Wandering along the edge of human understanding is a fascinating journey. But as the lines get blurry, everyone claims to have designed the best glasses to see clearly, completely ignoring that we lack the tools to (ever?) test whether they work.

As much as they like to borrow the merits of the scientific method, physicalists are not immune to epistemic leaps. However, it is not always clear what those leaps are; the claim is that the world is fundamentally physical and…voilà! For many, this doesn’t cut it. What is the ‘physical’ stuff everyone talks about? Is it in the room with us?

These objections are fair. Not because of some unresolvable tension, but because physicalists are often unable to make their position clear. They either dismiss metaphysics out of hand, or get annoyingly smug. However, after several conversations with the best representatives of physicalism on Substack (, , and )1, I am now convinced that these objections can be addressed. This piece is my attempt at laying out, as clearly as I can, an honest defense of the term ‘physical’.

So in the words of the great Olivia Newton-John, Let’s Get (to the) Physical!

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Disclaimer

• Acknowledging the merits of a theory isn’t a crime. If you’re not a physicalist, you are allowed to find the account below compelling, while remaining more confident in your own. God won’t be mad, I promise.

• There are as many versions of physicalism as there are physicalists. This defense of the term ‘physical’ by no means suggests it is shared by everyone, or that physicalists have always seen it this way. Feel free to argue against 17^th century materialism if you want, but that’s not what this piece is about.

• You may have a thousand objections to what you’re about to read. I hope to open a conversation, and learn a thing or two in the process. So please, engage in good faith, and don’t insult my mother (I love her very dearly ❤️). Thank you.

Double Standard

Clarity Beyond Empiricism

In metaphysics, I consider three theories to be heavy hitters: idealism, panpsychism, and physicalism. All three have achieved a degree of sophistication that warrants taking them seriously.2

Being intuitively drawn to physicalism, I have always found the obscurity of the alternatives frustrating. What do you mean by “mind”? What do you mean by “consciousness”? Well, it turns out that some people also wonder what on earth we mean by ‘physical’. All these terms describe the fundamental nature of the universe, and as such, using them comes with the expectation of being able to define them precisely.

Some definitions are better than others. For instance, when a panpsychist claims that “consciousness” is fundamental, they are not referring to human consciousness. A better word might be “perspective”, though a rigorous case remains to be made. Definitions will only take us so far; panpsychists might describe what a perspective is, but it is futile to expect more precision than the field can provide. Metaphysics literally aims to go beyond physics3; as we push past the limits of empirical inquiry, we inevitably sacrifice a degree of precision.

It follows, then, that the metaphysician cannot define their term as precisely as a biologist would define “mitochondria”. Instead, the metaphysician must convince the field that their term is warranted. This standard should apply to all terms across the field, regardless of philosophical tradition. Whether one claims that reality is fundamentally ‘physical’, “conscious”, or “mind-like”, one is required to show that the term is justified.

Just as a case can be made for “mind” and “consciousness”, I believe the term ‘physical’ adequately represents the physicalist position. But before getting into that, let’s address a silly squabble that plagues the field.

Silly Squabbles

Philosophy of mind often turns into a kindergarten playground, where everyone throws the same silly accusations at each other. In Phil of Mind, the equivalent of “poopy-head” is “you’re making consciousness special.”

“No you are.”

“NO, YOU ARE!!!”

Grown adults playing kindergarten games remind me of this scene from The Office:

In the same vein, physicalists routinely accuse panpsychists and idealists of committing the fallacy of the gaps—namely, filling all epistemic gaps with either “consciousness” or “mind”. Physicalists, in turn, often find themselves on the receiving end, accused of physicalism of the gaps.

Those silly fights don’t get us anywhere, because the substance of these accusations is not rooted in one particular theory, but in the field as a whole. Each side projects the field’s limitations onto others, framing them as gaps inherent to competing frameworks, while quietly assuming its own exemption from these very constraints.

Is Physicalism a Big Motte-and-Bailey?

As I suggested above, the definition of ‘physical’ is often held to a higher standard than its alternatives. The accusation goes like this: physicalists boldly claim that the universe is fundamentally physical, and when pressed, they retreat to what they know—physics. But the alternatives are not incompatible with physics. It follows that the actual claim of physicalism remains to be established, since restating physics won’t do.

Such frustrations are shared by academic philosophers. Hempel’s dilemma suggests that physicalism can’t get off the ground: either physicalism rests upon current physics, or it relies on future scientific progress to cash out the term ‘physical’. Either way, the theory hits a wall. If the ‘physical’ is whatever current physics describes, our metaphysics is bound to be erroneous, or at least incomplete. Alternatively, if the ‘physical’ is whatever physics will establish in the future, we are back to square one, because it doesn’t describe anything in the present.

An echo of Hempel’s dilemma is found on Philstack, where physicalism is regularly accused of denying the metaphysical leaps it makes. I reject this objection on two grounds:

1. It applies to individual physicalists, who are often guilty of scientism, not to physicalism itself.

2. It rests on the mistaken assumption that metaphysics comes first.

Philosophy of Mind Informs Metaphysics

To understand many modern physicalists4, one must see that philosophy of mind informs their metaphysics, not the other way around.

A physicalist believes in the same laws of physics as most other metaphysicians. Regrettably, pop physicalists are a great source of frustration, because they don’t know—or pretend not to—that panpsychism and idealism also rest upon modern physics. Thus, physics is not the dividing line between physicalism and other frameworks—philosophy of mind is.

The physicalist believes consciousness is fully explained by physical processes happening in the brain, whatever those processes turn out to be. She may argue the case in various ways, but all of them rely on nothing more than what physics describes. For idealists and panpsychists, however, consciousness cannot be explained in purely physical terms; the physicalist account is incomplete, if not wholly mistaken. To solve the problem of consciousness, then, they posit something beyond what physics describes: reality is “conscious”, or “mind-like”. In other words, because they take physicalism to be incomplete, idealists and panpsychists update their ontology to fit their conclusions in philosophy of mind. The physicalist doesn’t need to do that.

Keep in mind that her reliance on current physics doesn't mean she rules out a future breakthrough, or that our current understanding is complete.

To sum up, the alternatives reject the physicalist reading of philosophy of mind, and as a result, solve the problems they identify by updating their metaphysics. The physicalist, on the other hand, is content with her account of consciousness, based on her current understanding of physics. Hence, she doesn’t need to commit to a positive ontology5.

Ontological Prudence

According to the physicalist, reality abides by the laws of physics, which we are constantly discovering. These laws, grounded in empirical observation, paint an adequate picture of consciousness. For this reason, she doesn’t have to make any positive ontological claim to explain consciousness. She can, for instance, remain agnostic about substance (assuming the very question isn’t a category error), because she relies on current empirical knowledge to establish her account of consciousness. Her framework is sufficient to reject the alternatives, which, unlike physicalism, rely on positive ontological claims to address the issues they identify in philosophy of mind.

Simply put, the idealist and the panpsychist reject the functionalist account of consciousness, and claim there is an explanatory gap. They then fill this explanatory gap with ontology: reality, they claim, is fundamentally made up of “mind” or “consciousness”. In contrast, the physicalist can remain agnostic about the fundamental fabric of the universe. Physicalism wouldn’t be invalidated by future experiments finding that our universe is made up of small pieces of potato. Instead, physics would simply turn out to be the language that describes a potato universe. The functionalist account of consciousness would remain valid, and philosophy of mind would still mark the distinction between physicalism and its alternatives.

Before we move on, allow me one last disclaimer: that the physicalist can be minimally ontologically committed doesn’t mean she should be, or that all physicalists are. Plenty of physicalists ground their frameworks in metaphysics, and it is their prerogative to defend the word ‘physical’ accordingly. Still, I think the strongest defense of physicalism is the one I have just laid out. Critics often ignore it, which is why everyone ends up talking past each other.

Rejecting the Alternatives Without an Ontology

Here is what rejecting the alternatives on phil-of-mind grounds might look like.

(notice how no step below requires a positive claim of what the ‘physical’ is)

1. Consciousness has a causal impact. I reject any epiphenomenalist theory. [Most idealists and panpsychists agree.]

2. When I move my lips, atoms and electrons move. Whatever bodies turn out to be made of—if any at all—physics describes them.

3. I believe consciousness can be explained functionally based on our current understanding of physics and neuroscience.

4. So I have no reason to accept any theory that relies on something other than what physics describes.

5. Panpsychism and idealism reject functionalism, and rely on ontological claims to close the supposed explanatory gap.

Physicalism, then, is the right name for a position that relies exclusively on current physics and rejects the alternatives' positive ontological claims.

At this point, some of you might be yelling at your screens that physicalism is a metaphysical theory. In fact, this is how reacted upon first hearing about my article:

Of course physicalism is a metaphysical theory. But building upon philosophy of mind, the physicalist doesn’t have to offer a positive ontological account of the physical. All she needs to do is reject the ontological claims of competing theories. Besides, let’s not forget that physicalism is an umbrella term, and philosophical labels are valid insofar as their use is both adopted and justified. We know that some intellectuals call themselves physicalists, while being cautious in their ontological claims, because they draw their conclusions from philosophy of mind.

Digression

While I think many forms of panpsychism are dubious, some are entirely plausible, and, interestingly, not incompatible with physicalism. A physicalist account of consciousness, such as functionalism,6 could very well work due to perspectives we haven’t yet been able to empirically establish. We might also find that we can’t move forward in QM without positing perspectives and internal states. Such findings would update what we mean by ‘physical’, because if they are empirically established, they become part of what physics describes. This is a warning I’ve voiced to my favorite panpsychist : if panpsychism is true, I expect physicalism to absorb the current panpsychist claims, thereby making them a part of the ‘physical’ picture. Sure, it’s cheating, but when has that ever stopped those wicked physicalists?

What is the ‘Physical’?

So far, we’ve established that physicalists do not need to define the ‘physical’ as precisely as a biologist would define “mitochondria”. We’ve also established that some physicalists focus on philosophy of mind—they are not in the business of making positive ontological claims. Still, I must now demonstrate that the definition of ‘physical’, although imprecise, is justified, and that the metaphysical assumptions of phil-of-mind physicalists are aligned with those of their peers.

What Physics Describes

The ‘physical’ is whatever physics describes. And whatever physics currently describes is sufficient to explain consciousness7. Hempel’s dilemma misdiagnoses the problem: the phil-of-mind physicalist isn’t concerned with what lies behind physics, as long as it is neither “mind” nor “consciousness”. This is not a denial of metaphysics, but a feature that opens the door to discoveries.

What description of the ‘physical’ would possibly be satisfactory? We often ask the physicalist to do the job of the materialist, as if she were committed to finding out the fundamental substance of the universe. However, as we’ve shown, some physicalists embrace the label because they believe physics and neuroscience provide an adequate account of consciousness—they do not need to make a positive ontological claim. On this view, the ‘physical’ is neither more precise nor more abstract than the definitions of “consciousness”, “perspectives”, or “mind-at-large”.

Phil-of-mind physicalists undeniably engage with metaphysics. They may subscribe to realism, and/or naturalism. Some may even have more specific metaphysical stances, but they are not committed to them by their being physicalists.

Now, the physicalist doesn’t deny her metaphysical leaps. At least not if she’s a good physicalist (remember, we’re steelmanning here). Most theories of consciousness are done abductively, by inference to the best explanation (itself dependent on the thinker). It is not a solved field, which is why heavy hitters like idealism and panpsychism have their spot in the conversation.

Is ‘Physical’ Warranted?

It is. The kind of physicalist I have been describing throughout the piece only needs to say this: “I believe our current understanding of physics and neuroscience is sufficient to explain consciousness, and I am not required to make positive ontological claims about what lies behind the term ‘physical’.” She solves the hard problem with physics, while the panpsychist and the idealist solve it with ontology.

Now, consider an illusionist. He has metaphysical commitments, but his theory of mind doesn’t rest on a precise definition of the ‘physical’, or on a positive ontological claim. Still, few would deny he is a physicalist.

Conclusion

I am not claiming that the content of the physicalist account is correct. I am merely highlighting that much of the intellectual battle happens in phil-of-mind, rather than in the definition of the word ‘physical’.

At this point, as a non-physicalist, you can accept my framing while rejecting the following:

1. The physicalist’s claim that current physics sufficiently exhausts her account of consciousness.

   And

2. The physicalist’s rejection of idealism and panpsychism.

Physicalism is not without its weaknesses. If you want to expose them, you might want to consider whether the definition of ‘physical’ is one of them. This will depend on what kind of physicalist sits in front of you; the best way to find out is to ask.

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Let’s find out.

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Disclaimer:

• Joe is one of my favorite Substack writers. He’s already solved multiple philosophical questions, including a debunking of Anselm’s Ontological Argument. Go subscribe to him!

• This piece isn’t perfect; my ambition here is to open a conversation, in which we all learn something.

Is Virtue Ethics Circular?

Joe’s formulation of the argument for circularity goes like this:

Joe offers an alternative, supposed to break the loop:

Honest attempt, but poor execution. Joe hasn’t solved the issue. Virtues are informed by flourishing, itself informed by “the kind of life we should like to live”. On the surface, this reads as linear, but is it really? Look closer, and notice how “virtue” and “flourishing” play the same explanatory role. In reality, “virtue” informs “flourishing”, itself informing “virtue”. Let’s reformulate:

Formulated this way, virtue ethics remains circular, unless “flourishing” or “virtue” can be grounded outside the loop.

Eudaimonia: Grounded in Human Nature.

Since Joe bases his article on Aristotelian virtue ethics, “flourishing” and “Eudaimonia” will henceforth be used interchangeably.

A virtue ethicist might object to the circularity charge, on the grounds that Eudaimonia isn't merely defined as "that which is obtained from the virtuous life". Instead, Eudaimonia is grounded in Aristotle's account of human nature. Aristotle derives this from Telos—the idea that everything has a natural aim. For humans, that aim is Eudaimonia: a life lived excellently in accordance with our rational nature. That life just is the good life.

This is promising. Aristotle gives us a compass: we ought to achieve Eudaimonia by being virtuous, that is, by living in accordance with our nature. Our actions can then be rooted in evolutionary, social, genetic, and memetic realities. So, did we finally break the loop?

We might have finally escaped circularity, but at what cost?

Individual Variation

Humans should live in accordance with their nature, but they are all different. Aristotle anticipated this, and conceded that the path to Eudaimonia is different for each of us, given the particularity of our circumstances.

Going back to our reasoning, we have:

Aristotle was right: he had to account for what humans have in common, as well as what differentiates them individually. But can both be reconciled?

Aristotle believed flourishing had various universal constituents. Friendship is one of them. It makes sense from a human nature standpoint, since we are social animals. However, it ignores the individual variation within our species. Some of us thrive without ever feeling the need to have friends. Does that make us unvirtuous? Does that mean we are wired such that we can never flourish? This would be a questionable ethical position to hold.

Consider Frank. Frank is a modern hermit. He’s an honest citizen, who doesn’t particularly enjoy the company of others1. He lives a balanced, virtuous life—virtuous in every sense that matters. Sure, he’s wired a bit differently, but he is flourishing. Well, is he really flourishing? Aristotle says no, because Frank doesn’t wish for the right goods: he is unable to desire the right things, let alone achieve them. But why should it matter, if Frank lives a happy, balanced, and otherwise virtuous life? Aristotle’s answer ultimately rests on human nature—what most humans happen to be like. I don’t think that’s fair, because the way others are wired shouldn’t dictate what Frank ought to desire.

Now, Aristotle has another trick up his sleeve: virtue ethics doesn't aim for everyone to flourish. Instead, it aims to provide us with a compass, pointing towards our true nature. Unfortunately, if not everyone can in principle achieve flourishing, we are back to square one. Let's say Frank learns about virtue ethics. Suddenly, he’s miserable: he’s missing out on Eudaimonia! So he tries to fix it, and manages to make friends. He hates every minute of it, and enjoys their company no more than before. What is the point, then, of following an ethical framework that worsens his condition?

My emotivist side cannot help but think Eudaimonia is filled with Aristotle’s own moral stances, smuggled through the backdoor. That friendship is constitutive of Eudaimonia is arbitrary—accepted only by those for whom it applies. Frank doesn’t fail to achieve Eudaimonia because he isn’t virtuous; he fails because friendship is, by definition, part of Eudaimonia. One line of reasoning, common amongst virtue ethicists, is to claim that if he were to value friendship, he’d achieve true flourishing. This is either trivially true by definition, or it smuggles in hedonism: Frank would be happier if he enjoyed having friends. No shit, Sherlock.

Hedonism

- Frank: “Why should I pursue Eudaimonia?”

- Aristotle: “Because it is good for you. Your question makes as much sense as asking ‘why should a knife be sharp?’. A knife is sharp because sharpness is its function2. Likewise, a human’s function is to act rationally, in accordance with virtue.”

- Frank: “But why should I act in accordance with virtue?”

- Aristotle: “Because this is your function.”

- Frank: “But why should I actualize my function?”

- Aristotle: “I don’t know, my friend. I am merely R.J.B.’s impression of a long dead philosopher. This idiot has no idea what he’s talking about. I’d smoke him in a Jubilee debate.”

As you can see, Aristotle is on the ropes, resorting to ad hominems. Aristotle himself doesn’t offer a brute fact move; he thinks the function argument is the justification, full stop. But he’s left with one of two options: either bite the bullet and admit that “actualize your function” is a brute, unjustified starting point, or find a further justification he hasn’t yet given us. The first option is not unheard of in philosophy, as plenty of ethical systems start somewhere ungrounded.

The only non-brute justification left is that actualizing our function leads to a good life. But if the good life is a life of virtue, we’re back to our circularity argument. I suspect that what is often meant by “the good life” is a life of well-being. It follows that virtue ethics is either circular, or hedonism with extra steps.

Moral Knowledge: Virtue or Vice?

Joe goes:

How are we supposed to tell virtue from vice here? How are we to pierce the fog of ethics, if we cannot adequately tell right from wrong?

This sounds an awful lot like virtue ethics doesn’t work on people whose life Joe disapproves of. It is as though the virtuous life is for virtuous people, while the vicious life is reserved for vicious people. What’s more, no salvation seems possible for those who diverge from the norm of human nature.

If virtue is so important, surely we should be able to substantively distinguish a virtuous life from a vicious one. And if the virtuous life is good for us, a vicious life should have consequences on our flourishing. In other words, what is the point of virtue ethics, if living “viciously” doesn’t feel any different from living “virtuously”? Eudaimonia, as a guide for living, must be observable in practice, because a compass that never points anywhere leaves you running in circles.

Eudaimonia: a Useful Guide?

Virtue ethicists often tell me vicious people only seem to flourish, that a life of vice, sooner or later, should lead to a life of misery. I disagree. Vicious people flourish all the time, just like virtuous people do.

Now, before we move on, I should concede that whether one lives long enough to suffer the consequences of one’s actions is irrelevant. The life of vice is, according to the virtue ethicist, undesirable insofar as it’s headed in the wrong direction: the opposite of Eudaimonia.

Consider Louis, a banker working in La Défense in the late 2000s. Louis is successful, both personally and professionally. He is smart, educated, and attractive. He has a wife and three healthy kids. In his free time, he plays padel3, enjoys poetry and literature, and is even involved in his local community. He has donated money to charity more than a few times. That’s a flourishing life, by most standards.

Now, consider Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul is Louis’ twin brother. He lives the exact same life, but works in a different department of the bank: he’s a trader. He manipulates food commodity prices, bets on disasters, and...gets bonuses out of them! He doesn’t directly see the downstream disasters that he creates. The poverty, the hunger, the civil unrest. By any ethical standard, Jean-Paul’s actions are wrong.

It is clear that Louis and Jean-Paul live flourishing lives. They’re rich, successful, healthy, and happy. The only difference is what they do at work. But what they do at work has no consequences on their life, nor on their happiness. Some people might be wired such that they find Jean-Paul’s trading practice vicious, but he isn’t wired this way. It doesn’t bother him. Here, some of you might be tempted to project your own standards onto Jean-Paul. His work is unethical by your standards, and you wouldn’t personally flourish, were you in his shoes. Except you’re not in his shoes, and Jean-Paul isn’t obligated to care about, let alone share your ethical dispositions.

Now, how does virtue ethics distinguish Jean-Paul’s life from Louis’? One life is virtuous, while the other is vicious, but the only difference is definitional.

Like friendship, justice is woven into the concept of Eudaimonia, so any act of injustice is vicious, regardless of its consequences on the author’s life. In other words, Jean-Paul’s life is one of vice because he commits injustice, and injustice is incompatible with Eudaimonia, regardless of how Jean-Paul perceives it. Still, I contend that our issue remains unresolved:

1. What’s the point of achieving Eudaimonia if doing so has no effect on the “vicious person”, beyond being true by definition?

2. Why should justice be part of Eudaimonia? Because hurting people is bad? Because a society can’t function without justice? Because we’re social animals who, on average, dislike committing injustice? This all seems arbitrary at worst, and post-rationalizing at best: we smuggle our own moral stances into the definition of flourishing, and call vicious anyone who doesn’t share those standards.

Are Those Objections Critical?

I don’t doubt that virtue ethicists will provide satisfying answers to my challenge. In fact, for all its flaws, virtue ethics survives the above scrutiny. I am an emotivist, and obviously do not subscribe to much of Aristotelian ethics. Still, there is much to be saved, even for a Wicked Anti-Realist such as myself.

A Positive Account

Ethics is difficult. Everyone has an idea of how to solve it, but none truly withstands scrutiny4. It is easy to critique the positions of others, but it is harder to defend one’s own. However, in ethics, it is more valuable to offer a positive account, rather than focusing on the weaknesses of competing frameworks. The value of virtue ethics lies in its merits, not its lack of weaknesses.

As Joe puts it:

“A lot of people approach philosophical ideas with the aim of trying to pick holes and show why it’s wrong. This has its place, but I think the more powerful approach is to look for the insight and see how it’s right.”

A Flexible Framework

Virtue ethics is flexible. It is anything but dogmatic, unlike its popular alternatives. Deontologists would oppose lying to a Nazi asking if you’re hiding Jews, while utilitarians would rather kill your mother to save enough shrimp. Virtue ethics, on the other hand, is both reasonable and practical.

Virtue ethics considers both human nature and specific dispositions. It empowers us to take responsibility; we are agents of our own morality. We can’t escape by appealing to “utility” or a “categorical imperative”. This certainly makes it harder to acquire moral knowledge, but the payoff is greater.

Virtue ethics nicely navigates the balance between general rules and specific dispositions. The compromise is real, but earned. I don’t think we should use virtue ethics to tell people how to behave. Instead, we should think of it as a guide for ourselves, not as an authority we can rely upon to project our moral standards onto others.

Becoming a Better Person

Who cares what academic philosophers think of the accuracy of the compass under perfect conditions, when we merely use it as a rough guide to flourishing? The goal of ethics is to make us better people, not to win online philosophy debates.

When faced with a decision, virtue ethics invites you to ask yourself: “Would a virtuous person do X?” Now, since it’s hard to tell what a virtuous person would do, we can rephrase it as:

“Do I want to be the kind of person who would do X?”

Conclusion

Virtue ethics is flawed. But so is every single normative framework. Yet it is one of the best ethical theories ever formalized, if taken for what it is: a practical guide to flourishing, informed by our human nature. Sure, there are blind spots, but it remains one hell of a place to start. Besides, what really matters is what we, as individuals, derive from it. Does it help us be—and feel—more moral? If so, why should we care if it’s flawed? Why should we care if a stupid French rooster on Substack writes about it being “nonsense”?

Now, that is not to say we have to be content with a flawed framework. Rather, normative ethics is about tradeoffs, and until we find The Perfect Normative Theory, we have to play the hand we’re dealt. And thanks to Aristotle, it’s a pretty damn helpful one already.

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Consciousness Explained is the Bible of the Physicalist; a book meant to enlighten our world, threatened by the obscurantist woo of panpsychists, idealists, or worse: dualists. After being begged by my physicalist friends and , I decided to read it. I had high hopes, as my views broadly align with illusionism. However, despite Dennett's remarkable flashes of brilliance throughout the book, I find myself rather disappointed in several respects.

Let’s begin.

This article belongs to my book review series, in which I briefly share my thoughts on my recent reads. I aim to give a fair, if subjective account.

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Context

Before critiquing the book, I should note that Daniel Dennett wrote Consciousness Explained (CE) in 1991—his choices in both content and style might have been justified, given the state of the field at the time. For instance, Dennett deliberately focused on challenging the persistent assumption of Dualism, which was a reasonable priority at the time, even if it left other theories underexplored.

Disappointing Prose

I know. Dennett is a great writer. He’s clear and engaging, at least according to popular belief. Unfortunately, I don’t think it is the case in CE1. Some sections are opaque, convoluted, and it isn’t always clear where Dennett is going. The book also has its fair share of clunky sentences; see for yourself:

I never analyze people’s intentions because I consider it cheap and inelegant. I’ll make an exception here. I think Dennett is a good writer—some passages are excellent. It just so happens that the critical passages are muddy and convoluted. The book could be cut in half without losing much content. Here is my theory: Dennett was confident about his thesis, but did not want to make it easy to reject. A clear claim calls for a clear objection, whereas a vague one lets you hide behind misunderstanding, instead of addressing warranted objections.

Lastly, I found Dennett too confident in his assertions. This is philosophy of mind; we’re working with best explanations. He could have spent more time acknowledging the limits of his framework, as well as the areas requiring further investigation. Now, as mentioned earlier, confidence was probably what the field needed at the time. To his credit, he did suggest further experiments.

Slaves of Analogy™

The title of this section is a courtesy of . Check out his piece, which is not unrelated to our discussion:

Ishmael Hodges

Slaves of Analogy

It has been said that human beings are slaves to analogy, and understandably so. After all, analogy is an incredibly powerful tool we use to grasp concepts that might otherwise resist our efforts to do so. Setting aside the philosophical observation that this results in our understanding much of our world not in terms of itself, but in terms of other th…

Read more

a year ago · 28 likes · 13 comments · Ishmael Hodges

A full article should be dedicated to philosophers misusing analogies. Since this is a brief piece, I won’t linger: analogies are valuable insofar as they illustrate a philosophical claim; they are not claims in their own right. Philosophers of mind have a pernicious tendency to treat analogies as explanations, rather than as illustrations. Dennett is no exception.

