One of the major issues in the management of any democratic organization is transparency. Though the word itself takes on primarily positive connotations and is oftentimes presumed as absolutely necessary in any democratic organization. However, experience in political offices and organizational leadership positions tells us that the degree of transparency employed by the leadership or executive body is a difficult political as well as ethical question.
In a democratic organization or state, transparency is prima facie necessary. If political or organizational power is to be derived from the constituent members, then its members must be informed. However, there are two glaring problems.
THE NOBLE LIE
The first is the essentially the Platonic kallipolis-style noble (or "virtuous") lie. The masses do not always know what is best for themselves, and it is sometimes necessary to control their access to certain information in order to produce the most desirable consequences. In the Republic, the noble lie is the story where people are born constituted by three different metals, a "lie" used to maintain social harmony by giving legitimacy to the proposed social stratification. Though used in the kallipolis to relate a false myth, the noble lie can be thought to operate through omission as well. Thus, transparency is often undermined by the control of information access for good social consequences.
This is undoubtedly the more dubious of the opposing forces to transparency. From a Kantian perspective, withholding information in such a way is to treat the masses not as ends in themselves, but as means to a socially desirable ends. However, it is important to note that it is a non-ideal policy, operating under the (non-ideal) premise that people are not able to know what is best for themselves. Perhaps a more robust educational system founded on a rigorous study of the liberal arts from the very beginning would be enough to push society towards a more ideal state, but for now, the non-ideal situation must be assumed, and legitimacy given to the noble lie.
INFORMATION MANAGEMENT
The other caveat working against transparency is the management of large volumes of information. Given our new technological age, the access to information is becoming less and less of an issue. With the advent of the internet and constant streams of information coming from every individual (and organizations such as Wikileaks), the problem is less how we access information and more how we sift through all of it to discover what we want to know. We have more than enough information now; in fact, we have too much, and most of the things we publish and share are lost in the annals of cyberspace. An extra email from an executive body (be it the leadership of an organization or political power) becomes hidden amidst thousands of other messages. Even if a responsible, executive power is 100% transparent in their communications, it is not necessarily true that the correct information will reach the correct hands.
So we are left with a difficult problem about transparency. On the one hand, it is the ideal under which democracy is even possible. On the other hand, there are many instances where full disclosure is perhaps not the most wise, and--even if it were--the dissemination of the information is not always a simple task.
PUSH vs. PULL
One possible solution to the issue of transparency is to distinguish between various ways of distributing information. In this way, it will be possible to reject the binary of disseminating and withholding information by being aware of several intermediaries.
One fundamental distinction to make is the difference between push and pull information, terms traditionally used by software engineers to describe data flow. In communications technology, the data-push model consists of an individual pushing the data stream continuously to the clients whereas the data-pull model consists of an individual pushing the data stream to a server where it is held until the client decides to pull the data off the server.
This distinction can be applied to an organizational executive body's control of information access. There are many ways that an organization can choose to convey various information, a variety made much wider by social networking technology, and each of these ways represents a different information conveyance model. A letter, an email, or an announcement at a mandatory meeting would all be a examples of push information. A tweet or a posting to a bulletin board would be examples of push information.
BEYOND THE PUSH/PULL BINARY
It is important to realize that the push/pull information distinction is not a perfect binary. Given the present culture, a client is relatively free to ignore an email. Thus, email is not perfectly an example of push information, and contains elements of pull information as well -- the client would need to actively decide to open the email for the information conveyed to have proper uptake. The specific situation is also important to where the mode of communication falls on the spectrum between push and pull. For example, a direct email from Barack Obama is likely to be opened automatically, whereas an email from the Vice President of the Society for Socially Responsible Electrical Engineers of Manhattan would most likely merit some consideration before opening and reading.
Thus, the urgency of a particular piece of information is given by the relationship between the sender and the recipient, other particularities of the situation, and the mode of communication chosen. We take urgency to be a technical term, which can be defined as the objective degree to which a piece of information can be construed as push information (as opposed to pull). The the term is taken to be an objective quantity, its measurement is extremely difficult and impossible to fully precisify.
MOVING FORWARD
To conclude, the reason why the issue of transparency is so difficult to resolve is because the question is formulated based on an oversimplified binary. The question should not be about whether transparency is good or just. Rather, it should be about the level of urgency given a piece of particular information and whether that is good or just. Discussions about transparency should investigate the relationship between sender and recipient, and then decide on the appropriate means of communication by appeal to the proper level of urgency that should be attributed
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Consistency of World Views
Consumption of caffeine is almost ubiquitous in American society (particularly in New York, the city that never sleeps). It is a behavior and cultural phenomenon that is hardly ever put into serious question. But what can we say about its performance-enhancing aspects? Is a lawyer's or student's cup-a-day coffee habit different than a baseball player's creatine regimen? This morning, I had an interesting conversation with a friend regarding caffeine consumption and his choice to not consume caffeine. Although I was far from being convinced from abandoning my occasional use of caffeine (frequent use during finals week), the argumentative structure he used was interestingly foreign to me, and our conversation seemed to almost represent the east-west paradigmatic difference in philosophy.
This friend of mine claimed that use of caffeine was bad, and explained his choice to avoid caffeine with the following two supporting arguments:
Argument 1
P1 = Caffeine is a performance-enhancing substance.
P2 = It is morally wrong to consume any performance-enhancing substance.
C = Caffeine consumption is morally wrong.
Argument 2
P1 = Caffeine consumption causes positive effects such as increased alertness, etc.
P2 = Caffeine consumption causes various side effects such as the jitters, fast heartbeat, etc.
P3 = The negative side effects of caffeine consumption outweigh the positive effects.
C = Caffeine consumption is impractical.
We have, then, a two-sided argument for why the consumption of caffeine is bad. We can summarize the overall argument, then, as follows:
Overall Argument
P1 = Caffeine consumption is morally wrong.
P2 = Caffeine consumption is impractical.
C = Since caffeine consumption is both morally wrong and impractical, it is bad and we ought not to do it.
Disregarding the soundness of the argument for argument's sake, it seems quite apparent that the argument is valid. If something is both morally wrong and impractical, must it not then be bad in all senses of the term? What seems to be problematic with this position is that the two premises assume two fundamentally competing world views, i.e. deontological ethics and consequentialism. Thus, while the argument is valid for the issue at hand, it assumes two inconsistent world views. If one is to judge the goodness of an action based on its adherence to moralized rules such as "It is wrong to consume any performance-enhancing substance," how can one also judge the goodness of an action based on its consequences such as health benefits?
In this case, both the deontological and consequentialist view produce the same result that caffeine consumption is bad, but it is not difficult to come up with a case where the produce starkly contrasting results. [See end for such an example.] Thus, if one is to maintain a consistent and systematic approach to ethics, the two views can not be maintained simultaneously across all issues. This division of deontology and consequentialism is a characteristically western canonical distinction, and my friend raised a very good question in response to my counter-argument:
Why can't I hold these two views simultaneously? Do my two arguments not compliment each other in helping me to formulate my decision on this particular issue of caffeine consumption?
The answer is perhaps not so clear. And perhaps it is worth thinking about whether, as logical and rational beings, we ought to enforce this idea of consistency in world view. Although it serves to simplify matters and the appeal to consistency is certainly compelling, perhaps it is also important to consider the possibility of being more flexible on systematic views in order to allow a more complete and holistic approach to individual issues...
--
The following is a case where the deontological and consequentialist view produce contrasting results. Suppose I donate $50 to a non-profit masquerading as a world hunger advocacy group that is actually an under-cover terrorist organization. The deontologist would condone my actions on the basis that I acted upon my duty to aid the world's poor. The consequentialist, however, would find my actions to be deeply problematic in that I just contributed to $50 worth of supplies for a suicide bomber.
