Gender Symbolism in Logic

Andrea Nye developed a thorough rejection of logic in her book *Words of Power*. I take the book to be a form of “intellectual impression,” in which Nye articulates an interpretation of logic based on her lived experience as an outsider of the field, not part of the “gentlemen’s club,” and told about a way to access universal knowledge with maximal abstraction. Instead of presenting her perspective by way of arguments, her book is a response. I’ve been writing about this, and it’s a challenging text to write about, especially because it isn’t written to provide articulated reasons. But I fully respect the approach because I don’t think that logic is necessary or even sufficient for effective (read convincing) communication. Rhetoric has many tricks up its sleeve, and articulated reasons aren’t always the ones to favour.

While Nye may not present arguments in the traditional sense, she writes in coherent ways, which according to "Logic in the Wild," is all you need for logical reasoning to be established. What she’s not submitting to is the practice of seeking coherence with the strict logical standards of Twentieth-century logicians, those to whom the critique is ultimately directed. What’s her response? That logic is a male-fabricated tool that has liberated men in the public and academic spheres, eventually elevating them to the level of God and universal knowledge via abstraction, while keeping women away from it, back in their households, with their private knowledges.

One thing I find particularly difficult to write about is achieving fairness towards Nye’s belief about the difference in knowledges between the sexes. There’s a difference between saying that logic is masculine and passion (or emotion?) is feminine and saying that there are different ways of accessing knowledge—via logic or via passion—and that the former is traditionally ascribed to men, the latter to women. To say that logic is masculine is to commit the fallacy of gender symbolism, i.e., to ascribe gender to inanimate things. Gillian Russell’s reply to Nye isn’t to deny the impression she articulated but to rectify the slippery gender symbolism in the articulation.

References:

Nye, Andrea. Words of Power: A Feminist Reading of the History of Logic. 1st ed. Routledge, 2019. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367854447

Russell, Gillian. “Logic: A Feminist Approach.” In Philosophy for Girls, by Gillian Russell, 79–98. Oxford University Press, 2020. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780190072919.003.0007

What does feminism have to do with logic?

There’s no logical difference between men and women regarding their logical abilities or faculties. Do I really need to say that? Today? European men have created a space of enquiry where only men were allowed. Logic and reason, said the ancient Greeks, were for men. For women? Emotions and passion. Emotions and passion had to be tamed by logic and reason. Logic vs. reason; a very old saga. But that was entirely fabricated by men, starting with Aristotle in logic, and propagated over the ages.

With the Enlightenment and the Cartesian abstracted ego, man elevated himself to the equal of God, becoming the source of truth, and leaving women below. Man became the equal of God while women were kept slaves to their passions. Eventually, with the formalisation of logic, even Man got abstracted away, for what? For Mathematics? For Truth? Once women managed to leave their homes and regain access to society, there was nothing left but pure logic, man’s best friends, the totally abstracted and neutral ways of universal thinking. How dare she ask about her embodied self and situated knowledge? How dare she question the origins of the pure laws of thought? How dare she doubt the glorious male ego?

What does feminism have to do with logic? Precisely that! To reveal a history of self-gratification and abstraction. To reveal the unequal distribution of epistemic power and shared epistemic tools. To reveal how the fabric of society inherited a fabricated structure of reasoning, a combative and competitive quest for truth, the imposition of masculine coherence in every enquiry.

Logic and Harmony

Yesterday, I wrote about the logic of things, partly because people sometimes use logic in that way, and also because I’m sometimes tempted to think that way but resist due to my training. In "Logic in the Wild," I discuss logic as the guardian of coherence, but I leave the definition of coherence open. This is intentional. If readers learn to engage with coherence rather than content, I’ll be proud of them, regardless of their interpretation of coherence.

One thing I’ve learnt while writing the book is that logic is much more than the symbolic game I played for twenty years. Once you start thinking about coherence instead of obsessing over consistency, you can shed new light on old, difficult questions or those dismissed by symbol manipulators. The case I want to present this morning is the way Ancient Greeks talked about harmony. Harmony, for them, was much more than pleasing sound ratios; it was a way of being, for the soul to be balanced, and for the universe to be organised. Literally, there were theories about the harmony of the soul and the harmony of the spheres. Music was just the introduction, exciting a person by making them feel harmony. As with other bodily pleasures, hearing harmonious sounds would inspire the youth to seek harmony within themselves and direct their attention to the universe, the movement of planets, and marvel at the universal harmony. Mathematics developed to treat music was thus constructed alongside mathematics for the motion of planets.

What does this have to do with logic? I realised that harmony for the Greeks is one way of seeking coherence. To find proportions of sounds that are pleasing and correlate them with the proportions of positions and movements of planets in the sky, and to understand this as the same kind of patterns that regulate the soul, is to seek coherence in the universe. It’s not about finding content or truth in things but seeking a coherent whole that makes sense of it all. And that, I submit, is essentially logical thinking. Furthermore, it is logical thinking directed at things, allowing us to talk about the logic of things.

The logic of things

People often talk about the 'logic' of various ideologies or scenarios, such as the "logic of the right," or the "logic of the left," and even extend this to "war logic" or the "logic of natural selection." I find myself resistant to these phrases, mostly because their meanings are not always clear.

Contrast "the logic of the left" and "war logic" with "the logic of natural selection." The first two concern our thoughts about societal and conflict-related issues. "The logic of the left" typically involves a political inclination towards fair redistribution and social justice. It reflects how we think about society, our beliefs about what is just, and our opinions on necessary actions. "War logic" might refer to the rationale we accept in wartime contexts. For example, arguing that we should use atomic bombs on Japanese civilians to prevent the death of American (and Japanese) soldiers would be part of “war logic.” There are specific variables, such as being on one side of the conflict and valuing the lives of your soldiers higher than the lives of the others’ civilians, which isn’t morally commendable, but something we might accept under the umbrella of the "logic of war".