In Consciousness Explained, Daniel Dennett sometimes gestures at computer science, but doesn’t always cash it out. An analogy must connect to the underlying point it is meant to illustrate—using the analogy as an intuition pump doesn’t cut it.2

This is clearest in Dennett’s account of color processing. He discusses, at length, how computers “understand” color (whatever that means). Unfortunately, he does not cash it out by connecting it back to our biological brains. Dennett’s move is essentially: “computers can, so why not brains”. These tactics earned the book its famous rebrand: “Consciousness Explained Away”. This is certainly uncharitable, but Dennett had it coming.

Admittedly, I might be slightly unfair to Dennett, since he explicitly states that he uses experiments and analogies to challenge our intuitions. I don’t fully agree with the following quote, for the reasons listed above, but I believe it is a defensible position:

Unaddressed Idealism and Panpsychism

I hope non-physicalists will forgive my provocative hook. Friendly banter aside, idealism and (especially) panpsychism are robust theories. Unfortunately, Consciousness Explained does not address them; it focuses on rejecting the dualist assumption of the Cartesian Theater. To Papa Dennett’s credit, the book is a positive account of consciousness, meant to stand on its own. There is no need to discuss alternatives, since they contradict the position that was just established. Naturally, this is only valid if the thesis is correct…

A Brilliant Framework (Multiple Drafts Model)

Whether the book deserves the criticism mentioned above becomes secondary next to Dennett’s brilliance. A few sections of the book are particularly insightful, but let’s go over the main thesis: the Multiple Drafts Model (MDM). Consider the various drafts of a book being edited before publication. Writers will often send different drafts to different people, each at a different stage of revision. Can you determine which is the “canonical” (the “real”) version of the book at any instant t, while dozens of them are being reviewed and edited? The answer is no.

Dennett posits that consciousness works much the same way. There is no Cartesian Theater, meaning that there is no central place where each perceptual input gets funneled to be “shown” to consciousness. Instead, consciousness is nothing more than a set of functions. Each brain function (whether perceptual or computational) constantly writes its own story, or draft. Consciousness, then, is the constant flow of different drafts competing and revising each other.

Is there a moment when you “become aware” that you are in pain? Well, this very framing smuggles in the Cartesian Theater—the idea that pain must travel somewhere in your brain to be projected to your consciousness. Dennett argues that there is no point t at which you become aware of the pain. When would this time t occur? When the C-fibers fire? When you start wincing? When you verbally report being in pain? According to the MDM, these questions are invalid. Rather, there is a continuous flow of drafts competing and revising each other. These processes are happening simultaneously such that no time t can meaningfully be identified. It is even possible that you remember having been in pain, while not having been conscious of it at that point in time. It may be, for instance, that a memory be created post hoc without ever having been experienced in real time.

It follows that there is never a time t at which an experience can meaningfully be said to occur. Remember, the drafts constantly revise each other, such that there is no canonical “draft” promoted to consciousness.

Now, you probably think that it’s nonsense. Probably. But let’s illustrate Dennett’s point with an illusion called the Color phi phenomenon. When people are exposed to two lights, one red and one blue, flashing in quick succession, they “experience” it as though the red light moves toward the blue light and changes color mid-air:

Now, when did the experience of the color change actually occur? Surely, we can’t experience the change in color before having perceived the color blue. Dennett uses this to argue that the various perceptual and computational “drafts” occur simultaneously; they continuously revise each other (sometimes retrospectively). This constant back-and-forth is experience. Dennett explains it in much more depth in the book, so if you find it interesting, you know what you have to do!

(One last bit of criticism: the effect Dennett describes is largely overblown. Not everyone can see it, and recent research has shown the illusion may have little to do with consciousness. This doesn’t necessarily undermine the MDM, but it’s another example of the book feeling deceitful at times).

See the Colour Phi Phenomenon here.

Should You Read The Book?

Consciousness Explained is a cornerstone of Philosophy of Mind, and many non-physicalists seem surprisingly oblivious to its core thesis. For both reasons, I believe it is worth reading. Remember, you don’t need to endorse a theory to appreciate its merits. Besides, ignoring such a heavy hitter might undermine your attempt to defend your own position.

That said, the length of the book is not justified, in my opinion, especially if you are a layman whose time is limited. If so, I would suggest reading secondary accounts. Dennett is brilliant, his thesis is robust, but you don’t need to read Consciousness Explained to appreciate it.

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Thank you for reading this far. I will be giving away one copy of Consciousness Explained (via an amazon gift link, or a Kindle donation, sent via email to maintain privacy). Respond to this poll if you’re interested:

Edit: send me a DM; I just realized polls are anonymous!

“Eternity is what's frightening about death, and eternity is best spent under a general anaesthetic.”—Richard Dawkins

“God doesn’t exist”. This thought haunted me for years. I couldn’t cope with death, and God had become my solution. I couldn't bring myself to admit I didn't believe in Him. Thankfully, I came across Richard Dawkins’ material, including The God Delusion. The book gave me the courage to leave Christianity1. I wouldn’t call Richard Dawkins brave for not believing in God. After all, he was never really a believer, and he never seems to have struggled with death the way I did. However, he showed me that one could accept a universe without a God. Not only was he fine with the idea, but he wouldn’t wish it to be any other way. Eternal life in Heaven would be utterly boring; Dawkins would rather die and stay dead.

While death no longer haunts me the way it once did, I struggle to fathom how some may find eternity in Heaven boring. Their position is defensible, but I lament their failure of imagination.

Heaven is great, and here is why.

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Disclaimer

Throughout the piece, I’ll refer to “Heaven” as a physical dimension in which we spend eternity. We retain our memories, our bodies, and a guardian angel is assigned to each of us, assisting us in pursuing our desires. Nothing is off limits.2

No loopholes: I argue that Heaven won’t be as boring as Dawkins (and others) make it out to be. I’ll set aside cheap loopholes, such as asking our angel to make us enjoy Heaven for the rest of eternity.

Heaven is Boring

Dawkins’ case rests on solid ground. Aside from loopholes, it doesn’t seem like we could endure Heaven for very long. The endlessness of eternity, as well as the nature of our desires would render our experience unbearable.

Human desires

Is Heaven ineffable? Not quite. Some are lucky—or privileged—enough to experience an earthly version of it; a life of pure abundance where their wildest dreams come true. Actors, athletes, lottery winners, billionaires—they’ve achieved their dreams, and made so much money in the process, that no desire goes unmet. Yet not all of them are happy. In fact, some are quite miserable. How can unhappiness arise from abundance?

Consider successful sports teams. Athletes get tired of winning. After a while, victory doesn’t spark as much joy anymore—it becomes the new normal. Some Real Madrid players, having won 5 Champions Leagues in 8 years, found each new trophy less valuable than the last3. They weren’t exulting like they used to. For them, losing would have been a disaster, but winning felt like just another day at work.

We humans always want more, but when there is nothing more to want, things fall apart; we sink into apathy.

Schopenhauer said it best:

Desires make our lives worth living. They get us going. Nevertheless, anguish is built into them; we dread the process of fulfilling our desires. And when we finally get there, the satisfaction we seek is never as vivid as we’d imagined. Euphoria quickly fades, and boredom sets in. Soon enough, we turn our attention to something else, our existence trapped between pain and boredom.

Schopenhauer underlines the inherent suffering of a life of desire. So what would Heaven be like, if all our desires were met? Eternal boredom sounds more like Hell than Heaven. The loophole would be to direct our desires toward inaccessible things, but even then, we'd still lose—we’d live in a state of endless anguish. And if we asked our guardian angel to remove our anguish, would we be desiring anything at all? For instance, would I really want to win the World Cup if I felt completely happy not having won it yet? I don’t think so. It seems that we can’t escape the pendulum and are doomed to choose between pain and boredom.

The later episodes of the Netflix series The Good Place nicely reflect the human condition. [WARNING: SPOILERS; scroll down to the next section to be safe]. As the main characters finally reach Heaven, they stumble upon a dreadful sight: everyone is in a state of apathy. Having achieved all of their desires, they have nothing to long for anymore. Heaven is torture: they are crushed by eternity’s endlessness. In the show, characters meet Hypatia of Alexandria, a 5th century AD philosopher and mathematician. Having spent 1,600 years in Heaven, she’s lost most of her cognitive faculties—she is nothing more than a blob of flesh, high on cosmic milkshakes, as if waiting for eternity to end. The Good Place reveals that happiness cannot be achieved without both the satisfaction of our desires, and the stimulation of chasing our goals. Without anguish, we get tedium. In fact, a more optimistic thinker than Schopenhauer would rephrase:

The pendulum provides rhythm and balance to our lives; it is the source of human happiness. Conversely, unhappiness arises when the pendulum stops: we are either trapped in anguish (chasing goals but never achieving them) or stuck in tedium (our desires satisfied, without anything to long for). Happiness resides in the movement between the two poles. Heaven deprives us of anguish. Fortunately, the show resolves this: it sets the pendulum back in motion by granting people’s wish to die. If one is ever to dread the feeling of tedium, they can now escape it. Ironically, Earth’s biggest problem—the finitude of our existence—is Heaven’s solution. The show illustrates that human happiness cannot survive eternity. But is this true?

The Scale of Eternity

We’ve established that the afterlife is torture insofar as eternity is incompatible with human happiness. Consider the hobby of writing: most of us love it, but we couldn't pour 50 hours a week into it. Now, imagine pouring trillions of years into it. It would surely get boring. In this light, our experience in Heaven seems no more enjoyable than Hidan’s fate in the manga Naruto. Hidan is a villain known for being immortal; he was eventually defeated, by being dismembered and buried alive. He will spend the rest of eternity trapped six feet under, never to see the light of day again. That’s exactly what eternity in Heaven would feel like, or so they say.

Granted, the scale of eternity poses a challenge to human happiness in Heaven. The afterlife may seem like an awful fate, one only an evil God would bestow upon us—a God not unlike that of the Old Testament. However, I want to argue that even setting aside obvious loopholes, eternal bliss can be desirable. It is desirable to me, at least, and I intend to show that Heaven isn’t as bad as Dawkins makes it out to be4. I am convinced that Heaven can be turned into what it was designed to be: the pinnacle of human experience.

Intrinsic vs. Instrumental Value

In Heaven just as on Earth, humans risk enslaving themselves to their desires. Consider the dichotomy between intrinsic and instrumental value. Some things are valued intrinsically, for their own sake, while others are valued instrumentally, as mere means to an end. Friendship, for instance, is an intrinsic good. Our desires, however, tend to chase instrumental goods, dragging us from one want to the next. This is precisely Schopenhauer’s pendulum. Consider a corporate big shot: he wants a job at a prestigious company. What for? So he can climb the hierarchy. What for? To have money and status. What for? So he can have people’s attention. What for? To feel good about himself. Feeling good about oneself might be considered an intrinsic good, but two things are worth noting:

1. The big shot is never satisfied because there’s always a “next thing” to pursue.

2. The big shot might be mistaken. He might never get people’s attention, and he might never feel good about himself. That’s when he quits everything to raise goats in Switzerland. This is the intrinsic good he should have chased all along.

At this point, I’d fear for my life if I didn’t mention Aristotle5. Aristotle’s Eudaimonia is defined as “an activity of soul in accordance with virtue in a complete life”. It is the ultimate good that goes along with the virtuous life. Setting aside the loophole of simply asking God to achieve Eudaimonia (i.e. the state of desiring and pursuing the right things for the right reasons), one could request the ability to intrinsically desire things of intrinsic value. In Heaven (and on Earth), happiness is achieved through desiring things in themselves. There is a solution to Schopenhauer’s hellish pendulum; eternity can indeed be enjoyed with minimal appeal to loopholes.

Now, you may wonder: what is the point of all this? Why put so much effort into enjoying eternity in Heaven? Why not put an end to our existence? First, happiness beats non-existence any day of the week. Second, this is my own personal bias: YAY life! Besides, this is my article, so I’ll kindly ask you to stop asking hard questions. Quite frankly, I find it rude that you would even ask me this; you’re making me look like a fool6 in front of the few dozen of kind fellas reading these very lines. Not cool!

Curiosity as the Ultimate Cheat-Code

I’m a deeply curious person; every time I restack someone’s article, I fight the urge to open with “fascinating piece on…” (sometimes, I lose the battle). Curiosity is the antidote to boredom. Dawkins’ claim that “eternity is best spent under a general anaesthetic” is a failure of imagination, or, to use his own phrasing, an argument from personal incredulity.

I'm sure some of you think you couldn't last even a thousand years in Heaven. Wrong. You wouldn’t be reading these lines if you weren’t curious. And as I argue, Heaven is the perfect place for the curious to spend eternity.

Let’s explore what I’d do to pass time in Heaven.

History

History is the most obvious of them all. Human civilizations are fascinating; there are plenty of things to see, with the oldest dating back 6,000 years. I'd start with global events. Who wouldn't want to witness the Peloponnesian Wars, the Trojan conflict, the Punic wars (elephants crossing the Alps, really?), Caesar crossing the Rubicon, senators plotting against him, Augustus and Mark Antony tearing the Roman world apart, Jesus being born, starting his own cult, and getting crucified? Who wouldn't want to witness every single British defeat in history (I'd watch every one of them a thousand times over), the negotiations between world leaders, the doubt in their minds, the tension in the room? Who wouldn't want to witness the greatness of George Washington, the courage of Sir Chettur Sankaran Nair after the Amritsar massacre, or the fortitude of Jean Moulin?

Who wouldn't want to be in the Oval Office and see what goes on behind closed doors? Obviously, I'd avoid the Oval Office and its nearby rooms during the Clinton era. In any case, witnessing those major events unfold would keep you busy for a while.

Now add to that every conspiracy theory that turns out to be true, and those we don't even know about. Even better, we can extend it to the East; to civilizations we haven’t really heard of, here in the West. In the meantime, the world would keep busy, so we'd have some catching up to do. Lastly, beyond significant historical events, we’d witness the stories of regular people, Netflix-style, or immerse ourselves in every era in human existence.

Aliens

Alien civilizations are plausible. Whether incredibly distant or long extinct, no one in their right mind would choose death over studying them. Imagine exploring alien civilizations; those that rose then died out, those looking for us just as we look for them—surely, few things are more exhilarating.

History in Heaven is one hell of a time-consuming hobby. As you’re studying the past, the present keeps moving. What’s more, you could treat it as a part-time activity and engage in others.

Sports

Sports are intrinsically good. I play sports for the sake of it. Well, that’s not entirely true, because I’m unable to engage in anything without the need to win. Still, consider dedicating 10 years to each sport, figuring out how good you can get, starting out as an adult. Some sports are enjoyable in themselves—like swimming, or playing chess. Such explorations apply to all hobbies: painting, acting, singing, you name it.

Finally, if you’re into watching sports, the season will be much more immersive—witnessing everything from inside the locker room. Remember, you’re in Heaven, for eternity, so you’ll eventually see your favorite team win a championship (though if you’re a Wizards fan, I can’t promise anything, really).

Relationships

Love and friendship are some of the deepest bonds formed by human beings. They keep us alive in more ways than we can count. Yes, Heaven is worth it. Yes, I want to spend the rest of eternity with the people I love, with my family, with my friends, without seeing them suffer their earthly fate. This is the good in itself; this is the life—and afterlife—worth pursuing.

Philosophy?

I spend hours talking about the same topics with my friends. Some say philosophy is redundant, but I disagree. There are a thousand different ways to present an argument, but only one of them might hit home. What might look like a pointless conversation on the same exhausted topic could lead to an epiphany. Yes, I’d happily spend eternity discussing philosophy7. However, philosophy is the art of asking questions, and in Heaven, God has all the answers. Thus, Heaven poses a real threat to philosophy; I wonder whether it becomes pointless.

So tell me, would you ask God for all the answers?

Conclusion

Eternity knows no bounds, and so does our subjugation to desires. Together, they are thought to turn Heaven into Hell, dooming us to inescapable tedium. However, I believe this to be a failure of imagination. Excluding loopholes, we can find ways to make our life in Heaven an endless source of fulfillment. Evidently, we are not required to find the idea of eternal life desirable. We may be content with death, but given the two options, I know which one I’ll choose.

Now tell me, what would you choose: an end to your existence, or a shot at eternal bliss?

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• Cover picture:

If you’re into philosophy—even as a layman—you must understand the nature of an argument as soon as you hear it, lest you get ridiculed by your friends for calling out a non sequitur that isn’t one.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, a couple of weeks ago, my friend laid out Berkeley’s argument, which posits that to be is to be perceived (the objects that we see only exist in the mind of the perceiver). Ed presented a syllogism that I immediately called out as a non sequitur. What followed was a long conversation with , about my pernicious tendency to automatically assume every argument is deductive. Ed’s syllogism was indeed deductive, aligned with Berkeley’s intention. However, contemporary accounts often reframe it as abductive, which means that I had missed the whole point of the conversation. I can be stubborn, so it took a while to see how wrong I was to dismiss any argument as deductive by default. After what one might call an intervention, I’ve realized that mastering the nature of arguments is a prerequisite for fruitful intellectual endeavors.

I’m grateful for my friends; they allow me to look like a fool in private so I can look wisdomous in public.

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Reminder (skip if you’re a wise old bird)

An argument has one or more premises, and a conclusion. Consider the following syllogism:

Premise 1: All men are mortal.

Premise 2: Socrates is a man.

Conclusion: Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

When an argument’s conclusion follows from the premises, it is said to be valid, regardless of the veracity of the premises. An argument whose premises are false is said to be unsound2. In other words, an argument is valid if its conclusion follows from the premises, and it is sound if those premises are also true. The above argument is sound (the premises are true and the conclusion follows from them), but we can tweak it to make it unsound:

Premise 1: All men are immortal.

Premise 2: Socrates is a man.

Conclusion: Therefore, Socrates is immortal.

Here, the argument is valid—the conclusion follows from the premises. However, the argument is unsound because premise 1 is false.

Deductive Reasoning

Deductive reasoning is the ultimate weapon of rationality. It allows us to achieve certainty by deriving a necessary conclusion from a series of general premises. Those premises can be rejected, but if they are true, the conclusion necessarily follows from them. In this light, deductive reasoning is top-down: it helps us go from universal to specific.

The syllogism we’ve just covered is deductive. It progresses from general, universal, truth-apt premises (“men are mortal” and “Socrates is a man”) to a necessary, specific conclusion: Socrates is mortal.

Important note: deductive reasoning is so powerful because it achieves epistemic certainty: true premises necessarily lead to a true, certain conclusion. However, a deductive argument is only as strong as its premises. It is therefore common to see thinkers smuggle false premises into a deductive argument to hijack the epistemic certainty that goes with it.

Inductive Reasoning

If deductive reasoning is top-down, inductive reasoning surely is bottom-up. It derives a general conclusion from a specific observation. In other words, it is a method of inference. Unlike deduction, inductive reasoning never yields certainty, because a general conclusion cannot necessarily follow from specific premises. See for yourself:

1. In the 21st century, every US president has bombed the Middle East.

2. A new president will be elected in 2028.

3. Therefore, the president elected in 2028 will bomb the Middle East.

Here, we make an observation, and even if the premises are both true, the conclusion isn’t certain. Induction always involves an epistemic leap.

Scottish philosopher David Hume has famously pointed out what he called the problem of induction:

There can be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of which we have had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had experience. — A Treatise of Human Nature

We cannot hold with certainty something we have yet to observe, on the basis of past observation.

In The Problems of Philosophy, Bertrand Russell laid out the epistemic limits of induction by imagining the life of a poor chicken (as a rooster myself, it pains me greatly to lay it out, but I’ll make the effort for you, beloved reader).

If you engage in inductive reasoning with no regard to its epistemic limits, you are headed for disappointment, or worse. Consider a chicken, which we’ll call Bobby. Bobby was used to being fed every morning. In fact, Bobby noticed that the food always came soon after sunrise. His inductive reasoning looked like this:

1. Every morning when the sun rises, man comes.

2. Every time man comes, man gives me food.

3. Therefore, next time the sun rises, man will give me food.

Unfortunately, Bobby hadn’t read this article, so he didn’t know any better. That the man always brought food didn’t mean he always would.

On a fateful Saturday, as the first sun rays pierced the morning mist, Bobby ran towards the gate, awaiting the man with bated breath. Bobby heard the familiar rumble of the distant truck, wheels scratching the muddy trail, engine whining as it approached. Suddenly, the engine stopped—Bobby heard a door open, then close, and at last, he saw the man, approaching as he always had. Bobby could hardly contain his excitement, clucking, and clucking, and clucking. At once, Bobby’s excitement died: something was off. Instead of the usual bucket of grains, he noticed something shiny in the man’s hand, something that reflected sunlight, almost blinding Bobby. The object looked bright, but cold. Confused, Bobby felt his heart pumping frantically, his legs giving out as the man approached, grabbed him by the neck, and in one smooth blow, severed Bobby’s head.

Bobby should have known better than to mistake inductive reasoning for certainty. The moral of the story should come as no surprise: don’t be like Bobby.

“The man who has fed the chicken every day throughout its life at last wrings its neck instead, showing that more refined views as to the uniformity of nature would have been useful to the chicken.”—Bertrand Russell, The Problems of Philosophy.

This masterpiece beautifully illustrates the problem of induction.

For all its epistemic limitations, inductive reasoning is the ultimate tool of science—it is the cornerstone of empiricism.

Abductive Reasoning

Abductive reasoning is as tricky as it is interesting. Anyone engaging with philosophy must know it, lest one risk looking like a fool, just like I did. Abductive reasoning derives from its premises the conclusion that best explains them. In other words, the conclusion is whatever best explains why the premises are true.

Abductive reasoning goes as follows:

1. The grass is wet.

2. When it rains, the grass gets wet.

3. Therefore, it likely rained last night.

“Likely” is the keyword here—abductive reasoning derives the best explanations from premises which cannot lead to absolute certainty. Overnight rain is arguably what best explains the wet grass. However, that is nothing more than a likely explanation. It is neither the only explanation nor necessarily the correct one—your neighbor might have done you a favor and watered your grass while you were asleep.

Meta Motte-and-Bailey

There is a trap in abduction. It is inherently probabilistic, and uncertain. It is up to us to judge whether the conclusion indeed is “the best explanation”. Why does this matter? Because abductive reasoning often dresses as deductive to smuggle in absolute certainty—this is an all-too-common rhetorical trick used by philosophers.

Take the wet grass syllogism. As written, it is obvious that we’re looking at a “best explanation”. To spot a real abductive argument, a rigorous thinker seeks indications of uncertainty, such as “likely”, or “probably”. Absent those words, we are looking at a deductive argument smuggling in certainty.

Consider this:

1. The grass is wet.

2. When it rains, the grass gets wet.

3. Therefore, it rained last night.

By removing “likely” from the initial syllogism, we turned abductive reasoning into deductive reasoning, creating the appearance of absolute certainty. Now, this argument is obviously a non sequitur, but an unscrupulous philosopher might retreat to claiming “likely” was implied, and that the reasoning was abductive all along!

The rhetorical trick is simple:

1. Present the argument such that it appears deductive and certain.

2. If someone identifies a non sequitur, call him an ignorant layman who doesn’t know what abductive reasoning is, and claim the “best explanation” component of the argument was implied all along.

To be clear, I myself was an ignorant layman3 who didn’t know abductive reasoning. But that’s what this piece is all about—may laymen rise! From now on, we won't make fools of ourselves by calling out a non sequitur that isn’t one, and we won’t be tricked by motte-and-bailey4 reasoning disguising abduction as deduction.

Once again, I digress. The wet grass example might seem trivial, but philosophers use this tactic for serious matters, thereby claiming certainty from an argument that isn’t meant to achieve it.

Consider this syllogism:

1. The physical constants of the universe are precisely calibrated to permit life.

2. Such calibration cannot be the result of chance.

3. Therefore, the universe was designed by an intelligent creator.

This is a fine-tuning argument presented in the form of deductive reasoning. It is a non sequitur—the conclusion does not necessarily follow from the premises. An intelligent designer isn’t the only conclusion; it could be the case that calibration is the result of necessity. A dishonest interlocutor might claim the syllogism was never meant to be deductive, but was abductive. I call motte-and-bailey! Here is what an honest abductive syllogism might look like:

1. The physical constants of the universe are precisely calibrated to permit life.

2. Such calibration is very unlikely to be the result of chance.5

3. Therefore, an intelligent designer is the most plausible explanation.

Notice the keyword “most plausible”. Here, the argument is valid, and one could make the case that an intelligent designer is the most plausible explanation. Evidently, it remains debatable, but the argument is now clear, honest, and opens the door to discussion rather than claiming unearned certainty.

Conclusion

A thinker must know the difference between deductive, inductive, and abductive reasoning. Not every argument is deductive, and more importantly, an argument doesn't need to achieve certainty to be credible. We rarely have the tools to reach absolute certainty, so human knowledge generally rests on pragmatic assumptions. Science heavily relies on induction6, and as we’ve seen, it is not infallible (R.I.P Bobby).

Metaphysical arguments don’t need deduction to be robust. Once we acknowledge our epistemic limitations, we can conduct research grounded in the merits of abductive arguments. Since empiricism only gets us so far, we’re faced with two choices: to stop there and give up on our curiosity, which I boldly call cowardly, or to work our way through it by relying on best explanations. Hopefully, the most astute of you know that it’s exactly what science does: work with best explanations. It relies on induction to establish empirical patterns, and on abduction to infer the best theoretical explanation for those patterns.

In any case, epistemic humility is a cause I'll never abandon; mastering the different types of reasoning gives us the tools to identify and call out those attempting to smuggle unwarranted levels of certainty into their metaphysics.

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Americans are so high on freedom that they sacrifice a hundred lives a day to protect their right to defend it.

France and America were shaped by their revolutions. True insubordinates of the Western world, they were inspired by the Enlightenment, whose values are now woven into their culture. Back then, the French beheaded anyone unfortunate enough to look too kingly, while the Americans were known to be “intoxicated with a phrenzy; with a spirit of rebellion so universal that it is not to be reasoned with”.1

Despite both countries’ similar foundational principles, their social movements couldn’t be more different, reinforcing a widespread sentiment: the French protest more often, and more effectively than Americans.

Is this more than a sentiment? What cultural, economic, and institutional factors might explain these differences?

Let’s find out!

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Disclaimer (for my Well Ackchyually brothers and sisters):

• This piece compares social movements (including strikes) in France and in the U.S. More specifically, it examines how differently they play out. The analysis is purely comparative; it studies one country relative to the other. The point isn’t to draw a picture of either country on their own. For example, I will argue that America is more polarized than France, because it explains how social movements differ from one country to the other. This does not mean that France is not polarized—it merely means that pointing it out is less relevant for our purposes.

