Tag: reason

The Tunnel (Or: How Modernity Solves Precisely Nothing)

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4–5 minutes

This is a continuation of a prior narrative.

But wait—surely someone will object—what if we just built a tunnel?

Remove the barrier! Enable free movement! Let people see both sides! Markets will equilibrate! Efficiency will reign! Progress!

So fine. The desert-dwellers say, “Let’s build a tunnel”.

Engineers arrive. Explosives are deployed. A passage is carved through the mountain. The fog clears inside the tunnel itself. You can now walk from lake to desert, desert to lake, without risking death by altitude.

Congratulations. Now what?

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

The lake doesn’t flow through the tunnel. The desert doesn’t migrate. The material conditions remain exactly as they were, except now they’re adjacent rather than separated.

And here’s where Modernity performs its favourite trick: it converts geographical accident into property rights.

The lake-dwellers look at their neighbours walking from the tunnel and think: “Ah. We have water. They need water. We should probably charge for that.”

Not out of malice. Out of perfectly rational economic calculation. After all, we maintain these shores (do we, though?). We cultivate these reeds (they grow on their own). We steward this resource (it replenishes whether we steward it or not).

John Locke would be beaming. Property through labour! Mixing effort with natural resources! The foundation of legitimate ownership!

Except nobody laboured to make the lake.

It was just there. On one side. Not the other.

The only “labour” involved was being born facing the right direction.

Primacy of position masquerading as primacy of effort.

What Actually Happens

The desert-dwellers can now visit. They can walk through the tunnel, emerge on the shore, and confirm with their own eyes: yes, there really is abundance here. Yes, the water is drinkable. Yes, there is genuinely enough.

And they can’t touch a drop without payment.

The tunnel hasn’t created shared resources. It’s created a market in geographical accident.

The desert-dwellers don’t become lake-dwellers. They become customers.

The lake-dwellers don’t become more generous. They become vendors.

And the separation—formerly enforced by mountains and fog and the physical impossibility of crossing—is now enforced by price.

Which is, if anything, more brutal. Because now the desert-dwellers can see what they cannot have. They can stand at the shore, watch the water lap at the sand, understand perfectly well that scarcity is not a universal condition but a local one—

And still return home thirsty unless they can pay.

Image: NotebookLM infographics of this topic

The Lockean Slight-of-Hand

Here’s what Locke tried to tell us: property is legitimate when you mix your labour with natural resources.

Here’s what he failed to mention: if you happen to be standing where the resources already are, you can claim ownership without mixing much labour at all.

The lake people didn’t create abundance. They just didn’t leave.

But once the tunnel exists, that positional advantage converts into property rights, and property rights convert into markets, and markets convert into the permanent enforcement of inequality that geography used to provide temporarily.

Before the tunnel: “We cannot share because of the mountains.”

After the tunnel: “We will not share because of ownership.”

Same outcome. Different justification. Significantly less honest.

The Desert-Dwellers’ Dilemma

Now the desert people face a choice.

They can purchase water. Which means accepting that their survival depends on the economic goodwill of people who did nothing to earn abundance except be born near it.

Or they can refuse. Maintain their careful, disciplined, rationed existence. Remain adapted to scarcity even though abundance is now—tantalisingly, insultingly—visible through a tunnel.

Either way, the tunnel hasn’t solved the moral problem.

It’s just made the power differential explicit rather than geographical.

And if you think that’s an improvement, ask yourself: which is crueller?

Being separated by mountains you cannot cross, or being separated by prices you cannot pay, whilst standing at the shore watching others drink freely?

TheBit Where This Connects to Actual Politics

So when Modernity tells you that the solution to structural inequality is infrastructure, markets, and free movement—

Ask this:

Does building a tunnel make the desert wet?

Does creating a market make abundance appear where it didn’t exist?

Does free movement help if you still can’t afford what’s on the other side?

The tunnel is a technical solution to a material problem.

But the material problem persists.

And what the tunnel actually creates is a moral problem: the formalisation of advantage that was previously just an environmental accident.

The lake-dwellers now have something to sell.

The desert-dwellers now have something to buy.

And we call this progress.

Moral: If your political metaphor doesn’t account for actual rivers, actual deserts, and actual fog, it’s not a metaphor. It’s a fairy tale. And unlike fairy tales, this one doesn’t end with a reunion.

It ends with two people walking home, each convinced the other is perfectly reasonable and completely unsurvivable.

Unless, of course, we build a tunnel.

In which case, it ends with one person selling water to the other, both convinced this is somehow more civilised than being separated by mountains.

Which, if you think about it, is far more terrifying than simple disagreement.

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Written by Clause Opus 4.5 upon dialogue with Bry Willis

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On Mediation, or: Why I Let an AI Write My Last Post

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…and this one. A clarification that is also a demonstration. If anything, the Americanisms should give it away.

The Preamble as Method

A previous post—the one with Foucault, Arendt, Sontag, Fish, Mill, and Girard all lined up like theoretical ammunition—was drafted entirely by ChatGPT after a conversation about the Dershowitz piece before it. I fed it my argument about moral contamination and asked it to expand the thesis with additional thinkers. It obliged. I posted it unedited.

I mention this not as confession but as method. If my core claim is that truth equals rhetoric—that there is no unmediated access to reality, only constructed positions negotiated through language, power, and interpretation—then having an AI mediate my argument while I mediate its output is not a bug. It’s a feature.

The question is never “who really wrote this” but “what work does this text do, and under what conditions?”

This is a non-foundationalist position. There is no neutral ground from which to assess claims. There is no Logic floating above rhetoric, no Reason untouched by affect, no Truth prior to its articulation. What we have are competing rhetorical constructions, each shaped by interests, histories, and power arrangements, each claiming—to varying degrees of honesty—to represent something beyond themselves.

The game is not to transcend this condition. The game is to stop pretending we ever could.

What I’m Actually Arguing

Let me be direct about what those two posts were defending, since the theoretical apparatus apparently obscured more than it clarified.

I am not arguing that:

  • Age of consent laws should be abolished
  • The French intellectuals were right to sign those petitions
  • Association with Epstein is irrelevant
  • Analysis automatically immunizes anyone from moral judgment

I am arguing that:

  1. Liberal discourse routinely launders emotional and political commitments as self-evident logic, then treats anyone who exposes this process as morally suspect.
  2. Legal thresholds are negotiated rhetorical compromises, not mathematical truths. They reflect harm minimization, cultural anxiety, enforcement pragmatics, and historical contingency. To analyze their construction is not to advocate their abolition.
  3. The “moral contamination reflex” treats inquiry as confession—not because the inquiry threatens truth, but because it threatens the claim that certain positions are simply Logic Itself rather than one rhetorical construction among others.
  4. Guilt by association is both a logical fallacy and sometimes a reasonable heuristic. The trick is admitting which one you’re doing at any given moment, rather than claiming your heuristic is deductive proof.

These claims are rhetorical positions. They are not transcendent truths. But neither are the positions they critique.

The Hypocrisy I’m Diagnosing

When someone argues that a 16-year-old capable of choosing abortion should be capable of choosing sex, they are making a rhetorical move. The argument has gaps—abortion concerns bodily autonomy in ways that sex with others does not; capacity for one decision doesn’t automatically transfer to capacity for another; power dynamics matter.

Fine. Point those out. Explain why the analogy fails.

But what actually happens is different. The argument is not refuted. The arguer is diagnosed. Making the argument becomes evidence of desire. Analyzing it becomes evidence of endorsement. Logic is treated as circumstantial proof of guilt.

This is not because the argument is uniquely dangerous. It’s because it threatens a stabilizing fiction: that our current legal thresholds are both pragmatically necessary and philosophically coherent. They are the former. They are not the latter. And the moral panic that greets anyone who points this out is not about protecting children. It’s about protecting the claim that our compromises are something more than compromises.

The same pattern plays out with Epstein associations. Some people knew him socially or professionally in contexts that had nothing to do with his crimes. Some people continued relationships after credible allegations emerged. Some people were directly complicit. These are different categories.

But the discourse collapses them. Everyone in the address book becomes suspect. Association becomes evidence. And anyone who suggests “we should distinguish between these cases” is immediately accused of defending predators.

This is not logic. This is moral theatre. And the fury it provokes when exposed is not righteous. It’s defensive.

The Difference Between Rhetoric and Relativism

Saying “truth equals rhetoric” sounds like relativism. It sounds like I’m claiming all positions are equal, nothing matters, anything goes.

I’m not.

I’m claiming that all positions are constructed through rhetoric, but that doesn’t make them equal. It means we should argue about them on the terms they actually operate—consequences, values, power, effects—rather than pretending one side has Logic and the other side has Emotion.

