The death of an argument – Why analogies are best used sparingly

An interesting series of posts were published across my blogroll this past fortnight. Manuel Moreale wrote about his ‘issue with the two sides’ where he discussed the possibility of various perspectives on a dichotomy: good v evil, similar complicity, the notion of implied support, the belief that both sides have merits to their arguments and so on. Not unreasonably, this prompted others to write in response (as I too am doing at this moment). Two of these, which I happened to read, came from Bix Franconis and Leon Paternoster.

There is quite a lot for me to unwrap here as I share my own thoughts, but if you have not read any of the other three posts I mentioned you might find it useful to at least skim through them before proceeding, if only because they too make several compelling arguments themselves. However, I reproduce relevant excerpts below.

The failure of analogies

A fair summary of Manu’s argument would be as follows: whenever there are two sides to an argument, it is difficult to have nuanced discussions within the constraints of modern social media platforms which consequently prevents people from having their views ‘challenged constructively’; further, the internet has a silent majority that shies away from taking sides because of ‘the insanity they see unfolding’ online. Manu takes this further using an analogy of a debate on ‘kicking puppies’, probably because it offers what should, in theory, be a fairly clear identification of good and evil. He writes—

Let’s imagine the topic of the day is “kicking puppies”. One camp is happily going around supporting the kicking of puppies because it’s a fun thing to do, and puppies are worthless and annoying, while the other camp thinks puppies are adorable—they are—and they are living creatures and deserve to not be kicked and instead loved and adored … But what if the pro-puppies camp you hear from online doesn’t stop at “puppies should be loved” but also argues that people who kick puppies should all die now and be dissolved in acid and their families be shot into the sun?

If an analogy, by definition, stands for something, you are probably mapping this story of ‘kicking puppies’ to something you are familiar with in your daily life; perhaps something omnipresent in the news these days. You might be thinking the ‘good’ people on the left are against, say, taking away the rights of trans people—whose analogy is ‘kicking puppies’—while the ‘evil’ people on the right are going around curbing trans rights. But then the ‘good’ people on the left start calling for the heads of the ‘evil’ people on the right and suddenly, for the innocent bystander, the line between good and evil is not perfectly clear anymore.

But since this is an analogy, I offer you an alternate perspective: what if the ‘puppy kicking’ is an anlogy representing abortion for the anti-abortion¹ crowd whose self-confessed view includes ‘saving lives’ of human embryos? To such a reader too Manu’s analogy makes perfect sense: the ‘evil’ left is out there killing human embryos—whose analogy is ‘kicking puppies’—while the ‘good’ right is trying to save those embryos. But then the ‘good’ people on the right start calling for the heads of the ‘evil’ people on the left and suddenly, for the innocent bystander, the people claiming to save embryos but also calling for the deaths of older, living humans do not appear all that ‘good’ anymore.

The trouble with analogies is that it can be spun both ways and also completely out of shape. It assumes that both sides approach the argument in good faith, that both sides respond similarly to changing circumstances, and that both sides remain consistent in their beliefs and expectations without moving the goal posts. The reality is often that that one of the sides violates at least one of these terms. And the only way to introduce this into a discussion is to talk about a specific example. Leon Paternoster discusses one of these points. He writes, ‘The “wrong” side (for which read the far-right) never discusses in good faith.’ As a result pretty much everything about holding a conversation with them goes out the window, including the idea, as I showed, that nuance can exist.

People versus ideas

Using an analogy here assumes that an analogous solution too can can be reached, which in turn implies that the solution is independent of specificity. By not acknowledging that in any dichotomy the specifics are just as important as, if not more important than, the broad argument, the use of the ‘kicking puppies’ analogy only makes a case for blanket partisanship. It is precisely such expectation of blanket partisanship that is keeping the silent majority at a distance.

What is important is to focus not on the arguing parties but on the argument itself; to take sides not with or against the arguing parties but to stand on either side of the issue being debated. And that is why analogies do not work in such situations: our entire discussion must be had on a specific argument, not on a vague generalisation that lets the author get away with far too much.

