31 July 2010

Bryan Caplan on the dynamics between ideas and economic growth

An interesting essay from 2004: The Idea Trap

Imagine that the three variables I just named—growth, policy, and ideas—capture the essence of a country's economic/political situation. Then suppose that three "laws of motion" govern this system. The first two are almost true by definition:
1. Good ideas cause good policies.
2. Good policies cause good growth.

The third law is much less intuitive:
3. Good growth causes good ideas.

The third law only dawned on me when I was studying the public's beliefs about economics, and noticed that income growth seems to increase economic literacy, even though income level does not. In other words, poor people whose income is rising—like recent immigrants—have more than the average amount of economic sense; rich people whose income is falling—like the Kennedy family—have less.

This bare-bones model has a surprising implication: There is more than one outcome with staying power. The good news is that you can have favorable results across the board. Good ideas lead to good policy, good policy leads to good growth, and good growth reinforces good ideas. The bad news is that you can also get mired in the opposite outcome. A society can get stuck in an "idea trap," where bad ideas lead to bad policy, bad policy leads to bad growth, and bad growth cements bad ideas.

This also predicts that economic recessions generate the spread of bad ideas which, in turn, hamper recovery.

Bart Wilson on the Meaning of "Fair"

29 July 2010

Moral relativism as a function of culture

culture v. moral relativism

The irony is that postmodernists cannot distinguish between 1 and 3, while natural rights theorists cannot distinguish between 2 and 3.

22 July 2010

Robert Wright – Deception and self-deception

Some quotes from The Moral Animal: Why We Are, the Way We Are, chapter 13, “Deception and self-deception”:

Men and women may mislead each other — and even, in the process, themselves — about the likely endurance of their commitment or about their likely fidelity. There are two other large realms in which the presentation of self, and the perception of others, has great Darwinian consequence: reciprocal altruism and social hierarchy. Here, as with sex, honesty can be a major blunder. In fact, reciprocal altruism and social hierarchy may together be responsible for most of the dishonesty in our species — which, in turn, accounts for a good part of the dishonesty in the animal kingdom. We are far from the only dishonest species, but we are surely the most dishonest, if only because we do the most talking.

Leaving a good impression

People don't seek status per se. They don't chart out their desired ascent and pursue it as methodically as a field general prosecutes a war. Well, okay, some do. Maybe all of us do sometimes. But the quest for status is also built more finely into the psyche. People in all cultures, whether they fully realize it or not, want to wow their neighbors, to rise in local esteem. ...

In Victorian England, boasting was frowned on, and Darwin was an expert on how not to do it. Many modern cultures share this taste, and in them "excessive boasting" is merely a phase through which children pass. But what is the next phase? A lifetime of more measured boasting. ... Presumably, how much blatant boasting you do depends on the credible means of self-advertisement in your social environment (and was probably calibrated by feedback from kin and peers early on). But if you don't feel even some urge to disseminate news of your triumphs, however subtly, and some reluctance to talk widely about your failures, you aren't functioning as designed.

Does such self-advertisement often involve deception? Not in the grossest sense. To tell huge lies about ourselves, and believe them, would be dangerous. Lies can be found out, and they force us to spend time and energy remembering which lies we've told to whom. ... There are kinds of lies that, being slight, or hard to discredit, are hard to get tangled up in, and these are the sorts of lies we should expect people to tell. ...

The assignment of blame and of credit, an area where objective truth is elusive, offers rich terrain for self-inflation. The tendency to attribute our successes to skill, and our failures to circumstance — luck, enemies, Satan — has been demonstrated in the laboratory and, anyway, is obvious. In games where chance plays a role, we tend to chalk up our losses to the luck of the draw and our victories to cleverness.

And we don't just say this; we believe it. Darwin was an enthusiastic backgammon player and, not surprisingly, he often won when playing against his children. One of his daughters recalls that "we kept a list of the doublets thrown by each, as I was convinced that he threw better than myself." This conviction is familiar to losing backgammon players everywhere. It helps preserve our belief in our competence and thus helps us convince others of it. It also provides a steady source of income for backgammon hustlers.

