Here’s a quick addendum to Monday’s article on what a good argument is (and isn’t).
One reason why a good argument doesn’t need to be a convincing argument—or one that converts someone to a different point of view—is because there are clear cases, I think, where good arguments actually make people more ignorant than they were before. That is, good arguments can sometimes have an overall bad effect.
The reason for this is simple: the more expensive (intellectually or emotionally) a hypothesis or belief is for someone, the less likely they are to be convinced by a good argument for it. If adopting some belief would require significant changes in a person’s life—not just in their overall conceptual scheme, but also in their everyday way of living, their choices, behaviors, the people they associate with, or how those people perceive them—then that person will often do something unreasonable to avoid accepting it.
In other words, if someone is hit with a good argument—a, b, therefore c—where a and b (which they already believe to be true, and which actually are true) lead ineluctably to c (which they don’t want to believe because it would cost them too much), they’ll often just abandon one of the former claims as a committed fact. In such cases where those claims were true, we have an instance where a good argument has actually made somebody more ignorant. That alone should make it clear that a good argument—while good for something—is not necessarily good for everyone.
Examples of this aren’t hard to find. I’ve heard philosophers openly admit—sometimes with a peculiar sort of virtue-signaling enthusiasm—that if it could be shown that God exists based on what they otherwise regard as very obvious facts, they would simply abandon their commitment to those facts—even if that meant rejecting something as foundational as the principle of non-contradiction or their own generally reliable cognitive functioning. (Indeed, I recall hearing one philosopher say that there was literally nothing that could convince him God existed—even if he encountered a message in the stars reading, “This is God. I exist,” he would sooner attribute it to madness than countenance the possibility that his atheism was wrong. I found his view… unreasonable, to be sure, but refreshingly honest).
Good arguments can produce bad effects. They can cause not just reasonable belief revision but unreasonable belief revision, where people, upon seeing certain implications of their current beliefs, abandon those beliefs and adopt far less plausible—sometimes downright loony—beliefs instead, just to avoid giving up positions they’re deeply committed to. And this, of course, is because everyone has implicit ways of privileging certain beliefs, for deciding which beliefs are expendable and how much counter-evidence they’re willing to brush aside to keep the rest, or whatever is most precious to them, intact.
Finally, these points relate to something else that doesn’t necessarily make for a good argument—namely, an argument being worthwhile. There are, I think, quite a good number of worthwhile arguments that are definitely not good arguments.
Aside from casting an obvious glance in Hume’s direction, I’ve highlighted various thinkers who, in my view, make worthwhile arguments—insofar as they reason in consistent channels and demonstrate certain probable or inevitable consequences of otherwise faulty starting points. (I’ve described these thinkers—all very interesting and intelligent people, to be sure—as those who would be right, if only they weren’t wrong.) Their arguments ultimately aren’t good ones, as they fail to establish their conclusions as true. However, they remain valuable, not least because they illustrate how certain absurdities arise from particular assumptions. For many, seeing these connections can help reduce ignorance or error.
What we have here, then, is an example where bad arguments can, somewhat ironically, produce overall good effects—or at least where an argument being bad for someone does not necessarily mean it is bad for everyone.