• This piece is a high-level analysis addressing how protests have historically been structured and eventually played out. This is not a piece on current events, although I will dedicate a short section addressing recent developments.

Are Americans Less Insubordinate Than The French?

The short answer is yes. Historically, 5 to 7 percent of Americans reported protesting annually, compared to 9 to 15 percent among the French.

However, both countries have recently registered a surge in demonstrations. A poll conducted in October 2025 found that 12% of Americans attended a protest in the past year. Similarly, in 2023, 15.9% of French people protested at least once. Growing instability explains the trend, though at the macro level, the gap remains considerable. According to the 2017-2022 World Values Survey, 40% of the French reported having protested at least once in their lifetime, while only 16.6% of Americans reported doing the same.

There is more to social movements than public protests; strikes have long been a tool used to defend the rights of the working class. Luckily for us, it means we have accurate data to measure the differences between France and the United States.

From 2008 to 2017, per 1,000 French employees, an average of 118 strike days were recorded per year, against only 5 in the US.

This should come as no surprise; the French have a stronger culture of protest than Americans, both in public protests and strikes.

Still, standing up for one’s rights is all well and good, but does it really matter if nothing changes? Do the French actually get their demands met?

Are Protests Really More Effective in France?

Comparative analyses have historically been made based on strikes, not public protests, because they are easier to measure. For instance, Gerald Friedman analyzed the outcomes of thousands of strikes in the US and France between 1880 and 1914. The difference isn’t significant, but it’s there: strikes resulted in concessions 55% of the time in France against 50% in the U.S.2

However, when we imagine protests, we picture citizens in the street, not workers staging sit-ins, so that’s what we should analyze. Since I couldn’t find a satisfactory comparative study, we’ll do it by hand (very scientific, I know). Let us then compare the major social movements of the past 20 years in France and in the US, and observe their effectiveness.

Now, you may wonder “what makes a protest effective?” Here, we’ll assume a protest is effective so long as it leads to nation-wide/federal legislation. Importantly, social movements aren’t always about legislation; in the U.S., they have often been culturally transformative.

For this very thorough and scientifically rigorous comparative analysis, I have identified five major protests from France and four from the U.S., over the past 20 years.

France:

• 2006: The CPE (First Employment Contract) - result: success

  Law repealed.

• 2009: The Fishermen’s Blockade - result: success

  $66 million in immediate loans and subsidies.

• 2018: The Fuel Tax (Yellow Vests) - result: success

  The government scrapped the tax rise entirely, and even added an €11 billion concession package.

• 2021: The "Global Security" Law (Article 24) - result: success

  Redrafting of the bill.

• 2023: Pension Reform - result: failure

  Law passed. Important note: the 2019-2020 Pension Reform protests were a success; the law was suspended indefinitely, but the government forced the 2023 version into law.

United States

• 2011: Occupy Wall Street – result: failure

  No major changes to banking regulation or tax laws. The 1% remained the 1%.

• 2017: Women’s March – result: failure

  No legislative changes to reproductive rights or federal policy; the administration’s agenda proceeded regardless.

• 2018: March for Our Lives – result: failure

  No major federal gun legislation passed in the immediate aftermath.

• 2020: Black Lives Matter – result: failure (at the Federal level)

  No federal legislation: the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act died in the Senate.

Major protests are more effective in France as they force the government to change the law. Does that mean the French are more talented whiners? Perhaps, but how much better can they possibly be? Surely, there must be other variables at play.

Let’s explore what those are!

Cultural & Socio-economic Differences

Culture influences the nature of social movements, their aim, and some of their long-term consequences.

Values

France and America, although both founded on the principles of the Enlightenment, value them differently.

According to a 2011 report from the Pew Research Center, Americans value freedom—especially the freedom to pursue their lives without the government sticking its nose in their affairs (58%). The French, however, see the government as a protector; they overwhelmingly think the state should guarantee no one is in need (64%). There’s a striking reason why Americans call their government an “administration”—they are administered, not governed.

Americans think they are in control of their lives (62%), while the French view success as primarily determined by forces outside of their control (57%).

To put it plainly, America prioritizes freedom; France prioritizes equality.

What does this have to do with social movements? Well, the French are more demanding of their government; they want it to provide for and protect the people. It follows that when the state doesn’t properly play its role, the people remind it of its function—more or less politely. Conversely, Americans, on average, do not expect much from their government, as they are more libertarian. So when the state doesn’t provide, Americans aren’t mad; they’re mostly indifferent.

Identity

Identity influences how a society structures itself, as well as how conflicts arise. France is primarily divided by social status. There is the powerful, and the powerless. Society has historically been divided vertically—by class, more than by identity3. For example, it is illegal to gather racial statistics in France; the nation is united by republicanism, regardless of race and gender (in practice, of course). Admittedly, things are changing, and France has seen a rise in identity politics over the past decade.

American society is, on the other hand, governed by identities. The population is, at least to some extent, divided into subculture groups based on race—a direct consequence of past segregation. Politicians divide the electorate as such. They direct their attention to the “Black vote”, or the “Latino vote”. Even when registering to vote, citizens in many states have the option to indicate their race. Moreover, the American people are also divided by religion, which often supersedes citizenship in how people perceive their identity. According to the Pew Research Center, 46% of Christian Americans find themselves Christians first, rather than Americans. This figure drops to 8% in France.

The Nature of The Movement

Values and identity are socio-economic realities that directly impact the nature of social movements.

Demands

In the U.S., protests are parades of opinions; they play a memetic role and hold cultural weight. They are by nature proactive; people demand more rights, sometimes by endorsing specific bills to be passed.

This doesn’t mean Americans don’t react to specific events. Rather, the events spark constructive demands. The March for Our Lives and Black Lives Matter movements were reactions to tragedies, but triggered proactive demands. Moreover, the Civil Rights Movement demonstrates that in America, social movements build social progress.

American protests might not directly influence legislation, but that’s not always the point. Social movements raise awareness; they push an issue forward. Black Lives Matter might not have had direct federal legislative impact, but it sure had a significant cultural one. Besides, influencing local legislation should count as a win. On the whole, American protests are about rights, values, culture, and progress.

U.S. protests are rarely about blocking a specific bill. Does anyone imagine 13 million Americans (roughly 4% of the population) taking to the streets because the government increased taxes on fuel? The French did exactly that, which sparked the yellow vest movement, said to have united 3 million people over a period of 18 months.

In France, public outrage is reactive. People don’t protest to demand more rights; they protest to protect those they already have. The pattern is always the same: the government proposes a controversial bill, unions threaten to strike, the parliament adopts the law, and the French hit the streets.

Law Enforcement as Representative of the Government

Public protests differ in how they are supervised by law enforcement. A detail, but a noteworthy one nonetheless. In the U.S., the policing strategy is hyper-local. Most protesters face their local PD, not necessarily federal forces. Thus, they are not directly confronted with the authority they protest against—there is a symbolic distance between the people and the government.

Now, allow me a digression. I would have happily written a footnote, but you people don’t read them! It’s such a shame because that’s where the magic happens. Dear God, I’m digressing within my digression. Anyway, I started pondering this post in October 2025. Obviously, back then, ICE had already become problematic, but I could not have anticipated it being such a nationwide issue, especially with the killing of Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti (every time I edit this piece I have to add a new name). ICE has become a direct embodiment of the Trump administration—a direct target of outrage that people can easily identify and rally against. ICE is a symbol of oppression; it is a perfect example of how closing the distance between people and authority solidifies a movement. The state has a monopoly on violence. With ICE, Trump has thrown this monopoly in people’s faces.

In France, protests are supervised by three distinct law enforcement groups: CRS (Compagnie Républicaine de Sécurité), Gendarmerie (a militarized national police force), and Police Nationale. All of them are national forces reporting directly to the Ministre de l’Intérieur (Home Secretary in the UK).

CRSs are specialized in crowd management; they are present at every major protest and you see them every time the media reports on France’s civil unrest.

CRSs are the most hated unit of law enforcement in France. Although police brutality doesn’t help with their public image, there is more to it. CRSs are the embodiment of the state’s authority; the face of the enemy. Anger and frustration must be directed somewhere, and when it is directed at the government, who better to absorb that anger than the unit the State sends to manage public protests? CRSs are the table you punch when you hurt your pinky toe.

The nature of social movements differs widely between the US and France. Americans demand rights; the French defend them. Americans shift culture; the French protect their economic interests. In the US, the target of people’s outrage is distant and abstract, while in France, it is right before their eyes.

The Price of Dissent

In France, the employee generally has the upper hand. In labor conflicts, employees have the right to strike, and are allowed to take paid or unpaid leave. French labor laws are strict—companies cannot fire their employees at will, even less so during or after a strike. Thus, unscrupulous companies cannot easily retaliate against employees who participated in strikes.

In the U.S., the situation is similar as far as the law goes, but there’s a twist. When employees strike, companies have the right to indefinitely replace them. Employees have to wait until their replacement leaves the company to reclaim their position. Until then, they lose health insurance and 401k contributions. Furthermore, in 49 states, companies can fire at will. Nothing prevents them from firing their employees two weeks after the strike. The burden falls on the employee to sue and prove that the firing was retaliatory.

Aside from strikes related to the workplace, America and France are rather similar: an employee cannot strike to attend movements unrelated to the workplace. Still, on average, the French have more leave than their US counterparts, which means they have more time to protest.

Political Differences

Regime Stability

Since 1789, France has been through 2 Empires, 2 Monarchies, and 5 Republics. The fact that France can withstand regime changes is ingrained in its culture. As such, protests are seen as a feature, not a threat. Still, protests carry cultural baggage because they have been used to overthrow the government in the past; the political elite is very much aware of it, and takes it seriously. Social movements are not trivial; they almost act as a fourth branch of government, because there is a tacit understanding that protests lead to progress, not anarchy.

On the other hand, the US regime is extremely stable. The constitution is still the one drafted in 1787. A regime change, or a significant amendment to the constitution, is inconceivable. Besides, the American Revolution was a war of Independence, not a popular uprising that reshaped the social order. Culturally, a social movement isn’t seen as a necessary step towards reform, but as a slippery slope towards anarchy and chaos. For instance, in the wake of the 1970s antiwar protests, a Harris poll found that 37% of respondents said protests should be made illegal. What’s more, Americans have long been skeptical that protests change anything at all. Even a decade after the Civil Rights Movement, widely considered a success, a 1976 Gallup poll found that fewer than one in three Americans thought protests were even moderately effective at influencing legislation.

Because social movements aren’t expected to change the rules of the system, they must operate within them. After all, the constitution has kept the peace and protected people's freedoms for over two centuries. Why change now? Besides, the U.S. constitution is almost like a civic Bible. While a Frenchman would be hard-pressed to name what the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd amendments contain, an American would often refer to them by their number, rather than by their content. “I am a gun advocate” sounds as natural as “I support the Second Amendment”.

Meanwhile, France’s past instability plays in its favor, in that protests are considered an inherent part of democracy, and a necessary price for progress. Movements can be ambitious and aggressive because there is no significant fear that they will lead to anarchy; a regime change would not mark the end of France. The political elite knows where protests can lead—the bargaining power is in people’s hands. Conversely, American protests must operate within the scope of the constitution. A movement’s goals cannot be seen as threatening the integrity of the establishment in any substantial way. Because Americans are so averse to regime changes, the political elite can more easily hold its ground—the leverage lies with the government.

Federalism vs Centralization

Federalism tames social movements. It is the primary cause of the inefficiency noted above. For instance, the fact that protesters face their local PD is a direct consequence of federalism. The United States is literally a bunch of united, states4 . Each state operates with its own authority, identity, laws, and even taxes. Coordinated protests are rarer, because challenges differ from one state to another, while nationwide issues may be solved directly at the state level. Since the overturning of Roe v. Wade, abortion is a matter of the state—each individual has more to gain by protesting locally, rather than initiating a federal movement5. Hence, it is not uncommon to see protests at the state capitol.

Geographical and demographic realities also make matters worse. Not only is the United States socially and culturally diverse, leading to heterogeneous interests, it is also composed of various metropolitan hubs far removed from federal institutions. Washington D.C. is only the 22nd most populated city and the 6th wealthiest hub in America. New York and California concentrate the main urban and economic weight. America’s political, cultural, and economic centers are thus divided—only under exceptional circumstances do people make the trip to D.C.

Under federalism, public outrage is locally diluted. In America, there is not a clear, single point of failure. Institutions are distant from the people, both literally and figuratively. That’s not to say American movements can’t be nationwide; it means that the threshold a movement must reach before becoming nationwide is much higher than it would be under a centralized system. Realistically, social movements have to be predominantly local.

France, on the other hand, is cursed by centralization. Just as America can’t be reduced to New York or Los Angeles, Paris isn’t representative of France. Unfortunately, the general perception of France reflects that of Paris. It’s hard not to conflate them—Paris is the heart of France, culturally, socially, economically, politically, and all the “ly’s” in the Oxford Dictionary. That’s a curse for many reasons. One is that the French aren’t as insufferable as people make them out to be; Parisians are. But anyway, I digress. Social movements are more effective under centralization. The Paris region represents 18% of the population, 30% of the GDP, 23% of jobs, and houses major political institutions. Paris is France’s single point of failure.

Because France’s major political institutions are located in Paris, authorities (the CRSs) must map out a route for protesters to follow, in order to mitigate the risk that they’d march to, say, the presidential palace. In 2018, during the yellow vest movement, there was a real worry that protesters would march to the Elysée palace, where Macron resides.

As the major economic and demographic hub, Paris is connected to other cities by rail. During the holidays, millions of people leave the city to visit their family. The single point of failure is never as identifiable as when social movements and strikes blockade the railway, effectively cutting Paris off from the rest of the country, which forces authorities to make concessions.

France is so centralized that it isn’t uncommon for protesters to march to Paris. As recently as last month, farmers organized a nationwide march to Paris, blocking highways, eventually reaching Paris and blockading the rond-point de l’Etoile around the Arc de Triomphe.

Now, consider the recent outrage in America, following the death of Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti, two people killed by ICE agents in Minnesota. Even if the majority of the population disapproves of ICE, protests remained concentrated in Minnesota, where the events happened. No march to DC took place, which is in part explained by America’s federalism—Americans rallied behind Minnesotans. In contrast, in France, protests default to Paris, directly at the economic, social, cultural, and political heart of the country.

Partisanship & Polarization

Social movements are particularly effective when outrage is widespread among the population, but is focused on a specific target that everyone agrees upon, such as the government. There is no denying that in the past, American social movements have directly targeted the government. However, the us/them divide often splits the population, focusing on the differences between subgroups. The two-party system is largely to blame; political affiliation has become a part of people’s identity. Around elections, it is not uncommon to see Pro-Democrat or Pro-Republican signs in people’s front yards.

In the United States, conflict is structured around party affiliation, as opposed to a hierarchical separation between the powerful and the powerless. People tend to blame the other party first, and the government second. Social movements struggle to take root because of the cultural distance (abortion, guns, religion) between both sides—in other words, the government is not to blame, the other party is. This is especially blatant when considering the vilification of the other side. Both Republicans and Democrats are divided over whether the party should accept members who call opponents “evil.” Over four-in-ten in both parties say their party should be somewhat accepting of this, while narrow majorities say it should not.

Essentially, the blame is partisan. I support the government as long as my party sits in the White House. The blame is usually directed at the party, not the institution. However, it should be noted that it is not always the case. Social movements do sometimes unite both sides, at least to some extent. Unfortunately, they must transcend the culture war divide, which is rare and requires a high degree of popular support. One could argue that the early environmental movement in the 1970s was one such movement.

In France, “us” is the people, while “them” is the government. The French view politics as rather taboo. Political affiliation isn’t a core part of people’s identity. Since there are a lot of parties, people’s political identity is measured by their position on the spectrum, not by their support of one specific party. Even when they are loyal to a specific party, they express it differently than Americans, who often say “I’m a Republican” or “I’m a Democrat”. In France, people would either say “I vote X” or “I vote Y”—the distance between identity and political affiliation is clear. Similarly, although the yellow vest movement—and the general frustration of the people—was directed towards Macron and his party, it never became a culture war between his supporters and opponents.

Generally, the people project their frustration onto institutions; this is more about the government than it is about the party. Today, President Macron, who has been in charge for nearly a decade, is unpopular. His party is also unpopular, because it is judged based on its record as the ruling party. The ideological dimension of blame is only secondary.

Before Macron shattered France's political landscape in 2017, French politics followed a logic of government alternation: the anti-incumbent rule. Voters would elect the right, become frustrated, then punish it by electing the left, and vice-versa. This willingness to switch sides would be unthinkable in today's America, where party affiliation is identity. When blame targets the government rather than the other party, protesters can unite across ideological lines. Unfortunately, today’s France is no better—polarization has fully set in. The ideological divide between parties has widened the value gap; culture war is on the way.

Conclusion

In France, social movements succeed because the target is clear: a centralized government concentrated in Paris, the nation’s political, economic, and cultural hub. Demands are mostly economic, conflict is vertical—the powerful vs. the powerless—and structural advantages (strike culture, social safety nets, geographic concentration) lower the threshold for mobilization. In the U.S., it gets messy. Federalism fragments blame across states and cities, demands are primarily cultural, not economic, and partisanship divides people by ideology rather than interest.

Ultimately, comparing both countries quantitatively makes little sense—their structural realities are too different. Beyond the comparison, movements act as a reminder that safeguarding peace, democracy, and freedom is an endless fight; those ideals must not be taken for granted.

A Note on Current Events

Trump, as usual, is shattering the established political norms. Being a Trumpist is more than being a Republican—if Trump keeps pushing the boundaries, he might trigger bipartisan consensus strong enough to give rise to a nationwide social movement. The recent Anti-ICE movement demonstrates that beyond polarization, America remains a nation with common values. These core values, shared across the board, could very well set off a movement whose target is undeniable: Trumpism.

For as in absolute governments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be King; and there ought to be no other.—Thomas Paine, Common Sense.

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References6

Unlike the U.S. constitution, the French penal code allows judges to prohibit convicted citizens from running for president—a decision made on a case-by-case basis, depending on the crime. In other words, a few judges can single-handedly influence the result of a presidential election. Unsurprisingly, Le Pen’s conviction has created significant political turmoil. The same question is on everyone’s mind:

Should convicted politicians be allowed to run for office?

This issue is philosophical, not political2. Politicians should stay out of it, partly because they are highly predictable: the left comfortably sits on its high horse, ever pure and innocent, arguing that criminals can’t be trusted, while the right stresses the importance of rehabilitation. Notice the irony? Such is the game of politics. In light of this, it seems only fitting that we, the people, look at the question ourselves, and in detail.

This piece is part of the Nuançons series, where we take a controversial topic and analyze both sides’ most compelling arguments. Let’s begin!

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Context

This piece will not elaborate on Donald Trump’s case, as it’s already been covered extensively. Instead, it will focus on Marine Le Pen’s conviction—a lesser-known figure—to remove some of the baggage associated with Trump.

Before we begin, it’s important to go over some details about Le Pen’s conviction.

In March 2025, Marine Le Pen was found guilty of embezzling EU funds that were strictly designated for European Parliament work. The National Rally (Marine Le Pen’s party) used the funds to pay its staff for domestic political activities instead. Le Pen was found to be at the center of the scheme, which took place from 2004 to 20163. A total of €2.9 million was diverted.

Le Pen was sentenced to 4 years in prison4, but more importantly, she received a 5-year ban. Generally, an appeal suspends the execution of a sentence, but for certain penalties, the court can explicitly order immediate enforcement.

In Le Pen’s case, the judge decided to do just that.

“The court took into consideration, in addition to the risk of reoffending, the major disturbance of public order if a person already convicted…was a candidate in the presidential election”

Naturally, the decision was decried by Le Pen’s supporters, who accused the judge of meddling with the elections. The controversy is believed to have led the courts to accelerate legal proceedings. A final verdict is expected in summer 2026, a full year before the presidential elections. If Le Pen loses the appeal, she will not be able to run. In other words, the judicial branch has the power to ban the current front-runner from running for president.

Is this fair? That’s what we’re here to see.

Part 1: No, Convicted Politicians SHOULD NOT Be Allowed to Run for Office.

Integrity

Those who lead us should be held to a higher standard. Enshrining this moral requirement in law is a societal choice. Not only do elected officials represent the people, but they also embody our democratic society5. They are ideals made reality. It is an honor to represent the people, as shown by the numerous privileges that come with it. These privileges are a necessity because they bring a degree of distinction to the position.

Hence, breaking the law demonstrates one’s utter disregard for the social contract. When politicians use their position to further their interests—or those of their party—they dishonor both their office and the people who have elected them.

Moreover, elected officials vote for the laws that govern all citizens. Why should we abide by the very law politicians consider to be beneath them? This is inconceivable. A functioning democracy requires that lawmakers live under the laws they make.

Therefore, a democracy must prohibit convicted politicians from running for office. It is a necessary condition for the social contract to be binding.

Incentivizing Transgression

Convicted politicians shouldn't hold positions of power—the reasons are as much practical as they are symbolic. If we manage to look past the hypocrisy of a criminal walking the corridors of the nation’s legislative house, we face myriad additional problems. One of them is the vindication of transgression. At our core, we are primitive apes, driven by incentive6.

As has been extensively documented, power corrupts. If we allow convicted politicians to run for office, we essentially incentivize them to try their luck again. Marine Le Pen’s National Rally isn’t the only French Party who was accused of using EU funds for domestic purposes. In February 2024, five former MoDem MEPs7 were found guilty of diverting €300,000. None of them went to prison or faced ineligibility sentences, while François Bayrou, the party’s founder, was acquitted. Political elites have a tendency to think—or know—they are above the law. What’s more, when they do get caught, they receive minor sentences; they rarely even serve jail time. However, everything might change—Marine Le Pen could become the first ever presidential candidate to be banned from running. Some think an example should be made of her.

By preventing criminals from running for office, we punish transgression, instead of incentivizing it.

Once a Crook, Always a Crook

We’ve established that impunity creates incentives. From a practical perspective, we should prohibit criminals from running for office, in order to deter others from attempting to cheat the system. But there’s more to the story. If we let criminals occupy positions of power, we hand them the tools to reoffend. Some might even attempt to cover their tracks by exerting influence on the judicial branch.

Marine Le Pen’s case is especially relevant here. She was found guilty, but decided to appeal. Due to slow judicial proceedings, the appeal was initially expected to be judged after the 2027 elections. In light of this, the court ordered immediate enforcement to prevent Le Pen from using the appeal process to delay the final conviction and, ultimately, run for president. As mentioned earlier, the final verdict is expected in summer 2026.

Our judicial system should guard against such situations: a corrupt politician using the appeal process to buy themselves time to get elected. It is not hard to imagine how they could use their position to cover their tracks, once elected. For instance, Nicolas Sarkozy, France’s president from 2007 to 2012, was convicted in 2024 for trying to bribe a judge. He used Libyan Dictatator Gadafy’s money to fund his 2007 campaign and attempted to obtain precious information on the ongoing investigation. This happened in 2014, after he left office, having lost the 2012 elections to François Hollande. One can only imagine what would have happened, had he been (re)elected. Similarly, given Trump’s current weaponization of the judicial branch, can we be sure he would have eventually been convicted, had he won in 2021?

The separation between the executive, legislative, and judicial branches must be preserved at all cost, because politicians can’t be trusted—especially if they’re corrupt. We need clear safeguarding measures, because it is all too easy for the executive branch to meddle in judicial matters. The executive branch already has a powerful tool to overturn judicial decisions: the presidential pardon, which has been manipulated time and time again by politicians from all sides.

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Part 2: Yes, Convicted Politicians SHOULD Be Allowed to Run for Office.

Of the People, by the People, for the People

A society that bars convicted politicians from running undermines separation of powers. When judges can disqualify presidential candidates, the judicial branch gains influence over the executive. Ineligibility sentences should not exist in the first place. Let the people choose their representatives! The people will issue the sentence through their vote. Besides, how about we start delivering sentences that fit the severity of the crime? Sarkozy, who was found guilty of three different crimes8, will have spent only three weeks behind bars in his entire life. This is very ironic considering he’s made a career off of being tough on crime9.

Protecting the Judicial Branch from Corruption

Corruption happens; justice isn’t immune to it. Independence between the judicial and the executive is fragile. To make matters worse, ineligibility sentences provide a particular incentive for corrupting judges.

At the macro level, politicians can wage lawfare against their opponents in the hope that they become ineligible. If, however, we remove ineligibility from the equation, we reduce incentives to corrupt judges for political gains.

At the micro level, humans carry their biases to the court—judges are never impartial10. Therefore, giving a handful of them the power to influence elections hardly seems like a good idea. We need a multilevel system of checks and balances. The obvious solution is to not allow the judicial branch to meddle in political matters. In other words, we must let convicted politicians run for office if they wish to do so.

To illustrate this, let’s draw a parallel with America’s second amendment. Gun advocates argue that while the government was designed to serve the people, the Second Amendment keeps it in check by allowing citizens to bear arms against the perpetual threat of tyrannical takeover. Similarly, the judicial branch was designed to enforce the laws emanating from the people11, but there is a perpetual risk that corruption leads politicians to be framed and prevented from running for office. In that regard, the vote of the people constrains the judicial branch; it reduces the influence of judges on elections12.

People themselves, on a case-by-case basis, weigh in on the political consequences of a politician’s crimes. Not allowing judges to order ineligibility puts the power back where it belongs: in the people’s hands. The people can, de facto, enforce ineligibility by not electing the corrupt politician.

Ineligibility Sentences Reinforce Conspiracy and Anti-establishment Narratives.

Politicians have an almost universal defense when facing the consequences of their behavior13. Are you in trouble? Blame it on some grand scheme constructed by your political opponents to undermine the will of the people. It works whether or not ineligibility is on the line. However, ineligibility sentences are much easier to leverage; the narrative is simple “our opponents have corrupted the establishment. Now that they are losing the democratic battle, they wage a judicial war, to undermine the will of the people”. The solution to such narrative is simple: allowing convicted politicians to run for office, and letting the people decide who they deem fit to represent them.

Circling back to Marine Le Pen’s case, the ineligibility sentence is counter productive. Remember, she was found guilty, and filed the appeal, but the judge ordered (he didn’t have to) the immediate enforcement of the sentence, potentially preventing her from running again14. In the mind of a conspiracy theorist, this is a blatant case of lawfare. Since the establishment and the mainstream media have a track record of vilifying Le Pen’s party, the narrative makes sense. Not only is Le Pen innocent, but the judge went out of his way to prevent her from becoming president!