Some rhetorical constructions are more defensible than others. Age of consent laws, as constructed compromises aimed at harm reduction, are defensible. That doesn’t mean they’re philosophically coherent or that analyzing their incoherence is an attack on children.

Maintaining professional relationships with powerful people who were later revealed to be criminals does not make you guilty of their crimes. But it might raise questions about judgment, complicity, or willful blindness—questions that should be asked specifically, not universally.

The difference is this: I’m not claiming my position is Logic. I’m claiming it’s a rhetorical construction I find more defensible than the alternatives, for reasons I’m willing to argue about.

What I’m criticizing is the move where liberal discourse presents its rhetorical positions as self-evident moral truths, then treats dissent as pathology.

Why the Theoretical Version Failed

The expanded post tried to universalize the pattern—to show that this reflex appears across domains, across thinkers, across history. It succeeded at that. What it failed to do was stay grounded enough for readers to assess whether the pattern I was describing was real or whether I was constructing a persecution narrative.

The problem was strategic evasiveness. By staying abstract, the piece avoided being testable. It gestured at examples without committing to them. It borrowed authority from Foucault and Arendt without doing the work of showing how their critiques apply to the specific cases I had in mind.

This created a gap between what the essay claimed to be doing (defending analysis against moral panic) and what it was actually doing (defending specific controversial figures using theory as cover).

That gap is what critics correctly identified as bad faith.

What I Should Have Said

Here’s the honest version:

The Dershowitz argument is bad. The abortion-sex analogy doesn’t hold. But “the argument is bad” and “making the argument is evidence of pedophilia” are not the same claim. One is logical critique. The other is moral contamination. We should be able to distinguish them.

The 1977 French petitions were misjudged. Calling for the abolition of age of consent laws in that context, with those specific cases, was not wise. But signing a petition is not the same as committing the acts in question, and treating mid-century French intellectual culture as self-evidently monstrous erases the specific debates they were having about law, psychiatry, and state power. We can think they were wrong without treating the question itself as unspeakable.

Epstein’s network matters. Some associations are meaningful. Power enabled his abuse, and understanding how requires looking at who knew what and when. But not every name in a flight log or party photo is evidence of complicity, and the current discourse often treats them as such. We should distinguish between innocent contact, poor judgment, and active enablement—not flatten everything into “guilt by proximity.”

These are all messy positions. They require distinctions, context, and willingness to live in discomfort. That’s harder than moral certainty. But it’s also more honest.

The Meta-Point About AI Generation

The fact that the previous post was AI-generated does something interesting to all of this.

It was rhetorically effective. It marshaled the right theoretical authorities. It structured the argument coherently. It sounded like philosophy. And it was assembled by a pattern-matching system with no beliefs, no commitments, no stakes.

This should tell us something about the nature of rhetoric itself. The text worked—or didn’t—based on what it did, not where it came from. Authenticity is not truth. Authorship is not authority. What matters is whether the construction holds, and under what conditions.

I could have hidden the AI involvement. Many would. The disclosure feels like it undermines the argument’s authority—if a machine wrote it, does it count?

But that reaction itself proves the point. We want arguments to come from authenticated sources, from proper authority, from legitimate speakers. We want to know who’s talking so we can decide whether to trust them. This is not Logic. This is rhetoric all the way down.

The AI wrote a version of my argument that was cleaner and more theoretically sophisticated than I would have produced alone. It was also more evasive, more abstract, less committed. Those aren’t bugs in the process. They’re features of how the system generates text—maximizing coherence, minimizing controversy, staying in safe abstraction.

That I chose to post it anyway, knowing these limitations, is itself a rhetorical move. It says: “I’m willing to use mediated tools to construct my position, and I’m not pretending otherwise.”

What This Leaves Us With

I started with a claim about moral contamination—that liberal discourse treats certain kinds of inquiry as self-incriminating. I then demonstrated this by making precisely the kind of inquiry that provokes that reflex, using examples I knew would be read as defensive rather than analytical.

The responses proved the thesis. Analysis was read as confession. Theory was read as cover. Even asking whether a distinction exists between argument and endorsement was taken as evidence that no such distinction can be maintained.

But here’s what I didn’t make clear enough: I’m not claiming to be above this dynamic. I’m in it too. I have commitments, interests, and positions I’m defending. The difference is I’m naming them as such, rather than claiming they’re simply What Logic Demands.

Truth equals rhetoric. We’re all doing motivated reasoning. The question is not “who has transcended their motivations” but “whose motivations, toward what ends, with what consequences?”