One of the things that bothers me is the following claim Manu makes:

…there probably are a lot of people who would be more than happy to support and join the good one of the two sides, but are probably kept at a distance because of the insanity they see unfolding.

Yet again this sentence has an implicit assumption that belies the claimed generality of the analogy: why are these people who are happy to support the ‘good’ side keeping a distance ‘because of the insanity’? Clearly it is because they are supporting the party, not the idea. If you are against ‘kicking puppies’ you should be against it regardless of whether you are in a debating hall with decorum or in a noisy, filthy market square where people are throwing fruit at one another. Are they afraid to speak up because the ‘good’ side suddenly called for the deaths of those on the ‘bad’ side? Since that never changed the original purpose of this debate—keeping puppies safe—the silent majority should be vocal against those calling for deaths while simultaneously being vocal against kicking puppies. There is no fundamental incompatibility with these positions that makes debate or backing issues impossible or even difficult.

Furthermore, let there be no false dichotomy. We can now have three sides: those in favour of kicking puppies, those against it and calling for the heads of puppy kickers, and those against puppy kicking but not out to harm anyone else.

Having demonstrated that the ‘kicking puppies’ analogy can itself be used both ways, it is also worth examining how it introduces another problem of specificity. It demands an assumed, or unstated, specificity: why is the negative extreme of the ‘good’ side killing people and their families? This question might appear odd on first glance but when you think about it the premise it serves to introduce feels a bit disingenuous, as though an argument is being made in this specific extreme to ensure that readers always reject the ‘good’ side by dissociation with their calls for murder, thereby introducing a forced conflict of choice.

The nuance lies in reality

Let us then ask what a more balanced analogy might look like, if in fact there could be such a thing. Would the ‘good’ side perhaps call for puppy kickers to be named and shamed? If so the analogy might well break down because nobody would cut off ties with the ‘good’ side on account of this. Would the ‘good’ side call for puppy kickers to be banned from owning or caring for pets? If so the analogy breaks down again because nobody would cut of ties with the ‘good’ side on account of such a reasonable restriction being placed on puppy kickers. Would the ‘good side’ put known puppy kickers on a temporary register from which they can be removed only if they show good behaviour for a year or two? Again, the forced conflict of choice present in Manu’s original analogy disappears in the face of a more grounded, realistic example.

Therefore, the specificity of an argument is essential for any argument of partisanship, debate or nuance to take place. It can meaningfully change the discussion. As is often the case, the nuance lies in the specificity, and an analogy steals any hope of nuance from the discussion. To complain about a lack of nuance only to then use an analogy that by nature strips nuance from the discussion is ironic.

Returning to the idea of naming and shaming, a much more realistic consequence than calling for someone’s head, we can look to Bix Franconis’s explanation written in response to Manu’s post:

It’s true that in many cases their critics were attempting to shame them into a more expansive and magnanimous view of the issue at hand, but that’s because outing shameful views is part of how we live in a society—or at least how we live in one that’s going to be functional for the widest possible numbers of people and groups of them.

First, this is a more grounded analogy of what the ‘good’ side might call for in the real world. This is the sort of thing that actually happens more often than not, with extreme cases being outliers. Nevertheless, as I said already, an individual can afford to take a stance against kicking puppies even in extreme cases without also offering blanket support to these ‘puppy saviours’ to do whatever they wanted to the other side. Indeed to say you are in favour of saving puppies and not in favour of puppy saviours does not need more nuance than 300 characters afford. The last sentence was, in fact, 139 characters, a potential tweet being under the 140-character limit imposed in Twitter of old.

Jokes apart, I think Bix introduces quite an interesting perspective here. Consequences being central to society is such a legal positivist outlook. I am inclined to agree to some extent, and I agree anyway that there are people for whom morality alone does not make a compelling enough case to enforce a change in perspective. ‘Outing shameful views’ then becomes critical to a society that engages in healthy discussions. But a view being outed is itself a consequence, not something deserving of further repercussion, which, as I understand it, is Manu’s counter argument:

It’s bad when a lot of people are scared to express what they think because they are scared of the repercussions. Because you can’t have a healthy society without open dialogue.

To this Bix responds, ‘What this gets wrong in its assumptions is the idea that shame is not meant to be part of open dialogue. If we are placing shame, and its kissing cousin shunning, somehow outside the bounds or beyond the pale, then we aren’t at all in an open dialogue in the first place…’

Here I find it hard to agree entirely with either side. For one, Manu makes a valid point in saying that the existence of consequences so severe that they prevent open dialogue entirely is not conducive to a healthy society. And I disagree with Bix that placing shame outside the scope of a dialogue necessarily devalues it. We are not precluding consequences entirely, simply assuring everyone involved that engaging in a discussion will not yield repercussions. Acting upon unkind beliefs will, and should, still come with consequences. Discussion and action should necessarily be kept separate for a healthy society and only the latter should come with the threat of consequence, and in that I agree with Manu.

But the problem is that Manu seems to be working within a framework where social contracts are honoured. When one of the two sides keeps moving the goal posts, keeps seeking to normalise unkind beliefs inch-by-inch, keeps discussing in bad faith, frequently resorts to straw man arguments and ad hominem attacks, pushes false dilemmas, anecdotal evidence, appeals to authority, uses hasty generalisations, and builds around post hoc ergo propter hoc and non sequitor fallacies, can there ever be meaningful discussion?

All that is what is preventing discussion in society today, not merely the threat of consequence.

The paradox of tolerance

We are often faced with the paradox of tolerance as a result of this very real, very complex set of arguments that Manu, Bix and Leon have all discussed. Such regression is why analogies no longer work well, discussions can no longer be had and the consequences of one’s actions suddenly seem unjust. When you discuss in bad faith, when you fast talk to and twist the arguments presented by the other side in your own responses, you are providing ample grounds for your very act of engaging in discussion to be an action realising your unkind beliefs. And that is why shunning and shaming appear like the consequences of a discussion. They are not; they are in fact the consequences of bad faith actions propelled by unkind beliefs that merely take the form of a discussion. They are consequences to your actions, not to your engagement in discussions, a nuance missing from Manu’s assumption that it is discussions that prompt consequences².

It would be remiss of me to not mention Manu’s second post expanding on his original where he talks a bit more about his use of the ‘kicking puppies’ analogy, so I shall endeavour to address that as a closing argument for this essay:

The reason why I almost always use made-up examples in my blog posts is because the example itself is not important. It’s just a tool to illustrate a broader point. But using an actual example carries the risk of distracting people into thinking that the topic of the example itself is what matters.

First, the use of an analogy is rarely because a real example distracts from the discussion. It is either because the analogy can stand in for multiple instances of real world events—that is, multiple examples—or because you want to keep persons or groups of people anonymous, or because you wish to focus on a specific part of an event that then allows a flexible one-to-one or one-to-many mapping of the analogy to the real world. The ‘kicking puppies’ analogy does none of these. It in fact distracted from the argument Manu was trying to make by drawing attention it its own over-the-top nature. If the idea was to not distract people from the argument onto the example, the ‘kicking puppies’ analogy was a poor choice.

Second, the assumption that somehow an example, even if used analogously, can be entirely independent of the discussion is worth thinking about. When we discuss something it is very much about the specific example at the end of the day. It may apply more broadly, but it definitely always applies specifically. So a specific example, handled well, can enrich an argument far more than a poor analogy that raises several unimportant, tangential and unintentional questions. Indeed starting with a specific example and then branching out to make generalisable arguments is a more effective way to have a discussion that clearly serves the broad nature of the topic being discussed while also grounding it in reality and providing the reader, as a yoke, a real-world example from which to germinate their own lines of thinking.

As for innocent bystanders in the midst of all this, witnessing insanity online, it is worth reminding ourselves that taking sides with an argument need not mean identifying with any group of people. I appreciate that Manu goes on to say he is ‘more interested in how we can make sure the discussion itself can happen and be productive, regardless of what’s being discussed’. But once again I must insist: to engage with nuance means recognising that a discussion can never be independent of the topic being discussed. That is where nuances exist, in specificity, in digging deeper, on the ground, not in the air.