Conclusion

Our democracies are precious; protecting their integrity from human nature is a never ending fight. Dealing with convicted politicians is one of those fights. Can we trust the judicial branch to render a fair and just verdict without being influenced by political considerations? Should we leave it to the people to decide whether or not a politician should hold office again? How resistant to corruption are our institutions?

Far too often in politics, people are right for the wrong reasons. Still, on this issue, both sides present robust arguments, which I hope to have laid out adequately. Ultimately, it’s a matter of trade-offs.

So tell me, which case do you find the most compelling? Have I overlooked any major arguments? Let me know in the comments!

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I am fairly new to the study of ethics. While I’ve only begun to scratch the surface, it is time for me to formalize my position into a coherent framework. Commenting on people’s moral frameworks without having attempted to produce one myself feels increasingly hypocritical—like a childless 45-year-old man telling people how to properly raise their children.

In moral philosophy, every theory has its strengths and weaknesses, making it much easier to critique someone’s position than to defend one’s own. Ultimately, it should be about internal coherence and what best accounts for the data.

The degree of rigor I wish to uphold will not only allow me to understand where I currently stand, but also expose the possible incoherences I might have overlooked. I always count on readers to point out any theoretical flaw. They seem to take such pleasure out of it—it’s a favor I’m happy to extend.

This article series is divided into two parts: this first segment is dedicated to metaethics, while the second will cover normative ethics.

Let’s explore these ideas!

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Disclaimers:

• My metaethical views are close to emotivism. This piece won’t be a strict defense of the theory ( has already done it better than I ever could).

• Here, I am formalizing my metaethics; I am allowed to cherry pick as long as I remain coherent.

• For the sake of brevity, I will not justify moral anti-realism; I find my transition towards emotivism more interesting.

Disclaimer Ultra Pro Plus

For those of you who’ve read some of my work, you know my aversion to wishful thinking. As you read this, keep in mind that I am laying out what I find to be the most plausible metaethical theory; I am not here to assume something because I wish it to be true. I might not be satisfied with the conclusions I reach, nor with their implications, but that is irrelevant to the validity of my framework.

My Introduction to Ethics

The first philosophy book I read as an adult was The Moral Landscape. Everyone seems to hate it, but everyone is wrong—there is value to be drawn out of the book, no matter one’s metaethics1. I was immediately convinced by Sam Harris’ objectivist thesis—that we can acquire moral knowledge through science, and that there are good ways and bad ways to answer moral questions.

About two years later, a conversation between Alex O’Connor (before he became an emotivist) and Rationality Rules made me realize I had taken Sam’s objectivist assumptions for granted.

As an occasional consumer of O’Connor’s podcasts, I gained a rudimentary understanding of emotivism’s core claims. However, Alex’s videos never really addressed my numerous objections. At this point, I was a moral anti-realist, leaning nihilist.

A few months ago, I read The Fundamentals of Ethics, by Russ Shafer-Landau. The book covers the main theories in both normative ethics and metaethics. I easily understood the limitations of consequentialism, Kantian ethics, and ethical subjectivism, but I struggled to formulate a clear objection to emotivism. Now, I’m human, and have my own biases. I did not like emotivism, and did not want to be convinced. As the stubborn, self-deluded ape that I am, I moved on, persuaded that emotivism was wrong, telling myself that there must be more to saying “murder is wrong” than mere emotion.

This feels like an appropriate moment to explain my initial aversion to emotivism. Emotivism sounds utterly dismissive. It claims that none of us really know what we mean when we use moral language. It comes across as patronizing, which certainly hinders its popularity.

Now, obviously, something changed my mind. Or, more precisely, someone. wrote a note about emotivism, to which I responded with my objections. He walked me through his work, and we discussed at length as he addressed my remaining objections. After further deliberation, the penny dropped: I was convinced. I immediately called my mom and said, “Mom, I think I’m an emotivist!”, to which she said “Yay!”, or, rather, “oui oui” (she’s French)2.

Now that we’ve contextualized my transition to emotivism, I will address the main misconceptions about the theory. I will then explain why it provides such a robust account for moral language. Finally, I will lay out my own analysis of metaethics, built upon emotivism and expressivism.

What Emotivism Is, and What It Is Not

The biggest hurdle in understanding emotivism is moving past the common misconceptions. It is very tempting to straw-man the position—I would know, I have done it—and completely miss the theory’s point.

First, here is where emotivism stands within metaethics (overview diagram below):

Anti-realism: there is no such thing as objective morality (i.e. morality is not stance-independent).

Non-cognitivism: moral statements are not truth-apt, meaning they are not the kind of thing that can be true or false; they do not aim to describe facts about the world.

Expressivism: moral statements are personal expressions of attitudes, they hold no intrinsic moral properties, but are used to state one’s attitude. The nature of these attitudes can differ: emotions, commands, prescriptions, endorsements.

Emotivism: branch of expressivism3 positing that moral language is used to express one’s emotive moral stance. In other words, moral statements are by nature expressions of emotions. This makes emotivism a descriptive theory of language.

To make this less dense, let's look at an example: what does it mean to say “Murder is wrong” under emotivism4?

1. Emotivism, as non-cognitivist theory claims that this proposition is not truth-apt; it is neither true nor false. In other words, saying “murder is wrong” does not appeal to any external property of “wrongness”5. Consider it this way: you are on vacation, sitting on a beach, ready to build a majestic sandcastle, when your partner asks if you remembered to bring sunscreen, like she asked you to. You answer “yes, it’s in my bag”6. This proposition is either true or false; the sunscreen is either in your bag, or it’s not. Notice how the statement “it’s in my bag” is falsifiable; if you open the bag you’ll immediately know whether you’ll sleep on the couch tonight. On the other hand, saying “murder is wrong” is unfalsifiable7 without assuming properties in the world that aren’t there (according to emotivism). Where is this “wrongness” that everyone talks about? Emotivism claims that it doesn’t exist.

2. Emotivism posits that moral statements are expressions of attitudes. Saying murder is wrong amounts to expressing one’s attitude towards murder. It is no different from saying “boo murder”, or “👎murder”.

   Importantly, “I don’t like murder” differs in its nature from “murder is wrong”. The two statements are distinct. The former is truth-apt, as it can be true or false. For instance, one could lie about not liking murder. However, the latter expresses one’s attitude towards murder; the statement itself is the expression of one’s emotion (something like “ugh murder”).

   Imagine meeting a friend for coffee, and you walk in to find him crying. Perplexed, you ask what's wrong, and he tells you: “I am sad.” This statement is either true or false; your friend could be telling the truth, or he could be crying for other reasons. In our analogy, this report corresponds to stating, “I don’t like murder.” Now, what is the equivalent of “Murder is wrong”? Under emotivism, that would be the very act of crying8 . Just like the sob doesn’t state the sadness, but is the very expression of it, “Murder is wrong” doesn’t state the moral belief; it expresses it.

To summarize, moral propositions are less statements than they are expressions. When I say “stealing is wrong”, it is a way for me to signal my attitude towards stealing, it is no different than saying “eww stealing”.

Misconceptions

When I first encountered emotivism, I held numerous misconceptions that prevented me from appreciating, and ultimately adopting the theory. Let’s go over some of them.

What’s the point?

Emotivism does nothing more than explain the function of moral language. It is by no means prescriptive. Unlike other meta-ethical theories, emotivism doesn’t prescribe specific normative frameworks. Some find it reductive—I find it flexible. Ultimately, the theory is designed to explain moral discourse, not provide comfort. Besides, there is a silver lining. As I’ll argue in the second part of this series, non-cognitivism is compatible with specific normative ethical frameworks.

What about Hitler?

We can't do ethics without mentioning Big H.

It is often argued that under emotivism, Hitler’s actions are impossible to condemn. This is false on several levels.

If emotivism is true, there is no such thing as an intrinsic property of right and wrong, so it is impossible to refer to them. Hence, Hitler’s actions were neither objectively right nor objectively wrong—suggesting otherwise is a category error, like asking if a painting is salty. “Right” and “wrong” are expressions of attitudes, not objective properties of the world. Remember, the plausibility of a theory is not contingent on how it makes us feel. That there is no universal, metaphysical, stance-independent standard of “good” might be unfortunate, but it doesn’t make it any more true—pretending otherwise is wishful thinking at best.

Rather than objectively condemning Hitler’s actions, emotivists express their attitude. How? Just like everyone else: by saying Hitler’s actions were wrong. Critics are fond of suggesting emotivists aren’t allowed to use words like “right,” “wrong,” “good” or “bad,” and are forever condemned to use “boo” and “yay”. This is preposterous. Emotivism analyzes moral language—it is a descriptive theory, not a prescriptive one.

Where I stand

This piece is a formalization of my metaethics. As I consider myself an emotivist, it seemed appropriate to introduce the theory. However, I am only an emotivist insofar as my view broadly aligns with the theory’s main themes. I am solely required to provide a coherent theory of metaethics—I must defend emotivism strictly to the extent that it aligns with my framework.

In this section, I will go beyond emotivism. I will argue that emotions are a necessary condition for moral beliefs, even if those beliefs are multi-dimensional, hence overcoming emotivism’s main flaws: moral reasoning and moral disagreement.9

The Construction of Moral Beliefs

Our moral beliefs have an inherent emotional dimension. Without emotion, a moral belief is not completely formed—it is a proto-belief. Importantly, emotion is not the sole component of a moral belief—it is merely a necessary condition.

More often than not, emotion comes before rationalization. This is particularly striking when addressing moral dilemmas; we have a first-order reaction that we then rationalize, in a shallow attempt to maintain a hint of coherence with whichever ethical tradition we happen to endorse.

Consider Lilly, who encounters the trolley problem for the first time10. The classic variation sounds obvious: Lilly pulls the lever. But variations suddenly make matters more interesting. The more variations are presented to her, the harder staying consistent becomes. Before long, Lilly is asked whether she would push a fat man on the tracks to save five people. She recoils: “that’s wrong!”. Now, she needs to justify her emotional response. She analyzes the differences between pulling the lever and pushing the fat man, thereby rationalizing her moral belief. Right then and there, Lilly encapsulates her moral belief with rational, cognitive elements. Still, the primary, necessary element of her conviction remains emotion. Claiming to follow a rational ethical framework that happens to match our emotional response to a moral dilemma is putting the cart before the horse while pretending we don’t.

Changing One’s Moral Belief

If emotion is a necessary condition for holding a moral belief, things get interesting when we switch stances. Sometimes, the emotional element catalyzes this change of heart, which we then rationalize by realigning the cognitive elements. However, in some cases, the process of changing one’s moral belief is triggered by a change of mind. In such cases, I argue that we temporarily hold a moral proto-belief until the emotional element transitions from one moral stance to another. This emotional switch is similar to the “click” we have when we become convinced of something (some say that the penny drops). Without the click, the moral belief cannot be fully actualized. Imagine having a conversation with a friend who tries to convince you to grab a beer. You initially don’t want to, despite his numerous arguments. But then, he reminds you that it’s Tuesday, and Tuesday is Champions League day! As your brain processes the information, a light switches on, the penny drops, something clicks, and you get a dopamine rush: you are convinced.

Similarly, you can rationally be convinced in favor of a moral belief, but until the penny of emotional vindication drops, the moral belief cannot be said to be fully formed. In other words, you hold moral belief A, by virtue of its emotional resonance. When that resonance shifts to position B, the latter is elevated from a mere proto-belief to a fully actualized moral conviction.

Example: Veganism

I am French. Nothing else needs to be said. Hell, I’ll say it regardless. Most of French cuisine (from celebratory mets to everyday dishes) contains animal products. We have cheese (raclette, tartiflette, comté, fondue savoyarde, tartiflette), saucisson, boeuf bourguignon, fondue bourguignonne, etc. Having grown up as a meat-eater, my moral belief used to be in favor of eating meat—both emotionally and rationally.

As veganism became a mainstream topic, I was exposed to compelling arguments and my views have changed. Today, I am convinced that eating meat is wrong. Unfortunately, the emotional element hasn’t shifted, and is still set on “eating meat”. In other words, I do not feel bad when I eat meat, even if, rationally, I think it is immoral. Therefore, the most accurate description of my stance is that I hold a moral proto-belief. I do not think this is a particularly controversial way of looking at it. What does holding a moral belief generally entail? It drives behavior, triggers emotional reactions such as outrage, prompts moral prescriptions, etc. In my case, my attitude towards veganism doesn’t involve such reactions. Hence, I can, at best, be said to be holding a moral proto-belief in favor of veganism.

Expressivism vs Emotivism

Now, the previous section should be a fair indicator of why I am an emotivist; there is an inherent emotional dimension to every moral belief. However, I do not claim that moral beliefs are unidimensional. If emotion is a necessary condition for moral beliefs, it is by no means the only element. Once again, this piece is about formalizing my own metaethics, as opposed to defending emotivism.

Still, calling myself an emotivist seems appropriate, for the reasons I have laid out above, though I am comfortable with people calling me an expressivist.

Expressivists posit that moral statements express a complex set of attitudes that extend beyond emotions. Saying “stealing is wrong” might convey disapproval, prescriptive attitudes, commitment to a behavioral ideal, or a combination of all of those things.

Under emotivism, “stealing is wrong” solely expresses one’s emotional attitude towards stealing. Alternatively, expressivists argue that there is more to it than emotions. The utterance might be expressing one’s personal commitment not to steal, or a form of prescription that people should not steal.

Now, I can already imagine some of you telling me I am trying to eat the cake and have it too. How can I be an emotivist if there is more to moral statements than emotion?

As stated previously, moral beliefs are constructed upon emotion before being rationalized. It isn’t a terribly new idea—confirmation bias is similar in this regard. Therefore, I argue that once a moral belief is formed, it may express more than emotion. For instance, the proposition “stealing is wrong” qualifies as a moral belief insofar as it expresses “boo stealing”, besides expressing additional attitudes. Emotivism is an apt label because emotion is a necessary, non-exclusive property of moral belief. Crucially, I do not suggest that normative attitudes expressed in moral statements are grounded in anything objective.

Conclusion

My metaethics is grounded in the primary conclusions of emotivism and expressivism, yet it attempts to break free of some of their limitations. I hope to have laid out a robust case for a non-cognitivist view of metaethics, based on the premise that moral beliefs hold an inherent emotional element.

The journey through ethics is a never-ending one. This piece is a humble first attempt at formalizing my metaethics—a moment to reflect on the ground so far covered, a glimpse of what lies ahead.

I do not doubt that this piece will invite various objections. I am looking forward to exploring them, as they will help me strengthen this framework and better understand where it might fall short.

What’s next?

Now, some of you might wonder, especially my moral realist friends, what’s next? What do we do with that? Metaethics are all well and good, but what about normative ethics? What does non-cognitivism entail? What’s it all mean? What’s the point?

Well, luckily, part two will be dedicated to arguing that some normative frameworks are compatible with non-cognitivism!

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For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.—Carl Sagan in The Demon Haunted World.

We humans have a pernicious tendency to see the world as we wish it to be, rather than seeing it as it really is. We have evolved to find patterns, animated by a profound drive for acquiring knowledge. Exploring the unknown is so deeply ingrained in us that it fuels our wildest fantasies. Of all the possible explanations for the nature of reality, we tend to prefer those that provide comfort.

Much remains for us to discover. Until we solve the mystery of reality, we remain free to let our imagination fill the gaps in our endless quest for understanding.

Pushing the boundaries of knowledge is a fascinating endeavor, leading to groundbreaking discoveries. Similarly, it is imperative to question our current understanding of reality. To a degree, we explore the unknown because it frightens us. In this regard, our fear of death explains our countless theories on the afterlife. However, we need to be wary of our own biases. Seeking reassurance, we construct theories on reality, filling the gaps with comforting speculation, which we then treat as fact. This piece is a plea to all of us: to persevere in our exploration of reality without ever losing sight of our purpose. Dreams are maps, yet maps have conceptual boundaries. Let’s make it a habit to reserve judgement and base our beliefs on evidence rather than wishful thinking.

At this point, it seems important to clarify a few things:

• Acknowledging our ignorance isn’t a call for widespread apathy. This piece argues that we should consciously understand where knowledge ends and speculation begins. It doesn’t mean we should suspend our inquiries, but rather recognize them for what they are: ideas, theories, intuitions, speculations.

• Our study of the universe has shown, time and time again, that reality is complex and often counter-intuitive. “God doesn’t play with dice,” you say? Well, as it turns out, He does! Although our wildest theories about the afterlife, the nature of reality, or the origin of life might very well be true, truth claims must be substantiated. In other words, even if an unsubstantiated theory is factually correct, its author is right for the wrong reasons.

• While truth claims must be substantiated, the evidence itself—or our interpretation of it—can be flawed. We should unequivocally question everything, especially our intuitions. This article isn’t an ode to Scientism; I concede that science can only take us as far as the limits of our human condition, a reality which physicalists, in particular, would be well advised to recognize.

• This piece touches on religion, which has other purposes than describing reality. Some believers are dedicated to spirituality—they use religion as a framework for venturing into the realm of ideas. Besides, atheists have their own versions of proto-religions1 and are not exempt from the points made here2.

In this article, we will explore the main areas where our quest for comfort leads us to confuse speculation with truth. Throughout the piece, I will argue that while we can absolutely study different theories of reality, we must exercize epistemic humility and learn when to simply say, "I don't know, but here is what seems plausible to me." Let's explore these ideas.

A tendency to detect agency in nature likely supplies the cognitive template supporting belief in supernatural agents transcending the usual limitations of nature.—Robert Trivers

The God of the Gaps

Throughout history, human societies have addressed the limits of their knowledge in a very unique way. The maxim goes like this: “If you can’t explain something, call it God’s design”. Today, one can easily regard the ancient Greek belief that lightning is a manifestation of Zeus’ wrath as a bit silly. In fact, numerous religions distance themselves from these ancient myths. Their Holy Books, they say, have gotten it right multiple times! Still, they conveniently overlook what these very books got wrong.

As our (apparent) understanding of the world progresses, the God of the gaps shrinks. Having said that, the fallacy will never disappear. We, mere mortals, will (fortunately) never solve all the mysteries of reality3. Despite the modern man’s contempt for the medieval peasant blaming the plague on heretics, the God of the gaps fallacy remains rooted in our societies—albeit in more insidious ways.

In my corner of the world, relatively few people still attribute the complexity of life on earth to God’s design. Unfortunately, this isn’t true everywhere4. Some form of the God of the gaps persists, even among religious individuals who accept evolution by natural selection. While the God of the gaps shrunk as science advanced5 —and explained the complexity of life forms—a mystery remains: how did life begin? Similarly, while evidence suggests a link between consciousness and brain activity, correlation isn’t causation; how and why consciousness arose is, to this day, beyond our grasp. These are fascinating areas of exploration—in this regard, religious people are relentless in their quest for understanding. Although I disagree with their conclusion, they are at least engaging with these questions. This commands respect and admiration.6

The way in which we approach the unknown is crucial. The question of free will, the origin of life7, and the nature of consciousness should be analyzed both scientifically and philosophically. In doing so, we have no choice but to speculate, to devise theories and then critically confront them with reality. These suppositions are more or less simplistic, and more or less intuitive. But their simplicity says nothing about their veracity: our most counter-intuitive theory might ultimately be correct. For instance, God could be the correct explanation for the origin of life. It is also possible—and highly likely—that we can never find sufficient evidence for it. Hence, until we substantiate such theories, we have to suspend judgment, and maintain their status as beliefs, as opposed to truth claims. This by no means invalidates religion; belief guides us and we are free to reap the benefits of believing, without having to argue for a truth claim that shouldn’t be one.

Atheism and Agnosticism

Making truth claims on matters that humans aren’t remotely close to solving isn’t unique to religious people. Atheists are guilty of it both on religious and non-religious topics. However, most people who call themselves “Atheists” aren’t really atheists. Hard atheists believe8 that God doesn’t exist. This stance is as problematic as the claims we’ve covered in the previous section.

In reality, many “atheists” are agnostics. They reserve judgment on the existence of God, because they weren’t provided enough evidence to be convinced. Since the burden of proof rests on the religious, agnostics can’t prove that God doesn’t exist, any more than the religious can refute—to paraphrase Bertrand Russell’s analogy—the existence of a celestial teapot between the Earth and Mars.

“I prefer to say that I know I’m agnostic, but believe in atheism.”—

Spirituality

Spirituality offers its fair share of benefits. In fact, people’s bond to their religion has less to do with the preposterous truth claims than the spiritual journey they experience.

Contempt is a major pitfall that many an atheist falls into. In their eyes, anyone who believes in God is no more intellectually sophisticated than a 14th-century peasant. This is utterly wrong, although it is a common phase of the atheist journey.

Still, religious people make truth claims without evidence, and that’s an issue. Pursuing spirituality within religion can be extremely fulfilling. Exploring metaphysics might lead to incredible discoveries. Religion might even be correct about everything: what happens after death, the mystery of consciousness and even the creation of the Universe. However, without evidence to substantiate these beliefs, religion is stuck at the same level as everyone: left with no choice but to speculate. From a spiritual perspective, there is profound value in exploring the mysteries of reality. The responsible path, I argue, is by first embracing our ignorance, and then grounding our speculations in facts, without confusing the resulting beliefs with the foundation they are built upon.

From Physics to Metaphysics

Some metaphysical theories are more accessible than others, but that doesn’t make them any less plausible. Physicalists often fall for this trap. They tend to monopolize science, thereby equating physics to metaphysics.

I’ve been guilty of this—I used to approach uncommon theories with some degree of prejudice. When I first read the works of and 9, my gut reaction was one I am not very proud of: “they are delusional”. I’m happy to have persevered in exploring their philosophies, and now admire their journey.

Physicalists do not have it all figured out. “The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you” is a saying they employ against religious people who use God to solve their metaphysical problems. Unfortunately for them, they seek order and reassurance too. Physicalism entails that we’ve essentially solved a significant portion of reality’s puzzle; the universe suddenly makes a lot of sense, because everything is physical—and that’s pretty damn convenient. Other theories, however, are (sometimes) more cautious. They accept that the universe might seem determined, but explore other explanations we might have overlooked, or even some that we may never be able to prove.

The core disagreement revolves around the leap required to bridge physics and metaphysics. Physicalists think this leap can be solved by physics; but that’s a leap in itself! We have yet to solve certain mysteries, such as how consciousness emerges from non-conscious particles. Suggesting that the answer is physical is a leap of faith like any other. Physicalists might think it is the most plausible one—and frankly, I agree—but it doesn’t make it any more true.

The truth of a theory does not rely on it’s plausibility, accessibility or complexity. Hence, we should explore all paths, even those that seem incongruous at first glance—exploring them at a deeper level might be more compelling. Once again, the universe is under no obligation to make sense to us, so why would it have to be a plain, boring, physicalist one?

Science is all about testing theories. For instance, we may one day develop the ability to test the veracity of pansychism10. If pansychism didn’t exist as a theory, we would never be able to test it. However, until then, pansychism remains a theory, a mere speculation about the nature of the universe. Some may believe in panpsychism for various reasons—either as the logical conclusion of their own inquiry, or because it offers psychological comfort11.

One shouldn’t underestimate the value in exploring the unknown other than with a materialistic worldview. This does not change the fact that the resulting truth claims must be substantiated. Both physicalists and non-physicalists are tempted to claim they have it all figured out, but the former, by hiding behind science, often gets away with it more than they should. Ultimately, we all make the leap from physics to metaphysics. Going from “I don’t know”, to “if I had to bet” is undeniably exciting. Our metaphysics doesn’t have all the answers, but that’s not the point. What matters is our internal coherence, and the implicit acknowledgement of our ignorance, pushing us to humbly explore the unknown.

All of us should embrace epistemic humility, no matter our metaphysics.

My friend , whose metaphysics are vastly different from mine, wrote a brilliant piece on this topic. I highly encourage you to read it. Here’s an excerpt:

“Our theories, philosophical or otherwise, are more speculation and conjecture than solid fact. This ought to lead us to embrace a healthy level of intellectual humility. We ought to be rather agnostic about all of our beliefs, and whilst we may want to defend our ideas vigorously, we should hold to things lightly.”

We’ll Never Know, and That’s Okay

Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom.12 —Arthur Schopenhauer.

Some things will forever be beyond our grasp. We should feel grateful. We started off with a very limited ability to understand the world. We essentially began as dumb naked apes. Still, we went from sticks and stones to the Knicks and the Rolling Stones, and that’s pretty damn cool. However, for all our discoveries, we are bound by the laws of physics—and/or the will of God. Some truths may forever evade us; faced with this reality, we have two options:

• we can accept this limitation but keep pushing the boundaries of our understanding, developing theories while refraining from making unsubstantiated truth claims.

  or

• we can come up with theories that we accept as true because they make us feel good.

To appreciate how limited we are by the laws of physics, such as our location (both spatial and temporal) in the universe, consider two scenarios:

The Big Rip

As you may know, the universe is expanding at an increasing rat13. Astrophysicists have a few theories about how our universe will end; some hypothesize that since the space between matter perpetually increases, all celestial bodies will wander away from each other. Thus, the universe would die as a gloomy, cold place. Now, imagine living in a time where the big drag has already started. Your civilization thrives in the middle of a Milky Way, lost in a seemingly infinite void. You are so far from everything that you think your galaxy is all there is14. Of course, under this scenario, such a theory would be wrong, but you would have no way to know.

Our ability to understand the universe is influenced by spatio-temporal variables. But there is more: we are also limited by our condition as humans. Such is life. Our experience of reality is constrained by the performance of our brain; we are limited by how accurately we can perceive or comprehend aspects of reality. Therefore, we must remain humble, grateful for what we already know15, and embrace our limitations.

A Solar System Full of Life

Now, imagine a solar system where two planets welcome life. Eventually, fueled by the progress of science, civilizations from both these planets meet. Religion would most certainly be reshaped by the encounter. We would see the universe under a different light. Some religions would consider their own race as superior, while others would treat the newly found species as God. This thought experiment highlights the human urge to make sense of the world around ourselves. We tend to wrap our imagined understanding of reality around our own biases, while the environment in which we’ve evolved shapes who we are.

Currently, the greatest mysteries still left to solve include the origin of the universe, the origin of life, and the nature of consciousness. We should invest time and energy to advance our understanding of these topics, but we should remain humble. We may never have all the answers, and might forever have to live with our beliefs and speculations. And that’s okay!

Conclusion

We’ve evolved an insatiable sense of curiosity and wonder. The structure of our desires pushes us to look for answers. We’ve also evolved to adapt, should those answers never come. We draw our own conclusions, which we then consider true, because they make us feel good, or because it fits in whatever worldview we’ve constructed.

Some truths will forever be beyond our grasp; we should embrace that. It is crucial to explore the mysteries of reality while remaining humble about our limitations in our ability to uncover them.

We’ve come a long way, and we might not be far from the end of the road. What’s ahead, God only knows16, so let’s leave certainty up to Him, and tread lightly in our own path—a path of curiosity, exploration, devoid of wishful thinking, and embracing our uncertainties.

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Few things demand greater intellectual effort than fundamentally changing one’s worldview. So our mind has developed a powerful alternative: self-deception and wishful thinking. We often put the cart before the horse: we take what we think—or wish—is true and build a theoretical framework around it. Confirmation bias, in this light, is less an error and more the inevitable execution of wishful thinking.

What motivated me to write this piece is a conversation1 between Craig Biddle and Alex O’Connor, discussing free will. I believe there are convincing ways to defend the existence of free will and objective moral truths. However, there are also dubious ways to argue these positions, and being right for the wrong reasons is hardly a consolation2.

In my view, the nature of Craig’s arguments suggests that he fell prey to a classic case of wishful thinking: describing how one wishes the world was, rather than figuring out how the world actually is.

In this article, I will address the contents of Craig’s arguments, articulating why, in my view, they do not prove we have free will3. In addition, I will analyze how the structure of his defense may reflect the kind of confirmation bias Galbraith described—building a case for a belief one already holds.

Disclaimer

• This post will cover my understanding of Craig’s arguments. I will try to characterize them as faithfully as I can.

• For some reason, Craig receives quite a lot of spiteful comments under his videos. I don’t quite understand it. He is smart, open-minded, and brave enough to tackle highly complex topics. This alone should be enough to command more respect from the people who disagree with him.

• The main claim of this post is quite tricky. I do not wish to personally attack Craig, and admit that saying he is building a case for a belief he already holds can be considered an ad hominem attack; this is not my intention. In addition, I do not believe he is doing it consciously and consider him a good faith thinker.

• I personally think we do not have free will, but the point of this post is not to make my case. There certainly are robust arguments in favor of free will, but Craig’s framework is not one of them, in my opinion.

Let’s begin!

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The pitfall of Semantics

Semantics is a crucial tool in philosophy. Defining terms at the start of a discussion is necessary for both parties to understand each other. Unfortunately, semantics can be weaponized.

A common tactic consists in altering the meaning of a term, in order to have an easier time defending one’s case. For example, when debating abortion, a pro-choicer might shift the conversation to extreme cases, such as rape, even if they support abortion in all other cases. Similarly, defending euthanasia for terminally ill patients is much easier than arguing the right to suicide for perfectly healthy people. Likewise, the case for theism is all the more robust if God is not a bearded man in the sky. Jordan Peterson is known for using this tactic. “What is God? Well, everything!” Peterson has mastered this art to such a degree that he even argues atheists believe in God. Brilliant!

Redefining Free Will

Forgive my digression. Let’s now turn to Craig’s case in support of free will. In my view, Craig employs a tactic similar to Peterson’s. He completely redefines free will, stripping the term of its essence, until it plainly refers to will itself. Obviously, no one denies that we have a will.

During their discussion, Alex O’Connor defined free will as the ability to have acted differently. This definition fits with what most people mean by free will. Conversely, Craig defines it as “the choice to focus your mind or not; to go by reason, or not; to activate your mind, or not”. This is definitely not how free will is commonly understood. Free will is so widely discussed precisely because it refers to our ability to make our own choices. If free will is not the freedom to make our own choices, but merely the choice to “activate our mind”, then there is no debate to be had in the first place.

Furthermore, the argument against free will doesn’t contradict our rationality. No one denies that we are able to think and “activate” our mind. People like Alex O’Connor argue that determinism happens a step before we make our choices and activate our mind. When Craig says free will is “the choice to go by reason, or not”, he must demonstrate that this choice is made freely.

Craig has no choice but to redefine the term, because not doing so would result in a non sequitur:

1. Free will is the ability to freely make our own choices.

2. We have the ability to choose to activate our mind.

3. Therefore, we have free will.

This argument is clearly invalid. When Craig defines free will as our ability to choose to activate our mind, it doesn’t follow that our choice to do so is made freely. Presumably, the argument can only hold if free will itself is defined as the second premise: the ability to choose to active one’s mind.

The Illusion of Free Will

According to Craig, free will is self-evident, it can be proven by introspection alone. How fitting. In fact, this is a direct implication of his (altered) definition.

1. Free will is the ability to activate our rationality.

2. We have the ability to activate our rationality.

3. Therefore, we have free will.

The argument is valid, although as previously discussed, there is an issue with premise 1. Generally, the existence of free will entails that we are responsible for our choices. Craig’s clever reframing of free will allows him to establish it by definition. If he is right, then we are indeed responsible for our actions. I believe he structured his argument specifically to confirm this idea. However, even if we assume premise 1 is true, we run into other problems.

Assuming free will means choosing to activate our mind, it does not follow that we freely choose to do so. Craig’s version of free will may exist, but it doesn’t address any of the challenges faced by the broader concept. Remember, Craig thinks he doesn’t need to provide further proof since free will is self-evident and can be proven through introspection alone. This clearly illustrates why free will is often described as an illusion—upon introspection, it seems as though we are the sole agent of our choices and thoughts.

We are not in control: The Political Compass

Even if free will simply referred to the ability to activate one’s mind, we would nevertheless not be in control of the choices we make. I will not go over all the arguments against free will, but allow me to simply illustrate my point with an example: the political compass test.

Most of us have taken one of these tests before; if not the political compass, a similar test about our personality, or our compatibility with our future team (for those unlucky enough to work in corporate).

The political compass test is designed to determine one’s place on the political spectrum.

The test has 62 propositions that a user must address in one of four ways: strongly disagree, disagree, agree, or strongly agree. Here is an example:

Now, if we follow Craig’s framework, free will is the ability to use reason and activate our judgement. Surely then, our rationality cannot possibly lead to different choices between two tests. The difficulty of the political tests lies in some propositions being quite unclear and in there being no “neutral” option. We must therefore commit to one side or the other. However, since there are 62 questions, it is hard to remember our answer to all of them.

Imagine taking this test 10 times in a row, without any pause. If we were truly in control of our will, and could simply choose to activate reason, we would reach the same conclusions. From one test to another, our worldview doesn’t change, nor does our capacity to use or activate reason. However, I am willing to bet that the result one might get on the 10 tests will be ineluctably different. When we are on the fence, our choice can go one way or another, no matter how hard we think. We do not control on which side the coin will fall. In the case of a test, since we cannot possibly remember4 62 of our own answers, the coin will fall on either side, and there is no way to control it.

Based on this simple experiment, it becomes evident that Craig’s definition of free will encompasses rationality and will, but does not address or solve any criticism of free will. We are left with a new definition of free will, but remain with the same problems. What’s the point?

Authorship of Our Choices

According to determinists, our choices are caused by prior events. Craig, on the other hand, claims that choices are “unnecessitated and caused by individual agents”. In other words, we have free will insofar as it is in our nature to cause an action; our choice to do so is unnecessitated, i.e., free. In my opinion, this account is incomplete.

The choices we make are the result of thoughts arising in our consciousness. However, we have no control over these thoughts. We do not choose which thoughts occur and are therefore bound to make a choice within the confines of our consciousness. Free will is a strong illusion: we are the author of our choices but we do not control the thoughts and ideas at our disposal. Craig claims that introspection alone is enough to demonstrate free will. Let’s explore the limits of his framework using his own worldview.

When I decided to write this article, I found myself in need of a title. To find one, I activated my rationality (having very limited creativity). I ultimately settled on a title. I am the sole author of this choice, which was caused by my rational nature as a human being. However, I was hardly in control when I made that choice. Why did I settle on the idiom “putting the cart before the horse?” Well, it was the first thing that popped into my mind. Why? Not because I particularly happen to like that idiom. As it turns out, I had recently watched a video of Rationality Rules, where the idiom was used to explain how Michael Knowles placing theology on top of epistemology was pure nonsense. Obviously, I, myself, ultimately chose to include the idiom in my title—perhaps just to prove a point—but the options given to me by my consciousness were hardly in my control.

Similarly, when we “use” our rationality, we are limited to what arises in our consciousness, which we have no control over. We do not choose our next argument. We are forced to choose among the different arguments reaching our consciousness. Picture a debate you’ve had, and that painful feeling, hours after the fact, as you remember a perfect one-liner you had used in a similar situation. Unfortunately, this time, the thought didn’t arise, so you couldn’t make the right choices with what you had available.

Conclusion: Wishful Thinking is Powerful

Wishful thinking corrupts our mind. If free will is an illusion, our mind is its medium. Many of us feel a necessity to make sense of what it means to be a conscious agent. As such, we ineluctably find ourselves battling with the idea of free will. In doing so, some conclude that we do not have free will, while others are convinced, upon reflection, that we do. Interestingly, there are different ways to reach the latter conclusion.

We can either suspend judgment while studying the question with an open mind, or we can wish to prove we have free will5, and attempt to create a coherent framework around it6.

“I will look at any additional evidence to confirm the opinion to which I have already reached”—Robert Trivers, quoting a British Politician in The Folly of Fools.

The structure of Craig’s arguments, as we have seen, is entirely consistent with this second method. He has put the cart before the horse by assuming we have free will before proving it. His framework could be summarized as such: we have free will because it feels like we do. His reframing of free will as the mere ability to activate reason, his view on its introspective nature, and his rejection of external evidence all point to a single notion: that he might have built his view on the premise that free will should exist.7

Yearning for free will is a feeling most of us share. We want to be masters of our own fate, we want to take credit for our virtues, and blame others for their vices. This impulse evolved within us; our need for autonomy is our very nature.8

“Man needs independent wanting, whatever this independence may cost and whatever it may lead”— The man in Notes from Underground

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Did you know the Cosmos has a speed limit? In interstellar space, this limit is the speed of light. Here, on Earth, we abide by various laws, including our planet’s very own gravitational force, which keeps us firmly on the ground. Mother Earth cares for her children, and hugs them very tight.

But what if we wanted to emancipate?

We would have to move. Incredibly fast. For leaving Earth’s embrace is an ambitious endeavor. The speed required to break free from Earth’s gravitational field can be compared to a local speed limit: we call it escape velocity. It has widespread implications in physics and astronomy, furthering our understanding of the nature of black holes and allowing us to creatively send spacecraft beyond the realm of our solar system.

In this article, we will explore the physical concept of escape velocity, how it was formalized, and how creatively humans have applied it to understand the Cosmos.

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The Universal Law of Gravitation

The concept of escape velocity can best be explained with a thought experiment Newton constructed to illustrate his view on planetary motion. Newton is to physics what Darwin is to biology — it seems only fitting that we spend some time appreciating the work that led to the discovery of escape velocity. Let’s begin.

In the early 17th century, Johannes Kepler formalized the laws of planetary motion, describing the characteristics of the planets’ orbits around the Sun. These laws were descriptive, drawn from observation — and Kepler’s intellectual genius. However, a mystery remained: the underlying cause of planetary motion still eluded scientists. The answer — gravity — would be found decades later, in Newton’s Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica, where the Englishman formalized the universal law of gravitation.

Newton’s insight was the product of his attempt to explain the Moon’s orbit around the Earth. He hypothesized that an invisible force, emanating from the Earth, must be exerting a pulling force, thereby trapping its celestial neighbor in an endless whirl around it. Although his intuition was correct, Newton was far from satisfied. He expressed his frustration in a 1693 letter to Richard Bentley:

It is inconceivable, that inanimate brute matter should, without the mediation of something else, which is not material, operate upon and affect other matter without mutual contact…That gravity should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so that one body may act upon another at a distance, through a vacuum, without the mediation of anything else, by and through which their action and force may be conveyed from one to another, is to me so great an absurdity, that I believe no man who has in philosophical matters a competent faculty of thinking, can ever fall into it. Gravity must be caused by an agent, acting constantly according to certain laws; but whether this agent be material or immaterial, I have left to the consideration of my readers.

Since then, Einstein’s theory of general relativity unraveled the mystery: gravity is the manifestation of the curvature of spacetime.

Let’s now return to the law of universal gravitation. Remember, Newton’s endeavor revolved around explaining the planetary motion uncovered by Kepler. The law is referred to as universal because it was previously thought that objects on Earth’s surface and those in space were governed by unrelated forces. Conversely, Newton found that gravity universally applied to objects — from the apple falling from the tree to the Moon orbiting the Earth.

The force of gravity is expressed as follows:

Newton’s Cannonball Thought Experiment

An Illustration of Orbital Motion

Newton imagined his cannonball thought experiment to illustrate how gravity is the singular force that applies both on Earth and in the heavens.

Consider a cannon positioned at the top of a mountain. It can be fired at different speeds. We suppose here that the experiment takes place in a vacuum — there is no atmospheric drag. Newton argued that, under the influence of gravity, the trajectory of the cannonball would be drastically different depending on its velocity.

Note: if you want to experiment and see for yourself, you can try a simulation available here.

Red curves (low velocity): gravity pulls the cannonball back to the Earth, causing it to drop.

Green curve (medium velocity): the cannonball has reached a speed so high that gravity is not strong enough to pull it back to Earth. The cannonball therefore enters into orbit around Earth.

Here, the red trajectory is (almost) analogous to an apple falling from a tree, while the green trajectory has a similar pattern to the Moon’s orbit. Both objects are clearly influenced by the same force — gravity. Newton’s point is elegantly illustrated.

What about Escape Velocity?

Although Newton did not mention escape velocity in his thought experiment, it is a natural continuation of his intuition.

The blue curve on the diagram above illustrates a cannonball fired at such a high speed that it leaves Earth’s gravitational influence entirely. The escape velocity thus refers to the minimum speed an object must reach to escape the gravitational pull of a celestial body. Coming back to our speed limit analogy: on Earth, the speed limit is set at the speed of escape velocity. To stay within Earth’s gravitational influence, an object must not reach escape velocity.

Escape Velocity: Equation and Misconceptions

Escape velocity refers to the speed needed for an object to leave the gravitational influence of a primary body — typically a planet. To find the escape velocity we need the mass of the larger body, the gravitational constant (G), and the distance between the object and the planet’s center of mass.

Mathematically, this is expressed as:

Using this equation, we can work out Earth’s surface escape velocity:

On the surface of the Earth, an object must at least reach a speed of 11.2 km/s to break free of the planet’s gravitational pull.

Important Note

Before we move on, it is important to clarify a few points that were previously overlooked:

• The above examples disregard the influence of atmospheric drag, a significant variable in practice. Still, the above equation works very well in space.

• Gravity has a long reach. The gravitational pull of other celestial bodies — such as the Sun — has been overlooked.

The influence of a body’s mass on escape velocity cannot be overstated. The more massive a planet, the higher its escape velocity. This remains true even if its larger size means the distance to its center of mass from the surface is greater.

Initial Speed and Kinetic Energy

The most common misconception about escape velocity is to conclude it directly applies to human spacecraft, which is not strictly the case. Escape velocity applies to the initial speed of an unpowered object. In the case of spacecraft, continuous thrust is used to break free of Earth’s gravitational influence. Conversely, escape velocity assumes no additional thrust after the initial launch. It all comes down to a matter of energy.

Let’s introduce a new equation:

Kinetic Energy (KE) is the energy an object possesses due to its motion, and is directly related to its speed.

For our purposes, Potential Energy (PE) refers to the gravitational potential energy—the energy an object possesses due to its position within Earth’s gravitational field. Gravitational potential energy is negative. The farther the object from the Earth, the closer Potential Energy (PE) is to 0.

We therefore have:

To escape Earth’s gravitational pull, an object needs to have enough total mechanical energy to counter the (negative) Gravitational Potential Energy. In other words, it needs to have a null or positive total mechanical energy (E≥0).

Unpowered object:

As we have seen, an unpowered object must have a null or positive total mechanical energy to escape a celestial body. However, Kinetic Energy is its only means of doing so, because it has no engine to apply continuous thrust. Therefore, the speed corresponding to the Kinetic Energy must be equal or greater than the escape velocity. This is the only way it can achieve escape.

Powered spacecraft:

A powered spacecraft may achieve the required total mechanical energy in one of two ways:

1. Have enough Kinetic Energy (reaching the speed of escape velocity) to counter the negative Potential Energy (due to its position in Earth’s gravitational field).

2. Use the engine’s thrust to directly increase both Kinetic Energy and Potential Energy.

Initially, the spacecraft’s total mechanical energy (E) is negative because its negative Potential Energy outweighs its Kinetic Energy. Hence, the spacecraft cannot escape on its own. The work of its engine achieves two things:

• Increased Kinetic Energy (by making it go faster).

• Increased gravitational potential energy (making its negative PE value closer to zero because it is higher up and gravity’s pull is weaker).

Here, the work of the engine is twofold. The spacecraft does not rely solely on Kinetic Energy to escape. Therefore, it does not need to reach a speed of escape velocity because the engine’s work to increase the spacecraft’s Potential Energy (by gaining altitude), is enough to achieve a null or positive total mechanical energy (E).

Gravity Assist

Our Solar System explorations wouldn’t have been possible without our deep understanding of escape velocity and its implications. You may be familiar with the Voyager (1 & 2) spacecraft, the first two man-made objects to have left the solar system. They are responsible for much of our understanding of the outer solar system. Here, we will focus on Voyager 2, and the outstanding creativity of scientists and engineers who used their comprehension of escape velocity to accomplish a near-perfect mission.

Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are the ships that opened the Solar System for the human species, trailblazing a path for future generations…. These spacecraft have taught us about the wonder of our worlds, about the uniqueness and fragility of our own, about beginnings and end. — Carl Sagan in Pale Blue Dot.

Voyager 2 was launched in August 1977. Its odyssey included the explorations of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and some of their moons. In 2018, the probe left the solar system (the heliosphere) and entered interstellar space.

For more information on the Voyager odyssey, I highly suggest reading Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot.

The question one might legitimately be asking is, how does a tiny probe travel 18 billion kilometers (11 billion miles) in 41 years without infinite fuel? The answer is gravity assist.

“U.S. launch vehicles are these days too feeble to get such a spacecraft to Jupiter and beyond in only a few years by rocket propulsion alone. But if we’re clever […] there’s something else we can do. We can […] fly close to one world, and have its gravity fling us on to the next. A gravity assist, it’s called. It costs us almost nothing but ingenuity” — Carl Sagan in Pale Blue Dot

How Does Gravity Assist Work?

Here, we’ll use Voyager 2’s encounter with Jupiter as an example of how gravity assists a probe in gaining velocity. During the probe flyby, the gravity of the massive planet attracts it, diverting its trajectory and flinging it in another direction. In the process, it gains significant velocity. Here, it is important to avoid a major misconception: the gain in velocity is not strictly due to Jupiter’s gravity, but rather its velocity relative to the Sun. Let’s break down what happens from two different frames of reference: that of Jupiter and that of the Sun.

• From Jupiter’s frame of reference:

As Voyager 2 gets closer to Jupiter, it gains significant Kinetic Energy, which translates to speed. However, as it flies past the planet, gravity significantly slows the probe down, which loses the kinetic energy it gained on approach. Overall, from Jupiter’s frame, no net kinetic energy is exchanged between the two objects. The probe’s velocity relative to the planet has not changed. The only thing that happened was the change in direction.

If no net kinetic energy is transferred, what’s the point of the maneuver? A significant detail has so far been overlooked: the Sun’s influence. From Jupiter’s frame of reference, the planet does not move (by definition). However, what we are trying to achieve here is to get from Jupiter to Saturn, away from the Sun. We must therefore analyze the maneuver from the Sun’s frame of reference.

See for yourself the change in velocity.

• From the Sun’s frame of reference.

From the Sun’s frame of reference, Jupiter has a velocity. With the appropriate angle of approach, the spacecraft is redirected away from the Sun. In other words, because Jupiter orbits the Sun, it possesses significant orbital momentum. Voyager 2 utilizes the transfer of some of this momentum from Jupiter, which results in a gain of kinetic energy, thereby increasing the probe’s velocity.

The frame of reference changes everything:

The transfer of kinetic energy from Jupiter’s velocity relative to the Sun to Voyager 2 exerted a significant effect on the probe’s velocity. Conversely, the spacecraft had only a negligible influence on Jupiter’s orbit around the Sun, due to the substantial discrepancy between the two objects’ masses.

Each Voyager spacecraft picked up a velocity boost of nearly 40,000 miles [64,000 km] per hour from Jupiter’s gravity. Jupiter in turn was slowed down in its motion around the Sun. By how much? Five billion years from now, when our Sun becomes a swollen red giant, Jupiter will be one millimeter short of where it would have been had Voyager not flown by it in the late twentieth century. — Carl Sagan in Pale Blue Dot.

Overall, the Voyager 2 spacecraft used gravity assist during the flyby of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Amazingly, the Jupiter flyby was enough for the probe to achieve solar system escape velocity.

It must be noted, however, that the feasibility of this mission relied on a very lucky alignment of the orbits — one that occurs every 175 years.

Black Holes

So far, we have only covered escape velocity as a local speed limit: to maintain orbit, an object must not reach or exceed a certain speed. We will now consider an ultimate, universal speed limit: that of light. As far as we know, nothing in the universe travels faster than light.

Light’s speed is finite, it travels at around 300,000,000 m/s. By comparison the Sun’s surface escape velocity is only about 617,000 m/s. But “what does that have to do with black holes?” you may ask. As it turns out, the theoretical existence of black holes was initially considered a direct consequence of escape velocity and of the speed of light’s finite nature.

In the late 18th century, John Michell, a small-town English rector, studied escape velocity and the speed of light. He applied Newton’s understanding of gravity and came up with an interesting intuition. Consider a celestial body so massive that its surface escape velocity exceeds that of the speed of light. A century before Einstein’s theory of relativity, and almost 200 years before the first observation of a black hole, John Michell conceptualized their existence.

“If the semi-diameter of a sphere of the same density as the Sun in the proportion of five hundred to one, and by supposing light to be attracted by the same force in proportion to its [mass] with other bodies, all light emitted from such a body would be made to return towards it, by its own proper gravity.” — John Michell in a 1783 to Henry Cavendish

Michell’s intuition was brilliant. He even imagined that the only way for an observer to perceive a black hole would be through surrounding light, uncovering an entire region devoid of it. Quite impressive, considering what a black hole actually looks like:

Addressing misconceptions has become a habit in this article. Let’s do it one last time.

Michell, just like Newton before him, was not equipped with Einstein’s theory of relativity. He could not grasp the properties of light and how it interacts with the celestial bodies responsible for black holes.

Today, we know that the reason black holes are black is not because their escape velocity is higher than the speed of light — at least in the classical sense. Instead, they are black because the celestial body is so massive that it curves the fabric of spacetime in such a way that all paths lead inwards, leaving no path for light — or anything — to escape. The idea that black holes are black as a result of light being too slow to escape gravity is a Newtonian simplification. Gravity isn’t a force, but rather the curvature of spacetime. Besides, light has no mass, meaning it cannot be bound by Newtonian escape velocity.

However, the speed of light and escape velocity play a significant role in the properties of black holes. Let’s first take a look at the structure of a black hole:

The singularity refers to a theoretical point at the center of a black hole, attracting all the matter within the event horizon (all paths of spacetime lead to that point). Its density is theoretically infinite.

The event horizon refers to the boundary where the escape velocity is equal to the speed of light. Inside the boundary, spacetime is curved inward, meaning no object can escape — not even light. Outside it, light can escape because the curvature of spacetime leaves paths for it to do so.

Note: A black hole is defined as an object whose entire mass is contained within its Schwarzschild radius, a boundary from which the required escape velocity equals that of light.

Considering the conceptual knowledge at hand, John Michell’s intuition is nothing less than remarkable. The man was undeniably ahead of his time. Michell’s study of light speed and escape velocity led to his insight, even if they play a different role in today’s theoretical framework for black holes.

In addition, it seems only appropriate to take a moment to appreciate Einstein’s genius. He too argued in favor of the existence of black holes, half a century before we ever could capture one. It is sometimes easier to observe something and formalize a scientific explanation from it. Einstein’s brilliance allowed him to do the opposite, multiple times.

Conclusion

Escape velocity is a basic concept in physics. Yet it lays the groundwork for a deep understanding of our universe, accessible, on the surface, to mere laypeople. Although it led scientists to explore the solar system and hypothesize the existence of black holes, it offers us, mere mortals, the tools to broadly understand how all of this was possible.

The universe is fascinating at every level. Its elegance lies in the universal awe purely sparked by observation and study — an awe accessible to all of us, so long as we cultivate our deep, insatiable curiosity.

“The illumination you get in science comes from understanding things at the appropriate level” — Prof. Martin Rees.

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References

Cover Image:

• American Physical Society. (2009, November). Physics history: Einstein’s general relativity. APS News. Retrieved from https://www.aps.org/archives/publications/apsnews/200911/physicshistory.cfm

• The Physics Classroom. (n.d.). The apple, the moon, and the inverse square law. In Circular motion and satellite motion. Retrieved from https://www.physicsclassroom.com/class/circles/Lesson-3/The-Apple,-the-Moon,-and-the-Inverse-Square-Law

• Greenberg, N. (n.d.). Quote Newton on the absurdity of gravity. Retrieved from https://neilgreenberg.com/quote-newton-on-the-absurdity-of-gravity/

• Jatan. (n.d.). Gravity assist: The simple physics trick that’s allowed humanity to explore deep space. Retrieved from https://jatan.space/gravity-assist-the-simple-physics-trick-thats-allowed-humanity-to-explore-deep-space/

• NASA. (n.d.). Anatomy of a black hole. Science. Retrieved from https://science.nasa.gov/universe/black-holes/anatomy/

• NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. (n.d.). Black holes. Imagine the Universe! Retrieved from https://imagine.gsfc.nasa.gov/science/objects/black_holes1.html#:~:text=The%20radius%20at%20which%20a,light%20is%20a%20black%20hole.