On the other hand, "the logic of natural selection" refers to the processes that guide biological evolution, like the survival of the fittest—a principle explaining why certain traits prevail in species due to the survival advantages they conferred in previous generations. Is this about how we conceptualize evolution, or about how evolution actually unfolds? If it's the former, then logic is applicable as a framework for understanding. If it's the latter, it isn't really about "logic" at all but about biological processes. Asserting that certain traits dominate due to "logic" is misleading—it's not logical, it's biological. Logic, in its true sense, does not govern natural selection any more than it governs gravity or quantum mechanics.

“Kiwi Before Iwi” and the Logic of Equality

In New Zealand, the slogan “Kiwi before iwi” comes from a speech delivered by Don Brash in 2004, where he argued that the government should treat everyone equally. According to Brash, measures targeted specifically at Māori people grant them privileges that others do not benefit from. Instead, he believed that government policies should apply to everyone equally, meaning good measures or policies should also apply to Māori people without treating them in a special way. This is the logic of equality: everyone should be treated equally and have the same opportunities.

I wasn’t aware of this slogan in New Zealand until it resurfaced in government discourse 20 years later, like a vampire resurrected to haunt the community. It reappeared recently with Seymour and Peters, responding to affirmative action aimed at uplifting the mana of Māori people in the health system. They even equated designated spaces for Māori and Pacifika students at the University of Auckland to Apartheid, as if providing a safe space for a group of students was like preventing an entire population from accessing public services like education. Peters went as far as saying that the Labour government and its affirmative actions are akin to Nazi Germany.

The logic of equality, taken in a strict sense, leads to these catastrophic conditions. Imagine a family with children: one is a successful citizen with a high income, while another requires full-time assistance due to a health condition and cannot work or fend for themselves. Is it unjust for the parents to provide for the latter child and not give equally to the wealthier one? If the parents spend money on the child in need, must they give the same amount to the rich child to ensure equal treatment? Or should they only provide for the child in need with measures that also benefit the rich child? Using Peters' inflammatory logic of equality, are the parents like Nazis because they provide special care for their child in need?

Normally, I would think asking this question is uncharitable and creates a strawman of Peters’ view. Surely he doesn’t believe in such a strict reading of the logic of equality! I’m afraid he’s committed to it, however, because he has applied it unrestrictedly. The logic of equality is not only about caring for all Kiwis equally but also about considering measures that apply to disembodied individuals—neutral beings with no special identity or needs. If you generalise the “Kiwi before iwi” slogan to characterise the logic of equality, what do you get? “Individual before people”? “The one before the many”?

Neutrality vs Equality vs Equity

In Logic in the Wild, I present logic as the guardian of coherence and compliment it for providing a “neutral space of dialectical enquiry.” Guarding coherence requires attention to structure and reasoning rather than belief and content. Engaging in a neutral space of dialectical enquiry is to focus on coherence rather than content when contemplating various perspectives on the same issue, alone or with others. Focus on how they reason, not what they believe. Being neutral means, in particular, that no one’s opinion or belief is imposed on the space, that no one is forced to accept as true what they don’t believe in.

Engaging neutrally requires the suspension of strong opinions and beliefs for the sake of the enquiry. If, when engaging with fiction, the audience is sometimes required to suspend disbelief, which means accepting things they wouldn’t accept in real life, such as superheroes, monsters, or interstellar space travel (do you believe in it?), suspending belief in a dialectical space is not similarly being more gullible, but rather suppressing one’s beliefs unless they can be justified and shared. If you want others to adopt a belief in a neutral space, you need to motivate and argue for it. How does it benefit others in the same space? How is it better for the group? And if others have views they want to support, hear them out with a charitable ear, seeking coherence and conciliation.

That’s the positive side of neutrality, that it allows us to play on an equal field, one in which everyone is treated equally. Equality, however, doesn’t guarantee equity. That’s true in real life, that even though we pretend that everyone has equal opportunity in society, only some achieve fair outcomes, sometimes because of luck and hard work, but most often because of their situation in society, which allows them to ignore or overcome barriers that stop others not similarly situated.

I believe the same can happen in a dialectical enquiry, that imposing neutrality without concern for fairness leads to an equal but non-equitable space. Some need to give up a lot more than others to enter that space, their voices get silenced because they can’t find a neutral way to express them, and their identity gets erased and so do the richness and wisdom of what they have to contribute. This can indeed happen deep in accepted standards of reasoning, which favor orthodoxy over difference by seeking equality, thus failing to achieve equity and fairness.

Modal Realism and the Existence of Possible Worlds

Modal realism is a view articulated by philosopher David Lewis to account for our modal discourse and posits the existence of possible worlds. Possible worlds are complete and isolated ways things could have been. What things? Everything, including the laptop I’m typing on, the chair I’m sitting on, the coffee I’m drinking, and my cat asking at this very moment to come inside (hang on… she’s inside). All that plus everything from the start to the end of everything (if there is a start and an end). Everything. But things could have been different. I could be writing this with pen and paper. I could have a dog instead of a cat, or a pet pig or pet rat. The Universe could have its fundamental constants set to values that don’t allow for life, and I wouldn’t exist. Pretty much everything could be different. All the ways everything could be different are possible worlds. For Lewis, what makes them possible is that they are consistent. Here logic plays a role, in ruling out worlds that are impossible because they are incoherent.

How does this account for our modal discourse? Our modal discourse is when we believe things to be possible or necessary. It’s possible for me to have a dog and not a cat. It’s possible for me to be writing this with pen and paper. Why? Says Lewis: because there are possible worlds in which I have a dog and not a cat, and in which I’m writing a blog with pen and paper (maybe it then gets transcribed by AI and posted on whatever the internet is and where blogs get posted in that world). It’s impossible, however, for me to be the first living thing to set foot on Mars and find bacteria somewhere on Mars. It’s impossible because that is the description of an inconsistent scenario, one in which I’m the first living thing on Mars even though there were already living things on Mars, a contradiction. So possible worlds can substantiate our modal discourse. So far, so good.

The incredulous step with Lewis is to argue for the real existence of those possible worlds. Why? Because they offer the best explanation for our modal discourse. One could think alternatively that they are a creation of the human mind, that they are a mere logical or epistemic tool, that they are linguistic entities, or that they aren’t necessary to make sense of our modal discourse. All those options, and others, have been entertained and defended at length by many a philosopher, and, says Lewis, none live up to the accuracy and simplicity of the belief that possible worlds exist. They exist in the same way our world exists. And their existence is what makes sense of our modal discourse. What do you reckon? The view is coherent. But is it cogent?

Defining the Self: A Logical Exploration

Can you define yourself? Can you define your life? Can the answer be literal? What does logic have to do with any of that? As I discuss in Logic in the Wild, definitions serve as first principles of reasoning, alongside assumptions and axioms. Definitions are sometimes instrumental, for instance, in geometry, where there are no observable starting points. Instead, one typically defines what points, lines, and angles are, and then applies logic to unpack results in the form of theorems.

In science, there’s a clash between how the concept of mass is defined in Newtonian and relativistic physics—a clash that can be accommodated but that, without some coherence treatment, could lead to bad results. There are parts of science, however, where definitions matter little and can become a red herring for public debate, as when the definition of a planet was changed by a vote at a convention to demote Pluto from the status of a planet. While I don’t believe the new definition of a planet is justified or appropriate, it doesn’t matter whether we call Pluto a planet or not. It won’t affect our interest in studying it, the pictures we’ll take of it with the probes we send out, or anything besides what kids get to memorise in school and what models of the solar system look like at science fairs.

Now, where would a definition of the self belong on that spectrum? I don’t see how we could define a “self” as a first principle of reasoning like geometers define points or lines. Nor is it as insignificant as whether to call Pluto a planet or not. Is it, then, more like how mass is defined and treated in different scientific theories? Not really. For one, I wouldn’t claim that science has much to say in how we understand identity, the self, and presence in the world. It’s just not what it’s good at. But perhaps there’s something analogous that can help, namely that a definition is sometimes a way to categorise and articulate an important component. In science, a component of a theory, but in human existence, what life is and means for the you.

So, a definition is not there to bring you into existence but to help you articulate how you understand who you are and your presence in the world. And logic kicks in by guiding you in finding coherence in the way you articulate your life, perhaps in the narrative you give to understand your world, perhaps in a more direct way in identifying what makes you who you are. But of course, defining yourself or your life is more a metaphorical statement, something about establishing your presence in the world by owning your actions and your identity. Definition is then a much thicker concept that encapsulates a complex and rich understanding of who you are and your presence in the world. Even there, though, logic can still be there to guard coherence in the expression of your self.

Logic, the True Self, and Authenticity

Can logic help you be more authentic? That one might sound a bit weird, but I think there’s an intriguing thought to explore. Authenticity is a complex concept with multiple interpretations. While logic might help in figuring out the coherence of concepts or definitions of authenticity, as it often does, this is not what I want to think about this morning. I’m curious to ask whether logic, or logical thinking, can inspire a novel way of thinking about authenticity.

To contrast with a common notion of authenticity will help situate what I mean. You might have heard people claiming the empowerment of “being your true self,” which I take to mean liberating your core identity instead of repressing, suppressing, or hiding it. But truth is very demanding. I don’t really know what my “true self” is, and having strong philosophical inclinations towards the expression of such slogans, I find myself wondering what a self is and what it means for it to be true. Is there something essential about me that makes me who I am and that I have to respect and honour? What does it mean to be a “true” self, as opposed to what? A false self? A fake self? A constructed self?

Instead, here’s my thought with using logic. Logic and truth are two different and independent things. In Logic in the Wild, I advocate for logical thinking to liberate communication and interaction in society from being clashes of opinions and disagreements of beliefs. Instead, logic provides a “neutral space of dialectical enquiry,” where neutrality means a suspension of belief, a retraction of strong opinions, for the dialectical pursuit of shared agreement and coherence. Coherence is the key word here, and this is what logic offers to the enquiring mind: to seek and settle for coherence when truth is out of reach.

Why not adopt the same approach towards how we are in the world? Instead of thinking of authenticity as the expression of a “true self,” could we think of it as the coherent experience of our being? We change all the time, we adopt different roles in society, at work, with friends, or with family. We learn new things, we forget old ones. We are in constant flux. Finding a stable “true identity” in that constant flux can be a Sisyphean task, one that starts all over again as soon as we think we’ve got it. But coherence doesn’t require fixity. Coherence is what helps us sustain change, to respond in patterns we expect and understand, to act in ways we control, to own ourselves.

Instead of seeking to be your “true self,” then, here’s the exercise I propose towards authenticity: seek to be a “coherent self.”

