Test for (Red-Flag) Interlocutors (Round 3)
SCENT OF THE DAY: Musc Millesime, by Ensar Oud
One of my favorite Ensars on the low. It is very close to Musk Khabib, the core similarity lying in their deep and powerful animalic-musk and rich floral concentration. Both feature (1) a prominent diffusive musk base (deer musk and ambergris in Bortnikoff, x-x Mongolian musk and x-x Tibetan Musk and seemingly ambergris too in Ensar) that provides an enveloping and sensual foundation, ensuring a long-lasting skin-like intensity that unites their dry-downs; (2) opulent and creamy florals—ylang-ylang and frangiapani in Bort and various forms of Jasmine in Ensar—not only melt into the animalic base in a similar fashion, lending the overall scent an impression of dense velvety texture, but bring a tropicana suntan lotion character that can call to mind Tauer’s Golestan.
Musk Khabib and Musc Millesime diverge significantly on paper but this translates, at least according my nose and my limited experiences, into differences that are not too major: (1) Bort’s contains oakmoss and vetiver (these are quite subtle though) as well as spices (cardamon and nutmeg) that are not as prpnonced in Ensar; (2) Ensar’s definitely plunges quickly past its citrus side (not as pronounced as in Bort and perhaps only a function of the citrus elements of white florals as opposed to any actual citrus)—plunges into darker territory not only with its nutty-eucalyptus black caraway and apricot but also with its animalic-reinforcing notes (costus, oud, indolic jasmine). What is cool, and this is something distinctive about Musc Millesime, is that the bridge from the pepper-camphor up top (subtle) to the sandalwood musk at the bottom (louder but still graceful) is a much more boisterous bubblegum impression: a function of the honey-musk of apricot synergizing with the jasmine to give—especially considering the subtle menthol of the caraway—a tuberose bubblegum feel. It is more of the pink bubble gum of L’Huere Exquise than the Juicy Fruit of Jubilation XXV.
For those who love the musk Khabib bright tropical musk but were let down by the lack of growl (even in the older versions), finding in it mainly an ylang-frangiapani focused scent boosted by musk, will love this Ensar. It does not go feral or rank but the musk is strong and yet still in the elegant way—the yellow bright happy way—of Musk Khabib. Yes, this is Musk khabib’s competitor and it wins in my book—the sandalwood, which add such dirty-spiced body to releases like Sultan Rose attar, goes a long way to explainign why Musc Millesime is better. There is am animal fur traction and substance that musc millesime has that khabib doesn’t. This little son of a bitch might be able to take on Musk Khabib and L’Huere Exquise all at once, in fact.
Test for (Red-flag) Interlocutors
1. Introductory Remarks
If I have handed you this sheet, likely you set off some alarms that make me wary about engaging in serious conversation about controversial topics. Wait. Breathe. An alarm is just an alarm. Do not read into it too much. Consider it less a personal attack than a note a child might give his classmates to explain how certain allergies prevent him from sharing snacks or how he has a condition called “hemophilia” where even a scraped knee can mean big trouble.
Usually it is aggression, aggression to pull me into deep debate, that trips the alarm. Or it could just be a vibe. The bottom line is that, for whatever reason, you must take a quick reasoning test before I will give up my time and energy. You might not care to learn why I have developed the test. That is perfectly okay—even though, I will say, the good faith gesture of spending the time to learn can itself be effective at lowering my guard. And that is, of course, relevant here—of utmost relevance, in fact. If you do not care to learn the background, please feel free to jump right to section three.
Whatever you decide and whatever happens (yes, even if you fail the test), please understand that this implies no animosity from me. You remain a person no matter what. Your humanity, in my book, deserves at least basic acknowledgment.
2. Background to the Test
I am a philosopher by trade. So when I am off the clock and you expect me to get involved in a “deep” conversation—well, please understand what that amounts to. It is like asking a mechanic, fresh off work in greasy overalls at the corner store just trying to grab a six-pack, to take a look at your car out in the parking lot. It is like challenging an NBA player, perhaps visiting your hometown for a parade, to an impromptu game of one-on-one. It is like cornering a medical doctor, just leaving the restroom on his way back to the wine gathering, to see what he makes of your intricate array of symptoms—and yes, “one more thing: this mole on my neck.”
In nearly all instances, I am willing—indeed, called—to dive into the depths of exploration with my fellow man. My enthusiasm to do so, however, hinges on being approached with the respect I deserve. My expertise, not merely my humanity, demands—in the very least—that you not make, or at least not flaunt, the indecorous assumption that, speaking again by analogy, the mechanic’s word on cars weighs less than yours. Equal, fine; more, wise—but not less. People, yes, can be dicks. And my past interactions with such types—talking down to me from the jump, even knowing I am a PhD professor—factors largely into the tone of what you are now reading.
Please recognize that I “work on cars” and “shoot hoops” and “diagnose medical conditions” all day, every day. A respite from my professional activities, especially from coaching students in the basics of correct reasoning, is important for my wellbeing. I cherish downtime to recharge—a recuperation period. I expect it, especially in the company of friends and family who ought to know better (but too often do not).
It should be remembered as well that we find ourselves submerged in a baby-rhythm pop-pop-pop culture of increasing disdain not just for intellectuals, but for intelligence altogether. The troubling trend shows, perhaps most distressingly, in our explicit attack of enlightenment values and in our pathetic commitment to early-childhood education. From a soil as toxic as it is nutrient-depleted we sprout into adults unable to fathom how ignorant we are—not only in mental firepower, but also in wisdom—compared to so many humans—yes, even in their tween forms—elsewhere on the planet. We are extremely dumb concerning rudimentary reasoning and yet we think we can make imperious pronouncements on any subject (no matter how complex), fancying ourselves overnight Einsteins. Everyone has their blogs, their podcasts, their echo chambers, their self-published books in a world where, with the help of conspiracy-tinged skepticism about the role of expert evaluation and feedback, unvetted opinions are too often accorded the same credence as thoroughly researched knowledge.
Set aside the sorts of encounters that have pissed me off enough to write this: encounters in which I am met with confrontational condescension by those—almost always family, I am sad to say—threatened by the reek of depth that follows me, and so ever-ready to project upon me a desire to show everyone up on the intelligence front (even though I am doing nothing more than talking about the weather and the latest celebrity gossip before we all sing “Happy Birthday” to the little girl whose day this should be about). Set aside as well even the nature of the topics on offer, topics that often trigger emotional responses (such as, say, whether bestiality is morally permissible or, more narrowly, whether we ought to regard it as such given the various other behaviors we regard as perfectly kosher—behaviors often inducing intense, grotesque, drawn-out, and seemingly pointless suffering on innocent creatures). Setting even these biggies aside, some level of frustration is likely. I see reasoning mistakes—of the most basic sort, understand—in the course of the conversation. I see shifts in definition. I see red herrings. I see genetic fallacies. I see circular reasoning that will make any healthy human’s skin crawl if only because asserted with Mussolini righteousness: “Of course the bible is the word of God: the bible says just that!”
Some level of frustration is likely, so I should specify, at least in my circles. That specification might just be the rub, the ultimate problem here. I get it. Some close to me, whose opinions I trust, have said as much. But it is not so simple to change our circles, the inner ones especially. Am I to avoid birthday parties and holiday get-togethers?
I implore you to empathize with me. While recognizing how much our empathy muscles have atrophied (in large part because we spend our time attacking others on social media instead of reading literature that slams us into the shoes of characters from diverse walks of life), I still call out to the dormant ember within you: please try to see things from my perspective. Imagine how awkward it can be, cringey, to point out my interlocutor’s rudimentary mistakes in reasoning. Consider how bad it makes me look to interrupt the typical flow with words—third-party-like words of upsetting diagnoses and party-pooping warnings—that fall outside the very topic at hand: a killjoy gesture, easy to perceive as nitpicking pedantry meant to buy time for myself or even to wear the other person out. Especially when it comes to dealing with those who enter the conversation in bad faith (gunning to wound and refute—too often out of jealousy righteously denied in grand self-ignorance—instead of hoping to learn and grow), try to appreciate how exasperating it is to be the target of mean-spirited cudgeling that fails in truth (because replete with howlers) but that nevertheless succeeds in practice (because only I can see the howlers).
I have accumulated a reputation as a “debunker”—if only because I am committed to sticking closely to reality and to following the path of reason, even if that leads to questioning our most cherished snuggle blankets: Santa’s existence, the possibility of moral responsibility, or so on. Perhaps due to the electromagnetic threat of this reputation, those who have proven most aggressive when it comes to drawing me into “deep” conversation tend to be proponents of pseudoscientific shams and paranormal bamboozles. I have to be especially on guard with them—yes, even though the only ones that come to mind are family members. The reason in large part has to do with my own limitations. Little time remains in my life for anything but philosophy. As a philosopher, I strive to unravel the mysteries of reality—a difficult endeavor, indeed. The thing is, the difficulty does not have to do with reality playing unfairly. The difference at hand is the difference between a poem that is difficult because, although thorough in rigor and clarity, it requires great cogitation and a poem that is difficult because it is at bottom nothing more than a haphazard scramble of words. Reality—however elusive it might be, however beyond my ability to ensnare—does not switch up the rules mid-game to thwart my inquiries. It does not resort to trickery, in an attempt to throw me off the trail, when I go to test my hypotheses. All the evidence is out there for me to piece together, whether or not I have the perspective and acumen—not to mention the drive and discipline—to do so. Never is there a situation where—all of a sudden (just as I am, say, on the verge of a breakthrough)—reality “cheats” by deleting evidence, or by changing the laws of logic and nature, or by threatening violence.
