Digressions&Impressions

When Adam Smith and the Invisible Hand became Coupled.

"That to these causes, thus necessarily proceeding from this great principle, we are to ascribe in particular both the opulence and prosperity of our own nation, and the necessary diffusion of the arts, manners, language, and race, with which they are connected, and in which they are embodied, over the remotest regions of the globe. That thus, although men in marrying seek only their own good, they nevertheless adopt that course which is most to the advantage of society; and here too , as in many other instances, are led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of their intention. That, therefore, as the revenue and power of a nation can only increase as its population increases, and as the increase of population tends to give a beginning to every useful art, and to carry it to the highest perfection, legislators act a very absurd and culpable part in attempting, in any instance to restrain it , or to check what is undoubtedly the natural, and apparently the most beneficial course of events."--John Rae (1834) Statement of Some New Principles on the Subject of Political Economy,

It's well known, at least since 1971, to students of Adam Smith that Adam Smith uses the phrase, 'invisible hand' three times in his oeuvre.+ In print Smith first used it in 1759 in Part IV, Chapter 1 The Theory of Moral Sentiments (hereafter TMS; see here). He then used it in 1776 in Book IV of An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of The Wealth of Nations (hereafter WN; see here). And the third time it appeared in print was in 1795, in his (posthumously published) Essays on Philosophical Subjects (hereafter EPS), in his essay on the "History of Astronomy" (see here). Almost certainly the latter essay was, at least partially, composed first.

Each of Smith's three uses occur in rhetorically complex passages that have different explanatory purposes and different implied targets. In WN Smith is quite explicit that he is criticizing what he calls the 'mercantile system.' But the point and target of the passage in TMS is disputed. Finally, in EPS the 'invisible hand' is explicitly attributed to 'Jupiter,' but this is done by Smith and explicitly not by the heathen polytheists that he is describing! Unsurprisingly, this state of affairs has not generated consensus among scholars about what Smith means by 'invisible hand' when he uses it. (The Wikipedia entry gives a tasting of the diversity of approaches to it.) Somewhat annoyingly, when we look at eighteenth century uses of 'invisible hand' that would have been familiar to Smith we find no uniform use that can help settle this case.

As an aside, in chapter 10 of my book, I have offered a detailed analysis of Smith's three uses, and much to my own surprise I offer a unified interpretation of all three, which (on my view) describes a very particular kind of (social) mechanism: any given iteration of such a mechanism is a relatively short-term process in which the agent produces unintended and to him/her unknown consequences. Crucially, the consequences are, in principle, knowable to the right kind of observer at the time (either because of theory or by accumulated common sense). And I contrast such invisible hand mechanisms to the much more dominant model of large-scale unintended consequences that Smith deploys much more frequently throughout his work (and that Mandeville and Ferguson also made famous). For a careful and generous summary of my views, I happily refer you to one of the doyens of Adam Smith scholarship, Jeffrey Young who wrote a sympathetic review of these issues here. But despite Young's endorsement of my position, I don't expect other scholars to fall into line.*

In cases like this, it can be highly instructive to look at the reception of an author. I expect Glory M. Liu excellent and illuminating Adam Smith's America: How a Scottish Philosopher Became an Icon of American Capitalism to provoke more reception studies of Smith.

When we do so for the invisible hand we are immediately struck by  a quite stunning fact. To the best of my knowledge, none of Smith's early readers ever mention the invisible hand in print! It seems to have inspired no commentary or reflection. I suspect this is what led the distinguished scholar, Emma Rothschild, to treat the 'invisible hand' in deflationary manner as a kind of ironic joke by Smith originally in a famous (1994) article. (You could ask her if you doubt this!) For, she writes, "The evidence for this view is indirect. Smith makes no other mention of the invisible hand; it is interesting that commentators on his work, too, mentioned it only infrequently prior to the 20th century." (319)

Now, when Rothschild wrote that sentence, the internet was in its infancy. And that claim was highly plausible, and if you do a Ngram search, you'll see that only after 1917 does the phrase 'invisible hand' become influential.  But when we start digging into the databases, we discover it's not quite right. Between 1810-184o there is definite interest in an 'invisible hand' (see here). Part of that bump is the publication, and re-publication of Invisible Hand: A Tale by W. Clayton. I have found little about this book or author anyway. (It's charming by the way.) But most of that bump reflects the republication (with commentaries) of Smith's works and the use of 'invisible hand' in theological works of some kind or another.

However, the coupling of "Adam Smith" with the invisible hand only starts to pick up in the 1840s. We see this first in French from 1845 onward where, the economist Eugène Daire (1798-1847) does this casually in a book review of a book by Ferdinand Duran (Des tendances pacifiques de la société européenne et du rôle des armées dans l'avenir). In Daire, the invisible hand is a mechanism that, in the presence of the possibility of profit, connects the interests of individuals with that of society. This use fits the larger widespread, 19th century liberal view of the (potential) harmony of interests. (In my book I  deny this is Smith's own view; short version, the interests of merchants and those of workers & landholders are opposed.) I return to this below.

In 1848 a work attributed to the author of Theodore appeared. Theodore was a young adult crusader story written by Barbara Hofland, who died in 1844. The 1848 work is The Island of Liberty; Or Equality and Community and is said to be written during the Monmouthshire Riots of 1839-1840. I think this refers  to what is known as the Newport Rising. The Island of Liberty is a substantial work (and I am somewhat sad I have found no literature on it), and fits no genre easily: it is a mixture of utopian novel, adventure story, and didactism. It advocates, inter alia, colonization for Malthusian reasons, and it has a somewhat feminist tendency. Smith's TMS supplies the epigraphs of the first two chapter headings, and the invisible hand passage is found at the start of the first.  (And, while this is quite tentative, it seems Hofland, if it is really her, that it signals with Smith that the rich trample on the poor and that -- although I doubt Smith really endorses this -- providence will guide us.)

That same year, in 1848, the American, Calvin Cotton, a professor of "public economy" at Trinity College,  in a substantial treatise, The Public Economy of the United States, quotes the WN's invisible hand passage while using Smith's principles to argue for protectionism! To be sure, he makes clear that "Smith and his followers" all claim that protectionism is a tax (and so to be rejected).  But the invisible hand plays no role in Cotton's argument. (For wider context of Smith's role in the debate over protectionism you should read Liu's book!) But after 1850, it becomes not uncommon to couple Adam Smith and the invisible hand (go through here) in an economic context, although in Germany this occurs only after 1870. And then the invisible hand often operates in the marketplace or through markets. I don't mean to suggest there is a single late 19th century interpretation of the invisible hand. On the contrary, if you trace out all the uses you see a proliferation of meanings and interpretations!

In reflecting on all these data points, I was struck by two thoughts. First, for close to a century Smith was treated and read (quite widely) without an immediate association with the invisible hand. That's a very different Smith we have now! Second, I was puzzled by the casualness of Daire's use. For he clearly seems to assume that his audience (he is writing in a political economy journal) is familiar with his move. Now, this is not strange, of course. For example, in 1843, WN was republished in a very useful edition in French because it collected the notes of many important commentators on Smith. It would be natural for Daire to assume that Smith's ideas were familiar to his audience. Even so, the natural seeming coupling in Daire bugged me.