Logic in Everyday Life: Beyond Spock's Sacrifice

What is a concrete example of logic in everyday life? This is not an easy question to answer, depending on the expectation of the response. If you want a concrete case in which you have to make a decision and expect logic to give you a clear, perhaps unexpected answer, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Unfortunately, people often think of logic as a tool that is external, devoid of emotion, non-human. A tool that makes rational decisions, decisions that go against the emotional flow, against human nature.

When Spock decides to sacrifice himself to save the rest of the crew (and the universe?), he tells his captain: “Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” This justification goes against the love and friendship his captain and friend feel for him, prompting his sacrifice. Once you read Logic in the Wild, I hope you’ll see that logic is not a discipline that dictates truths. Logic doesn’t adjudicate content; it guards coherence. It might be that Spock’s reason for his sacrifice is coherent with the rest of his beliefs, but that doesn’t mean logic prevents alternative choices.

If you expect a concrete example like Spock’s sacrifice to illustrate how logic becomes a guiding light when human emotion fails, but also an example more relatable than sacrificing yourself for the greater good, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you. However, I can provide an example that isn’t so much guiding as it is protective. Logic is good at helping you slow down your thinking, to think it through. Humans have psychological biases that help us make quick decisions, which is indeed helpful in many situations, but in a complex society, it can be exploited.

Suppose I tell you that I’ll buy you a diamond ring if I love you, and I come back the following day with a diamond ring, will you think this confirms my love for you. Why? There are many other reasons I could buy you a diamond ring, such as tricking you into feeling secure in my love. I didn’t promise you that “if I buy you a diamond ring, then I love you,” but the other way around: “if I love you, then I’ll buy you a diamond ring.” Inferring from my promise that I love you when you get a diamond ring is committing the fallacy known as affirming the consequent.

A similar example, with the same logical structure, is this: There’s water on Mars if there’s life on Mars. NASA recently discovered water on Mars. Therefore, there’s life on Mars. Do you feel the same pull with this different content? The logic is the same, yet you might be fooled when it’s about love and diamond rings, but not when it’s about water and life on Mars. Just as with the diamond ring example, the fallacy lies in affirming the consequent. I didn't say that "if there's water on Mars, then there's life on Mars". I don't believe that. But I do believe that "If there's life on Mars, then there's water on Mars", because I believe that water is necessary for life. I wouldn’t infer from my belief and the discovery of water that there's life on Mars, nor should you infer that I love you from a diamond ring present under the promise that I'll buy you a diamond ring if I love you. That’s how logic can protect you—by guarding coherence in reasoning, allowing you to swap content while keeping the logical structure, and realizing when you’re being fooled by bad reasoning.

In many cases where Spock claims to follow the dictates of logic, it turns out he is fooled into thinking that his strong opinions and beliefs are the result of logical thinking when they aren’t. I’m afraid Spock is a bad role model when it comes to logic. Sorry geeks.

The Principle of Charity in Argumentation

I just saw a call for a paper for a special issue on the principle of charity. Maybe I could contribute something. Let’s brainstorm. The principle of charity, as I teach it in my critical thinking classes, is to treat others as intelligent people. This means that we should interpret their arguments with a generous mind, correct for blunders, and help revise mistakes. Why be so charitable? Because if we don’t agree with them, showing that even the better version of their argument still doesn’t work is more effective, in contrast to the straw man fallacy, which is to debunk a much weaker version of the view they proposed. If we agree with them, everyone benefits from learning to present the view in more coherent or cogent ways. And if we haven’t settled on the issue, we wish for a quality exchange, not a populist debate like the ones politicians keep serving us these days.

What I can add following my recent work in Logic in the Wild to the debate is that being charitable isn’t only about the content of the views, but about the coherence. More importantly, logic can generate uncharitable reactions. How? By adopting the wrong logical standards of analysis. A clear case would be to treat an argument as being deductive when it is non-deductive, i.e., to dismiss the argument for being invalid when it wasn’t intended to live up to strict standards. Most people don’t know the difference between deductive and non-deductive arguments; indeed, the topic is controversial amongst experts. Most people aren’t attuned to valid argumentation, and I’m afraid to say, that’s also true for people who have taken classes in logic or critical thinking. The standards of validity aren’t appropriate, for instance, in the court of law that adopts a “beyond reasonable doubt” attitude. Beyond reasonable doubt leaves room for error, validity doesn’t. The same applies in everyday life, especially on difficult matters that are difficult to settle.

Being logically charitable, then, is to treat others not only as intelligent people but as coherent reasoners. It is to assume that people can organize their thoughts in a coherent fashion, even if the way they articulate their views might not live up to the strictest logical standards. If those standards aren’t fit for purpose anyway, to reject their view for being invalid is to treat them uncharitably.

Reference: https://link.springer.com/collections/acibjfjdga

The Logical Community

Why do we need logic in the community? This is a more important question to ask than why individuals need logic. I suspect many think of logic as a reasoning tool that guides in decision making, countering an emotional mind (perhaps a compassionate mind?) and that makes the “tough decision,” as the current prime minister of New Zealand keeps saying. What are tough decisions? I suppose something like cold-hearted, non-emotional, goal-oriented, and maybe also profit-maximising decisions? The kind of cold, rational, masculine strong mind that isn’t afraid of doing what’s right, where “what’s right” is assumed to be some universal goal of individuals. I hope you get the picture. I do think logic isn’t about that at all, even at the individual level, but still think that countering that kind of view isn’t the primary need for logic we have in the modern world.

