I’ve just published this video on YouTube, and I want to extend the commentary.
Video: What do Objective, Relative, and Subjective mean in philosophy?
Many people I’ve encountered don’t seem to grasp the distinctions between objective, subjective, and relative. Subjective and relative seem to be the biggest culprits of confusion. Let’s focus on morality just because.
There are really two main perspectives to adopt. If one believes in Objective Morality, one believes morality derives from some external source and is bestowed or mandated upon us. The source might be important to the believer, but it’s unimportant for this article. If one believes in Relative Morality then the source is socially dictated and has similar challenges to the notions of Social Contract Theory insomuch as one may not subscribe to the expectations.
For the Objective moralist, there may exist a schism between the expectations of the mandate and the subjective feelings of the individual. In fact, this may occur for Relative moralists as well. The individual will always maintain some subjective perspective on morality and then compare and contrast it with the higher order, whether Objective or Relative. In either case, acting on this subjective impulse risks being at odds with the members of the higher order. If this morality is codified into law – as it often is – then to act on that impulse makes one a criminal.
Take abortion for example. Whether this is an edict from God or just a social construct doesn’t matter. If one is in a society where abortion is seen as ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’, one’s subjective position on the matter is of little value. However, a Relativist society might also adopt a position of tolerance that is less likely to come from Objectivists.
A challenge is that a Subjectivist may only become apparent if one is counter the Relative or Absolute position. If your society is against abortion and you are, too, is this your subjective position or have you been indoctrinated with it and accept it uncritically, whether it’s deemed Objective or Relative.
Perhaps you feel that eating dogs or monkeys is immoral if not disgusting, but if you had been reared in a culture that does this, you might find it immoral to eat pork or beef. The question remains, is this a Subjective position, or did you merely inherit the Objective or Relative stance?
This question is very apparent in which religion one adopts. It is no surprise that the largest factor in which religion you choose is the religion of your family and their family and so on – so not so much a choice.
I was raised in a WASP family in New England among predominately Italian Roman Catholic peers. Despite this, I identified as an atheist early on. In my late teens, I stumbled on Buddhism and identified with it. However, I remain ignostic except when it encroaches on my personal autonomy – for example in the case of laws restricting access to safe abortions.
In the heart of the digital age, a Chinese professor’s AI-authored Science Fiction novel snags a national award, stirring a pot that’s been simmering on the back burner of the tech world. This ain’t your run-of-the-mill Sci-Fi plot—it’s reality, and it’s got tongues wagging and keyboards clacking. Here’s the lowdown on what’s shaking up the scene.
AI Lacks Originality? Think Again
The rap on AI is it’s a copycat, lacking the spark of human creativity. But let’s not kid ourselves—originality is as elusive as a clear day in London. Originality is another weasel word. Everything’s a remix, a mashup of what’s been before. We’ve all been drinking from the same cultural well, so to speak. Humans might be grand at self-deception, thinking they’re the cat’s pyjamas in the creativity department. But throw them in a blind test with AI, and watch them scratch their heads, unable to tell man from machine. It’s like AI’s mixing up a cocktail of words, structures, themes—you name it—and serving up a concoction that’s surprisingly palatable. And this isn’t the first time, not long ago, an AI-created artwork won as best submission at a state fair. In some cases, they are seeking AI-generated submissions; other times, not so much.
AI and the Art Debate
So, AI can’t whip up human-level art? That’s the chatter, but it’s about as meaningful as arguing over your favourite colour. Art’s a slippery fish—try defining it, and you’ll end up with more questions than answers. It’s one of those terms that’s become so bloated, it’s lost its punch. To some, it’s a sunset; to others, it’s a can of soup. So when AI throws its hat in the ring, it’s not just competing—it’s redefining the game.
The Peer Review Question Mark
Here’s where it gets spicy. The book bagging a national award isn’t just a pat on the back for the AI—it’s a side-eye at the whole peer review shindig. It’s like when your mate says they know a great place to eat, and it turns out to be just okay. The peer review process, much like reviewing a book for a prestigious award, is supposed to be the gold standard, right? But this AI-authored book slipping through the cracks and coming out tops? It’s got folks wondering if the process is more smoke and mirrors than we thought.
What’s Next?
So, where does this leave us? Grappling with the idea that maybe, just maybe, AI’s not playing second fiddle in the creativity orchestra. It’s a wake-up call, a reminder that what we thought was exclusively ours—creativity, art, originality—might just be a shared space. AI’s not just imitating life; it’s becoming an intrinsic part of the narrative. Science fiction? More like science fact.
The next chapter’s unwritten, and who knows? Maybe it’ll be penned by an AI, with a human sitting back, marvelling at the twist in the tale.
This article appeared in my social feed, What are the different types of atheism? But the author makes at least two notable mistakes. Firstly, he conflates atheism with agnosticism, the first being about belief and the last being about knowledge. So, one can believe or disbelieve in something, but that doesn’t speak to knowing. This debate is specifically about gods, so one can believe in a god but not know; one can not believe in gods and not know; one can believe in a god and know; and one can disbelieve in gods and not know. As for me, I am an igtheist: I don’t care about gods. It’s a silly place to spend my time.
For a theist or atheist, the existence of gods is a truth statement. For me, the question is not ruth apt; it’s ostensibly gibberish. Even then, I am still agnostic, which might also be ignostic because not only don’t I know, neither do I care.
As Ricky Gervais has pointed out (recasting per the linked article), if there are 10,000 gods, a typical Christian doesn’t believe in 9,999 gods. They believe in their god. Just 1. Of course, the other gods are nonsense. Ditto for Muslims. Ditto for Jews. In the end, they claim the same underlying deity, but they argue over which cohort He favours, and their god identifies as a male, so they’ve adopted male pronouns.
Secondly, whilst the author mentions religious and non-religious, he misses the spiritual cohort. This is a subset of non-religious. In some cases, I and many others might argue that spirituality is simply a personal religion, so the distinction would be one of community. The religious congregate en masse whilst the spiritual take this journey alone. One may also argue that some spiritual folks also congregate. I’ve attended more than one Wiccan or Pagan group event, but the ties may be looser than with a mainstream religion.
In the case of some spiritual adherents, non-religious is shorthand for being opposed to Big Religion. Perhaps not coincidentally, many of these are opposed to Big Pharma and Big Agriculture, but my purpose here is not a psychological profile.
I recently heard Robert Sapolsky say in a lecture that the religious live longer and are happier on average than non-religious, which is to say the spiritual and the atheists alike, so he notes this could provide an underlying evolutionary explanation for religious belief. Neither will I comment further on this notion, but there you have it. Take id or leave it.
I’ve been reengaging with philosophy, though my positions haven’t changed recently. My last change was to shift from being a qualified material realist to a qualified idealist in the shape of Analytic Idealism. In most matters I can think of, I am an anti-realist, which is to say concepts like truth and morality are not objective; rather they are mind-dependent.
I’ve long been on record of taking the stance that Capital-T Truth, moral truths, are derived rhetorically. There is no underlying Truth, only what we are aggregately convinced of, by whatever route we’ve taken. As a moral non-cognitivist, I am convinced that morality is derived through emotion and expressed or prescribed after a quick stop through logic gates. Again, there is nothing objective about morality.
Truth and morality are subjective and relative constructs. They resonate with us emotionally, so we adopt them.
Were I a theist — more particularly a monotheist —, I might be inclined to be emotionally invested in some Divine Command theory, where I believe that some god may have dictated these moral truths. Of course, this begs the question of how these so-called “Truths” were conveyed from some spirit world to this mundane world. I have no such conflict.
But let’s ask how an atheist might believe in moral realism. Perhaps, they might adopt a Naturalistic stance: we have some natural intuition or in-built moral mechanism that is not mind-dependent or socially determined. I am not a naturalist and I don’t take a universalist approach to the world, so this doesn’t resonate with me. I can agree that we have an in-built sense of fairness, and this might become a basis for some aspects of morality, but this is still triggered by an emotional response that is mind-dependent.
