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Facebook’s 1996 Ads

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Facebook’s Fallacious Ad

Facebook has been running ads on its platform (and elsewhere) with the following text: “Technology has changed a lot since 1996. Shouldn’t internet regulations change, too? While intended mainly as a rhetorical appeal, it can be presented as an argument:

Premise 1: Technology has changed a lot since 1996.

Conclusion: Internet regulations should change.

On the face of it, the argument has some appeal. It is true that technology has changed a lot since 1996 and these changes might have made some aspects of the internet regulations obsolete. One could even make the obvious argument from analogy: just as dial up modems are now obsolete, the laws created to govern technology at that time are now also obsolete. However, that argument by analogy would be weak (laws age very differently from technology) as is the argument advanced by Facebook.

Facebook’s argument can be seen as a reversed version of the classic Appeal to Tradition fallacy. This is a fallacy that occurs when it is assumed that something is better or correct simply because it is older, traditional, or “always has been done/always been believed.” This sort of “reasoning” has the following form:

 

Premise 1: X is old or traditional.

Conclusion: Therefore, X is correct or good.

 

This sort of “reasoning” is fallacious because the age of something does not automatically make it correct or better than something newer. This is made quite obvious by the following example: The theory that witches and demons cause disease is far older than the theory that microorganism cause diseases. Therefore, the theory about witches and demons must be true. But this is clearly not the case. The age of thing does not, in general, have any bearing on its quality or correctness (in this context). In the case of tradition, assuming that something is correct just because it is considered a tradition is poor reasoning. For example, if the belief that 1+1 = 56 were a tradition of a group of people it would hardly follow that it is true.

Obviously, age does have a bearing in some contexts. For example, if a person concluded that properly aged cheese would be better than brand new cheese, they would not be committing an Appeal to Tradition. This is because, in such cases the age of the thing is relevant to its quality. Thus, the fallacy is committed only when the age is not, in and of itself, relevant to the claim. What is needed is evidence that age is relevant to the truth or quality of something—that is what is lacking with the fallacious Appeal to Tradition. Interestingly, Facebook is taking an anti-tradition approach: they are concluding that the laws are bad because they are old.

One way to present this is by taking the argument to imply that new regulations would be better because they would be new. This would be the Appeal to Novelty fallacy. This is a fallacy that occurs when it is assumed that something is better or correct simply because it is new(er). This sort of “reasoning” has the following form:

 

Premise 1. X is new(er).

Conclusion: Therefore, X is correct or better.

 

This sort of “reasoning” is fallacious because the novelty or newness of something does not automatically make it correct or better than something older. This is made obvious by the following example: Joe has proposed that 1+1 should now be equal to 3. When asked why people should accept this, he says that he just came up with the idea. Since it is newer than the idea that 1+1=2, it must be better.

This sort of “reasoning” is appealing for many reasons. The notion of progress (which seems to have come, in part, from the notion of evolution) implies that newer things will be superior to older things. Media advertising often sends the message that newer must be better. Because of these factors (and others) people often accept that a new thing (idea, product, concept, etc.) must be better because it is new. Hence, Novelty is a somewhat common fallacy, especially in advertising.

It should not be assumed that old things must be better than new things any more than it should be assumed that new things are better than old things. The age of a thing does not, in general, have any bearing on its quality or correctness (in this context).

Obviously, age does have a bearing in some contexts. For example, if a person concluded that his day-old milk was better than his two-month old milk, he would not be committing an Appeal to Novelty. This is because in such cases the newness of the thing is relevant to its quality. Thus, the fallacy is committed only when the newness is not, in and of itself, relevant to the claim. It might be pointed out that Facebook is not explicitly claiming that new laws would be better because they are new (and one can easily imagine new laws being passed that are worse than the existing laws). So, it might be best to just go with the Anti-Tradition Fallacy. This is the opposite of the Appeal to Tradition fallacy. This is a fallacy that occurs when it is assumed that something is inferior or  wrong because it is older, traditional, or “always has been done/always been believed.” This sort of “reasoning” has the following form:

 

Premise 1: X is old(er) or traditional.

