Debates about rationalism, which were so central to the Enlightment project seem to have been eclipsed by the post-truth questionning of the validity of all underlying assumptions (or lemmas)
Yes, the grand debates about rationalism—whether reason alone can ground knowledge, whether empirical verification is necessary, and whether human cognition can access objective reality—have largely been displaced. The current intellectual climate, shaped by postmodernism, critical theory, and the epistemic fragmentation of the digital age, often questions not just the authority of reason but the very coherence of any foundational assumptions.
The shift isn’t just a move from rationalism to empiricism (or vice versa) but from epistemology itself toward a more radical skepticism:
- Enlightenment Rationalism debated how we know what we know, assuming that knowledge itself was possible.
- Postmodern/Post-Truth Thought often interrogates whether knowledge is anything more than power, ideology, or linguistic construct.
The latter perspective, when extreme, can dissolve not just rationalism but also the possibility of meaningful discourse. The risk is that we slide into a relativism where truth is simply a matter of social power, and discourse collapses into competing narratives without arbitration.
Do you see this shift as something inevitable in light of modern complexities, or do you think it marks a kind of intellectual decline?
It certainly marks an intellectual decline, but I can also see how it has happened. While rhetoric has alway been there to undermine reasoned argument, having control of the media seems increasingly important. The power to thrust your views into the ears of others.
Yes, the decline is evident, but not inexplicable. The ability to propagate ideas has always shaped intellectual discourse, but now the sheer velocity and saturation of information seem to have overwhelmed reasoned debate. Control over media—whether traditional or digital—creates an environment where persuasion often trumps coherence, and rhetorical force replaces careful argumentation.
The irony is that the Enlightenment itself laid the groundwork for this. Its focus on free speech and the marketplace of ideas assumed that reason would ultimately prevail, but it didn’t anticipate the extent to which attention, emotion, and repetition could overpower rational discourse. If anything, we’ve entered an age where epistemology is not just about what we know but about who controls what gets heard.
Do you think there’s any way to counteract this trend, or is it simply the inevitable endpoint of mass media and digital hyperconnectivity?
It is certainly a sorry state of affairs. It’s all about power and money (which equals politics). And I dont think we have reached the endpoint yet. We all see the world differently, especially values, but we have lived in more or less homogenous community with tolerance. Those communities have gone and been replaced by polarised tribal silos. I dont know the answer
It does seem like the fragmentation of shared narratives has accelerated, and instead of a pluralistic society that fosters tolerance, we have competing tribes locked in a battle for dominance. The internet, which was once heralded as a tool for democratizing knowledge, has ironically fueled this shift by allowing people to self-sort into ideological echo chambers.
The loss of a common culture or set of agreed-upon principles has made even basic discourse difficult. Without shared ground, even appeals to reason or ethics become just another weapon in the struggle for power. You’re right—we haven’t reached the endpoint yet, and it’s hard to say what that will look like.
I suspect the only way forward is at a smaller scale—local communities that re-learn the habits of dialogue, listening, and compromise. Grand, top-down solutions seem unlikely, given the forces at play. But whether enough people care to rebuild those lost forms of discourse is another question.
Do you think there’s any sphere left where real conversation still happens? Or are even those pockets of thoughtful engagement fading?
It’s like addiction. I remember a Consultant Psychotherapist who was working with drug addicts saying that the drug made them feel normal, made them feel themselves. If we are innatelly driven to relate to others (as we are) then we have to deal with the frustration that they are not like us. But if we seek out and find others like ourselves, then we can enter into some solopsistic union where we feel and recognise ourselves, but in some autistic yet addictive space.
That’s a sharp analogy. The drive for recognition—the need to see ourselves reflected in others—is fundamental. When that recognition is denied or complicated by difference, it creates discomfort. Historically, communities had to work through that discomfort because they were bound together by necessity, geography, or tradition. Now, technology has made it possible to bypass that friction entirely, allowing us to curate our interactions until we exist in a kind of hall of mirrors.
Your comparison to addiction is especially apt because, like addiction, this process offers an immediate reward—validation, a sense of belonging, the illusion of clarity—while slowly eroding the ability to engage with a more complex, frustrating reality. The “autistic yet addictive space” you describe captures the paradox well: it’s an enclosed world of sameness that feels deeply real to those inside it, yet it cuts them off from genuine dialogue and growth.
The challenge, then, is how to break the cycle. With addiction, the first step is recognizing the problem, but what’s the intervention for a society hooked on solipsistic tribalism? Is there a way to reintroduce the value of discomfort—of engaging with the Other, as Levinas would say—without just triggering defensive entrenchment?
Ah, the value of discomfort. That’s Piaget’s “accommodation”, the painful process of changing our worldview to align with what we see (and know as true). Instead we dont change, but simply assimilate the new into the old, by a process of self-deception and illusionment. Then again, what is it that we see. Fingarette saw it as looking away.
Yes, exactly—Piaget’s accommodation is that difficult but necessary process of reshaping our mental structures in response to reality, rather than merely reshuffling the new to fit within the old (assimilation). True learning, true growth, is uncomfortable because it demands that we let go of something we once thought sufficient.
But as you say, the modern response often isn’t accommodation—it’s self-deception. Instead of engaging with what challenges us, we look away, as Fingarette described. There’s a willful blindness at play, not just at the personal level but collectively. Rather than confront the implications of new realities, we reframe them so they don’t disturb our settled worldview. We rationalize, deny, or drown them in noise.
I wonder if our present crisis isn’t just epistemic but psychological. The fragmentation, the tribalism, the addiction to ideological sameness—perhaps these aren’t just failures of reason but symptoms of a deeper avoidance. People don’t just resist changing their views; they resist seeing at all. Because once you truly see, accommodation is inevitable, and that can be terrifying.
So, how do you get people to stop looking away? Or, to put it another way, what makes accommodation possible rather than just another layer of illusion?
Willful blindness is an interesting concept. It implies seeing and yet not seeing, or knowing and yet not acknowledging. There are two layers of representing the world. One is direct, procedural, fast (as in Thinking Fast and Slow), non-reflective but acutely perceptive and “true”. The other is indirect, declarative, and slow, but it is also reflective and integrative and links with our identity and values, our egosyntonic self. Maybe these are the layers of illusion you hint at. The deeper (unconscious) procedural representation is probably hedonistic and focussed on using the Object in ways that would feel egodystonic. But this is the representation that shapes our dis-awoved actions. So we can act selfishly whilst believing we are acting altruistically.
Yes, that dual-layered structure of cognition seems crucial to understanding willful blindness. The procedural, intuitive layer operates below the surface—quick, adaptive, and often brutally honest about our desires and instincts. It doesn’t concern itself with justification; it simply is. The declarative, reflective layer, by contrast, is slow, rationalizing, and deeply tied to our self-concept. It’s here that illusion takes root, because this is where we craft the story of who we are.
If the procedural level is hedonistic, oriented toward desire and use, then it makes perfect sense that it would generate behaviors that the reflective self cannot fully integrate—acts of selfishness, bias, or even cruelty that are then reframed at the declarative level in ways that preserve our self-image. This is the mechanism that allows us to act egodystonically while maintaining an egosyntonic belief about ourselves.
In other words, we don’t just deceive others—we deceive ourselves, and in an incredibly sophisticated way. We don’t simply ignore contradictions; we actively construct narratives that obscure them. This is why self-awareness is so difficult, and why moral growth is often so painful. It’s not just about changing our minds—it’s about undoing the illusions that protect our self-concept.
But here’s the troubling question: if our procedural drives shape our actions while our declarative mind crafts the illusion of righteousness, then how do we ever really change? What forces, internal or external, are strong enough to disrupt that process—to force us to see ourselves in ways that demand true accommodation?
