Beliefs, after all, are for true things, and if you lose sight of that you will lose your epistemics. If you think only of what gives you an advantage in a debate, of what sounds nice, of what wins you the admiration of your peers, of what is politically correct, or of what you would prefer to be true, you will not be able to actually believe true things.
Paul Graham wrote about this in Persuade xor Discover:
The danger of the [version of an argument intended to persuade] is not merely that it's longer. It's that you start to lie to yourself. The ideas start to get mixed together with the spin you've added to get them past the readers' misconceptions.
I think the goal of an essay should be to discover surprising things. That's my goal, at least. And most surprising means most different from what people currently believe. So writing to persuade and writing to discover are diametrically opposed. The more your conclusions disagree with readers' present beliefs, the more effort you'll have to expend on selling your ideas rather than having them. As you accelerate, this drag increases, till eventually you reach a point where 100% of your energy is devoted to overcoming it and you can't go any faster.
It's hard enough to overcome one's own misconceptions without having to think about how to get the resulting ideas past other people's. I worry that if I wrote to persuade, I'd start to shy away unconsciously from ideas I knew would be hard to sell. When I notice something surprising, it's usually very faint at first. There's nothing more than a slight stirring of discomfort. I don't want anything to get in the way of noticing it consciously.
This also reminded me of the Litany of Tarski:
Draco, let me introduce you to something I call the Litany of Tarski. It changes every time you use it. On this occasion it runs like so: If magic is fading out of the world, I want to believe that magic is fading out of the world. If magic is not fading out of the world, I want not to believe that magic is fading out of the world. Let me not become attached to beliefs I may not want.
One of the core principles -- maybe the most core principle -- of the art of rationality is that beliefs are for true things. In other words, you should believe things because they are true. You should not believe things that are not true.
Holding that beliefs are for true things means that you do not believe things because they are useful, believe things because they sound nice, or believe things because you prefer them to be true. You believe things that are true (or at least that you believe to be true, which is often the best we can get!).
Eliezer referred to this principle as "the void", writing in his "The Twelve Virtues of Rationality":
Musashi wrote that you must always think of carrying your motion through to cutting; I write, with Eliezer, that every belief and every step in your belief must cut through to knowing the truth.
Beliefs, after all, are for true things, and if you lose sight of that you will lose your epistemics. If you think only of what gives you an advantage in a debate, of what sounds nice, of what wins you the admiration of your peers, of what is politically correct, or of what you would prefer to be true, you will not be able to actually believe true things.
I would like to take the perhaps unusual step of closing with a poem by Rudyard Kipling, which addresses this point (among others) rather well: