leguminous plants which enrich the soil by giving to it elements in
which it had been previously lacking. After a crop of _ad hominem_
arguments has grown and been turned under, we may expect a rich harvest
of more commercially valuable fallacies in the next season. To thus
enrich the soil is an evidence of the skill of the culturist.
“Suppose, for example, you were to attempt to implant this proposition
in the unprepared mind of an acquaintance, ‘All geese are swans.’ The
proposition is not well received. All your friend’s ornithological
prejudices are against it. There is no foodstuff to support your theory.
“But suppose you prepare the soil by a crop of the _ad hominem_
argument. You say to your friend, after looking admiringly at his
possessions, ‘It seems to me that all _your_ geese are swans.’ He
answers cordially, ‘That’s just what I was thinking myself.’ Now you
have nicely prepared the ground for further operations.
“While controversial theologians have always had a fondness for
arguments in a circle, the _ad hominem_ arguments have been largely
cultivated by politicians. More than a generation ago Jeremy Bentham
published a work called ‘Political Fallacies.’ He described those that
are indigenous to the British Isles. Almost all on his list were of
the _ad hominem_ variety. He described particularly those which could
be grown to advantage in the Houses of Parliament. Since Bentham’s
day, much has been done in America in the way of propagating new
varieties. Many of these, though widely advertised, have not yet been
scientifically described. I have thought that if my present book is
well received, I might publish another covering this ground. It will
probably be entitled, ‘Reasoning for Profit; or Success with Small
Fallacies.’
“The great essential in arguments of this kind is to have a thorough
knowledge of the soil. Given the right soil, and the most feeble
argument will flourish. Take, for example, the arguments for the
divine right of kings to rule, once much esteemed by court preachers.
Of course the first necessity was to catch your kings. The arguments
in themselves were singularly feeble, but they flourished mightily
in the hotbeds of royalty. The trouble was that they did not bear
transplanting.
“Half a century ago there were a dozen thrifty arguments for human
slavery. They are, abstractly speaking, as good now as they ever were,
but they have altogether passed out of cultivation.
“In landscape gardening groups of the _ad hominem_ arguments skillfully
arranged are always charming. Much discrimination is needed for the
adornment of any particular spot. Suppose you were called upon to
furnish fallacies for an Amalgamated Society of Esoteric Astrologers.
You might safely, in such fertile soil and tropical climate, plant the
most luxuriant exotics. Such airy growths, however, would be obviously
inappropriate for a commercial club composed of solid business men.
You would for them choose rather a sturdy perennial, for example, the
_argumentum ad Pennsylvaniam_, or tariff-bearing argument.
“It grows thus:--
The tariff is that which conduces to our prosperity.
A tax does not conduce to our prosperity.
Therefore, a tariff is not a tax.
“Persons who have confined their logical exercises to the task of
convincing impartial minds have no idea of the exhilaration which comes
when one has only to convince a person of the wisdom of a course of
action he has already taken. There is really no comparison between
the two. There is all the difference that there is between climbing
an icy hill and sliding down the same hill on a toboggan. There is no
intellectual sport equal to that of tobogganing from a lofty moral
premise to a congenial practical conclusion. We go so fast that we
hardly know how we got to the bottom, but there we are, safe and sound.
We have only to choose our company and hold on; gravitation does the
rest. It is astonishing what conclusions we can come to when we do our
reasoning in this pleasantly gregarious fashion.
“_Ignoratio Elenchi_, or the fallacy of irrelevant conclusion. This is
not a natural species, but the result of artifice. It is a familiar
kind of argument. It begins well, and it ends well, but you have a
feeling that something has happened to it in the middle. You have
noticed in the orchard an apple tree that starts out to be a Pippin,
but when the time comes for it to bear fruit it has apparently changed
its mind, and has concluded to be a Rhode Island Greening. Of course
you are aware that it has not really changed its mind, for the laws
of Nature are quite invariable. The whimsicality of its conduct is to
be laid not upon Nature, but upon Art. The gardener has skillfully
grafted one stock upon another. The same thing can be done with an
argument. You have often observed the way in which a person will start
out to prove one proposition and after a little while end up with the
triumphant demonstration of something that is quite different. He shows
such an ability at ratiocination that you cannot help admiring his
reasoning powers, though it is hard to follow him. Your bewilderment
comes from the fact that you had expected the original seedling to
bring forth after its kind, and had not noticed the point where the
scion of a new proposition had been grafted on.