Self-aggrandizement always comes at the expense of others. To say that you lost a game through luck is to say that your opponent won through luck. And even leaving aside games and other openly competitive endeavors, to toot your own horn is to mute other horns for status is a relative thing. Your gain is someone else's loss.

And vice versa: someone else's loss is your gain. This is where the unconscious pursuit of status can turn nasty. In a small group (a group, say, the size of a hunter-gatherer village), a person has a broad interest in deflating the reputations of others, especially others of the same sex and similar age, with whom there exists a natural rivalry. And again, the best way to convince people of something, including their neighbors' shortcomings, is to believe what you're saying. One would therefore expect, in a hierarchical species endowed with language, that the organisms would often play up their own feats, downplay the feats of others, and do both things with conviction. Indeed, in the social psychology laboratory, people not only tend to attribute success to skill and failure to circumstance; they tend to reverse the pattern when evaluating others. Luck is the thing that makes you fail and other people succeed; ability works the other way around. ...

The keen sensitivity with which people detect the flaws of their rivals is one of nature's wonders. It takes a Herculean effort to control this tendency consciously, and the effort must be repeated on a regular basis. Some people can summon enough restraint not to talk about their rivals' worthlessness; they may even utter some Victorian boilerplate about a "worthy opponent." But to rein in the perception itself — unending, unconscious, all-embracing search for signs of unworthiness — is truly a job for a Buddhist monk. Honesty of evaluation is simply beyond the reach of most mortals.

If advertisement is so deeply ingrained in people, why are there self-deprecators? One answer is that self-deprecation is without cost when everyone knows better, and can actually have some benefit; a reputation for humility boosts the credibility of subtle boasting. ... The third answer is the most interesting: social hierarchy has, via natural selection, had some ironic effects on the human mind. There are times when it makes good evolutionary sense to have a genuinely low opinion of yourself and to share that opinion with others.

The whole origin of status, remember, lies in the fact that some neighbors — some of a chicken's fellow chickens, say — are too formidable to challenge profitably. Genes that build brains that tell the animal which neighbors are worth challenging, and which aren't, flourish. How exactly do the brains convey this message? Not by sending little "Challenge" or "Don't Challenge" subtitles across the eyeball. Presumably, the message travels via feeling; animals feel either up to the challenge or not up to it. And animals at the very bottom of the hierarchy — animals that get pummeled by all comers — will get the latter feeling chronically. You could call it low self-esteem.

In fact, you could say that low self-esteem evolved as a way to reconcile people to subordinate status when reconciliation is in their genetic interest.

Don't expect people with low self-esteem to hide it. It may be in their genetic interest not only to accept low status, but, in at least some circumstances, to convey their acceptance of it — to behave submissively so that they aren't erroneously perceived as a threat and treated as such. ...

The anthropologist John Hartung, who in 1988 raised the possibility of self-deceptively lowering self-esteem — "deceiving down," he called it — has come up with another kind of example. Women, he suggested, may sometimes falsely subordinate themselves to men. If, say, household income depends partly on the husband having high self-esteem at the workplace, a woman may find herself unwittingly "building her husband's self-confidence by providing a standard of lower competence." ...

Where does truth belong on the spectrum of self-esteem? If one month, following a string of professional and social successes, you're fairly brimming with serotonin and feel enduringly competent, likable, and attractive, and the next month, after a few setbacks, and some serotonin slippage, you feel enduringly worthless, you can't have been right both times. Which time were you wrong? Is serotonin truth serum or a mind-numbing narcotic?

Maybe neither. When you're feeling either very good or very bad about yourself, it probably means that a large body of evidence is being hidden from view. The most truthful times come between the extremes.

