Philoso­pher Lud­wig Wittgen­stein asked us to imag­ine a rope stretched around the earth at the equa­tor (and imag­ine the earth as a per­fect sphere). Were we to add one more yard to the rope, then stretch it out taut again, would any­one be able to notice the dif­fer­ence? Most of us will intu­it that it couldn’t pos­si­bly be so, a yard would dis­ap­pear in the immen­si­ty of the Earth’s cir­cum­fer­ence.

Some geom­e­try and alge­bra show, in fact, that the rope would hov­er about 6 inch­es off the ground, becom­ing a haz­ardous trip­wire span­ning the globe. The video above from the Cen­ter for Pub­lic Phi­los­o­phy at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, San­ta Cruz begins with this odd thought exper­i­ment and ends with a call to action: to apply more skep­ti­cism to our polit­i­cal posi­tions.

If we can be so wrong about a prob­lem with a math­e­mat­i­cal proof, we’re asked, “how should an open-mind­ed hon­est per­son regard her own cer­tain­ty in areas where there are often no proofs, like pol­i­tics, phi­los­o­phy, ethics, or aes­thet­ics? Maybe we should be a lot less con­fi­dent in our beliefs. After all, we might be wrong more than we real­ize.” Maybe so. But it seems there’s some slip­pery use of ter­mi­nol­o­gy here.

In any case, the short video is not, we should point out, a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of Wittgenstein’s thought, only a riff on his imag­in­ing a rope around the world. What did Wittgen­stein him­self have to say about skep­ti­cism and cer­tain­ty? It’s com­pli­cat­ed. Attempt­ing to char­ac­ter­ize his thought in brief might be an impos­si­ble task. He can seem like a high­ly con­tra­dic­to­ry thinker, refut­ing the ideas in his first book, the Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus, in his posthu­mous­ly pub­lished Philo­soph­i­cal Inves­ti­ga­tions, for exam­ple.

But per­haps it is more so the case—as A.C. Grayling writes of anoth­er posthu­mous­ly pub­lished Wittgen­stein col­lec­tion, On Cer­tain­ty—that the stages of the enig­mat­ic thinker’s career were each “a col­lec­tion of pro­vi­sion­al notes, record­ing a jour­ney not an arrival.” He had begun in the Trac­ta­tus by con­sid­er­ing phi­los­o­phy “a spu­ri­ous enter­prise.” Most famous­ly, Wittgen­stein wrote, “Where­of one can­not speak, there­of one must be silent,” sweep­ing away with one lofty ges­ture all meta­physics and abstract spec­u­la­tion.

In On Cer­tain­ty, he appears to final­ly accept philosophy’s “legit­i­ma­cy.” Any con­flict with his ear­li­er posi­tions does not trou­ble him at all. Wittgen­stein attempts to refute skep­ti­cism, return­ing to the image of a “world pic­ture” that recurs again and again in his work, build­ing his case with apho­risms like “I have a world pic­ture. Is it true or false? Above all it is the sub­stra­tum of all my enquir­ing and assert­ing.” Draw­ing on the foun­da­tion­al­ism of G.E. Moore, Wittgen­stein deploys rhetoric that sounds down­right fun­da­men­tal­ist:

If I say ‘we assume that the earth has exist­ed for many years past’ (or some­thing sim­i­lar), then of course it sounds strange that we should assume such a thing. But in the entire sys­tem of our lan­guage-games it belongs to the foun­da­tions. The assump­tion, one might say, forms the basis of action, and there­fore, nat­u­ral­ly, of thought.

Isn’t the ques­tion this: ‘What if you had to change your opin­ion even on these most fun­da­men­tal things?’ And to that the answer seems to me to be: ‘You don’t have to change. That is just what their being “fun­da­men­tal” is.’

This does not sound like a per­son like­ly to ever change their mind about what one might call their “strong­ly-held beliefs.” Wittgen­stein con­structs anoth­er view at the very same time. His sec­ond argu­ment “is not com­fort­ably con­sis­tent with—perhaps, indeed, under­mines” the first. While defend­ing cer­tain­ty, he argues for “rel­a­tivism… the view that truth and knowl­edge are not absolute or invari­able, but depen­dent upon view­point, cir­cum­stances or his­tor­i­cal con­di­tions.”

Our thoughts about the world, or our “world-pic­ture,” writes Wittgen­stein, “might be part of a kind of mythol­o­gy…. The mythol­o­gy may change back into a state of flux, the riv­er-bed of thoughts may shift.” Our beliefs change as the “lan­guage-game” changes. We put on new dis­cur­sive cloth­ing, con­tin­gent on our present cir­cum­stances. “The dif­fi­cul­ty,” writes the philoso­pher, with almost a hint of sym­pa­thy, “is to real­ize the ground­less­ness of our believ­ing.”

Nei­ther of these positions—that we are jus­ti­fied in believ­ing “fun­da­men­tal,” self-evi­dent propo­si­tions because they’re fun­da­men­tal; or that we change our beliefs because of a change in rel­a­tive “language-games”—fit neat­ly with the idea that we should try to be less cer­tain and more open to chang­ing our minds. Nor is any ref­er­ence in Wittgen­stein like­ly to help resolve our polit­i­cal dis­agree­ments.

