Can an Honest Scholar Knowingly Appeal to the Weaker Argument Over the Stronger Argument

[Secret Alias]

In Plato's "Apology," we see Socrates in the throes of his defense against accusations that cast shadows on his entire philosophical endeavor. This defense, deeply embedded in the nuances of Socrates' approach to dialectic engagement, bears remarkable parallels to the apologetic style of early Christian thinkers, particularly when addressing the criticisms and misunderstandings surrounding their new faith.

Socrates, upon addressing the Athenian jury, makes it clear that his defense would tackle not only the formal charges against him but also the longstanding prejudices — the "slander" as he calls it — that had accumulated over the years. This dual approach in his defense highlights a profound aspect often mirrored in early Christian apologetics, where Christian thinkers like Justin Martyr and Tertullian found themselves continuously clarifying misconceptions about their faith while also defending against specific doctrinal accusations.

In the "Apology," Socrates outlines that the accusations against him include atheism and corrupting the youth — charges stemming from his method of persistent questioning and challenging established norms and beliefs. He argues against these accusations not by simple denial but by attempting to dissect and dismantle the prejudices that led to such perceptions. This method of addressing both the root and the branches of accusations closely aligns with how early Christian apologists tackled the misunderstandings about Christianity's relation to traditional Jewish practices and pagan criticisms.

For instance, Athenagoras in his "Plea for the Christians" addresses the Roman emperors, debunking accusations of atheism, cannibalism, and incest — charges based on gross misunderstandings of Christian doctrines like the Eucharist and the "brotherly" and "sisterly" relationships among Christians. Like Socrates, Athenagoras and other Christian apologists used a method of clarification and rational argumentation to present their case, striving to correct misconceptions while also providing a robust defense of their core beliefs.

Socrates' approach in addressing the "slanders" against him sheds light on how cultural prejudices and misunderstandings can shape public perception, a scenario not unfamiliar to the early Christians. Socrates faced a cultural milieu in Athens that increasingly viewed his philosophical inquiries with suspicion, interpreting his challenging questions as impiety or a direct threat to traditional values. Similarly, early Christians were often perceived through the lens of existing religious and cultural prejudices, which colored the interpretations of their doctrines and practices.

The allegations that Socrates converted the weaker argument into the stronger (a claim he addresses by demonstrating his philosophical methods and intentions) echo the early Christian experiences where their message of love and redemption through Christ was misconstrued as subversive or antithetical to the Roman virtues of loyalty and piety.

The narrative of Socrates in the "Apology" not only provides a seminal example of philosophical defense but also serves as a metaphorical precursor to the apologetic traditions in early Christianity. Both Socrates and the early Christian thinkers engaged deeply with the prejudices and misconceptions of their times, aiming to illuminate and educate rather than merely rebut.

This dual approach of tackling both the accusations and the underlying cultural biases offers a timeless strategy in apologetics, underlining the importance of understanding and addressing the broader context in which criticisms arise. It is a testament to the enduring nature of philosophical and theological inquiry — a dialogue between belief systems and the societies that house them, striving for truth amid a landscape of misunderstanding and prejudice.

[Secret Alias]

The enduring conundrum of balancing truth with the bonds of friendship strikes a resonant chord in both the philosophical discourses of ancient Greece and the foundational dialogues of early Christianity. Aristotle’s profound observation about the inherent tension between these two virtues offers a poignant backdrop for examining how early Christians navigated the communal and doctrinal challenges posed by their new faith.

Aristotle, in a reflective moment, posits that while friendship is deeply valued, the pursuit of truth—especially for philosophers and, by extension, for early Christian thinkers—must take precedence. This assertion encapsulates a fundamental tension that not only permeated the halls of academia but also deeply influenced the evolving Christian ecclesiastical discourse.

In the nascent Christian communities, the apostles and early church fathers grappled with the need to define and defend their doctrines against both internal misunderstandings and external accusations. Like Aristotle's philosophical quandary, they faced the difficult task of prioritizing doctrinal truth over the maintenance of peace and friendship within their communities. This often involved harsh discourses against heresies or incorrect interpretations of Christian doctrine, which could strain community bonds.

For instance, figures such as Ignatius of Antioch and Irenaeus of Lyons were often forced into positions where they had to argue against prevailing heretical teachings for the sake of doctrinal purity—a pursuit that mirrored Aristotle’s idea of honoring truth above friendly relations. These confrontations were not merely academic exercises but were imbued with a deep-seated commitment to preserving the integrity and purity of Christian teachings.

