17.11.06
11.11.06
The Beauty of the Reductio ad Absurdum
Reductio ad absurdum can be striking, indeed beautiful, in its simplicity. Taking a bad premise to its logical extreme can concisely illustrate just how bad the premise is. Here are my two favorite 'reductios'.
The first is in response to epistemological relativism in philosophy of science. The basic claim (i.e., the bad premise) is that truth and knowledge are socially determined; I believe what I do because of my contingent history of social, economic, and cultural experiences.
If this assertion is made 'in good faith', it eats itself. If its true, then by necessity, the speaker believes it only by virtue of his social history. On the other hand, if the speaker has non-social reasons to believe the assertion, then the assertion can't be true (at least not in its strongest form).
Clearly personal social histories play some role in what and why people believe what they do. Just as clearly, one's social history is not the sole determinant of one's beliefs. If it were, I'd be just as much a socialist, epistemological relativist as the middle-class suburbanites in the typical 'arts and science' department. But I'm not. Personal social histories play a role in the formation of belief systems, but they clearly do not determine them.
My second favorite (i.e., the second on my list of favorites, not my slightly-less-favorite) reductio applies to arguments for (raising the) minimum wage. Proponents of raising the minimum wage typically argue that it is necessary in order for poor folks to work their way out of poverty. From the official Democratic platform (p. 30, pdf here):
The natural, and correct, response to this reductio ad absurdum is to point out that paying someone, say, $1000 per hour when their labor is worth far less than this is ridiculous. But this same logic applies to any stipulated wage floor. If someone wants and is willing to work for $3.00 per hour, why stop them?
Granted, it wouldn't be easy to pay rent and buy food working for $3.00 an hour, especially if you have to house and feed more than just yourself, but it would be easier to do so at $3.00 an hour than it would at $0.00 an hour. Legislating a lower limit on what members of the labor pool can accept for their services prices the least experienced out of the job market (here's an old Cato article about it that quotes Walter Williams' excellent State Against Blacks [which I first heard about when I read this article about the minimum wage at Mises.org]). It becomes quickly clear that the issue is less that of raising the minimum wage than it is that of having a minimum wage at all.
Of course, the reductio ad absurdum isn't the only, or even the most, useful logical tool. The cases against relativism and the minimum wage can be developed a good ways beyond the simple arguments made above. But the reductio's beauty is in its ability to allow a lousy premise to imply its own demise. It's like logical tai-chi.
The first is in response to epistemological relativism in philosophy of science. The basic claim (i.e., the bad premise) is that truth and knowledge are socially determined; I believe what I do because of my contingent history of social, economic, and cultural experiences.
If this assertion is made 'in good faith', it eats itself. If its true, then by necessity, the speaker believes it only by virtue of his social history. On the other hand, if the speaker has non-social reasons to believe the assertion, then the assertion can't be true (at least not in its strongest form).
Clearly personal social histories play some role in what and why people believe what they do. Just as clearly, one's social history is not the sole determinant of one's beliefs. If it were, I'd be just as much a socialist, epistemological relativist as the middle-class suburbanites in the typical 'arts and science' department. But I'm not. Personal social histories play a role in the formation of belief systems, but they clearly do not determine them.
My second favorite (i.e., the second on my list of favorites, not my slightly-less-favorite) reductio applies to arguments for (raising the) minimum wage. Proponents of raising the minimum wage typically argue that it is necessary in order for poor folks to work their way out of poverty. From the official Democratic platform (p. 30, pdf here):
The dream of the middle class should belong to all Americans willing to work for it. We still have work to do as long as millions of Americans work full-time, fulfill their responsibilities, and continue to live in poverty. We will offer these Americans a ladder to the middle class. That means raising the minimum wage to $7.00,....Why stop at $7.00? If raising the minimum wage to $7.00 will help people ascend to the middle class, won't raising it to $7.50 make the ascension quicker? How about $10.00? $20.00? $1000?
The natural, and correct, response to this reductio ad absurdum is to point out that paying someone, say, $1000 per hour when their labor is worth far less than this is ridiculous. But this same logic applies to any stipulated wage floor. If someone wants and is willing to work for $3.00 per hour, why stop them?