• National Aeronautics and Space Administration. (n.d.). NAAP atmospheric retention module. University of Nebraska–Lincoln. Retrieved from https://astro.unl.edu/naap/atmosphere/gravity.html

• NumberAnalytics. (n.d.). The science behind escape velocity. Retrieved from https://www.numberanalytics.com/blog/science-behind-escape-velocity

• The Planetary Society. (2013, September 26). Gravity assist. Retrieved from https://www.planetary.org/articles/20130926-gravity-assist

• Sagan, C. (1994). Pale blue dot: A vision of the human future in space. Random House.

• Schroeder, D. V. (n.d.). Newton’s cannon. Weber State University. Retrieved from https://physics.weber.edu/schroeder/software/NewtonsCannon.html

Since the dawn of mankind, humans have tried to understand how the world works. Carl Sagan used to say that we are a way for the universe to know itself. Today, physicists explain how the world is, while moral philosophers explain how the world ought to be.

Over the past century, physicists have tremendously advanced the extent of our knowledge of the universe. We owe this giant leap to two theories: the General Theory of Relativity, and Quantum Mechanics. Unfortunately, a problem remains. The General Theory of Relativity is deterministic and explains how the universe works at the macro level, while Quantum Mechanics is probabilistic and explains how the universe works at the micro level. These two domains sometimes intertwine (in Black holes for example), and physicists need to apply Quantum Mechanics to high-gravity scenarios, which unfortunately does not work. Unsatisfied with this theoretical gap, physicists are to this day, still trying to unify these theories.

Moral philosophy faces a similar challenge. Just as physicists seek elegant explanations for the universe, philosophers seek robust frameworks for morality. Many philosophers have dedicated their lives trying to find a single, absolute theory that works everywhere. To some extent, such theory would unify Deontology and Consequentialism. Many would call this endeavor an impossible ideal, and although progress has been made, we are still far from solving ethics. Still, a Unified Theory of Morality provides significant appeal and would answer many of our moral questions. Join me as we explore these ideas.

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Definitions

To maintain clarity, we must now define the different concepts that will be referenced in this article. Please note that these are general definitions, which will be subject to further elaboration in their dedicated sections.

Objective moral standard: moral principle inherently factual, independent from personal opinion, true at all times and in all places.

Ethical Objectivism: the view that there is at least one objective moral standard.

Ethical Monism: the view that there is only one objective moral standard that is absolute and fundamental.

Absolute: never permissibly broken; violating an absolute moral rule is always wrong.

Consequentialism: ethical theory that says that the morality of something depends solely on whether it produces the best actual or expected results.

Act Utilitarianism: version of Consequentialism that considers only well-being as intrinsically valuable (objective & absolute). Under this theory, an act is morally right just because it maximizes overall well-being. It is therefore a monistic theory.

Deontology: ethical theory that uses rules to discern the moral course of action. Where Consequentialism judges actions by their result, Deontology judges them by whether they follow universal (objective & absolute) moral rules (ex: “do not kill”, “do not lie”, etc.).

Kantian Ethics: Immanuel Kant’s ethical theory within Deontology. Kantian Ethics claims that morality is determined by rationality and duty, rather than consequences. Moral rules must be drawn from the Categorical Imperative (further discussed in the article). Kantian Ethics is therefore monistic.

Simplified overview1

The Appeal of a Unified Theory of Morality

The above definitions allow us to better appreciate the appeal of a Unified Theory of Morality, bridging Deontology and Consequentialism. Both theories are monistic, meaning that they offer a single objective universal maxim. The advantage of Ethical Monism is that if true, it would eliminate the need for difficult trade-offs arising from an attempt to apply mutually exclusive moral principles. Essentially, Ethical Monism gives us a single maxim we can apply to all situations, making it more easily applicable in practice. For that reason, what we are really looking for is a Unified Monistic Theory of Morality, as any alternative would forfeit the aforementioned advantages of Ethical Monism.

In addition, Consequentialism and Deontology have challenges of their own. Unifying these theories would entail a single moral truth free of many practical and theoretical challenges. This stems from the fact that Deontology is stronger where Consequentialism is weak, and vice versa.

For the sake of simplicity, and because they are the primary theories of their respective ethical traditions, we will focus on Act Utilitarianism (from now on referred to as Utilitarianism), and Kantian Ethics. Let’s start with the former.

Utilitarianism — Strengths

Definition

Utilitarianism is a theory claiming that an act is morally right if and only if it maximizes overall well-being. Essentially, we are required to create the greatest good for the greatest number.

Actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of pleasure. — John Stuart Mill.

To put it more simply:

Utilitarians tell us to do what brings about the best overall situation, by choosing the act that creates the greatest net balance of happiness over unhappiness. — Russ Shafer-Landau.

Utilitarianism establishes well-being as the supreme moral standard. Being a monistic theory, Utilitarianism shines by its simplicity and straightforwardness. In whatever situation you might find yourself in, the solution is always the same: assess the consequences of your choices and choose the option that maximizes well-being.

The Ticking Bomb Scenario

To illustrate the Utilitarian outlook, consider the Ticking Bomb Scenario.

A madman has hidden a bomb in the center of a metropolitan city. The police arrested him and found unequivocal evidence that there is indeed a bomb about to explode in a highly-populated part of the city. Suppose the bomber has a ticking clock indicating that the bomb will go off in 3 hours. So far, the interrogation of the madman has led to nothing. There is no indication that he will become cooperative. Naturally, finding the bomb in 3 hours is impossible. The only way for officers to save lives is to use unconventional interrogation methods (i.e. torture). In addition, we know that the man acted alone, so there is no risk of retaliation from any terrorist group.

The question is simple: should we torture the madman to make him confess the location of the bomb and save hundreds of innocent lives?

Modern morality tells us that torture is bad. Utilitarians could not care less. According to them, torture isn’t bad in itself. Torture is immoral when and only when it leads to a decrease in overall well-being (which is, admittedly, the case most of the time). Here, committing torture clearly maximizes overall well-being. It saves hundreds of innocent lives, and in doing so, safeguards the well-being of thousands of their relatives. The cost is the temporary physical pain of one single individual. Interestingly, under Utilitarianism, we have a moral duty to minimize the suffering of the mad bomber: if we can obtain the location of the bomb while avoiding inflicting life-altering injuries, we should do so.

The Ticking Bomb Scenario nicely highlights the power of Utilitarianism. We must follow a simple rule — maximizing overall well-being — relatively easy to apply, even in complex situations. In this specific thought experiment, many agree that torture is the right course of action. It aligns with most people’s moral intuition. However, Utilitarianism does not always follow our moral intuitions, which is one of its most fascinating features and its most powerful advantages.

The Moral Community

Utilitarianism is in essence impartial. It unapologetically finds our moral intuition irrelevant to ethical matters. As a result, Utilitarianism has often been ahead of its contemporary moral wisdom.

For instance, according to utilitarians, the scope of the moral community can be quite broad.

To be a member of the moral community is to be important in your own right; it is to be owed a certain amount of respect. Membership in the moral community imposes a duty on everyone else to take one’s needs seriously, for one’s own sake. — Russ Shafer-Landau

If our moral duty is to maximize well-being, it doesn’t follow that only that of heterosexual white men counts. The well-being of women, of disabled people, of racial and religious minorities is on equal footing with heterosexual white men’s. Similarly, humans are not the only creatures that natural selection has endowed with well-being.

The question is not, Can they reason?, nor Can they talk? but, Can they suffer? — Jeremy Bentham

Utilitarianism has many flaws, and few people would wish to live in a purely utilitarian world, but an 18th-century theory capable of valuing the well-being of women, minorities and animals is quite impressive. Here, Utilitarianism challenges the place of our moral intuition in ethics.

Utilitarianism — Weaknesses

Utilitarianism, having been around for more than 2 centuries, has faced various — justified — criticisms. Here, we will address those that illustrate the need for an alternative theory, namely Deontology, and more specifically, Kantian Ethics. In other words, we will focus on the utilitarian weaknesses adequately addressed by Kantian Ethics, thereby highlighting the pertinence of a Unified Theory of Morality.

The Problem of Injustice

When looking for the correct moral theory — provided there is any — we suppose that it must align with core moral intuitions. For example, it seems implausible that the correct moral theory would require us to engage in genocide, rape and slavery. The issue with monistic theories is that the value they deem supreme might conflict with other ideals we consider important — like justice.

Consider the Argument from Injustice, constructed by Russ Shafer-Landau to illustrate this exact objection to Utilitarianism:

1. The correct moral theory will never require us to commit serious injustices.

2. Utilitarianism sometimes requires us to commit serious injustices.

3. Therefore, Utilitarianism is not the correct moral theory.

Not convinced by premise 2? Let’s have fun with a few more thought experiments.

The Problem of the Tortured Child

Consider Dostoevsky’s thought experiment in The Brothers Karamazov:

“Tell me yourself, I challenge your answer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature — that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance — and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth.”

“No, I wouldn’t consent,” said Alyosha softly.

Is there any limit to maximizing well-being? Imagine if we could gather all the pain and suffering in the world, only to put it on a little girl’s shoulders so the rest of us may enjoy eternal happiness. Here, well-being comes at the cost of justice in such intensity that the very thought of it makes some of us uncomfortable. Still, others find the idea somewhat reasonable. If you are one of them, consider the following anecdote.

One Man’s Small Loss is Another Man’s Greater Gain

In Fathers and Sons, an autobiography of his family, Alexander Waugh recounts his father’s childhood:

“The monks enjoyed whipping the boys as a release from the constraints of their celibacy, and my father, throughout his life, always claimed that to be beaten was a small sacrifice for a boy and a great treat for a monk”

Under Utilitarianism, the monks are justified in their mistreatment, as it maximizes overall well-being. Not only are they justified, they are morally required to do so. Remember, an act is moral if and only if it creates the greatest net balance of happiness over unhappiness2. Naturally, even the most dedicated utilitarians among us now begin to reconsider their unwavering commitment to the ethical theory.

Still not convinced? Here we go again (last one, I promise).

The Defective Ford Pinto

If you find the above sections to be either too abstract or too anecdotal, consider this real-world situation, with concrete implications stemming from institutional decisions. Here, failure is attributed not to a single individual’s error of judgment, but to an entire company.

In the 1970s, Ford decided to make a new car called the Ford Pinto. The American carmaker manufactured an affordable car to compete against its more competitive German and Japanese counterparts. The obsession for low costs led to major defects, including the car’s tendency to catch fire following rear-end collisions.

As a result of the defects, a total of 27 people died and about as many were injured. 117 lawsuits were filed against the company. To make matters worse, Ford’s reluctance to recall the Pinto early led to the death of 6 people. An investigation found that Ford’s leadership was aware of the defects. A cost-utility analysis had found that it was cheaper to settle the lawsuits rather than fix the defects and delay the launch of the car.

Cold calculation such as Ford’s can lead to disastrous results. Similarly, Utilitarianism’s obsession for well-being tends to disregard other important values and transgress important social rules. Many think that some lines must not be crossed in the name of well-being, a concern fully addressed by Kantian Ethics.

Kantian Ethics: Beyond Consequences

Kantian Ethics is among the strongest alternatives to Utilitarianism. Like any moral theory, it also has its fair share of shortcomings. In fact, the strengths of one theory precisely address some of the weaknesses of the other, making their unification particularly appealing. For now, we will turn our attention to the ways in which Kantian Ethics remarkably complements the utilitarian framework.

Definition

As you may have already guessed, Kantian Ethics refers to Immanuel Kant’s moral philosophy.

Kantian Ethics claims that morality is determined by rationality and duty, rather than consequences. Where utilitarians exclusively base their morality on well-being, Kant grounds his in the Categorical Imperative. The Categorical Imperative is the only universal moral law accessible and applicable to all rational beings.

This has two key implications:

• We act rationally when we act morally. Conversely, acting immorally is irrational.

• The Categorical Imperative requires our obedience regardless of our personal preferences. In other words, we must do our duty, whether it fulfills our desires or not, because it is the rational thing to do.

Kant expressed the Categorical Imperative in various ways. Let’s focus on two of them:

• The Principle of Universalizability

Act only in accordance with that maxim through which you can at the same time will that it become a universal law. — Immanuel Kant

This can be broken down into a practical test:

1. Consider an act you intend to do, along with the specific reason for doing it. This combination is your maxim.

2. Imagine a world where everyone acts on your maxim.

3. Would it be rational to wish to live in such a world?

4. Would your action still be achievable?

If your answer is yes to both of the above questions, then your action is morally permissible. If you answer no to either of them, your action is immoral.

It follows that according to Kant, lying is always immoral. Let’s apply the above formulation.

1. Consider wanting to lie to cover up your adultery.

2. Imagine a world where everyone would lie.

3. Would you want to live in such a world?

4. Would you still be able to achieve your intended action — lying?

Suppose that for some reason, you find yourself genuinely wishing to live in this world. Even then, lying would not be morally permissible. Indeed, in a world where everyone lies, you would not be able to effectively cover up your adultery by lying, since your wife would not believe you. In a world where everyone lies, no one is expected to be telling the truth, so no one can be believed. Hence, you would not be able to achieve your intended action — lying. Therefore, lying is immoral.

• The Principle of Humanity

So act that you use humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end, never merely as a means. — Immanuel Kant

Immanuel Kant’s Principle of Humanity describes that humans have intrinsic value — they are valuable in themselves. They cannot be treated merely as a tool to achieve one’s own ends, as they are ends in themselves.

Let’s apply the Principle of Humanity to our example of someone lying to conceal their adultery.

1. You want to conceal your adultery from your wife.

2. To conceal your adultery, you must lie to your wife.

3. By lying to your wife, you use her trust as a way to keep your secret.

4. Therefore, you use her as a means to your own end — keeping your adultery secret.

5. Using people as a means, rather than an end is immoral.

6. Therefore, lying to conceal your adultery is immoral.

Justice

In Kantian Ethics, the Categorical Imperative is the only absolute moral rule, from which moral duties are derived. Applying the Categorical Imperative allows us to formulate our moral duties in real-life situations, revealing Kant’s strong emphasis on justice. Justice is not an absolute moral rule, but rather a derivative of the application of the Categorical Imperative. Still, the special place of justice in Kantian Ethics makes it a powerful alternative to Utilitarianism.

The main objections to Utilitarianism revolve around its disregard of justice in favor of well-being, in cases supposedly so clear that they make most of us reconsider its robustness as a moral theory. To highlight how Kantian Ethics provides an elegant alternative to Utilitarianism, we will apply Kant’s theory to the previously discussed ethical dilemmas.

The Problem of the Tortured Child

We now turn back to Dostoevsky’s thought experiment in The Brothers Karamazov. Would sacrificing a single child, doomed to eternal torture so the rest of humanity can enjoy everlasting happiness, be morally permissible? Under Utilitarianism, we would be morally required to sacrifice the child. This feels wrong for many people, who subsequently reject the utilitarian framework, at least when faced with such extreme scenarios.

If we apply the Categorical Imperative expressed in the Principle of Humanity, the answer provides comfort as it aligns with our intuition.

1. Treating a human being as a means is immoral.

2. Sacrificing a child so humanity can enjoy eternal happiness is equivalent to using them as a means to our end.

3. Therefore, sacrificing the child is immoral.

Here, the Categorical Imperative mandates adherence to justice, even if it means not maximizing overall well-being.

One Man’s Small Loss is Another Man’s Greater Gain

Let’s revisit Alexander Waugh’s recollection of his father’s childhood:

“The monks enjoyed whipping the boys as a release from the constraints of their celibacy, and my father, throughout his life, always claimed that to be beaten was a small sacrifice for a boy and a great treat for a monk”

If Utilitarianism is true, priests would be justified in mistreating children if the satisfaction they would draw from it exceeds the pain experienced by the children. Under Kantian Ethics, mistreating children to relieve one’s frustration is immoral. While the Principle of Humanity would clearly expose the immorality of this situation, let’s instead consider the Principle of Universalizability.

1. You want to beat children to alleviate your stress.

2. If it is irrational to wish to live in a world where everyone beats children to alleviate their stress, then doing so is immoral.

3. No rational being would wish for the existence of a world where everyone beats children to alleviate their stress.

4. Therefore, beating children to alleviate your stress is immoral.

The Defective Ford Pinto

Ford executives sacrificed human lives to achieve their ends — make money while producing shareholder value. According to the Principle of Humanity, it is clearly immoral.

Completing the Picture

Kantian Ethics adequately provides an answer to Utilitarianism’s shortcomings. In some cases, Kantian Ethics excels precisely where justice and well-being are mutually exclusive. It provides a plausible alternative to Utilitarianism. However, the Categorical Imperative is subject to objections. Some of these objections can be fully addressed by Utilitarianism. Therefore, unifying these two theories would strengthen morality by applying Utilitarianism where it is strong, and applying Kantian Ethics when Utilitarianism falls short as a robust moral philosophy.

Kantian Ethics: Limits and Contradictions Addressed by Utilitarianism

Can Morality Disregard Well-being?

Intuitively, we consider that morality’s aim is to understand the best way to live our lives among other beings. Well-being is inherent to morality, to one extent or another. In Kantian Ethics, if well-being is ever maximized, it is only when it happens to align with the moral rules drawn from the Categorical Imperative. When it is not the case — like in the problem of the tortured child — Kantian Ethics prioritizes justice. However, in some cases, the disregard for well-being goes against our intuition, to the point where a rational objection to the Kantian framework’s prescription could be made. This criticism can be addressed as such:

1. Applying the correct moral theory cannot make us worse-off.

2. Applying Kantian Ethics sometimes makes us worse-off.

3. Therefore Kantian Ethics is not the correct moral theory.

Kant obviously rejects premise 1. Our moral duty is to apply the Categorical Imperative, regardless of whether it makes us better off. Utilitarians disagree.

The Ticking Bomb Scenario

Consider the first thought experiment explored in this article: the Ticking Bomb Scenario.

The Principle of Humanity requires us not to treat human beings as a means. Therefore, we cannot torture the madman who hid a bomb in the city, even if it results in the death of hundreds of people. Clearly, this sounds wrong. Many claim that Utilitarianism is the right way to approach the Ticking Bomb Scenario. It then becomes evident that the shortcomings of Kantian Ethics can be addressed by Utilitarianism.

The Need for a Unified Theory of Morality

The Best of Both Worlds

Utilitarianism and Kantian Ethics are among the most robust monistic theories ever developed. Their respective absolute moral rules lead to concrete moral prescriptions that often resonate with our moral intuition, even if they sometimes diverge in challenging cases. However, they both have flaws. Remarkably, they complete one another very well. One is strong where the other is weak, and vice versa. Consequently, a Unified Theory of Morality would leverage the advantages of both, complementing one where the other falls short.

Can such a theory be formulated without creating additional problems?

The Limitations of Ethical Monism

Utilitarianism and Kantian Ethics complement each other precisely because they are both monistic theories. Their respective absolute moral rules provide significant advantages when faced with ethical dilemmas. They often align with our intuitions, and when they don’t, they call on us to reassess our moral considerations. Nonetheless, monistic theories have a major drawback: they are rigid. A theory prioritizing well-being in certain circumstances, and the Categorical Imperative in others, could help us bridge the gap between Utilitarianism and Kantian Ethics.

Could the Unified Theory of Morality be an Ethical Pluralism after all?

The Attraction of Rossian Ethics

Ethical Pluralism states that there are two or more moral standards.

W.D. Ross is a Scottish philosopher who formalized a pluralist moral philosophy now referred to as Rossian Ethics. According to Ross, there are several objective yet non-absolute moral rules. The fact that they are non-absolute allows for the breaking of moral rules.

Ross called the non-absolute moral rules prima facie duties. Prima facie duties are essentially moral rules that determine, in part, whether an action is moral or not. According to Ross, prima facie duties are self-evident, meaning that their truth is immediately evident upon rational reflection.

Ross suggested a list of seven prima facie duties, admitting that this list might not be complete:

1. Fidelity

2. Reparations

3. Gratitude

4. Justice

5. Beneficence

6. Self-improvement

7. Non-maleficence

What It Means for a Unified Theory of Morality

Suppose we consider two prima facie duties: one centered on well-being (aligned with Utilitarianism) and another grounded in the Categorical Imperative (upholding Kantian principles). When faced with a moral dilemma where these duties conflict, we can prioritize one over the other. This allows us to favor prima facie duties aligned with utilitarian outcomes when needed, and prioritize prima facie duties grounded in Kantian principles when appropriate. However, this comes at a major cost: vagueness. When do we know when to prioritize which moral rule? How do we draw prescriptions from such a moral theory? The main strengths of Kantian Ethics and Utilitarianism lie in their offer of a single, never-to-be-transgressed rule. Naturally, the theories did not always offer clear moral prescription, although they were admittedly more prescriptive than what a pluralistic Unified Theory of Morality would entail.

Conclusion: A Trade-off Between Flexibility and Prescription.

Utilitarianism and Kantian Ethics possess significant shortcomings. Yet, they adequately address many of each other’s limitations, making a Unified Theory of Morality extremely appealing. However, both theories are monistic. They each have a distinct absolute moral rule. It seems that to find a Unified Theory of Morality, we would need to turn to ethical pluralism. Philosophies similar to Rossian Ethics would constitute a promising basis for a unified theory. And yet, this would come at an irrecoverable cost that would strip a Unified Theory of Morality of its essence. It would lose its prescriptive power, leaving us without a clear method for prioritizing conflicting moral duties.

To conclude, much like the ongoing quest to unify General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics, it is evident that we are still far from reconciling Utilitarianism and Kantian Ethics. Perhaps like in physics, if we are ever to overcome theoretical challenges, we must question the underlying premises leading to our Morality. We might even need to overhaul our entire moral framework. Should we reconsider Moral Objectivism? Is it truly the right foundation upon which to base morality? Are we even posing the right questions?… Nihilism has never seemed so ineluctable.

References

• Dostoevsky, F. (2007). The Brothers Karamazov. (R. Pevear & L. Volokhonsky, Trans.). Vintage Books. (Original work published 1880)

• Ethics Unwrapped. (n.d.). Deontology. McCombs School of Business, The University of Texas at Austin. Retrieved from https://ethicsunwrapped.utexas.edu/glossary/deontology

• Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. (n.d.). Kant’s Moral Philosophy. Retrieved from https://iep.utm.edu/kantview/#SH5b

• Motortrend. (n.d.). Ford Pinto. Retrieved from https://www.motortrend.com/features/ford-pinto

• Mother Jones. (1977, September). Pinto madness. Retrieved from https://www.motherjones.com/politics/1977/09/pinto-madness/

• Shafer-Landau, R. (2020). The fundamentals of ethics (5th ed.). Oxford University Press.

• The Grand Inquisitor/Rebellion (Part 2). (n.d.). In Wikibooks. Retrieved from https://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/The_Grand_Inquisitor/Rebellion_(Part_2)#Part_8

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Imagine someone in your social circle, an acquaintance we will call Lily. Although you have friends in common, you are not particularly close. You know that Lily is engaged, and your best friend is close to her fiancé. Now let’s say that you learn from your best friend that Lily is being cheated on. You also know that most people around her are aware of the situation, but have chosen to stay silent. Each time you meet her, Lily tells you about her upcoming wedding and how excited she is to plan what she believes will be the best day of her life.

What would you do in this situation? Would you tell her the truth and end the deception, potentially saving her from years or even decades of unreciprocated commitment? Or would you “mind your own business” and pretend that you know nothing? After all, you are not that close to her, and it is not your place to intervene in such personal matters.

In this situation, some will argue that lying (or withholding the truth) is an acceptable course of action, while others will find the idea appalling and question the moral fitness of anyone even considering not exposing the deception. Although we do not have to make such difficult choices every day, our lives are filled with white lies — whose compounding effects are no less consequential.

Lying is the path of least resistance. When a delicate situation arises, numerous reasons why lying would be a good idea come to mind. It provides a sense of security to everyone, at least in the short term. However, far too often, we become complacent with the comfort of white lies. If we are not vigilant, over time, very few long-term, meaningful relationships can take root. This is especially evident when comparing friends with best friends. While people will tend to tell white lies around their friends, a best friend is someone to whom people look for honest insights, and who is equally ready to hear them.

White lies are transactional, and so are too many of our relationships. We lie or withhold the truth to avoid hurting people’s feelings, to avoid awkward conversations, or to avoid conflict. White lies are our way of treating the other person as a problem to be managed, not a person to be respected. Don’t the people we love deserve more meaningful relationships?

In his book Lying, Sam Harris argues that lying is (almost) always a bad idea, and striving to avoid lying allows people to learn a lot about themselves, and others. He argues that the range of acceptable lies is much narrower than what one might think—some might even say too narrow.

The purpose of this article is to convince you that the range of acceptance of lies is much more limited than is commonly assumed, inviting you to reflect on your habits and how they impact your relationships. In addition, if you find my modest case compelling, you will most certainly enjoy Sam Harris’ discussion with Ronald A. Howard. Hopefully, by the end of the article, you will be convinced that the best way to build meaningful relationships is to leave your ego aside and take the harder road: telling the truth.

Note: Lying was inspired by Ronald A. Howard’s lectures and his conversation, recorded in the book with Sam Harris. In fact, Howard’s words are what motivated the writing of this article: “This all gets to the question of whether you have repeated relationships. Do you view your life in terms of relationships or transactions.” I wish he had developed this idea further.

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The Evolutionary Advantage of Deception

This section could very well have been titled “Why do we lie?”. Our ability to lie is undeniable, which begs the question of its evolutionary meaning. In nature, resources are limited: every individual fights for survival. The genes that lead to traits maximizing an individual’s chances are favored by natural selection, as they successfully duplicate themselves in subsequent generations. Every mutation in the gene pool that favors an individual’s survival is thus favored by natural selection. Deception, as a survival strategy, is a prime example of such favored trait.

Evolutionary biologist Robert Trivers notably worked on reciprocal altruism, parental investment, parent–offspring conflict, and self-deception. His work explained evolutionary mechanisms underpinning relationships between individuals.

Trivers highlighted that deception is favored by natural selection and tends to spread in the gene pool, as long as it provides the individual an edge in the fight for survival, and that the benefits outweigh the costs. This idea is rather intuitive, but Trivers goes further. This deception and fight for resources can be found in various types of relationships. For instance, there is an inherent evolutionary conflict in parent-offspring relationships.