Drawing on Aristotle's insight, we can see a parallel in how early Christian thinkers and contemporary academics must navigate the delicate balance of maintaining collegiality while engaging in rigorous debate and truth-seeking. The academic setting, much like the early Church, is a community where ideas are both harbored and challenged, where the allegiance to truth often necessitates stepping on the toes of intellectual companionship.

The poignant question raised by a colleague in response to the Aristotle citation—whether truth can indeed flourish without the foundational element of friendship—echoes a broader existential inquiry within any intellectual or spiritual community. In early Christianity, this was further complicated by the need for unity and solidarity against external persecutions and internal schisms.

The real-life application of Aristotle’s principle is exemplified in the experiences of early Christian leaders who, despite their desire to foster a harmonious community, often found themselves in the throes of divisive theological debates. These debates were necessary not just for the intellectual exercise of defining faith but crucial for safeguarding the community’s spiritual health.

The challenge, as noted in academic and ecclesiastical histories, lies in executing this balance without alienating members of the community, thereby preserving the fellowship that enriches and sustains the collective pursuit of truth. This ongoing tension between unity and truth, friendship and doctrine, remains a defining characteristic of both religious and academic communities.

In conclusion, Aristotle’s reflections offer a valuable lens through which to view the struggles and strategies of early Christian communities. As they navigated the rocky terrain of theological formation and community building, the early Christians, much like modern academics, were continually called back to the essential but challenging call to honor truth above all. This pursuit, while fraught with potential for conflict, ultimately aims at the higher good of a more profound and cohesive understanding, which, in the context of faith, leads towards a more profound spiritual integrity and witness.

[Secret Alias]

During a recent theological conference, an intriguing scenario unfolded that perfectly encapsulates the perennial tension between loyalty to scholarly colleagues and the commitment to intellectual honesty. As someone who often participates in discussions with conservative Christian apologists, I've been asked numerous times whether these scholars genuinely hold to the sometimes perplexing views they express, or if there's an element of strategic dishonesty involved.

Let me share an instance from this conference, which predominantly included evangelical scholars. The event aimed to affirm evangelical viewpoints, yet I was invited as a contrasting voice, leading to a rich and respectful exchange of ideas.

The crux of the discussion revolved around Gospel accounts of Jesus sending out his disciples with specific instructions on what to carry. One Gospel suggests Jesus allowed a staff, while another states the opposite. This contradiction was the focus of a panel question about what Jesus actually said. Here, the divergence in scholarly responses was stark and telling.

Some speakers attempted to reconcile the contradiction by suggesting nuances that could imply a non-contradictory interpretation. However, one scholar suggested that the author of the second Gospel knowingly reversed the account of the first, yet still maintained that this Gospel was inerrant. According to this view, the deliberate alteration was a common practice among ancient biographers who modified sources to highlight specific teachings or themes.

This leads us to a critical reflection point: if the author intentionally changed the account, knowing it contradicted the factual statement, can we still consider it inerrant? The justification hinges on the notion that intentional alterations by an author do not constitute errors if done for thematic or didactic purposes.

Herein lies a fundamental issue for early Christian scholars and anyone engaged in the study of religious texts: does loyalty to traditional interpretations or scholarly allies overshadow our commitment to truth? This question is not merely academic; it strikes at the heart of what it means to engage in honest scholarship and faith discussions.

It's easy to be swayed by longstanding academic friendships or the comfort of shared beliefs. However, as scholars devoted to the pursuit of truth—much like the early Christian theologians who painstakingly debated the tenets of their faith—we must be willing to question and critique even our closest allies. Intellectual integrity demands that we confront contradictions and challenges head-on, regardless of the personal or communal costs.

This discussion is not about casting doubt on the sincerity or personal integrity of individual scholars who approach their work with serious commitment and belief. Instead, it's about recognizing the complex dance between upholding scholarly rigor and maintaining relational harmony.

To members of this forum, I pose these questions: How do we balance our loyalty to fellow scholars with our duty to pursue and present the truth? Are there instances where we, knowingly or unknowingly, compromise on intellectual honesty for the sake of community or friendship? And importantly, when we encounter apparent contradictions or challenges to our faith, how should we respond in a way that honors both truth and our relationships?

Let's engage in this crucial conversation with the understanding that our pursuit of truth in scholarship is not just about correcting errors but about refining our collective understanding of faith itself.

[Secret Alias]

The Biblical directive "thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour" from the Ten Commandments lays a clear foundation: dishonesty is frowned upon in Christianity. This principle is echoed throughout the scriptures, emphasizing integrity and truthfulness as virtuous traits. Yet, the Bible itself contains narratives that seem to reward deceit under certain circumstances, creating a complex dialogue on the morality of dishonesty.

