How To Do Things With Words

I called my wife's cell phone and she answered "I'm at Rhodes Jewelry with Wayne Rhodes, negotiating …" (for all non-Wilmingtonians, it's a top high-end shop, and she was with the owner). I didn't know if I should respond like 90% of the men I know and say, "Uh, Oh," or simply, "Oh, No!" - or whether to go the way of wisdom represented by the shrewd 10% who know what they're doing and respond, "That's great, honey, really great! Say hi to him. I hope you have a wonderful time there!" Instead, I told her to tell him that, depending on how the negotiation worked out, I could just bring him my car as a trade and walk home.

"Uh, Oh," versus "That's great." Our words matter. And they send signals beyond their obvious content.

I've begun this post with a title that reflects the name of a famous little book in linguistic philosophy, by the British writer JL Austin, that was one of the classics of its time, many decades ago. Austin wanted to remind us that linguistic acts, or speech acts, can do more than one thing at the same time. And it's good to remember this in our fraught political time.

When my wife ways, "It's hot in here," I know not to just agree with her and perhaps lament the truth of what she says. I know to get up, walk into another room, and turn down the thermostat. When I say, "It's hot in here," she may simply remind me that I know where the thermostat is. Our reactions are different but both show we understand that more can be going on in such a statement than the mere declaration of fact or perceived fact itself. There is an implicit request or suggestion for an action or series of actions that underlies the saying.

Politicians and their words do that all the time. Journalists talk of "dog whistles" when a political figure by his choice of words or retweets means to be signalling someone of something that's best unsaid. But those same political figures are also most often seemingly unaware that their other words and statements in other contexts send multiple signals beyond their propositional or clear linguistic content. Austin and others have called this "conversational implicature" to distinguish it from logical implication. The lesson for us all is to be careful in what we say and how we say it, for many listeners may hear things we never intended, and before we know it, things are happening that we may or may not have invited with those words, and we're on the way to turn down the thermostat.

Misplaced Loyalty: Ego Centered Leadership and Its Demise

There is a phenomenon that we see around some corporate leaders and others in high social leadership positions in our time. An ego driven personality can weave a web of promises and appeal to the real values of good people in a way that's wholly deceptive and ultimately self defeating. His or her rhetoric and promises create a loyalty in others who then seek, in the classic mode of confirmation bias, to retain their belief and hope in the face of ongoing and disconfirming evidence, but can manage it only for a time. Then the truth prevails.

In about 2015, the Muse gave me a part of my epic novel series that will be published in October. In the forthcoming book, The Magic Ring, there is an immensely greedy and power hungry man named Santiago who has inspired his followers with his lofty claims about greatness. On page 396 we begin to see misgivings form in the mind of one of his top followers, a Miguel Abad, as he begins to ride into Cairo, Egypt on a hot day in 1935, with a few others on camel. He is thinking about his leader and teacher.

<<Miguel had been attracted at first to the man’s brashness and lofty rhetoric about what the world needs. And then he had been sufficiently enticed and lulled into acquiescence by promises of greatness that he had long ignored the small warning signs and feelings of ambivalence that continued to crop up in his heart. Like all men, he was a master of self-deception and rationalization, and had long deceived himself, as Santiago had sought to deceive him. In fact, he had been living proof for years that no one else can fool us unless we are willing first to fool ourselves. And that’s how we become fools, indeed.

Deep down, Miguel knew that there was instability in his teacher, and basic untrustworthiness, but he had long masked this knowledge from himself, pretending that everything was fine and that the glories of their collaborative triumph in the future would make all things right. But the thefts of the animals had deeply bothered him. And now, many things cumulatively had been troubling him about the current mission of revenge they seemed to be pursuing. Where was this taking them? What was the outcome to be? How would any of this benefit the followers who had entrusted their lives to this man who now ultimately seemed to care about no life other than his own?

Miguel was still going along, and to all outward appearances seemed loyal. But inwardly, he was experiencing a combination of doubt, anger, and a growing sense of rebellion against what he had been caught up in.>>

For the books in the series leading up to this one, with an extended adventure about leadership, go to www.TheOasisWithin.com

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Dinner with Jeb Bush

I had chicken. He had a baked sweet potato with kale or something else equally exciting.

So. Yeah. I was having dinner with Jeb Bush the other night, along with a few friends, and was explaining to him that I'm not at a university any more, but for 22 years have been an independent philosopher. He said, "Wait. People PAY you for that?" I should have said, "Not enough." But I just said, "Yeah, for a long time now." He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, even though he's often said to be the bright son in the family. He had to ask again: "Let me get clear on this. You can make a living by just being a philosopher?" Yeah. I know. It's strange. But, hey, so far: Mission Accomplished.

