other members of the interview committee did not like it either. That was a somewhat different version of the genetic fallacy, but the genetic fallacy is generally annoying.

There are places for arguments of the form (1)-(3),(9). But when one gives such arguments, danger is all about.