Anyway, maybe "truth" is best left out of this altogether. Whether you're a "good" or a "worthless" person is a question whose objective meaning is, at best, elusive. And even when "truth" can be clearly defined, it is a concept to which natural selection is indifferent. ... Truth and honesty are never favored by natural selection in and of themselves. Natural selection neither "prefers" honesty nor "prefers" dishonesty. It just doesn't care.

Strong yet sensitive

Reciprocal altruism brings its own agenda to the presentation of self, and thus to the deception of self. Whereas status hierarchies place a premium on our seeming competent, attractive, strong, smart, etcetera, reciprocal altruism puts its accent on niceness, integrity, fairness. These are the things that make us seem like worthy reciprocal altruists. They make people want to strike up relationships with us. Puffing up our reputations as decent and generous folks can't hurt, and it often helps. ...

Our repertoire of moral excuses is large. Psychologists have found that people justify their failure to help others by minimizing, variously, the person's plight ("That's not an assault, it's a lover's quarrel"), their own responsibility for the plight, and their own competence to help. ...

Michael Gazzaniga, who conducted some of the split-brain experiments, has said that language is merely the "press agent" for other parts of the mind; it justifies whatever acts they induce, convincing the world that the actor is a reasonable, rational, upstanding person. It may be that the realm of consciousness itself is in large part such a press agent — the place where our unconsciously written press releases are infused with the conviction that gives them force. Consciousness cloaks the cold and self-serving logic of the genes in a variety of innocent guises. The Darwinian anthropologist Jerome Barkow has written, "It is possible to argue that the primary evolutionary function of the self is to be the organ of impression management (rather than, as our folk psychology would have it, a decision-maker)."

Dubious accounting

The warping effect of reciprocal altruism goes beyond a general belief in our own uprightness. It can also be seen in our skewed social accounting systems. Central to reciprocal altruism is the monitoring of exchanges — the record of whom you owe, who owes you, and how much is owed. From the gene's point of view, monitoring the two sides of the record with equal diligence would be foolish. If you end up getting slightly more than you give, so much the better. But if you give more than you get by even the smallest increment, that's an increment of loss. ... [P]eople keep closer track of what they're owed than of what they owe ... So there is reason to suspect an innate basis for biased social accounting. The bias appears to be universal, and seems intuitively to be a corollary of the theory of reciprocal altruism.

[People] simply find themselves constantly in touch with all the evidence supporting their position, and often having to be reminded of all the evidence against it. Darwin wrote in his autobiography of a habit he called a "golden rule": to immediately write down any observation that seemed inconsistent with his theories — "for I had found by experience that such facts and thoughts were far more apt to escape from the memory than favorable ones. " The reason the generic human arguing style feels so effortless is that, by the time the arguing starts, the work has already been done. Robert Trivers has written about the periodic disputes — contract renegotiations, you might call them — that are often part of a close relationship, whether a friendship or a marriage. The argument, he notes, "may appear to burst forth spontaneously, with little or no preview, yet as it rolls along, two whole landscapes of information appear to lie already organized, waiting only for the lightning of anger to show themselves."

The proposition here is that the human brain is, in large part, a machine for winning arguments, a machine for convincing others that its owner is in the right — and thus a machine for convincing its owner of the same thing. The brain is like a good lawyer: given any set of interests to defend, it sets about convincing the world of their moral and logical worth, regardless of whether they in fact have any of either. Like a lawyer, the human brain wants victory, not truth; and, like a lawyer, it is sometimes more admirable for skill than for virtue. ...

One might think that, being rational creatures, we would eventually grow suspicious of our uncannily long string of rectitude, our unerring knack for being on the right side of any dispute over credit, or money, or manners, or anything else. Nope. Time and again — whether arguing over a place in line, a promotion we never got, or which car hit which — we are shocked at the blindness of people who dare suggest that our outrage isn't warranted.