Now, in 1834, John Rae published a quite remarkable book,  Statement of Some New Principles on the Subject of Political Economy. This John Rae (who is writing in Canada!) is not the same (as I belatedly realized) as the biographer of Smith (Life of Adam Smith (1895)). Now Rae's Statement is quite critical of Adam Smith. To the best of my knowledge this book was not very well known in the 19th century, but was rediscovered by the end of the nineteenth and then had quite an important role to play in both the social theory of economics (in what sociology) and what is now known as endogenous growth theory. (So, for example, I had hoped to find Cotton cite Rae!)

But it was not wholly unknown because in a draft letter by J.S. Mill assures Rae that " I have made more use of your treatise than you appear to have been informed of, having quoted largely from it, especially from your discussion of the circumstances which influence the " effective desire of accumulation ", a point which you appear to me to have treated better than it had ever been treated before." (1854)

Now, it's absolutely central to Rae's interpretation of Smith that in Smith there is an "exact identity of ends which nations and individuals pursue." This axiom (my term) gives Smith's system its coherence and unity, according to Rae. And Rae had introduced this claim by, rather briefly, quoting Smith's WN passage with the invisible hand. But after articulating this axiom which Rae rejects and attributes to Smith and his followers, Rae writes, "It might, perhaps, in support of such a view of the subject, be said," and then follow a whole number of quotations. Some of these are familiar passages (from Virgil), but others I have been unable to identify a source.

In particular, the passage quoted at the top of this post, which Rae puts in quote marks (because, recall, "in support of such a view [as Smith's] of the subject, be said,") seems to be Rae's own invention! (I welcome refutations of this claim, even if it would detract from my story.) Now, what's neat about the passage is that it is a creative synthesis of the TMS and WN passages of the invisible hand, and these, in turn, synthesized with Malthus (who is, in many respects, an insightful Smithian--as Ross Emmett noted back in 2020). And while I think it is a false interpretation of Smith, what Rae is right about, and this is prescient, this the dominant account of nineteenth century liberalism (especially in the context of population ethics and political economy) and this, in turn, often gets backwardly projected onto Smith in the nineteenth century and by later scholars of the nineteenth century!**  Now, I wouldn't bet that Daire had read Rae (such providence probably does not exist), but I think Rae's comments helps explain why a decade later these kind of ideas are merged together without it worth remarking on.

 

 

Foucault, Stigler, Weber, and some pre-history going back to Thomas More, Mandeville, Grouchy and even Spinoza

The cost limitation upon the enforcement of laws would prevent the society from forestalling, detecting, and punishing all offenders, but it would appear that punishments which would be meted out to the guilty could often be increased without using additional resources. The offender is deterred by the expected punishment, which is (as a first approximation) the probability of punishment times the punishment-$100 if the probability of conviction is 1/10 and the fine $1,000. Hence, increasing the punishment would seem always to increase the deterrence. Capital punishment is cheaper than long term imprisonment; and seizure of all the offender's property may not be much more expensive than collecting a more moderate fine.

To escape from this conclusion, Becker introduces as a different limitation on punishment the "social value of the gain to offenders" from the offense. The determination of this social value is not explained, and one is entitled to doubt its usefulness as an explanatory concept: what evidence is there that society sets a positive value upon the utility derived from a murder, rape, or arson? In fact the society has branded the utility derived from such activities as illicit. It may be that in a few offenses some gain to the offender is viewed as a gain to society,' but such social gains seem too infrequent, small, and capricious to put an effective limitation upon the size of punishments.

Instead we take account of another source of limitation of punishment, which arises out of the nature of the supply of offenses. It is no doubt true that the larger the punishment, the smaller will be the expected net utility to the prospective offender from the commission of a given offense. But marginal decisions are made here as in the remainder of life, and the marginal deterrence of heavy punishments could be very small or even negative. If the offender will be executed for a minor assault and for a murder, there is no marginal deterrence to murder. If the thief has his hand cut off for taking five dollars, he had just as well take $5,000. Marginal costs are necessary to marginal deterrence.2 The marginal deterrence to committing small crimes is also distorted if an otherwise appropriate schedule of penalties is doubled or halved. One special aspect of this cost limitation upon enforcement is the need to avoid overenforcement. The enforcement agency could easily apprehend most guilty people of we placed no limits upon the charging and frequent conviction of innocent people. In any real enforcement system, there will in fact be conviction and punishment of some innocent parties, and these miscarriages of justice impose costs of both resources and loss of confidence in the enforcement machinery. The costs of defense of innocent parties, whether borne by themselves or by the state, are part of the costs of enforcement from the social viewpoint. The conviction of innocent persons encourages the crime because it reduces the marginal deterrence to its commission.--Stigler, George J. "The optimum enforcement of laws." Journal of Political Economy 78.3 (1970): 527-528.

Foucault quotes the Stigler (1970) article in the tenth lecture of 21 March 1979 (Birth of Biopolitics, p. 256.) It is quite natural, if you read the editorial apparatus of the Birth of Biopolitics, to think that Foucault may not have read the original source, but that he is relying entirely on Jenny, F. "La théorie économique du crime: une revue de la littérature." Vie et sciences économique 73 (1977): 7-20. The wording of the editorial footnote (18) -- "(Foucault draws on information provided in this article.)" -- is sufficiently ambiguous to give the editors plausible deniability here. But the editors go on to imply it in a later footnote (25) when they tell the readers that "This phrase is not found in Becker’s article. Foucault relies on the synthesis of Becker’s and Stigler’s works provided by Jenny." Foucault's vexed relationship to underlying sources came up in discussion over lunch with Bruce Caldwell and Joel Isaac yesterday.

So, I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when during a hallway conversation Vincent Carret -- yes I am visiting Duke's Center for the history of political economy [hence all the name-dropping] -- informed me that there is a project, Le projet Foucault Fiches de Lecture (FFL), that is collecting and making digitally available many of Foucault's annotations on his readings which he did to prepare his lectures and books. So, when I went to check it out, I thought it made sense to use it as my first foray to see what annotations he had left on Becker and Stigler. While zero annotations would not be decisive -- after all notes get lost and re-used, maybe he relied on others for summaries and checked them against original sources -- it would naturally be taken to reinforce the editors' point.

To give a non-trivial example that a false negative is not decisive: as far as I can tell, there are no annotations on Jenny's article (or the underlying book in which it appeared). Since there are Foucault annotations on papers by Becker (here) and Stigler, that would have made a nice punchline for this digression, but I have other fish to fry!  In addition, the annotations do not seem to be dated, and as far as I can tell [after a few hours of poking around on the website] the project has not yet tried to date the manuscripts. So, I am not going to try to connect Foucault's scribbling to particular passages in the lecture course. (I will leave that to a different kind of scholar.) Foucault read and made a few annotations (see here) on Stigler's "The Optimum Enforcement of Laws." That should be no surprise because Foucault had a deep interest in criminology, and its history, and Becker's and Stigler's work were creating important waves in the field. (I would be amazed if these annotations were written after the Birth of Biopolitics lectures.)

When Stigler wrote the passage I have quoted, Becker may well still have been at Columbia. (Becker returned to Chicago in 1970.) And, at first sight the passage has the aura of a senior scholar setting the young upstart straight on marginal analysis (then exactly a century old), although the real disagreement is to explain the absence of widespread and enormous numbers of capital punishment. For, while Stigler's (and Becker's) project has a normative component (Stigler is explicit about this), it's also meant to do a decent job with the empirical world.

And, in fact, Stigler's analysis ("If the thief has his hand cut off for taking five dollars, he had just as well take $5,000.") echoes pre-marginalist thinking going back to Thomas More (in part I of Utopia [recall this NewAPPS post]), and, as Foucault explicitly notes (repeatedly in the lecture), in the writings of Beccaria and Bentham (and (recall this digression on) Sophie Grouchy). This is why Foucault treats Stigler and Becker as an updated version of Benthamite utilitarianism (although as the reference to More suggests cost-benefit analysis of criminal decision making and how to create rational punishment in light of it precedes Benthamite utilitarianism). 

Now, I want to close with more substantive observations. Foucault himself makes an important point in a passage (which I have quoted in passing before (recall here) in which he explicitly quotes Stigler (1970):

The regulatory principle of penal policy is a simple intervention in the market for crime and in relation to the supply of crime. It is an intervention which will limit the supply of crime solely by a negative demand, the cost of which must obviously never exceed the cost of the supply of the criminality in question. This is the definition that Stigler gives of the objective of a penal policy: “The goal of law enforcement,” he says, “is to achieve a degree of compliance with the rule of prescribed behavior that society believes it can procure while taking account of the fact that enforcement is costly.” This is in the Journal of Political Economy in 1970.30--Foucault 21 March, 1979,  translated by Graham Burchell, Lecture 10, The Birth of Biopolitics, p. 256.*

The 'definition that Stigler gives' is from the first section of the essay labeled 'The Goal of Enforcement.' Stigler returns to the regulatory principle in the final (third) section labeled 'The Enforcement Agency: A Normative Approach.' Some other time I want to discuss how we should think about the normativity involved in Stigler's analysis. Foucault does not remark on it. It's worth nothing that 'Chicago' is by no means the first to think about the role of enforcement costs in law enforcement: Spinoza (in the Theological Political Treatise) and Mandeville (in the Fable) recognize that Amsterdam's practice of tolerating brothels is explicitly shaped by consideration of enforcement costs.

Now, 'the art of government' is the major theme of Birth of Biopolitics. And the phrase (and its cognates) are used repeatedly throughout the lectures. But one peculiarity of the lectures is that the phrase does not occur in the lectures on Chicago economics ('governmentality' does in case you want to play gotcha with me). And this has let commentators, I think, to miss that Chicago school does have an account of the art of government: in Friedman it's called the 'art of economics' (which is recall here and here the phrase he inherits from J.S. Mill and J.N. Keynes) and Stigler with less flair, calls it "advice on policy...[in light of] understanding of the regulatory process" in the introduction to his (1975) Citizen and the State. Now, in Friedman (and Mill, and even Adam Smith) the content of the art of government is articulated in terms of maxims or principles. Foucault echoes this language when he describes Stigler's 1970 in terms of 'regulatory principles.'** 

To put my first important point simply: in the context of the modern administrative state, the liberal art of government, as understood at 'Chicago' is partially codified in terms of regulatory principles that constrain how one should think about the relationship between policy aims and fundamental liberal principles (and constitutional constraints, etc.) in light of experience with the ordinary workings of the democratic political process which is often also a market in political regulation. 

The second point is that Foucault uses 'regulatory principle' as the content of the art of government in the context of the modern administrative state. This is actually confirmed or illustrated in an interview held with him (by folk who are actually confused on this) in a passage that has attracted quite a bit of critical attention (because it involves Foucault's attitude toward consensus politics), where Foucault corrects his interviewers' terminology by saying that 'X is a regulatory principle' always presupposes that X is subject to "governance" and to "be organized." (The Foucault Reader, p. 378)

And lurking here is the most important point often lost in twentieth century debates over markets vs states is that much of neoliberalism, that, as Foucault correctly recognizes, is about -- and Becker and Stigler are explicit about this -- a process of rationalization of the administrative state on liberal principles not its abolition. And so while Foucault repeatedly ties the ORDO liberal approach to Max Weber's shadow, he could have also done so with Chicago (even if Stigler got his Weber through Knight and Talcott Parsons).

 

 

 

On Herland, Utopian Racism, and the Analysis of Patriarchy

The women of Herland have no fear of men. Why should they have? They are not timid in any sense. They are not weak; and they all have strong trained athletic bodies. Othello could not have extinguished Alima with a pillow, as if she were a mouse.

Terry put in practice his pet conviction that a woman loves to be mastered, and by sheer brute force, in all the pride and passion of his intense masculinity, he tried to master this woman.

It did not work. I got a pretty clear account of it later from Ellador, but what we heard at the time was the noise of a tremendous struggle, and Alima calling to Moadine. Moadine was close by and came at once; one or two more strong grave women followed.

Terry dashed about like a madman; he would cheerfully have killed them—he told me that, himself—but he couldn’t. When he swung a chair over his head one sprang in the air and caught it, two threw themselves bodily upon him and forced him to the floor; it was only the work of a few moments to have him tied hand and foot, and then, in sheer pity for his futile rage, to anesthetize him.

Alima was in a cold fury. She wanted him killed—actually.--From: Charlotte Perkins  Gillman (1915) Herland, chapter 11 (p. 142 in the penguin edition).

That the women of Herland lack fear is key to the overall argument of Herland. The point is not that the absence of men in Herland creates a society incapable of generating fear. For, these women are quite capable, like the Amazonian of old, to inspire justified fear in others. They are introduced as a rumor by locals, who keep their distance from the "strange and terrible Woman Land in the high distance." (ch. 1; p. 4) And they keep their distance for a good reason because all the local men who tried to visit do not return and disappear without a trace. Because these locals are understood as 'savage' and 'uncivilized' by the women of Herland and the three male American visitors to Herland, they are dispensable. The three American men -- we're in the age of explicitly racialized, imperialism -- openly speculate about "about penetrating those vast forests and civilizing—or exterminating—the dangerous savages." (ch. 12; p. 154).

The women of Herland are more discrete than these Americans, but the observant reader learns not just that no savage men returns, but also that the explicit reason why the Americans are spared is that their advanced technology (a bi-plane) indicates their civilization, and that in virtue of this they may be suitable candidates for re-creating a dual sexed state. (ch. 8; p. 96)* In addition, the women of Herland have culled most animals from their society (see the passage about dogs and horses (ch. 4; p. 53)), and we learn they are not averse to breeding the remaining ones (and plants). Finally, note that in the passage quoted above, one of the women of Herland, the one subject to intended marital rape, wishes to kill her assailant. 

That the women of Herland lack fear is noteworthy to the American visitors. (It's commented on in their initial encounters with the women of Herland.) And so we obliquely learn that American women are expected to be afraid of men. We also learn that, in part through the scene above, that this does not end at marriage because violent marital rape is treated as something inherent in true American masculinity.+ (Wikipedia has useful references to wider discussion among nineteenth century feminists.) In fact, the pervasiveness of violence in American life is a theme that surfaces throughout, obliquely, and it is discussed (somewhat comically) in terms of how Americans treat the dogs as pets (especially ch. 5).

Recall that I label a certain kind of comparative institutional analysis -- within the Utopian genre -- Socratic political theory (recall; but see, especially, this post on Ursula Le Guin and this one on Thomas More.; and this one on Spinoza). In addition, I have noted before that utopian fiction can have multiple uses. Many assume that utopias are primarily about imagining a possible future, even provide a blue-print for them. But one of my best past students, Hannah Lingier, taught me (recall) that utopian narratives often have another function function (by way of idealization) in isolating and revealing (in image and speech) how non-trivial existing social mechanisms work or might work.

What makes Herland facinating is that it reveals obliquely how a system of patriarchy functions by way of subtraction (men are absent) and through the interactions of the American visitors and the women of Herland, and the mutual reactions among them. And so, while one is shown the institutions, norms, and practices of Herland in which patriarchy is absent (except in historical and carefully curated memory), one thereby learns to discern the really existing patriarchy in civilized countries. And so it practices Socratic political theory in a distinctive way.

I do not mean to suggest that pervasive fear and laws and norms that permit toxic masculinity and violent marital rape are the only features of patriarchy revealed in Herland. There are set-pieces on how American Christianity promotes violent patriarchy, how the way property is conceptualized promotes patriarchal norms, how sexual jealousy among women is an effect of a society in which man you marry is the main ticket to social and economic advancement, and quite a number of observations on how gender or 'femininity' is structured and used as a way to control women.++

I mention the latter because while it seems to be true that the distinction between sex and gender derives from the middle of the twentieth twentieth century, Perkins Gilman deploys an analogous distinction in sophisticated fashion. (Mandeville had already noted that socialization gendered girls feminine (see here also for an extensive quote).) And she applies the distinction in the context of analyzing patriarchy and the neo-Darwinian evolution of social norms. But about that before long soon.

Mary Astell on Adaptive Preferences, Expert Overconfidence, Standpoint epistemology, and the limits of Sisterhood

I Do not propose this to prevent a Rebellion, for Women are not so well united as to form an Insurrection. They are for the most part wise enough to love their Chains, and to discern how very becomingly they fit. They think as humbly of themselves as their Masters can wish, with respect to the other Sex, but in regard to their own, they have a Spice of Masculine Ambition; every one would Lead, and none would Follow. Both Sexes being too apt to Envy, and too backward in Emulating, and take more Delight in detracting from their Neighbour’s Vertue, than in improving their own. And therefore, as to those Women who find themselves born for Slavery, and are so sensible of their own Meanness, as to conclude it impossible to attain to any thing excellent, since they are, or ought to be best acquainted with their own Strength and Genius, She’s a Fool who would attempt their Deliverance or Improvement. No, let them enjoy the great Honour and Felicity of their tame, submissive and depending Temper! Let the Men applaud, and let them glory in this wonderful Humility! Let them receive the Flatteries and Grimaces of the other Sex, live unenvied by their own, and be as much belov’d as one such Woman can afford to love another! Let them enjoy the Glory of treading in the Footsteps of their Predecessors, and of having the Prudence to avoid that audacious Attempt of soaring beyond their Sphere! Let them Huswife or Play, Dress, and be pretty entertaining Company! Or, which is better, relieve the Poor to ease their own Compassions, read pious Books, say their Prayers, and go to Church, because they have been taught and us’d to do so, without being able to give a better Reason for their Faith and Practice! Let them not by any means aspire at being Women of Understanding, because no Man can endure a Woman of Superior Sense, or would treat a reasonable Woman civilly, but that he thinks he stands on higher Ground, and, that she is so wise as to make Exceptions in his Favour, and to take her Measures by his Directions; they may pretend to Sense, indeed, since meer Pretences only render one the more ridiculous! Let them, in short, be what is call’d very Women, for this is most acceptable to all sorts of Men; or let them aim at the Title of good devout Women, since some Men can bear with this; but let them not judge of the Sex by their own Scantling: For the great Author of Nature and Fountain of all Perfection, never design’d that the Mean and Imperfect, but that the most Compleat and Excellent of His Creatures in every Kind, should be the Standard to the rest.--Mary Astell "Appendix" in Some Reflections Upon Marriage [1730; the Appendix was first published as a "Preface" of the 1706 edition.]

Alerted by Jacqueline Broad and Karen Detlefsen (who should be credited with what's original in this post), the passage above jumped out to me. In context, Astell has discussed women's forced subordination to men which she argues goes against both revelation and natural law (which she equates.) The first quoted sentence applies Locke's argument about the right to resist tyranny. In the then present circumstances women would have that right. That they do not do so is because they lack the power, and so are doomed to failure. As she puts it a few pages before, "men are possessed of all Places of Power, Trust and Profit, they make Laws and exercise the Magistracy, not only the sharpest Sword, but even all the Swords and Blunderbusses are theirs, which by the strongest Logick in the World, gives them the best Title to every Thing they please to claim as their Prerogative." (173)

But that women are disunified is itself caused by their oppression. Now, while Astell is undoubtedly partially sarcastic about the fact that women learn to love their chains, she is also describing a very clear social mechanism. Oppressed and uneducated, women's preferences adapt to new circumstances. And they become oriented toward goods that actualize their own subordination. Anticipating (recall) Mandeville in the Fable and Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, she notes how women don't just become agents of their own oppression, but also the mechanism by way other women are oppressed. Because Astell is explicit that this is drawing on natural psychological mechanisms (aptness to Envy, emulation, and delight in detracting the virtue of others, etc.), she is really articulating a more general account of how the oppressed become themselves a source of oppression to other vulnerable individuals and groups.

In fact, the whole train of feminine virtues, even femininity, is explained in terms of socialization and conditioning of natural psychological mechanisms here. Even women's Christian philanthropy is described in terms of such adaptive preferences in the context of patriarchy.

The previous may suggest that Astell is ascribing to subordinated women a false consciousness. And while this cannot be ruled out, I think there is evidence to suggest that she thinks subordinated women are in a better position than men to judge of circumstances. For in summing up her interpretation of the Bible, she quotes Malebranche approvingly as follows:

If the Learned will not admit of this Interpretation, I know not how to contend with them. For Sense is a Portion that God Himself has been pleased to distribute to both Sexes with an impartial Hand, but Learning is what Men have engross’d to themselves, and one can’t but admire their great Improvements! For, after doubting whether there was such a Thing as Truth, and after many hundred Years Disputes about it, in the last Century an extraordinary Genius arose, (whom yet, some are pleased to call a Visionary) enquir’d after it, and laid down the best Method of finding it. Not to the general Liking of the Men of Letters, perhaps, because it was wrote in a vulgar Language, and was so natural and easy as to debase Truth to common Understandings, shewing too plainly, that Learning and true Knowledge are two very different Things. “For it often happens (says that Author) that Women and Children acknowledge the Falsehood of those Prejudices we contend with, because they do not dare to judge without Examination, and they bring all the Attention they are capable of to what they read. Whereas on the contrary, the Learned continue wedded to their own Opinions, because they will not take the Trouble of examining what is contrary to their receiv’d Doctrines.” (156-7)

Here it looks Astell claims that the more (formally) educated (and more gendered male) you become, the more likely it is that you will apply confirmation bias to any evidence. Again this anticipates Mandeville.* I read her as having Malebranche (a rather learned father) say, that men are trained to be confident and so have overconfident fondness in their own opinion; whereas women, who are not trained to be confident also cannot really afford to take authoritative teachings on trust. The costs of mistakes are really too high to the vulnerable and oppressed.+

 

Mencius in the late Enlightenment (Sophie de Grouchy & Adam Smith)

First, we are clearly moved to concern ourselves with others’ troubles so we can relieve them. This desire acts in us without any thought as to whether it is possible to contribute to this relief and before we have had time to see whether it will ever be possible to do so. It is this desire which, when we see a man struggling in the water and about to be swallowed up by it, causes spectators on the shore to reach out with their arms to him with urgency, a sublime movement of nature, which shows in an instant all the power of humanity over our hearts and also all the consequences a legislator could derive from that sentiment, more often weakened than strengthened by our institutions.--Sophie de Grouchy (1798) Letters on Sympathy, Letter 2. Translated by Sandrine Bergès.'

There is a strain of argument in Grouchy, indebted to Mandeville and Rousseau, where she emphasizes the pleasure we feel when we benefit others(e.g, in Letter 6, she writes, "individual ideas of justice are linked to the feeling of pleasure or pain when we benefit or harm others”) And there is also a consequentialist streak in here account of sympathy (e.g, in Letter 4, she writes “we feel sympathy for physical pains and pleasures in proportion to our understanding of their strengths and consequences.") But in the quoted passage, the point is to claim that sometimes we are naturally moved to unthinking compassion. The 'moved' here is also literal ("reach out with their arms.") Such unmediated and immediate compassion is evidence of our natural humanity,

Grouchy's point is not just moral psychological, but also political: we can organize the institutions of society to strengthen our natural compassion or undermine it. Quite clearly Grouchy thinks that institutions and their incentives should be so designed that they cultivate our natural compassion, and that they draw upon them to generate good consequences. The point is not just left abstract; her reformist account of the legal system (recall here, here, here) draws on this would-be-mechanism.

Now, the original reader of Grouchy's Letters, would have encountered this passage after reading, perhaps, her translation of The Theory of Moral Sentiments (to which the Letters were added as an appendix). That book starts by calling attention to the very same mechanism:

When we see a stroke aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another person, we naturally shrink and draw back our own leg or our own arm; and when it does fall, we feel it in some measure, and are hurt by it as well as the sufferer. The mob, when they are gazing at a dancer on the slack rope, naturally writhe and twist and balance their own bodies, as they see him do, and as they feel that they themselves must do if in his situation. 

But what is notable is that in discussing this passage, Smith does not make the claim that this is evidence of our natural compassion or common humanity; nor does he use it to claim that the legislator should design institutions in light of our natural (unmediated) compassion or use these institutions to the strengthen them. This is not to deny that these are Smithian themes, but one has to work at deriving them from Smith.

However, Grouchy's thought experiment evokes a passage in another famous moral psychologist, Mencius:

The reason why I say that humans all have hearts that are not unfeeling coward others is this. Suppose someone suddenly saw a child about to fall into a well: everyone in such a situation would have a feeling of alarm and compassion-not because one sought to get in good with the child's parents, not because one wanted fame among their neighbors and friends, and not because one would dislike the sound of the child's cries. "From this we can see that if one is without the heart of compassion, one is not a human." Mencius, 2A6, Translated by Bryan W. Van Norden

For Mencius it is constitutive of humanity that we feel immediate and unmediated compassion to others in direct need. For him such compassion is constitutive of our humanity. Were such compassion absent, we can point to social causes, that is, bad governance that have corrupted our (naturally good xing shan 性善) human nature. (Regular readers know, recall, I admire Mencius' philosophy because it prevents status quo bias and victim blaming.)

Clearly Grouchy's thought experiment is not identical to Mencius'; she uses a drowning adult and not a child. And she adds the physical reaching out which is absent in Mencius. Even so, we may say that the underlying points are sympathetically attuned to each other. 

I have no evidence that Grouchy read Mencius. But the passage was familiar in a translation and discussion of the Jesuit Jean-Baptiste Du Halde, who mentions it in his (1735) Description géographique, historique, chronologique, politique, et physique de l'empire de la Chine et de la Tartarie chinoise, enrichie de cartes générales et particuli`eres de ces pays, de la carte générale & des cartes particulieres du Thibet & de la Corée. The book was very popular in Europe during the Eighteenth century, Du Halde had not visite China himself, but he created a standard summary of a century and a half of Jesuit discovery in China (recall this post for some of the significance of this).

There is lurking here a crucial connection to Adam Smith. As my friend, Ryan Hanley, first taught me the status of China was of crucial importance to Smith's political economy. And, in fact, Smith sometimes alludes to knowledge of  Du Halde in the Wealth of Nations (see here; and here). 

 

 

 

Smith's very mitigated Defense of the Crafty Politician

There may be good policy in retaliations of this kind, when there is a probability that they will procure the repeal of the high duties or prohibitions complained of. The recovery of a great foreign market will generally more than compensate the transitory inconveniency of paying dearer during a short time for some sorts of goods. To judge whether such retaliations are likely to produce such an effect does not, perhaps, belong so much to the science of a legislator, whose deliberations ought to be governed by general principles which are always the same, as to the skill of that insidious and crafty animal, vulgarly called a statesman or politician, whose councils are directed by the momentary fluctuations of affairs. When there is no probability that any such repeal can be procured, it seems a bad method of compensating the injury done to certain classes of our people to do another injury ourselves, not only to those classes, but to almost all the other classes of them. When our neighbours prohibit some manufacture of ours, we generally prohibit, not only the same, for that alone would seldom affect them considerably, but some other manufacture of theirs. This may no doubt give encouragement to some particular class of workmen among ourselves, and by excluding some of their rivals, may enable them to raise their price in the home market. Those workmen, however, who suffered by our neighbours' prohibition will not be benefited by ours. On the contrary, they and almost all the other classes of our citizens will thereby be obliged to pay dearer than before for certain goods. Every such law, therefore, imposes a real tax upon the whole country, not in favour of that particular class of workmen who were injured by our neighbours' prohibition, but of some other class.--Adam Smith Wealth of Nations, IV, ch. 2.

I discussed the quoted passage, in passing, a last week, granting Judith Shklar that it provides evidence for Smith's "contempt" for "politicians." And, indeed, Smith is surely no fan of that "insidious and crafty animal!" He thinks ordinary people are wrong to admire them as statesmen. He associates such politicians with the zero-sum and violent politics of mercantilism and national greatness (cf. Mandeville). In addition such politicians are tempted to meddle in economic affairs (cf. James Steuart).

Even so, while reflecting on the passage, I came to realize that Smith also recognizes such politician's talents.  And it is worth highlighting these. In particular, the crafty politician has a “skill:” s/he is good at judging how other countries will react to retaliatory tariffs. That is, a genuinely crafty politician understands how other countries will 'likely' to behave. This presupposes considerable knowledge of human nature, a keen understanding of the domestic politics of foreign states, and natural appreciation of strategic behavior. This is not trivial.

Of course, the crafty politician is useless when the confrontational, tactical policies favored by him are unlikely to work. So, the underlying criticism here is that because crafty politicians are uni-dimensional -- they are constantly looking to win zero-sum battles -- they lack the temperament to be true statesman.* And because such a politician lacks the temperament and interest to grasp scientific principles, he may well do genuine harm, unknowingly, to his own citizens over time.

Jonathan Swift and Pessimistic Meta-Induction

[Aristotle’s ghost] freely acknowledged his own mistakes in natural philosophy, because he proceeded in many things upon conjecture, as all men must do; and he found that Gassendi, who had made the doctrine of Epicurus as palatable as he could, and the vortices of Descartes, were equally exploded. He predicted the same fate to attraction, whereof the present learned are such zealous asserters. He said, that new systems of nature were but new fashions, which would vary in every age; even those who pretend to demonstrate them from mathematical principles would flourish but a short period of time, and be out of vogue when that was determined.--From Jonathan Swift's (1726) Gulliver's Travels. Part Three, Chapter 8. 

Swift let's Gulliver recount through Aristotle's Ghost what we may call a pessimistic meta-induction (see here in the Stanford Encyclopedia). Swift is not the first to produce such a meta-induction I am familiar with several version of it to be found in Montaigne's Apology of Raimond Sebond -- involving induction over multiple sciences  --, and I would not be surprised if it has an ancient Skeptical pedigree. Montaigne wrote in the aftermath of the Copernican revolution so it is no surprise he is sensitive to this opportunity to argue for his version of skepticism. 

We are inclined to read Swift's version as, perhaps, displaying his scientific experience. How could one claim that Newton is mere 'fashion' and founded upon 'conjecture?' In his edition of Swift, Sir Walter Scott, suggest that this passage shows "the Dean understood little natural philosophy."* Scott may correct about this. While one can wonder why another novelist fails to recognize that a writer need not agree with his character, I leave that aside. But Scott underestimates Swift's remarks.

First, note that Swift correctly grasps that Newton had made Descartes's vortex theory obsolete. It's little noticed fact that Newton offered the first quantitative vortex theory and showed that it was incompatible with the empirical evidence (for explanation see this paper--the argument is Smeenk's.) This was by no means the consensus everywhere. (And, in fact, Newton's argument rested in part on a subtle mistake in his treatment of torque recognized by Bernoulli.) But Newton had clearly shifted the burden of evidence; Descartes version was doomed.

Second, it is worth noting that 1726 was also the year of publication of the third edition of the Principia. (So, Gulliver was written in the shadow of the second edition.) Even so, the most controversial empirical results of the Principia (shape of the Earth, universal gravity, the lunar orbit etc.) were still very much contested. These were not settled until more than a decade later in groundbreaking work of Maupertuis, Clairaut, and Euler. While there were many sympathetic defenses of Newton in circulation, that even in the British Isles, Berkeley and Toland had demonstrated that there was space for works that were not uncritical of Newton (along many dimensions).

Now, one may still think Swift should not have said (or let Aristotle's  Ghost say via Gulliver) that the Principia was grounded in conjecture. But that was not an uncommon view (see here for evidence) among the learned who had good evidence to think that the empirical world did not favor Newton's theory and that he violated standards of intelligibility. 

Moreover, the idea that the use of mathematical is a matter of fashion and context specific is one that is key to a series of important arguments by Mandeville developed in his (anti-mathematicist) treatment (see here) of using the incentive structure of medicine to support epistemic claims in his A Treatise of the Hypochondriack and Hysterick Diseases (recall my old posts here and here.) I believe Mandeville's arguments were inserted in the second (1730) edition. If so, then Swift may well have encouraged Mandeville's development of the point. Mandeville's argument is so much more thoroughly developed than Swift's remark that I hesitate to call it an influence. 

Anticipating Kuhn (and Adam Smith), Aristotle's Ghost treats the commitment to a particular scientific paradigm as akin to a religion. And while he does not claim that the acceptance and rejection of scientific theories is entirely due to social context, social context is a key factor. And, in fact, it would be useful to read this passage alongside the critical treatment of the royal society in his description of his visit to Laputa and the floating island, but that's for another voyage, I mean digression.

 

Spinoza and the Origin of Utilitarianism

This, then, is the end for which I strive, to attain to such a character myself, and to endeavor that many should attain to it with me. (2) In other words, it is part of my happiness to lend a helping hand, that many others may understand even as I do, so that their understanding and desire may entirely agree with my own. (3) In order to bring this about, it is necessary to understand as much of nature as will enable us to attain to the aforesaid character, and also to form a social order such as is most conducive to the attainment of this character by the greatest number with the least difficulty and danger.--Spinoza, Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect. (Translated by Translated by R. H. M. Elwes)

Yesterday, Beth Lord discussed the quoted passage from the unfinished Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect (TIE) in a terrific paper on Spinoza in London. My present remarks are orthogonal to her purposes and are intended as a homage to her lecture. As Lord noted, at the start of the TIE, Spinoza here calls attention to an important political orientation within his larger project of TIE.+ In one sense this is, of course, no surprise because the very first few sentences of TIE are set in opposition to the vanity and emptiness/futility of communal life [communi vita...vana et futilia esse] and against the pursuit of wealth and recognition [honore ac divitiis]. The latter are rejected, in part, because they are uncertain. One wonders if Spinoza would endorse such worldly pursuits if one could guarantee the outcome.*

As an aside, while one should not read too much into this -- Spinoza is echoing here classical tropes about the unpredictability of  the wheel of fortune -- it seems that he is  sensitive to the fact that market outcomes involve a level of chance. (I say markets because of the context in Amsterdam and the family business.)  