This friend of mine claimed that use of caffeine was bad, and explained his choice to avoid caffeine with the following two supporting arguments:
Argument 1
P1 = Caffeine is a performance-enhancing substance.
P2 = It is morally wrong to consume any performance-enhancing substance.
C = Caffeine consumption is morally wrong.
Argument 2
P1 = Caffeine consumption causes positive effects such as increased alertness, etc.
P2 = Caffeine consumption causes various side effects such as the jitters, fast heartbeat, etc.
P3 = The negative side effects of caffeine consumption outweigh the positive effects.
C = Caffeine consumption is impractical.
We have, then, a two-sided argument for why the consumption of caffeine is bad. We can summarize the overall argument, then, as follows:
Overall Argument
P1 = Caffeine consumption is morally wrong.
P2 = Caffeine consumption is impractical.
C = Since caffeine consumption is both morally wrong and impractical, it is bad and we ought not to do it.
Disregarding the soundness of the argument for argument's sake, it seems quite apparent that the argument is valid. If something is both morally wrong and impractical, must it not then be bad in all senses of the term? What seems to be problematic with this position is that the two premises assume two fundamentally competing world views, i.e. deontological ethics and consequentialism. Thus, while the argument is valid for the issue at hand, it assumes two inconsistent world views. If one is to judge the goodness of an action based on its adherence to moralized rules such as "It is wrong to consume any performance-enhancing substance," how can one also judge the goodness of an action based on its consequences such as health benefits?
In this case, both the deontological and consequentialist view produce the same result that caffeine consumption is bad, but it is not difficult to come up with a case where the produce starkly contrasting results. [See end for such an example.] Thus, if one is to maintain a consistent and systematic approach to ethics, the two views can not be maintained simultaneously across all issues. This division of deontology and consequentialism is a characteristically western canonical distinction, and my friend raised a very good question in response to my counter-argument:
Why can't I hold these two views simultaneously? Do my two arguments not compliment each other in helping me to formulate my decision on this particular issue of caffeine consumption?
The answer is perhaps not so clear. And perhaps it is worth thinking about whether, as logical and rational beings, we ought to enforce this idea of consistency in world view. Although it serves to simplify matters and the appeal to consistency is certainly compelling, perhaps it is also important to consider the possibility of being more flexible on systematic views in order to allow a more complete and holistic approach to individual issues...
--
The following is a case where the deontological and consequentialist view produce contrasting results. Suppose I donate $50 to a non-profit masquerading as a world hunger advocacy group that is actually an under-cover terrorist organization. The deontologist would condone my actions on the basis that I acted upon my duty to aid the world's poor. The consequentialist, however, would find my actions to be deeply problematic in that I just contributed to $50 worth of supplies for a suicide bomber.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Pornography and Capitalism
Airing first in 2002, "American Porn" is a Frontline documentary on the American porn industry. It sheds light into some of the practices of the porn industry (especially with the current technology and internet explosion) and traces some of the history of porn legislation. In particular, the film discusses the "Miller Test," which is the current standard for determining whether or not speech can be labeled as "obscene." Based on "community standards," this rule seems to be fundamentally flawed given our capitalistic society.
First of all, I must say that I am a firm supporter of pornography in general. I think arguments against pornography as a whole are weak at best, and the current proliferation of porn represents a healthy move beyond past sexual repression. However, there are certainly examples of porn that seem intuitively unnacceptable -- child pornography, depictions of rape and (sexually charged) homicide -- that complicate the matter. Part of the beauty of capitalism and globalization is the ability for individuals to satisfy their very particular desires. Sexual fetishism should certainly not be discouraged. But where do we draw the line? "American Porn" discussed (and partially depicted) an example of a pornographic video where a woman is kidnapped, violently raped, and murdered afterwards. Though I do not immediately feel the need to place a ban on such depictions, I must admit that something does not feel quite right and am hesitant to immediately condone such forms of pornography.
The current Miller Test, defined in the 1973 case Miller vs. California, is as follows. A form of expression can be labeled obscene (and therefore not be subject to protection from the 1st Amendment) based on:
The use of "community standards," nebulous to begin with, seems to be fundamentally incompatible with our capitalistic system if we are to maintain a morally acceptable position. Assuming that there exists some extreme varieties of porn (perhaps the previously cited example, perhaps worse) that are prima facie morally unacceptable, it is not difficult to see the way the Miller test allows capitalism to continually push us towards the boundary between acceptable and unacceptable.
The fact that the pornography industry is profit-driven, that it is in part run by average Joes whose business choice was dictated by the market means that the business is purely driven by consumer demand. As consumers demand more, these businesses produce more. Given their organizational and administrative prowess, these firms help to institutionally condone a specific genre of pornography. Now accepted by the community due to this influence, the sensationalism fades and a new wave of demand for the most experienced consumers proceeds to push the boundaries further. There is no patent mechanism for some sort of moral intervention into this process. Thus, it can be said that the Miller test for the legality of pornography is questionable in the face of our profit-driven capitalist system. (Or, we could say that it is capitalism that's the issue, but issue is much more complex and for some other time...)
--
[A link to the online stream of "American Porn" can be found here.]
First of all, I must say that I am a firm supporter of pornography in general. I think arguments against pornography as a whole are weak at best, and the current proliferation of porn represents a healthy move beyond past sexual repression. However, there are certainly examples of porn that seem intuitively unnacceptable -- child pornography, depictions of rape and (sexually charged) homicide -- that complicate the matter. Part of the beauty of capitalism and globalization is the ability for individuals to satisfy their very particular desires. Sexual fetishism should certainly not be discouraged. But where do we draw the line? "American Porn" discussed (and partially depicted) an example of a pornographic video where a woman is kidnapped, violently raped, and murdered afterwards. Though I do not immediately feel the need to place a ban on such depictions, I must admit that something does not feel quite right and am hesitant to immediately condone such forms of pornography.
The current Miller Test, defined in the 1973 case Miller vs. California, is as follows. A form of expression can be labeled obscene (and therefore not be subject to protection from the 1st Amendment) based on:
- Whether "the average person, applying contemporary community standards," would find that the work, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest,
- Whether the work depicts/describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct specifically defined by applicable state law,
- Whether the work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political or scientific value.
The use of "community standards," nebulous to begin with, seems to be fundamentally incompatible with our capitalistic system if we are to maintain a morally acceptable position. Assuming that there exists some extreme varieties of porn (perhaps the previously cited example, perhaps worse) that are prima facie morally unacceptable, it is not difficult to see the way the Miller test allows capitalism to continually push us towards the boundary between acceptable and unacceptable.
The fact that the pornography industry is profit-driven, that it is in part run by average Joes whose business choice was dictated by the market means that the business is purely driven by consumer demand. As consumers demand more, these businesses produce more. Given their organizational and administrative prowess, these firms help to institutionally condone a specific genre of pornography. Now accepted by the community due to this influence, the sensationalism fades and a new wave of demand for the most experienced consumers proceeds to push the boundaries further. There is no patent mechanism for some sort of moral intervention into this process. Thus, it can be said that the Miller test for the legality of pornography is questionable in the face of our profit-driven capitalist system. (Or, we could say that it is capitalism that's the issue, but issue is much more complex and for some other time...)
--
[A link to the online stream of "American Porn" can be found here.]
Thursday, May 6, 2010
On Alcohol and Human Nature
Last night, I attended Sigma Nu's formal, a night traditionally filled with copious amounts of dancing and debauchery. Though I can't say that I was present last year to have a yardstick with which to measure, the night seemed to be more tame than usual; the people, more lucid. Perhaps this was due to the proximity of the night to final exams, but could it have been something else? This morning, my brother Derek suggested that perhaps the alcohol being served to us was not really alcohol. While I still remain skeptical that this was the case, the idea is interesting. It certainly would not be the first time that the placebo effect has been examined via psychological experiments. Although I cannot be bothered to dig up the articles detailing this experiment, it is certainly known that people "act drunkenly" when they genuinely believe that their drink is alcoholic (even though it is not). In fact, as Derek elaborated, this phenomenon happens at bars all the time, when bartenders serve overly-intoxicated individuals virgin drinks in order to appease their desire for alcohol without facilitating alcohol poisoning.
At first glance, this phenomenon does not seem to be very novel or exciting. Anecdotal evidence would've suggested what the psychological experiments proved. However, if we examine this phenomenon as a feature of human nature, the resulting thoughts are rather disturbing.
Let's begin with alcohol and the reason why we drink it in the first place. Discounting more marginal cases of unhealthy drinking, most people seem to imbibe with the idea of "social lubrication" in mind, seeing alcohol as a magic tonic that can loosen up those uptight New Yorker tendencies (which are not limited to New Yorkers). In many ways, this is true, and the observed effects of alcohol (again, in isolated psychological experiments) confirm our belief that being moderately intoxicated does often loosen us up to a certain degree.
What is troubling is that people are able to successfully achieve this effect without the actual alcohol, which is what the phenomenon of fake drunkenness shows us. If we all walk into a party expecting a certain behavior and environment of socially lubricated drunkenness, and if we truly believe that there is some external force responsible for this, we will act accordingly. If we realize this, and that we can achieve all of the (positive, at least) effects of intoxication without the actual alcohol, then why do we feel the need to consume alcohol? Are we not collectively intelligent enough to decide to do away with alcohol so we can avoid all of the negative side effects? Why is it so necessary for us to have alcohol as a scapegoat for our actions? It is as if drunkenness is a free pass to act outside of social norms.
My answer as to why we cannot do this is because alcohol has become so "fetishized," in the Marxist sense. Alcohol is imbued with so much cultural meaning and significance that we cannot abolish it without doing away with our cultural identity. For many teens, alcohol represents a rite of passage. For adults, alcohol is symbol of social life. Unfortunately, it seems like our more spiritual concerns of looking cool and fitting in will override the minor problems of vomit and liver cancer for now...
[NOTE: I am not trying to take a moral stance against alcohol. I am simply trying to point out the illogical and irrational nature of our alcohol consumption.]
At first glance, this phenomenon does not seem to be very novel or exciting. Anecdotal evidence would've suggested what the psychological experiments proved. However, if we examine this phenomenon as a feature of human nature, the resulting thoughts are rather disturbing.
Let's begin with alcohol and the reason why we drink it in the first place. Discounting more marginal cases of unhealthy drinking, most people seem to imbibe with the idea of "social lubrication" in mind, seeing alcohol as a magic tonic that can loosen up those uptight New Yorker tendencies (which are not limited to New Yorkers). In many ways, this is true, and the observed effects of alcohol (again, in isolated psychological experiments) confirm our belief that being moderately intoxicated does often loosen us up to a certain degree.
What is troubling is that people are able to successfully achieve this effect without the actual alcohol, which is what the phenomenon of fake drunkenness shows us. If we all walk into a party expecting a certain behavior and environment of socially lubricated drunkenness, and if we truly believe that there is some external force responsible for this, we will act accordingly. If we realize this, and that we can achieve all of the (positive, at least) effects of intoxication without the actual alcohol, then why do we feel the need to consume alcohol? Are we not collectively intelligent enough to decide to do away with alcohol so we can avoid all of the negative side effects? Why is it so necessary for us to have alcohol as a scapegoat for our actions? It is as if drunkenness is a free pass to act outside of social norms.
