DOF has a pair of posts on (if I may paraphrase) how overrated civility and polite discourse sometimes are, and how sometimes Godwin’s Law is counterproductive to useful discussion.
I managed a long, rambling comment in the second of those posts (as compared to a short, rambling comment in the first of them), which means I should probably post it here:
I will grant that meta-arguments about “you’re invoking Nazis!” are rarely worthwhile. Indeed, I believe Godwin’s law simply indicates that the argument is over at that point, and it’s the civility crowd that has inserted “and the nice guys won.” [Actually, Godwin’s Law merely states that, as a discussion thread grows longer, the probability that Nazis will be dragged into the discussion approaches 1.]
Arguing for civility in discourse is like arguing for niceness in the tides or politeness from tornadoes. If you get to that point, you might as well pack up and leave, because things have gone as far as they are going to.
The problem with outrage and Nazi comparisons and flecks of spittle about the lips is that, in and of themselves, they make it clear that further discussion isn’t going to change anything. If you assert your belief that George W. Bush is out to create A Handmaiden’s Tale, or that Hillary Clinton is out to establish the One World State of the Anti-Christ, those are positions that approach axioms — you can’t argue with an article of faith, so why continue the discussion. The dialectic has broken down — best to go your separate ways, roll your eyes to your friends, and cut down on the bandwidth.
Moreso, the advantage of civility is that it at least presents the facade of respect. I don’t particularly care to associate with those who don’t offer me courtesy and respect; I’m much more willing to do so with people who treat me as human, even if I bitterly disagree with them. Someone who screams that my position on X reveals me to be an evil, corrupt dupe of [fill in the blank] isn’t someone that seems interested in hanging with me, nor I with him.
That doesn’t mean, to me, that we approach each issue with Olympian detatchment. Outrage is proper when outrage is felt. But all too often, outrage turns into any range of logical fallacies, demonization, and incoherent babbling. I think it is possible to feel passionately about an issue and still leave the door open to dialog—if dialog is what you’re really interested in.
Which, sometimes, it’s not. I have no desire to debate sexual ethics with NAMBLA, or racial differences with Klansmen. I have my hot buttons, and I’m willing to admit it. I tend to be intolerant of intolerance (cue Tom Lehrer and “National Brotherhood Week,” an ironically now-sexist title).
But, in general, I think most issues become clearer with discussion, and I retain enough ego to think that sometimes I might be able to sway someone who is simply a Wrong-thinker (and enough humility to admit that sometimes I might change my mind, too). But for that to happen, I need to be civil to others, and expect civility in return. Passion, yes, but a modicum of politeness in that passion.
Because True Believers are rarely pleasant to be around, even when I agree with them.
I will add, since it’s my blog, that there are four levels of comments I run into here:
- A comment that doesn’t require a response.
- A comment that I feel like responding to, either because I agree with it or because I want to continue the dialog.
- A comment that I feel responding to would only result in Battling Axioms, and, thus, I remain silent.
- A comment that I feel is so outrageous that, despite Battling Axioms, I cannot leave it be.
- A comment that I feel no further response to is needed because I’ve said all I can say, and to say more would simply be to spew my own bile.
Thus, if I drop a thread, it’s either because I feel I don’t need to respond, I don’t feel it wouild be productive to respond, or I don’t trust myself to respond. Some folks (who insist upon the last word) take a different course; that’s why there’s a blogosphere.
I am, by nature, someone who avoids confrontation when I can. Sometimes I can’t, in which case I confront. Though, I’ll note, at least 7 of 10 times I truly let loose, I usually regret it.
I’m not sure what thjis all means, other than an expression of my own taste, foibles, and/or psychoses. But there it is.
“at least 7 of 10 times I truly let loose, I usually regret it.”
I sure would like to know how to distinguish in advance the satisfactory rants from the regrettable. It may boil down to keeping my head when I am boiling over, at which I am hardly adept.
I’ve reached the point where I delete more comments than I actually post. Very often, upon rereading them, I find that I’ve added nothing worthwhile to the discussion. While I enjoy making my opinions known, the fact that they’re my opinions gives them no inherent credibility.
That said, I’ve noticed, now that I peruse so many blogs on a daily basis, that quite frequently my comment ends the thread. Often it’s something I post because I find it to be witty, but many times it just kills the discussion. :-/ Then, of course, I beging obsessing about it. :p
Okay, this post got past my internal censor. Let’s see what happens.
[crickets chirping in background]
Odd. I was thinking of something similar yesterday, only related to “justification” in general, rather than discourse. If you need to refer back to someone else’s say-so (ideology), you probably shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.
Which is not to say that there aren’t other flawed means of justification, for example, writing out a list of reasons why one responds or doesn’t respond to comments that, in essence, has so many options that it really means “it’s my blog, and I’ll comment if I want to, comment if I want to, comment if I want to…you’d comment too if it happened to yooo-oooou.”
Argument from authority is meaningful only insofar as the authority is recognized (and reliably argued from). It’s probably better used as a reference to a well-turned phrase. So quoting from Scripture, for example, might have some pertinence in an argument about Christian doctrine, but be less “argument settling” in a discussion of intellectual property rights (except to illustrate a point or to show where someone is coming from, ethically).
