In Defense of Writing
In a world already full of words why write another essay, article, book, or newsletter? This sort of question confronts every writer today. But a more general and foundational question lurks in the background. Just what is the good of writing after all?
Why write, especially in our own time, which is already so full of words.
The carpenter, the accountant, and the soldier can point to determinate, specific goods that justify his endeavors. But what is the good of writing? What good does the writer bring to others?
I considered these questions in the year 2021 when I published my first book, Understanding Modern Political Ideas, and in launching Logos Letter, I am required once again to answer the question why write? Even more to the point, why write Logos Letter? After all, it will not equip readers to make more money, lose weight, practice self-care, or construct just the right vacation experience.
To be honest, I am sympathetic to skepticism about writing, especially in our current media environment. Plato’s own worries about the tendency of words to run away from the author’s intent and loose its original value. This tendency is inherent in writing, but it is accentuated by the politically driven narratives and fragmented meaningless data that saturates our culture. The connection between signs, thought, and reality has never seemed so tenuous. Nevertheless, in what follows, I will offer a simple case for writing in general and Logos Letter in particular.
The defects of our current discourse should not make us despair of speech and writing. We need not abandon words. Rather we need different and better words because we are overwhelmed by so many false, confused, and vapid words. For good or ill the remedy to a storm of irrational speech is not silence. Silence is a tempting retreat. Unfortunately, in our own time silence is just a recipe for decline and defeat.
The Purpose of Writing
We must not retreat from speech and writing. To put it simply, we must learn again the responsibility — the grave and delightful duty — of speaking and writing truly; we need to contest crooked words with straight. To this end, we should learn again from Aristotle. The natural end of reason is truth, and language is the sign, the instrument, of reason. Therefore, the purpose of language is truth.
Of course, language may complement the truth with beauty, emotional appeal, goodness, and practical application, but the core mission of language remains the same — truth, reality, being. Indeed, any effort to dispute this claim will prove to be self-defeating. In effect, the skeptic would be using language to argue that it is true, that language is not about the truth. But if this is so, then the arguments and the reasoning of the skeptic are likewise not true.
Certainly, it is possible to abuse language. It is possible to turn it away from its native purpose, but even in doing so, the liar accidently bears witness to the truth. Language would have no force to deceive or mislead, if it was not already taken as a first principle that language is ordered to the truth. This lesson goes right back to the roots of Western Civilization, to the conflict between Socrates and the Sophists.
Sophistry and Socrates
In ancient Athens, Socrates contested against the merely manipulative use of words. His sophistic opponents claimed that rhetoric (even in its vicious forms) is the most effective and powerful use of words, and therefore the best of the arts. Socrates queried his opponents, “why is rhetoric the best form of speech.” The Sophistic response is that rhetoric is the best art because it makes one powerful — the master rhetorician gets whatever he wants. But what does he want? The supreme good, presumably; whatever is best and most desirable.
Ultimately, everyone wants the supreme good of happiness, but the vicious rhetorician — even as dictator — cannot get what he wants. And the reason is this: manipulative speech is grounded only in passion, but passion alone is not necessarily connected to truth. In saying this, I do not intend to cast any aspersion upon the passions. Without passion life would be boorish and little would be accomplished. Nevertheless, it is a matter of plain sense that merely desiring something to be true (or false), does not make it so. It follows necessarily, that the vicious rhetorician does not know the supreme good because he only employs human passion. Indeed, the sophist cannot lead others to this desired end because he does not know it himself. This was true in ancient Athens, and it remains true today.
Socrates cultivated the deep roots of Western Civilization, and we would do well to honor his insights. Words, whether written or spoken, are signs of truth. The first duty of every writer is to write the truth in so far as he knows; otherwise he betrays the trust of his readers. Truth is the law of writing. In fact, the connection between writing and truth indicates the ultimate justification of writing.
The Justification for Writing
The case for writing is simple and audacious. Simply stated, writing is good because it signifies truth. It frees the mind from delusion and brings it into contact with reality, and it is better to live in reality than delusion, for delusion misleads, confuses, and disappoints, but reality — truth — actualizes the natural inclination of the human mind to learn. Truth actualizes human nature and expands the human condition. Understood in this way, truth is the whole justification for writing.
As I have already noted, writing may be bent towards deception, but that it is an abuse of writing, not its genuine performance. Writing can also be funny, entertaining, poetic, etc. Of course, this is so, but it does not detract from my central argument. Indeed, great comedy connects us to truth; sometimes the funniest jokes are all too true; some of the best comedies bring us back to reality by helping us to laugh at our own pretensions. And what is an untrue love poem? Not a love poem at all. Again, the justification for writing is that it signifies truth. At its best, writing places us before reality. This is the only case for writing; nothing more may be offered and nothing more should be demanded.
The Case for Logos Letter
However, even if I have made a sufficient defense of writing in general, it does not follow necessarily that it is good to write (or read) Logos Letter. If the case I have made for writing is correct, the value of Logos Letter is determined by it veracity. Old friends and students (formal or informal) perhaps have some basis for trusting my writing. Unfortunately, new readers have little reason to trust that I write truly. Nevertheless, I can offer two pieces of evidence in my favor.
First, if you accept my general defense of writing then you have evidence in hand that supports accuracy — at least in this case. Of course, this is only one instance, and it would be wildly fallacious to infer from one case that I am universally credible. Nevertheless, good so far, right? How else do we come to trust in a witness, except one-step at a time? So perhaps at least I have earned just a little trust and a second experiment.
Second, and much more importantly, the credibility of this newsletter rests primarily upon its sources, namely historical Christianity and classical philosophy. Despite current fads to the contrary, I adhere to these standards with solid confidence. These sources are time-honored and time-tested sources of truth. Indeed, Christian faith and classical philosophy have inspired some of the greatest minds of history, from Augustin and Thomas Aquinas, to Dante and Shakespeare. Moreover, I have tried these sources for myself and not found them wanting. The witness of the great and the good, confirmed by personal experience, rarely fails to convince, and I am no exception to that rule. I am convinced.
Guided by the light of Christian faith and right reason, I cannot help but hit near the mark most of the time. And this is my whole defense. It is good for me to write Logos Letter — and for others to read it — because it is true or nearly so. No other justification can be given and none other should be demanded. I rest my case.