“Many persons are not troubled at all when the conclusions are
irrelevant. They rather like them that way. If an argument will not
prove one thing, then let it prove another. It is all in the day’s
work. To persons with this tolerant taste the variety afforded by the
use of the _ignoratio elenchi_ is very pleasing.”
A chapter is given to the Cross-fertilization of Fallacies. The author
shows how two half-truths brought together from two widely separated
fields of thought will produce a new and magnificently variegated
form of opinion. The hybrid will surpass specimens of either of the
parent stocks both in size and showiness. Thus a half-truth of popular
religion cross-fertilized by a half-truth of popular science will
produce a hybrid which astonishes both the religious and the scientific
world. If we were following the analogy of mathematics we might assume
that two half-truths would make a whole truth. But when we are dealing
with the marvelous reproductive powers of nature we find that they
make much more than that.
Scholasticus gives a page or two to the Dwarfing of Arguments. “The
complaint is sometimes heard that an argument which is otherwise
satisfactory proves too much. This may seem a good fault to those whose
chief difficulty is in making their arguments prove anything at all.
But I assure you that it is really very troublesome to find that you
have proved more than you intended. You may have no facilities for
dealing with the surplus conclusions, and you may find all your plans
disarranged. For this reason many persons, instead of cultivating
arguments of the standard sizes which take a good deal of room, prefer
the dwarf varieties. These are very convenient where one does not wish
one principle to crowd out another that may be opposed to it. Persons
inclined to moderation prefer to cultivate a number of good ideas
without crowding. The dwarf varieties are pleasing to the cultivated
taste, as they are generally exceedingly symmetrical, while full-grown
ideas, especially in exposed places, are apt to impress one as being
scraggly.
“Dean Swift, who had no taste for miniature excellencies, spoke
scornfully of those who plant oaks in flower-pots. I have, however,
frequently seen very pleasing oaks grown in this way, and they were not
in very big flower-pots, either.
“In moral reasoning, it is especially difficult to keep our conclusions
moderate enough for our convenience. An ordinary argument always tends
to prove too much. This is disconcerting to those who are endeavoring
to live up to their favorite text, ‘Be not overmuch righteous.’ The
danger of overmuchness is obviated by cultivating the fashionable dwarf
varieties of righteousness.
“Various methods of dwarfing are practiced with success. Training
will do much; you have seen trees dwarfed by tying them to a trellis
or against a wall or to stakes, and preventing their growth beyond
the prescribed limits. Incessant pruning is necessary, and each new
growth must be vigorously headed back. By using the same means we may
cultivate a number of fine ideas, and at the same time keep them fairly
small.”
The least satisfactory chapter is that on Pests. “It is easy enough,”
says Scholasticus, “to describe a pest, but it is another matter to get
rid of it. The most painstaking fallacy culturist must expect to awake
some morning and behold his choicest arguments laid low by some new
kind of critic. There seems to be no limit to the pestiferous activity
of these creatures. They are of two kinds: those that bite, cutting
off the roots of the argument, and those that suck out the juices.
These latter destroy the vital tissue of inference on which everything
depends. I never met any one who cultivated arguments on a large scale
who did not have his tale of woe.
“I had at one time a theological friend who had great reputation as a
dogmatist. He had for many years a garden of fallacies which was one of
the show places. It was in a sheltered situation, so that many fine old
dogmas flourished which we do not often, in these days, see growing out
of doors. Everything went well until the locality became infested with
destructive criticism. He tried all the usual remedies without success.
