Don Geddis left a comment on my last post. My reply grew far longer than would reasonably fit into a comment reply so I decided to post it as an article. Don wrote:
I wonder if you've considered that perhaps you have more in common with the people who frustrate you, than your current self-image suggests.
My reply:
I've not just considered it, I will happily concede that I am not as rational as I fancy myself to be. In my case, I would prefer to put a slightly different spin on it and say that I am not as rational as I would like to be, or as I try to be, but whatever. I'm a fallible human, just like everyone else. (Duh!) I make mistakes, and one of the mistakes I've made on more than one occasion is to be overly confident in my own abilities. The best I can say about myself (or at least could until recently) is that I try. I try to recognize when I make mistakes. I try to learn from them. I try to improve.
The failure I'm referring to in this post is not that I've failed to be sufficiently rational, or even that I've failed to persuade others to become more rational. I only mentioned that to put my gloomy assessment of the situation into context. My failure is that I reached the limits of my willingness to try. I've had arguments with Protestants and Catholics and Muslims and Witnesses and Mormons and YECs and lunar landing denialists and even Republicans. (I've never had the pleasure of interacting directly with a flat-earther, but if there are any among my audience who would be willing to engage I'd welcome the opportunity.) The vast majority of these discussions have been civil and constructive. I've learned a lot, and found a surprising amount of common ground. I can steel-man just about any position (even yours, I'll bet). In a not-insignificant number of cases I've ended up becoming friends with my interlocutor (at least for a while). I even managed to make peace with Erik Naggum once (at least for a while). That is one of my proudest achievements. I figured if I could have a civil discussion with him and find common ground, I could do it with anyone.
I was wrong. I tried really hard with Publius for a very long time, but the claim that Kamala Harris was never a prosecutor was such a brazen falsehood that it took me by surprise, and left me to face two of the most difficult choices of my life. The first was whether to publish the claim and its accompanying screed. Do I contribute to the promulgation of falsehoods, or do I sign on to cancel culture and become a censor? Neither of these options is appealing. Both run deeply counter to my moral intuitions. It's not even clear to me which is the lesser of the two evils. I ultimately chose the former, not because I had a good argument for it, but just because I didn't want to face the second choice: if I published Publius's comments, should I respond to them, and if so, how?
The reason this second choice was so difficult is that responding to Publius takes a lot of effort. It can be mentally exhausting. He's not stupid. If I make a mistake, I can be pretty sure he'll call me out on it. (See for example our recent exchange about the Chinese Room.) So I can't phone it in. I have to think and do research and keep track of a zillion different points (because Publius is a master of the Gish Gallop). It takes time and mental energy, both of which I have in increasingly short supply these days. So responding to Publius has a cost. On the other hand, not responding has a cost too. If I publish his comments and don't reply, someone might come away with the impression that I think his claim might have some merit, and that's not a good outcome for me either.
I agonized over this for nearly two months hoping that some other alternative would present itself, but none did. So I decided to do what I did. I don't regret it, but I'm not proud of it either. I find it a little harder to look at myself in the mirror now than I did before. Before I could say that, yeah, I'm far from being perfectly rational, but I'm willing to listen to anyone and try my best to understand their position. I can't say that any more.
But I can still say it about you, Don. I've never censored you, and you have never said anything that would make me even consider it. Your silence here is self-imposed. Any time you feel like breaking that silence, either in public or privately, I'm ready and willing to listen to you, and that has always been the case.