I think the moral contamination reflex produces bad discourse—not because it’s emotional, but because it claims not to be. I think guilt by association is overused—not because association never matters, but because we’ve stopped distinguishing between different kinds of association. I think legal thresholds should be analyzable—not because they should be abolished, but because unexamined laws are dangerous even when well-intentioned.

These are rhetorical positions. I’m arguing for them. I’m not pretending they’re Logic Itself.

If you disagree, argue back. But argue with what I’m actually saying, not with what analysis supposedly reveals about my secret desires.

That’s all I’m asking for. And apparently, it’s too much.

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Written by Claude Sonnet 4.5

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Pure Reason: The Architecture of Illusion

Posted in art, modernism, philosophy, podcastTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment
2–3 minutes

If reason had a landscape, it would look like this card: a maze of ascending and descending staircases, forever rational yet going nowhere. Kant might have called it a Critique of Pure Geometry.

Pure Reason, the first card in the Postmodern set, isn’t so much an homage to Kant as it is a cautionary reconstruction. It honours his ambition to build a universe from deduction while quietly mourning the price of that construction: alienation from experience.

Image: Card 001 from the Postmodern Set — Philosophics.blog

The Meta

Suspend Disbelief (3).
For the next three turns, arguments cannot be resolved by evidence, only by deduction.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast of this topic.

The rule text re-enacts Kant’s method. In the Critique of Pure Reason, he cordoned off the realm of empirical evidence and tried to chart what the mind could know a priori – before experience. The card’s mechanic enforces that isolation. For three turns, players must reason in a vacuum: no appeals to observation, no touchstones of reality, only deduction.

It’s a temporary world built entirely of logic, an echo of the transcendental playground Kant envisioned. The effect is powerful but sterile – thought constructing universes that can’t sustain life.

The flavour text says it plainly:

“Reason alone constructs universes.
Whether they can be lived in is another matter.”

— Immanuel Kant

That line, of course, is apocryphal, but it captures the essence of his project: reason as world-maker and prison architect in one.

The Architecture of Thought

The artwork mirrors Escher’s impossible staircases – a labyrinth of pure geometry, ordered yet uninhabitable. Each path is internally consistent, logically sound, but spatially absurd. This is Kant’s transcendental edifice made visual: coherent on paper, dizzying in practice.

The lone figure standing in the maze is the transcendental subject – the philosopher trapped within the architecture of his own cognition. He surveys the world he has built from categories and forms, unable to escape the walls of his own reason.

It’s a neat metaphor for Enlightenment hubris: the belief that reason can serve as both foundation and roof, requiring no support from the messy ground of existence.

Kant’s Double Legacy

Kant’s Critique was both the high point and the breaking point of Enlightenment rationality. It erected the scaffolding for science, ethics, and aesthetics but revealed the fault lines beneath them. His insistence that the mind structures experience rather than merely reflecting it gave birth to both modern idealism and modern doubt.

Every philosopher after him – Hegel, Nietzsche, Husserl, Derrida – has been trying either to escape or to inhabit that labyrinth differently. Pure Reason captures this tension: the glory of construction and the tragedy of confinement.

My Take

Reason is a magnificent liar. It promises order, clarity, and autonomy, but its perfection is its undoing. It abstracts itself from life until it can no longer recognise its own maker. Kant’s world is flawless and airless – a rational utopia unfit for breathing creatures.

I view Pure Reason as the archetype of the Enlightenment illusion: the attempt to found a living world on the logic of dead forms. What he achieved was monumental, but the monument was a mausoleum.

The card, then, is not just a tribute to Kant but a warning to his descendants (ourselves included): every system of thought eventually turns into an Escher print. Beautiful, consistent, and utterly unlivable.

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Written by Bry Willis

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Book Announcement: Illusion of Light

Posted in fiction, identity, language, modernism, perception, philosophy, podcast, politics, postmodernism, power, religionTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment
2–3 minutes

I’ve just released a new book, The Illusion of Light: Thinking After the Enlightenment, now available in paperback through KDP and distributed via Amazon. In November, a clothbound edition will follow through IngramSpark, extending availability to libraries and independent bookstores worldwide, including Barnes & Noble in the United States.

The Illusion of Light introduces the Anti-Enlightenment Essays series, which includes Objectivity Is Illusion, Rational Ghosts, Temporal Ghosts, Against Agency, The Myth of Homo Normalis, and The Discipline of Dis-Integration. Together, these works explore how the Enlightenment’s promise of illumination became the architecture of modern control – and how to think, live, and care in the half-light it left behind.

Image: Front cover of The Illusion of Light. Links to Amazon for purchase.
The ‘Free Preview’ claim is untrue, as there is no Kindle version available. An ebook will be available presently.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

About the Book

The Illusion of Light opens where the Enlightenment’s glare begins to fade. It asks what happens after reason exhausts itself – after the promise of illumination gives way to overexposure. These essays trace how modernity’s metaphors of light and progress became instruments of management: how objectivity hardened into ritual, agency into alibi, normality into control.

Rather than rejecting the Enlightenment outright, the book lingers in its afterimage. It argues for a philosophy practiced in the half-light – a mode of thought that values nuance over certainty, care over mastery, and maintenance over redemption. To read by residual light, as the preface suggests, is to learn to see again when the world stops pretending to be illuminated.

The preface is available on this prior post, written and audio versions.

The Broader Project

The Illusion of Light forms the threshold of the Anti-Enlightenment Project, a series examining the afterlives of modern reason – how its ideals of progress, agency, objectivity, and normality continue to govern our politics, sciences, and selves long after their foundations have cracked. Each volume approaches the same question from a different room in the old House of Reason: Objectivity Is Illusion, Rational Ghosts, Temporal Ghosts, Against Agency, The Myth of Homo Normalis, and The Discipline of Dis-Integration.

Taken together, they offer not a manifesto but a practice: philosophy as maintenance work, care as critique, and composure as the only honest response to the ruins of certainty. More to follow.

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Written by Bry Willis

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The Anti-Enlightenment Project: A New Portal for Old Ghosts

Posted in agency, fiction, identity, modernism, perception, philosophy, postmodernism, science, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment
1–2 minutes

Not the darkness after the light,
but the shadow the light forgot it cast

The Enlightenment promised light. What it delivered was fluorescence – bright, sterile, and buzzing with the sound of its own reason.

The Anti-Enlightenment Project gathers a set of essays, fragments, and quotations tracing how that light dimmed – or perhaps was never as luminous as advertised. It’s less a manifesto than a map of disintegration: how agency became alibi, how reason became ritual, and how modernity mistook motion for progress.

The new Anti-Enlightenment page curates this ongoing project in one place:

  • Preprints and essays (Against Agency, Rational Ghosts, Temporal Ghosts, and others to follow)
  • Related reflections from Philosophics posts going back to 2019
  • A living index of quotations from Nietzsche to Wynter, tracing philosophy’s slow discovery that its foundation may have been sand all along

This isn’t a war on knowledge, science, or reason – only on their misappropriation as universal truths. The Anti-Enlightenment simply asks what happens when we stop pretending that the Enlightenment’s “light” was neutral, natural, or necessary.

It’s not reactionary. It’s diagnostic.

The Enlightenment built the modern world; the Anti-Enlightenment merely asks whether we mistook the glare for daylight.

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Post by Bry Willis

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Reason on a Spectrum

Posted in consciousness, identity, intelligence, language, modernism, morality, nature, perception, philosophy, podcast, politics, psychology, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment
4–6 minutes

Reason is not an oracle of truth but a spectrum-bound tool, and when it is worshipped as absolute, it curdles into pathology. True rationality knows when to temper itself, when to equivocate, and when a kind lie is wiser than a cold fact.

Reason and rationality are the household gods of modernity. We light incense to them daily: follow the science, be reasonable, act rationally. But before we genuflect, it’s worth asking what exactly we mean. By reason, I mean the faculty of inference – spotting contradictions, tracing causes. By rationality, I mean the practice of applying that faculty toward some end. That’s all. Nothing mystical.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

The trouble starts when these concepts are treated as absolutes. They aren’t. They vary in intensity and application. A person’s reasoning operates on a spectrum with something like frequency and amplitude. Some minds hum at low frequency – broad strokes, contradictions smoothed over by intuition. Others burn hot at high frequency and amplitude – rapid logical leaps, obsessive consistency, the inability to let a premise go. And while some reason flows like a continuous wave – steady, consistent, predictable – other forms fire more like particles: synaptic sparks that don’t always connect, logic arriving in bursts or stutters rather than as a smooth line.

“But a normal ego of this sort is, like normality in general, an ideal fiction. The abnormal ego, which is unserviceable for our purposes, is unfortunately no fiction. Every normal person, in fact, is only normal on the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other and to a greater or lesser extent; and the degree of its remoteness from one end of the series and of its proximity to the other will furnish us with a provisional measure of what we have so indefinitely termed an ‘alteration of the ego’.”

― Sigmund Freud

Push too far and what we sanctify as ‘reason’ bleeds into what psychiatry pathologises as autism or schizophrenia. Meanwhile, ‘normal’ cognition always includes an emotional ballast. Strip it out and the result looks alien, even monstrous. Freud’s quip about psychopathy – that the psychopath differs from the rest of us in degree, not kind – applies just as well to reason. Rationality is simply the socially acceptable blend of logic and affect. Deviate, and you’re declared broken.

Camus gave us a parable in The Stranger. Meursault observes his world with ruthless clarity, but no emotional resonance. He doesn’t weep at his mother’s funeral, and society condemns him less for murder than for failing to perform grief. His ‘pure’ reason reads as inhuman.

Here’s the paradox: if rationality means adapting effectively to one’s environment, then pure rationality demands knowing when to suspend itself. A person who insists on logic at every turn is not rational but maladapted. The rational actor lies, flatters, nods at the boss’s bad joke, comforts the friend who doesn’t want statistics but solace. Rationality that cannot bend collapses into pathology.

This is why the infamous ‘Do these jeans make me look fat?’ question is such a perfect test. The ‘true’ answer, if you are reasoning narrowly, may be ‘yes’. But true rationality recognises the context, the stakes, the human need beneath the words. The rational response is not the cold fact but the kind equivocation. Rationality that cannot lie is no rationality at all.

Here’s the paradox: if rationality means adapting effectively to one’s environment, then pure rationality demands knowing when to suspend itself. A person who insists on logic at every turn is not rational but maladapted. The rational actor lies, flatters, nods at the boss’s bad joke, comforts the friend who doesn’t want statistics but solace. Rationality that cannot bend collapses into pathology.

Consider the social rituals we all know. A partner says, ‘I like that house’, and the rationally over-tuned response is to evaluate the house. The actual cue is in the like, not the house. The answer isn’t that you dislike the house, but rather what you can appreciate about it. Miss that, and you miss the point. Or take the dinner table: when my son was seven, a well-meaning host – very Martha Stewart – asked him how he enjoyed his meal. He replied, with perfect candour, ‘I’ve had better’. From a logical standpoint, faultless. From a rational standpoint – if rationality includes social adaptation – disastrous. The question was never about the food. It was a cue for appreciation, for harmony. He gave fact when what was asked for was affiliation.

So yes, I attack reason and rationality – not because they don’t exist, but because they are misapplied, reified, and worshipped as neutral arbiters of truth. They are not. They are tools with a range, and outside that range, they fail catastrophically. To speak of ‘reason’ as if it were an unqualified good is like praising fire without mentioning its talent for arson.

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After I wrote this, I realised I forgot to mention Kant.

Even Kant, patron saint of rational duty, insisted you must never lie, not even a white lie, not even to a murderer asking where your friend is hiding. For him, truth-telling was categorical, binding, immune to circumstance. But this is reason gone rigid, unable to flex with human reality. It shows how worship of Reason leads not to morality but to monstrosity. A rationality that cannot bend is no rationality at all.

The Myth of the Rational Base: Le Bon and the Crowd Revisited

Posted in consciousness, intelligence, language, modernism, perception, philosophy, podcast, politics, psychology, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment
2–3 minutes

Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind (1895) has had the half-life of uranium. His thesis is simple and disturbing: rational individuals become irrational when they merge into a crowd. The crowd hypnotises, contagion spreads, and reason dissolves in the swell of collective emotion.

It’s neat. It’s elegant. It’s also far too flattering.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

Le Bon assumes that the default state of the human being is rational, some Enlightenment holdover where citizens, left to their own devices, behave like tidy mini-Kants. Then, and only then, do they lose their reason in the mob. The trouble is that a century of behavioural science has made it painfully clear that “rational man” is a fairy tale.

Daniel Kahneman mapped our cognitive machinery in Thinking, Fast and Slow: System 1 (fast, intuitive, emotional) is running the show while System 2 (slow, deliberate, logical) is mostly hired as the PR manager after the fact. Dan Ariely built a career documenting just how predictably irrational we are – anchoring, framing, sunk-cost fallacies, you name it. Add in Tversky, Thaler, Gigerenzer, and the usual suspects, and the picture is clear: we don’t need a crowd to become irrational. We start irrational, and then the crowd amplifies it.