Natural selection tends to favor individuals who cheat and lie to their parents. Take a newborn chick that has to share its mother’s attention and resources with its siblings. The mother, having limited time and food, has to wisely manage her resources. For food distribution, the mother uses her chicks’ cries to assess their level of hunger. Trivers has shown that we can expect natural selection to favor genes for exaggerating the state of one’s hunger by giving louder cries. Herein lies the deception: chicks will “lie” about needing food in order to get a disproportionate share of their mother’s resources, thereby increasing their chances of survival. Conversely, natural selection simultaneously favors parents who are good at reading the deception of their offspring.

The genius of Trivers’ work lies in this evolutionary arms race, where conflict in nature perpetually dictates the direction of evolution. Individuals on both ends of the spectrum get better at both deception and its detection. It is reasonable to assume that humans have evolved the ability to do exactly that: engaging in deceit for their own advantage, and reading into others’ behavior to detect their attempt to do the same. In fact, this was suggested by Trivers himself, and perfectly summed up by Richard Dawkins:

“[Trivers suggests that] many of our psychological characteristics — envy, guilt, gratitude, sympathy, etc. — have been shaped by natural selection for improved ability to cheat, to detect cheats, and to avoid being thought to be a cheat.”

We have so far covered deception in a general sense, but one must be reminded that lying is merely a particular case of deception. Incidentally, it is important to emphasize that Trivers also worked on reciprocal altruism. Modern understanding of evolution indicates that altruism is stable in nature, and in many cases, cooperation is favored by natural selection.

In any case, the natural occurrence of a behavior does not make it desirable or legitimate. Biological determinism has limits.

We have the power to defy the selfish genes of our birth and, if necessary, the selfish memes of our indoctrination. We can even discuss ways of deliberately cultivating and nurturing pure, disinterested altruism — something that has no place in nature, something that has never existed before in the whole history of the world. We are built as gene machines and cultured as meme machines, but we have the power to turn against our creators. We, alone on earth, can rebel against the tyranny of the selfish replicators. — Richard Dawkins in The Selfish Gene

Our Lying Habits

In the 1990s, most of the early studies on the frequency of lying — including the influential research conducted by DePaulo et al. (1996) — have found that an average person lies one to two times a day. While the statistic is compelling, it does not translate the nuances of lying in our society. A 2021 study published by Kim B. Serota, Timothy R. Levine and Tony Docan-Morgan painted a much more detailed picture on the subject, by providing more context on the lies themselves. The study is titled “Unpacking variation in lie prevalence: Prolific liars, bad lie days, or both?”, and analyzed over 100,000 lies told by 632 participants over a period of 91 days.

Distribution

There is a common misconception around how often we lie. Studies suggest that we lie an average of one to two times a day, but the mean alone cannot explain the intricacies of lying habits. Analyzing the distribution is significantly more compelling.

The Serota et al. 2021 study has shown a skewed distribution of liars in the population, thereby putting in perspective the grand mean of 2.03 lies per day. The study thus created three categories: Normatively Honest Participants (0–2 lies a day), Intermediate Liars (3–5 lies a day), and Prolific Liars (more than 6 lies a day).

5.7% of liars account for 28% of the lies. The minority of serial liars drive the mean up. It is evident that the majority of the population is honest (74.7% of participants averaged less than 2 lies a day).

Who We Lie To

The study analyzed the recipients of our lies. Here, intuition might be misleading. At first glance, one might be tempted to assume that we mostly lie to our colleagues at work, or to strangers. After all, the very nature of business relationships is transactional. Analyzing employer-employee lies would be intriguing, but it is not relevant to our discussion. The study found that our intuition is wrong: we mostly lie to our friends and family. In fact, we tell half our lies to our beloved friends. Of course, it is important to consider that this data might be affected by the frequency of our interactions.

The Severity of Our Lies

As discussed, most of our lies are, on the face of it, without major significance. The study confirms this intuition: around 9 lies out of 10 are white lies. This proportion encourages us to reassess the supposition according to which white lies are “not a big deal”.

While big lies have the power to destroy relationships in an instant, white lies have a more insidious and elusive way to affect relationships. Big lies are straightforward: if the deception is ever uncovered, the relationship (in many cases) ends. White lies, on the other hand, slowly corrupt the nature of relationships, hindering their chances of ever becoming substantial and meaningful.

Our Lying Motives

Above 40% of our lies are reprehensible. We tell them to avoid others, appear more favorable, or for personal gain.

Overall, Serota et al’s study demonstrated that lying is not as ubiquitous as previous studies have led the general public to believe. However, it has also highlighted that when people lie, they lie to their friends and family. Almost 90% of those lies are white lies that can accumulate over the years. Why do people engage in deception with their loved ones, potentially hurting their most meaningful relationships? Perhaps they think it is a victimless crime, one of minor consequence. Conversely, the case could be made that white lies should be kept away from relationships, because it could lead to them becoming transactional.

Transactions vs Relationships

Sam Harris included his discussion with Ronald A. Howard in Lying. Howard illustrated the difference between relationships and transactions with an example. A woman is buying a hammer in a hardware store, when a salesman asks her what she is going to use the hammer for. She answers that her husband wants to put up some pictures on the kitchen wall. The salesman has two options: tell a lie and let her purchase the more expensive hammer, or tell her that there is one for a third of the price that would meet her needs. Here, a lie would benefit the salesman in the transaction, but hurt the relationship in the long run when the husband notices the deception.

In essence, it all comes down to the repetition of interactions. Lies and deception can be favorable in one-time encounters, although I am not convinced that a favorable outcome makes the deception ethical. Howard said “[It all depends whether or not] you have a concern that other people do well for themselves, then I think you want this level of honesty.” In relationships, interactions are numerous, often proportionate to the level of affection people have for one another.

Let’s return to the insidious nature of white lies. White lies are more numerous than big lies. It is therefore harder to keep track of them, and at some point, one or more of them are eventually uncovered. Over the years, the cycle of deception can create pettiness, unresolved conflicts and untold frustrations, sometimes reinforced by additional lies. Clearly, no one wants this for their relationship.

Meaningful Relationships Suppose Truth

There is a self-delusion dimension inherent to white lies. People like to convince themselves of the validity of their justification. Consider situations where a friend asks for your opinion on his new video, painting, or drawing. What if he has gained weight and asks if he looks fat in his new shirt. All of these questions are difficult to answer truthfully when we know our friend will dislike the answer. The way to approach the situation depends on what kind of friend one wants to be. This section is dedicated to arguing that telling the truth is rationally justified, as it benefits both the giver and the recipient.

Learning about yourself

Telling the truth can also reveal ways in which we want to grow but haven’t. — Sam Harris

As discussed, 13% of the lies we tell are to look more favorable. When tempted to lie, we can analyze the underlying reason and learn about our insecurities, in order to address them. Similarly, above 20% of the lies we tell are to avoid others—we have all made excuses to avoid going out with a friend. Sometimes, the reason of our lie is simple: laziness.

If friendships are transactional, going out is a duty. When asked to have a drink, we are summoned to fulfill our end of the bargain. Conversely, if friendships are meaningful relationships, we can refuse to go out, and give an honest reason. Being compassionate, our friends are likely to understand our personal reasons and postpone the drink. Why would we have to lie? Besides, we often underestimate the power of communication. Imagining that our friend would force us to go out, we lie.

Meaningful Support

Let’s return to our ethical dilemma, where an acquaintance, Lily, is being cheated on. A transactional friendship would mean that we can entertain the deception: uncovering the lie is risky and might anger many people within your social circle. Every single one of Lily’s friends thinks it unnecessary to tell the truth, as it is not to their benefit. However, if they saw their friendship from a qualitative point of view, trying to foster a meaningful relationship, they would be compelled to tell the truth.

In addition, telling the truth does not exclusively apply to serious lies. A large proportion of white lies are told to not hurt other people’s feelings. Yet, by telling lies, you are not protecting your friend’s feelings, you are protecting your own comfort.

If people were given the chance, they would want their friends to be honest. Being stuck in a bubble of dishonest validation is something few people strive for. However, we often impose it on the people we love by telling white lies. Naturally, there is a balance to be found between honesty and support. If your friend looks fat in his shirt, you should tell him the truth, and help him find one that suits his figure better.

We all have a friend we turn to when we want honest feedback. We should all aspire to be this friend for the people we love. Unfortunately, such privilege is often reserved for the person we call our “best friend”.

Incidentally, is it desirable to seek friendships where honesty is neither offered nor expected?

We are often tempted to encourage others with insincere praise. In this we treat them like children — while failing to help them prepare for encounters with those who will judge them like adults. — Sam Harris

Conclusion

I hope to have convinced you that meaningful relationships are built on honesty, not deception. We may have evolved the ability for deception, to serve our self-interest. Yet, in relationships, only the truth benefits us. While white lies may provide a sense of comfort, they insidiously erode the foundation of trust and transform genuine connections into mere transactions, creating frustration, false pretense, and conflict. Telling the truth is the rational thing to do. It builds a framework of honest feedback, guiding everyone to the path of improvement. The statistics are unequivocal: we lie most frequently to the people we love. Sam Harris and Ronald A. Howard push us to reevaluate our tendency to lie, and reassess how we build the foundations of our relationships. We may lose a few acquaintances on the way, but the relationships subsequently created will last a lifetime.

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Food for Thought

In Lying, Sam Harris and Ronald A. Howard go over multiple ethical dilemmas that I find compelling. Although Harris and Howard’s approach is thought-provoking, their aversion to lying sometimes seems quite extreme. For example, if asked by his daughter on her wedding day whether she looks fat in her dress (assuming Sam would indeed think she does), Harris would not “lie” and simply answer “You’re beautiful”. Here, it looks like Sam’s ego is getting in the way of compassion, as he prioritizes his moral imperative by finding rhetorical loopholes to a simple question. Here, there is no downside to lying (the only damage being to one’s ego) while telling the truth runs the risk of hurting one’s daughter on her wedding day.

In any case, here are two additional dilemmas mentioned in the book:

• [Your mother has dementia. She] wakes up every morning wondering where your father is, but your father has been dead for fifteen years. Every time you explain this, your mother has to relive the bereavement process all over again, only to wake up the next morning looking for her husband. Sam’s solution to this dilemma: “Well, he’s where he usually is at this time of day”.

• [Your child is terminally-ill.] Naturally, he has questions about when he will die and about what happens after death. Let’s say that given what the doctor has said, you think your child has about two months to live. You also believe that everyone gets a dial tone after death and that you’ll never see each other again. Would you tell him what you think is the truth or will you tell him about Heaven?

References

• Dawkins, R. (2016). The Selfish Gene (40th anniversary ed.). Oxford University Press.

• Serota, K. B., Levine, T. R., & Docan-Morgan, T. (2021). Unpacking variation in lie prevalence: Prolific liars, bad lie days, or both? Communication Monographs, 89(3), 307–331. https://doi.org/10.1080/03637751.2021.1985153

• Harris, S. (2013). Lying. Four Elephants Press.

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Is the filibuster an obscure bureaucratic maneuver allowing self-obsessed politicians to hinder the democratic process, or a powerful expression of free speech that gives a voice to the minority, acting as an emblematic symbol of our senators’ devotion to their principles?

Some might say a little bit of both. I would tend to agree. Regardless of one’s stance on the subject, one must admit that both sides make a compelling argument for their case. Let’s explore these ideas.

This article is split into two parts. Part 1 covered the main features of the filibuster, such as its historical footprint. We even explored other forms of obstructionism. This second part will cover the ongoing debate on its relevance in today’s society, presenting both side’s cases.

Arguments in Favor of the Filibuster

Filibusters are justified through various arguments. These range from asserting their contribution to the fundamental nature of the Senate, to more philosophical considerations, such as the necessity of providing a voice for legislative minorities. We will now explore these arguments and others in greater detail. Let’s begin.

A Timely Change in Opinions

Before covering the main arguments in favor of the filibuster, it must be noted that there is some degree of hypocrisy among Senators. It is not uncommon for Senators to oppose parliamentary obstruction when their party holds the majority, and to shift their position when it becomes politically advantageous. For instance, in 2021, after the change in majority in the Senate, 45 Senators voiced their criticism against the filibuster. However, 39 out of those 45 Senators had defended the filibuster and its use prior to regaining control of the Senate.

No one likes the Electoral College, except perhaps those who were elected because of it. No one likes gerrymandering, except those doing the gerrymandering. No one likes the filibuster, except those doing the filibustering. — Kevin Bleyer

Admittedly, Senators use every lever at their disposal to defend their bills. Their opinion sometimes appears to be merely a circumstantial variable within the broader scope of their mandate. Even so, when discussing the pertinence of the filibuster, one must focus on the rational justifications from each side of the argument, rather than the underlying political reasons that might incline Senators toward one direction or another.

The Nature of the Senate

Discussing the filibuster allows us to reflect on the very nature of the Senate. After all, why have two Chambers in Congress? What is the difference between the House and the Senate. We will not elaborate further than we need to, and instead focus on why the filibuster makes the Senate different.

The purpose of the Senate is to balance the House. Its slower deliberations are one of the ways it has to extend debates. Besides, it is aimed at preventing the House from dominating the legislative agenda. A hypothetical unified majority held by a single party would fast forward bills and Congress would turn into a factory, automatically passing bills. The Senate, with the filibuster and the need for a super majority, slows that process and gives value to political discussion.

Moreover, the Senate is an extension of the states (each state has two senators, regardless of its population). When filibustering, Senators often read letters sent by their constituents. Taking the time to have such conversation and include people’s voices (although it is not restricted to the Senate), is a core element of democracy, streamlined by the filibuster.

Raising Awareness

The filibuster has become a cultural element of American politics. Many controversial issues discussed in Congress are met with a filibuster. In some instances, it highlights Senators’ abnegation and determination to fight for what they believe in, regardless of what that might be.

There’s far more pain involved in rolling over, far more pain in hiding in the shadows, far more pain in not standing for principle, not standing for the good, not standing for integrity — Sen. Ted Cruz during his 2013 Obamacare filibuster.

The filibuster is regularly used to raise awareness on issues that failed to catch the general public’s attention. It is also a way to put an issue on the political agenda.

Senators employ the filibuster as a pause in Congress’ fast-paced proceedings. It provides the Senate with an opportunity to deliberate on a given issue. For instance, in 2016, Senator Chris Murphy performed a nearly 15-hour filibuster on Gun control, in an attempt to pressure the Senate to expand background check rules (among other things). He delivered his speech during a debate over an unrelated spending bill, but managed to secure a commitment from Senate leadership to hold a vote on two Democratic proposals related to gun control. Both proposals were rejected, but the filibuster successfully shed light on the necessity (in Sen. Murphy’s view) for further gun control regulations. In addition, filibusters are used to bring clarity on senators’ stances. By forcing a vote, Sen. Murphy confronted senators with their responsibilities, compelling them to publicly signal their opinions on gun control. While it can be difficult to hold politicians accountable for inaction, Sen. Murphy’s filibuster successfully provided his side the chance to confront opponents based on their votes.

A Safeguard Against Political Extremism

Any attempt of filibuster can be abruptly stopped by a motion of cloture. If three-fifths of the senate (60 senators) vote in favor of the motion, a vote on the bill in session takes place. The existence of the rule forces compromise, as the only way to end a filibuster is to negotiate and vote in favor of cloture. If negotiations fail, the Senate majority must compromise with the minority performing the filibuster. Similarly the mere threats of filibusters are at times enough to compel the majority to compromise and open discussions.

If a majority party knows they need to garner 60 votes to end debate on a bill, the necessity of working across the aisle, negotiating, and finding areas of agreement becomes imperative, rather than optional. Without the filibuster as a tool of negotiation, the Senate becomes little more than a smaller version of the House of Representatives where legislation reflects the priorities of the majority, with little regard to concerns of the minority. — Rachel Bovard

We have now explored the core arguments supporting the filibuster, let’s now turn to the other side and understand the case against its legitimacy in today’s society.

Arguments Against the Filibuster

Calculated Theatrics

While some see the filibuster as an expression of senators’ uncompromising dedication for an issue, others see it as calculated theatrics. One could argue that the filibuster is the symbol of the political elite trapped in petty political infighting, disconnected from the issues faced by the American people. It can be regarded as the epitome of bureaucracy, where political gain takes hostage efficient deliberation in Congress.

Blocked nominations offer a compelling example of the filibuster being hijacked for partisan squabbles. This prompted Democrats to set a precedent, invoking the nuclear option in 2013, lowering the threshold to overcome a filibuster on nominations from 60 votes to a simple majority. A few years later, in 2017, this precedent backfired when Republicans extended it to include Supreme Court nominations.

Many a Senator has used filibusters to gain widespread attention and further their career. Although Senator Chris Murphy’s and Senator Ted Cruz’s intentions were probably genuine, it is undeniable that their publicity significantly benefited their career. Following his speech, Chris Murphy, then a young Senator, received 10,000 calls. It could be said that his filibuster made him one of the faces of gun laws advocates in the Senate. As for Ted Cruz, his 2013 filibuster against Obamacare was heavily criticized by Democrats, solidifying his political branding as a strong Republican leader, and at the time, a likely presidential candidate. Besides, I have purposely omitted the fact that, like Cory Booker in 2025, Ted Cruz did not technically perform a filibuster, as per Senate rules, he had to cede the floor when the previously scheduled afternoon vote came up. Yet, this technicality changed very little: his speech caught the attention of his fellow Republicans, the opposition, the press and the general public. His political gain was similar to a legitimate attempt to obstruct the vote.

Dictatorship of the Minority

The filibuster gives excessive power to the minority party. The composition of the Senate is a result of the American electorate’s vote. The minority party can work towards achieving bipartisan laws and compromise. The opportunity to lead must be earned in the polls. Allowing a minority to go against the arguably indirect will of the American people can be considered a disgrace to democracy. Peter Fenn, GOP consultant and former Senate aide, called filibusters the “tyranny of the minority.”.

A revealing calculation was made to express the extent to which filibusters allow a minority to hold the senate hostage:

Because ending a filibuster requires a 60-senator majority vote, just 41 conservative senators (the number of senators needed to protect a filibuster) in the 117th Senate who represent just over 20% of the American population can kill any and all legislation brought by the party voted in to control the Senate, House, and White House. — The Editors of ProCon

Beyond that, it is worth noting that the filibuster is a workaround rather than a clearly defined institutional design. There must be better ways to give the minority a voice, other than making its senators talk for an excessive amount of time. Filibuster speeches have diminishing marginal utility. Few people in this world can talk for 10+ hours and be as insightful as a 25-minute segment from start to finish. In 1935, in his 15-hour long filibuster, Huey Long — a quite fascinating character — shared recipes for fried oysters and potlikker. Ted Cruz, on the other hand, read Green Eggs and Ham during his 2013 filibuster.

Congress gets negative value from the filibuster. It slows legislative proceedings, and makes the Senate inefficient. If one wishes to give more power to the political minority, a simple alternative would be to raise the threshold needed to pass a bill, such that it aligns with the cloture motion threshold, thereby rendering the filibuster ineffective. Many objections immediately come to mind, many reasons that in all likelihood, apply to the filibuster as well.

An Obstacle to Progress, Rooted in Racism

Historically, the filibuster primarily served as a way to slow down progressive legislation from being passed. There is an asymmetry in the value parties derive from the filibuster. For decades, southern Democrats have used it to hinder efforts to protect Black Americans’ rights as American citizens. President Obama went as far as to call the filibuster a Jim Crow relic.

Between 1917 and 1995, the Senate killed 30 bills with majority support in both chambers and the White House. Shamefully, half of these were significant civil rights measures addressing poll taxes, employment and housing discrimination, and lynching. You read it right, it took the Senate 240 attempts and 122 years to finally pass an anti-lynching bill in 2022.

We can choose to protect a tool of Jim Crow and segregation that is found nowhere in the Constitution. Or we can choose to defend the sacred right to vote. — Elizabeth Warren

Naturally, this argument does not rely solely on the filibuster’s historical use to slow down crucial bills. The core issue is that the very design of the filibuster tends to allow such situations.

What It Would Take to Abolish the Filibuster

There are two ways the Senate could abolish the filibuster.

The first option would be to change the cloture rule and lowering its threshold to, for instance, allow a simple majority to end debate on a legislation. This solution would be a challenging endeavor, as two-thirds of Senators are required to change the rules of the Senate.

The second option would be to replicate what was done by the House of Representatives and use the “nuclear option” which essentially consists in creating a precedent in the Senate. This approach was used to end the filibuster around certain nominations, as mentioned earlier.

Overall, the interests of both parties fluctuate depending on the composition of the Senate. Although Democrats have recently voiced more criticism towards it, it is unlikely that they will push for the abolition of the filibuster, having just lost the Senate. On the other hand, it is doubtful that the Republicans would consider addressing the issue anytime soon. In addition, with the rampant polarization of the Senate and what it looks like the seemingly never-ending decline of bipartisan cooperation, we might be years, or even decades away from seeing the abolition of this fascinating Senate proceeding.

Conclusion

Parliamentary rules are numerous and politicians continuously find ways to leverage them for political gain. Parliamentary obstruction is ubiquitous, no matter how restrictive the rules are. The US Senate filibusters are merely a symbol of it and seem to relate to the very nature of politics. Does that mean rules must continuously evolve to ensure smooth legislative proceedings, or is the filibuster a singular expression of American democracy, giving the minority party a fighting chance to have the voice of its constituents heard in the upper chamber?

I hope to have successfully communicated the intricacies of the filibuster and highlighted the complexity of forming an opinion on its relevance in the legislative process of the United States. It certainly is a fascinating element of American politics, and many of us are eager to see how it will impact the country in the near future.

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References

• Ballotpedia. (2021). Arguments for and against the filibuster, 2021. Retrieved from https://ballotpedia.org/Arguments_for_and_against_the_filibuster,_2021

• Britannica. (n.d.). Filibuster debate: ProCon.org. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/procon/filibuster-debate

• BrainyQuote. (n.d.). Filibuster quotes. Retrieved from https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/filibuster-quotes

• AzQuotes. (n.d.). Kevin Bleyer quote. Retrieved from https://www.azquotes.com/quote/21061?ref=filibuster

• Kaine, T. (n.d.-a). The 7 most powerful quotes from Senator Chris Murphy’s gun control filibuster. Retrieved from https://www.kaine.senate.gov/in-the-news/the-7-most-powerful-quotes-from-senator-chris-murphys-gun-control-filibuster

• Kaine, T. (n.d.-b). The 7 most powerful quotes from Senator Chris Murphy’s gun control filibuster. Retrieved from https://www.kaine.senate.gov/in-the-news/the-7-most-powerful-quotes-from-senator-chris-murphys-gun-control-filibuster (Note: This is a duplicate entry of the previous one)

• Shear, M. D., & Tankersley, J. (2021, July 14). How every Senate Democrat voted on ending the filibuster for voting rights. The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/interactive/2021/filibuster-vote-count/

• U.S. Senate. (n.d.). Party division. Retrieved from https://www.senate.gov/history/partydiv.htm

• USA.gov. (n.d.). U.S. Senate. Retrieved from https://www.usa.gov/agencies/u-s-senate

• Murphy, C. (n.d.). Murphy captures nation’s attention with filibuster. Retrieved from https://www.murphy.senate.gov/newsroom/in-the-news/murphy-captures-nations-attention-with-filibuster

• Wikipedia. (n.d.-a). Chris Murphy gun control filibuster. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Murphy_gun_control_filibuster

• Blake, A. (2013, September 25). Ted Cruz’s Obamacare all-nighter ends after 21 hours. ABC News. Retrieved from https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/ted-cruzs-obamacare-nighter-ends-21-hours/story?id=20365712

• Wikipedia. (n.d.-b). Nuclear option. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_option

• Jackson, D. (2020, October 1). Fact check: GOP ended Senate filibuster for Supreme Court nominees. USA Today. Retrieved from https://eu.usatoday.com/story/news/factcheck/2020/10/01/fact-check-gop-ended-senate-filibuster-supreme-court-nominees/3573369001/

• Pilkington, E. (2013, September 25). Ted Cruz reads Green Eggs and Ham during Senate Obamacare filibuster — as it happened. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/25/ted-cruz-fillibuster-speech-obamacare

• Wikipedia. (n.d.-c). Wendy Davis (politician). Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendy_Davis_(politician)

• Grunwald, M. (2009, October 21). The ghost of Huey Long. Time. Retrieved from https://content.time.com/time/politics/article/0,8599,1933802,00.html

• U.S. Senate. (n.d.-a). Party division. Retrieved July 12, 2022, from https://www.senate.gov/history/partydiv.htm (Note: Duplicate of a previous entry with access date)

• Certo, P. (2021, March 8). We may be one election from permanent minority rule. In These Times. Retrieved from https://www.google.com/search?q=https://inthesetimes.com/article/democracy-senate-filibuster-minority-rule-election-reform

• Millhiser, I. (2021, January 26). America’s anti-democratic Senate, in one number. Vox. Retrieved from https://www.google.com/search?q=https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2021/1/26/22249899/senate-filibuster-population-democrats-republicans

• U.S. Senate. (n.d.-b). Huey Long filibusters. Retrieved from https://www.senate.gov/about/powers-procedures/filibusters-cloture/huey-long-filibusters.htm

• Binder, S. A. (2021, April 27). What is the Senate filibuster and what would it take to eliminate it? Brookings. Retrieved from https://www.brookings.edu/articles/what-is-the-senate-filibuster-and-what-would-it-take-to-eliminate-it/

Is the filibuster an obscure bureaucratic maneuver allowing self-obsessed politicians to hinder the democratic process, or a powerful expression of free speech that gives a voice to the minority, acting as an emblematic symbol of our senators’ devotion to their principles?

Some might say a little bit of both. I would tend to agree. Regardless of one’s stance on the subject, one must admit that both sides make a compelling argument for their case. Let’s explore these ideas.

This article is split into two parts. Part 1 will be dedicated to dissecting what the Filibuster really is, covering its historical footprint while highlighting that it is not the only form of obstructionism. Part 2 will cover the ongoing debate on its relevance in today’s society, covering both side’s cases.

Part 1: The Filibuster, a Unique Instrument of American Politics

First of all, it is important to note that the filibuster is not unique to American politics, but, as usual, Americans have made it a bigger deal than it ought to have been (and that’s why we love you, America).

How a Bill is Passed in the US

To understand the intricacies of the filibuster, one must first know how a bill is typically passed in the US. Bear with me, I will make it somewhat short.

To understand the filibuster’s role, it is helpful to know how a bill becomes law. Generally, the process begins when a bill is introduced by a Representative in the House. It is then assigned to a committee for study and approval (the committee often conducts hearings and revisions). There are over 20 committees in the House. The bill then has to be voted on by the House (a simple majority suffices). After passing the House, the bill moves to the Senate, where it undergoes a similar process (assigned to a committee, and if approved, it is debated, then voted on).