Conclusion: Therefore, X is incorrect or wrong.

This sort of “reasoning” is fallacious because the age of something does not automatically make it wrong or incorrect. For example, moral thinkers have long taken murder to be immoral, but the fact that this rule is ancient does not entail that it is incorrect or wrong.

Facebook (and anyone else) could make a reasonable case that the existing laws should be changed; but merely referencing their age as the foundation of  the argument is a fallacy.

 

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Back in the Classroom & the Could Be Worse Fallacy

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As COVID-19 cases surged upward in my adopted state of Florida public university faculty returned to the classroom. This Spring semester also saw widespread adoption of the HyFlex model of teaching. In practical terms, a HyFlex class at my university means that the professor teaches class in the classroom to any students who show up in person while the class is live streamed to other students. In some cases, such as my classes, students also have the option to complete the class as an asynchronous online class (watching videos of the class at their convenience).

As might be imagined, teaching a HyFlex class for the first time can be a bit of a challenge. Some classrooms have been upgraded as “Zoom Rooms” featuring HD cameras and other technology. These rooms are relatively easy for HyFlex teaching: you fire up the tech, then teach normally—aside from student’s voices coming from the ceiling speakers and glancing at a display from time to time to see the Zooming students. Some classrooms have been upgraded by attaching basic webcams to the decade old PCs in the rooms. This makes HyFlexing more challenging since you must talk into the webcam while also talking to the students in the room. But all this is manageable for most professors. While this new approach to teaching would have been of concern to some faculty in a normal year, their biggest concern is COVID.

My university has, obviously, adopted various safety protocols. Class size is limited, everyone must wear masks on campus, and decontamination is a regular thing. Students, staff, and faculty also must undergo regular testing and some faculty (those 65 and older) have been vaccinated. But going to campus and interacting does present some risks. Because of this, there have been some faculty in the state who have elected to not return to campus. I am currently teaching three HyFlex classes and one online class, so I am back in the classroom. Interestingly, non-class meetings (like committee meetings) are still all Zoom meetings and gatherings outside of class are still prohibited.

As an ethicist, I have approached this matter from a utilitarian standpoint: the ethics of in person classes is assessed in terms of weighing the harms and benefits. One major factor is, of course, that returning to in person teaching was necessary to avoid funding being cut—as such, we are taking a risk for money. This, obviously, is also subject to moral assessment but does figure significantly in the utilitarian calculation: by returning to the classroom, faculty help keep the schools funded. Another factor is that some students want (or even need) in person classes. As this is being written, I have about 150 students and 2 have shown up in person—but this might change. Other professors report higher numbers (within the limits allowed). But the benefit to in person learners can be offset by possible decline in the quality of education for the Zoom students. While the above-mentioned Zoom rooms do allow professors to teach in a mostly normal manner, teaching to Zoom students from a poorly equipped classroom can make the class worse. We will see how the quality of education is impacted.

The obvious possible harm is that faculty and students can infect each other with the virus. As noted above, the classrooms opened as cases surged—and they are still increasing. Even people who take the virus seriously often suffer from safety fatigue: masking, sanitizing, and keeping distance is tiring. There are, of course, also concerns about people who do not take the virus seriously. Worse, the virus and safety practices were made into a political issue—so rational people must worry about anti-maskers showing up in the classrooms.

While the idea of teaching an in-person class during a pandemic is scary, the objective numbers show that the chance of a professor or student contracting the virus in the classroom is low. But there is still a chance and it can be argued that the risk of serious illness or death outweighs the advantages of in-person classes during a pandemic. There is also the fact that the vaccines are becoming available—so it can be argued that schools should have waited to re-open in the Fall with vaccinated faculty, staff, and students. My own view is that this is what we should have done, and every death and serious illness that can be traced back to classroom is on the hands of those who pushed for the return to in-person classes. That said, I show up for every class.

