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Critical Thinking/Logic

Deep Fakes

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In 1981 the critically unacclaimed Looker presented the story of a nefarious corporation digitizing and then murdering super models. This was, one assumes, to avoid having to pay them royalties. In many ways, this film was a leader in technology: it was the first commercial film to attempt to create a realistic computer-generated character and the first to use 3D computer shading (beating out Tron). Most importantly, it seems to be the first film to predict a technology for replacing real people with digital versions—and to predict that it would be used with nefarious intent.

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While the technology for creating digital versions of real people is not yet perfect, it is quite good and will continue to be improved. While one might think that such creations would require the resources of Hollywood,  the software to create such deep fakes is readily available—thus opening the door to anyone to create their own digital deceits.

As should be expected, the first use of this technology was to “deepfake” the appearance of celebrities onto the bodies of porn actors. While obviously of concern to the impacted celebrities, the creation of deepfake celebrity porn is probably the least harmful aspect of deepfakes. Sticking within the realm of porn, deepfakes could be created of normal people in efforts to humiliate them and damage their reputations (and perhaps get them fired). On the other side of the coin, the existence of deepfakes could enable people to claim that real images or videos of them are not real. One can easily imagine cheaters using the deepfake defense and the better deepfakes get, the better the defense. This points to the broad problem with the existence of deepfakes: when the technology is good enough and widespread enough, it will be difficult to tell what is real and what is deepfake. This is the core moral problem with the technology and its potential for abuse is vast. One obvious misuse is the creation of real fake news—videos of events that never occurred and recordings of people saying things they never said.

It can be argued that there are legitimate uses of deepfake style technology—think of movies and video games. This is certainly a reasonable point: if the people being digitized provide informed consent, this is merely an improved version of the CGI that has been used to recreate actors in movies and video games. However, this argument misses the point of the concern: it is not the technology that is the problem, it is the use to which it is put. To use an analogy, one can defend guns by arguing that there are legitimate uses (such as self-defense, hunting and target shooting) but this obviously does not defend homicides committed by using guns. The same holds for the deepfake technology: the technology itself is morally neutral, although it can clearly be used for evil ends. This makes it problematic to control or limit the underlying technology—even if it were possible to do so. One need merely think about how easy it is to acquire software from anywhere in the world to see that it would be almost impossible to control access to this technology—it would be on par, one imagines, with trying to prevent access to pirated movies and software. Because of this, limiting access is not a viable option to defending against deepfakes.

From a philosophical perspective, deepfakes present an epistemic nightmare worthy of the classic skeptics. While not on the scale of the problem of the external world (how do we know the allegedly real world is really real?), the problem of deepfakes presents a basic epistemic challenge: how do you know that the video is real and not a deepfake? The problem can be seen as having two parts. The first is discerning that a fake is a fake. The second is discerning that the real is real. Fortunately, the goal here is practical—we need not be certain, we just need to be sure enough. This, of course, does raise the problem of sorting out how confident we need to be in each situation—but this is nothing new: law and critical thinking have long addressed the matter of required levels of proof.

On the philosophical side, the old tools of critical thinking will still serve against deepfakes—although awareness of the technology will obviously be essential to applying such tools. For example, if a video appears of Mike Pence cruelly torturing his family’s pet rabbit, then it would be reasonable to conclude that this is a deepfake, especially if the real rabbit seems fine. Whatever one might think of his politics, Pence does not seem to be the sort of person who would do such a thing. There is also the general point that deepfakes do not create physical evidence and cannot (yet) be witnessed occurring in the real world—something that can be relevant to sorting out the real from the fake. Naturally, fully addressing the critical thinking needed to address deepfakes would require at least a book chapter—so I will not do so here. Such a work should, of course, include a discussion of how the possibility of deepfakes can be misused to argue that what is real is fake.

On the technological side, there will be an ongoing arms race between the software used to create deepfakes and the software used to detect them. One obvious concern is that nations will be working hard to both defeat and create deepfakes—so there will be plenty of funding for both. Actually, I suspect that countries like China and Russia will focus more on creating deepfakes than defeating them, mainly because they have considerable control of their media. In contrast, deepfakes will no doubt infest American social media soon—perhaps in time for the 2020 election.