And yet, like Socrates, I'd do it even if nobody ever paid me a penny. I'd surely have to do something else in addition, as many philosophers of the past did. Even Socrates had bills to pay. You need a new toga now and then. Or a tunic. But the vital issues of our lives, the ultimate questions of this life and beyond, are just that important to me. And it's also important for me to share the answers I get with anyone who will listen. For the first two years that I unexpectedly became a public speaker to business and civic groups, like Ralph Waldo Emerson about a century and a half ago, I spoke without any charge. It was fun. And meaningful. I just wanted to do some good. And Notre Dame was paying the bills. Barely. But then the fun activity turned into a thriving business and allowed me to move back to my home state near family and live at the coast, like Epictetus when he himself was freed from the grind. Full time pondering at the beach. It's hard to beat.

And I really appreciate you all who read these little postings, now and then, where I often just put up small ideas that have occurred to me as I sit at my computer. I can't always be out giving talks across the country. I love to be at home. And posting like this gives me a chance to still interact during the day, even when I'm mostly writing or editing a book. So thanks for reading and commenting. I think this way of doing philosophy would make more sense to Jeb, because no money whatsoever is exchanged over it. Just like politics, right? Cheers!

Flannery O’Connor and The Limits of Political Reasoning

In the early 1940s, a young southern writer by the name of Flannery O’Connor spun a tale about an extremist politician and his base that resonates deeply today.

An election campaign is on for the governorship of a southern state. Every time the mild mannered college teacher Rayber goes to get a shave or a haircut, the men who work in the local barbershop are talking and laughing about their favorite candidate, the wildly racist strongman, Mr. Hawkson, known as “Hawk,” and they often repeat with enthusiasm something outrageous he’s just said at a public rally.

Hawk’s campaign is all bluster and insults. He’s got pet-names for his opponents, diminishing “effeminate” epithets that his followers relish and love to repeat. The head barber at one point says that all his talks are “killeroos,” as he recounts to the roomful of chortling and celebrating men some of their candidate’s most recent racist statements. Rayber is shocked that they’re speaking so crudely while quiet George, a young African American man, sweeps the floor of the shop toward the back. The professor has to speak up.

“A great many people,” Rayber said, “consider Hawk a demagogue.” He wondered if George knew what demagogue meant. He should have said “lying politician.”

“Demagogue!” The barber slapped his knee and whooped. “That’s what Hawk said!” he howled. “Ain’t that a shot! ‘Folks,’ he says, ‘them Mother Hubbards says I’m a demagogue.’ Then he rears back and says sort of soft-like, ‘Am I a demagogue, you people?’ And they yells, ’Naw, Hawk, you ain’t no demagogue!’ And he comes forward shouting, ‘Oh yeah I am, I’m the best damn demagogue in this state!” And you should hear them people roar! Whew!”

Rayber is stunned. He doesn’t know what to say. There are so many issues at stake in this election. There are too many obvious things deeply wrong about this man, Hawk. The progressive but timid college teacher can’t figure out where to start. He wishes the barber would read some things. The man says he doesn’t have to read nothing. All he has to do is think, using horse sense. No big words are going to make any difference. Doesn’t Rayber know that Hawk is gonna keep those other people in their place and make sure everybody like him and the teacher make more money if he’s elected? Rayber tries to point out that a little extra money isn’t going to mean anything if the state collapses under the weight of Hawk’s total incompetence and crazy beliefs. So he vows to defend his own sensible candidate some time soon in the barbershop and enlighten all of them. The barbers laugh more and say that he just can’t use the phrase ‘goodgovermint.’ That’s not allowed, they snicker.

Rayber goes home and writes a two page statement about the vast differences between the candidates. At first, it’s hard. The real issues are so obvious. Where should he begin? How do these men not see such things already? He laboriously writes out what’s wrong with Hawk and what’s right about the clearly better candidate, the reasonable and progressive Darmon. He then takes this little two page speech to a friend, the philosophy professor Jacobs, explains what’s going on, and reads it aloud to practice and get some feedback. The philosopher says, simply, “I never argue.” Rayber insists: But what if you’re right? “I never argue,” Jacobs repeats, knowing the futility of what his friend is attempting.

Our hero goes back to the barbershop and reads his treatise aloud, hoping to refute and reform these men, using the real issues and clear reason. They laugh and laugh and laugh. In the end, he punches the barber and runs out of the shop.

The seventeenth century French scientist Blaise Pascal, as well as the prominent eighteenth century British philosopher David Hume, both understood that, for most people, reason is the servant of passion and can rarely undermine or overturn its commitments. Emotion trumps all. So when a political candidate appeals to the basest and most fundamental fears, resentments, and sources of personal bitterness, no amount or quality of reasoning can possibly make a difference. You either walk away, or someone throws a punch.

It’s a sad commentary on the human condition. And in this classic story, “The Barber,” Flannery O’Connor anticipated well what’s going on in our current presidential election. She captures in the character of Rayber the total confidence of progressives in being right, the accompanying astonishment that anyone could possibly support someone like Hawk, and our often Quixotic approach to any attempt at explaining what’s what and turning things around.

Aristotle believed that politics is about how best to live well together. As such, in principle, political discussion should be among the most ennobling forms of discourse. When I recently suggested this during a breakfast in New York City at a table of corporate leaders overlooking the Statue of Liberty, everyone laughed so suddenly and loudly I thought a few might choke on their eggs. There can clearly be a huge gap between theory and practice. And it's one we're all experiencing quite vividly right now. And yet, despite Rayber’s ratiocinative failure in the story, and my own experience of strict limits in similar efforts throughout the current campaign, I remain stubbornly convinced that cool and sensible reason has a role to play. Or else, our democracy is doomed. And if you happen to disagree, please don’t tell me. I’d hate for somebody to have to get punched.

Anger in Our Time

What's the Number One emotion or attitude right now around the world? If we can trust at least a modicum of what we see and hear across all media these days, it just might be anger, followed at some distance by anxiety. Frustration is common. Disillusionment is widespread, but it's anger that seems to reign supreme in certain geographic areas of the globe, and closer to home in our own political climate. This emotion isn't a fount of hope, a typical building block of success or happiness. And yet, it's everywhere. And it seems that those who harbor it want to inflame it in others. Why?

First, I should acknowledge that there's nothing intrinsically wrong with anger. As Aristotle told us long ago, its rationality is all about such questions as "toward whom, for what reason, in what measure, for how long, and to what end?" Righteous indignation is proper toward the harming of the innocent. I can't imagine a persuasive moral tradition that reserves all judgment and urges us to accept even the worst, most vicious conduct. But, as Aristotle's questions suggest, in order to be reasonable, productive, and even healthy, anger needs to be the temporary reaction to a particular situation that goads us into solving the problem ingredient in that situation, and thus improving things for the better, overall.

Anger that's ongoing is corrosive and destructive. It's a poison. And yet, if a current sampling of Twitter and Facebook provides any reliable indication, there are many people who actually seem to embrace it and relish it in their lives.

C.S. Lewis had this wonderful little story in a book called The Great Divorce, where people in hell are given a bus trip to heaven, where they can look around as tourists. The surprise is that, if they like what they see, they're invited to relocate. The only condition is that they have to give up whatever "sin" or moral flaw kept them out of heaven in the first place. If it was bitterness, or resentment, they have to let it go and put it away for good. If it's greed, or unbridled ambition, they'd have to say goodbye to that. And if it's old fashioned anger as a way of life, they'd simply have to renounce it, cease to fan its flames, and turn away from it as their mode of existence. The surprise is that many people can't manage to accept the offer, however much they seem to value it. Their besetting sins have just become too important to them. They've said, in effect, "Evil, be thou my good." They've grown accustomed to some counterfeit of happiness, and can't let it go, even when faced with the real thing.

How could this be? I've known people of whom it was true. You may have, as well. It's hard for us to experience such negative emotions as disappointment, frustration, despondency, and discouragement. Such emotions can be a swamp, a bog for the soul. When our hopes seem to have been dashed, we often can't stand to endure those victim emotions, feelings that just seem to make our plight worse. So we transform the disappointment or discouragement into anger. We lash out at someone or something outside ourselves as the source of our problems, the cause. We're good. They're bad. And directing our ire outwardly is cathartic. We release all that pent-up energy, throwing it toward someone else. And when we can do so as a group endeavor, it's even better. Misery loves company the most when the crowd all joins together in confirming and reinforcing the anger that's substituted for all those other, harder, emotions. The irate growl together, almost as a sporting crowd would cheer together. And they're actually cheering their own substitution state for those more difficult emotions, or for the yet harder work that actually addressing the challenging situation might require.

