In This Chapter

Seeing how the experts argue

Unscrewing the secret formula for influencing people

Who says arguments don't change anything? Here are some famous arguments that have been seriously influential. These views certainly changed the way human society developed and evolved. Yet, curiously, all the arguments are a bit dodgy. They're not logically sound — and often not very cunning. (If you think arguments have to be logical to be useful, turn to Chapter 4 to see why life's more complicated than that.) The good news is that you don't have to be super-logical or mega-cunning to construct a great argument.

These arguments are great not because they're brilliant and complex, but because they offer simple answers to difficult questions. In fact, you can easily pick holes in many of these arguments, but afterwards enough is left standing to still be thought-provoking.

Naturally, many of the great arguments belong to philosophy, but don't be put off by that. Plato, Marx and the like produced arguments by the bucket-load, yet these philosophers are of a quite different kind from those in academia today. In fact, I'd say that they'd be more likely to write For Dummies books than be professors, because of their love of communication!

But this book is about Critical Thinking, and so don't take my word for it. Instead have a look for yourself at this argumentative top ten.

Suggesting That Only a Small Elite Is Clever Enough To Be In Charge

Who made this claim? Plato does, in The Republic, written over 2,000 years ago!

The big issue: Plato says that altruism, the virtuous desire to serve other people, is the motivation of all really clever people and so it will be for those he'd choose to form the ruling elite. These are the people that he calls the Guardians. (No relation to Guardian newspaper readers, or even columnists, of course!)

As for everyone else, Plato thinks that most people couldn't recognise a good thing even if they had it plonked right in front of their noses, and certainly shouldn't be allowed much say over how to run something as complicated as a society. Instead, his prescription for the masses is a diet of propaganda to give them a false, but satisfying, view of their lives.

The flaw: Don't focus on whether this approach is ethical or not. The practical problem isn't so much with the argument but with the starting assumptions — the premises: in other words. The theory is good, the facts cause problems. Although ruling elites can start out finding that the rewards of helping other people are the most satisfying thing, somehow they always end up succumbing to the gravitational pull of greed and self-interest.

As for keeping the masses happy through a diet of crowd-pleasing lies, history shows that people simply can't be kept munching contentedly — they're never quite satisfied and need conflict. Democracy is a way of providing the masses with a safe way to protest and fight each other.

This first argument is still relevant to the way that many modern countries run their affairs. Russia, for example, has a tightly defined ruling elite, who exercise formal and total control of the mass media and education.

Crossing the Line: An Argument for Breaking the Law

Uh oh! That sounds dodgy . . . not suitable for a For Dummies book. What's worse, the guy who came up with the argument was spending eight days in a US jail at the time for doing just that. But I press on because his argument is justly famous.

The big issue: Basically the argument is a response to the critics’ challenge: ‘How can you advocate breaking some laws while urging people to obey others?’

The explanation and the justification for picking and choosing which laws to obey, rests on three, linked claims:

• Two types of laws exist: Just laws and unjust laws. That's the least controversial part of the argument.
• People have no obligation to obey unjust laws: Somewhat trickier, I think you'd agree.
• ‘From God's perspective, an unjust law is no law at all’: This quote offers some extra support to the controversial second step with an ‘appeal to authority’. In this case, the authority is a religious and philosophical one, because Saint Augustine wrote these words long ago.

The flaw: Arguments from authority are always dodgy, except where the authority clearly has the right to set the recommended policy. If, for example, a child is told off for drawing funny faces on the blackboard, she can properly call as support the authority of the school teacher who ‘said it would be okay to draw funny faces on the blackboard’: the teacher has the appropriate responsibility for loosening the rules. But even Saint Augustine doesn't have the authority to cancel a great swathe of human laws.

The other problem is, of course, that people may have many views about what's just or unjust, and so the advantages of living in a law-governed society soon disappear if this principle was applied generally. This is why people often say that you should obey even an unjust law, but you can use your democratic rights (letters to the newspaper, petitions to your Member of Parliament) to argue for change.

