Yelling: How to Win an Argument

Persuasion is a tricky thing; it’s an artful balance of reason, conviction, charm and confidence. Not only do you need to find the appropriate levels of each for every new situation, but they must be effectively executed with precise timing. Whether it is a heated philosophical or political debate amongst intellectual equals, a misunderstanding or disagreement with a significant (or maybe not-so-significant, but she pays the rent) other or conflicts of interest with larger, drunker men (by which, of course, I mean your interest is not to leave the bar bloody and ashamed), every potential argument brings about its own special set of circumstances. Notwithstanding, certain time-tried principles of persuasion will help you keep your moral righteousness and air of pomposity in impeccable tact. With any luck, such principals can give the average person a fighting chance at avoiding impending conflict by saying the right thing, in the right manner, at the right time.

Students of forensics (the ones who blindly make references to Nietzsche, categorical imperatives and hierarchies of needs, as opposed to the ones that wear rubber gloves and touch yucky things) have worked tirelessly since the very first disagreement in 399 B.C.—when Socrates first shook his head violently while uttering the words “nuh-uh”—to perfect the art of formal debate. The best debaters in every age have managed to scrupulously choreograph the most effective gesticulations by watching professional wrestlers intimidate their opponents. As an example, Chester MacBadger, the winner of the 1989 National Debate Championships, employed what’s now known as the “Hogan Offensive” to defeat Jaspy Miller in the final round. After Jaspy asserted a weak evocation of The Federalist Papers, Chester rebutted by arguing that The Beatles had actually conceived the American system of representative democracy in 1963. He then proceeded to run from one side of the stage to the other, stopping only to rip off his shirt, circle his hand in the air and dramatically bringing it to his ear, eliciting support for his argument from the crowd and the adjudicators. Jaspy, unable to recover from such devastating gesticulations, relapsed into a debilitating stutter he’d worked months to suppress and lost the round four votes to one.

Forensics students agreed that it would take more to master the art of argument. They turned, naturally, to the use of analogies. One of the most well known series of presidential debates occurred throughout 1860 between two exceptional debaters and orators: Stephen A. Douglas and Abraham H. Lincoln. The two had met on the political/philosophical battlefield in 1858, just before Douglas squarely handed Lincoln his own ass for the office of US Senator from Illinois. Lincoln, distraught by his defeat to a man he was clearly taller than, dedicated the next two years to studying the tactics and strategies of phenomenal debaters. He emerged from his training with a firm mastery of analogy drawing. In the final televised debate before the election, Douglas was making an airtight case against abolition by arguing that every other great civilization in history had employed slavery as the backbone of its national superiority. Lincoln, slightly distressed by the merits of Douglas’ position, but satiated by his mid-afternoon snack, accused Douglas of “comparing apples to oranges”. The American populous concurred; Douglas had, in fact, been making that very comparison. Lincoln won in a landslide and went on to become famous for making plenty of other contributions to the American compendium of clichés.

Forensics students met again and agreed that it would take more, still, to master the art of argument. This time (we’re talking maybe around 1996), they turned to Ivy League types for inspiration on how best to show others how very wrong and intellectually inferior they are. Dr. Alan Thunder, a rhetorician at A University That Isn’t Georgetown, postulated that when defending a weak argument, an effective strategy is to point out how much more intelligent and better read you are than your opponent by quoting “books” (as they’re called) you’re certain your opponent hasn’t read. “For example,” writes Thunder, “when contending that crunchy peanut butter is far and away better tasting than creamy peanut butter, studies of Ivy League students has shown that it is advantageous to quote Kierkegaard as having postulated—and it is important to use the word postulated—‘When we objectively investigate the truth, we reflect objectively about the truth as an object to which we are related. We do not reflect upon the relationship, but upon the fact that it is the truth--the truth to which we are related. When this to which we are related merely is the truth, the true, then the subject is in the truth. When we subjectively investigate the truth, we reflect subjectively upon the relationship of the individual; only when the how of this relationship is in truth, is the individual in truth, even if he is thus related to the untrue.’” Dr. Thunder adds that you’re guaranteed to further trump your opponent by adding, “But, surely you would know that if you’ve read Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling.” That’ll teach those imbeciles to question the value of crunchy peanut butter!

These increasingly masterful debaters met one final time to pensively stroke their collective chin on the subject of successfully winning every argument. “We’ve covered, what seems to be, all of our proverbial bases. We’ve mastered body-language and reason, not to mention shamelessly flexing our philosophical-lexicon muscle… what could we possibly be missing?” they seemed to say. They sat and pondered furiously. “If only there were someone that could guide us…” they added (inwardly).

Well, friends and comrades, I have the answer. When the “Razor Ramon Approach” fails… when your opponent counted their chickens after they’d hatched… when you’ve discovered that no one’s impressed by the musings of Bertrand Russell… talk louder! It’s that simple. Don’t just yell; yell profanities. The louder you manage to raise your voice, the more likely you are to get away with saying completely irrational, abundantly ignorant things. Yelling, without question, is the perfect defense for an otherwise indefensible position. Timing, however, is key; the sooner you start yelling, the better it is for your position. Don’t waste precious rebuttal moments on niceties. Go straight for the jugular. For example:
“Hey Paco.”
“Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”
“Great. Real great. Listen, I haven’t said anything for the last few months, but you’re… you know… not exactly on time with your rent this month. Or last month, really. I really hate to hassle you, man, but do you think you could get that to me in the next week or tw—“
“WHY CAN’T I TAKE A GODDAMN BREATH WITHOUT YOU CONSTANTLY NAGGING ME ABOUT THE RENT? YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME, DON’T YOU? I’M SICK AND TIRED OF YOUR… YOU KNOW WHAT? GET OUT BEFORE I DO SOMETHING TO GET ME SENT BACK TO JAIL!!!!”

Should you defend the merits of reason, cooperation and wit, I defy you to attempt an argument on any subject, in any language against Al Pacino, the master of yelling. Do you think you’d tell Tony Montana that he short changed you 85 cents? How about telling John Milton (his character in The Devil’s Advocate) that he should be more considerate? Would you really ever tell Don Michael Corleone to calm down and be reasonable?

Yelling: beating reason and morality since 1972

Part II… Violence: How to Win an Argument Against Someone Who's Read “Yelling: How to Win an Argument”

THAT’S ALL!!!