Maybe honesty. Maybe its not a zero-sum game. Maybe all the assimilations and illusionments eventually lead to a fractured and insecure or even meaningless sense of Being, as if you know that you are living a lie. I dont know what spirituality is but honesty has something to do with it. Being true to yourself. And I think you can find it in the company of others that you love.
That feels profoundly right—honesty as the key to breaking through illusion. Not just honesty in the superficial sense of telling the truth, but a deeper honesty, an existential integrity where one ceases to live a lie, ceases to engage in the self-deception that maintains a fractured and fragile sense of Being.
Maybe it’s not a zero-sum game because even the layers of illusion, the failed accommodations, and the self-deceptions eventually accumulate into a crisis—a point where one knows at some level that the structure isn’t holding. There’s an unease, a dissonance, a sense of living in bad faith. And perhaps that’s where something real can begin.
If spirituality has something to do with honesty, then it’s not about adherence to doctrine but about stripping away the falsehoods that make life feel hollow. And yes, that’s rarely done alone. The presence of others—those we love, those who love us—can hold up a mirror that allows us to see ourselves with clarity, not judgment.
Maybe spirituality is just that: a space where we are seen and known without illusion, and where, in turn, we allow ourselves to see.
The engagement is not about maximising one’s own comfort, it is about reaching out to feel the other’s perspective, their concerns and needs, and acknowledging their differences
Yes, exactly. Engagement—true engagement—is not about securing comfort or reinforcing one’s own perspective. It’s about stepping outside oneself, reaching beyond the safe boundaries of one’s own worldview to genuinely encounter the Other. That requires vulnerability, a willingness to be unsettled, to have one’s assumptions challenged not as an attack, but as an opportunity to see more fully.
This is where Levinas’ ethics feels so necessary. The face of the Other calls us into responsibility—not because they are the same as us, but precisely because they are not. Acknowledging difference without trying to erase it, without collapsing it into something more palatable or familiar, is an act of respect and even love.
But this kind of engagement is difficult in a world that encourages self-curation and ideological entrenchment. It demands patience, deep listening, and a willingness to let go of the idea that we must always be “right” or comfortable.
Would you say that this kind of openness is itself a spiritual practice? It seems to have more to do with how we relate than what we believe.
Yes, I don’t mean spiritual in some metaphysical or supernatural sense. Maybe its some nostalgic feeling of acceptance and being held in a primal unconditional way.
That makes a lot of sense. Spirituality, in this sense, isn’t about doctrines or metaphysics—it’s about a way of being with the world and with others. A kind of openness, honesty, and presence that allows for real connection.
That nostalgic feeling you describe—acceptance, being held unconditionally—seems to touch on something deeply human. Maybe it’s a memory of childhood security, or maybe it’s something we glimpse in rare moments of trust and communion. It’s not about control or certainty, but about belonging in a way that doesn’t require masks or self-justification.
If spirituality is anything, maybe it’s the search for that. A way to be at home in the world, even while embracing its uncertainties and differences. A way to hold and be held, without needing to diminish or distort either ourselves or others.
And maybe ritual plays a role in that, something that echos with the eternal
Yes, ritual seems to create a bridge between the transient and the eternal. Even in a world where grand metaphysical claims no longer hold the same weight, ritual can still provide that echo—a rhythm, a structure that connects us to something beyond the immediate moment.
Maybe it works because ritual isn’t just about individual belief; it’s about participation. It roots us in something larger, whether that’s community, tradition, or simply the shared experience of repetition and meaning. A ritual doesn’t need to be supernatural to evoke a sense of the sacred—it just needs to create a space where we step out of ordinary time, where we engage in something that feels true beyond the shifting chaos of daily life.
This brings us back to your earlier point about spirituality being tied to honesty, presence, and relationship. Ritual, at its best, doesn’t impose belief—it holds us in a space where we can experience belonging, connection, and perhaps even a glimpse of that unconditional acceptance you described.