Behind Closed Doors

                I’ve noticed an interesting fallacy crop up pretty often in discussions about morality and the like. It’s what I call the “Closed Door” fallacy. Basically, it assumes that, since we don’t know what goes on in someone’s private life, it’s safe to assume whatever would best suit our case. Thus, if I say that many priests are perfectly happy with celibacy and are able to shoulder the burden quite tolerably, the answer is “well, how do you know what goes on when they’re alone, or how secretly miserable they might be behind that façade of cheerfulness?” And therefore my adversary is allowed to go on with his assumption that celibacy is impossible or unhealthy having, in one stroke, dismissed the cumulative testimony of millions of people throughout history. Then, if he actually comes to know a priest who tells him that he’s perfectly happy with being celibate and so on, he can dismiss him as either A). lying to avoid coming to the inevitable conclusion that he’s actually miserable, or if he’s of a more charitable temperament, B). dismissing him as “an exception,” because the vast majority whom he does not know can still be assumed to be miserable or unfaithful.

                This can be applied in pretty much any case of inconvenient testimony. Want to say monogamy is impossible and unhealthy? This gets rid of all the millions of happily married couples throughout history. Want to claim that it’s impossible to rise from poverty in today’s America? This dismisses the thousands who do so as “exceptions.” I suspect that half the current academic ‘theories’ about morality, society, and politics are based on this principle.

                The reason this is a fallacy is that it takes lack of proof for confirmation. It says “it’s true that the vast majority of cases are outside my knowledge, and as reported they appear to contradict me, but if we knew more about them they would confirm my assertions.” Rather than allowing the evidence to speak for itself, they take it for granted that the evidence ought to confirm their assumptions and so make out that it would if we only knew more about it. It’s rather like the people who say “since the Gospels were written decades after Jesus’ ministry, it’s possible the words recorded aren’t exactly what He said. Therefore, we can assume what He actually said was much closer to my own views.”

                The same issue applies; you can accept evidence or reject it, but even if you reject it you can’t just rewrite it to suit your own ideas. If you reject the Gospels, you’re obliged to say that you don’t know what Jesus said or did, or take evidence from one of the other first or second century writings that have come down to us. Rejecting the Gospels doesn’t mean you get to just make up whatever you like because it “seems reasonable” to you.

                Likewise, if you reject the testimony of the thousands of celibates who have been content and happy with their state in life, you don’t get to assume that they are, in fact, miserable. If you reject them, the only honest thing you could say is that you don’t know whether they’re happy or not. You can either accept the testimony or plead ignorance, but you can’t re-write the testimony to say the opposite of what it says just because you assume it ought to.

                That’s incidentally the reason why arguments for celibacy or monogamy and so on are much more convincing than argument against them. It’s like someone arguing that it’s impossible for man to reach the Moon. If no one ever had, we might be inclined to accept the arguments of the man who hadn’t. But if once someone does reach the Moon, he proves that it is at least possible. The man who does not reach the Moon does not, by the mere fact of his inability, prove that it is impossible. All that he has proven is that he himself cannot or has not. An adulterer or a man living in an “open marriage” does not prove that monogamy is impossible, only that he himself has given up attempting it. A man living in a loving monogamous marriage proves that it is possible, just as a joyful celibate priest proves that celibacy is possible. The counterargument is a bizarre kind of double-illogic; it not only argues for a universal negative (already technically impossible), but does so in the face of overwhelming positive evidence.

                That’s where the Closed Door fallacy comes in. It argues for a negative by the reverse of the usual answer to such a proposition. Instead of saying “prove that there isn’t” it says “prove that all these are what they appear to be.” Since it’s impossible to achieve the necessary level of intimacy with the vast number of individuals required by the proposition, it’s unanswerable. But it’s unanswerable because it’s unreasonable, like saying “prove that everyone living in New York City is not living under an alias.” Very likely some are, but it’s absurd to assume that everyone is unless you can prove that most of them are not.

                Not only is it unreasonable, but by its very nature it cancels itself out. If a man says “prove that there are a significant number of priests or married men who keep their vows and are content to do so,” I can answer him “prove that there aren’t.” The one is just as rational (or irrational) as the other and so both arguments are useless as evidence. The real point of difference is that the one acknowledges both the negative (that some priests and spouses don’t keep their vows) as well as the positive (that many do and are happy to do so) while the other claims a universal negative (that no one can keep these kinds of vows and be happy at the same time). The first embraces the whole of the evidence, while the second has to work hard to dismiss a good deal of it.

                The point of all this is that we mustn’t simply assume a lack of evidence to be evidence for our own views. If we dismiss contrary evidence, for whatever reason (and it ought to be a good one and not just “this doesn’t correspond with what I’d expect”), we can’t just ‘fill in the blanks,’ so to speak, by assuming the truth behind the evidence corresponds with what we would like it to.

                It’s interesting, but I notice that many of us (myself included) are rather afraid of admitting ignorance in the internet age. Rather than saying “I don’t know about that, so I can’t say for sure either way,” we have a habit of picking and choosing facts or more likely hearsay that suits us and rejecting anything that calls those views into question, piling ever-more extravagant nonsense on top of nonsense until we make absolute fools of ourselves. Whereas if we had just bowed out with an “I don’t know; I’ll have to look at that,” or “that’s something I really don’t’ know much about,” we’d save ourselves a good deal of trouble (and probably shut down three-quarters of the net forums currently in existence in the process). The Closed Door fallacy is part and partial of this habit. It’s yet another manifestation of the ancient and perennial assumption that theories are the substance and real life the shadow.

            We Christians must not be afraid of real life. God made reality and it attests to Him. Our Lord became Man in history. Christianity is perhaps the only religion that is based on solid, basic, historical facts. Therefore we must never be afraid to look reality in the face, however unpleasant or confusing it may be. Because our hope is not in a theory, but in a Person; a person who faced these same unpleasant and confusing facts without blinking and so conquered them. It is in Him that we place our trust, and whatever may happen behind closed doors doesn’t change that.

Vivat Christus Rex!

12 Debating Tips from '12 Angry Men'

     

             12 Angry Men is one of those classic films that everyone, and especially every American, should see. One set, twelve actors, and more drama than all the Transformers movies put together (including the animated one with Orson Welles as Unicron).

                  The story is simple; an eighteen-year-old boy of undisclosed ethnicity is accused of murdering his father. The case against him looks devastating; there are two eyewitnesses, a lot of suspicious circumstances, and the boys only defense is a flimsy alibi about being at the movies during the killing. The film opens with the jury retiring to debate the case, and the entire movie takes place in the jury room (with one brief scene in the adjacent bathroom).

                  Since the entire movie is about an extended argument, it’s no surprise that you can pick up a lot of debating tips from watching it.

                  (Before I begin, be aware that this review assumes you’ve seen the movie and will contain **NUMBEROUS UNMARKED SPOILERS** so read at your own risk).

                                                             #1               

                  Debate:

                   The first step is to actually make the argument and not simply assume the question is settled. At the beginning of the film, eleven of the twelve all vote ‘Guilty.’ Juror #8 casts a single vote for ‘Not Guilty.’ His reason, he explains, isn’t because he necessarily thinks the boy is innocent, but because he feels they need to actually talk about it before coming to a decision. The evidence of his guilt appears to be overwhelming, but nevertheless they have a duty to dig deeper before they can send a fellow man off to die.

                  There’s an insidious technique to avoid arguments floating around in which one side simply assumes they’ve won and sneers at the other side for trying to debate at all. Why do you think the Global Warming crowd gets so much support? It isn’t because they have an air-tight, scientifically unassailable case, it’s because they seize the moral high ground and mock anyone who dares to disagree with them. The same thing with the ‘Same-Sex Marriage’ crowd, or the Abortion lobby: they don’t invite debate; they just attack anyone who tries to question them.

                  The first step to any argument is to have the argument. Don’t let people tell you the question is settled; make them fight for it.

         

                                                               #2

                  Question Premises:

                  As the first step to undoing the case against the boy, Juror #8 challenges the assumption that the knife that was used to kill the boy’s father was a unique weapon that links the boy with the killing. When the others point out that neither they nor (according to his testimony) the storekeeper who sold it to the boy had ever seen a knife like that, and therefore it would be impossible for someone else to do the killing with a duplicate, #8 wordlessly stands up and slams an identical knife into the table.

                  All debate is based on logic, and all logic is based on premises. If you can call the premise into question, you can undermine your opponent’s whole case. A logical statement consists of a premise and a deduction: A is true, so B must follow. Therefore, you can defuse an argument by either attacking the premise or the deduction; either by showing that A is faulty, or that B doesn’t necessarily have to follow. Typically, if you can attack a premise you will be on much stronger ground than if you attack a deduction, because if you attack a deduction, you will only get a probability: if B doesn’t necessarily follow, then it’s still true that B could follow. But if A is false, then B loses its power as well. If the knife isn’t unique, it doesn’t prove anything that the killing was committed with it.

                  Your first step in a debate should be to discover your opponent’s premises and test them for weaknesses.

                                                          #3

                Prepare:

                  Related to the above story, you need to get your facts straight and consider your arguments before you enter the debate. Consider what proofs you’re likely to need and take steps to get them. Juror #8 knew the knife was bound to come up and knew that he would need hard evidence to show that it wasn’t unique, so he went out and bought one, making a note of the location and the price (both of which indicated it was a fairly popular model).

                  Think ahead, gather what you need, and come in with the evidence you need to make your case.

                                                                                      
                                                                 #4

                  Compare:

                  One of the first breaks in the case is when Juror # 8 realizes that two pieces of evidence contradict each other: one witness claims to have seen the killing take place through the windows of a passing train, while another claims to have heard the killing through the open window of his apartment. But if the train was passing by, it would have been impossible for him to have heard, much less identify, anything at all.

                  Typically if someone is arguing from a weak position they’ll throw everything and the kitchen sink into an argument, blind to the fact that some of their points contradict each other. For instance, rabid anti-Catholics will often say on one hand that Catholics ‘stole’ all their holidays from pagan cultures (by the way, how do you ‘steal’ a holiday?), and that Christmas, Halloween, and Easter are actually pagan celebrations. On the other hand, they’ll say the Church brutally suppressed and destroyed all the good and noble elements of pagan culture in order to impose itself. But if the Church is so reactionary and hate-filled towards paganism, why would she base her calendar around pagan celebrations? And if the Church is just paganism with a new face, then how can you say it oppresses paganism?

                  These are the kinds of contradictory arguments that tend to expose poor logic and positions based more on emotion than reason.
                                                               #5

                  Experiment:

                  As part of the evidence against the boy, an old man claimed to have run to his front door just in time to see him fleeing the scene of the crime. Questioning whether an old man with a paralyzed left leg could have gotten to the door in time, Juror # 8 decides to try it himself to see, discovering that it would have taken over forty seconds for the old man to make the journey; far too much time for him to catch sight of the boy on his way out.

                  Sometimes the best way to figure out whether something can be done is simply to do it. For instance, a lot of people these days say that the Christian ideal of chastity is impossible, but how many of them have ever tried it? Lots of things seem impossible before we try them, or when we first start out, only for us to wake up one day and realize that the thing is done and a part of our lives.

                  When someone tells you that something can’t be done, ask them whether they’ve tried it. 

                                                            #6

                  Ask Questions:

                  At one point Juror #11, who hasn’t said much up to now, stands up and begins rattling off a number of questions about the reasonableness of the prosecution’s scenario. After a number of these, Juror #3 (who’s particularly invested in the guilty verdict) says “wait, you voted guilty like the rest of us, so which side are you on?” To which #11 calmly replies “I don’t believe I have to be ‘loyal’ to one side or the other. I am simply asking questions.”

                  All too often, we become settled on the idea of ‘sides:’ that we have to support ‘us’ against ‘them.’ But debates shouldn’t be about sides or which team wins; they ought to be about getting to the truth. Hence, it’s important to be able to look at the issue from every perspective and ask tough questions. 

                                                               #7

                  Empathize:

                  #11’s questions, meanwhile, are all about trying to put himself into the boy’s place and account for his movements on the night of the murder. His central point is the question of why, having murdered his father, would the boy risk going back to the scene of the crime three hours later, especially when the other evidence indicates that he would have known that someone saw him. Unsatisfied with the argument that the boy came back to retrieve the murder weapon, he changes his vote.

                  Often ideas that seem reasonable in the abstract become much more flimsy when you try to imagine the actual nuts-and-bolts behind them. It’s easy to say, for instance “everyone will work for the good of everyone else,” but if you try to consider how an actual person, a working man breaking his back day-after-day would react to the idea that this is for “everyone,” the result is much different.

                  Empathize: put yourself in other people’s position and ask yourself whether the idea presented is really credible or not.

  

                                                               #8

                  Consult Experts:

                  At one point, having reached an impasse, Juror #2 suggests a problem with the stab-wound, noting that the boy was over half-a-foot shorter than his father, yet the wound was made at a downward angle. After #3 demonstrates how a shorter man could stab a taller one at a downward angle, Juror #5 (who grew up in a slum similar to the one the boy lived in) gets up and explains that switchblades are built to make underhand attacks, and that no one who had any experience with one (as the boy had) would ever make the kind of wound that killed the victim.

                  There are an almost infinite number of subjects in the world, all of which have their secrets and arcane bits of knowledge that most of us would never even think of. Before we make broad statements about such subjects, it often pays to find an expert to tell us whether our ideas are likely or even possible. A little research and a little humility can work wonders in debate.

                                                            #9

                  Call-Out:

                  Juror #6 is an interesting case; he talks a lot, but he’s utterly indifferent to the case. He initially votes guilty to hurry things along so he can get to a baseball game later than evening. Then, when a storm means the game will be cancelled, he switches to not-guilty because he’s “sick of all the talk.” At this point Juror #11 loses his patience. Walking right up the man, he berates him for “playing like this with a man’s life” and basically calls him a coward for not voting as he thinks.

                  #6, of course, takes offense: “Now listen! You can’t talk like that to me!”

                  “Yes,” says #11, “I can talk like that to you.”

                  The fact is, we will sometimes encounter immoral people; people who go through life with a sneer and a shrug, but who bristle with indignation if anyone dares criticize them. The way to deal with such people is to call them out; to name them for what they are. Don’t let their pride or their protests of indignant offense stop you from speaking the truth.

                                                            #10

                  Ignore:

                  As the jury swings ever more towards an acquittal, Juror #10, who has made his shameless bigotry known throughout the proceedings, leaps to his feet and goes into a minutes-long monologue about how “those people” are dangerous and violent. As he talks, every other juror gets up one by one and turns their backs on him. Wrapped up in his diatribe, he doesn’t notice this at first, but as he starts to wind down he realizes what’s happening and gets quieter and quieter. Finally, only the unflappable Juror #4 is left.

                  “Listen to me,” #10 pleads. “Listen to me!”

                  “I have,” #4 snaps. “Now sit down and don’t open your mouth again.”

                  Occasionally, we will come upon beliefs so twisted, so horrifying that there seems to be no point in arguing them. In such cases, often the best thing we can do is to simply turn our backs on them and let them rant into the air. A particularly self-possessed and strong man (like Juror #4) may be able to stare him down, and then, with the silent support of the ignoring majority, tell him to shut up.

                  In the face of truly evil ideas, the best thing is often to first let their proponent know that they are unacceptable. Then, when he’s been chastised by public opinion, he may finally be open to reason.

                                                           #11

                  Observe:

                  The last and strongest piece of evidence for the guilty party is the fact that a woman living across the street actually saw the boy killing his father. This point seems insurmountable, even prompting the limp-spined Juror#12 to switch his vote back to guilty. As the begin the discussion, however, Juror #9 notices something; #4 (who wears glasses) has a habit of rubbing the peculiar impressions that his glasses have left on the side of his nose. #9 points out that, though no one commented on it, the woman who claimed to have witnessed the murder had the same marks, meaning she ordinarily wore eyeglasses. Since she was in bed trying to fall asleep when she witnessed the murder, she wouldn’t have been wearing her glasses then either. Hence, her eyesight is in question.

                  Simple awareness often helps us to spot gaps or reasons for doubt in our opponent’s arguments. If we observe that he has a habit of not looking us in the eye, we might conclude that he’s not as certain as he lets on. If we see that he’s reluctant to let go of a certain point even after it’s been dealt with, we might question his motives. And of course, observation is the first and best way to gather evidence in support of our own position.

                  Stay alert, carefully observe the world around you, and you will be prepared when you need to debate.

                                                           #12

                  Ask Why:

                  In the end, Juror #3 stands alone; the only guilty vote left: bitterly snapping that it’s his right to dissent, and that he’s given his arguments. #8 calmly invites him to try to convince the rest of them, causing #3 to go into a furious rant, repeating all the evidence that they’ve dismissed so far. After he’s spewed his rage on them all, the rest still sit unmoved. Spotting a picture of his estranged son which has fallen out of his wallet, he shouts in anger and begins to tear it up. Coming to his senses, he breaks down in tears and votes not guilty.  

                  When the arguments have all been made, the evidence presented, and your opponent still won’t budge, it might be time to simply ask him why he’s so immovable on this issue. Let’s face it; most of us are not strictly logical. We’re not supposed to be strictly logical. For most people, the reason they have a particularly violent hatred or rejection of some idea or belief is not out of logic or because of the evidence, but because of some other, deeper, more personal reason. When your opponent sits unmoved, even after you’ve taken his arguments apart, showed him hard evidence, and demonstrated your position perfectly, then it’s time to take a step back and try to find out what in him is preventing him from agreeing with you. If you can find that; if you can lay your finger on that one point which tethers him to his false belief, then you will almost certainly win him over.

Vive Christus Rex!