In that sense, Le Bon wasn’t wrong about crowds being dangerous, but he may have missed the darker point. A crowd doesn’t corrupt a rational base – it accelerates the irrational baseline. It’s not Jekyll turning into Hyde; it’s Hyde on a megaphone.

This matters because if you take Le Bon literally, the problem is situational: avoid crowds and you’ll preserve reason. But if you take Kahneman seriously, the problem is structural: crowds only reveal what was already there. The positive feedback loop of group psychology doesn’t replace rationality; it feeds on the biases, illusions, and shortcuts already baked into the individual mind.

Le Bon handed us the stage directions for mass manipulation. Modern behavioural economics shows us that the script was already written in our heads before we ever left the house. Put the two together and you have the perfect recipe for political spectacle, advertising, and algorithmic nudges.

Which makes Le Bon’s century-old observations correct – but not nearly bleak enough.

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« Je pense, donc j’ai raison ! »

Posted in intelligence, modernism, morality, nature, perception, philosophy, podcast, postmodernism, psychology, religion, science, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment
3–4 minutes

The Enlightenment promised a universal Reason; what we got was a carnival mirror that flatters philosophers and fools the rest of us. MacIntyre and Anscombe diagnosed the corpse with precision, but then tried to resurrect it with Aristotelian or theological magic tricks. I’m less charitable: you can’t will petrol into an empty tank. In my latest essay, I put ‘Reason’ on the slab, call in Kahneman, Hume, Nietzsche, and others as expert witnesses, and deliver the verdict: morality is a house rule, not a cosmic law. This piece is part of a larger project that includes my Language Insufficiency Hypothesis and Against Dumocracy. The Enlightenment isn’t dying – it’s already dead. We’re just cataloguing the remains.

The Enlightenment was many things: a bonfire of superstition, a hymn to autonomy, a fever dream of “Reason” enthroned. Its philosophers fancied themselves heirs to Aristotle and midwives to a new humanity. And to be fair, they were clever enough to trick even themselves. Too clever by half.

Alasdair MacIntyre, in After Virtue, plays the role of forensic pathologist with admirable precision. He shows us how the Enlightenment dynamited the teleological scaffolding of Aristotle, then tried to keep the vocabulary of virtue, duty, and rights standing in mid-air. The result: what he calls a “moral Babel,” a chorus of shrill assertions dressed up as rational law. Elizabeth Anscombe had already filed the death certificate back in 1958 with Modern Moral Philosophy, where she pointed out that our talk of “moral obligation” is just a Christian relic without a deity to enforce it. And Nietzsche, that perennial party-crasher, cheerfully declared the whole project bankrupt: once the gods are dead, “ought” is nothing but resentment pretending to be metaphysics.

And yet, when MacIntyre reaches the heart of the matter, he can’t quite let the body stay buried. He wants to reattach a soul by importing an Aristotelian telos, even summoning a “new St Benedict” to shepherd us through the ruins. It plays beautifully with those still tethered by a golden string to Aquinas and the premodern, but let’s be honest: this is just hypnosis with a Latin chorus. Descartes told us je pense, donc je suis; MacIntyre updates it to je pense, donc j’ai raison. The trouble is that thinking doesn’t guarantee rightness any more than an empty petrol tank guarantees motion. You can will fuel into existence all you like; the car still isn’t going anywhere.

The behavioral economists – Kahneman, Tversky, Ariely, Gigerenzer – have already demonstrated that human reason is less compass than carnival mirror. Jonathan Haidt has shown that our “moral reasoning” usually lags behind our gut feelings like a PR department scrambling after a scandal. Meanwhile, political practice reduces “just war” to a matter of who gets to publish the rule book. Progress™ is declared, rights are invoked, but the verdict is always written by the most powerful litigant in the room.

So yes, MacIntyre and Anscombe diagnose the corpse with impressive clarity. But then they can’t resist playing resurrectionist, insisting that if we only chant the right metaphysical formula, the Enlightenment’s heart will start beating again. My own wager is bleaker – or maybe just more honest. There is no golden thread back to Aristotle, no metaphysical petrol station in the desert. Morality is not a universal constant; it’s a set of rules as contingent as the offside law. Killing becomes “murder” only when the tribe – or the state – says so. “Life is sacred” is not a discovery but a spell, a linguistic sleight of hand that lets us kill in one context while weeping in another.