When faculty complain about being forced back in the classroom, a common counter is to tell them that other people have it far worse. Essential workers and health care professionals have been at significant risk since the start of the pandemic. In general, they had and have the choice between showing up for work or being fired. And they tend to work in conditions that are much riskier than the classroom. For example, grocery store workers can be exposed to hundreds of customers—some of whom refuse to follow the safety protocols. No one is required to get tested before going shopping and efforts at social distancing have largely been abandoned. Medical personnel who work with COVID patients are also clearly at greater risk: while they take precautions, they are repeatedly exposed to infected people.

On the one hand, it seems reasonable to refute the complaints of professors by pointing out that other people have it worse. On the other hand, this sort of reasoning seems like it could be a fallacy. I will call this the “it could be worse fallacy.” This fallacy occurs when concerns, worries or complaints are dismissed by asserting that it could be worse. While the fallacy will almost always be presented informally, it can be given this form:

 

Premise 1: Person/Group A expresses concerns or worries about X or complains about X being bad.

Premise 2: But Y is worse than X (Or Person/Group A experiences Y which is worse than X).

Conclusion: X is not bad (A has no grounds for worry, concerns or complaint).

 

This is clearly bad logic. Even if there is something worse than something, it does not follow that the thing is not bad or that there are no grounds for concern or complaint. The following example illustrates this:

 

Premise 1: Sam complains that their spouse regularly beating and abusing them is bad.

Premise 2: But some spouses are killed by their spouse, which is worse than a mere beating.

Conclusion: Sam’s abuse is not bad, and Sam has no grounds for complaint.

 

In the case of complaining faculty, the logic would be this:

 

Premise 1: Faculty are complaining and concerned about the risks of teaching in person.

Premise 2: But other workers face worse risks from the virus.

Conclusion: Faculty have no grounds for complaint and concern.

 

This is, obviously, the same bad logic as the previous example. While it is true that others do have it worse, it does not follow that what is less bad is not still bad or merits complaint or concern. It is, however, important to note that there can be reasonable assessments that do rationally show that complaints, concerns, or worries are not well-founded or are overblown.  In the case of faculty returning to the classroom, it would be reasonable to assess the chances of infection and the likely consequences and then match those to the claims and worries of the faculty to see if their assessment is correct. As with all judgments of risk and harm, people will have different assessments—but this can still be done in a reasonable manner. The most reasonable assessment of the risk of teaching in person might show that faculty worries are overblown but a mere comparison to something worse would not do this.

A related type of bad reasoning is the “you are lucky…” This technique involves “refuting” a complaint, concern or claim by asserting that the person or group is lucky to not face something worse. This works essentially the same way as the above fallacy since the idea is that the possibility of something worse refutes complaints and claims. It has the following structure:

 

Premise 1: Person/Group A expresses concerns or worries about X or complains about X being bad.

Premise 2: It is claimed that A is lucky because Y is worse than X.

Conclusion: X is not bad (A has no grounds for worry, concerns or complaint).

 

The problem with the “reasoning” is shown by this example:

 

Premise 1: Sam complains that their spouse regularly beating and abusing them is bad.

Premise 2: Sam is lucky that their spouse did not kill them.

Conclusion: Sam’s abuse is not bad, and Sam has no grounds for complaint.

 

In the case of complaining faculty, the logic would be this:

 

Premise 1: Faculty are complaining and concerned about the risks of teaching in person.

Premise 2: But faculty are lucky they are not working a riskier job (and lucky they have a job).

Conclusion: Faculty have no grounds for complaint and concern.

As with the previous fallacy, it can be reasonably argued that a person or group is “lucky”—that is, their complaints, concerns and claims that something is bad have no merit. In the case of faculty complaining about the risks, if it could be shown that the risk does not warrant their concern or complaints, then they would be refuted. But simply saying they are lucky that things are not worse for them is not a refutation.

 

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The Straw Biden and Other Monsters of the Right

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After Trump’s attempt at insurrection failed, Biden was sworn in as President. Since he entered the race in response to extremism, it is natural that his inaugural address included appropriate words. “And now a rise of political extremism, white supremacy, domestic terrorism that we must confront and we will defeat.” Biden also said, “there is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit.” Given the recent insurrection and the seemingly endless flow of lies, these remarks seem eminently reasonable. But Rand Paul and Tucker Carlsen took issue with them immediately.