Another curious thing for me is why non-human animals cannot commit immoral acts. Isn’t this enough to diminish some moral universal? In the end, they are an extension of language by some definition. No language, not even a semblance of morality.
Anyway, there’s nothing new here. I just felt like creating a philosophical post as I’ve been so distracted by my health and writing.
As moral error theorists, we’re accustomed to facing criticism for our perspective. I’m a moral non-cognitivist, but there’s a significant intersection with these theories. When someone asserts that torture is wrong, I might argue that the claim is hollow, as moral wrongness is merely an emotional response masquerading as an objective moral stance. On the other hand, an error theorist would debunk this argument, stating that there’s no absolute position of right or wrong. Pragmatically, we both arrive at the conclusion that the claim cannot hold true.
Video: Is Error Theory Counterintuitive — Kane B
Intuition leads others to a different interpretation. If they believe something is true due to their epistemic certainty, then for them, it is true. Their reality is shaped by experience. Curse the limitations of sense perception and cognitive constraints. “I know what I know,” is their typical retort. Moreover, it’s a matter of practicality. “You know what I mean,” they insist.
They attempt to substitute fact with heuristics, truth with analogue, and terrain with a map. Admittedly, it’s convenient to feign an identity at play, but at best, it’s a near equivalence.
In the linked video, the example of claiming ‘that car is red’ is presented. But can cars truly be red? Not precisely. Cars can possess the property of appearing red to most individuals in specific lighting conditions, but a car cannot inherently be red. Thus, this statement is categorically false. We can assert ‘that the car appears to be red,’ and as a matter of practicality, we might designate the car as such. However, this highlights the inadequacy of language, particularly concerning abstract concepts.
A challenge arises from people’s inclination, driven by the principle of least effort, to seek simplicity and convenience, often at the expense of truth.
A challenge arises from people’s inclination, driven by the principle of least effort, to seek simplicity and convenience, often at the expense of truth. This principle underpins Occam’s Razor: choose the simplest version among competing explanations. It’s a misguided endeavour, akin to living under the notion that opposites attract rather than like attracting like.
I encounter this opposing worldview when I pinpoint certain inconsistencies or issues in the ‘real world,’ emphasizing that language is insufficient to convey adequate meaning, that there exists no objective moral centre, and that democracy is a system that falters even on paper. Almost invariably, the response is, ‘then what?’ I don’t possess the answer to ‘then what.’ I’m merely informing you that your leg is broken. I don’t need to know how to fix it for this to be true, a valid assessment.
While I’m on a roll, let’s talk about charity in philosophical argumentation, which, in my view, is another misguided concept. Why should I favour the notion that a person genuinely believes in the position they hold? It’s another heuristic rule set up to lend credence to otherwise weak arguments. We need not adhere to these boundaries—they’re nonexistent.
BONUS: I ran this content through ANTHROP/C’s Claude 2 for analysis and evaluation. I include it as an example of the bias inherent in generative AI. Whilst I realise that I am taking a polemic position—nothing new here—, Claude apes canned responses. Ironically, the same responses I am arguing against. I do agree that I could have ‘steel-manned’ my argument, but this is a blog post, not a dissertation. Perhaps another day.
Here are some thoughts on evaluating the blog post:
The author takes a strong moral non-cognitivist stance, arguing that moral claims like “torture is wrong” are not objective facts but expressions of emotion. This view aligns with moral error theory in debunking moral realism.
However, the dismissive attitude towards those who believe moral claims have truth value shows a lack of philosophical charity. The author could strengthen their position by steelmanning the opposing view before critiquing it.
The analogy between moral claims and claims like “the car is red” makes an interesting point about the inadequacy of language for capturing nuanced truth. However, more nuance could be applied in acknowledging the usefulness of simplifying language and heuristics in everyday life.
The author’s critique of Occam’s Razor and preference for complex explanations is thought-provoking but could benefit from addressing the pragmatic value of simpler models. Outright dismissing this philosophical principle seems extreme.