But what may affect your opinion on this issue, however, is that the prisoner in jail for eight days was Martin Luther King, the famous civil rights advocate in the United States in the 1960s. The laws he was challenging were segregationist ones that split things such as buses and schools up into separate ones for white children and black children only.

History offers plenty of instances where essential political reform comes only through the willingness of people to break laws that they feel are unjust. But, although a brilliant speaker, Martin Luther King never produced a logical proof for his views — instead he relied on powerful, rhetorical appeals.

Staying on the Right Side of the Law: An Argument for Always Obeying the Law

In a 17th-century book called The Leviathan, the influential English thinker Thomas Hobbes argued that governments can do anything they like to their citizens, because the alternative is anarchy and this would be worse. The book's publication was said to enrage God so much that he arranged the Great Fire of London as a punishment.

The big issue: Hobbes says that people are basically driven by simple desires — notably for power, fame and wealth. Not everyone can be top of the heap, though, and so conflict is inevitable. The only way out of this problem is to make someone Numero Uno, Top Dog — and hand that person absolute power.

Hobbes sees the Sovereign (which could be a parliament as well as a monarch) as being all-powerful, but the argument today is more about the rights of citizens versus their governments. Think about the recent US government strategy of kidnapping people off the street and flying them to secret prisons in far-off countries to be tortured. Sounds like bad government, yes? But Hobbes argues that this kind of thing is better than allowing people so many rights that the governments can no longer control things.

In fact, Hobbes says the public must accept anything the rulers say, with the one important exception that they're allowed to resist being killed! He thinks that even allowing the courts to watch over the government is a mistake, because it's a step along a path that leads to anarchy, chaos and the famous nasty, brutish end.

The flaw: Hobbes presents the issue as an ‘all or nothing’ deal — no middle ground allowed. Yet governments can adapt, survive and even flourish in the face of demands, pressures and challenges. So Hobbes's argument seems to rely on the logical fallacy of black and white thinking, offering a ‘false dichotomy’ or choice (flip to Chapter 16 for more on false dichotomies — or don't, it's your choice!).

Arguing that Human Misery is Due to a Greedy Elite Exploiting Everyone Else

Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels made this argument in their political tract, the Communist Manifesto, which appeared in the middle of the 19th century. At this time, a cruel contrast existed between a few rich factory owners and aristocratic farmers and lots of desperately poor workers.

The big issue: Given their definition of the problem, the conclusion they drew is straightforward: abolish class distinctions and make everyone equal.

The flaw: This argument is kind of the opposite of Plato's vision (see the earlier section ‘Suggesting That Only a Small Elite Is Clever Enough To Be In Charge’): getting rid of the ruling elite and giving the masses power. In practice, though, Marxism creates an administrative elite to look after things on behalf of the masses. Unfortunately, as many countries found, even supposedly socialist elites have a habit of being greedy and exploiting everyone else. So, the original divide is back.

Proving That, ‘Logically’, God Exists

How would you prove that God exists? For some people, a good method is to arrange some miracles, say by getting a lot of people together, instructing ‘step forward all the sick or lame folks’ and getting God to cure them.

These events are arguments by demonstration, with each miracle providing a little bit more evidence for believers. Unfortunately, sceptics insist that every cure that doesn't happen must also be taken into account, and so they remain unconvinced. To persuade sceptics and wannabe believers alike, you'd do better to find a sharp-edged logical proof. Saint Anselm, a medieval monk and logician based in Canterbury, England, came up with this argument, probably the most influential ‘pro-God’ one of them all.

The big issue: He starts by providing a tight definition of God, such as God is the greatest, most perfect and wonderful thing in the universe. Right? Not because religious folk say he is, but by definition. Then Anselm asks whether it's better to exist in reality or only in people's imaginations. Or put another way, which is better — having a lovely house or having an imaginary lovely house? Obviously, being real is better than being imaginary, and that goes for gods too. Conclusion: because God is the Greatest, he has to exist.

The flaw: Beware arguments that start by offering definitions: often the conclusion is built into the definition. Having said that, to be logically sound, the conclusion has to be contained in the starting assumptions. So, let that flaw go?

But a contemporary of Saint Anselm pointed out that people could use this ‘proof’ to demonstrate the existence of anything, as long as it's defined as the best example of its kind. For example, imagine the most perfect holiday restaurant possible. It's open 24/7, full of celebrities (no rowdies) and serves only veggie food. Well, that's my definition. Will the meals be free? Yes — because that's better still. Does it exist? Perhaps, but surely not because of the logic of my definition.

Proving That, ‘in Practice’, God Doesn't Exist

Lots of people don't think that a God — or gods — exist, but how do you persuade others? Probably the most influential ‘there is no God’ argument is the one called ‘The Problem of Evil’.

The big issue: ‘The Problem of Evil’ is a simple but persuasive argument. It says that if an all-powerful, all-knowing God exists who wants the world to be the best possible place, full of happy people and good things (something like you see imagined in TV adverts for wash-powders), God wouldn't allow at least some of the very nasty things that evidently go on all the time.

The flaw: I'm afraid one doesn't exist! This argument seems pretty watertight.

God is required by definition to be all-powerful, all knowing and set on making the universe a good place. However, if evil and suffering exist, then God is either not all-powerful and all-knowing or not totally committed to making the universe a good place. But evil and suffering do exist, and so it follows that this kind of God doesn't.

Actually, many gods in the past have been quite violent and even prone to acts of astonishing cruelty! But these days we don't think those gods ever really existed. Nonetheless, the compassion that is the key characteristic of the Christian god does seem to require that either God is not omnipotent or not quite as loving as the churches tell us. Houston, we have a contradiction!

Perhaps the best response that believers can come up with is to say that God allows things that seem bad to humans to occur in order to achieve greater things. For example, people have to die to make room for new people. But arguments like this put God firmly under the rule of natural laws, which seems odd. Omnipotent-lite.

Defending Human Rights

Do you think that people have certain basic human rights? Well, fine, so do I. But what are they and how would you prove it?

The big issue: In practice, arguments for the ‘reality’ of certain human rights hinge on legal precedents. This makes sense, because the idea of a ‘right’ is essentially legal. The US Bill of Rights is one text people often think of when they consider the issues of human rights. It's the name for the first ten amendments to the United States Constitution that attempt to limit the central government's power and guarantee some personal freedoms, such as that unfortunate one about the ‘right to carry arms’.

The flaw: Legal rights are all very well, but they only survive because people think that the law is protecting something more fundamental. The law has to fit with public perceptions of what's right and wrong.

Alas, people's views differ so widely that what is a ‘human right’ in one place can be completely illegal in another, and vice versa. Eating your grandparents seems pretty bad to most people today (rather chewy, for a start!), but some historical societies considered it the responsible thing to do. In some countries today, homosexuality is against the law and gays are barred from jobs and can even be executed. In the UK and lots of other places, by contrast, homosexuals are protected from workplace discrimination and can marry and adopt children.

Arguments about ethics are some of the most tricky around. Have a look at the next section to see one nice way, however, to make a simple point.

Making Everything Relative

One of the great sages of Ancient China, Chuang Tzu, produced this great argument for the relativity of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. ‘Chusi’ (for short, and pronounced ‘Choosey’) stressed the unity of all things, and the dynamic interplay of opposites. ‘Good’ and ‘bad’, he pointed out, are like everything else, interrelated and interchangeable. What's ‘good’ for the rabbit is ‘bad’ for the farmer.

The big issue: Here's how Chusi attempts to show the relativity of moral judgements. Assume as some sages say, that killing is wrong: therefore, is it wrong to kill a hare when it's the only way to save yourself from starving? Surely not. Perhaps, though, this only makes killing animals okay. How about people? Suppose first that, yes, killing another human being is always wrong. But what then about a robber intent on killing an innocent family? Surely it's then not wrong to kill him, especially if this is the only way to stop him?

Chusi's point is that all moral knowledge depends in this way on context and situations: it's relative.

The flaw: You can argue that the Chusi makes his own categorical and not-at-all-relative assertions about right and wrong in the process of proving his point. For example, he implies that if the only way to save the innocent family is to kill the robber you can kill the robber. This looks like a pretty categorical and ‘universal’ moral judgement.

Getting All Relative with Einstein

This argument is one of the most famous ‘thought experiments’, and maybe doesn't immediately look like an argument. Indeed, people often mischaracterise thought experiments as colourful examples — metaphors or analogies — rather than arguments. But true thought experiments come down to arguments. This one, very influential in its time, illustrates the need to rethink what people (or at least physicists) mean when they say that an event happened at such-and-such time.

The big issue: First suggested by Albert Einstein more than 100 years ago, the experiment concerns the effects of time in the context of travel at near the speed of light. Einstein originally used the example of two clocks — one motionless, one in transit. He stated that, due to the laws of physics, clocks being transported near the speed of light would move more slowly than clocks that remained stationary.

What's true for clocks is true for people too. So now suppose that one twin goes flying off to the nearest star which is four and half light years away (and back again), while the other waists patiently on Earth? It seems that if the twin on the spaceship travels near the speed of light, lets say at 86% of it, while the remaining twin potters around on the Earth, the astronaut twin would have aged ten years, but the earthbound twin would have aged dramatically more — 20 years!

The flaw. Yes, there is a flaw. In fact, a paradox. Because from the point of view of the spaceship, the earthbound twin is the one who could be considered to be in motion — in relation to the sibling — and therefore should be the one aging more slowly! (If you're not happy with that idea — suppose that both twins are astronauts and the experiment starts off with them in two twin spaceships before separating.) Einstein and other scientists have attempted to resolve this problem, but none of the solutions they have come up with are completely satisfactory.

Posing Paradoxes to Prove Your Point

Some of the most influential arguments are in the form of riddles:

• Zeno's paradoxes of time and motion: An example is the race between the hare and the tortoise, which leaves the hare unable to ever catch up with the tortoise. Zeno's teasers show up illogicalities in how even the most logical people think.
• Galileo's paradoxical thought experiments: See Chapter 5 for more on one of these that ushered in a whole new way of understanding nature.
• Einstein's deceptively simple stories of paradoxical events: Perhaps the best-known paradoxes of all, involving things like the time and the speed of light (such as his argument in the preceding section).

But here's a simpler argument that nonetheless is supposed to prove something about the universe: time travel will never be possible. Or, at least, not time travel backwards.

The 30-second argument: Suppose Dr When invents a time machine in 2020. Can he promptly step into it and travel back to the 1920s to shoot the young Hitler, as a way of avoiding much misery for everyone? What matters isn't how likely this ability is but whether the argument is logically impossible.

The flaw: One logical problem is that if Dr When did manage to change history, then how, when he invented his time machine in 2020, would he have known what a menace the young Hitler would be, and that he needed to go back to the 1920s to save the world?

This paradox tends to convince me that time travel like this will never be possible. But if you really want not to be convinced by this argument, you have a perfectly reasonable way out. You can continue to insist on time travel and reject the paradox instead.

Aristotle is supposed long ago to have advised that the best approach to all arguments is to treat them like timepieces. If the time on your watch is near to what you expect, then you should assume that the watch is telling you the right time. However, if it's wildly different, you can assume that it has stopped or is faulty. This policy, like the best arguments, relies not on a logical point but on common sense. But hey . . . you can disagree with me on that!