My answer as to why we cannot do this is because alcohol has become so "fetishized," in the Marxist sense. Alcohol is imbued with so much cultural meaning and significance that we cannot abolish it without doing away with our cultural identity. For many teens, alcohol represents a rite of passage. For adults, alcohol is symbol of social life. Unfortunately, it seems like our more spiritual concerns of looking cool and fitting in will override the minor problems of vomit and liver cancer for now...
[NOTE: I am not trying to take a moral stance against alcohol. I am simply trying to point out the illogical and irrational nature of our alcohol consumption.]
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Instrumental Friendships and Lonely Intellectuals
As I sit studying for my Contemporary Civilizations (survey course of Western philosophy, political science, history of thought, etc) final, there is one philosophical questions that seems to go glaringly unaddressed. Although Plato makes an observation about different types of friendship in the final chapters of The Republic, there doesn't seem to be much else beyond that. Here's a brief thought before I go back to studying.
It seems to me that if we carefully examine what we mean by "true friendship," the most essential feature is that the friendship is an ends and not a means. That is, a true friend can not be instrumental. Reasons for liking the friend should be much more subtle than any pure definable reason. (See my post on "Love and Rationality.") A corollary of this definition, then, is that any instrumental friends are not true friends.
Before moving on, let us refine this previous statement slightly. An friend for whom we realize instrumental reasons for liking is not necessarily excluded from the possible realm of true friendship. If we realize that we enjoy the company of a friend because they help us with our physics homework, that doesn't discredit any true underlying friendship. Rather, that part of the relationship that is grounded in utility lies mostly external to the true friendship. I say "mostly" because the motivation for helping us with physics homework could originate from true friendship on the side of the friend, in which case the veracity of the friendship is not violated. Additionally, citing reasons like "My friend is funny" or "My friend is cool" don't count as instrumental reasons, primarily because what makes someone "funny" or "cool" is hardly a rational and explicable feature. One may have theories, but a total and complete explanation is difficult. Thus, we have slightly narrowed the sense of instrumental friends in order to allow for more friendships to be "true friendships."
Perhaps the most difficult aspect of this definition to accept, is that part of it hinges on the fact that we are consciously aware of the instrumentality of the friend, a knowledge that subsequently depends on our intelligence, or at the very least, an awareness that is related to our critical and reflective skills. Who but the smarter are able to rationalize and understand--or at least arrive at some ostensible understanding--of a friendship? Who but the reflective and critical would even attempt to rationalize an irrational concept like friendship? Thus, it seems that the more thinking and reflection and veering away from Socrates' "unexamined life," the more one realizes the instrumentality of one's friendships. In that sense, it seems to almost necessarily follow that intelligence or commitment to intellectuality brings about a certain degree of loneliness: a satisfaction in "seeing" the true relationships between people, but then rarely being able to engage in a true one him/herself.
This conclusion seems to be hardly inconsistent with empirical data, maybe not scientifically, but certainly anecdotally. From the nerdy kid in high school, to the office geek, to the misunderstood intellectual--when has critical thinking and self-reflection not led to being socially ostracized?
[Update: Grammar corrected, and convoluted sentences revised. May 6, 2010.]
It seems to me that if we carefully examine what we mean by "true friendship," the most essential feature is that the friendship is an ends and not a means. That is, a true friend can not be instrumental. Reasons for liking the friend should be much more subtle than any pure definable reason. (See my post on "Love and Rationality.") A corollary of this definition, then, is that any instrumental friends are not true friends.
Before moving on, let us refine this previous statement slightly. An friend for whom we realize instrumental reasons for liking is not necessarily excluded from the possible realm of true friendship. If we realize that we enjoy the company of a friend because they help us with our physics homework, that doesn't discredit any true underlying friendship. Rather, that part of the relationship that is grounded in utility lies mostly external to the true friendship. I say "mostly" because the motivation for helping us with physics homework could originate from true friendship on the side of the friend, in which case the veracity of the friendship is not violated. Additionally, citing reasons like "My friend is funny" or "My friend is cool" don't count as instrumental reasons, primarily because what makes someone "funny" or "cool" is hardly a rational and explicable feature. One may have theories, but a total and complete explanation is difficult. Thus, we have slightly narrowed the sense of instrumental friends in order to allow for more friendships to be "true friendships."
