Good question. I suspect that the answer is 'yes', but we need to be clear that there are some puzzles about so-called 'self-deception' that need to be avoided. It's not plausible that I could lie to myself, fully knowing that I'm doing so, and also believe what I'm telling myself. Instead, we often *shroud* lots of what we tell ourselves in such a way that its untruth is not self-evident. So here I am with a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies. I like them a lot, and although I know on some level that I shouldn't eat very many, I'm *extremely* clever at coming up reasons why I can have just one more. (Had a rough day, will run an extra mile tomorrow, raisins are pretty good for you, you know the drill.) So I might convince myself that I can clear the plate. But to do that I have to somehow shroud the fact that I know on some level that I shouldn't.

The upshot is that a direct answer to your question is: Some people (maybe most of us) believe things that we know on some level are lies (but usually when we do we--usually temporarily--lose sight of the fact that we know this). It's only afterwards that we admit to ourselves, faced with the empty cookie plate, that what we told ourselves was bull!

By the way, _Madame Bovary_ is (among other things) a brilliant case study of this phenomenon.

Mitch Green

I think hope is often not irrational. Here is an example. You get lost in a nature preserve with little food and water. You remember someone telling you that, in a situation like this, it makes sense to walk in a straight line with the help of the sun and your watch. That's what you do, while hoping that you'll get to a road before nightfall.

This hope is not irrational relative to what you know: there are a few hours left in the day, the terrain is not too difficult, and you recall from the map that the nature preserve isn't all that large. So you have good reason to believe that there are roads no more than a few miles away in all directions and that you can cover a few miles well before nightfall.

The hope is also not irrational in a practical sense. You know that people sometimes panic in situations like this, thereby making their predicament much worse through bad decisions caused by fear or anxiety. Your hope helps you keep your cool. Calmed by your confident belief that your method is bound to work, you monitor your direction carefully and manage to maintain it well. Every 25 minutes or so there is an increase of one mile in the distance between you and the point where you realized that you were lost. ...

How is your hope in this sort of case irrational?

Your question concerns the nature of our rights and obligations with respect to our future selves. My answer shall simply assume, as I think you do, that the angel's prediction is utterly reliable, that there won't be other ways to access Kenny G music in the future, that the pleasure of my future self is not immoral, and that stocking up on Kenny G records is not a huge inconvenience to your present self.

The rationality of your decision then depends on two things: (1) how much you care about your future self, and (2) how much you care that your future self be like your present self.

(1) Some people care a lot about their future selves and try to plan accordingly -- making sacrifices in the present in order to secure the happiness of future selves, and taking pleasure in the mere contemplation of a future self's happiness. Others care much less -- investing little in the happiness of future selves, and finding little pleasure in the contemplation of a future self's happiness. This contrast is exactly like the contrast between people who care a lot about their children and people who care less about their children. Not to care at all would be immoral insofar as we ought to care about all other selves to some degree, and insofar as we have special obligations to those who we have helped to create and those who are most dependent on us (something that is at least as true of our future selves as of our children). But rationality can't tell us just how much we ought to care about our future selves any more than it can tell us just how much we ought to care about our children; it can only help tell us what actions are appropriate if we care a lot, and what actions are appropriate if we care very little.

(2) Some people want their future selves to be continuations of their present selves, while other people welcome change. I might care a lot (now) about having a future self that is a lot like my present self -- worrying, therefore, about the possibility of losing my memories, my intellect, and my friends; or I might not care much (now) about what sort of old person I become -- realizing that there are many different ways for older people to be happy, and not particularly caring which way works out for me. This contrast, too, has a counterpart with respect to how we care about our children: some parents are very concerned that their children share their own values and pursuits, others are happy as long as their children are happy. Some stability is needed in order to make any significant plans or promises, and thus to have a self at all. But, again, rationality can't tell us just how much stability is desirable; there is nothing that says that choosing a stable future is inherently more rational than choosing a changing future (or vice versa).

The rational thing for you to do, then, after hearing from the angel about the desires of your 60 year old self, will depend both on how much you care about your future self and how much you care that your future self be like your present self. If care a lot about your future self, but don't care whether it is much like your present self, then you should indeed buy the Kenny G records. If you don't care a lot about your future self, or only care insofar as it is like your present self, then you should not buy the Kenny G records now.

Your comment on Peter Smith's claim, "utterly preposterous," doesn't sound like rigorous argument to me, but more like contemptuous dismissal. I'm glad panelists aren't displaying more of your style of rigor!

The consideration you do offer seems to misunderstand Smith's claim. What you quote him as saying is that if our actions are guided by beliefs that have been irrationally formed, it's likely that those actions will not promote our ends. I can see why he says this: if you think (1) that irrationally formed beliefs are as likely as not to be false and (2) that actions guided by false beliefs are not likely to get us what we want, his claim follows. Your observation – that we sometimes take pleasure in beliefs even if they have been irrationally arrived at – seems correct but beside the point: it speaks neither to the truth of (1) nor to that of (2).

