Tag: dialectic

legitimacy in peace; legitimacy in war

I recently wrote a reflection on the reception of Habermas in the United States and argued that the lack of intellectual uptake of his later work have been a problem with politics here. Here’s what I wrote, admittedly venting a bit:

In my experience, it is very difficult to find support in academia for the view that rational consensus around democratic institutions is a worthwhile thing to study or advocate for. Identity politics and the endless contest of perspectives is much more popular among students and scholars coming out of places like UC Berkeley. In my own department, students were encouraged to read Habermas’s early work in the context of the identity politics critique, but never exposed to the later work that reacted to these critiques constructively to build a theory that was specifically about pluralism, which is what identity politics need in order to unify as a legitimate state. There’s a sense in which the whole idea that one should continue an philosophical argument to the point of constructive agreement, despite the hard work and discipline that this demands, was abandoned in favor of an ideology of intellectual diversity that discouraged scrutiny and rigor across boundaries of identity, even in the narrow sense of professional or disciplinary identity.

Tapan Parikh succinctly made the point that Habermas’s philosophy may be too idealistic to ever work out:

“I still don’t buy it without taking history, race, class and gender into account. The ledger doesn’t start at zero I’m afraid, and some interests are fundamentally antagonistic.”

This objection really is the crux of it all, isn’t it? There is a contradiction between agreement, necessary for a legitimate pluralistic state, and antagonistic interests of different social identities, especially as they are historically and presently unequal. Can there ever be a satisfactory resolution? I don’t know. Perhaps the dialectical method will get us somewhere. (This is a blog after all; we can experiment here).

But first, a note on intellectual history, as part of the fantasy of this argument is that intellectual history matters for actual political outcomes. When discussing the origins of contemporary German political theory, we should acknowledge that post-War Germany has been profoundly interested in peace as it has experienced the worst of war. The roots of German theories of peace are in Immanual Kant’s work on “perpetual peace”, the hypothetical situation in which states are no longer at way. He wrote an essay about it in 1795, which by the way begins with this wonderful preface:


Whether this satirical inscription on a Dutch innkeeper’s sign upon which a burial ground was painted had for its object mankind in general, or the rulers of states in particular, who are insatiable of war, or merely the philosophers who dream this sweet dream, it is not for us to decide. But one condition the author of this essay wishes to lay down. The practical politician assumes the attitude of looking down with great self-satisfaction on the political theorist as a pedant whose empty ideas in no way threaten the security of the state, inasmuch as the state must proceed on empirical principles; so the theorist is allowed to play his game without interference from the worldly-wise statesman. Such being his attitude, the practical politician–and this is the condition I make–should at least act consistently in the case of a conflict and not suspect some danger to the state in the political theorist’s opinions which are ventured and publicly expressed without any ulterior purpose. By this clausula salvatoria the author desires formally and emphatically to deprecate herewith any malevolent interpretation which might be placed on his words.

When the old masters are dismissed as being irrelevant or dense, it denies them the credit for being very clever.

That said, I haven’t read this essay yet! But I have a somewhat informed hunch that more contemporary work that deals with the problems it raises directly make good headway on problem of political unity. For example, this article by Bennington (2012) “Kant’s Open Secret” is good and relevant to discussions of technical design and algorithmic governance. Cederman, who has been discussed here before, builds a computational simulation of peace inspired by Kant.

Here’s what I can sketch out, perhaps ignorantly. What’s at stake is whether antagonistic actors can resolve their differences and maintain peace. The proposed mechanism for this peace is some form of federated democracy. So to paint a picture: what I think Habermas is after is a theory of how governments can be legitimate in peace. What that requires, in his view, is some form of collective deliberation where actors put aside their differences and agree on some rules: the law.

What about when race and class interests are, as Parikh suggests, “fundamentally antagonistic”, and the unequal ledger of history gives cause for grievances?

Well, all too often, these are the conditions for war.

In the context of this discussion, which started with a concern about the legitimacy of states and especially the United States, it struck me that there’s quite a difference between how states legitimize themselves at peace versus how they legitimize themselves while at war.

War, in essence, allows some actors in the state to ignore the interests of other actors. There’s no need for discursive, democratic, cosmopolitan balancing of interests. What’s required is that an alliance of interests maintain the necessary power over rivals to win the war. War legitimizes autocracy and deals with dissent by getting rid of it rather than absorbing and internalizing it. Almost by definition, wars challenge the boundaries of states and the way underlying populations legitimize them.

So to answer Parikh, the alternative to peaceful rule of law is war. And there certainly have been serious race wars and class wars. As an example, last night I went to an art exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum entitled “The Legacy of Lynching: Confronting Racial Terror in America”. The phrase “racial terror” is notable because of how it positions racist lynching as a form of terrorism, which we have been taught to treat as the activity of rogue, non-state actors threatening national security. This is deliberate, as it frames black citizens as in need of national protection from white terrorists who are in a sense at war with them. Compare and contrast this with right-wing calls for “securing our borders” from allegedly dangerous immigrants, and you can see how both “left” and “right” wing political organizations in the United States today are legitimized in part by the rhetoric of war, as opposed to the rhetoric of peace.