At last he became utterly discouraged, and cut out all the dead wood,
and uprooted all the dogmas that were attacked by the pest. Since then
he has given up his more ambitious plans, and he has only a simple
little place where he cultivates those fruits of the spirit which are
not affected by destructive criticism. It is only fair to say that he
is making a very pleasant place of it.
“For the encouragement of those who are not ready to take such heroic
methods, it may be said that eternal vigilance, though not a panacea,
will do much. Some of the most dreaded species of critics are not so
dangerous as they seem. Many persons fear the _Criticus Academicus_.
I have, however, seen fallacies which survived the attacks of this
species and fell easy victims to the more troublesome _Criticus
Vulgaris_, or Common Gumption.
“The worst pest is what is known as the _Reductio ad Absurdum_. This
is a kind of scale which grows upon a promising argument and eats out
its life. It is so innocent in its appearance that at first one does
not suspect its deadly character. In fact, it is sometimes taken as an
agreeable ornament. After a little while the argument is covered over
with a sort of dry humor. There is then no remedy.”
In the chapter on the use of artificial fertilizers, Scholasticus
deals particularly with statistics. He refers incidentally to their
use in the cultivation of valid arguments. Their importance here is
universally acknowledged. “It should be remembered,” he says, “that
in this case success depends upon the extreme care with which they
are used. An unusual amount of discrimination is demanded in their
application. For this reason, if solid conclusions, that head well, are
expected, only experts of good character can be trusted to do the work.
“There is no such difficulty in the use of statistics, if the grower
is content with arguments of the fallacious order. Statistics are
recommended for a mulch. By covering a bed of fallacies with a heavy
mulch of miscellaneous statistical matter it is protected from the
early frosts and the later drought. The ground of the argument is
kept thus in a good condition. No particular care is here needed in
the application of statistics; any man who can handle a pitchfork can
do all that is required. I have seen astonishing results obtained in
this way. No one need be deterred by the consideration of expense. In
these days statistics are so cheap that they are within the reach of
all. If you do not care to use the material freely distributed by the
government, you can easily collect a sufficient amount for yourself.
“The best way is to prepare circulars containing half a dozen
irrelevant questions, which you send to several thousand persons,--the
more the better. If you enclose stamps, those who are good-natured and
conscientious will send you such odd bits of opinion as they have no
other use for, and are willing to contribute to the cause of science.
When the contributions are received, assort them, putting those that
strike you as more or less alike in long, straight rows. Another way,
which is more fancy, is that of arranging them in curves. This is
called ‘tabulating the results.’ When the results have been thoroughly
tabulated, use in the manner I have described for the protection of
your favorite arguments.”
* * * * *
In this way the book ran on for some three hundred pages. After I had
read it, I congratulated Scholasticus on his effort. “You have almost
succeeded,” I said, “in making Logic interesting; that is, if it is
Logic. Now that you have made such a good beginning, I wish you might
go further. You have taught us, by a natural method, how to reason
fallaciously. I wish you would now teach us how to reason correctly.”
“I wish I could,” said Scholasticus.
THE DIFFICULTIES OF THE PEACEMAKERS
[Illustration]
To one who aspires to “sit and shake in Rabelais’ easy-chair,” the
greeting “Peace on Earth” is a godsend. Was ever such a provocative to
satire? Did ever human nature appear in a disguise more ridiculously
transparent than when assuming the part of Peacemaker in the midwinter
pantomimes, and impudently laying claim to the very choicest beatitude?
The bold masquerader has not even the grace to hide his big stick,
but waves it as a wand. We are asked to believe that the vigorous
flourishes of this same big stick prepare for the age of peace “by
prophets long foretold.”
“Have you ever been to a Peace Convention?” asks the amateur cynic.
“It is good fun if you are fortunate enough to be able to watch the
proceedings from the seat of the scornful. First come the advocates of
Peace pure and simple, enthusiasts for non-resistance. As you listen
to the reports of the delegates you feel that the time has already come
when ‘the lion shall eat straw like the ox.’ Your sympathies go out to
the poor beast in his sudden change of diet,--for we of the Carnivora
have no great appetite for straw. After a time the lions are led out
to speak for themselves. Representatives of the different nations give
greetings. It appears from their remarks that the cause is one that has
always been nearest to their valiant hearts. No need to take measures
to convert them,--they have always been on the right side. What were
teeth and claws invented for, if not to enforce peace on earth?
“Each nation points with pride to its achievements. Has not Great
Britain made peace in South Africa, and the United States of America
established it in the Philippines; and was not Russia a while ago
endeavoring to establish it in Manchuria? Even the little powers are
at work for the same end. Is not disinterested Belgium making peace
on the banks of the Congo, with rubber and ivory as a by-product? Has
not Holland for these many years been industriously weeding out the
malcontents in Java? The Christian message of good will has now reached
the most remote recesses of the earth. Even the monks in Thibet have
heard the good news. They must pay a good round sum for it, to be
sure; but what else could they expect when the message must be carried
to them away up on the roof of the world, quite beyond the limits of
the free delivery? It’s their own fault that they never got into full
connection with Christendom before. These unsocial creatures have for
generations been enjoying a selfish peacefulness of their own. They
have been like a householder who has a telephone, but will not allow
his number to go on the book. He likes to bother other people, but
will not allow them to bother him. It has long been known that the
Mahatmas in Llassa were in the habit of projecting thought vibrations
to the ends of the earth, and muddling the brains of the initiated; but
the general public could not reciprocate. The British expedition has
changed all that. Now when Christendom rings them up they’ve got to
answer.”
That word “Christendom” has a singular effect upon the cynic. It draws
out all his acrid humor; for it seems to him the quintessence of
hypocrisy.
“Christian nations! Christian civilization! A fine partnership this,
between the brutal and the spiritual! In the pre-Christian era war was
a very simple thing. Read the record of an Israelitish expedition in
the Book of Chronicles. ‘And they went to the entrance of Gedor, even
unto the east side of the valley, to seek pasture for their flocks. And
they found fat pasture and good, and the land was wide and quiet and
peaceable; for they of Ham had dwelt there of old. And these written by
name came in the days of Hezekiah, king of Judah, and smote their tents
and the habitations that were found there, and destroyed them utterly
unto this day, and dwelt in their rooms; because there was pasture
there for their flocks.’
“What an unsophisticated account of an ordinary transaction! Even the
sons of Ham could understand the motive. There was no profession of
benevolent intent, not even an eloquent reference to manifest destiny;
the fat pastures were a sufficient reason. In these days the unwilling
beneficiaries of civilization have a harder time of it. No sooner
are they dispossessed of their lands than they are called together to
rejoice over the good work that has been done for them. This is A. D.
and not B. C. The new era began with an angel chorus; let us all join
in the refrain. First of all, decorum requires that the bare facts be
decently arrayed in spiritual garments. With the skill that is the
result of long practice the ugliest fact is fitted. It is a triumph
of dressmaking. The materials may be a trifle threadbare, but with a
little fullness here and a breadth taken out there, each garment is
made as good as new. Not a blood-stain shows.”
* * * * *
This is a free country, and the cynic must be allowed his fling. But if
he has license to speak his mind in regard to the simple-hearted people
who believe in Peace, we must be privileged to say what we think of
him. The truth is that we think him to be a rather shallow-pated fellow
who has been educated above his deserts. For all his knowing ways he
has had but little knowledge of the world. He has seen the things which
are obvious, the things that are shown to every outsider. He prides
himself on his familiarity with accomplished facts, not realizing
that these belong to the world that is passing away. The interesting
things to see are those which belong to the world that is in process of
becoming. These are not visible from the seat of the scornful.