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The Logic of Conspiracy Theories V: Best Explanation-Assessment

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In the previous essay in this series I presented the argument by elimination and ended with a promise to address how to assess the competition between explanations. The overall method of elimination in this context can be presented in the following form:

Premise 1: There are X (some number) explanations for Y (some phenomenon).

Premise 2: E (an explanation) is the best of the X explanations.

Conclusion: E is (probably) correct.

Sorting out the second premise involves “scoring” each explanation and then comparing these scores to see which one does the best. As noted in the previous essay, to the degree that there are reasonable doubts that all plausible explanations have been considered, there are reasonable doubts that the correct explanation has been found. But the focus of this essay is on the competition.

While the scoring metaphor is a useful one, the scoring of explanations is not an exact science and admits of a degree of subjectivity. As such, reasonable people can reasonably disagree about the relative ranking of explanations. That said, there are objective standards that are used in assessing explanations.

Conspiracy theorists do often make use of this method and argue that their theory best explains the facts. However, problems often arise when all the standards for assessing explanations are given due considerations.

There are some fairly obvious defects that any explanation needs to avoid to be considered a good explanation. At a minimum, an explanation needs to avoid being too vague (lacking adequate precision), ambiguous (having two or more meanings when it is not clear what is intended), and circularity (merely restating what is to be explained). These are minimal standards because an explanation that cannot even meet them would not be worth considering. For example, if an explanation is too vague, one does not even know what it is saying. There are other standards as well.

One standard is that an explanation needs to be consistent with established fact and theory. As would be imagined, conspiracy theories will almost by definition fail to meet this standard. For example, the conspiracy theory that NASA faked the moon landing goes against established fact. As another example, the view that the earth is flat goes against established fact and theory.

When faced with this standard, conspiracy theorists will often point out that some established facts and theories were themselves once inconsistent with the facts and theories of an earlier time. On the one hand, they are right to point out that old facts and theories have been overturned and thus this standard is not decisive. On the other hand, the fact that it has occurred in other cases does not prove that the specific conspiracy theory in question is thus proven. To use an analogy, while it is true that some convictions have been overturned, this fact does not entail that a specific person is thus innocent. Overturning established fact and theory requires showing that they have defects serious enough to warrant their overthrow—merely pointing out that it has happened does not show that it will happen in any particular case. When explanations compete, the explanation that better matches established fact and theory is better—unless compelling reasons can be given to overturn them.

A second standard is that an explanation needs to keep it simple. This involves avoiding unnecessary assumptions and needless complexities. The famous Occam’s Razor falls under this standard, with the enjoinder to not multiply entities beyond necessity. For example, explaining the phenomenon of night terrors in physiological terms as opposed to invoking demons or witches is simpler and hence better. As another example, those who favor evolution over creation contend that the theory of evolution explains everything that the creation explanation explains but has the advantage of not postulating God. As a third example, faking the moon landing in the 1960s would have required far more advanced technology than was available at the time as well as a global conspiracy between competing nations. The simpler explanation is that the landings took place. As the examples illustrate, explanations compete in terms of simplicity: all other things being equal, the simpler explanation is better.

Explanations often become more complicated as they endeavor to deal with problems or objections. This need not be a fatal problem as long as the increased complication is warranted. In other cases, the increased complexity is ad hoc and serves primarily to try to save the explanation from criticism in an unprincipled way. This typically involves presenting more explanations to account for the problems that arise for the original explanation. For example, when experiments seem to show that the earth is not flat proponents of this view attempt to explain these failures by bringing in some new factor(s) such as a previously unknown type of energy that affects gyroscopes. When challenged, they can say that this is an accepted method in science: almost all explanations are modified as complications arise. The challenge, then, is sorting out what is a legitimate modification in the face of a complication and what is an ad hoc attempt to save the explanation by bringing in new entities or complexities. This leads to what might be the most important standard, that of testability.

