There May Be No Right or Wrong in the World, but There Is a Before and After

There may be no right and wrong in the world, but there is a before and after.

The art of discernment that reduces pointless fights.

Whenever politics comes up, people immediately split into left and right.

And they often say this:

"The left is individualist; the right is statist."

I don't think that's quite accurate.

Not that it's completely wrong, of course. The problem is that people are using the same words while looking at different criteria.

Dig into this problem, and it doesn't end as a simple story about left-right politics. A much bigger problem hides behind it. The root of the countless pointless fights we have in daily life is here too.

It's the problem of failing to tell what is an end from what is a means.

And going deeper, it's the problem of failing to tell what comes first from what comes later.

Let's start by sorting out left and right.

The real axis that divides left and right isn't simply "individualist versus statist." The more important question is this:

What do you set as the end point?

Put simply, it's a question of what kind of society you take as your final goal.

The left's end point is, broadly, maximizing the welfare of each individual.

It prizes a society where every single person is guaranteed a minimum standard of life and the weak aren't abandoned.

The right's end point is, broadly, maximizing the pie of society as a whole.

It prizes a society where the economy grows, the market runs briskly, and overall productivity rises.

Up to here, it's fairly clean.

But there's a reason people get confused.

It's because ends and means cross diagonally.

End Means

Left Individual welfare The state, redistribution

Right The pie of society as a whole The individual, the market

The left uses the state for the sake of the individual.

The right uses the individual and the market for the sake of the whole.

That is, for the left the end is the individual and the means is the state.

For the right the end is the whole and the means is the individual.

Ends and means cross in an X.

That's why, of the very same camp, some call them "statists" and others call them "individualists."

One side looks at the means.

"They lean so heavily on the state, isn't that statism?"

The other side looks at the end.

"They do it for the individual, isn't that individualism?"

Both are right by their own criteria.

And so they never get through to each other.

This is less a real difference of opinion than friction from using the same word in different senses. A fake fight, in other words.

Here's the crux.

At the root of almost every tangled argument lie two confusions.

The first is confusing means with ends.

A means is a tool.

An end is the end point.

The state can be a means.

The market can be a means.

Even individual freedom can, in some contexts, be a means.

Redistribution, too, can be a means.

Yet people often pin the name of the essence onto the tool.

For example, "using the state" is a statement about means. But interpret it straightaway as "the state is the end," and it becomes an entirely different claim.

Using the state doesn't necessarily make you a statist.

Using the market doesn't necessarily mean you care only about the individual.

What matters is "what you use it for."

Means can be swapped depending on the situation.

Ends are closer to a deeper direction.

But mix the two together and strange things happen.

Someone merely changes their method, and they're branded a turncoat.

Someone merely swaps tools to fit the situation, and they're said to have abandoned their convictions.

Conversely, even when the end has changed, people mistake others for being on the same side just because the tools they use look alike.

The second is confusing the order of before and after.

The before-and-after relation is simple.

It's the question of what comes first and what comes later.

Flip cause and effect, or ignore the order and weigh everything at once, and the argument tangles easily.

In fact, confusing means with ends is, in the end, also a confusion of before and after.

The end lies later in time.

It's the end point you aim to reach later.

The means lies earlier in time.

It's the path you pass through first to get to that end.

So confusing means with ends is, in the end, confusing front with back.

If you can't tell what comes first from what comes later, your thinking will inevitably twist.

Sequence, correlation, and causation are not the same thing

Since we've raised the matter of sequence, let's go one layer deeper.

I don't know whether there's right and wrong in the world.

But there is sequence, and there is causation.

Only, these don't all carry the same weight.

Laid out in order of how solid they are, it looks like this.

First, sequence.

Sequence is order in time.

It means A happened before B.

For example, the rain came first, and then the ground got wet.

That kind of order.

Sequence is relatively solid.

All you need is a record, a time, and a way to check the order.

Second, correlation.

Correlation means two things move together.

For example, when A rises, B rises too.

When A falls, B falls too.

But correlation doesn't tell you "why" they move together. It only shows the pattern that the two phenomena appear together.

Third, causation.

Causation means A caused B.

It's the strongest claim of the three.

And the hardest to prove.

Because causation isn't mere observation but inference.

You have to ask, "Did B really arise because of A?"

This is also where people slip most often.

The first is mistaking correlation for causation.

For example, when summer comes, ice cream sales rise.

And drowning accidents rise too.

The two increase together.

So does ice cream cause the drownings?

No.

There's a hidden third variable between them.

Summer.

When summer comes, the weather gets hot.

So people eat more ice cream.

At the same time, they go swimming more.

So drowning accidents rise too.

Ice cream didn't cause the drownings.

A different variable, summer, pulled both up together.

The second is mistaking sequence for causation.

The rooster crows.

Then the sun rises.

That doesn't mean the rooster made the sun rise.

Just because something happened first doesn't make it the cause of what happened later.

Order can be a necessary condition for causation.

Because a cause must come before its effect.

But order alone doesn't prove causation.

Happening first is a necessary condition, not a sufficient one.

For causation to hold, you need at least three things.

First, the cause must precede the effect.

Second, a consistent relationship between the two must be visible.

Third, you must rule out other possible explanations as far as you can.

Sequence and correlation are the raw materials of causation.

But causation only holds when, on top of those materials, you add the judgment that "other explanations have been cleared away to a reasonable degree."

So in practice, one question matters.

"What other explanation is there besides this one?"

The moment you throw out that question, hasty certainty halts.

And that halt is the beginning of thinking.

What's interesting is that this kind of discernment is built into the law as well.

Law isn't just a system for memorizing statutes.

It's closer to a vast system of discernment that separates a person's conduct from their liability and lays out what has to be weighed first.

Roughly speaking, criminal law deals heavily with the question of right and wrong.

At the heart of criminal law lies blameworthiness.

Suppose, for instance, that a person has died in two cases alike.

But killing on purpose and causing a death by mistake are different.

You also have to ask whether it was self-defense.

Whether it could have been avoided, whether it could have been foreseen, these matter too.

It's not just about the outcome.

It looks at how much the act can be blamed.

That's why much of criminal law is close to mandatory rules.

It isn't structured so that the state must give up punishment just because the parties reached a settlement among themselves.

Of course, a settlement with the victim can affect sentencing.

But you can't decide on your own that "since we settled between ourselves, the crime never happened."

Civil law, by contrast, is closer to the domain of sorting out who is right and who is wrong.

Civil law mainly handles questions like these:

Who has to pay money to whom?

Is the contract valid?

If damage has occurred, who has to make it good?

How far does liability extend?

Here, sorting out the relationship matters more than punishment.

Sorting out damage and causation matters more than moral blame.

That's why civil law mixes mandatory rules and default rules.

Mandatory rules are rules the parties can't change even by agreement.

Default rules are rules the parties can set differently.

For example, in some areas the law decrees, "This line must not be crossed."

That's a mandatory rule.

Conversely, in some areas the parties can set things differently by contract.

That's a default rule.

This is where private autonomy operates.

A domain arises in which individuals can settle their own relationships for themselves.

There's a similar order in legal interpretation.

If there's a concrete detailed rule, you look at the detailed rule first.

When there's a gap the detailed rule doesn't resolve, the abstract principle steps in.

If there's a special provision, the special provision prevails.

This is commonly called "the special law takes precedence."

Conversely, it's dangerous to jump straight to phrases like "as a matter of common sense," "justly," or "in principle" when a concrete provision already exists.

Because that can become a flight into general clauses.

Put simply, it's this.

A detailed rule already exists, but because you don't like that rule, you suddenly drag in a grand principle.

Of course, principles matter.

Words like justice, fairness, and good faith are very important in law.

But such principles aren't cards you play first, carelessly.

Detailed rules are relatively solid.

They have text, they have requirements, they have a scope of application.

Anyone looking at them is likely to reach a similar conclusion.

Principles, by contrast, are soft.

A lot of the interpreter's judgment goes into them.

Different people may think differently about what is just and fair.

So the law usually looks at the solid things first.

It solves with concrete rules first, then fills the remaining gaps with principles.

The whole legal system is, in effect, saying this:

Fight first on solid ground; bring out the soft stuff last.

Let's lay out again the distinctions that have come up so far.

Value and structure.

Means and ends.

Sequence, correlation, and causation.

Mandatory and default.

Detailed rules and principles.

On the surface, they look like different stories.

Part politics, part logic, part law.

But in fact they all sit on a single axis.

Separating soft value judgments from solid structural judgments.

And weighing things on the solid ground first, as much as possible.

I'd like to call this a kind of discernment engine.

Knowledge can be looked up.

And knowledge goes stale quickly.

But this act of discernment doesn't go stale easily.

Because whatever issue you meet, you can first ask this:

Is this a matter of value, or a matter of structure?

Is this a matter of ends, or a matter of means?

Is this sequence, correlation, or causation?

Is this something the parties can change between themselves, or something fixed by law?

Is this something to solve with a detailed rule, or something to supplement with a principle?

If we taught just this properly in high school, I believe a good share of our society's pointless fights would shrink.

This is all the more true when you think about abusive complaints at public agencies.

Take abusive complaints apart and you see a similar pattern.

Some people shove the feeling of "I've been wronged" at the counter as if it were the problem of "the rules weren't followed."

But feeling wronged and breaking the law are different.

You may feel wronged.

But that doesn't immediately mean a rule was broken.

Some people insist, "Common sense says you ought to do it for me, don't you think?", even when the detailed rule clearly states it can't be done.

This amounts to the complainant fleeing into general clauses.

A concrete rule exists, but they skip the rule and push only abstract common sense.

Some people demand that the staffer "show some flexibility" about something that, being a mandatory rule, the staffer can't change.

But there are things a staffer can't change at their own discretion.

That isn't a matter of kindness.

It's a matter of authority.

Some people hold the counter clerk responsible for the entire system.

But the counter clerk isn't the one who built the system.

That clerk is merely in the position of enforcing the set rules.

If the system itself is the problem, that's the domain of legislation or policy.

It's not a problem that gets solved by getting angry at the counter.

Most pointless fights arise from failing to tell "which box this issue belongs in."

Is this a matter of emotion, or a matter of rules?

Is this something the staffer can change, or something that requires changing the system?

Is this something where an exception can be granted, or something blocked by a mandatory rule?

Just making this distinction lets many fights cool off before they even start.

"Ah, this isn't something to take up with the counter clerk."

"Ah, this is a problem that requires changing the law."

"Ah, regardless of how wronged I feel, this simply can't be done under the rules."

Knowing even this much would give the front lines a lot more breathing room.

Of course, teaching discernment won't solve every problem.

There are people who dig in even though they know better.

People who've learned that throwing a tantrum works.

This isn't a problem of cognition.

It's a problem of incentives.

People who argue wrongly out of ignorance can improve with education.

But people who dig in despite knowing better have to be adjusted through structure.

We need a structure where the person who follows the rules doesn't lose out.

We have to make sure that harassing the staffer doesn't become a shortcut to getting the problem solved.

Some people really are confused out of genuine ignorance.

For them, logic and discernment help.

But some deliberately muddy the distinctions, because muddying them benefits them.

In those cases, teaching logic doesn't change much.

Still, clearing away even just the half that comes from cognitive problems would cut society's noise dramatically.

And in fact, a good share of the pointless fights we burn through every day come from exactly that half.

Disputes should be fought on the solid side

I don't know whether there's right and wrong in the world.

Or even if there is, I don't know whether people can easily agree on it.

But there is sequence.

There is correlation too.

And causation can be weighed as well.

So disputes should be fought on the solid side.

Fight straight from soft values and there's no end to it.

Because each person brings their own sense of justice.

But fight on solid structure and you get closer to a conclusion.

What came first?

What came later?

Did the two really move together?

Are they really cause and effect?

Is there no other explanation?

Which provision applies first?

Who holds the decision-making power?

Is this issue a matter of means, or a matter of ends?

Is it the stage to bring out principles, or can it still be solved with detailed rules?

These questions, at least, can be weighed together.

Clearing away fake fights.

That's what discernment is good for.

And perhaps this is the most important thing education should do.

Not making people memorize a lot of correct answers,

but making them tell apart the places worth fighting in from the places not worth fighting in.

There may be no right and wrong in the world, but there is a before and after.

So let's look at what came first, first.

Let's weigh the solid things first.

Only then does the fight over values become even a little more honest.

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