A few years ago, I had a big argument with one of my relatives. She had suggested that cultural differences between social groups might partially explain other differences between them — for instance, mental health outcomes and wealth. This is obviously true. Why are Jews so disproportionately successful compared to other religious groups? Presumably, something useful trickled down from five thousand years of being the “people of the book.”
If she had used Jewish success as an example, we probably wouldn’t have had much to argue about. But instead, she used crime rates among African-Americans. There is no reason to reject this argument without seeing where it goes: if we can attribute at least some portion of a social group’s success to cultural differences, then it is not prima facie wrong to attribute at least some portion of their problems to those same differences.
Alas, I was an English major. So I committed a mortal sin of argumentation — I allowed myself to follow a chain of preexisting assumptions about what her point implied. She said this about crime rates and cultural differences —— which means that she thinks structural barriers don’t matter —— which means that she doesn’t believe in systemic oppression —— which means that she thinks the plight of African-American people is entirely their own fault and that we owe them no care or support.
If I had just asked her to elaborate, instead of following these associations toward an inaccurate interpretation of her argument, then the next three hours of useless yelling probably could have been avoided.
I call this cascading: I’ll define it as “the process of converting someone’s defensible point into an indefensible point based on preexisting assumptions about their views.”1 I want to get better at avoiding it, and I want other people to get better at avoiding it too.
Unfortunately, it is difficult to avoid: cognition loves a cascade, because cascading is a very efficient way to extract useful models of the world. Look at the pictures below. You see faces. Why? There aren’t any faces here. But that doesn’t matter. Your brain sees shapes arranged in the way that facial features tend to be arranged, so it cascades toward the conclusion that this array of pickles, cones, purses, and kayaks all possess faces.
For vision, cascading is just fine — you can’t rid yourself of the face illusion, but you’re smart enough to know that you shouldn’t feel bad about eating the pickles just because they’re apparently smiling.
For argumentation, however, it is a mortal sin. In my experience — both as a sinner and a victim of the sin — rhetorical cascading tends to shut down conversations before they can start. It limits our ability to learn from each other, maintain mutual respect, and arrive at more objective views of ourselves and the world around us.
So how do you stop yourself from cascading during debates? The crucial step, I think, is to notice what it feels like when you’re doing it.2 Here is a non-exhaustive diagnostic checklist — any one of the symptoms should signal that you’re probably about to cascade.
You’re preparing to reply before the other person has finished their current point.
You’re primarily thinking of rebuttals rather than questions.
Perhaps it is, in fact, time for a rebuttal — but you find yourself thinking mainly of buzzwords rather than arguments.
You do not feel like you could repeat back what the other person just said in a way that they would agree with.
If you’re in a debate and you’re displaying some or all of these symptoms, then you’re almost certainly about to ruin the conversation by jumping down a rhetorical waterfall.
Admittedly, I was mostly motivated to write about this by a few recent conversations where I’ve felt like I was the target of a cascade. It is disturbing to watch someone take a point you’ve thought carefully about and twist it into a completely different (and patently nonsensical) cliche. I could see the river rushing over the cliff, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Or perhaps there was! Cascades beget cascades — I suspect that in these conversations, I allowed the waterfalls of my interlocutors to shatter my own poorly constructed dam. Deciding not to initiate cascades is a virtue; getting smacked in the face by one and still managing to hold your ground is next to godliness.
So I urge you to be better than me. Yes, some people believe awful and ridiculous things. But before you jump to that conclusion in the course of a conversation, it’s best to hold back the flood and ask a few questions first.
I understand that this is very similar to “straw-manning” — I think this verb is useful, though, because it better captures the sensation of what it feels like to find yourself magnetized toward a straw man argument.
Depending on your worldview, you might find it useful to reflect upon the chain of associations that was triggered by the phrase “crime rates among African-Americans.”
I think the real situation is a bit more complicated or perhaps deeper than your post suggests. Surely ideas live within dense and complex structures of other ideas. And often it's the way simple ideas relate to larger structures that gives motive force to your desire to discuss them - and others' desire to push back.
I agree with your desire to tone things down so that simple things can be discussed, but I'd say the explosiveness of the issue should be understood as somehow entangled in the interest the ideas have for us.
And rather than the metaphor of 'cascades' I think the metaphor of the paradigm (overused as it is) better captures the structural nature of this.
Here's an early draft of Keynes' General Theory on the scholarly version of the same problem:
"It is, I think, of the essential nature of economic exposition that it gives not a complete statement, which even if it were possible, would be prolix and complicated to the point of obscurity, but a sample statement so to speak, out of all the things which could be said, intended to suggest to the reader the whole bundle of associated ideas, so that, if he catches the bundle, he will not in the least be confused or impeded by the technical incompleteness of the mere words which the author has written down, taken by themselves. This means, on the one hand, that an economic writer requires from his reader much goodwill and intelligence and a large measure of co-operation; and, on the other hand, that there are a thousand futile, yet verbally legitimate, objections which an objector can raise. In economics you cannot convict your opponent of error — you can only convince him of it."