If an explanation gets it right, then it should yield predictions that turn out to be true. These predictions need to be testable, otherwise there would seem to be no way to know whether the explanation is correct or not. As such, if an explanation produces predictions that cannot be tested, then that is a problem for establishing its correctness: it might be correct, but we cannot know. If an explanation yields predictions that are tested and turn out to be false, then that is a problem for the theory—but it need not be fatal. As noted above, an explanation can be modified in the face of failure to account for that failure. This should yield a new prediction that can be tested. If the prediction turns out to be true, that is a plus for the explanation. As would be suspected, explanations compete in terms of explanatory power: all other things being equal, the explanation that yields better predictions is better. If the new prediction turns out to be false, then the explanation can be modified again to yield another prediction for testing. For example, if a new type of energy is postulated to explain how gyroscopes work, then predictions need to be made and tested for this energy. If it is claimed that the prediction is that gyroscopes would work the way they do and thus the energy has been shown to be real, then this would seem to be reasoning in a circle. As would be suspected, this is where conspiracy theories often hit the rocks: they advance explanations that yield false predictions and then modify the explanations, which then yield false predictions. They then modify then explanations, which yield more false predictions and so on. The problem does not lie with the basic method: as noted above, modifying explanations in a principled way in the face of findings is a legitimate method. The problem is that the proponent of the explanation simply refuses to accept testability—nothing can refute their explanation because they will simply modify it to respond to every failure. 

It might be objected that such persistence is a good thing—that if the great thinkers of the past gave up at the first failure of their predictions, we would not be where we are today. While there is much to be said of persistence, there is a point at which the proponent is simply refusing to accept testability—nothing can ever refute their explanation. But this is meaningless—it becomes useless as an explanation. To use a silly analogy, consider the invisible unicorn.

When I was in grade school, a kid told us they had a unicorn. Being kids, we doubted this but really wanted to see it. The unicorn kid claimed that we could not see it because it was invisible. A smart kid pointed out that we should be able to hear it. But unicorn kid said their unicorn was silent. Then someone said that we should be able to touch it or see its prints on the ground. To which unicorn kid said it was too quick and was flying. And so on, for every test that would prove (or disprove) the unicorn. While we might not be able to draw an exact line at which an explanation starts becoming an invisible unicorn, once it reaches that zone the game is over.  As would be guessed, conspiracy theories often end up in the land of invisible unicorns.

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The Logic of Conspiracy Theories IV: Best Explanation—Argument by Elimination

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As discussed in the previous essays on this subject, conspiracy theorists often use the methods of critical thinking to support and defend their theories. One method, which is a core component of scientific reasoning, is the inference to the best explanation. As the name suggests, this reasoning aims at finding the best explanation and this typically involves pitting competing explanations against each other until the best emerges.

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This reasoning can be seen as a version of the argument by elimination. This argument has two basic forms. One version is the total elimination method in which the goal is to show that something cannot be the case. The idea is to present all possible options, refute all of them and then conclude the total elimination. As an example, Kant used this method to argue that the existence of God cannot be proven (and that it could not be disproven). His reasoning was as follows:

Premise 1: There are only three possible ways to prove the existence of God: the teleological argument, the ontological argument and the cosmological argument.

Premise 2: None of these arguments can succeed in proving the existence of God.

Conclusion: There is no way to prove the existence of God.

While this is a valid deductive argument (if all the premises are true, then the conclusion must be true), showing that it is also sound (valid plus all true premises) is the real challenge. Doing so requires showing that there are only three ways to prove God’s existence and that they all must fail.

Since this method aims at total elimination, it is only useful in this context when trying to argue that no explanation is possible.

The second version is like a marathon: the competition runs until one victor emerges from the pack. In its simplest form (which has but two options), it can be presented as a disjunctive syllogism:

Premise 1:  P or Q

Premise 2: Not Q

Conclusion: P

It can also be expanded to include potentially infinite options:

Premise 1: P or Q or R or …

Premise 2: Not Q and Not R and Not…

Conclusion: P

This sort of reasoning is often used in mystery/crime stories: if there are only five possible suspects and one of them did it, then elimination four of them will reveal the culprit.  This presentation can be misleading, however. While the logic is valid, to avoid committing the fallacy of false dilemma it must be the case that the two (or more) options that are presented are the only viable options. To the degree that other options remain a possibility, the truth of the first premises remains in doubt.

Conspiracy theorists (and many others) sometimes make the mistake of falling into a false dilemma when they claim that their refutation of their main competitor(s) proves their theory. For example, a flat-earther might reason like this:

Premise 1: The earth is flat or the earth is a sphere.

Premise 2: The earth is not a sphere.

Conclusion: The earth is flat.

The obvious problem is that while the best-known proposed earths are the spherical earth and the flat earth, this does not entail that those are the only options. There are, after all, many other shapes in geometry and the flat option only wins by elimination when all those shapes have also been eliminated.

It is at this point that a skeptic can argue that one can never be sure that all the options have been considered, so one can never know that the right explanation has been found. After all, the skeptic can say, the right explanation might not even be in the competition. This fact is sometimes used by conspiracy theorists to cast doubts on an accepted explanation—this explanation might be the best among the known explanations, but not the true explanation. Unfortunately for the conspiracy theorist, this same doubt also applies to the explanation they advance so they need more than this doubt to support their own explanation.

While the skeptic might be right about the impossibility of certainty, it is still possible to hold the competition between the known explanations while always keeping in mind that alternatives have been missed. But the mere fact that there could be missed alternatives does not itself show that a good explanation has not been found. To use an analogy, think of a career. While there might be a better match for a person out there, this does not entail that their current career is not a good one (or even the best). After all, the career can be assessed by various standards and against the known alternatives. The same holds for explanations. So, while the possibility of unknown explanations should be kept in mind, their mere possibility should not be taken as refuting an explanation.

 The second challenge is that of establishing the second premise—eliminating the competition.

To the degree that the elimination of the other explanations is in doubt, the truth of the second premise remains in doubt. This leads to the matter of how explanations compete, which is the subject of the next essay in this series.

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The Logic of Conspiracy Theories III: Argument by Example

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As noted in the previous essays in the series, people who believe in conspiracy theories can use good methods of argumentation to establish their claims. As such, it would be an error to simply dismiss such folks as automatically being irrational or illogical. In this essay I will briefly look at how the argument by example can be used to support a conspiracy theory and how-to asses such reasoning to avoid accepting weak arguments.

An argument by example is, obviously enough, when one tries to support a conclusion by presenting examples. It has the following form, although people generally present it informally:

          Premise 1: Example 1 is an example that supports claim P.

          Premise n: Example n is an example that supports claim P.

          Conclusion: Claim P is true.

In this case n is a variable standing for the number of the premise in question and P is a variable standing for the claim under consideration. To use a non-conspiracy example, a politician might argue that they are competent in foreign policy by giving examples of their success in this area.

There are a variety of ways this argument can be used in the context of conspiracy theories. One is to argue for the existence of conspiracies in general by providing examples that purport to show that conspiracies do occur. For example, a Flat Earther might try to prove that it is reasonable to believe that supposedly proven science can be a hoax or conspiracy by giving examples of such occurrences (such as the Piltdown Man hoax).

While this approach is a legitimate use of the argument, to conclude from establishing the general claim that there have been conspiracies to a specific conspiracy theory being true would be an error in logic. To use an analogy, consider counterfeit art. It is easy to find many examples of counterfeit art and this nicely supports the conclusion that art has been counterfeited. But it would not follow that a specific work of art, such as the Mona Lisa, was thus a counterfeit.

 The second method is to argue for a specific conspiracy theory by presenting examples that support the theory. For example, someone who believes the Illuminati run the world would present examples of what they regard as the Illuminati in action and thus conclude their theory is correct. The question is, of course, whether the examples properly support the conclusion and this concern leads to the standards used to assess this argument.

First, the more examples, the stronger the argument. Second, the more relevant the examples, the stronger the argument. Using the Illuminati example as an illustration, the key concern would be whether the examples really do provide evidence of the illuminati. As should be suspected, this is where the main dispute would occur—the person arguing that the Illuminati is real would be seen by their critics as seeing things that are not there, while the proponent of the theory would think their critics blind.

Third, the examples must be specific and clearly identified. Vague and unidentified examples do not provide much in the way of support. Conspiracy theories are often supported by vague and unidentified examples, but sometimes they are quite precise and clearly identified. For example, the Illuminati theorist might point to a detailed and documented account of UN activities they see as example of the Illuminati influence.