It must be noted that as long as a bill is modified by one of the chambers, it is sent back to the other, as the same version of it must be approved before it can be presented to the President for signature into law. The workaround is to have a joint committee of House and Senate members, to settle remaining differences.

What is a Filibuster?

As we just saw, a bill needs to be voted by both chambers before being sent to the president for signature. This means that if either the Senate or the House does not vote on a given bill, it cannot be passed into law.

The conventional way for a Senator or a Representative to protest a bill is to convince their colleagues to vote against it. This typically works in theory, when politicians are not enslaved by their party’s agenda, acting merely as executors of a strategy dictated by the burning desire for reelection, and by the goal of maximizing the party’s chances to win the presidency, regardless of the consequences.

In practice, bipartisanship is the exception. Politicians have specific interests, and sometimes they have strong beliefs on a particular bill. Whatever their motives might be, in some circumstances, elected officials are ready to use unconventional ways to block a bill. That’s where the idea of the filibuster comes in.

The filibuster is the act of essentially “talking a bill to death”. It consists in delivering a speech that often has little to do with the bill itself, and lasts so long that it forces the other side to make concessions or withdraw the bill altogether. Early on, in 1789, both chambers had a rule, “the previous question” motion, that strongly restricted filibustering, as it allowed for a simple majority to call for an immediate vote. The House of Representative is still subject to that motion. It is important to note that the consistent application and enforcement of “the previous question” motion began in the 1840s. The Senate, however, took the opposite direction: in 1806, believing it would simplify Senate rules, Aaron Burr proposed the removal of the previous question motion. The proposal was subsequently adopted.

Today, the filibuster is still prevalent, although a 1917 rule allows senators to file a motion to invoke cloture. If voted by three-fifths of the Senate, the amount of further debate on the specific bill, amendment, or other question is limited, and a vote must take place. The aforementioned cloture was prompted by President Wilson who grew tired of the Senate’s dilatory tactics.

“The Senate of the United States is the only legislative body in the world which cannot act when its majority is ready for action. A little group of willful men, representing no opinion but their own, have rendered the great government of the United States helpless and contemptible.” — President Wilson, 1917

Notable Filibusters in U.S. Senate History

Filibustering has become rather common over the years. Since the early 2000s, the Senate has seen a consequential rise of filibusters. The number of cloture motions filed went from 70 in 2001 to almost 300 in 2022. Hence, the omnipresence of filibusters in the American legislative process is undeniable.

For years, the record for the longest (solo) filibuster in Senate history was held by Democratic Senator Strom Thurmond who is disgracefully known for having hindered the legislative process of the Civil Rights Act in 1957, as it proceeded through the Senate. The Civil Rights Act aimed at solidifying Black Americans’ rights, specifically their right to vote, as their disenfranchisement, especially in southern states, constituted a barrier to their participation in the Nation’s democratic processes. Sen. Thurmond talked for a total of 24 hours and 18 minutes (he was allowed short bathroom breaks) but the bill was fortunately enacted. The senator attempted a second filibuster (alongside other senators) against the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which failed due to an invocation of cloture.

Sen. Booker’s recent viral filibuster was so far intentionally omitted until now for two reasons. Firstly, the existence of Thurmond’s filibuster lends greater significance to Booker’s record. Secondly, Sen. Booker did not technically perform a filibuster, as no bill was at stake. Even so, his performance is no less historic and remarkable.

To provide context, on April 1, 2025, Democratic Senator Cory Booker broke the record for the longest floor speech in the history of the U.S. Senate, by speaking for 25 hours and 5 minutes (no bathroom breaks this time). The point of the speech was to protest against Donald Trump while breaking Thurmond’s record in the process.

Other Notable filibusters include Sen. Wayne Morse’s 22 hours against the Tidelands Oil Bill in 1953, Sen. Ted Cruz’s 21 hours in 2013 against the Affordable Care Act, Texas State Senator Wendy Davis’s 11-hour filibuster against abortion restrictions, and of course, Anti-Civil Rights filibusters by Southern senators in the 1960s, which prompted the Senate to adopt a two-track system, allowing the addition of another bill to the agenda, in parallel to the filibustered bill.

Other forms of Legislative Obstruction: the Example of France.

Filibusters are not restricted to the United States. Other countries have witnessed politicians use similar tactics, although not to the degree we see in the U.S. Senate, as the rules are generally more restrictive. In addition, there are ways to obstruct legislative processes other than prolonged speeches. Let’s take the French parliament as an example.

In France, the sessions do not last forever, and the duration of speeches is limited. Therefore, MPs tend to use other tactics, such as points of order. Points of order allow MPs to call attention to a perceived breach of the rules or procedures governing the current proceedings. They tend to be lengthy and generally obstruct the peaceful proceedings of the Parliament.

Another strategy revolves around proposing amendments. This is particularly helpful during Niches Parlementaires, which are specific days in the parliamentary agenda where the opposition and minority groups get to set the agenda, thereby prioritizing the discussion and voting of their own proposed bills or resolutions. These sessions last a day and end at midnight. Generally, the majority proposes a ridiculous number of amendments to be debated over, so as to overwhelm the points to be discussed and prevent a vote.

Obstructions commonly happen around controversial bills. There is no better example than the pension reforms. The parliament is so polarized on the topic that all parties use all means necessary to gain the upper hand. In 2023, the French majority presented before the Parliament their 2023 French Pension Reform bill. The bill was deeply contested by the population, and national strikes broke out throughout the country. The level of contention was significant, even by French standards.

In the parliament, the French left, having no majority, used parliamentary obstruction to protest against the bill. LFI (a party on the left of the political spectrum, with characterizations varying between far-left and traditional left, depending on where you stand on the political spectrum), had initially intended to propose 75,000 amendments. They ended up proposing 13,000 of them. The reasons for the obstruction are as fascinating as they are complex. In any case, the Government eventually managed to pass the bill. Fast forward to 2024, when LFI used their niche parlementaire to propose a bill designed to repeal the law. They had until midnight to end the debates and start a vote. MPs belonging to the central bloc proposed hundreds of amendements (some of which were clearly intended to incite even more controversy), and used points of order. To LFI’s dismay, the discussions ended at midnight and a vote could not take place.

Conclusion

Filibustering is undeniably a part of the American legislative culture, having left its mark on most of the significant bills ever debated in Congress. However, it seems pertinent to question its value in today’s political landscape. Some might say it turns the attention away from the Senate’s main mission: to vote on practical bills that improve the lives of the American People. Others might say, on the contrary, that it is an essential tool to shed light over a discussion that went unnoticed by the general public. In truth, regardless of your current stance, I hope to convince you, in Part 2, that each side makes a rather compelling argument.

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References

• Keating, W. (n.d.-a). The legislative process. https://keating.house.gov/policy-work/legislative-process

• House.gov. (n.d.-a). Committees. https://www.house.gov/committees

• House.gov. (n.d.-b). Introduction and referral. https://www.house.gov/the-house-explained/the-legislative-process/introduction-referral

• Civil Rights Act of 1957. (2024, February 24). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_Rights_Act_of_1957

• Filibuster. (2024, April 21). Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filibuster

• Constitution Center. (n.d.). Is Aaron Burr really the father of the filibuster? https://constitutioncenter.org/blog/is-aaron-burr-really-the-father-of-the-filibuster

• Statista. (n.d.). Number of Senate filibusters. https://www.statista.com/chart/25929/number-of-senate-filibusters/

• The Conversation. (2015, May 20). The hidden power of marathon Senate speeches: What history tells us about Cory Booker’s 25-hour oration. https://theconversation.com/the-hidden-power-of-marathon-senate-speeches-what-history-tells-us-about-cory-bookers-25-hour-oration-253695

• The Guardian. (2013, September 25). Ted Cruz marathon speech on Obamacare. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/25/ted-cruz-marathon-speech-obamacare

• Lessurligneurs.eu. (n.d.). Qu’est-ce que l’obstruction parlementaire? https://lessurligneurs.eu/quest-ce-que-lobstruction-parlementaire/

• Le Monde. (2024, November 28). Réforme des retraites : la proposition de loi d’abrogation présentée par LFI se heurte à l’obstruction des députés du camp présidentiel. https://www.lemonde.fr/politique/article/2024/11/28/reforme-des-retraites-la-proposition-de-loi-d-abrogation-presentee-par-lfi-se-heurte-a-l-obstruction-des-deputes-du-camp-presidentiel_6418977_823448.html

• Revolution Permanente. (n.d.). Retrait de milliers d’amendements : LFI cède face aux pressions du gouvernement. https://www.revolutionpermanente.fr/Retrait-de-milliers-d-amendements-LFI-cede-face-aux-pressions-du-gouvernement

• Juspoliticum. (2022, December 1). L’obstruction du bloc majoritaire : une obstruction parlementaire comme les autres ? https://blog.juspoliticum.com/2022/12/01/lobstruction-du-bloc-majoritaire-une-obstruction-parlementaire-comme-les-autres-reflexions-a-partir-des-debats-portant-sur-la-proposition-de-loi-relative-a-la-reintegration-de/

• La Dépêche. (2023, February 10). Réforme des retraites : c’est quoi ce livre rouge et bleu que les députés agitent sans arrêt à l’Assemblée lors des débats ? https://www.ladepeche.fr/2023/02/10/reforme-des-retraites-cest-quoi-ce-livre-rouge-et-bleu-que-les-deputes-agitent-sans-arret-a-lassemblee-lors-des-debats-10984802.php

• Captivate.fm. (n.d.). [Player page for episode on legislative process]. https://player.captivate.fm/episode/9cea0f66-9822-442f-826f-7621eda1b971

Think of bird alarm calls. Some species of birds have evolved to warn others of surrounding predators. By giving the alarm call, the individual runs the risk of drawing the attention of the predator and die as a result. How does natural selection favor individuals that tend to put their life at risk for the benefit of others?

Intuitively, one could think that natural selection works at the level of the group, where individuals occasionally behave “for the good of the species”. This theory, called group selection, had strong support in the scientific community in the 1960s with the works of V. C. Wynne-Edwards and Konrad Lorenz. Today, the scientific consensus rejects the intuition that group selection is the primary driver of complex adaptations.

In his 1976 book The Selfish Gene, Richard Dawkins, a fervent advocate of the view that evolution happens at the level of the gene, has shown us that intuition can sometimes lead us to the wrong conclusions. In the book, Dawkins brilliantly uses evolutionary game theory, specifically the Evolutionarily Stable Strategy (ESS) to argue against the group selection view of natural selection.

The purpose of this article is to introduce the concept of ESS, which opens the door to understanding many fascinating behaviors in nature, and to demonstrate how natural selection can favor altruism without having to use a group selection framework. In addition, I hope to convince the reader to explore Richard Dawkins’ masterpiece of scientific popularization.

For brevity, some calculations are not explicitly laid out in the main text. Exhaustive details have been provided at the end of the article.

Nash Equilibrium

To understand the characteristics of the Evolutionarily Stable Strategy, one must first be familiar with the Nash equilibrium. In game theory, the Nash equilibrium is achieved when no player would benefit from changing its strategy. To illustrate this, let’s use the Prisoner’s Dilemma, a famous thought experiment.

The game involves two prisoners who are faced with the following choices: they can either stay silent (Cooperate), or testify against the other prisoner (Defect). The payoffs (in this case, the length of the prison sentence) depend on both players’ decision as follows:

A player achieves the highest payoff (goes free) by defecting while the other cooperates (and receives a 3-year sentence). It is evident that, rationally, no player should cooperate as he would risk receiving the worst possible sentence (3 years) if the other player defects. There are many interesting observations to make, but our purpose here is to understand what a Nash equilibrium is.

In this version of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, there is a dominant strategy, so the Nash equilibrium is easy to understand. Here, it is clear that both players should defect (it must be noted that the game has only one round). If both players defect, they get a two-year sentence.

When both players defect, no player can benefit from changing their strategy: we have reached the Nash equilibrium. At first glance, both players cooperating would seem like a good strategy, but it is not a Nash equilibrium, as any player would benefit from shifting their strategy and defecting (hoping to go free).

Evolutionarily Stable Strategy (ESS) — Definitions

Evolutionarily Stable Strategies are similar to the Nash equilibrium, but go slightly further. The ESS was introduced by John Maynard Smith and George R. Price in the early 1970s. The ESS puts the Nash equilibrium in the context of evolutionary biology. Smith’s and Price’s work was critical in the field, as they emancipated biology from the idea that evolution necessarily favors aggression. The ESS shows that evolution can also favor cooperation.

An ESS is a strategy that, once adopted by a population, cannot be invaded by another (mutant) strategy. In this context, evolution alone will prevent any alternative strategy from spreading in the population. To put it simply, the ESS is an evolutionary-stable Nash equilibrium.

Before illustrating the ESS with an example, allow me a minor digression:

• Pure vs mixed strategy

A pure strategy is a single strategy that a given individual always plays. A mixed strategy can mean two things:

• An individual randomly chooses among several pure strategies with a certain probability (playing Defect 70% of the time, Cooperate 30% of the time, regardless of the opponent).

• The population consists of individuals playing different pure strategies in stable proportions (70% of the population Defects, 30% Cooperates).

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Illustrating the ESS: the Hawk-Dove Game

Overview

John Maynard Smith’s brilliant intuition was that evolution does not always favor aggression. Smith and Price created a game to illustrate this intuition, using the ESS. The game is called the Hawk-Dove game. It is an insightful way to illustrate the ESS and understand how it plays out in practice.

Think of individuals belonging to the same species. They compete for the same resources — whether it be food, territory or opportunities to breed. Given this endless competition for resources, individuals can adopt different strategies. In the Hawk-Dove game, individuals may adopt two strategies. The Hawk adopts an aggressive stance and fights for resources, while the Dove avoids physical confrontation and walks away from fights.

At first glance, several observations can be made:

• Hawks:

Benefit: Hawks win the resource without a fight when they face a Dove.

Cost: when they face a Hawk, they will fight to get the resource, but run the risk of being severely injured.

• Doves:

Benefit: Doves never sustain injuries, and when faced with another Dove, they settle the dispute with a peaceful staring match.

Cost: Doves always lose the resource when faced with Hawks.

Payoff Matrix

From these observations, we can build a payoff matrix, just like in the Prisoner’s Dilemma. It is important to note that the value of each payoff is arbitrary, and tweaking them may lead to dramatically different results.

We will use Dawkins’ version of the Hawk-Dove game. In the book, Dawkins gives a simple overview of the payoffs and doesn’t elaborate further, which serves his purpose beautifully. Here, I believe it is interesting to dissect the numbers, highlighting Dawkins’ elegant presentation of Smith and Price’s contribution to evolutionary biology.

Now, let’s construct a payoff matrix:

• We suppose that on average, an individual wins half of even contests (Hawk vs Hawk and Dove vs Dove).

• Winning the resource yields the individual 50 points (+50).

• Dove vs Dove (E(D,D)):

When Doves face each other, they do not fight, but engage in peaceful contests such as staring matches, until an individual deems it a waste of time and walks off. Engaging in such contests costs each individual 10 points (-10).

• Hawk vs Hawk (E(H,H)):

When Hawks face each other, the loser is seriously injured and loses 100 points (-100). The winner walks off with the resource: +50. It must be noted that in this simple example, we do not take into account the potential injuries sustained by the winner.

• Hawk vs Dove (E(H,D) & E(D,H)):

When a Hawk meets a Dove, the Dove immediately walks away and gets no points (+0), while the Hawk wins the resource (+50).

Consequently, we get the following payoff matrix:

Is there an ESS consistent with this payoff matrix? In other words, is there a strategy evolving in the population such that an alternative strategy cannot invade?

Finding an ESS

• All Hawks (pure strategy):

Suppose all individuals in a population follow the Hawk strategy. The average payoff for each individual is -25 (since E(H,H) = -25). Now, can this strategy be invaded by an alternative strategy, say, the Dove strategy? The payoff of a single Dove invading a population of Hawks is 0 (E(D,H) = 0). According to Smith and Price, these payoffs indicate that natural selection will favor Doves, as their chances of survival are higher, in a world dominated by Hawks. Thus, the conditions for an ESS are not met. It is evident that an all-Hawks population will inevitably be invaded by Doves.

• All Doves (pure strategy):

Similarly, suppose that all individuals in a population follow the Dove strategy. The average payoff for each individual is +15 (since E(D,D) = 15). Now, can this strategy be invaded by an alternative strategy, say, the Hawk strategy? In a world of only Doves, the average payoff for a Hawk is 50 (E(H,D) = 50). It is easy to understand, since an individual who adopts an aggressive behavior always secures the resource. A population of all Doves is not an ESS because Hawks are bound to invade and be favored by natural selection due to their higher payoff.

• A stable ratio of Hawks and Doves (mixed strategy):

Although populations of all Doves or all Hawks are not stable, it is possible to envision a ratio of Hawks and Doves that is stable, in such a way that a slight change in the ratio would be corrected by natural selection, bringing it back to the equilibrium. This ratio is reached when the expected payoff of the Dove strategy is equal to the expected payoff of the Hawk strategy.

Consider p the proportion of Hawks and 1-p the proportion of Doves.

E(H) = pE(H,H) + (1-p)E(H,D) = -25p + 50 -50p

E(H) = -75p + 50

E(D) = (1 — p)E(D,D) + pE(D,H) = 15–15p + 0

E(D) = -15p + 15

Let’s now solve E(H) = E(D):

E(H) = E(D) <=> -75p + 50 = -15p + 15 <=> -60p=-35 <=> p = 35/60

p = 7/12

1-p = 5/12

We know that p represents the proportion of Hawks. The stable ratio of Hawks and Doves under the above conditions is therefore 7/12 Hawks for 5/12 Doves. We found an ESS!

Natural selection will tend to favor individuals such that the overall population comprises 7/12 Hawks for 5/12 Doves. The implication is that the average payoff for Doves is equal to the average payoff for Hawks. Consequently, if a higher number of Hawks were to rise above the 7/12 proportion, the average expected payoff for a Dove in that new population mix would increase, and natural selection would tend to favor Doves over Hawks, until the stable ratio of 7/12 Hawks for 5/12 Doves is reached again.

Dawkins’ Masterful Use of the ESS Against Group Selection.

An ESS is stable, not because it is particularly good for the individuals participating in it, but simply because it is immune to treachery from within. — Richard Dawkins

As mentioned in the beginning of this article, some individuals display behavior that seems to benefit the species, as if there were some sort of cooperation working at the group level: this theory is called the group selection theory. Richard Dawkins thinks that our intuition is misleading, as natural selection operates at the level of the gene. In essence, it means that natural selection favors individuals whose genes are good at surviving and replicating themselves in the population through offspring. But how can this account for cooperation? What does the ESS have to do with Dawkins’ theory? Let’s come back to our Hawk vs Dove game.

If we follow the logic of group selection, we might expect natural selection to favor cooperation which would result in each individual benefiting from a higher expected payoff. According to group selection, in the Prisoner’s Dilemma, natural selection should favor cooperation at the group level, resulting in individuals obtaining the highest possible payoff.

In our Hawk-Dove game, based on the same matrix, we observe that in the ESS ratio of 7/12 Hawks for 5/12 Doves, the expected payoff for each individual is 6.25:

Remember that E(H) = E(D), meaning that for the ratio of 7/12 Hawks and 5/12 Doves, the average expected payoff for each individual is equal, regardless of whether they are a Hawk or a Dove. To calculate the expected payoff for each individual, we use the expected payoffs of Hawks. Please note that the proportion p of Hawks is 7/12.

E(H) = -75p + 50 = (-75 x 7)/12 + 50 = -525/12 + 50 = -43.75 + 50 = 6.25

Let’s now find the expected payoff for a population of only Doves. The result is 15.

The expected payoff for every individual in a population of 7/12 Hawks and 5/12 Doves is inferior to the expected payoff of individuals in a population of only Doves. Under group selection logic, natural selection should favor, at the group level, a conspiracy of only Doves. Yet, we now know that a population of only Doves is not an ESS. Consequently, we can infer that natural selection, in this case, does not work at the group level. According to Dawkins, the reason is very simple: natural selection works at the level of the gene, and in a population of only Doves, a single Hawk would have such an advantage that an all-Dove population cannot evolve: it is not an ESS.

It is now clear how the ESS is masterfully used by Dawkins to expose the limitations of group selection. However, his use of the ESS extends much further than the simple Hawk-Dove game: the ESS explains cooperation between species, within the family, the biological differences between males and females, and a significant number of fascinating behaviors having evolved in nature. In The Selfish Gene, these behaviors can primarily be explained by a selfish gene view of natural selection, reinforced by the elegant tool of the Evolutionarily Stable Strategy.

What About the Alarm Calls?

Dawkins writes:

“Bird alarm calls have been held up so many times as ‘awkward’ for the Darwinian theory that it has become a kind of sport to dream up explanations for them. As a result, we now have so many good explanations that it is hard to remember what all the fuss was about”.

The selfish gene theory claims that natural selection favors genes that are good at surviving in a population, generation after generation. The selfish gene theory must therefore demonstrate why alarm calls are beneficial for the survival of genes, even if at first glance, it looks like the bird’s behavior favors the group more than the individual bird (and therefore, its genes).

Here, we will briefly explore three main explanations that align with the selfish gene theory: kin selection, the ESS, and the “never break ranks” theory. Note that kin selection is widely discussed in Dawkins’ book, and that although it is vaguely related to group selection, it operates at the level of the gene.

• Kin selection:

In a flock of birds, some individuals are closely related to each other: they have genes in common. Altruistic behavior is favored by natural selection because it gives higher survival chances — or chances of replicating themselves — to the genes present in different bodies.

John B. S. Haldane illustrated this by saying:

Would I lay down my life to save my brother? No, but I would to save two brothers or eight cousins.

In the case of alarm calls, one might assume that in the flock, a given individual has brothers, sisters, cousins for whom the benefit of saving outweighs the risk of emitting the call, from a selfish gene perspective, which is why it was favored by natural selection.

• ESS:

With kin selection theory in mind, it is easy to imagine the existence of an ESS. In this example, the two strategies are giving a call, or staying silent. If the benefit to related individuals outweighs the cost to the caller, genes for alarm calls will spread in a population and the strategy of calling when a predator is spotted can become evolutionarily stable. While a silent mutant in a population of callers may arise, it may not succeed in invading because while it avoids the immediate cost, it does not contribute to the survival of shared genes in its relatives.

• Never break ranks

In his book, Dawkins explains the “never break ranks” theory. Genes for calling may evolve in a population as a mechanism to never break ranks in the flock. A single bird, having spotted a predator, has the option to fly away. However, the latter strategy exposes it as a lone prey. Predators such as hawks are known to hunt birds who have separated from their flock. One can therefore conceive that natural selection would tend to favor genes for giving alarm calls, as staying in the flock and not breaking ranks gives higher prospects of survival.

Dawkins was right, there is no shortage of ways to explain bird alarm calls from a selfish gene perspective, without having to rely on group selection.

Conclusion:

John Maynard Smith and George R. Price have introduced a fascinating tool, the ESS, to understand how natural selection favors certain behaviors. Richard Dawkins masterfully uses it to explain the selfish gene theory and oppose group selection.

The point of this article was to introduce the ESS and Dawkins’ masterpiece of a book, The Selfish Gene. The selfish gene theory is a quite complex theory that encompasses many nuances. For the purpose of this article, some of these nuances have been overlooked, for the purpose of being — relatively — brief, and to encourage readers to explore the book.

In the book, Richard Dawkins uses the ESS and the selfish gene theory to explain behavior, relationships between generations and between sexes. Although it is a book about evolutionary biology, it gives insights into morality, philosophy, and helps us realize that nice guys can indeed finish first…

We have the power to defy the selfish genes of our birth and, if necessary, the selfish memes of our indoctrination. We can even discuss ways of deliberately cultivating and nurturing pure, disinterested altruism — something that has no place in nature, something that has never existed before in the whole history of the world. We are built as gene machines and cultured as meme machines, but we have the power to turn against our creators. We, alone on earth, can rebel against the tyranny of the selfish replicators. — Richard Dawkins in The Selfish Gene.

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References

• Dawkins, R. (2016). The selfish gene (40th anniversary ed.). Oxford University Press.

• Wikipedia. (n.d.). Evolutionarily stable strategy. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evolutionarily_stable_strategy

• Wikipedia. (n.d.). Prisoner’s dilemma. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prisoner%27s_dilemma

Further Details & Calculations

Evolutionarily Stable Strategy (ESS) — Definitions

Conditions for a strategy to qualify as an ESS:

Let’s look at the conditions for a strategy to qualify as an ESS:

Consider a strategy S and an alternative strategy T. The expected payoff for strategy S when playing against strategy T is represented by E(S,T).

1) E(S,S) > E(T,S)

or

2) E(S,S) = E(T,S) and E(S,T) > E(T,T)

In other words,

1) The expected payoff of strategy S playing against itself must be strictly greater than the expected payoff of strategy T playing against strategy S.

or

2) Alternatively, if the expected payoff of strategy S against itself is equal to that of strategy T against S, then for S to be an ESS, the expected payoff of S against T must be strictly greater than the expected payoff of T against itself.

Hawk-Dove Matrix:

• Dove vs Dove (E(D,D)): 15

The payoff for the winner is +40 (50–10 = 40) while the payoff for the loser is -10. On average, the expected payoff of Dove against Dove is 15:

E(D,D) = (40–10) / 2 = 15 // we divide by 2 because an individual wins 50% of its contests.

• Hawk vs Hawk (E(H,H)):

On average, the expected payoff of Hawk against Hawk is -25:

E(H,H) = (50–100) / 2 = -25 // we divide by 2 because an individual wins 50% of its contests.

• Hawk vs Dove (E(H,D) & E(D,H)):

On average, the expected payoff of Hawk against Dove is +50:

E(H,D) = 50

On average, the expected payoff of Dove against Hawk is 0:

E(D,H) = 0

Finding an ESS

• All Hawks (pure strategy):

1) E(S,S) > E(T,S)

or

2) E(S,S) = E(T,S) and E(S,T) > E(T,T)

Applying it to our example:

E(H,H) > E(D,H) => -25 > 0 // false

E(H,H) = E(D,H) => -25 ≠ 0

The conditions for an ESS are not met. There is no need for further calculations, as one can simply notice that an all Hawks population will inevitably be invaded by doves.