The sweeping accusation of hypocrisy against men or nations whenever
an incongruity is perceived between a professed purpose and an actual
achievement is an indication of too great simplicity of mind. It is the
simplicity that is characteristic of one without experience in the work
of creation.
The cynic, perceiving the shortcomings of those who “profess and call
themselves Christians,” greets their professions with a bitter laugh.
He cannot tolerate their pretensions, and he urges them to return to a
frank profession of the paganism which their deeds proclaim. Now it is
eminently desirable that all who profess and call themselves Christians
should _be_ Christians,--but that takes time. The profession is the
first step; that puts a whip into the hand of conscience. Not only do a
man’s friends, but particularly his enemies, insist that he shall live
up to his name. It is a wholesome discipline. In a new country two or
three houses set down in a howling wilderness are denominated a city.
It is a mere name at first, but if all goes well other metropolitan
features are added in due time. I remember a most interesting
visit which I once made to a university in a new commonwealth. The
university consisted of a board of regents, an unfenced bit of prairie
for a “campus,” a president (who was also professor of the Arts and
Sciences), a janitor, and two unfinished buildings. A number of the
village children took courses which, if persisted in for a number of
years, might lead to what is usually termed the Higher Education. One
student from out of town dwelt in solitary state in the dormitory.
The president met me with great cordiality, and after showing me “the
plant” introduced me to the student. It was evident that they were on
terms of great intimacy, and that discipline in the university was an
easy matter, owing to the fact that the student body was homogeneous.
Now it would be easy for one under such circumstances to laugh at what
seemed mere pretentiousness. “It was nothing more than a small school;
why not call it that and be done with it?” The reason for not doing so
was that it aimed at being a university. Its name was a declaration of
purpose. “Despise not the day of small things.” The small things may be
very real things; and then they have a trick of growing big before you
know it.
In the world of creative activity the thought precedes the deed, the
profession comes before the achievement. The child makes believe that
he is a man, and his play is prophetic. Let us grant that multitudes
who profess and call themselves Christians are only playing at
Christianity; they have not yet begun to take the beatitudes seriously.
It is a good thing to play at, and the play is all the time deepening
into earnest work.
When it becomes earnest, it is still far from perfect; but imperfection
of workmanship is no evidence of insincerity. He would be a poor critic
who at the spring exhibition should accuse the artist of attempt to
deceive because of his failure to achieve his professed purpose.
“Do you call that a picture of the Madonna? False-hearted hypocrite!
Are you wicked enough to attempt to poison our minds and prejudice us
against one who has been an object of worship? You are foisting upon
us an image of absolute imbecility.”
And yet the poor artist is no hypocrite,--he is only a poor artist,
that is all. He has striven to express what he has actually felt,
and he has had bad luck. He has been thrilled by an image of perfect
womanhood, and he sought to reproduce it for the joy of others. He
wrought with sad sincerity, and this is what came of it!
In the work of creating a condition of peace and good will among men
the Christian nations have not gone very far. But why twit on facts?
Let us be reasonable. Why should we take it as a grievance that our
birth has not been delayed till the Millennium, but that we have been
placed among those who are responsible for bringing it in? There is a
satisfaction in being allowed a part in the preliminary work. And what
if many well-meant endeavors have come to nought? Let us not spend our
time crying over the spilt milk of human kindness. It is natural that
the first attempts at peacemaking should be awkward. It takes time
to get the knack of it. It is foolish to reserve all our praise for
perfection. That gives an unpleasant impression, such as that which
we receive from a person who, when there is a call for small change,
produces a bank bill of a large denomination, which he knows no one can
break for him.
“Peace on earth” is not a statement of accomplished fact, but a
prophecy. Now it is nothing against a prophecy that it has not yet been
fulfilled. The farther off it is, the more credit to the eyes that
see and to the stout hearts that patiently wait and work for it. The
practical question is not “Has it come?” but “Is it on the way?” We are
considering a bit of the unfinished business of the world.