 Fourth, counter-examples must be considered. A counter-example is an example that counts against the claim. One way to look at a counter example is that it is an example that supports the denial of the conclusion being argued for. The more counter-examples and the more relevant they are, the weaker the argument. In the case of the Illuminati example, counter-examples could be cases that would tell against Illuminati control. One common failing of conspiracy theories is that such counter-examples are ignored or downplayed. As would be imagined, this can lead to a battle over whether the supposed counter-example is really a counter-example or not. For example, if someone advances the theory that the entire world is ruled by a super-competent Illuminati, counter-examples would include all the things that seem to arise from poor human decision making and ignorance. But, of course, a clever theorist can try to explain away these supposed counter-examples. For example, chaos, wars and economic disasters are not evidence against a global Illuminati, but all prove it does exist.

As such, conspiracy theorists who use the argument by example are not being irrational or illogical—they are using a basic inductive tool. The problem is with how they assess their examples and their failure to give due weight to counter-examples. That said, the battles over the relevance of examples, whether a counter-example is really a counter-example, and the weight given to examples is one that can become very complicated. As such, theorists who are willing to apply the standards and consider criticism should not be simply dismissed.

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The Logic of Conspiracy Theories I: Argument from Authority

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While the details of each conspiracy theory vary, they typically involve attributing excessive power and influence to a small group engaging in nefarious activities. A classic example is the notion that NASA faked the moon landings. There are also many “false flag” conspiracy theories that range from the idea that the Bush administration was behind the 9/11 attack to the idea that mass shootings are faked to the claim that the pro-Trump stickers on the mail bomber’s van were placed to frame Republicans. There are also various medical conspiracy theories, such as those fueling the anti-vaccination movement.

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There has been considerable research into why people believe in conspiracy theories. An intuitively plausible explanation is that anxiety and feelings of a loss of control lead to accepting such theories. Ironically, people who embrace conspiracy theories seem to be less inclined to act to counter the perceived conspiracy, perhaps because they feel helpless in the face of such imagined power. This is not to say that this always holds true—the conspiracy theory about Hillary Clinton running a slavery operation in a pizzeria led to a concerned citizen shooting up the place.

It is certainly tempting to embrace the stereotype of the conspiracy theorist: someone immune to logic, oblivious to opposing evidence and perhaps suffering from mental illness. To broadly dismiss conspiracy theorist using this stereotype would be an error, though it certainly does apply in some cases. My contention is that some conspiracy theorists use the same tools of logic and reasoning as everyone else and I will endeavor to show that this is true.

Since the world is a complicated place and is beyond the understanding of any one person, we all turn to experts when we want to know if something is true or not. For example, most of us lack the time and resources to investigate in person the nature of migration, so we must rely on (supposed) experts to provide us with (one hopes) true claims. Accepting such claims based on the (alleged) expertise of the person making the claim is to use an argument from authority. This argument has the following form:

Premise 1. Person A is (claimed to be) an authority on subject S.

Premise 2. Person A makes claim C about subject S.

Conclusion. Therefore, C is true.

This reasoning is inductive (the premises provide a degree of support for the conclusion that is less than complete) and its strength depends on the quality of the authority/expert making the claim. If the authority is qualified to make reliable claims in the subject area, then the argument would be a good one. For example, believing that this is what an argument from authority is because of my expertise as a philosophy professor who has taught critical thinking/logic since 1989 would be good reasoning, If the alleged authority is not qualified to make reliable claims in the subject area, then the argument would be a fallacious appeal to authority—the premises would fail to properly support the conclusion. For example, if you believed what I said about quantum theory because of my alleged expertise, then you would fall victim to this fallacy—my expertise in philosophy does not confer expertise in quantum theory.

Most people who rationally believe any theory believe it based on an argument from authority—the exceptions are those who are experts in the theory. For example, most of us believe in the theory of relativity because of Einstein and other scientists, not because we have done the research ourselves.  In the case of conspiracy theories, believers often use an argument from authority: they believe the theory because an (alleged) expert has told them it is true. For example, those who accept the anti-vaccination theory point to the infamous paper that asserts a causal link between vaccines and autism or they believe because a celebrity they admire tells them vaccines are dangerous. Those who dislike Trump and believe that Putin has a urination tape as leverage probably do so because they heard the account from a source they want to believe. As such, for almost everyone the reasoned belief in a theory is the result of an argument from authority. So, then, what is the difference between the conspiracy theorist who believes that vaccines are dangerous because of what a celebrity says and a person who accepts relativity because of what Einstein said?

