How to Make Controversial Ideas Common Sense
You must seem reasonable, even when you're argument isn't.
Say a guy you just met recommends an Indian restaurant. The conversation’s going well, so you jot down the name. As the chat tumbles on, however, the guy reveals his theory that the Queen is a lizard working for the Illuminati.
You throw away his recommendation.
This story comes from Peter Adamson’s podcast, The History of Philosophy Without Any Gaps. He uses it to explain how some ancient Christian thinkers viewed pagan thinkers, like Plato and Aristotle. In theory, a thinker’s religious beliefs shouldn’t taint their arguments about science, morality, or linguistics. But… if they’re that far off the mark in this area, how close could they be in others?
We know this suspicion is nonsense. We know a guy’s beliefs about the Queen don’t impair his taste in Indian cuisine. We know we should evaluate a person’s beliefs one by one, on their own merits. We also know we don’t do this.
Bad beliefs poison the well.
Say someone’s giving an argument. We could be nodding along, until suddenly the arguer lets slip… a questionable opinion. This opinion might have nothing to do with his main argument. In an article about molecular chemistry, there might be an offhand reference to a political leader. Regardless, our scepticism immediately rises. Our standard of evidence skyrockets.
nonsense surrounded by common sense becomes sensible.
Bad beliefs infect good beliefs, and vice-versa: nonsense surrounded by common sense becomes sensible. This tactic works on the same principle as wearing a suit and speaking like a BBC news correspondent — bullshit becomes respectable.
I was reading a selection of speeches by Maximilien Robespierre, a leader of the French Revolution. Robespierre was a vanguard of human rights or a monster who massacred thousands, depending on which parts of his career your politics leads you to emphasise. Suffice to say, there was a good Max and a bad Max.
This selection of speeches collects some of his more extreme views. Views like: we should stop people criticising law enforcement agencies (‘In Defence of the Committee of Public Safety’); we should abandon fair trials occasionally (‘On the Trial of the King’); we should defend freedom with slaughter (‘On the Principles of Revolutionary Government’).
If you’d heard nothing of him but these views, you’d be suspicious. But these views are not the first of him you hear.
We meet Robespierre as a reasonable guy with reasonable ideas.
The editors of this selection are quite clever. The selection does begin with extremist views, but extremist views which have become common sense. Who would argue with Robespierre that slavery is abhorrent (‘On the Condition of Free Men of Colour’), wars of ‘liberation’ rarely work (‘On the War’), voting rights should be granted to all professions, religions and classes (‘On Voting Writes for Actors and Jews’, ‘On the Silver Mark’)?
These speeches don’t teach us anything new. That’s not their purpose. Their common sense make his later nonsense seem sensible. We meet Robespierre as a reasonable guy with reasonable ideas. You’ll be nodding through the early parts, and be disposed to keep nodding as he argues for censorship, kangaroo courts, and the massacre of dissidents.
The takeaway is that the well is poisoned by bad beliefs and purified by good beliefs. It may seem patronising to say your audience can be lulled into agreement with you. The thing is, in general, people aren’t that good at judging arguments.
We prefer shorthand. This person seems sensible — so what they’re saying is probably sensible. If we have something controversial to say, we need to convince our audience that we are reasonable people with reasonable ideas. Suddenly, controversy seems common sensical.
