“Debating creationists on the topic of evolution is rather like trying to play chess with a pigeon—it knocks the pieces over, craps on the board, and flies back to its flock to claim victory.”1
This famous quote is by Scott D. Weitzenhoffer, who wrote it as an Amazon.com review for Eugenie Scott’s book Evolution vs. Creationism: An Introduction. It raises an important question: When and how should we debate people who hold to opinions that we consider entirely unscientific and either ideologically or religiously motivated?
When I first encountered the notion of creationism, as a young assistant professor of evolutionary biology at the University of Tennessee in the mid-1990s, I was astounded that there were creationists around so close to the end of the twentieth century. The mythical year 2000 was looming over the horizon. Not only were the much-promised flying cars nowhere to be seen, but now I had to deal with these nutcases!
That, of course, tells you just how naive I was at the time. So naive, in fact, that I eagerly volunteered to debate all sorts of strange types passing through campus, from theologian William Lane Craig to Institute for Creation Research associate Duane Gish to preacher-turned-federal convict Kent Hovind. I can readily confirm the correctness of Weitzenhoffer’s observation: debating these people really is like playing pigeon chess. So, should we do it?
It depends. The first thing to understand about debates is that your objective is most definitely not to change your opponent’s mind. Debates are adversarial contests (notice that I referred to the other person as my “opponent”), not amicable conversations. They are more like what lawyers do when they spar in a court of law than a constructive conversation where the common goal is to uncover the truth.
The second thing to keep in mind is that you are also not trying to reach the segment of the audience that has come to cheer on your opponent—at least not in the short term. Those people are ideological partisans, not open-minded spectators. I say in the short term because I know that I have managed to reach some during my debates. They wrote to me years later, telling me that while on the day of the debate they were absolutely certain that I was wrong (and would assuredly go to hell for it), they later realized that I planted some seeds of doubt that eventually germinated and flowered because they were nourished by further exposure to the “heretical” ideas I had advanced.
Then again, let us be frank. Nobody changes their mind about something they really care about upon first exposure to an opposing argument, no matter how convincing the argument and compelling the evidence; I know I don’t. We change our minds in a reasoned fashion (as opposed to a sudden conversion resulting from an emotional trauma) slowly, over time, as a result of multiple exposures from multiple sources and at the end of an often-difficult personal journey (Altemeyer and Hunsberger 1997). So, let’s not expect miracles here.
If not for your opponent or his supporters, then who are you debating for? Two further segments of the audience: your supporters and the uncommitted. Just like the other side needs to feel part of a team and gets excited by the confrontation of their champion with you, your side has similar psychological needs. A good debate is one way to energize people on your side so that they in turn go out and spread the word, contribute financially to the cause, write newspaper op-eds, and so forth. Why do you think evangelical preachers love debating heathens?
And then there are the uncommitted, those who have genuinely come to the debate to hear and learn. They might have their own opinion—who doesn’t?—but they are not totally committed. And it is your job to reach them. You can see from what I’ve written so far that you have a delicate task on your hands. You need to connect with two very different kinds of audiences, which accordingly have very different kinds of expectations.
Your supporters want you to pummel your opponent (verbally, of course). They expect zingers from you, a display of knowledge and sarcasm that will make them feel good about being on your team. The undecided, however, are not likely to react well to that sort of rhetorical pyrotechnics. They want to see someone who is calm and knowledgeable, who respects his opponent and takes their arguments seriously. A gentleman (or gentlewoman) and a scholar, so to speak. To strike a balance between these expectations will be tricky, which is why it ain’t easy to be an effective debater.
And here is something possibly even more disturbing for a skeptic whose self-image is rooted in the notions of science and objectivity: having good arguments and empirical evidence on our side is nowhere near sufficient to persuade people. We also need to convince the audience that it is worth listening to what we have to say and, perhaps most controversial, we need to connect with the audience on an emotional level.
The guy who first articulated this multi-pronged approach to persuasion was the philosopher who is perhaps most famous for his use of logic: Aristotle. He was also a scientist, having written about physics and having carried out empirical observations in biology. And yet, the book he wrote on rhetoric2 is still today considered a must-read in the discipline.
Aristotle thought that persuasion requires three components: the logos, the ethos, and the pathos. Logos has to do with getting our facts right and our arguments in proper shape. If we don’t do that, we are no better than our opponents, and nothing we say will be worth saying. Ethos is concerned with establishing our credentials, and by that I don’t mean just sporting an academic title but convincing an audience that we are trustworthy, that they may gain something from listening to us even if they disagree with the notions we are putting forth. The pathos is about connecting with people’s emotions. Why should they care about what we say in the first place?
A simple, handy guide to using Aristotle’s “rhetorical triangle,”3 as it is sometimes referred to as, is found in the accompanying chart.
In my experience, scientists and science popularizers pay a lot of attention to the logos, as they should (creationists don’t). As far as the ethos is concerned, they seem to think that having a “Dr.” in front of their name, or a “PhD” after, is all they need. And they are positively suspicious of the pathos, because they recoil from even the thought of “emotional manipulation.”
But human beings are a complex mixture of reason and emotions, and the latter—empirically speaking—are much stronger motivators than the former. When I debated creationists, it became increasingly clear that for most members of the audience, the issue wasn’t at all about science, facts, and logic. It was about what they perceived, rightly or not, as a direct threat to their entire way of life, their faith, and their chances of getting into heaven. Being an avowed atheist, I had absolutely no chance of establishing my ethos with them. I quickly decided that my colleague Ken Miller, an excellent biologist and a Christian, was a far better choice when it came to debates with evangelicals, so I redirected my invitations his way.
So, the next time you consider engaging a purveyor of pseudoscience, in whatever setting or medium, go back to Aristotle’s rhetorical triangle. It will prove itself a trusted friend.
Notes
- Amazon customer review, https://www.amazon.com/review/R2367M3BJ05M82.
- Aristotle, Rhetoric, http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/rhetoric.html.
- More on Aristotle’s rhetorical triangle here: https://www.lsu.edu/hss/english/files/university_writing_files/item35402.pdf.
Reference
Altemeyer, Bob, and Bruce Hunsberger. 1997. Amazing Conversions: Why Some Turn to Faith & Others Abandon Religion. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books.