No, instead, and this is why I asked my original question as being about the community, I want to ask a tougher question about why a lack of logical interaction (not just a lack of logic) is a barrier to community development. What would be better logic? In Logic in the Wild, I develop logic as the communal tool that provides a “neutral space of dialectical enquiry.” It is a bit of a mouthful, but it’s easy to break down. An enquiry is a shared intellectual goal—to reach a decision, come up with a plan, figure out the truth, or express and hear each other’s stories. A dialectical enquiry is one that seeks different perspectives. If you have a group of people, each will have their own view guiding their interest and ways of thinking about the enquiry, and a dialectic practice is to entertain each on their own terms.

Neutrality, then, is what is hardest to establish in a dialectical space of enquiry. It occurs when people do not clash on their strong opinions or their fundamental beliefs, but instead seek to appreciate the coherence in each other’s views. If we can’t appreciate that others can reason coherently, even though we don’t share fundamental beliefs, we won’t be able to reach the more important step in the enquiry, finding a common ground for resolution that accommodates everyone. Neutrality here means that no one can impose a way of thinking or believing in a disproportionate manner, even if it is the way of the majority.

What I notice a lot in recent discourse, now that oppressed minorities are finding platforms to contribute to social enquiries, is a rejection from the majority for not wanting everyone to abide by the will of the minorities, as if dropping the imposition of their beliefs in dialectical spaces amounted to disproportionately valuing those of minorities. See how I phrased it? I didn’t say that the majority had to adopt the views of the minorities, but rather that they should engage neutrally and not impose their ways of thinking and being on everyone. Everyone needs to establish neutrality, in my opinion, to achieve better dialectical results. Seeking common resolutions that are equitable in a community requires the majority to recognise and accept that their ways of thinking, their fundamental beliefs and strong opinions, can be individually preserved without being socially imposed. That is the logical way.

Today I’m working again inspired by the work of Fricker, Dotson, Mills, and Young, trying to articulate a coherent and plausible way of thinking about how logic contributes to epistemic injustice. The pattern is that epistemic structures emerge within communities, are passed down from generation to generation, mutating over time, and acquiring inertia that makes them resistant to change.

I’ve been focusing on these papers recently because these are the papers I’m reading with my stage II and III epistemology students. One student suggested understanding what I call logical monsters (which I’ve called theoretical monsters and oppressive structural monsters in previous posts; I still don’t know what to call them) in terms of Kuhn’s idea of scientific paradigms. Paradigms are also theoretical structures that emerge from the praxis of scientific paradigms (I hope Kuhn wouldn’t mind me saying that), become dominant and the standards of “normal science,” until a revolution happens (like the one generated by Einstein at the start of the Twentieth Century).

One feature of Kuhn’s paradigm is that they are mostly closed entities that incorporate both theory and practice, and a revolution from a paradigm to another is not a mere transition, but indeed a revolution, producing new theories whose concepts are incommensurable with the corresponding concepts of the previous paradigms. An example used a lot in this literature is that of mass, which Einstein re-defined in his theory in ways that are incommensurable (i.e., logically incompatible) with the concept of mass defined by Newton. Incommensurability makes communication across paradigms impossible because the clash between the concepts produces incoherence, which in this literature is measured by inconsistency.

So the story is one of successive paradigms that grow out of a revolution until they become normalized until a new revolution happens that replaces them with yet new paradigms that are logically incompatible with previous ones. Now circling back to logical monsters (or epistemic structures), an issue that arises from applying a Kuhnian analysis is that it leads to something like “cultural incommensurability,” where the resistance to change (called inertia by Dotson) is the normalization of epistemic tools that could only be changed by a revolution that would construct a new paradigm incommensurable with the previous ones.

What I find unappealing in this picture is that it invites us towards cultural relativism, which I’m trying to counter by proposing that seeking coherence in dialectical enquiry can facilitate communication across cultures. I’m not getting much of a resolution here, but it’s the point of these daily blog posts, to spend time trying to articulate new ideas, and apply logic as I suggest in Logic in the Wild, in the neutral space of dialectical enquiry…

References:

Dotson, Kristie. “Conceptualizing Epistemic Oppression.” Social Epistemology 28, no. 2 (April 3, 2014): 115–38.

Mills, Charles W. "White Ignorance." In Race and Epistemologies of Ignorance, edited by Shannon Sullivan and Nancy Tuana, Chapter 1. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007.

Young, Iris Marion. "CHAPTER 2. Five Faces of Oppression." In Justice and the Politics of Difference, 39-65. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012.

Kuhn, Thomas S. (Thomas Samuel), and Ian. Hacking. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Fourth edition. Chicago ; The University of Chicago Press, 2012.

The Emergence of Oppressive Structural Monsters

Yesterday I talked about “the social construct of a theoretical monster that is based in a logic that reinforces its inertia and its resistance to change”. I know what I mean by that, but it’s quite a mouthful. Let me try again, in terms of “emerging structural oppression”. The idea is that power structures within a community and society evolve over time, dividing a population into those favoured by the structure, and those oppressed by it.

In a more traditional Marxist analysis of dialectical history, the structures come to be formed by the distribution of goods, resources, and means of production. In a thicker understanding, inspired for instance by the recent work of Iris Marion Young, the structure can arise from non-material power structures, such as systemic marginalisation or cultural imperialism. It’s this thicker sense of oppression that concerns me here because I’m targeting logical injustice in the community.

The historical aspect of the power structure is still very much relevant, however, as per Kristie Dotson’s understanding of irreducible epistemic oppression, or Charles W. Mills’s on white ignorance. I take an important lesson from Mills on white ignorance: systemic ignorance, based on collective (selective) memory and amnesia, evolves as epistemic systems that align with the upper side of a power structure. These epistemic systems become the norm in a society, the things that are taught in schools, that function in institutions such as courts of law, councils, and governments, and that people come to believe collectively.

Such epistemic systems include false beliefs or lack of knowledge (i.e., ignored information) that is passed on from generation to generation, acquiring inertia (as per Kristie Dotson’s analysis) that generates epistemic oppression on top of material oppression. I believe the epistemic oppression that emerges in those power structures survives the change in material oppression, so that a social revolution of the Marxist kind, for instance, can leave the epistemic power structures intact.

Well, that’s still very abstract, I’m afraid! But I’m in the process of developing and articulating this idea to make it relevant to understanding the social role of logic in epistemic oppression. To be followed.

References:

Dotson, Kristie. “Conceptualizing Epistemic Oppression.” Social Epistemology 28, no. 2 (April 3, 2014): 115–38.

Mills, Charles W. "White Ignorance." In Race and Epistemologies of Ignorance, edited by Shannon Sullivan and Nancy Tuana, Chapter 1. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007.

Young, Iris Marion. "CHAPTER 2. Five Faces of Oppression." In Justice and the Politics of Difference, 39-65. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012.

Epistemic Oppression, White Ignorance, and Systemic Logical Injustice

I read the piece "White Ignorance" by Charles W. Mills this week with my students in a course on epistemology. We first read Miranda Fricker on epistemic injustice, then Kristie Dotson on epistemic oppression, and I’ve come to make more precise a feeling I’ve had about social injustice but couldn’t really put my finger on it. This is not a novel idea, but I think I’m in a better place now to articulate it and relate it to logic's role in the community. Can logic be systemically oppressive? I’m afraid so, yes.

Let’s take the papers in order. Fricker describes epistemic injustice with two types, testimonial injustice and hermeneutical injustice. Testimonial injustice is her primary instance of epistemic injustice, which is to wrong someone in their capacity as a knower. Hermeneutical injustice is when people or communities aren’t allowed to communicate how they make sense of the world; they are wronged in their capacity as understanders.

Dotson asked whether epistemic and hermeneutical injustice are reducible to social injustice. Testimonial injustice, after all, comes from a credibility deficit based on prejudice, which is pervasive in society, especially in groups that are systematically oppressed (like African Americans, to highlight an example). Dotson argues that testimonial injustice is reducible because nothing about the epistemic systems needs to change for rehabilitation. What needs to change is how society oppresses groups of people, not what epistemological tools are available.

As a case of hermeneutical injustice, Fricker describes how women had no epistemic tools to defend themselves in their work environment until they created the concept of “sexual harassment.” Once the concept became available and used widely, women were able to make sense of their individual experiences by sharing them with other women who experienced the same abuse but didn’t have a way to make it known. Dotson argues that this is similarly a type of reducible injustice because epistemic systems do not need to change for rehabilitation. What needs to happen is an expansion of the set of epistemic tools available. With the new concept established, social justice can be better described and addressed, but the epistemic system as such doesn’t change.

For Dotson, irreducible epistemic injustice occurs when the epistemic tools fail people in their capacity as knowers in a way that can’t be reduced to prejudice or addressed with an expansion of conceptual tools. The epistemic tools need to be revised. The system as a whole fails to allow a place to express coherent views, and more importantly, what fails is the inertia of the system, the resistance to change. What Dotson highlights here are the systemic patterns of epistemic oppression, something Fricker had included in her analysis.

Now, moving to Mills and "White Ignorance," we have a case of epistemic injustice which isn’t so much about the repression of knowledge from a marginalised group (which of course happens, as per Fricker and Dotson), but the preservation and replication of ignorance about the lives and experiences of the marginalised group. It’s a systemic pattern of ignorance in which a community or society fails to rectify what is believed and taught by people, from generation to generation. The way I want to express it is that society acquires theoretical monsters infested by errors, that ignore and erase important facts, and that become the dominant shared epistemic system passed on from generation to generation. Part of that theoretical monster is a way of articulating coherence, with deep conceptualisation that resists the logical articulation of alternative views, beliefs, and norms.

What we’re getting is the social construct of a theoretical monster that is supported by a logic that sustains its inertia and resistance to change. Well, that’s how I can articulate it to myself at the moment, and I’m also planning to develop this further in the next stage of my research.

References:

Fricker, Miranda. *Epistemic Injustice*. Oxford University Press, 2007.

Dotson, Kristie. “Conceptualizing Epistemic Oppression.” *Social Epistemology* 28, no. 2 (April 3, 2014): 115–38.

Mills, Charles W. "White Ignorance." In *Race and Epistemologies of Ignorance*, edited by Shannon Sullivan and Nancy Tuana, Chapter 1. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007.

Well-Intentioned Interruption?

Why do we do it? Is it for the sake of others, for the group, or out of selfish interest? I don’t think people are generally ill-intended when they fail to listen and keep interrupting each other. Sometimes with friends or family, we express genuine feelings about stressful situations related to health, relationships, or work. Our close ones want to help. They want to propose solutions they think will address our problems. They've understood enough about what we've said and know us closely, so they don't need the gory details of what happened or how we feel. They already empathise with us and want what’s best for us. It’s not so much that they don’t want to listen, but that they genuinely want us to feel better by seeking solutions. It's further a social role for family to offer parenting advice and friends to provide psychological support. People get used to performing their social roles and are comfortable in them. So they interrupt us before we can complete our thoughts, helping us see that our bad feelings are not necessary or justified, and offering solutions to get out of our problems. Does that help? Not in my experience. I can be my own parent, and if I need a psychologist, I’ll pay to see a professional. Unless I ask for brainstorming ideas or solutions, what I seek is to share my experiences with someone who will listen, understand, and take some of the stress away by simply being present and listening.

But why do we do it when it’s not about problems? Why do we interrupt each other and offer our opinions or beliefs without listening to what others think? Are we similarly trying to help? Instead of correcting their feelings, are we attempting to correct their beliefs? I don’t think people are ill-intended when they fail to listen to a thought being expressed, interrupt the speaker, and say what they think on the subject. I don’t think we realise when we keep stopping someone from sharing their thoughts. Or perhaps it’s some kind of learned behaviour to express something good and be rewarded for it. That would be more out of selfish interest, to present ourselves as good or smart people. Or perhaps it’s even a defensive reflex, out of fear of not showing that we understand the topic or have something interesting to contribute. It’s not always comfortable to be in a discussion when the rules of engagement are not clear. When do we transgress at a dinner party? At a family dinner? At the pub? When do we go too far? Some people will turn everything into a joke, either finding a funny angle on what is said or by expressing something relevant to the topic but in full irony. Is that a defensive measure? Because if we’re wrong, it doesn’t matter since we weren’t trying to be right, but to be funny.

A simple trick I’ve learned from working with my colleague Maree Davis in education is to teach students the use of uptake questions. Instead of saying, “I don’t agree with this,” or interrupting a speaker with what we think is a better opinion, ask a question that invites others to develop their ideas: “Why do you say that?” “Why do you believe that?” Leave it open; don’t ask a rhetorical question that tells them they’re wrong, such as, “Don’t you think it’s more like [express your opinion]?” I wonder what your experience will be. One thing I’ve noticed is that when people are given time to develop their ideas, they feel more comfortable expressing themselves in more nuanced, constructive ways that everyone benefits from listening to. That is one way to enforce neutrality in a dialectical space of enquiry.

The Need for a Neutral Space of Dialectical Enquiry in the Community

This weekend someone asked me what were my thoughts on AI. I started trying to express why I thought the situation is rather scary, trying to lay out some elements to articulate some of my thoughts. But the person had an opinion on it, which I assume he thought was inconsistent with mine, and started interrupting me to tell me about it. I found myself in a defensive mood, not being able to express what I was trying to say, trying out different random things to see if it might catch, but he never listened to what I was saying for more than a couple of sentences. Eventually he stopped engaging with the subject and made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss it any further. I felt frustrated, unable to articulate a coherent thought, and dismissed from further exploration of the topic.

It’s not a topic I initiated; he asked me what I thought about it. But I didn’t sense that he wanted to hear what were my views. Elements of what he said when cutting me off were elements I could have worked with to try and reach a constructive resolution of the seeming clash between our ideas. I say a seeming clash because I’m not sure we hold such opposite views at all. What I’ve experienced, and I wrote Logic in the Wild partly to try and help people to better apply logic in the community, is a failure of engaging in what I call a “neutral space of dialectical enquiry”.

This is one of the main points of Logic in the Wild—the other being that logic is the Guardian of Coherence—namely that logic can help interaction in the community if people can enter a space with a logical mindset. To enter the space with a logical mindset is to suspend opinions and beliefs and focus on the coherence of other people’s views. Instead of cutting me off and asserting that AI isn’t scary because it’s just like previous technological advances, my friend could have asked why I found AI frightening. This approach would allow us to explore whether my concerns were coherent with other views he held, which we likely shared to a significant extent.

By immediately focusing on content and opinions, instead of coherence and logic, the dialectical space was closed off. It stopped being dialectical when we were not able to consider the topic from various perspectives and try to figure out what each other thought. Mind you, I probably failed to engage as well in my defensive reactions when I felt my ideas dismissed. Logic failed in this instance because we both failed to engage in a space with a common logical goal.

That’s one thing you’ll learn in Logic in the Wild, that logic isn’t an individualistic discipline, but rather a communal one that requires cooperation and constructive engagement with one another. Indeed, it can foster that constructive communication by offering neutrality and a way to explore various ideas without locking horns on basic beliefs and opinions.

I wonder if you’ve experienced similar situations in your community, and also if you can think of moments when you’ve failed to engage in a neutral space of dialectical enquiry. Do you reckon you could have done better had you approached the discussion with a logical mindset?

Is Logical Injustice Truly "Logical" or Merely Social?

What makes logical injustice a “logical” kind of injustice and not just injustice? Is logical injustice reducible to social injustice? The same question was asked, for instance, by Kristie Dotson about epistemic injustice, and her response was that the kinds of injustices Miranda Fricker describes—both epistemic and hermeneutical—are reducible to social injustice, because nothing about the epistemological tools as such need to be changed to rectify them. The kind of epistemic injustice she thinks is irreducible is when the injustice requires a change to the epistemological system that can’t really happen because of the inertia of the system.

In discussions with my students, we proposed that the situation with the trans population represents such a case of irreducible injustice. The injustice comes from the imposition of a binary language of sex that erases trans identities (or silences the expression of trans experiences?), and the injustice is irreducible because the required change is for a more comprehensive language of sex—a change happening at a very slow pace due to resistance to altering the conceptual landscape by dominant groups.

Circling back to logical injustice, I agree with Dotson that it can be seen as a case of irreducible epistemic injustice, but it wouldn’t count as logical injustice. Or if the shortcomings of the conceptual landscape have some logical aspect to the injustice they sustain, it would be reducible to epistemic injustice. It would be reducible because the standards of coherence do not require change. We do not need to change the logic at play, but the concepts available. Replacing a binary conceptual landscape for sex with a spectrum of concepts doesn’t require a change of logic.

However, my primary example of logical injustice is that described by Anne Salmond in Tears of Rangi, where she calls the Christian God an analytic logician. The logical injustice consists in superimposing a "Fregean conceptual space" over a "Koru conceptual space" in a way that generates incoherence. The mere replacement of concepts, I claim, wouldn’t be sufficient to address the injustice. The whole logical landscape of Koru conceptualisation requires its own standards, and guarding coherence for the expression of Māori worldviews isn’t reducible to a conceptual adaptation within a Fregean logical framework of coherence. What makes the injustice logical is the deep logical patterns in the conceptual landscape. Perhaps, like with epistemic injustice, the injustice arises from the inertia of logical standards applied to judge coherence.

References:

Dotson, Kristie. “Conceptualizing Epistemic Oppression.” Social Epistemology 28, no. 2 (April 3, 2014): 115–38. https://doi.org/10.1080/02691728.2013.782585.

Fricker, Miranda. Epistemic Injustice. Oxford University Press, 2007. https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198237907.001.0001.

Salmond, Anne. Tears of Rangi: Experiments across Worlds. Auckland, New Zealand: Auckland University Press, 2017.

Logical Injustice: A New Dimension of Wronging Reasoners

Epistemic injustice is to wrong someone in their capacity as a knower; hermeneutical injustice is to wrong them as an understander. What I propose is that logical injustice is to wrong them in their capacity as a reasoner. To wrong someone as a reasoner is to fail to appreciate the coherence in their thoughts. I want to discuss whether logical injustice is subject to the same problem as epistemic and hermeneutical injustice, namely that the injustice is neither genuinely epistemic nor hermeneutical, but rather reducible to prejudices and social injustice.

Kristie Dotson, for instance, distinguishes three levels of epistemic injustice, only one of which is genuinely epistemic; the other two are not because the reparation doesn’t require a change in the shared epistemic tools. It’s only when an injustice is propagated by the inertia of the dominant epistemic systems that resist change or accommodation that the injustice is genuinely epistemic. If the injustice is the historical exclusion of women from philosophy, the injustice is reducible to patriarchal injustice, not something specifically epistemological. Some women were given enough space to contribute to the growth of philosophical knowledge, and they could contribute without having to change or add to the dominant epistemological tools. Maybe a case like that is Émilie du Châtelet, who found a way to contribute to philosophy, not by changing how it’s done, but by breaking through the ranks. I’m simplifying here.

In contrast, I think a modern example of a proper epistemological injustice, one that is due to the inertia of the dominant theories, is the exclusion of trans people from contributing to knowledge. If I understand Dotson correctly, the exclusion is due to the resistance of established knowledge systems to change the conceptual space of sex and gender to appreciate the expression of alternative identities. Established epistemological tools can at best accommodate a trans person as being “both a man and a woman” or “neither a man nor a woman.” However, this is far removed from the knowledge, understanding, and reasoning that trans people have and can contribute, but aren’t allowed to because it doesn’t fit within the established epistemology. I believe this is what Dotson means by irreducible epistemic injustice due to the inertia of dominant epistemology.

Now that we can appreciate what irreducible injustice means, we can ask how epistemic, hermeneutical, and, what I wish to contribute, logical injustice, differ.

Reference: Dotson, Kristie. “Conceptualizing Epistemic Oppression.” Social Epistemology 28, no. 2 (April 3, 2014): 115–38. https://doi.org/10.1080/02691728.2013.782585.

Trivialisation, Explosion, Incoherence and Absurdity

Let’s explore the rule of trivialisation. A notable instance of this rule is explosion, which posits that everything follows from a contradiction. Encountering a contradiction under this rule means that all propositions become true, leading us into the realm of the trivial theory—which is universally regarded as undesirable. This stringent intolerance to contradiction has driven philosophers to develop convoluted theories, which I refer to as “mailboxes” in Logic in the Wild--you'll have to read it to understand why. Increasingly, many have come to recognize that completely avoiding contradictions is an impractical aim and have consequently rejected the rule of explosion. Acknowledging that some contradictions are inevitable necessitates the abandonment of explosion, lest the trivial theory take hold.

Accepting inevitable contradictions, however, complicates logical application, particularly in deductive contexts where validity reigns supreme. The challenge arises because there are few clear alternatives to consistency as a metric of coherence in deductive logic. Yet, no one endorses the trivial theory, but how are we to know whether a given logical theory implies everything or not? If avoiding contradictions entirely through explosion were feasible, we might possess at least one candidate for a non-trivial logical theory.

Rather than merely searching for a new measure of coherence, I propose an application-oriented reformulation of trivialisation: a theory is trivial if it is incoherent. Absurdity might serve as a useful metric for trivialisation, though it is challenging to define precisely. What constitutes an absurd theory? In Logic in the Wild, I talk about Camus’ myth of Sisyphus and how, while it is not contradictory, is an absurd story which he uses as an analogy to the futile quest for the meaning of life. However, does pondering life’s meaning necessarily lead to trivialisation? That remains uncertain.

Consider other illustrations of absurdity like bringing a knife to a gunfight—a clear mismatch between action and expected outcome, or David Lewis’ resolution of the grandfather paradox in time travel theories. These scenarios are absurd but not contradictory. They don't lead to everything becoming true, but rather highlight how some scenarios, while possible, are implausible.

As I reflect on these ideas, I suggest that perhaps the generalisation of explosion that aligns with the framework of Logic in the Wild is the assertion that “incoherence is bad.” If logic serves as the guardian of coherence, then naturally, incoherence is undesirable. This view extends the understanding of explosion from mere inconsistency leading to triviality (which is bad) to considering whether absurdity itself might represent a form of incoherence. This reorientation allows us to engage with the question of trivialisation on a different plane.