21 July 2010

Darwinian liberalism

I'm enjoying the conversation at CATO Unbound about Larry Arnhart's ideas about the connection between Darwinism and liberalism. It seems to me that Arnhart is on to something, but that he is not presenting the argument very well, and thus the other contributors (PZ Myers, Lionel Tiger, and Herbert Gintis) have failed to appreciate it properly. Here is how I would reframe it (and perhaps change it’s conclusion a bit?):

Given the relatively unchanging human nature, various types of social order (i.e. different sets of formal+informal institutions) are not equally conducive of a particular social goal X; i.e. one cannot manufacture the “ideal human nature” for advancing social goal X, but instead has to take human nature as it is and search for institutional reforms that lead to X. Whether or not social goal X is better achieved by institutions A or B is an objective fact (although sometimes, due to the complexities involved, it is difficult to demonstrate A or B). This objectivity stems from human nature’s lack of malleability, as Arnhart argues and the others seem to agree.

The problem now is that there are many possible social goals that people may consider, and there's no consensus about which are “really” more important than others. This is where Arnhart’s weak point in the argument seems to be. He seems to be saying simply that, given human nature as it is, certain worthy social goals (e.g. welfare) are best achieved via classical liberal institutions. However, this isn’t enough to conclude that liberalism is a necessary consequence of human nature because other people may rather focus on different social goals (e.g. more equality, respecting tradition etc.). Various social goals are in conflict and there’s no objective way in which we can decide how to make the trade-offs between them. All we can hope for is a negotiation process among various people with different views, i.e. politics.

There is thus a problem if one wants to derive a normative position from the Darwinian theory of human nature. However, one doesn’t need to push for a normative position, and the above relativist argument actually fails to push Darwinism to its natural limits. There is a particular social “goal” that is objective, in the sense that it is derived from an application of the weak anthropic principle to the evolution of institutions: present institutions are here because they have survived (so far) in the competition with other institutions. In other words, any social goal X that one might favor has to obey a higher Darwinian “goal”: the institutions conducive of goal X have to be able to survive in the competition with other institutions.

Institutions survive and spread due to three possible reasons:
1) they further the average interests of individuals (classical sociological individualist functionalism and economics, e.g. see Mises for a rather extreme idealization of this position);
2) they further the power of the group (classical sociological group functionalism, and, notably, Hayek, David Sloan Wilson);
3) they simply spread, regardless of whether they actually bring any individual or group benefits, because people find them intuitive due to their evolved social instincts (Cosmides & Tooby, Sperber, Richerson & Boyd, Boyer, Atran).

To put it differently, institutions spread either because they are imitated from one society to another (and they’re imitated because of 1 or 3) or because a society conquers another and imposes new institutions to it (i.e. 2, a task somewhat difficult but not unseen).

Thus, from a purely descriptive point of view, asking what follows from the existence of a universal and inflexible human nature means asking: what ensemble of institutions furthers average individual interest better (the average being hypothetically computed by weighting the interest of each individual according to its power and influence within the group), makes society more powerful relative to other societies (such that it resists being conquered or it succeeds in conquering them), and is relatively in-sync with our evolved social and moral intuitions?

So, how does classical liberalism fare this test? Is it really the kind of institutional system we would expect to see spreading and conquering all others? First of all, it has a real intuition problem (especially because it conflicts with our intuitions about equality, bad luck, and strangers). Arnhart acknowledges this, which is why he sides with a liberal-conservative fusion, rather than with pure libertarianism. This intuition problem is compensated to some extent by the fact that a) liberalism increases individual welfare faster than any other system, b) it diminishes conflicts with other societies due to free trade, albeit c) greater wealth also translates into greater military power. Thus, at least prima facie, it seems that what we should expect to see spreading is basically the US-EU institutional model – i.e. a somewhat protectionist social-market economy with a strong military. And of course, this, rather than classical liberalism, is precisely the system that’s spreading (to China etc.).*

* my own liberal/libertarian normative beliefs are not exactly along the lines of this conclusion, but, heck, what can I do?

18 July 2010

Philip Rieff - “Because we have no real churches, we can have no reformations”

Some interesting quotes from The Triumph of the Therapeutic, by Philip Rieff.

In the natural beginning were the impulses; in the historic beginning were the repressions. Political history began when some of the repressed discovered how to use repressions to their own material gain. (p. 130)

To speak of a moral culture would be redundant. Every culture has two main functions: 1) to organize the moral demands men make upon themselves into a system of symbols that make men intelligible and trust-worthy to each other, thus rendering also the world intelligible and trust-worthy; 2) to organize the expressive remissions by which men release themselves, in some degree, from the strain of conforming to the controlling symbolic, internalized variant readings of culture that constitute individual character. (p. 199)

No culture of which we are aware of has yet escaped the tension between the modalities of control and release by which every culture constitutes itself. Cultures achieve their measure of duration in the degree that they build releasing devices into the major controls. These are the devices that modern psychotherapy seeks to develop; it is this development which gives to psychotherapy its present importance in the history of our culture. ...

A cultural revolution occurs when the releasing or remissive symbolic grows more compelling than the controlling one; then it is that the inherent tensions reach a breaking point. (p. 200)

(Here is a very similar view from Zizek: video)

This view of culture is a generalization of Rieff’s view of religion and of the function of faith:

It is essential to the understanding of the function of religion that it presents jointly and in fusion two analytically discernible alternatives: either a therapeutic control of everyday life or a therapeutic respite from that very control. On the one hand, faith is doctrinal, and that doctrine is internalized thus becoming functionally anti-instinctual. On the other hand, faith is ecstatic, or erotic; there is a relative absence of doctrinal internalization, and the religious mood covertly provides an opportunity for the instincts to express themselves more directly, for example, in orgiastic behavior, or in mystical states of mind which release the subject from traditional authority.

Defined as control of conduct in everyday life, faith tends to be methodical and systematic. Defined as remission of that control, faith tends to be anti-methodical and unsystematic. To the extent that a system of faith spreads, the line between usual and unusual religious experience grows fuzzy. (p. 27-8)

In the past, religion achieved its therapeutic function via “therapies of commitment”. “Religious man was born to be saved, psychological man is born to be pleased” (p. 19)

In time of public philosophies and social religions, the great communities were positive. A positive community is characterized by the fact that it guarantees some kind of salvation to the individual by virtue of his membership and participation in that community. That sort of community seemed corrupt to economic man, with his particular version of ascetic ideal tested mainly by self-reliance and personal achievement. The positive community was displaced, in social theory, by the neutral market. Now, in the middle of 20th century, the market mechanism appears no so much corrupt as a fiction to psychological man, with his awareness of how decisions are made in the social system. (p. 43)

From Plato and Aristotle, through Burke and de Tocqueville, the therapeutic implication of social theory is remarkably consistent: an individual can exercise his gifts and powers fully only by participating in the common life. This is the classical ideal. The healthy man is in fact the good citizen. The therapeutic and the moral were thus connected in the Western tradition of social theory. (p. 56)

Ultimately the community cures. The function of the classical therapist is to commit the patient to the symbol system of the community, as best he can and by whatever techniques are sanctioned (e.g. ritual or dialectical, magical or rational). All such efforts to reintegrate the subject into the communal symbol system may be categorized as “commitment therapies”. Behind shaman and priest, philosopher and physician, stands the great community as the ultimate corrective of personal disorders. (p. 57)

In short, security cured; and security came through membership in an “organic” community. This was the basis of conservative and radical political theory alike: community cures through the achievement by the individual of his collective identity. To cure a man, one need only to return him to his community or construct a new one. (p. 59)

Moreover, the “religious therapeutic elites” acted to protect the “moral demands” and to promote “commitments” to a unique model of the good life. They were even willing to go as far as to engage “in the absurd task of trying to teach contended people how discontented they really are” (p. 207). This is no longer the case:

Therapeutic elites before our own were predominately supportive rather than critical of culture as a moral demand system. Admonitions were expectable predicates of consolations; that is what is meant, nowadays, by “guilt” culture. Whenever therapeutic elites grow predominately critical then a cultural revolution may be said to be in progress. Ours is such a time. (p. 11)

Thus, according to Rieff, we are in the middle of a major cultural revolution, characterized by growing individualism and a loss of communal goals.

An endemic individualism, such as that in the United States, whether doctrinally elaborated or not, may prevent a commitment therapy from taking full effect. Because of this preventive, long culturally dominant, another kind of therapeutic effort has become necessary, uniquely modern, and different in kind from the classical therapies of commitment. This new attitude underlying the therapeutic effort may be termed “analytic”. The chief and greatest of these therapies is the Freudian. The analytic therapy developed precisely in response to the need of the Western individual, in the Tocquevillean definition, for a therapy that would not depend for its effect on a symbolic return to a positive community; at best, analytic therapy creates negative communities. The distinction between positive and negative communities, in the usage here intended, is as follows: positive communities are characterized by their guarantee of some kind of salvation for the self; and by salvation is meant an experience which transforms all personal relations by subordinating them to agreed communal purposes; negative communities are those which, enabled to survive almost automatically by a self-sustaining technology, do not offer a type of collective salvation, and in which the therapeutic experience is not transformative but rather informative. Commitment therapies can prove efficacious only in positive communities; this kind of therapy would also be transformative, as in various kinds of religious conversion, when personality is supposed to undergo profound changes, so that even the name of the subject may be changed. This may happen, however, as we are aware, also in various secular revolutionary movements. ...

Advanced industrial communities are no longer culturally positive. Under this general condition, controls must be established in a way other than that of transformative experiences. The ways suitable to modern culture are generally classifiable as “informative”, aiming at strengthening of ego-controls over inner conflicts. (p. 61)

In the age of psychologizing , clarity about oneself supersedes devotion to an ideal as the model of right conduct. (p. 46)

But why did this revolution get started? I.e. what is the origin of “modernity”?

What happens, however, if the community itself is disordered? Plato and his successors faced this question. They tried to construct models for a re-ordering of the community and, therewith, for that of a personal life worth living. They assumed that personal and moral perfection would go parallel with insight into the right social order. Yet, suppose there occurred some disorder so fundamental in nature as to destroy the therapeutic function of the community per se? Suppose, for a variety of examined reasons, the community were no longer able to supply a system of symbolic integration? Here, then, in the destruction of all idealizations upon which traditional and classical communities were based, in theory and practice, is to be sought the origin of modernity. (p. 57)

The main cause of this “fundamental disorder”, and, thus, of the present cultural revolution, is economic and technological. “What happens if an entire society grows rich, technologically loaded with bribes, and is dominated by preoccupations that may be best defined as anti-creedal?” (p.213). What happens is that the commitments to a unique model of the good life are simply no longer perceived as necessary to the preservation of social order (negative communities “survive almost automatically”):

With their secondary needs automatically satisfied, men may no longer need to have something in common, as an end to love. The organization of indifference may well succeed the organization of love, producing a culture at lower cost to individual energies. (p. 204)

The strange new lesson we have begun to learn in our time is how not to pay the high personal costs of social organization. The revolution continues in a remissive direction, beyond that rationalism Max Weber called “disenchantment”, toward the dissolution of old systems of moral demand, with their requirements of almost total social cooperation in order to survive the hard reality in a world characterized by scarcity. The present swing in the direction of release may not be orbital but more extended and historically more permanent, based on the automaticity and ease with which an infinity of created needs can now be satisfied. ...

[T]he modern cultural revolution ... is deliberately not in the name of any new order of communal purpose that it is taking place. On the contrary, this revolution is being fought for a permanent disestablishment of any deeply internalized moral demands, in a world which can guarantee a plenitude produced without reference to the rigid maintenance of any particular interdictory (and counter-interdictory) system. (p. 205)

Our cultural revolution has been made from the top, rather from the bottom. It is anti-political, a revolution of the rich by which they have lowered the pressure of inherited communal purpose upon themselves. ...

[C]ultural revolutions before our own have asserted some limit on the race for status and satisfaction, and have promoted interdicts to limit and displace the dynamics of acquisitive appetite. Western culture has been dominated by an ascetic modal personality. Even the Calvinist bourgeois was to have his capital as if he had it not. Ours is the first cultural revolution fought to no other purpose than greater amplitude and richness of living itself. Is this not what is meant by the “revolution of rising expectations”? ...

For the culturally conservative image of the ascetic, enemy of his own needs, there has been substituted the image of the needy person, permanently engaged in the task of achieving a gorgeous variety of satisfactions. (p. 206-7)

Confronted with the irrelevance of ascetic standards of conduct, the social reformer has retreated from nebulous doctrines attempting to state the desired quality of life to the more substantial doctrines of quantity. The reformer asks only for more of everything – more goods, more housing, more leisure; in short, more life. This translation of quantity into quality states the algebra of our cultural revolution. Who will be stupid enough to lead a counter revolution? Surely, even the rich are now emancipated enough from ascetic symbol systems to concede more of everything to everyone, without serious loss to themselves. They cannot be threatened by a doctrine that merely asks for more, for this presupposes that quantity determines the quality of life – and this very assumption expresses the religion of the rich. (p. 208)

Not trained in a symbolic of obedience – indeed, entertaining the category merely as a convenience – Western man could be free at last from an authority depending upon his sense of sin. Even now, sin is all but incomprehensible to him inasmuch as the moral demand system no longer generates powerful inclinations toward obedience or faith, nor feelings of guilt when those inclinations are overridden by others for which sin is the ancient name. (209-10)

So, what happens when this concept of “more is the definition of better” is applied to human relationships? Here’s Rieff’s premonition of Facebook and social networking :)

Crowded more and more together, we are learning to live more distantly from one another, in strategically varied and numerous contacts, rather than in the oppressive warmth of family and friends. A culture of contacts is, at last, an historically accomplishable fact. (p. 208)

While close friendship is replaced by “contacts”, intimacy is replaced by superficiality:

All objects of commitment [are rendered] instrumental to the therapeutic process itself. ... To be truly free and yet social means to cultivate detachment, as opposed to alienation. The therapeutic, even in erotic action, can do without attachment – indeed, he can do with and do without it, simultaneously, for relations that are too near and too fixed may lead to symptoms that destroy the capacity of an individual to live out his own life in ways of his own choosing. This is not to say that to live thus, detachedly, implies an absence of erotic company, or even an absence of the erotic manner. On the contrary, the therapeutic treats love instrumentally. He is more likely to be more circumspect and better behaved than his ascetic forebear, who was subject to mood fluctuations between wild passion and accidie, due in part to the rigid system of controls and over burned devices of release. With a shift in the system, giving greater amplitude to the releasing devices, the subject personalities are likely to develop more measured, calculated capacity in the use of their spontaneity. (p. 50)

The faith in the external things, rather than in the externalization of feeling, has had the effect on making man think less and less highly of himself rather than more and more so. (p. 172-3)

The presumed enemy of this cultural revolution is traditional religion. However, it has been co-opted as they failed to mount a worthy opposition or present a credible alternative. Thus the triumph of the therapeutic – religion itself has been reinterpreted in individualistic therapeutic terms.

Faith is better than knowledge if it works; but knowledge is better if faith be only an escape from knowledge. (p. 83)

Truth is a matter of achieving therapeutically useful opinions. (p. 82)

Freud taught lessons which Americans, prepared by their own national experience, learned easily: survive, resign yourself to living within your moral means, suffer no gratuitous failures in a futile search for ethical heights that no longer exist – if they ever did. Freud proclaims the superior wisdom of choosing the second best. He is our Crito, become intellectually more subtle than the sick and old Socrates, who was still foolish enough to justify his own death sentence rather than escape from the prison of his own inhibitions about the sanctity of the state, which he mistakes for his father. Freud appeals to us because his wisdom is so cautious. (p. 48)

Emancipated from an ethic of hard work, Americans have also grown morally less self-demanding. They have been released from the old system of self-demands by a convergence of doctrines that do not resort to new restrictions but rather propose jointly the superiority of all that money can buy, technology can make, and science can conceive. (p. 216)

Nowadays, the world is full of tame Christians; in consequence, the churches are empty of life, if not of people. (p. 84)

[P]reaching, which once communicated revelatory messages, is a dead art, wrapping empty packages in elaborate solecisms. (p. 218)

Certain naive ascetic doctrines, which once did contain spiritual perceptions of great depth, such as that of holy poverty, now embarrass the churches, competing as they do for pride of place in a culture of affluence. Such perceptions are practically taboo subjects, specially among Americans, except negatively, when clergymen complain that they do not receive salaries commensurate with their status as professional men. ... Grudgingly, the Roman [Catholic] churchmen must give way to their Western laity and translate their sacramental rituals into comprehensible terms as therapeutic devices, retaining just enough archaism to satisfy at once the romantic interest of women and the sophisticated interest of those historical pietists for whom the antique alone carries that lovely patina they call faith. (p. 216)

On the other hand, the therapeutic has arisen out of a rejection of all therapies of commitment, precisely by persuading halfway the recalcitrant among those who submitted to the old commitment therapies that they have acted out of denials of knowledge and pleasure that no longer contribute to their spiritual health but, rather, to their mental disease. (p. 217)

[Western society] can develop no new (or renewed) system of interdicts from the therapeutic parody of a moral demand system; in consequence, all attempts at connecting the doctrines of psychotherapy with old faiths are patently misconceived. At its most innocuous, these psychotherapeutic religiosities represent a failure of nerve by both psychotherapists and clergymen.  (p. 218)

The aim of psychoanalysis is the aim of science – power; in this case a transformative technology of the inner life. Where science is, technology will be. This ultimate technology aims at increasing the range of choice. Yet, without a parallel range of god-terms from which choices may be derived or ordered, choice itself may become a matter of indifference or man will become a glutton, choosing everything. There is no feeling more desperate than that of being free to choose, and yet without the specific compulsion of being chosen. After all one does not really choose; one is chosen. This is one way of stating the difference between gods and men. Gods choose; men are chosen. What men lose when they become as free as gods is precisely the sense of being chosen, which encourages them, in their gratitude, to take subsequent choices seriously. Put in another way, this means: Freedom does not exist without responsibility. (p. 79)

The scientists are a curious case. By tradition and training they are intractably modest. Claims to spiritual perception rarely occur explicitly in their work. Profoundly as that work has affected modern culture, the scientists have been non-combatants in the culture class war. With rare exceptions, they still accept the Rtschlian distinction between statements of fact and judgments of value. They make fact statements; the task of making value judgments belongs to other specialists, those elites that won exclusive custody over culture even as they gave up pretending they had authoritative knowledge of nature. (p. 218)

The scientific community aspires to be supra-cultural, and is not qualified therefore to supply creedal dynamic to than new laity, the non-scientists. In this sense, the scientific endeavor in its entirety, representing as it does the effort to create a non-moral culture, embodies the moral revolution. With a commitment that is strictly vocational, the scientist personifies the latest phase in the Western psycho-historical process, one that refrains from laying down guidelines of moral intervention for the society as a whole. Whatever his professed intention, the scientist acts, therefore, as a spiritual perceptor to modern man. The therapeutic has everything – and nothing – to learn from the scientist, for, in the established sense of the word, the scientist, as such, has no culture. (p. 219)

That a sense of well-being has become the end, rather than a by-product of striving after some superior communal end, announces a fundamental change of focus in the entire case of our culture – toward a human condition about which there will be nothing further to say in terms of the old style of despair and hope. (p. 223)