On Fox News, Rand Paul asserted that Biden was engaged in innuendo (suggesting something deprecatory). As Rand heard it, Biden was “calling us white supremacists, calling us racists, calling us every name in the book.” Rand also took issue with Biden’s remarks about lies, saying, “ ‘And going forward we’re not going to have manufactured or manipulated truth.’ That’s another way of saying ‘All of my opponents manufacture or manipulate the truth and are liars.’ ”

On the face of it, this seems to be a straw man of Biden’s claims. He focuses on extremism and calls for unity, something that would make little sense if the entire right was his target. Biden is also well known as a centrist with moderate views. As such, Paul seems to be making use of a common tactic in making a straw man, which is referring to an unknown fact. While Biden’s words and history are clear, Rand seems to be claiming to know the real meaning of Biden’s words—yet provides no evidence beyond his mere assertion. That is, Rand seems to be making a straw man. Then again, perhaps Rand is making a straw man of the right by assuming they are all extremist racists (something that is not true).

One interesting contrast is to compare how Rand interprets Biden with how he has defended Trump from accusations of racism. While interpreting Biden’s words in a very negative way, Rand did his best to cast Trump’s racist claims as not being racist.  Naturally, this defense of Trump does not entail that Rand is wrong in his interpretation of Biden (though he is wrong) but it might illustrate the in group bias. This is a cognitive bias that leads people to interpret the actions and words of members of their own group positively and those of other groups negatively. It would be natural for Rand’s brain to interpret Biden negatively and Trump positively. Alternatively, Rand could understand he is lying and simply engaging in an intentional straw man to attack Biden.

As would be expected Tucker Carlson has attacked Biden for his remarks. Carlson was already constructing a straw man attack on critics of the attack on the capitol, alleging that these criticisms were directed at the entire right. This attack could also be a hasty generalization (drawing a conclusion from a sample that is too small) in that there are certainly some on the left who generalize from the extreme right to the entire right. That is, Carlson could be attacking the left for making a hasty generalization by using a hasty generalization. This could also involve the fallacy of anecdotal evidence (supporting a general claim with an anecdote rather than having an adequate sample). Biden and most Americans do seem to understand the difference between right wing extremists and conservatives, Carlson’s claims to the contrary.

Carlson has also expressed the concern that the term “white supremacist” is too vague, and this vagueness will be exploited to justify attacking innocent people. Carlson is right to be concerned about the misuse of vague labels. After all, he himself constantly attacks “the left” and applies this vague term across a vast swath of people—not caring much or at all about distinctions in beliefs and actions. As such, Carlson and his ilk provide a cautionary tale of the very thing he is warning about: broad attacks based on vague terms are harmful.

There are grounds to be concerned that charges of racism could be used as political weapons and, somewhat ironically, racism is extremely diverse. Defining “racism” and “white supremacy” can be challenging—there are distinctions and nuances. However, Biden seems quite clear in what he is talking about: he means the sort of people who attacked the capitol when he is talking about extremism. And while philosophers can agonize over fine distinctions in the shades of racism, the paradigm cases of white supremacy can be quite clear. While we cannot draw an exact line defining white supremacy, insisting that we must, or we cannot recognize it would be to fall into the line drawing fallacy.

There is also the moral argument that the errors made in honestly combating racism that will hurt innocent non-racists will be vastly outweighed by the harms addressed by doing so. To insist that the efforts must be perfect, or we can do nothing would be the perfectionist fallacy. This does seem to be what Carlson is pushing: efforts to address racism could result in some harms and we do not have perfect definitions, so we should do nothing.

 

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Republican Response: Call for Unity with the Haters

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After Trump supporters attacked the capitol, the Democrats moved quickly to impeach the President for inciting this insurrection. Trump is probably safe from being convicted for a crime, but impeachment is a political matter.  As noted in the previous essay, some Republicans initially tried to claim that Antifa was behind the attack—but this lie was quickly refuted by the FBI. While this lie is still popular on social media, Trump’s defenders have employed two other tactics: accusing the Democrats of being haters and calling for unity.

Claiming Democrats are the party of haters has been a standard tactic for some time and is often used to defend Trump. The simplest version is the mere accusation of hate, such as saying “I’ve never seen such hate” in response to a criticism of Trump. Variations also include such things as accusing Democrats who point out racism of being “the real racists” or accusing them of “Trump derangement syndrome.”

While sometimes used as a mere insult, the accusation of hate is commonly used to “refute” claims. For example, Nancy might argue that Trump fomented an insurrection, and the “refutation” might be to say that Nancy hates Trump. This is fallacious reasoning. Even if Nancy did hate Trump, it would not follow that her claim is false. This fallacious reasoning is a version of the accusation of hate fallacy (it can also be considered a form of ad hominin attack):

 

Premise 1: Person A makes claim C about person B.

Premise 2: Person A is accused of hating person B.

Conclusion: Claim C is false.

 

As my usual silly math example shows, this is bad logic:

 

Premise 1: Dave says that Adolph is wrong when Adolph says that 2+2=7.

Premise 2: Dave hates Adolph.

Conclusion: So, 2+2=7.

 

While hating someone would be a biasing factor, this does not disprove the alleged hater’s claim. If it could be shown that a person’s hate biases them, then this would impact their credibility—but this would never suffice to disprove a person’s claim. Like many fallacies, the accusation of hate can have great psychological force—people tend to reject claims made by those they think hates someone they like. As such even if the Democrats do hate Trump (and others), this has no bearing on the truth of the claims they make about Trump.

The Republicans could make a moral criticism of the Democrats by accusing them of hating Trump (and others). This would require not only proving that a Democrat hates Trump (which might be easy) but showing that the hatred is not warranted by Trump’s actions. Even if this succeeded, it would not refute a claim made by the alleged hater.  I do think that a case could me made that Trump merits hate, although I have a moral preference against hating people. Thus, the Republican accusations of hate have no merit as attempts to refute claims.

One variation of the claim that Democrats are haters is the claim that they are dividers (this is a similar ad hominem attack). As would be expected, the Democrats have been accused of being dividers for impeaching Trump and wanting to hold him accountable for his actions. Saying that the Democrats are dividers would not, obviously, refute their claims—such as the claim that Trump’s action warrants impeachment.

The Republicans also seem to be advancing a utilitarian moral argument: impeaching Trump (or otherwise holding him accountable) would divide the nation and thus create harm. As such, the Democrats should not impeach Trump (or otherwise hold him accountable). The Republicans are probably right that impeaching Trump again would anger his supporters and thus expand the already vast political divide. It could be rationally debated whether holding Trump accountable would create more harm than letting him, once again, escape without consequences; but letting people escape consequences because some people would be upset would seem to be a problematic moral position.

In response to the Republican call for unity (in the form of not holding them or Trump accountable) critics have pointed out that Trump and his enablers have spent months lying about the election, trying to undermine democracy, and inspiring a violent insurrection against the United States. There are also credible claims that some Republicans assisted the insurrectionists by giving them the opportunity to conduct reconnaissance before their attack.

While it might be tempting to reject the Republican claim that Democrats should be uniters by declining to hold Trump (and others) accountable because of their hypocrisy, this would be an ad hominem tu quoque.   This fallacy is committed when it is concluded that a person’s claim is false because it is inconsistent with something else a person has said or what a person says is inconsistent with her actions. As such, the fact that Republicans call for unity after months of dividing does not disprove their claim: they could be right despite their hypocrisy. But their behavior is, of course, relevant to the ethics of the situation.

If the Republicans claim that the Democrats are wrong for dividing the country by holding Trump accountable, then consistency requires that their actions that divide the country would also be wrong. As such, they would need to accept that they have been acting wrongly. This could require that they accept the consequences of their actions and, at the very least, they would need to act in accord with their professed principle and renounce their lies about the election and cease instigating insurrection.

There is also the obvious moral argument that these actions by some Republicans warrant a response even if it would enhance disunity. To use an analogy, imagine that Dawn and Sam are a married couple. Sam learns that Dawn has had multiple affairs, has stolen from his family, has spread vicious lies about him, and killed the family dog. Sam files for divorce and his family files charges against Dawn. In response, Dawn and her relatives accuse Sam and his family of being haters and dividers to refute the charges against Dawn. They also say that Sam should not go through with the divorce and file charges because this would divide the family. But Dawn’s misdeeds would merit the divorce and charges—Sam would be a fool to not go through with them. The same holds true for Trump and his fellows: their actions merit consequences and their calls for unity are absurd.

 

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Epistemic Epidemiology: Election Fraud

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While this is being written Trump and his fellows have lost 59 court cases relating to the election. It is, as always, worth noting that Trump’s kraken legal team generally have not alleged widespread fraud in their court cases—for the obvious reason that there are consequences for lying to a judge. After Fox News and other right-wing media outlets started attacking voting technology company Smartmatic, the company responded with legal notices. This resulted in a surreal event on Fox, with a news segment being aired that debunked the election fraud lies made by its own hosts. One infers that Fox lawyers know it would be a disaster if they had to go to court—again, a place where lies about election fraud can have real consequences.

Forbes has a clear summary of the failed claims Trump and his fellows attempted to use to overturn the election for those who want a recap of the particular untruths. Even Trump’s own Attorney General has disagreed with him, stating that there is no widespread election fraud. The electoral college has met and what remains is Biden’s inauguration. Despite all this, Trump and his supporters still claim that there was widespread voter fraud, and that Trump won the election. Anyone who disagrees with them is dismissed as deceived or a traitor and there seems to be no evidence that will convince them that their claims are not true. This suggests the possibility of an epistemic epidemic. That is, there could be millions of people with extremely defective or even diseased belief forming systems. As with any disease, this is not a condemnation of these people—but a recognition of a serious condition that needs treatment.

It is also worth considering that there is also an ethical epidemic. That is, there is a widespread moral disease or condition affecting many people. Those who are lying about the election would be suffering from an ethical rather than epistemic defect—they do not believe what they are saying but are lying to achieve some gain for themselves or their group. For example, someone might make claims about widespread election fraud or even bring a lawsuit to fish for a pardon from Trump. While it can be difficult to sort out ethical defects from epistemic defects in such situations, it does seem reasonable to hold that those in the leadership of the Republican party know that there is no widespread voter fraud. Hence, their claims to the contrary will tend to be the result of ethical defects. But as one moves out into the general population, it seems possible and even likely that many Trump supporters believe the lies about widespread voter fraud. I know people who seem sincere in these beliefs—they are certain that widespread fraud occurred and relentlessly post on social media in support of Trump and his lies. While I do not know what is in their hearts and minds, the evidence is very strong that they believe what they are saying. Given the overwhelming evidence against their beliefs, they must have an issue with their belief forming mechanisms (which is obviously true of all of us sometimes).

Since they lack true evidence for their beliefs about election fraud, their beliefs must be founded on psychological factors and bad logic. The likely logical errors include many classic fallacies. One is clearly wishful thinking (the fallacy of believing that something is true because one wants it to be true). Much of the “reasoning” consists of various fallacious appeals to authority (accepting a claim based on what an inadequate authority claims). These involve accepting the claims of Trump, his allies, and the right-wing “news” outlets that are making these claims when they are clearly defective as experts in this matter. There is also likely to be the use of the fallacy argument from authoritarian (believing a claim because an authoritarian makes the claim)—this would occur when people believe there was fraud because the authoritarian Trump says so. These fallacies are obviously not unique to Trump supporters, but such a widespread infection that presents a danger to American democracy demands additional investigation into the causes of this outbreak and the development of an effective treatment of this epistemic epidemic. Fortunately, the errors seem to be common fallacies—there seems to be no new strain of bad logic loose in the population.