The great philosophers join together in recommending that we not do this. Moreover, many suggest that we have compassion for those around us who are choosing this false path. They are taking themselves down a road that doesn't lead to heaven, but to a very different place instead. And they're cultivating a comfort with counterfeits that may one day rob them of their true capacity to love and live in a fulfilled, successful, and even happy way.

So as we see so many fanning the flames of fury around us, we are wise to refuse that road ourselves, and instead work to rectify the sources of the problems that we can, eventually, solve.

How to Argue Well

With kindness, care, and a smile when possible, knowing the world will still turn if you persuade no one at all.

Listen first. Then listen more. Hear beyond what’s said. Empathize. Then make your case with understanding.

Focus on truth, not ego. Let the light shine through your words to illumine and not blind others.

Tell a story that says it all. Reason works best with imagination's help.

Invite others to see things as you already can. Then accept their invitation to perhaps see more.

Raise your voice only when you're in front of a very large group and are without a microphone.

Suggest. Don't insist.

Respect people, regardless of what you think of their positions.

It should never be about winning, just discovering and sharing.

Seek Truth, Beauty, Goodness and, ultimately, Unity.

Use logic and love in equal measure.

Welders and Philosophers

In the most recent Republican presidential primary debate, Senator Marco Rubio said:

“For the life of me, I don’t know why we have stigmatized vocational education. Welders make more money than philosophers. We need more welders and less philosophers.” 

First of all, let me ignore the grammatical infelicity here and agree that the senator is absolutely right in his opinion that vocational education is not as appreciated as it should be in our time and place. One of the best books written on this topic is Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry into the Value of Work, by Matthew Crawford, who happens to be a philosopher with a prestigious PhD who makes his living by working with his hands as a motorcycle repairman, and thus demonstrates that the we should beware of false alternatives in our political rhetoric. Crawford argues eloquently for a recognition of the value and dignity of manual labor, with a special emphasis on its skilled varieties. Life doesn’t offer us a stark choice between doing or thinking, and neither should any good system of education. There are different ways by which we can enjoy a life of thoughtful work. Welding can certainly be one of them. So can toiling as a philosopher.

To the claim that welders make more money than philosophers, my first response would be that if it’s true, then, so what? Would it follow as the senator seems to suggest that we need more welders, thereby increasing our available supply and, against presumably equal demand, competitively force their wages down to the level of the sages? Stranger yet is the fact that behind these remarks we can see the exact value assumption that’s gotten us in trouble: The belief that higher wages mean a higher value to our society. That’s precisely the equation that’s led us down the road of valuing college prep vastly more than vocational education, and trying to train everyone for white collar careers, whether that’s the best thing for a particular young person, or for the rest of us, in the first place. A mediocre hedge fund manager may make a lot more money than a great school teacher, or a master welder, but you can’t convince me that this is a good measure of their relative value to society. So even if the welders of the world are out there lighting their cigars with hundred dollar bills and the average philosopher can’t pay the rent, I don’t think that implies anything about the relative value of welders and philosophers. 

When I first went to graduate school at Yale to become a philosopher, I remember seeing a newspaper clipping on a philosophy department bulletin board. It featured a photograph of a construction worker sitting on the ground, eating out of his steel lunch box, his hard-hat by his side, and with a copy of Heidegger open in front of him. I said to myself, “That’s it. That’s the role of philosophy - to help everyone become more thoughtful about their lives.” I spent fifteen years as a professor of philosophy in a great university and my goal was never to turn my students into wage-earning academic philosophers, but instead to help them develop a more robust philosophical dimension of their experience and thought, whether they went on to become doctors, lawyers, insurance agents, or welders.

And in my most recent two decades as a public philosopher working with people across industries and professions, my goal is the same. We need more good philosophy and philosophers in our time, not less of it and fewer of them. But that’s because we need more philosophical practitioners in all walks of life, including politics.

Rodin got it right in his famous sculpture of The Thinker, which I first saw in person many years ago. It surprised me to notice how muscular an individual is depicted in the statue. He’s obviously a man of action as well as of thought. Rodin had expressed a deep insight. The good thinker should ideally be a proficient doer; and the active doer, a careful thinker. Only then will things have a chance to go well.

This is something all our candidates for high office should keep in mind. Doing without thinking is much more dangerous than thinking without doing. And no politician who ignores such philosophical insights can ever take on the fissures in our body politic and stand a chance of repairing our wholeness with good and lasting welds.

Our Philosophy of Language Matters!

I posted a version of this blog during the campaigns of 2016. But I think it's important to revisit it now that we're hearing from supporters of our new administration, and members of it, about "alternative facts" and truth being just something "in the eye of the beholder." We need to understand the two different views of language in order to see what the new administration is trying to do.

In the upcoming days of the new administration, we're apparently going to hear a lot of people distorting the truth, and actually lying to us. Of course, that's no revelation. It's already been happening. And it's unfortunate. But we come across this a lot in business, as well, and in any other area of life where something of value is at stake. And there's an important reason that distortion and lying is so widespread at present. It may surprise you.

There are two very different philosophies of language out in the world. Which one we operate by matters. The noble view, on my analysis, holds that the overall two-fold purpose of language is to connect and cultivate. It connects us first with reality, and with each other, and even within ourselves, in a variety of ways. And it cultivates us, or develops us as human beings, in just as many ways. This view of language is focused on linking our words to truth, beauty, goodness, and unity—the four transcendental values of ancient philosophy. We can call it The Spiritual View of Language. At its best, language connects and cultivates the spirit.

Going back in human history and prehistory, language has always had many uses - for example: to warn, call, express, exclaim, inquire, infer, inform, and create. It's also had a deviant use, interestingly dependent on these more straightforward uses. It can be employed to deceive. But that's a secondary and parasitic use. If language had not already first been used to inform, warn, and express, for example, it could never have been used to deceive. The reason is simple. In deceiving, you're pretending to inform or express, or warn, and so on, but your use of language departs from the expected connection with truth that those uses ordinarily presuppose and convey. At the same time, you're depending on your listener to simply assume that you are sincerely informing or warning, and so on. But to the contrary, you say what you know to be false. You warn when you know there's no real danger. You express an anger or an empathy that you don't actually feel. The primary uses of language had to be established and accepted in order for any twisting of them into deception to work.

If you hold the Spiritual View of Language, you're going to see deception as something forgivable or appropriate only at the extremes of human behavior—in competitive games or sports, and in life or death situations. In games or sports, when we're outside the normal spheres of life, and we're playing, however hard, it's ok to bluff, or fake. We don't morally judge the quarterback who fakes a run but passes instead. But secretly deflated footballs are something else. There are rules within which the deceptions can take place.  In basketball, a great fake under the basket shows not corruption but skill. Certain such forms of deception are fine. And in situations of life or death, it's normally thought to be strongly preferable to use deception if that's the only way to avoid an act of killing or being killed, or maiming or being maimed.

In game situations, we've suspended "normal life"—whereas, in life or death situations, we've arrived at an extreme, on the other end, beyond normal life, where an intensity of conflict or likelihood of severe bodily damage has gotten so bad that a lie or a deception can be not only excused, but actually demanded in order to prevent something much worse and potentially irreversible. Lying in politics or business doesn't normally qualify—to put it mildly.

But there's another philosophy of language altogether and it's the one that now tends to dominate highly partisan or extremist politics, and even some business circles. It's a view that the primary purpose of language is to gain, exercise, and hold power—power over people, situations, and things.

On this Machiavellian view, language isn't tied to truth, beauty, goodness, or unity. It's not a spiritual vehicle for connecting and cultivating ourselves. It's a cruder tool. It's about manipulating. It's all about getting others to do your bidding. On this view, language is about crafting perceptions, and evoking those beliefs and feelings in others that will open doors for you and feed into your own purposes. It's a clearly ignoble view of language. And it's as parasitic as deception is in any of its forms. If most people didn't hold, at least implicitly, what I'm calling the Spiritual View of Language, no one could hold this Manipulative View of Language and make it work. The manipulators pretend to be doing the things that the rest of us expect them to be doing—truly informing, accurately warning, honestly expressing, and so on. But they're often only pretending to do such things, at least much of the time. They'll actually seek to show a concern for truth, beauty, goodness, and unity now and then, when they believe it's their interest to do so, but only to fortify their basic strategy of manipulation. They want power. And they talk to get it and use it and keep it.

We all need to persuade other people, and help position others to see the value of our projects and propositions. But we can do that by connecting and cultivating, rather than by manipulating. And that's the only path of honor. It's also the only one that's sustainable, long term. Those of us who hold the Spiritual View of Language can use our words in all sorts of creative ways, to inspire, enthrall, or entertain. But if we ever catch ourselves manipulating another adult human being, we need to do a philosophical self-check. Is our context that of a game or sport? Is it truly like war? When too many people start to think of politics or business as primarily a game, or a sport, or as the equivalent of war, there comes to be a subtle and secret shift in how they think of language. As a result, we all suffer.

Who knew? Our philosophy of language matters!