Perhaps the most difficult aspect of this definition to accept, is that part of it hinges on the fact that we are consciously aware of the instrumentality of the friend, a knowledge that subsequently depends on our intelligence, or at the very least, an awareness that is related to our critical and reflective skills. Who but the smarter are able to rationalize and understand--or at least arrive at some ostensible understanding--of a friendship? Who but the reflective and critical would even attempt to rationalize an irrational concept like friendship? Thus, it seems that the more thinking and reflection and veering away from Socrates' "unexamined life," the more one realizes the instrumentality of one's friendships. In that sense, it seems to almost necessarily follow that intelligence or commitment to intellectuality brings about a certain degree of loneliness: a satisfaction in "seeing" the true relationships between people, but then rarely being able to engage in a true one him/herself.
This conclusion seems to be hardly inconsistent with empirical data, maybe not scientifically, but certainly anecdotally. From the nerdy kid in high school, to the office geek, to the misunderstood intellectual--when has critical thinking and self-reflection not led to being socially ostracized?
[Update: Grammar corrected, and convoluted sentences revised. May 6, 2010.]
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Subjectivity and the French Subjunctive
This is relatively minor point, but I encountered an interesting distinction in class the other day with the French subjunctive. A verb mood (not tense) that is rarely discussed in the English language, it is used to "express a wish, emotion, possibility, judgment, opinion, necessity, or action that has not yet occurred." (Thanks, Wikipedia.) Take the following sentence, for example:
The best director that I know is Martin Scorsese.
Le meilleur réalisateur que je sache est Martin Scorsese.
Here, the verb "sache" is in the subjunctive mood of "savoir," or "to know." This is because I am expressing a judgment about Martin Scorsese as the best director I know. However, the same sentence can also be translated with the indicative mood, and the resulting meaning is quite different:
The best director that I know is Martin Scorsese.
Le meilleur réalisateur que je sais est Martin Scorsese.
In this version, the verb "sais" is in the indicative mood. What does this mean, then? By choosing to not use the subjunctive here, the sentence takes on a much more presumptuous tone. Rather than expressing an opinion or judgment about the best director one knows, it is asserting an objective truth on the topic. This sentence, then, may very well be followed by an argument as to why Martin Scorsese is such a wonderful director.
The larger point here is the amazing subtelty of language, that one can express this kind of intellectual arrogance with simply a different verb in one language, but not in another. If one takes language to be a means of expression of a people--an expression of Hegel's zeitgeist--it becomes a very fascinating study.
The best director that I know is Martin Scorsese.
Le meilleur réalisateur que je sache est Martin Scorsese.
Here, the verb "sache" is in the subjunctive mood of "savoir," or "to know." This is because I am expressing a judgment about Martin Scorsese as the best director I know. However, the same sentence can also be translated with the indicative mood, and the resulting meaning is quite different:
The best director that I know is Martin Scorsese.
Le meilleur réalisateur que je sais est Martin Scorsese.
In this version, the verb "sais" is in the indicative mood. What does this mean, then? By choosing to not use the subjunctive here, the sentence takes on a much more presumptuous tone. Rather than expressing an opinion or judgment about the best director one knows, it is asserting an objective truth on the topic. This sentence, then, may very well be followed by an argument as to why Martin Scorsese is such a wonderful director.
The larger point here is the amazing subtelty of language, that one can express this kind of intellectual arrogance with simply a different verb in one language, but not in another. If one takes language to be a means of expression of a people--an expression of Hegel's zeitgeist--it becomes a very fascinating study.
On A Personal Note...
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