 

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Arguing: Good and Bad Faith

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Philosophical argumentation aims at establishing the truth of a claim.  The goal of persuasion is to get the audience to believe a claim whether it is true or false. Philosophical argumentation requires that one argue in good faith; persuasion does not. This is not to say that persuasive techniques are forbidden when arguing philosophically. You can and should use persuasive techniques to make your arguments more interesting, but you should not use them as substitutes for arguments.

Arguing in good faith is not the same thing as making a good argument: a person could make a terrible argument or use false premises in good faith. This is because arguing in good or bad faith is primarily a matter of intention. That said, arguments made in bad faith will tend to be bad arguments. To use an analogy, a person can prepare a turkey in good faith with the intention of making it safe and delicious. But the turkey could turn out badly or could even give the guests food poisoning. Preparing food in bad faith, to continue the analogy, would aim at deceiving guests about what they are really eating or even aim at intentionally poisoning them. As the analogy suggests, just as you would want to avoid bad faith cooks you would want to avoid those who argue in bad faith. They will not be serving up anything you should consume.

When a person argues in good faith, they intend to argue that a claim is true by using good logic and true (or at least plausible) evidence and reasons. Arguing in good faith does not require that a person believe the claim they are arguing for, but they do need to be honest about this. A person can advance an argument they disagree with as part of a good faith discussion. For example, philosophical argumentation often includes considering objections against one’s position and these objections can (and should) be made in good faith. As another example, when a philosophy presents the views of a philosopher they disagree with, they should present the arguments in good faith.

When considering arguments against your view (be they objections you raise yourself or not), arguing in good faith means using the principle of charity. Following this principle requires interpreting claims in the best possible light and reconstructing (or constructing) arguments to make them as strong as possible. There are three reasons to follow the principle. The first is that the use of this principle is the right thing to do. The second is that doing so helps avoid committing the straw person fallacy.  In this context, this a fallacy in which one presents a distorted or exaggerated version of an argument and then take criticism of that version to refute the real argument.  The third is practical: criticism of the best and strongest version of an argument also addresses the lesser versions.

The principle of charity should be tempered by the principle of plausibility. If you are considering another person’s argument, then the claims must be interpreted, and the argument reconstructed in a way that matches what is known about the source and the context. For example, reconstructing an argument by Descartes and including premises from quantum physics would violate the principle of plausibility. Now, on to arguing in bad faith.

Arguing in bad faith is not the same thing as arguing badly, but it usually involves making bad arguments with dubious premises. As with good faith, bad faith is a matter of intention.  When a person argues in bad faith, they intend to deceive and mislead when engaged in argument.  A person can engage in bad faith arguing in many ways.

One way to argue in bad faith is to knowingly use fallacies (errors in logic) to try to get the audience to accept a claim as true (or reject one as false). To illustrate, a person arguing in bad faith might make a straw person out of their opponents view or launch an ad Hominen attack against them to “refute” them.

Another way to argue in bad faith is to knowingly use persuasive devices (rhetoric) in place of evidence and reasons to get the audience to believe a claim. As noted above, you can use persuasive devices in good faith when making an argument. For example, a person skilled at both argumentation and comedy might make a hilarious but still good argument.

A third way to argue in bad faith is to use lies as premises or the conclusion of an argument. This is different from unintentionally using claims that are not true—a person can make a false claim and not be lying, since lying is a matter not just of truth but also intention.  A person can also make a true claim and still be lying; this could occur because the person incorrectly believes the claim is false and is trying to deceive the audience into accepting the claim as true.

Like sorting out when someone is lying, determining when someone is arguing in bad faith can be challenging. A person who is arguing in good faith might seem to be arguing in bad faith if they unintentionally use bad logic or make false claims. Someone who is skilled at arguing in bad faith might be utterly convincing and seem to be advancing incredible arguments. Fortunately, when assessing arguments and claims you can cut through bad faith by focusing on using the methods of logic and critical thinking to sort things out.

 

 

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