The difference, in general, is that conspiracy theorists tend to fall for fallacious arguments from authority as opposed to accepting well-founded arguments from authority. For example, believing that vaccines cause autism because of a debunked paper or because of what an actor says would be to fall into this fallacy. After all, unless the actor is also a medical expert on vaccines what they say about vaccines has no logical weight.

Resisting fallacious arguments from authority can be challenging, especially when the alleged authority is appealing, or the view being presented fits nicely with what one wants to believe. However, there are standards by which to assess an argument from authority. To be a good argument, it must be such that:

1. The person has sufficient expertise in the subject matter in question.

2. The claim being made by the person is within her area(s) of expertise.

3. There is an adequate degree of agreement among the other experts in the subject in question.

4. The person in question is not significantly biased.

5. The area of expertise is a legitimate area or discipline.

6. The authority in question must be identified.

If all these conditions are met, then the conclusion is probably true. However, since the argument from authority is inductive it suffers from the classic problem of induction: even if all the premises are true, the conclusion could still turn out to be false.

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Why Lie if the Truth Would Suffice?

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The question “why lie if the truth would suffice” can be interpreted in at least three ways. One way is to see it as asking about the motivation to lie—this is an inquiry asking for an explanation. A second way is to see it as an inquiry into the weighing of the advantages and disadvantages of lying. The third way is to see it as a rhetorical question that states, under the guise of inquiry, that one should not lie if the truth would suffice.

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Since a general discussion of this question would be rather abstract, I will focus on a specific example and use it as the basis for the discussion. Readers should, of course, construct their own examples using their favorite lie from those they disagree with. I will use Trump’s response to the Democrats’ Green New Deal as my example.

In 2019 the Democrats proposed a Green New Deal aimed at addressing climate change and economic issues. As with any proposal, it has problems and rational criticisms can be raised against it. Trump asserted that the Democrats intend “to permanently eliminate all Planes, Cars, Cows, Oil, Gas & the Military – even if no other country would do the same.”  While there are some Democrats who would endorse doing all of that, the Democrats as a party do not intend to do any of that. Looked at rationally, it would seem to make no sense to lie about the Green New Deal. If it is bad enough to reject on its own defects, lies would not be needed. If one must lie to attack it, this suggests that the person has no actual arguments against it—otherwise they would just point out the real defects. To use an analogy, if a prosecutor engages in lies to try to convict a person, this suggests that that they have no case against them—otherwise they would rely on real evidence. So, why would Trump lie if the truth would suffice to show the Green New Deal is a terrible plan?

The question of why Trump (or anyone else) lies when the truth would suffice is a matter for psychology, not philosophy. So, I will leave that question to others. This leaves me with the question about the advantages and disadvantages of lying as well as the rhetorical question.

The lie about the Green New Deal is a good example of hyperbole and a straw man. Trump himself claims to use the tactic of “truthful hyperbole”. Hyperbole is a rhetorical device in which one makes use of extravagant overstatement—such as claiming that the Democrats plan to permanently eliminate all cows. The reason hyperbole is not simply called lying is that it is a specific sort of untruth (an exaggeration) and it does have some foundation in truth. That is, hyperbole involves inflating or exaggerating something real rather than making something up entirely. The Green New Deal is aimed at making America carbon neutral and this would impact cars, cows, planes, oil, gas and the military. The extravagant exaggeration is that the proposal would eliminate all of them permanently. This would be as if someone proposes cutting back on dessert and Trump said the person plans to eliminate all meals permanently. Since hyperbole is simply rhetoric, it has no logical force—it does not prove (or disprove) anything. It can, however, have psychological force—it can make people feel a certain way so they believe a claim.

