Evan Selinger, a super-sharp philosopher of technology up at the Rochester Institute of Technology, is always alerting me to interesting new essays and articles and this week he brought another important piece to my attention. It’s a short new article by Arturo Casadevall, Don Howard, and Michael J. Imperiale, entitled, “The Apocalypse as a Rhetorical Device in the Influenza Virus Gain-of-Function Debate.” The essay touches on something near and dear to my own heart: the misuse of rhetoric in debates over the risk trade-offs associated with new technology and inventions. Casadevall, Howard, and Imperiale seek to “focus on the rhetorical devices used in the debate [over infectious disease experiments] with the hope that an analysis of how the arguments are being framed can help the discussion.”

They note that “humans are notoriously poor at assessing future benefits and risks” and that this makes many people susceptible to rhetorical ploys based on the artificial inflation of risks. Their particular focus in this essay is the debate over so-called “gain-of-function” (GOF) experiments involving influenza virus, but what they have to say here about how rhetoric is being misused in that field is equally applicable to many other fields of science and the policy debates surrounding various issues. The last two paragraphs of their essay are masterful and deserve everyone’s attention:

Who has the upper hand in the GOF debate? The answer to this question will be apparent only when the history of this time is written. However, it is possible that in the near future, arguments about risk will trump arguments about benefits, because the risk of a GOF experiment unleashing a devastating epidemic plays on a well-founded human fear, while the potential benefits of the research are considerably harder to articulate. In debates about benefits and risks, arguments based on positing extreme risks, however unlikely, are powerful rhetorical devices because they play into human fears. While we all agree that the risk of a GOF experiment unleashing a deadly epidemic is not zero, such an event would be at the extreme end of the likely outcomes from GOF experimentation. Arguing against GOF on the basis of pandemic dangers is a powerful rhetorical device because anyone can understand it. The problem with the use of apocalyptic scenarios in risk-benefit analysis is that they invoke the possibility for infinite suffering, irrespective of the probability of such an event, and the prospect of infinite suffering can potentially overwhelm any good obtained from knowledge gained from such experiments. Repeatedly invoking the apocalypse can create a sophistry that we call the apocalyptic fallacy, which, when applied in a vacuum of evidence and theory, proposes consequences that are so dire, however low the probability, that this tactic can be employed to quash any new invention, technique, procedures, and/or policy. The apocalyptic fallacy is an effective rhetorical tool that is meaningless in the absence of objective numbers. We remind those who invoke the apocalypse that the DNA revolution went on to deliver a multitude of benefits without unleashing the fears of Asilomar and that the large hadron collider was turned on, the Higgs boson was discovered, the standard model in physics was validated, and we are still here. Hence, we caution individuals against overreliance on the apocalypse in the debates ahead, for rhetoric can win the day, but rhetoric never gave us a single medical advance.

This is spot-on and, again, has applicability in many other arenas. Indeed, it aligns quite nicely with what I had to say about the use and misuse of rhetoric in information technology debates in my recent law review article on “Technopanics, Threat Inflation, and the Danger of an Information Technology Precautionary Principle” (Minnesota Journal of Law, Science and Technology, Vol. 14, No. 1, Winter 2013). In that piece, I began by noting that:

Fear is an extremely powerful motivational force. In public policy debates, appeals to fear are often used in an attempt to sway opinion or bolster the case for action. Such appeals are used to convince citizens that  threats to individual or social well-being may be avoided only if specific steps are taken. Often these steps take the form of anticipatory regulation based on the precautionary principle. Such “fear appeal arguments” are frequently on display in the Internet policy arena and often take the form of a fullblown “moral panic” or “technopanic.”  These panics are intense public, political, and academic responses to the emergence or use of media or technologies, especially by the young.  In the extreme, they result in regulation or censorship. While cyberspace has its fair share of troubles and troublemakers, there is no evidence that the Internet is leading to greater problems for society than previous technologies did. That has not stopped some from suggesting there are reasons to be particularly fearful of the Internet and new digital technologies. There are various individual and institutional factors at work that perpetuate fear-based reasoning and tactics.

I continued on to document the structure of “fear appeal” arguments, and then outlined how those arguments can be deconstructed and refuted using sound analysis and real-world evidence. The logic pattern behind fear appeal arguments looks something like this (as documented by Douglas Walton, in his outstanding textbook, Fundamentals of Critical Argumentation):

• Fearful Situation Premise: Here is a situation that is fearful to you.
• Conditional Premise: If you carry out A, then the negative consequences portrayed in this fearful situation will happen to you.
• Conclusion: You should not carry out A.

In the field of rhetoric and argumentation, this logic pattern is referred to as argumentum in terrorem or argumentum ad metum. A closely related variant of this argumentation scheme is known as argumentum ad baculum, or an argument based on a threat. Argumentum ad baculum literally means “argument to the stick,” and the logic pattern in this case looks like this (again, according to Walton’s book on the subject):

• Conditional Premise: If you do not bring about A, then consequence B will occur.
• Commitment Premise: I commit myself to seeing to it that B will come about.
• Conclusion: You should bring about A.

The problem is that these logic patterns and rhetorical devices are logical fallacies or are based on outright myths. Once you start carefully unpacking arguments based on this logic pattern and applying reasoned, evidenced-based analysis, you can quickly show why the premise is not valid.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop some people (including a great many policymakers) from utilizing such faulty logic or misguided rhetorical devices. Even worse, as I note in my paper, is that,

fear appeals are facilitated by the use of threat inflation. Specifically, threat inflation involves the use of fear-inducing rhetoric to inflate artificially the potential harm a new development or technology poses to certain classes of the population, especially children, or to society or the economy at large. These rhetorical flourishes are empirically false or at least greatly blown out of proportion relative to the risk in question.