Granted, it wouldn't be easy to pay rent and buy food working for $3.00 an hour, especially if you have to house and feed more than just yourself, but it would be easier to do so at $3.00 an hour than it would at $0.00 an hour. Legislating a lower limit on what members of the labor pool can accept for their services prices the least experienced out of the job market (here's an old Cato article about it that quotes Walter Williams' excellent State Against Blacks [which I first heard about when I read this article about the minimum wage at Mises.org]). It becomes quickly clear that the issue is less that of raising the minimum wage than it is that of having a minimum wage at all.
Of course, the reductio ad absurdum isn't the only, or even the most, useful logical tool. The cases against relativism and the minimum wage can be developed a good ways beyond the simple arguments made above. But the reductio's beauty is in its ability to allow a lousy premise to imply its own demise. It's like logical tai-chi.
2.11.06
John Kerry vs. Humor
So, John Kerry botched a joke on Monday. In a speech to some California college students, he said, "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you get stuck in Iraq."
Not surprisingly, reaction was swift, loud, negative, and omnipresent. Despite Kerry's claim that the barb was aimed at the President, many were offended on behalf of our noble, selfless troops. Putting aside the commonly accepted absurdity that being in the military implies selflessness and nobility of purpose, the most obvious interpretation of the joke is that 'you' get stuck in Iraq as a grunt, signing up for military duty only because your lousy performance in school reduced the number of careers available to you to just the one.
It took me two full days to understand that the 'you' that gets stuck in Iraq is President Bush. He didn't do well in school, see, and now he's stuck in Iraq. That's almost funny.
Allow me to make a suggestion regarding how to make the joke actually funny. The problem is that the intended interpretation and the most likely interpretation are different. The most obvious solution, then, would be to include some uniquely presidential clue to the identity of the 'you' that gets stuck in Iraq.
For example, Kerry could have said, "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you get your country stuck in Iraq."
While this is certainly an improvement on Kerry's weak effort, it is, perhaps, too subtle. A less subtle possibility: "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you end up President of the United States and get your country stuck in Iraq."
This makes obvious another, even better option, namely to leave Iraq out of it: "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you end up President of the United States."
This version has three important qualities: it's funny (at least, it's funnier than Kerry's joke), its intended referent and the most likely referent to be assumed by the listener are the same (you'd have to be truly dense to fail to get who it's about), and it does what Kerry said he was trying to do in the first place - take a jab at the President.
I know Iraq is 'topical', but it's also a very loaded issue to bring up, especially at the end of an election campaign (granted, it's only a midterm). Poking fun at the fact that the President cruised through an Ivy League 'education' never gets old, though.
As a final aside, I think I have shown that the old adage that 'a joke always dies on the operating table' is not necessarily true. If you start with a very unfunny joke, ineptly delivered, you may well be able to analyze your way to a something funny. Funnier, anyway.
Not surprisingly, reaction was swift, loud, negative, and omnipresent. Despite Kerry's claim that the barb was aimed at the President, many were offended on behalf of our noble, selfless troops. Putting aside the commonly accepted absurdity that being in the military implies selflessness and nobility of purpose, the most obvious interpretation of the joke is that 'you' get stuck in Iraq as a grunt, signing up for military duty only because your lousy performance in school reduced the number of careers available to you to just the one.
It took me two full days to understand that the 'you' that gets stuck in Iraq is President Bush. He didn't do well in school, see, and now he's stuck in Iraq. That's almost funny.
Allow me to make a suggestion regarding how to make the joke actually funny. The problem is that the intended interpretation and the most likely interpretation are different. The most obvious solution, then, would be to include some uniquely presidential clue to the identity of the 'you' that gets stuck in Iraq.
For example, Kerry could have said, "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you get your country stuck in Iraq."
While this is certainly an improvement on Kerry's weak effort, it is, perhaps, too subtle. A less subtle possibility: "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you end up President of the United States and get your country stuck in Iraq."
This makes obvious another, even better option, namely to leave Iraq out of it: "You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you end up President of the United States."
This version has three important qualities: it's funny (at least, it's funnier than Kerry's joke), its intended referent and the most likely referent to be assumed by the listener are the same (you'd have to be truly dense to fail to get who it's about), and it does what Kerry said he was trying to do in the first place - take a jab at the President.
I know Iraq is 'topical', but it's also a very loaded issue to bring up, especially at the end of an election campaign (granted, it's only a midterm). Poking fun at the fact that the President cruised through an Ivy League 'education' never gets old, though.
As a final aside, I think I have shown that the old adage that 'a joke always dies on the operating table' is not necessarily true. If you start with a very unfunny joke, ineptly delivered, you may well be able to analyze your way to a something funny. Funnier, anyway.
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