Jennifer Church points out a couple of types of a case where irrationally formed beliefs (or degrees of belief, in the over-confidence case) can promote our welfare. Sure there are such cases.

But that doesn't affect the original point at stake. There being a few cases doesn't undermine the point that in general false beliefs (because of their content!) are unlikely to lead to successful action,* and so irrationally formed beliefs -- being likely to be false -- are not in general likely to lead to actions which get us what we want. And that is enough to explain why we should in general care a lot about forming our beliefs in a rational way. Which in turn is enough to counter the original questioner's worry that philosophy "uses as its main tool a mechanism [rational thought] that is the opposite of what is most important to us": in general, rational belief-formation matters for getting whatever is important to us.

*Indeed, some attractive views about ascribing content to belief-states, such as Ramsey's success semantics, make that point pivotal to the theory of content.

This discussion has (so far) generated more heat than light. Let us all remember a crucial maxim: attack the argument, not the person. (Rationale: the latter is an ad hominem fallacy).

Now about the philosophical issue. Perhaps I can first try to clarify what has been said so far (as far as I can tell). The original post argued that philosophers are in an awkward position, since they rely upon their reason, even though human beings are driven by an irrational fear of death. Professor Smith responded by clarifying (a point muddled in the original post) that beliefs are rational or irrational, rather than facts. He also ended his post by noting that we should not rely upon irrational beliefs, because they cannot get us what we really want. Then there was a reply which maintained that irrationally formed beliefs can sometimes get us what we want, provided that we want to be happy, etc. Then there was a back and forth about who is missing the point.

In all of this, an interesting question got lost: Suppose it is the case that we come to believe, presumably through some kind of irrational process - such as Freud's pleasure principle or what cognitive psychologists call "motivated irrationality" - a false proposition which flies in the face of our available evidence. This is what philosophers normally describe as "self-deception". A standard case involves a wife who continues to believe that her husband is faithful, even though he repeatedly comes home late at night, smelling of perfume, etc. Now the question on the table is this: What if she is happier with this false belief? The wife does not want to believe that her husband is unfaithful. And self-deception gives her what she want. (I believe that there was recently a paper published about this question: Kirsch, J., 2005, “What's So Great about Reality?”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 35/3: 407-428).

This is a huge topic that deserves all of our attention. It raises an interesting question: Is it really the case that the wife wants to believe that her husband is faithful? One might say that what she really wants is that her husband actually is faithful. Moreover: it would seem that the false belief that he is faithful will do nothing to help bring it about that he really is. There is a lot more, obviously, to say about this topic. But we won't get anywhere unless we agree to respect each other more.

It is rational to reject a purported explanation for a number of reasons:

1. Because a better explanation is available. (This is what you don't have in the case of strange happenings in your friend's house.)

2. Because the explanation relies on assumptions that are sufficiently doubtful for independent reasons. (The ghost explanation, for example, assumes that individual people can continue to act in the world even after their bodies disintegrate. Since we have independent reasons for believing that an individual's memories, desires, and plans all depend on the existence of appropriate brain states, we have good reason to doubt this assumption.)

3. Because it is too general, or too vague, to account for the specifics of the situation. (Explaining sounds in the night by reference to a ghost's movements, for example, doesn't say enough about why these particular sounds would be made by this particular ghost, at this particular time.)

4. Because there is a long history of similar explanations being disconfirmed, and little or no history of similar explanations being carefully studied and confirmed. (Many things that have been attributed to ghosts have turned out to have more commonplace explanations.)

What is it to "oppose physical pain" as you put it? Do you mean try to prevent physical pain? But why would you do that? Usually the answer is something like "because it causes suffering". So the reason for trying to prevent physical pain will also be a reason for trying to prevent other forms of suffering. So I think the answer to your question is "no." (Unless you have some grounds for "opposing physical pain" that is different from this usual answer.)

There is a number of issues raised here. Let me make just two points.

First, on the specific idea that "perhaps what we think is universally true is not, we’re simply programmed to think it is? ... that’d be a profoundly effective evolutionary tool for preservation of the species." But of course, if we were programmed to believe falsehoods, that would not in general promote survival. To get food, for example, we basically need true beliefs about where it is to be found.

Of course, this isn't to say that we need always get things right: it might be that evolution has provided us with quick-and-dirty information processing capacities that deliver true beliefs often enough to promote survival. But the point remains that what promotes survival is a sufficient number of true beliefs. So the thought that our beliefs are generated by mechanisms provided by our evolutionary history cannot by itself be a reason for across-the-board distrust.

Secondly and more generally, why should we suppose that our thoughts being the result of "physical processes" somehow makes them unreliable? I want my beliefs about what's around me to be generated e.g. via physical processes triggered by light hitting my retinas, etc., rather than to float causally free from my physical environment. Don't you?

No. Alice may think that Jones is a genius; Bob may think he's a fool. He might be neither.