I then go on for many pages in my paper to document the use of fear appeals and threat inflation in a variety of information technology debates. I show that in every case where such tactics are common, they are unjustified once the evidence is evaluated dispassionately.  Regrettably, those who employ fear tactics and use threat inflation often don’t care because they know exactly what they are doing: The use of apocalyptic rhetoric grabs attention and sometimes ends serious deliberation. It is often an intentional ploy to scare people into action (or perhaps just into silence), even if that result is not based on a reasoned, level-headed evaluation of all the facts on hand.

The lesson here is simple: The ends do not justify the means. No matter how passionately you feel about a particular policy issue — even those that you perhaps believe potentially involve life and death ramifications — it is wise to avoid the use of apocalyptic rhetoric. Generally speaking, the sky is not falling and when one insists that it is, they should be backing up their assertions with a substantial body of evidence. Otherwise, they are just using fear appeal arguments and apocalyptic rhetoric to unnecessarily scare people and end all serious debate over issues that are likely far more complex and nuanced than their rhetoric suggests.

[For all my essays on “technopanics,” moral panics, and threat inflation, see this compendium I have assembled.]

I very much enjoyed Dennis Baron’s new book, A Better Pencil: Readers, Writers, and the Digital Revolution, and highly recommend you pick it up. Baron does a wonderful job exploring the history of techno-pessimism and the endless battles about the impact of new technologies on life and learning, something I have written about here before in my essays on “Internet optimists vs. pessimists” (See: 1, 2, 3).

I have a complete review of Baron’s A Better Pencil now up on the City Journal‘s website here.  I’ve also pasted it down below.

Plato Wrote it Down by Adam Thierer

a review of A Better Pencil: Readers, Writers, and the Digital Revolution, by Dennis Baron (Oxford University Press, 280 pp., $24.95)

In the beginning, Dennis Baron reminds us in his new book, A Better Pencil, there was the word—the spoken word, that is. Oral tradition, the passing of knowledge through stories and lectures, was the primary method of instruction and learning throughout early human civilization. But then a few innovative souls decided to start writing everything down on stones and clay. Almost as soon as they did, a great debate began on the impact of new communications technology on culture and education. And it rages on today, with a new generation of optimists and skeptics battling over the impact that computing, the Internet, and digital technologies have on our lives and on how we learn about the world.

Baron, a professor of English and linguistics at the University of Illinois, begins his splendid history of these debates with the well-known tale from Plato’s Phaedrus about the dangers of the written word. The Egyptian god Theuth boasts to King Thamus about how his invention of writing will improve the wisdom and memory of the masses. Thamus shoots back, “The discoverer of an art is not the best judge of the good or harm which will accrue to those who practice it.” Thamus then passes judgment on writing’s impact on society, saying he fears that the people “will receive a quantity of information without proper instruction, and in consequence be thought very knowledgeable when they are for the most part quite ignorant.”

Of course, as Baron points out, we remember this warning only “because Plato wrote it down.” It’s one of the recurrent ironies in the history of techno-skepticism that while “the shock of the new often brings out critics eager to warn us away,” those critics often embrace—or, at the very least, benefit from—the very tools that they want the rest of us to shun. Whether it’s Luddites On-Line winning Yahoo’s “Cool Site of the Day” award, or the Writing Instrument Manufacturers Association promoting National Handwriting Day via the Internet, or Ted Kaczynski’s Unabomber Manifesto attracting unprecedented readership thanks to its availability on the Web, those who have a “common tendency to romanticize the good old ways” of doing things often fail to appreciate how new technology can benefit society—including themselves.

Baron walks us through a litany of historical examples—the printing press, the telegraph, telephones, typewriters, pocket calculators, personal computers, word processors, webpages, blogs, social-networking sites, and more—and identifies the usual pattern: we greet each new technology with deep distrust and dire warnings, but in time we adapt to the new realities. Indeed, as a species, we have an unparalleled ability to learn new ways of doing things. We don’t always like technological change, and often we deeply resent or fear it, but in the end, we learn to live with it and eventually to embrace it.

With the rise of the Internet and digital technologies, we see this pattern unfolding once again. “According to the latest generation of critics and naysayers,” Baron notes, “today it is computers that are producing texts whose value and credibility we question; computers that are giving too many people control over the creation and publication of text; computers that are wreaking havoc with our handwriting.” Contemporary critics also fret over “information overload.”

The backlash against computers and digitization began while the Internet was still in its cradle, with the 1992 publication of Neil Postman’s anti-technology screed, Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology. Postman’s intellectual descendants include Internet critics such as Lee Siegel, Andrew Keen, and Mark Helprin, whose works drip with disdain for all things digital. They warn of a coming dystopia where truth and authority vanish, culture crumbles, and political polarization breeds closed-mindedness and even the death of deliberative democracy.

These overly pessimistic critics turn a blind eye to both the wonders of the digital age and humanity’s ability to adapt. As Baron persuasively argues, “English survives, conversation thrives online as well as off, and on balance, digital communications seems to be enhancing human interaction, not detracting from it.” In fact, we live in a world of unprecedented media abundance that previous generations would have found unimaginable. As Baron puts it: “The Internet is a true electronic frontier where everyone is on his or her own: all manuscripts are accepted for publication, they remain in virtual print forever, and no one can tell writers what to do.” Such human empowerment is worth celebrating, even if it does have the occasional downside. Abundance is better than a world of scarce choices and few voices.

Baron’s retelling of the history of techno-skepticism is edifying, but it leaves one with the nagging feeling that these debates will never cease. Each generation will witness a technological watershed that brings out a fresh crop of both pollyannas and pessimists. Like Plato, however, most of us will embrace whatever’s next and move forward.