In the New Testament, as well as the Hebrew Bible, we encounter characters who engage in deceit yet appear to be rewarded for their actions. For instance, the Hebrew midwives defy Pharaoh's orders and lie to protect Hebrew infants (Exodus 1:17–21), and Rahab the innkeeper misleads soldiers to safeguard Israelite spies (Joshua 2:1–7). These stories raise ethical questions, especially when juxtaposed with the overarching Biblical admonitions against lying.

The ambivalence towards deception in the Bible does not stop at individual acts of dishonesty but extends into broader theological discussions among early Christian writers. Some early theologians argued that certain deceptions were justifiable if they served higher moral or spiritual goals, such as saving souls or promoting religious truth.

St. Augustine, one of Christianity’s most influential theologians, dedicated significant attention to the issue of lying, which he unequivocally condemned. In his treatises, Augustine maintained that all lies were sinful, regardless of their intentions or outcomes. This stark viewpoint contrasts with other patristic writers who saw merit in deception for worthwhile causes, drawing upon examples like Judith's deceitful yet heroic act of assassination to save her people.

While Augustine represents a stringent perspective on honesty, other Church Fathers like John Chrysostom and Clement of Alexandria presented a more nuanced view. They argued that strategic deception could be morally acceptable if it served the greater good or protected individuals from harm. This line of thought finds some scriptural support in Paul’s flexible approach to ministry, where he speaks of becoming "all things to all people" (1 Corinthians 9:22) to spread the gospel.

The discussion of dishonesty in the scriptures is not just an academic exercise but a real-world issue that affects how believers interpret and apply Biblical principles today. How do we reconcile the clear commandments against falsehood with the Biblical heroes who lied for a cause? Is there ever a justifiable reason to deviate from the truth, and if so, under what circumstances?

These questions challenge us to think deeply about the ethics of honesty in our own lives and in broader societal contexts. As we navigate these moral waters, we must consider both the letter and the spirit of the law, the context of each biblical narrative, and the overarching message of the scriptures.

In conclusion, the Bible does not offer a black-and-white rulebook but rather a complex tapestry of moral guidance that requires careful and nuanced interpretation. As we engage with these ancient texts, let us strive for a balanced understanding that respects the integrity of the scriptures while addressing the ethical dilemmas they present.

[RandyHelzerman]

Two people are standing on opposite sides of a 1 way street, watching the cars go by. After a while, one of them says "Since all the cars so far have passed me from left to right, I argue that the next one will too.

The other guy says, "Nonsense....that's a bogus argument using bogus evidence. The cars haven't passed from left to right, they have all passed from right to left. Obviously, this means the next car will too."

There's no such thing as a "stronger argument" tout court. How strong an argument will appear depends on your prior knowledge, your perspective, and even the meaning we give our words.

Here's an example of how that might happen. It's from a famous psychological experiment which supposedly proves we are all continually making irrational decisions all day.

Linda is 31 years old, single, outspoken, and very bright. She majored in philosophy. As a student, she was deeply concerned with issues of discrimination and social justice, and also participated in pro-choice rallies.

Which is more probable?
Linda is a bank teller, or,
Linda is a bank teller and is a feminist.

Fred says it's more probable that Linda is a teller who is a feminist. Barney says, no, it's more likely that she's a bank teller.

Who is right? Well, they both are--depending upon the meaning they give to the "or" in the question:

Linda is a bank teller, or,
Linda is a bank teller and is active in the feminist movement.

Barney interpreted "or" the way it is usually glossed in logic textbooks, as the "inclusive or". As in "Drink as many cans of soda as you want--you have your choice of Coke or Sprite". You are being invited to drink Coke, or Sprite, or both Coke and Sprite.

Under that interpretation, Barney is right, because the set of tellers is LARGER than the set of feminist tellers. So it has to be more likely that she is a teller.

Fred, however, interpreted "or" as the exclusive or. That's the or your mother means, when she says "I'll buy you either the squirt gun or the comic book." You don't say "oh goodie! I'll take them both!!" No, mom is just going to buy you one or the other.

Under that interpretation, the question means "Is it more likely that Linda is a bank teller who is NOT a feminist, or that she is a bank teller who IS a feminist?" So Fred is right under that interpretation.

--/--

Upshot is of course, its quite possible for you to think your argument is stronger than somebody else's---and without either one of you being dishonest, disingenuous, sophistic snake oil salesman. As in the case of the two guys on the one-way street, you might not actually have a disagreement at all!! But the only way you'll find that out is to argue in good faith and in good will---and assume the other guy is as well.