Hyperbole is often used in conjunction with the Straw Man fallacy. The Straw Man fallacy is committed when a person simply ignores a person’s actual position and substitutes a distorted, exaggerated or misrepresented version of that position. This sort of “reasoning” has the following pattern:

1. Person A has position X.

2. Person B presents position Y (which is a distorted version of X).

3. Person B attacks position Y.

4. Therefore X is false/incorrect/flawed.

This sort of “reasoning” is fallacious because attacking a distorted version of a position simply does not constitute an attack on the position itself. One might as well expect an attack on a poor drawing of a person to hurt the person.

Like hyperbole, the Straw Man fallacy is not based on a simple lie: it involves an exaggeration or distortion of something real. In the case of Trump and the Green New Deal, his “reasoning” is that the Green New Deal should be rejected because his hyperbolic straw man version is terrible. Since this is a fallacy, his “reasons” do not support his claim. It is, as always, important to note that Trump could be right that the Green New Deal is a bad idea—to infer that a fallacy must have a false conclusion is itself a fallacy (the fallacy fallacy).

While hyperbole has no logical force and a straw man is a fallacy, there are advantages to using them in the place of the truth. One advantage is that using them is easier than coming up with actual reasons. Criticizing the Green New Deal for what it is requires knowing what it is and considering the possible defects—this takes time and effort. Tweeting out a straw man takes mere seconds.

The second advantage is that hyperbole and straw men often work—and generally work better than the truth. In the case of complex matters, people rarely bother to do their homework and hence often do not know that a straw man is a straw man. For example, I have interacted with people who seem to honestly think that the Democrats plan to eliminate planes and cars entirely. Since this is a bad idea, they reject it—not realizing that is not the actual Green New Deal. The obvious defense against this is to do the work to know the facts. While this can take time and effort, if a person has the time to rant on Facebook or Twitter about the matter, they have the time to do some basic research. If not, their ignorance should command them to remain silent. Yes, they still have the right of free expression—I am not advocating that they be silenced.

As far as working better than the truth, a well-crafted hyperbole or straw man appeals to the target’s fears, anger or hope—they are thus motivated to believe to a degree that the truth would not match. People generally find rational argumentation dull and unmoving, especially when it is about complex matters.  So, if Trump did lay out in detail the real problems with the Green New Deal, complete with supporting data and graphs, he would simply bore most people and they would tune out before he got to his conclusion. By using a straw man, he better achieves his goal of getting people to reject the Green New Deal. This does allow for a pragmatic argument for lying because the truth will not suffice.

If telling the truth would not suffice to convince people of a claim, then there is the obvious pragmatic argument that if lying would do the job, then it should be used. For example, if going into an honest assessment of the Green New Deal would merely bore people and lying would get the job done, then Trump should lie if he wants to achieve his goal. This does, however, raise some obvious moral concerns.

If the reason the truth would not suffice is because it does not logically support the person’s claim, then it would be immoral to lie. To use a non-political example, if you would not invest in my new fake company iScam if you knew it was a scam, getting you to invest in it by lying would be wrong. So, if the New Green Deal could not be refuted by the truth, Trump’s lies about it would clearly be immoral. To use an analogy, it would be like someone lying to get people to reject the measles vaccine. So, one should not lie if the truth would suffice.

But, what about cases in which the truth would logically support a claim, but the truth would not persuade people to accept the claim? Going back to the Green New Deal example, suppose that it is terrible but that explaining its defects would simply bore people and they would tune out and remain unpersuaded. But, a straw man version of the Green New Deal would persuade many people to reject this (for the sake of the discussion) terrible plan? From a utilitarian standpoint, the lie could be morally justified—if the good of lying outweighed the harms, then it would be the right thing to do. To use an analogy, suppose you were trying to convince a friend to not start a foolish and ineffective diet. You have all sorts of scientific data and good arguments, but you know your friend is bored by data and is largely immune to logic. So, telling them the truth would mean that they would go on the diet and end up suffering some health issues. But, if you exaggerate the harms dramatically, your friend will be scared and not try the diet. In such a case, the straw man argument would seem to be morally justified—you are exaggerating to protect your friend from a bad choice.

While this might seem to justify the general use of hyperbole and the straw man, ironically it only justifies their use when the truth does suffice logically but does not suffice in terms of persuasive power. That is, the fallacy is only justified as a persuasive device when there are non-fallacious arguments that would establish the same conclusion.

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