As to the list of why I do (or don’t) comment — yeah, you’re probably right. I guess it was a way of noting that sometimes silence doesn’t imply consent, or, conversely, disdain, but sometimes just acquiescence that the conversation is (or ought to be) at an end.
I agree with you up to a point — but I have to add the qualifiers, “recognized by whom?” and “to what purpose is the authority used?” Authority can be widely recognized in a culture and reliable in its own context — but still meanspirited or able to be misused.
Should the questions “should women be allowed to be priests?” and “should gay people be allowed to marry?”, when answered in a Christian doctrine context rather than a legal one, be allowed solely to refer back to Scripture, rather than practical or ethical considerations? Or should, among Christians per se, Scripture not be the only valid argument as the ultimate authority?
Or, in science, should Intelligent Design (and, by some people I think, religion) be mocked, since it doesn’t fit the definitions of a scientific theory (that definition being one of the cornerstone beliefs of science)? The authority of the definition of “scientific theory” is being used questionably, to increase the hostility (no matter who started it) between the religious right and the scientific community. Is that a proper use of the authority? Or is the spirit of scientific inquiry better served by encouraging better science among the ID folks, leading them toward a better understanding of what they see as God’s creation rather than proving that they already know what’s out there?
Which makes me think of the other post with the assimilation discussion…
As far as the list of reasons you comment or not, I just like teasing you. As punishment, I couldn’t get the song out of my head for hours, so be assured that I’ve already paid for my fun 🙂
Recognized by the parties of the discussion. There’s little use my mentioning my Uncle Frim as an authority on cold fusion if you’ve never heard of him or have no knowledge of or faith in his pronouncements.
And, yes, authority can be misused (in a meanspirited or goodspirited fashion, as far as that goes).
It depends on the Christians you ask. Some Christians would argue that Scripture (their interpretation thereof, mind you) should be the only (and solely sufficient) authority to cite. Others would agree, but disagree on how absolute or singular that interpretation is. Still others would argue that there are other, added means to the truth, including tradition and reason.
And some would argue that asserting a theological answer outside the context of its affects on others is not, in itself, a Christian attitude.
Similarly with your science-vs-religion setup, an anti-religion scientist quoting a pithy Carl Sagan quote isn’t going to be any more convincing than an anti-science religionist quoting a pithy Jerry Falwell quote. It’s not meant to advance the discussion, just to poke at the other person. If an authority, and the way it is used, is not mutually recognized by the folks involved, then using it in a discussion is preaching to one’s own choir.
That said, it’s also helpful to look at the argument being made, the message vs. the messenger. There are certain political and religious commentators that I tend to simply shut off when they are quoted — but that’s not fair, because I should be willing to listen to what they say, *then* point out how it’s pompous, facile, ill-grounded, illogical, or whatever.
Another analysis of the civility question here. I agree with it, to the extent that if being “civil” means never doing anything to offend, being solely dispassionate, etc., then, yes, civility is ethical masturbation (my words).
You can’t fix the world under the principle, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Some things *aren’t* nice, and need to be identified as such, and that’s liable to hurt some people. Worse, sometimes, out of honest and to make a point, one needs to use harsh language. “I must say I’d rather that there were no children being, as it is described, ‘abused’ or mistreated in the world, and we ought to hope that those who do such things will see the error of their ways and make amends” isn’t nearly as effective, or honest, as, “Child abuse is horrible, and the people who do it should be dragged through broken glass, dipped in lemon-infused honey, and staked onto fire ant mounds.”
My point is twofold:
1. Moral outrage is useful and, sometimes, obligatory. Not everything requires a high-pitched scream however, and ranting condemnation of things as an opening salvo, or on every target, ceases to be useful. When everything is horrible, nothing is horrible, to coin a phrase.
2. Not everyone agrees on everything. If I think gay marriage is horrible, and you don’t, expressing my moral outrage is honest but may or may not be effective at changing your mind. Worse, if done in an uncivil manner, it may harden you in your position. If the purpose of the discussion is to simply vent, fine. If it’s to engage in dialog and discover, perhaps, some new truths (or convince each other of our positions), then not fine.
3. Moral outrage too easily leads to angry attacks that go beyond the outrage itself. “I am deeply aggrieved by SUVs, and the damage they do to my world” too easily segues into “Anyone who disagrees with me on this is, on the face of it, an enemy of the environment” and thus to “SUV drivers and their supporters are evil, selfish bastards, and ought be pilloried for their crime” thence “Rethuglicans eat babies!” The incivility is not in the moral outrage, but the ease with which it turns into ad hominem attacks and shoddy thought.
In short, civil discouse is not about never being offensive, never taking a passionate stand, always being calm and collected and detatched. It is, to me, about trying to keep a dialog open, about trying to leave room for an enemy to become a friend, about hating the sin not the sinner, about having enough humility to realize that one’s categorical policy statements may in fact be wrong and thus to be open to change, and about realizing that the ends do not necessarily justify the means — being hurtful of others unnecessarily is not always a vice, but it’s rarely a virtue.
And, yes, I ought to have made that “threefold.” On the gripping hand …