Spinoza makes a striking claim about the ordinary pursuit of wealth and fame/recognition: "the more we acquire, the greater is our delight" (quo plus utriusque possidetur, eo magis augetur laetitia) For Spinoza, wealth and fame both involve increasing (marginal) subjective utility, at least in ordinary life. By contrast, sensuous pleasure -- Spinoza is adamant on the contrast --  involve diminished marginal subjective utility in ordinary life.** Of course, I am putting this in anachronistic terms. (I am not suggesting that Spinoza anticipates the marginalist revolution or is working with indifference curves.) In addition, according to Spinoza (and here he anticipates Smith and De Grouchy) if we fail to acquire wealth and fame, when we wish for it, we feel such lack more intensely. 

Either way, for Spinoza a true good is neither risky nor unsteady in its possession. It's also something that does not diminish in quantity or value if others share in it (this very much echoes Seneca). In fact, Spinoza is explicit that his pleasure increases if others share in true goods with him. This means that individually, he is properly incentivized to be philanthropic in his orientation ("it is part of my happiness to lend a helping hand" to others). The political task is to ensure that (a) institutions of society are so organized that individual pleasures are conducive to the public, true good, and (b) that this is attainable by the the greatest number with (c) the least amount of cost and risk  ("deinde formare talem societatem, qualis est desideranda, ut quamplurimi quam facillime, et secure eo pervenian").

On (a): it is important that these individual pleasures are themselves of a kind with the true good. (Mandeville saw this relationship was not necessary; but his conception of what the public good is, is radically different from Spinoza here--for Spinoza's public choice anticipations see here.) On (b): Spinoza here democratizes Seneca style Stoicism. (I am not claiming he is the first to do so--after all, Christian Stoicism has a pre-history to Spinoza as I learned from Christopher Brooke's book [recall].) And in so doing he is edging toward a form of utilitarianism of the  sort familiar from eighteenth century thinkers like Hutcheson, Beccaria, and Helvétius. On (c): I don't think Spinoza means that in one's institutional design of the social order one can trade off number and costs/risk; rather, I think he means that given the same number of people that can share in the true good, a cheaper and less riskier social order is preferable over one that is costly and riskier. This is the kind of reasoning that leads to a welfare state. In the context of TIE, the last sentence is clearly speculative (he never returns to the social order in it)--but it is informed by  Spinoza's emphasis in his political works on the political importance of reducing and redirecting daily fears.

Obviously, there are important differences between Spinoza and the eighteenth century figures just mentioned; and I certainly do not intend to suggest that Spinoza anticipates a Benthamite calculus. For the Dutch Republic's anticipation of such matters one ought to turn to the De la Court brothers and the uses of probability&utility theory by Hudde, Huygens, and De Witt leading up to Bernoulli. But it's also striking that (again not unlike Pascal) in the context of the rejection of the ordinary market place morality, Spinoza develops the kind of moves that will become familiar in a slightly different register.

On Compelling philosophers to rule and the tacit contract between state and citizens (and ought implies can)

“It is the duty of us, the founders, then,” said I, “to compel the best natures to attain the knowledge which we pronounced the greatest, and to win to the vision of the good, to scale that ascent, and when they have reached the heights and taken an adequate view, we must not allow what is now permitted.” “What is that?” “That they should linger there,” I said, “and refuse to go down again among those bondsmen and share their labors and honors, whether they are of less or of greater worth.” “Do you mean to say that we must do them this wrong, and compel them to live an inferior life when the better is in their power?”

“You have again forgotten, my friend,” said I, “that the law is not concerned with the special happiness of any class in the state, but is trying to produce this condition in the city as a whole, harmonizing and adapting the citizens to one another by persuasion and compulsion, and requiring them to impart to one another any benefit which they are severally able to bestow upon the community, and that it itself creates such men in the state, not that it may allow each to take what course pleases him, but with a view to using them for the binding together of the commonwealth...we shall not be wronging, either, the philosophers who arise among us, but that we can justify our action when we constrain them to take charge of the other citizens and be their guardians. For we will say to them that it is natural that men of similar quality who spring up in other cities should not share in the labors there. For they grow up spontaneously from no volition of the government in the several states, and it is justice that the self-grown, indebted to none for its breeding, should not be zealous either to pay to anyone the price of its nurture. But you we have engendered for yourselves and the rest of the city to be, as it were, king-bees and leaders in the hive. You have received a better and more complete education than the others, and you are more capable of sharing both ways of life. Down you must go then, each in his turn, to the habitation of the others and accustom yourselves to the observation of the obscure things there. For once habituated you will discern them infinitely better than the dwellers there, and you will know what each of the ‘idols’ is and whereof it is a semblance, because you have seen the reality of the beautiful, the just and the good. So our city will be governed by us and you with waking minds, and not, as most cities now which are inhabited and ruled darkly as in a dream by men who fight one another for shadows and wrangle for office as if that were a great good, when the truth is that the city in which those who are to rule are least eager to hold office must needs be best administered and most free from dissension...--Plato Republic 519C-520D.

Philosophy is a form of addictive escapism (a view echoed by Adam Smith). And so, according to Socrates, force is required to compel philosophers to return to their station and to focus on the more practical and less exciting affairs of ruling the best city. His justification relies on the distinction between those-would-be-philosophers born in a bad city and those-would-be-philosophers born in the best city. The distinction between them is not a natural one; they are, in fact, of the same natural type.

Socrates assumes that would-be-philosophers can be born anywhere.* Rather the difference between them is a matter of moral (bad) luck: the philosophers -- like Socrates -- who are born in a bad city do not owe their philosophical development to their  home city. And, in turn, they need not rule--an argument he develops more fully (recall) in Book 9, 592ab. While the focus is rightly on the role of philosopher-kings in the ideal city, this also has an interesting implication for one's interpretation of Socrates's life; he suggests there was no obligation for him to rule in Athens and, more important, it would have been unnatural for him to do so. This can be taken as an oblique reference to the implied charge that he was implicated in the rule of 30 tyrants. His response is de facto that he would have felt not so urge to join in.

There are two parts to his justification for forcing philosophers in the best city to rule. The first is a kind of familiar consequentialist argument in which it is permitted (even required) to compel a (relatively) small class of citizens to sacrifice their private happiness or benefits for the flourishing of the whole. What I find more interesting is the second part, which is a constraint on or limitation of this consequentialist argument: namely that one can only be so compelled if one has benefited from the city's institutions first. So, in a badly-ordered city the consequentialist argument has no force. That is, the underlying intuition seems to be that one has no obligations to serve a political order if that political order has not benefited you first.

That is, Socrates is relying here on a kind of tacit contract between state and citizen: the state provides benefits to its citizens and in return it can require service from them. The details are very murky because even in a bad ordered city (see, for example, Crito 50-1)** a state may well be providing some benefits to its would-be-philosophers, and it is also unclear what the proportions are between the benefits offered by the state and how much it can force in return. So, one wishes that Glaucon had pressed Socrates on the required distinctions to make this argument work.

This is not to say there is no detail. In particular, Socrates claims that in the best city, philosophers have been bred "to be, as it were, king-bees and leaders in the hive.+ You have received a better and more complete education than the others, and you are more capable of sharing both ways of life." So, it looks as if the second part relies on the idea that (i) a well ordered city can compel X from a class of citizens (of would be philosopher kings) if X was part of its purpose in educating the would-be-philosopher-kings. And (ii) that this class of citizens is capable of doing X. This seems to rely on a version of ought implies can.

We can combine this with (iii) that X enhances the flourishing of the  city as a whole. I take it that (i-iii) is a considerable constraint on what can and cannot be demanded by the best state from its citizens.

On Philosophy as (moral) Improver (of Others); or on the Art of Wisdom [with some stuff on the Hypatia affaire]

[O]ne must not talk to a man unless he is willing to listen. That is why it is often doubted whether Diogenes and the other Cynics, who employed an undiscriminating freedom of speech and offered advice to any who came in their way, ought to have pursued such a plan.....This very thing [giving unsolicited advice]...is, I believe, exactly what a great-souled man ought not to do; his influence is weakened; it has too little effect upon those whom it might have set right if it had not grown so stale. The archer ought not to hit the mark only sometimes; be ought to miss it only sometimes. That which takes effect by chance is not an art; wisdom is an art [Sapientia ars est]; it should have a definite aim, choosing only those who will make progress, but withdrawing from those whom it has come to regard as hopeless, -yet not abandoning them too soon, and just when the case is becoming hopeless trying drastic remedies....

As to our friend Marcellinus, I have not yet lost hope.  He can still be saved, but the helping hand must be offered soon.  There is indeed danger that be may pull his helper down; for there is in him a native character of great vigour, though it is already inclining to wickedness.  Nevertheless I shall brave this danger and be bold enough to show him his faults. --Seneca, Letter 29.

A philosopher needs to be willing to restrain her tongue. Not everyman will benefit from her wisdom; and not every moment is apt. So, a ruling philosophical virtue is the exercise of self-command. Now, in context it is clear that Seneca presents philosophy as a kind of cure or therapy/exercise for a particular individual (whose soul is, thereby, saved). The analogy with medicine (and religion) is deliberate. But the improvement (flourishing/mental health, etc.) is also intended to be moral (in the modern sense). In fact, the cure can be dangerous to student and philosophical-healer:  Seneca makes clear that one of the medicines involves showing another his depravity [pravum]. Seneca recognizes that not everybody welcomes being shown a mirror in which one's moral flaws are made visible. (He also has sobering things to say about the expected reactions to such mirroring.)*

While few professional philosophers understand their own mission in these ways, more than a few understand that they may be called to speak truth to power, challenge the status quo, or show the theoretical path toward an improved, more just (happier, more egalitarian, etc.) world. We are often invited to engage with the public and I work in a system of higher education where public dissemination (and valorization) of one's research is expected. During the past years, many of us have been reminded that there are many social agents and forces, which try to silence and intimidate professors [fill in your favorite examples here].

It is not controversial that to be silenced is bad. And self-censorship out fear of external intimidation is bad, too. (I leave aside here if one is blameworthy if one self-censors out of fear.) What interests me here is that Seneca also advocates a worthy self-censorship. I think we can discern in his text two reasons for worthy self-censorship: (i) if one judges that one's words will not have desirable effects on one's audience; (ii) if one judges that the impotency of one's words, even if truth-apt, reduce one's credibility in the future. Both (i-ii) are instances of prudence (mixed in, as it happens, with some paternalism in (i).)

I was reminded of the Feministphilosophers response to the Hypatia affaire. After noting that it is difficult to take a stand as a group blog and noting possible source of conflict of interest among some of its members.  They write that:

3. Some of us do not feel that online discussion of this issue is doing any good for anyone.  A variety of carefully thought-out positions have already been articulated, and we do not feel that we would have anything useful to add.  Much of the online discussion has only served to cause more pain to people on all sides who are trying their best to do what is right.  We do not want to add to this.  In short, even though we are a blog, we don’t think that online discussion is always useful.  In this case, we think further online discussion is counterproductive, and we’re not going to contribute to it.

I have to admit that at first I was a bit surprised by the post: anything more than 'no comment' invites further discussion (and a blog can simply skip the topic). As a former NewAPPSer I sympathized with the trickiness of formulating a "blog view" in light of individual diversity. But I also thought that the Hypatia case raised many interesting and pertinent questions about philosophical methodology and sociology not just for feminist philosophers, but for us all. It makes a huge intellectual difference if one understands the affair as a question about the nature of responsible speech (recall), or about refereeing practices in socially engaged philosophy (recall), or about who has the authority to speak on behalf or in place of others (recall). But I recognize that others think the affair is fundamentally about proper journal processes, including (as the winners of the internal power struggle at Hypatia state) "adherence to guidelines issued by COPE guidelines"; or about how well meaning scholarship can cause unintentional harm; or about how to publish in a field of scholarship where one may come to think that (quoting Richard Moran) "much of it is just plain awful" and so one has "every right to ignore work, even whole areas of work."**(Add your own take here.) More important, perhaps, the Hypatia affair raises interesting questions for feminism about its relationship to (the intersections of) trans-gender and trans-racial (etc.) issues.

So, at the time, I was greatly disappointed by this stance because I felt important issues would go unexplored. I think the members of the blog would have added to the  discussion, perhaps even elevated it. But in subsequent debates we would have learned more. That is, I would have viewed -- and here I show my un-selfconscious liberalism -- the ensuing conversations and debates as a discovery mechanism.

But, of course, Feministphilosophers is not saying that there is nothing of interest to be discovered here; rather they do not wish to host the conversation about it (online). They appeal directly to a no-harm principle (avoid adding pain). But they also invoke a version of Seneca's (i) when they claim online discussion of this issue is not doing any good for anyone. So Seneca's position is not merely hypothetical today. And, in reflecting on Feministphilosophers' decision, I think it is clear that from their own perspective they were engaged in worthy-self-censorship. (And by showing restraint the conversation about Hypatia did die down.)

One may claim that a blog goes against the spirit of Seneca's position. For in the very same letter he inveighs against catering to the crowd. "It takes trickery to win popular approval; and you must needs make yourself like unto themselves." In fact, he goes further by claiming (somewhat interestingly in light of his own experiences as a successful playwright), and by quoting Epicurus (but he is clear this is true for all schools), that a sage does not really understand what moves the crowd [quae probat populus ego nescio].+ For a blog is read or at least always runs the risk of being read by many not by a particular individual.

But so are Seneca's Letters. They are formally addressed to Lucilius, but we have already seen (recall letter 21) that he explicitly writes for others (including posterity too). And so, obliquely, Seneca raises here the question when he exercises worthy self-censorship in his presentation of his authorial persona, who dispenses self-regulation and medicines of the mind to others. And not for the first time when I read Seneca's Letters, I feel I have entered a dizzying hall of mirrors.