We may find it a com­fort, or a deeply unset­tling propo­si­tion, that cer­tain beliefs might be anchored more deeply than proof or skep­ti­cism can reach. Or as Wittgen­stein put it: “And now if I were to say ‘It is my unshake­able con­vic­tion that etc.,’ this means in the present case too that I have not con­scious­ly arrived at the con­vic­tion by fol­low­ing a par­tic­u­lar line of thought, but that it is anchored in all my ques­tions and answers, so anchored that I can­not touch it.” Yet, per­haps it is the case that we share more of these con­vic­tions than we know.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Lud­wig Wittgen­stein & His Philo­soph­i­cal Insights on the Prob­lems of Human Com­mu­ni­ca­tion

Hear Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus Sung as a One-Woman Opera

Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Short, Strange & Bru­tal Stint as an Ele­men­tary School Teacher

In Search of Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Seclud­ed Hut in Nor­way: A Short Trav­el Film

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

The word Machi­avel­lian has come to invari­ably refer to an “unscrupu­lous schemer for whom the ends jus­ti­fy the means,” notes the ani­mat­ed TED-Ed video above, a descrip­tion of char­ac­ters “we love to hate” in fic­tion past and present. The adjec­tive has even become enshrined in psy­cho­log­i­cal lit­er­a­ture as one third of the “dark tri­ad” that also fea­tures nar­cis­sism and psy­chopa­thy, per­son­al­i­ties often mis­tak­en for the Machi­avel­lian type.

The ter­m’s “last­ing noto­ri­ety comes from a brief polit­i­cal essay known as The Prince,” writ­ten by Renais­sance Ital­ian writer and diplo­mat Nic­colò Machi­avel­li and “framed as advice to cur­rent and future mon­archs.” The Prince and its author have acquired such a fear­some rep­u­ta­tion that they seem to stand alone, like the work of the Mar­quis de Sade and Leopold von Sach­er-Masoch, who like­wise lent their names to the psy­chol­o­gy of pow­er. But Machi­avel­li’s book is part of “an entire tra­di­tion of works known as ‘mir­rors for princes’ going back to antiq­ui­ty.”

Machi­avel­li inno­vat­ed on the tra­di­tion by cast­ing fuzzy abstrac­tions like jus­tice and vir­tu­ous­ness aside to focus sole­ly on virtù, the clas­si­cal Ital­ian word derived from the Latin vir­tus (man­hood), which had lit­tle to do with ethics and every­thing to do with strength, brav­ery, and oth­er war­like traits. Though thinkers in the tra­di­tion of Aris­to­tle argued for cen­turies that civic and moral virtue may be syn­ony­mous, for Machi­avel­li they most cer­tain­ly were not, it seems. “Through­out [The Prince] Machi­avel­li appears entire­ly uncon­cerned with moral­i­ty except inso­far as it’s help­ful or harm­ful to main­tain­ing pow­er.”

The work became infa­mous after its author’s death. Catholics and Protes­tants both blamed Machi­avel­li for the oth­ers’ excess­es dur­ing the bloody Euro­pean reli­gious wars. Shake­speare coined Machi­av­el “to denote an amoral oppor­tunist.” The line to con­tem­po­rary usage is more or less direct. But is The Prince real­ly “a man­u­al for tyran­ny”? The book, after all, rec­om­mends com­mit­ting atroc­i­ties of all kinds, oppress­ing minori­ties, and gen­er­al­ly ter­ri­fy­ing the pop­u­lace as a means of quelling dis­sent. Keep­ing up the appear­ance of benev­o­lence might smooth things over, Machi­avel­li advis­es, unless it doesn’t. Then the ruler must do what­ev­er it takes. The guid­ing prin­ci­ple here is that “it is much safer to be feared than loved.”

Was Machi­avel­li an “unsen­ti­men­tal real­ist”? A Renais­sance Kissinger, so to speak, who saw the greater good in polit­i­cal hege­mo­ny no mat­ter what the cost? Or was he a neo-clas­si­cal philoso­pher hear­ken­ing back to antiq­ui­ty? He “nev­er seems to have con­sid­ered him­self a philoso­pher,” writes the Stan­ford Ency­clo­pe­dia of Phi­los­o­phy—“indeed, he often overt­ly reject­ed philo­soph­i­cal inquiry as beside the point.” Or at least he seemed to have reject­ed the Chris­t­ian-influ­enced human­ism of his day. Nonethe­less, “Machi­avel­li deserves a place at the table in any com­pre­hen­sive sur­vey of phi­los­o­phy,” not least because “philoso­phers of the first rank did (and do) feel com­pelled to engage with his ideas.”

Of the many who engaged with Machi­avel­li, Isa­iah Berlin saw him as reclaim­ing ancient Greek val­ues of the state over the indi­vid­ual. But there’s more to the sto­ry, and it includes Machiavelli’s polit­i­cal biog­ra­phy as a defend­er of repub­li­can gov­ern­ment and a polit­i­cal pris­on­er of those who over­threw it. On one read­ing, The Prince becomes a “scathing descrip­tion” of how pow­er actu­al­ly oper­ates behind its var­i­ous masks; a guide not for princes but for ordi­nary cit­i­zens to grasp the ruler’s actions for what they are tru­ly designed to do: main­tain pow­er, pure­ly for its own sake, by any means nec­es­sary.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Salman Rushdie: Machiavelli’s Bad Rap

How Machi­avel­li Real­ly Thought We Should Use Pow­er: Two Ani­mat­ed Videos Pro­vide an Intro­duc­tion

What “Orwellian” Real­ly Means: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son About the Use & Abuse of the Term

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness