Synthetic Certainty
Earl Smith
The seminar had gone off the rails. Students had become verbally abusive. Raised their voices. Exchanged accusations of hypocrisy – then stupidity. Claimed superior insight. He feared a fight might break out. Professor Matthew Gault called the seminar to an early close. Admonished them to reflect on what had happened. Said he had expected better of them.
The question on the table was relatively benign. “What is the relationship between the right to have an opinion, and the right to have that opinion taken seriously.”
He had opened the seminar with the following. “The right to hold and express personal opinions is based on the principles of individual autonomy, free speech, and the open exchange of ideas. A diverse range of opinions fosters healthy debates, challenges prevailing perspectives, and promotes critical thinking. Protecting these rights is crucial for safeguarding intellectual progress and societal growth. In today’s diverse and interconnected world, freedom of expression and the right to hold, and voice, one’s opinions are fundamental pillars of democracy.”
As if he had just quoted a much-loved verse from the Bible or a key sentence from the Declaration of Independence, nods of approval and smiles echoed back. Gault continued confidently.
“However, while individuals possess the right to hold and express their own opinions, it is essential to recognize that such a right does not automatically grant those opinions unquestioned legitimacy.”
A tension coursed through the room as Gault continued. “Let’s delve into the notion that, while individuals have a right to their own opinions, the acknowledgment and acceptance of those opinions by others cannot be assured. Opinions are, by their nature, subjective. They should not be confused with facts. All opinions are not equally valid or deserving of equal consideration.”
He then lit what turned out to be a very short fuse. “Opinions backed by sound arguments, supported by established facts, and demonstrated through logical reasoning are more appropriately taken seriously. Conversely, opinions lacking these qualities should be summarily dismissed.”
The seminar headed south when one of the doctoral assistants informed a graduate student that, “…you have a right to your opinion, but you do not have a right to have me take it seriously.” The temperature in the room rose.
Suddenly, they were all talking past each other. Each contending that, at a minimum, their opinions must be taken as quasi-facts. They were, after all, facts, in their opinion. Denigration quickly drowned out respect. Gault intervened angrily, then declared the seminar closed. There was an embarrassed silence.
After the students filed out, Gault decided he needed a drink and headed for the Tombs, a dimly lit tavern in a basement below a five-star restaurant. The faculty called it the scruffy underpinnings of the elegant. It was sure to be thinly populated this time of day. A perfect place to think.
His plan was scuppered as soon as he entered. In a booth at the back, two old friends were engaged in animated conversation. Tom Bollon was a political operative. A dogmatic agnostic. An old hand at the game of politics. Short, balding, with intense grey eyes and a sharp nose, he was a veteran of many campaigns on both sides of the aisle. He preferred moderates. Centrists.
Sidney Plover was a lobbyist with a taste for lost causes. Her latest was climate change. Her current favorite documentary was The Age of Stupid. “We knew what was happening. Why didn’t we save ourselves?” was her new constant question. Now in her late sixties, she was that perfect combination of wisdom and fire that often serves as the foundation for stimulating conversations. She looked up as Matthew approached.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asked. “You look like death eatin’ a cracker.” She patted the seat beside her and said, “Sit down. Tell Mama your troubles.”
Gault slid in beside her. “It’s been a rough morning. My seminar blew up. Headed over here to be alone. I’m glad to find the two of you. Distract me. What were you talking about? Looked like you were having fun. I could use some fun right now.”
“We were talking Kipling,” Tom replied. “The whole thing started with a discussion of the difference between good and perfect and whether the idea of perfect is useful or destructive. We ended up with The Conundrum of the Workshops. Kipling, you know. Just got to one of the last verses. Sidney, you do it better than me.”
She smiled and began to recite. “When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the club-room’s green and gold, the sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mold. They scratch with their pens in the mold of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start, for the Devil mutters behind the leaves: “It’s pretty, but is it art?””
“I was just thinking about that poem,” Gault said. “I read it regularly to remind myself not to let perfect become the enemy of good. But what use does a political operative and a lobbyist have for Kipling?”
“We were discussing what happens when opinion becomes enshrined as fact,” Tom replied. “There’s another verse from that poem. Let me see if I can do this one.” He glanced upward and began to recite slowly.
“For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of art and truth; and each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart, the Devil drum on the darkened pane: “You did it, but was it art?””
“Now, there is a dark cloud for a sunny day,” Gault said. “What’s it got to do with either politics or lobbying? Or are you two just on vacation?”
“Wish we were on vacation,” Sidney said. “We both have the same problem. When dogma supplants reason, when opinion becomes enshrined as fact, we are no longer dealing with rational human beings, but religious fanatics. Kurt Andersen had it right in Fantasyland. Americans have become the most anti-rational people on the planet.”
Matthew smiled and shook his head. “Were you guys auditing my seminar?”
“You too?” Tom asked. He winked at Sidney. “I suppose we’re about to discover the source of young Matt’s funk. Come on son, lay it on us elders.”
“Today’s seminar didn’t just go off the rails,” Gault began. “It descended into irrationality. I don’t understand why. It started with a very simple question. How can someone expect their opinions to be taken seriously? At the beginning, everybody agreed. All were entitled to their opinions. I thought the session was going to be dull. Then it shifted. The rub came when it was clear that each reflexively expected their opinions to be honored as self-verified facts. Agreement morphed into animosity. Respectful discussion into confrontation.”
They sat for a while in silence. Finally, Sidney said, “It went off the rails when the discussion moved from the generic to the personal, right?”
“Predictable,” Tom quickly added. “Self-certification is the unstable foundation of synthetic certainty.” They both stared at him and grinned. “I read that on a cereal box once”, Tom continued. “But seriously, by holding their opinions as facts, they justify their own existence. When self-certification is challenged, the entire edifice becomes vulnerable.”
“Are you suggesting my students experienced an existential crisis?” Matthew responded.
“In a way,” Sidney replied. “Intellectualized generic concepts are easy to get agreement on. The rub comes when they are applied in real time, by real people, to real-life situations. What happens when a person holds their opinions as facts? And most of them don’t even realize that they’re doing that until they’re called out. Those opinions become the foundation for a rigid belief system. A religion-of-one.”
Gault sat back and smiled ruefully. “Taking opinions as facts is a theological statement?”
“Something like that,” Tom offered. “Religious fanatics, individuals who hold their opinions as unimpeachable facts, have an unwavering conviction in the absolute truth of their beliefs. They consider them unchallengeable. They reflexively dismiss out of hand any opposing views, or evidence, that contradicts their theological presumption of facticity.”
Matthew leaned forward. “A kind of faux-theological thinking parading as rational thought, if I’m following you.”
“Precisely,” Sidney interjected. “Just as religious individuals base their beliefs on faith, rather than empirical evidence, those who declare their opinions as facts rely on personal conviction rather than objective reasoning. They don’t require evidence to support their opinions. Most accept that belief is the true foundation of facticity.”
“Self-certification,” Tom offered, “is foundational to the avoidance of critical examination. Your seminar challenged those foundational assumptions. The response was predictable. They found critical analysis of their beliefs threatening. Felt exposed and vulnerable. Remember Socrates, and how he ended up?”
“I’ll buy all of that, but why did this topic trigger such a response?”
“At the center of each of their worlds is a sense of moral and intellectual righteousness,” Sidney replied. “People who hold their opinions as facts are like religious followers who perceive their faith as superior to other belief systems. Christians are particularly adept at this charade. Remember the first commandment? I am the Lord thy God! Thou shalt have no other Gods but me! That means that the gods of all other peoples are demons. Evangelical Christian narcissism routinely disregards, or belittles, differing opinions, defining itself as the sole possessor of eternal truth.”
Tom leaned in. “How would such a vision impact identity?”
“Religious beliefs contribute to an individual’s sense of identity and worldview,” Matthew responded. “But you guys are talking about something far more extreme. Holding non-factual opinions as facts would form the core of a secular virtual identity. A tribe with only one member,” Gault observed. “But my students divide into cliques. Don’t they?”
“Only ritualistically,” Bollon offered. “Religious practices often involve rituals and ceremonies that express, and reinforce, belief. In a religion-of-one, an individual may engage in habitual behaviors or repetitive actions to reinforce a fiction.”
“And what’s the fiction they are reinforcing?” Gault asked.
“That they are part of the human race,” Tom responded. “A religion-of-one is a temple in which its architect is the god sitting on a throne of self-proclaimed omnipotence. All others must be seen as heretics. There is nothing meaningfully true for them beyond the boundaries of the throne.”
“Let’s get back to your seminar,” Sidney suggested. “You arranged a gathering of participants, each covertly taking their opinions as facts. Then your doctoral assistant turned up the heat. The group, under threat of mass exposure, became volatile. Any willingness to consider different viewpoints evaporated in defense of each individual’s synthetic certainty.”
“What was lost was the flow of soft confirmation, independent certification, which allows individuals to maintain their personal fictions,” Sidney continued. “When individuals don’t receive the necessary external confirmations for their beliefs, they are thrown back onto their own self-certification”.
“And that leads to a destruction of constructive dialogue,” Matthew offered. “As their opinions became defined as merely that, my students retreated into increasingly rigid and dogmatic positions. An open exchange, or exploration of ideas, is poison in such a situation, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tom observed. “Critical thinking is a mortal threat to a religion-of-one. It’s an ugly reminder that self-certification is delusional. They default to emotional responses, or fallacious arguments, rather than engaging in logical analysis or evidence-based reasoning. What happens when pressure drives everyone to that extreme?”
“Nobody sees anybody else,” Sidney replied. “Your students lost track of each other and circled the wagons. With each wagon forming its own circle, defending itself against all other wagons.”
“What’s the antidote?” Gault said with some frustration. “How do I foster an environment which encourages open-mindedness, respectful dialogue, and the willingness to critically examine one’s own beliefs. How do I teach them to welcome the introduction of diverse perspectives, relish evidence-based discussions, and promote constructive engagement?”
Sidney turned to Matthew. “Some questions have no answers. Some are not even worth considering as questions. Let’s try it from a different direction. How many opinions do you express during a month?”
“In the course of a month? You mean all my opinions on things big and small? It must be thousands. Every time I decide, advise, or opine, it involves at least one opinion – that my facts, and my understanding of them, are correct. Every time I engage in a discussion, or an argument, it’s the same.”
“And how many of those opinions have an actual impact?” Sidney asked impishly. “How many, from among all of them, have any potency?”
“I think she means, how many of them are actually worth having,” Tom suggested.
“Close, but no cigar,” Sidney said with a grin. “A fact is only potent if it has an impact beyond merely being a fact. That’s the same with an opinion. Let’s say you argue for a curriculum change based upon your opinions, and that suggested change is accepted. It’s fair to say those opinions have had an impact beyond simply being opinions.”
“If you put it that way,” Gault said, “I would guess that only one or two of all the opinions I might hold and/or express during a month might be potent. The rest are simply opinions that I hold.”
“I think I know where you’re going with this,” Gault continued. “And I don’t much like it. You’re suggesting that I become a Devil’s advocate. Instead of standing on the sidelines as an observer, focusing on teaching students about the true foundations of their identities. Is that right?”
“Give that man a quasi-cigar for a fair attempt at diversion!” Sidney said with a chuckle. “You’re treating the wrong patient. It was Thomas Paine who said the first half of it particularly well. “To argue with a person who has renounced the use of reason is like administering medicine to the dead.” The other half comes from Dirty Harry in the movie Magnum Force. “A man’s got to know his limitations.””
“That’s not particularly helpful,” Gault grumbled.
“It’s the best I can do,” Sidney replied. “Presumption is the enemy of comprehension.”
“That’s harsh,” Gault objected.
“Maybe so,” Sidney responded. “But suppose your number was zero? What if you were forced to the realization that none of your opinions mattered. That all your so-called facts were impotent? And, by derivation, that you were meaningless? It’s senseless to administer pharmaceuticals to the dead, Matt. You only embarrass the infirmed by exposing their infirmity.”
“Sid gave you all you need. It’s just hard to come down to it. This might help,” Tom offered. “Think of yourself as a mosquito, floating down the river on your back, with an erection, and calling for them to raise the drawbridge.” There was a brief stunned silence then Sidney and Matt burst out laughing.
After things settled down, a broadly grinning Matt asked, “So, you’re accusing me of overestimating my prowess?”
“No reflection on your manhood, son. It’s just that most of us make two big mistakes when thinking about things like this. We think we are watching from the outside and we lose track of what’s important about what’s going on.”
“I’m still back at the drawbridge,” Sidney said with a broad grin. “But I think I’m catching up with you. Fold it back against itself. Right, Tommy boy?”
“Yep,” Tom said. “That’s the ticket.” He shifted his gaze to Matt. “What makes you think you’re above it all? Not making the same mistake that your students made? Ever thought of that? What are you professing, professor?”
Gault paused before asking. “Who is the Devil in all this? Are you saying that I’m the charlatan? The one whose opinions about facts can generate the delusion that only my opinions held as facts have the same potency as established facts because they are my opinions?”
“Wow,” said Sidney. “That’s enough to cross a Rabbi’s eyes. But there’s a hard center to it. The devil is inherently narcissistic,” Sidney offered. “And, inherently antisocial. Narcissists always tango alone. There’s something of the devil in all of us.”
“Now I’m the bad guy?” Matthew asked incredulously. “What, the seminar exposed my fiction?”
“Easy now, remember I’m on your side,” Sidney responded. “But the direct answer, friend to friend, is that’s exactly what happened. Look at it this way, when you take your opinions to be facts, none of them can be successfully challenged because that challenges the entire synthetic certainty – your synthetic certainty. You accept, as a matter of fact, that you are better than them. More competent. More experienced. But what if that competence and experience is not enough to keep you from falling into the same hole?”
“Look,” Tom offered, “we’re not just talking about you. That tendency was the focus of our discussions before you arrived. We live in a world which brings the same vulnerabilities to all of us.” He paused and then continued, “But let’s get back to your students. Why do you think they are so active on social media? Let’s look at that question through the lens of addiction. The algorithms are designed to reinforce their belief that their opinions should be taken as facts. Confirmation bias is the soul food of self-certification. Such confirmation can come from bots or troll farms. The source is irrelevant. It’s the sweetly addictive foundation of their delusions.”
“So, virtual reality redefines reality?” Gault asked.
“No, virtuality becomes reality. And virtual reality has no non-virtual foundation except the addiction to it. It’s like fentanyl,” Tom replied. “The algorithms supply confirmation on demand. Algorithms automatically pre-screen who you interact with, and that supercharges the flow of confirmation, and limits the likelihood of challenges. Like fentanyl, algorithms rewire your brain. Contact with individuals, particularly in heated conversations, constitutes the addict’s greatest fear. It’s the equivalent of withdrawal. And, compared to other narcotics, withdrawal from fentanyl use – or synthetic certainty – is much more painful.”
“Think of what it must be like,” Sidney said softly. “Being pushed closer to the realization of your own meaninglessness. Realizing how impossible it is to establish any kind of meaningfulness in a virtual world. Dancing on a knife’s edge above the abyss. Glancing into the darkness, seeing your fading virtual self, falling into blackness. You become desperate to touch something real, if only for a moment. But you also know that such a touch would destroy the synthetic certainty at the foundation of your existence. Reality is the anti-matter of synthetic certainty. And then, you come to realize that you have no facts – no actual facts. Only unfounded opinions. What happens when you discover that the foundation of your identity is unfounded?”
“Welcome to our worlds,” Tom said. “Sidney just described a growing percentage of the population that is becoming increasingly unable to define who they are. AI has taken over their virtual evolution. They are rendered meaningless, even within their own humanity. Their potential is mostly spent, their options have faded, even their identity is no longer their own. How do they cope with the realization that they are destined to not amount to much of anything. That their passing will go unrecorded?”
“Sidney patiently listens to a climate change denialist, sweating from all pores, vociferously denying established science, and blaming it all on a left-wing conspiracy. The guy’s a walking validation of something that Isaac Asimov said years ago. “There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” Their ignorance, fertilized by their insistence that they matter, turns toxic with the realization that they don’t.”
“Tom doesn’t have it any better,” Sidney interjected. “His world is increasingly dominated by the evangelically irrelevant. Manipulated by billionaires, they are sliced and diced – redefined and repurposed. And in the end, they become… how was it that Shakespeare put it in Macbeth? “Life is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Americans have always believed that they were more than that. Now, for many, there’s only loneliness and a recognition of their own individual meaninglessness. Their high tolerance for cognitive dissonance crumbles when the defenses of their delusions are breached. When pressed, they follow false prophets, regurgitate wing-nut conspiracy theories, and declare undying allegiance to half-baked theologies.”
“For them, exchanging personal views constitutes an unacceptable element of risk,” Gault offered.
Sidney touched Matt’s hand and said, softly, “For people like us, conversation is not about winning or losing, but about learning, connectedness, and collaboration. It’s a form of open-ended play through which we satisfy our social needs and intellectual curiosities. When we chat, mutual openness, even vulnerability, helps the conversation unfurl. But vulnerability is a mortal threat within a religion-of-one.”
“So, what’s the way out?” Gault asked.
“Your only recourse is to avoid Kipling’s trap all together,” Sidney replied. “It’s your conundrum you need to pay attention to, not theirs. As Robert Browning wrote, “tis an awkward thing to play with souls, and matter enough to save one’s own.””
“Physician, heal thyself,” Tom said with a wide grin.
“Okay, bring it home for me,” Gault pleaded.
Sidney winked at Tom, smiled, and began. “When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden’s green and gold, our father Adam sat under the tree and scratched with a stick in the mold, and the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, it’s pretty, but is it art?”
Matt laughed and said, “Or as the song goes, “Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.””
Tom chuckled. “You know, for a youngster, you’re showing surprising sense. Old Rudyard got it right. Browning too. But Dirty Harry hit the nail square on the head. Best you can do is manage your own conundrums.”
Sidney nodded. “That old fox. Kipling knew. Art leads to art experts. Art experts lead to forgery. The best we can do is avoid becoming forged authors of our own forged forgeries. In a virtual world, the artist becomes the art expert who inevitably becomes an art forger, and eventually becomes the god who condemns the whole group to eternal damnation. That’s the trap you should try to avoid. Your openness and curiosity are the only paths to authentic meaningfulness. That’s the only gifts you can truly give your students. And, for those, there are no measures of perfection. If they take them, mazel tov. If they don’t, c’est la vie. Remember, you can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think!”
“Son,” Tom said, “living long as Sid and I have – and given all the holes we have fallen into and had to crawl out of – it leaves you humbled. You come face to face with how much time you’ve wasted on nonsense. What you saw today was a steaming pile of it. Background noise in a play written and performed by a mindless, impotent eunuch. If there’s any gift we can give you, it’s this. Focus on what’s important and separate it out from the background noise. Maybe that leaves you with only ten percent. But making sense of that ten percent is the road to relevance. The road to sanity. That’s your super hero skill, my boy. And Sid and I prefer drinking with sane people.”
The waiter stopped by. Matt ordered another round. Tom raised his glass, winked at Sidney, and said, “Mama, I think our work here is done.”
Professor Gault smiled ruefully and responded. “To avoiding the sticky delusions of synthetic certainty. Drinks are on me. And that’s a fact!”
© Earl Smith
First published in After Dinner Conversations
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