The call to abandon charity in argumentation in the name of absolute truth risks throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Some level of mutual understanding between interlocutors is needed for productive discourse.
Overall, while the post raises thoughtful challenges to moral realism, heuristics, and other commonly held views, the dismissive tone and lack of nuance weaken the arguments. More charity towards opposing views and addressing pragmatic concerns could strengthen the critique.
In summary, the post puts forward some provocative arguments but could benefit from greater philosophical charity, nuance, and balancing pragmatism with pursuing absolute truth. A more measured tone discussing pros and cons of different perspectives would likely lend more persuasive force.
Language insufficiency or the inability of language to facilitate accurate or precise communication has been a notion I’ve stressed for years. In fact, I have another post with a similar title,
Conceptual language is likely to have been formed for a purpose different to social communication. It may have been formed to facilitate internal dialogue. This language was not written and may not have even been words as we know them, but we could parse and reflect upon our experiences in this world. Eventually, we developed speech and then writing systems to share communication. We went on to develop speculative and conditional language, visions of possible futures and answers to ‘what-if’ queries.
My intent is not to create a piece with academic rigour, though I might wish to. I may not even deign to link to references I’ve accumulated over the years. They are in memory, but it takes time and effort,especially when one isn’t purposefully accumulating citations.
I was prompted to write at 4am when I read in a story that Google CEO Sundar Pichai was taking “full responsibility for the decisions that led us” to twelve-thousand-odd layoffs at the company he helms. But what is the responsibility he cites? It’s meaningless. What can it mean—that he’s sorry? Responsibility is a weasel word. That and a dollar won’t buy you a cup of coffee at Starbucks. And on one hand, he can say that at least these people were employed with income in the first place, but thqat is little consolation for the expectation of longevity. Here’s a lesson in impermenance and trust. We tend to trust companies, but the trust is rather hope. We hope they don’t let us down. Hope is another weasel word, as is trust. Trust me.
About 40% of words employed…are phatic or filler words with little objective communication value
About forty per cent of words employed in a typical day are phatic or filler words with little objective communication value, though some provide a social function. This may be superfluous, this is not insufficiency. Insufficiency stems from not being to articulate what one wants to say or the expectation to understand what is being conveyed to you. In fact, people tend to overvalue what they hear or read.
In most cases, this may not matter. As long as the content of a transmitted idea contains enough value to convey a message, this is good enough for everyday communication. “Look out! There’s a car turning into your lane.” “I’m hungry. There’s a restaurant.” “That was a good movie.” “Let’s meet at four o’clock.” In fact, much can be communicated without words—in gestures and facial expressions. It might even be argued that these vectors carry as much if not more communication content than the words we use.
IMAGE: Communication without words
“There.” I point to a drive-through restaurant ahead on the road. “I’m hungry.”
I could probably omit the there exclamation and just point. Here, words are sufficient, even if they may be redundant. There are challenges even at the fundamental level. Notably, aesthetic concepts are often nebulous.
“That restaurant is good.”
What does this statement mean to convey? Essentially, it means that I, the speaker, has been to the referenced restaurant and liked at least some of the food they tasted: “[The food at] that restaurant is good.” Perhaps, they are referring to the staff or the atmosphere. It depends on what good is qualifying. It also depends on a shared definiton of good. This is a insufficiency.
Of course, this insufficiency can be mitigated fairly quickly. Once you understand the ‘tastes’ of your interlocutor, you can parse whether the goodness also applies to you. If you don’t happen to like, say, Indian food and that is the restaurant being referenced, then you can dismiss the comment as phatic. If you don’t prefer satire, you might want to chalk up a statement like ‘M3GAN was a good movie’ to a sharing of personal information rather than a recommendation.”
Perhaps the biggest insufficiency is in the communication of abstract concepts, a category where aesthetics also sits. These are concepts such as God, love, and justice. Iain McGilchrist seems to feel that although these words may be insufficient, we all know what they mean. These are right brain notions that the left hemisphere just can’t rightly categorise. Though this might be a left brain argument, I am going to disagree by degrees.
My (hopefully not strawman) argument is that we do have subjective notions of what these things are, but the communication value is still diminished and in some cases insufficient. If my statement means to convey justice as {A, C, D, X} and the receiver understands justice to mean {A, B, C, Y, Z}, then the only shared aspect is {A,C}. If that is the only portion contextual to the conversation at hand, that’s fine. Communication has been sucessful. But is the message was meant to emphasise {Z}, then the communication is insufficient.
It could be that further conversation reveals this, but often times, a shared definition is assumed. When I say “I want justice” or “I take responsibility”, I have a notion of went denotative and connotative elements I have in mind. I expect the the receiver of my statement shares these elements.
In the case of the statement by Pichai, his notion of responsibility is clearly divergent from mine. This might fall back on some notion of blame, but he has no real repurcussions for his action. Perhaps reputationally, but like politicians, CEOs of large companies are already expected to be sociopaths with empty words, so he’s appologised with no weight, and for most people that’s good enough. The people who have been affected are just as unemployed as before. He may have arranged for a severance package, but in the case of the family referenced in the article, this means nothing because they have 60-days to become employed or they will be forced to leave the United States as a conditiopn of their H1B visa.
On a personal level, I was recently chatting with an Indian mate with an H1B visa who had just been hired after having been layed off by another company. He was racing against this 60-day clock. He had received a verbal offer, but once the company discovered that he needed sponsorship for his via, they offered him $30,000 less per year because they knew he had no bargaining power. This is just an editorial aside, so I won’t go down the rabbit hole of wage slavery, but know that I recognise the relationship and the exploitation in it.
When I have time, perhaps I’ll flesh out this notion and provide additional support. Of course, I also know that I am shovelling against the tide owing to the insufficiency of language. I won’t even start on the related topic of the rhetoric of truth.
This is not a discourse on the English spoken by those from the subcontinent. Rather, it’s just a short and simple observation. Perhaps, someday I’ll post something on the phonetics that makes Indians sound like Indians instead of native western English speakers, but not today.
I’ve recently taken a new job and all of my more junior team members are what’s known as off-shore. The two more senior team members are Indian by birth but live in the United States. We have daily ‘stand-up’ calls where no one really stands up, but each team member summarises how their day went and what they plan to do tomorrow. They are at the end of their day as commence mine. If there is anything impeding them from their plan, we have time to remove the impediment.
I’ve worked with Indians for years. In fact, as an Economics student in the 1980s, many of my classmates were Indian. But until now, I didn’t notice a certain phraseology that makes them sound unnatural to my ear. I am not claiming that my way is right or their way is wrong. I’m just noting the difference.
These team members routinely mention the name of the person to whom they are speaking.
Yes, I will do that, name.
I understand, name.
No, name, that’s not what I meant.
And other such constructions. A native speaker will not generally insert the name.
Full disclosure, this could rather be cultural deference as these people are junior and speaking to someone in a manager role, so perhaps it’s less their English speaking but rather a cultural injection. I haven’t heard them cross-talk with each other enough to gather if this name-ness is dropped with peers.
It could well be that their English is overly formal like the French I studied in school but that no one actually speaks. It is overly formal and stilted. Natives can always tell that you’re school-taught and haven’t been exposed to French in the wild. As I mentioned already, it may be cultural etiquette or simply perceived etiquette. If someone knows or has an opinion, I’d like to hear it—especially if you are a native Indian speaker of English.
“Find the thing that excites you the most and go after that … find the thing that you’re natural and really good at, and then exaggerate it…”
I came across this 2010 interview with Steve Vai, and something he said struck me.
— Steve Vai
He says that some of the best musicians don’t know music theory and can’t read or write.
“If you tell Jeff Beck to play an F# on the G string, he might not know what it is…”
—Steve Vai (rather out of context, but still…)
This is a possible example of where musicality is a right-hemisphere activity whilst the symbolic representation happens on the left. I am simplifying and talking metaphorically as I have not done any brain scans, but it feels apt. Of course, Steve Vai does both—and on steroids, so there’s that.
Philosophics 