A vulnerable tourist in the deception racket (and here one might not be wrong to picture a pocket-protector scientist lacking people skills and street smarts), I find myself often frustrated—bewildered, tongue-tied in astonishment—by those claiming they are reincarnations of Buddha or have telekinetic powers or enjoy nightly visits by archangels or insist there is a supernatural hand involved in their rune casting. It is not so much the dubiousness of the claims. A serious truth-seeker, after all, must temper his skepticism with openness (and so an appreciation for diversity and debate). Rather it is the unscrupulous and mistake-riddled “defenses” offered—blemishes that stand out to grotesque extremes if, indeed, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence (a principle that might be overridden, I will admit, when the pragmatic stakes are high). What exacerbates the frustration—and yes, my ego does play a part here—is the ineffectiveness of my interventions. My attempts to point out the flagrant leaps of logic, and the puerile fortresses of rhetoric, fall on deaf ears. I stand in incredulous shock only amplified by the subconscious awareness that my own wellbeing depends on these dolts of mind—and quite literally so, since they (if only in different form) are the ones who might one day be measuring my anesthesia dosage and even performing surgery on me. But they see none of this. To them I look like a sore sport.
Presenting an overwhelming rainbow (in stark contrast to black and white much easier on the eye), my extra-topical interventions appear to complicate matters. What is worse, those not in the know find it easy—so I sense—to see them as no more than vain attempts to escape the false snag the charlatan has put me in. The chimp in us, that instinctive shadow unable to hold back kicks of its own at the mob-stomped body, will find it natural to take these interventions—given that they upset the flow with such hard-to-follow headiness—as “loser” gestures. The pre-enlightenment cretin in us will find it natural, in other words, to take these interventions—given that they upset the flow with headiness that the unheady onlookers are right to sense damns them as well—as signs of weakness. How could they resist, especially set against the air that so often attends those both ignorant and consumed by an I’m-the-wisest-of-them-all axe to grind: that air of confidence embodied by those traveling preachers around whom circles form on college campuses?
Picture me disrupting what is otherwise a smooth flow of plausibility to say “Wait, you’ve just committed the ‘No True Scotsman fallacy’” or to say “Wait, you’ve just affirmed the consequent here.” Eyes would glaze over as I explained what is wrong, exactly, with affirming the consequent. Like some untrustworthy hair-splitter, I become a spoilsport—as expected, given the old stereotype that philosophers spoil conversational drama in their demand for strict definitions and clarity (a demand that, when met, too often winds up showing that those at each other throats actually agree, thereby killing the pain-numbing and purpose-giving fun of being at each other’s throats). Who wants to be lectured to? No one does, especially if the lecture muddies the pristine waters the interlocutor is selling. Onlookers, so I often sense (and so the deceiver often exploits), become skeptical of me. What I offer is harder to chew and digest than his pablum. In a world where salesmen rule—indeed, where being good looking is requisite for being a musical genius (to give just one example of the decadence, the horror only adding insult to injury considering that we will soon die)—I look bad. In a world of curtailed attention spans (where simplicity and confidence often overshadow complexity and critical thinking), I look like I am losing.
Were I a rhetorician, I could fight fire with fire. I could parry the shifty wordplay with specious nonsequiturs of my own, catering to onlooker appetites for sugary junk easy to chew. It would be, in effect, as if I were a magician myself: having the inside scoop behind so-called “mystical feats,” I would be able to thwart the showcase of the spoon-bending (perhaps by demanding the “miracle worker” bend this one); I would be able to explain how psychological manipulation, and sleight of hand, and dimming of lights, and so on can replicate the same amazing results of “numinous power” we see in seances and in the revivals of faith healers. I am too much of a nerd, however. My private-world attention nuzzles narrowly into unraveling the grand mysteries. The sacrifice of my cloistered calling comes at the price of underdeveloped skills at handling conmen, masters of the public world. There is good reason why cheats are often best at spotting cheats.
To protect myself while I am off the clock (mainly from those I sense approach with agendas beyond wanting to walk hand in hand on the path to truth), I have established certain prerequisites for engaging in substantive discussions with me. At risk of some awkwardness upfront, I require proof that you have at least the foundational skills in reasoning. The following “test” serves as a gateway to our intellectual exchange.
(Yes, bad actors could still make their way through. I acknowledge that. As previously noted, however, the biggest headaches have proven to be not those who knowingly employ specious reasoning to attain what they view as victory over me, but rather those who—harboring the same hostile intentions—unknowingly employ specious reasoning, never in their wildest dreams imagining their thinking is diseased.)
3. The Test
Below are ten cases. The numbered statements are called “premises.” The unnumbered statements, preceded by the word “therefore,” are called “conclusions.” For each case, answer the following question: is the conclusion true if—that is, assuming that—the premises above it are true? (So, for example, you would write “Yes” next to the following case: “1. p. Therefore, p.” You would write “Yes,” of course, because the conclusion must be true if the premise is true.)
Do not let the variables or the weird phrases or the structure daunt you. These involve no tricks. The bar I have set is not high. The questions require no formal training. They test reasoning skills expected of any adult citizen—indeed, even with a wide range of neuroatypicality. Failing to get all right (please check your work so you do not get blocked out merely for some extra-logical reason) means that you do not possess the intellectual foundation to meet me in conversation as a peer.
That said, please appreciate how fair the test is. It is not a measure of what you think. You might have the wildest ideas (like that people can see the future in Lipton tea leaves scattered on the table). You might think the weakest evidence (a mere purple streak across the wall) justifies, beyond reasonable doubt, the most farfetched propositions (like that your upstairs neighbor keeps a full grown grizzly in her apartment). None of this would rule out our conversation.
I am concerned merely with how you think. And even that is saying too much. You might pass the test, after all, even if you confuse correlation with causation: thinking, for example, that buying ice cream is a cause of drowning since drowning incidents go up when ice-cream sales go up. You might pass the test even if you have a bad habit of making false dichotomies: “either you love the USA or you hate it”; “if you’re not antiracist, you’re racist.” You might pass the test, yes, even if you—in off-putting righteousness—make wrong-in-so-many-ways leaps like the following.
The government definitely believes in UFO visitation. Why else would they fund SETI (the search for extraterrestrial intelligence)? I rest my case right on that! But there’s more. Why else would the Air Force ask respected scientists to serve on committees set up to evaluate past government investigations of UFOs? When the government itself needs to be evaluated, you know something’s going down!
You might pass the test even if you insist, as do a growing number of victim-advocate therapists, that morality alone compels us to trust the reports of alien abduction since it would amount to a “second rape” to question the testimony of reported abductees (even if merely by explaining to them how typical hallucinations and cases of childhood sexual abuse are, and how common it is for zany memories to involuntarily form as means to cover over trauma, and how severely an alien-obsessed pop culture contaminates our recollections and even our direct perceptions, and so on).
I am concerned merely with seeing that you know the baby basics of how to think. The entryway is wide—very wide. It would be wrong to call my standards stringent, especially in light of my story.
1. John is a donkey only if Sam is a whoremaster.
2. John is a donkey.
Therefore, Sam is a whoremaster.
1. Either A or Q.
2. If A, then Z.
3. If Q, then X.
Therefore, either Z or X.
1. If A, then Sam is a hellhound.
2. A.
Therefore, Sam is a hellhound.
1. If Napoleon was a general, then Napoleon led men into battle.
2. Napoleon led men into battle.
Therefore, Napoleon was a general.
1. All dogs are ants.
2. All ants are mammals.
Therefore, all dogs are mammals.
1. John is a whoremaster.
Therefore, John is a whoremaster.
1. If p, then q.
Therefore, if not q, then not p.
1. Either A or B.
2. It is not the case that A is true.
Therefore, B is true.
1. Not p and not q.
2. If x, then p.
3. If o, then q.
Therefore, not x and not o.
1. Not x and not o.
2. If x, then p.
3. If o, then q.
Therefore, not p and not q.
1. If Hitler is a selfless philanthropist, then Hitler is a good person.
2. Hitler is not a selfless philanthropist.
Therefore, Hitler is not a good person.
Bonus question.—This question tests your ability to remain objective under the pressure of an uncomfortable ethical topic. Some of you might be unsettled by its explicit subject matter. But seriously, how are we going to explore the possibility that life is absurd, or that we do not know that we have hands, or that humans lack free will and moral responsibility, or so on if we cannot even handle the seemingly much less upsetting issue below? That said, getting the question right is not required for accessing my off-the-clock time and energy. Should you, however, get it right (in addition to the logical ones), I will be prepared to enter the highest level of intimacy I can with you.
It is often said, as an objection to certain defenders of the moral permissibility of bestiality, that if bodily consent—erection, not moving away, encouraging contact, and so on—makes it morally permissible to perform fellatio on a dog, that fact would entail the moral permissibility of what seems never morally permissible: namely, performing fellatio on a three year old who is also providing bodily consent. There are relevant differences between the child and the dog, however—differences such that even if bodily consent suffices to make the fellatio on the dog morally permissible it would not suffice to make the fellatio on the child morally permissible. What are some of these differences?