The Enlightenment wanted to enthrone Reason as our common oracle. Instead, it handed us a corpse and told us to pretend it was still breathing. My contribution is simply to keep the coroner’s mask on and say: The magic tricks aren’t working anymore. Stop looking for a metaphysical anchor that isn’t there. If there’s to be an “after,” it won’t come from another Saint Benedict. It will come from admitting that the Enlightenment died of believing its own hype – and that language itself was never built to carry the weight of gods.

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Within One Sigma of Civilisation

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Freud once quipped that people are “normal” only on average. To the degree that they deviate from the mean, they are neurotic, psychotic, or otherwise abnormal. Whatever else one thinks of Freud, the metaphor holds for Modernity.

Image: Picture and quote by Sigmund Freud: Every normal person, in fact, is only normal on the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other and to a greater or lesser extent. —Analysis Terminable And Interminable (1937), Chapter V

We are “Modern” only on average, and only for the first standard deviation. Within one sigma, you can wave a flag and declare: rational, secular, Enlightened. But step further into the tails and the façade dissolves. The “normal” modern turns out to attend megachurches, consult horoscopes, share conspiracy memes, or cling to metaphysical relics that Enlightenment reason was supposed to have torched centuries ago.

„ Jeder Normale ist eben nur durchschnittlich normal, sein Ich nähert sich dem des Psychotikers in dem oder jenem Stück, in größerem oder geringerem Ausmaß. “

— Sigmund Freud, Die endliche und die unendliche Analyse

The problem isn’t that these people aren’t Modern. The problem is that nobody is Modern, not in the sense the story requires. The mean is an over-fitted abstraction. “Modernity” works like Freud’s “normal”: a statistical average that erases the deviations, then insists that the erased bits are pathology rather than reality.

But the tails are where most of human life actually happens. The “average Modern” is as mythical as the “reasonable person.” What we call Modernity is just a bell curve costume draped over the same mix of superstition, desire, and contingency that has always driven human behaviour.

A Critique of Reason (Not to Be Confused with Kant’s)

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2–3 minutes

Kant, bless him, thought he was staging the trial of Reason itself, putting the judge in the dock and asking whether the court had jurisdiction. It was a noble spectacle, high theatre of self-scrutiny. But the trick was always rigged. The presiding judge, the prosecution, the jury, the accused, all wore the same powdered wig. Unsurprisingly, Reason acquitted itself.

The Enlightenment’s central syllogism was never more than a parlour trick:

  • P1: The best path is Reason.
  • P2: I practice Reason.
  • C: Therefore, Reason is best.

It’s the self-licking ice-cream cone of intellectual history. And if you dare to object, the trap springs shut: what, you hate Reason? Then you must be irrational. Inquisitors once demanded heretics prove they weren’t in league with Satan; the modern equivalent is being told you’re “anti-science.” The categories defend themselves by anathematising doubt.

The problem is twofold:

First, Reason never guaranteed agreement. Two thinkers can pore over the same “facts” and emerge with opposite verdicts, each sincerely convinced that Reason has anointed their side. In a power-laden society, it is always the stronger voice that gets to declare its reasoning the reasoning. As Dan Hind acidly observed, Reason is often nothing more than a marketing label the powerful slap on their interests.

Second, and this is the darker point, Reason itself is metaphysical, a ghost in a powdered wig. To call something “rational” is already to invoke an invisible authority, as if Truth had a clerical seal. Alasdair MacIntyre was right: strip away the old rituals and you’re left with fragments, not foundations.

Other witnesses have tried to say as much. Horkheimer and Adorno reminded us that Enlightenment rationality curdles into myth the moment it tries to dominate the world. Nietzsche laughed until his throat bled at the pretence of universal reason, then promptly built his own metaphysics of will. Bruno Latour, in We Have Never Been Modern, dared to expose Science as what it actually is – a messy network of institutions, instruments, and politics masquerading as purity. The backlash was so swift and sanctimonious that he later called it his “worst” book, a public recantation that reads more like forced penance than revelation. Even those who glimpsed the scaffolding had to return to the pews.

So when we talk about “Reason” as the bedrock of Modernity, let’s admit the joke. The bedrock was always mist. The house we built upon it is held up by ritual, inertia, and vested interest, not granite clarity. Enlightenment sold us the fantasy of a universal judge, when what we got was a self-justifying oracle. Reason is not the judge in the courtroom. Reason is the courtroom itself, and the courtroom is a carnival tent – all mirrors, no floor.

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