To take a cynical view of the current political situation in the United States, which may be the most realistic view, the problem appears to be that we have a two party system in which the two parties are essentially at war, whether rhetorically or in terms of their actions in Congress. The rhetoric of the current president has made this uncomfortable reality explicit, but it is not a new state of affairs. Rather, one of the main talking points in the previous administration and the last election was the insistence by the Democratic leadership that the United States is a democracy that is at peace with itself, and so cooperation across party lines was a sensible position to take. The efforts by the present administration and Republican leadership to dismantle anything of the prior administration’s legacy make the state of war all too apparent.

I don’t mean “war” in the sense of open violence, of course. I mean it in the sense of defection and disregard for the interests of those outside of ones political alliance. The whole question of whether and how foreign influence in the election should be considered is dependent in part on whether one sees the contest between political parties in the United States as warfare or not. It is natural for different sides in a war to seek foreign allies, even and almost especially if they are engaged in civil war or regime change. The American Revolutionary was backed by the French. The Bulshevik Revolution in Russia was backed by Germany. That’s just how these things go.

As I write this, I become convinced that this is really what it comes in the United States today. There are “two Americas”. To the extent that there is stability, it’s not a state of peace, it’s a state of equilibrium or gridlock.

Imre Lakatos and programming as dialectic

My dissertation is about the role of software in scholarly communication. Specifically, I’m interested in the way software code is itself a kind of scholarly communication, and how the informal communications around software production represent and constitute communities of scientists. I see science as a cognitive task accomplished by the sociotechnical system of science, including both scientists and their infrastructure. Looking particularly at scientist’s use of communications infrastructure such as email, issue trackers, and version control, I hope to study the mechanisms of the scientific process much like a neuroscientist studies the mechanisms of the mind by studying neural architecture and brainwave activity.

To get a grip on this problem I’ve been building BigBang, a tool for collecting data from open source projects and readying it for scientific analysis.

I have also been reading background literature to give my dissertation work theoretical heft and to procrastinate from coding. This is why I have been reading Imre Lakatos’ Proofs and Refutations (1976).

Proofs and Refutations is a brilliantly written book about the history of mathematical proof. In particular, it is an analysis of informal mathematics through an investigation of the letters written by mathematicians working on proofs about the Euler characteristic of polyhedra in the 18th and 19th centuries.

Whereas in the early 20th century, based on the work of Russel and Whitehead and others, formal logic was axiomatized, prior to this mathematical argumentation had less formal grounding. As a result, mathematicians would argue not just substantively about the theorem they were trying to prove or disprove, but also about what constitutes a proof, a conjecture, or a theorem in the first place. Lakatos demonstrates this by condensing 200+ years of scholarly communication into a fictional, impassioned classroom dialog where characters representing mathematicians throughout history banter about polyhedra and proof techniques.

What’s fascinating is how convincingly Lakatos presents the progress of mathematical understanding as an example of dialectical logic. Though he doesn’t use the word “dialectical” as far as I’m aware, he tells the story of the informal logic of pre-Russellian mathematics through dialog. But this dialog is designed to capture the timeless logic behind what’s been said before. It takes the reader through the thought process of mathematical discovery in abbreviated form.

I’ve had conversations with serious historians and ethnographers of science who would object strongly to the idea of a history of a scientific discipline reflecting a “timeless logic”. Historians are apt to think that nothing is timeless. I’m inclined to think that the objectivity of logic persists over time much the same way that it persists over space and between subjects, even illogical ones, hence its power. These are perhaps theological questions.

What I’d like to argue (but am not sure how) is that the process of informal mathematics presented by Lakatos is strikingly similar to that used by software engineers. The process of selecting a conjecture, then of writing a proof (which for Lakatos is a logical argument whether or not it is sound or valid), then having it critiqued with counterexamples, which may either be global (counter to the original conjecture) or local (counter to a lemma), then modifying the proof, then perhaps starting from scratch based on a new insight… all this reads uncannily like the process of debugging source code.

The argument for this correspondence is strengthened by later work in theory of computation and complexity theory. I learned this theory so long ago I forget who to attribute it to, but much of the foundational work in computer science was the establishment of a correspondence between classes of formal logic and classes of programming languages. So in a sense its uncontroversial within computer science to consider programs to be proofs.

As I write I am unsure whether I’m simply restating what’s obvious to computer scientists in an antiquated philosophical language (a danger I feel every time I read a book, lately) or if I’m capturing something that could be an interesting synthesis. But my point is this: that if programming language design and the construction of progressively more powerful software libraries is akin to the expanding of formal mathematical knowledge from axiomatic grounds, then the act of programming itself is much more like the informal mathematics of pre-Russellian mathematics. Specifically, in that it is unaxiomatic and proofs are in play without necessarily being sound. When we use a software system, we are depending necessarily on a system of imperfected proofs that we fix iteratively through discovered counterexamples (bugs).

Is it fair to say, then, that whereas the logic of software is formal, deductive logic, the logic of programming is dialectical logic?

Bear with me; let’s presume it is. That’s a foundational idea of my dissertation work. Proving or disproving it may or may not be out of scope of the dissertation itself, but it’s where it’s ultimately headed.

The question is whether it is possible to develop a formal understanding of dialectical logic through a scientific analysis of the software collaboration. (see a mathematical model of collective creativity). If this could be done, then we could then build better software or protocols to assist this dialectical process.