Comment by Waterluvian
14 hours ago
I was taught early: attack the problem, not the person. One of the weakest tools in the persuasive argument toolbox is going after the credibility of the opposition.
14 hours ago
I was taught early: attack the problem, not the person. One of the weakest tools in the persuasive argument toolbox is going after the credibility of the opposition.
> "I was taught early: attack the problem, not the person. One of the weakest tools in the [...] toolbox is going after the credibility of the opposition."
I was taught early: Examine and, if necessary, attack both, for the credibility of a person (their track record, their motivations, etc.) are, or at least might be, a part of the problem.
"…the credibility of a person (their track record, their motivations, etc.) are, or at least might be, a part of the problem."
Yes, but I keep those considerations to myself. Might they inform my questions, may arguments? Absolutely. But they are not arguments in and of themselves.
> "Yes, but I keep those considerations to myself."
I certainly don't, if relevant. Strict event argumentation robs me (or my readers) of contexts necessary in Meinungsbildung (the opinion-forming process).
Then you were taught to argue incorrectly.
There are at least 2 kinds of arguments: logical arguments, and political arguments. A person's credibility is very important in political arguments.
In truth, there is no "correct way" to argue. What convinces people says more about the audience.
For many audiences, it isn't even about reason. That's especially true online where it's just power struggles between incoherent groups.
In the specific case of atheists, they are arguing about something non-falsifiable. Those topics are natural cesspools for grifters and charlatans. It's one thing to study the topic, but quite another to give fiery speeches and sell books to people desperate to find their identity somewhere in that slop.
What matters is that the writer of this article is also intelligent enough to present perspectives that I myself had not considered.
But perhaps he felt disappointment at seeing a flawed side of someone he once regarded as a hero, and that disappointment turned into aggressive criticism.
I also felt uncomfortable with this article partly because I once liked Dawkins myself. So perhaps my response was also a kind of defense born from fandom.
That is not a purely rational response. It is an emotional one.
In the end, not everything in the world can be reduced to understanding.
I think about the role passion plays in science when thinking about emotional vs. rational responses. I think passion is what fuels those emotional responses. To be dispassionate, one is ready to throw away their heroes and hypotheses with ease. Which is logical and what we’re taught: let new information change your models.
But even if it causes us to drag our heels and feel deep emotion when something we wanted to be exciting and true was just invalidated, it drives our impulse to dig deep and not give up or skip over a potential discovery.
I think Vulcans from Star Trek are what you get when your science lacks passion. Thorough, consistent, systematic. Subtly mocking the lesser humans for their impulse to explore that perfectly mundane star system.
I think where my mind is wandering with this is that some of our emotional responses act as a sort of cultural friction. We should be able to give up on Dawkins if the facts call for that. But it’s probably valuable for us to be stubborn about giving up on things we believe in.