Introduction
THE ART OF THE ARGUMENT
I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right.
—Anonymous
What would you do if tens of thousands of lives depended on you winning an argument?
In 428 BCE, Ancient Greece was in the midst of the Peloponnesian War. The city-states of Athens and Sparta were locked in all-out conflict, struggling for the upper hand. With the two powerhouses distracted, the tiny city of Mytilene, on the Greek island of Lesbos, saw an opportunity. The oligarchs in charge of the city wanted to throw off Athenian rule and make a push to take full control of the island. Egged on by their Spartan allies, the oligarchs launched what became known as the Mytilenean Revolt.
It was a disaster for the Mytileneans. Athens wasn’t as distracted as the oligarchs had hoped. The Athenian forces besieged Mytilene from all sides, before the city was even ready for battle. And it crushed Mytilene’s nascent insurrection. The Mytilenean leaders were forced to surrender to Athenian general Paches, but the general didn’t take it upon himself to decide how to punish the rebels. Athens was still a democracy, after all. He allowed the defeated city to send a delegation of a thousand men to Athens to beg for mercy.
As the ancient Greek historian Thucydides narrates in his History of the Peloponnesian War, the Athenian assembly gathered to vote on what action to take against Mytilene. It didn’t take long to decide. The Athenians were infuriated by the Mytilenean Revolt—and they were also afraid. What if other cities in their empire followed Mytilene’s lead and rebelled against Athens? It would be the end of the Athenian empire.
The members of the assembly voted hurriedly and unanimously for a stark punishment—to execute all the men in Mytilene and to enslave the women and children. Straight after the vote, a trireme—the fastest ship of that era—was dispatched to Lesbos with orders for Paches: wipe out the adult male population of Mytilene.
By the next morning, however, many Athenians were second-guessing the sheer brutality they had voted to inflict on the people of Mytilene. They wanted to consider a softer penalty. Athens being Athens, two orators were picked to debate the issue in front of the assembly.
The first was the general Cleon, described by Thucydides as “the most violent man at Athens,” who wanted to stick with the original punishment: killing and enslaving the Mytileneans. He addressed the assembly at length and urged his fellow Athenians to resist the calls for leniency. Cleon raged against Athenian democracy itself if it were to back down from the demands of war: “I have often before now been convinced that a democracy is incapable of empire, and never more so than by your present change of mind in the matter of Mytilene.” And he warned his listeners against becoming “very slaves to the pleasure of the ear, and more like the audience of a rhetorician than the council of a city.”
“Punish them as they deserve,” Cleon argued, “and teach your other allies by a striking example that the penalty of rebellion is death.”
Pity poor Diodotus. This leader of a more moderate Athenian political faction was tasked with making the case for clemency, and he had to speak right after Cleon’s rant. Thousands of lives hung in the balance—and time was not on his side. The trireme was already on its way to Lesbos. For that matter, Diodotus was now defending the soul of Athenian democracy, in the face of the vengeful anger of his opponents. Can you imagine the pressure he was under?
Despite that pressure, Diodotus began slowly, his calmness a stark contrast to Cleon’s rage: “I do not blame the persons who have reopened the case of the Mytileneans,” he said, “nor do I approve the protests which we have heard against important questions being frequently debated”—a dig at Cleon’s scorched earth tirade. Diodotus instead built his argument around the importance of free and open debate, warning his audience how “haste and passion” were the two biggest obstacles to “good counsel.”
For Diodotus, the case against a mass execution didn’t rest on the guilt or innocence of the Mytileneans. He conceded that they had indeed revolted against Athens—but he argued only for the oligarchical ringleaders to be punished. His was an argument of expediency, of realpolitik: killing all the Mytilenean men would not be in the “interests” of the Athenians. It would be a “blunder,” he said, to exclude rebels in other revolting cities “from the hope of repentance and an early atonement of their error.” Nor, he added, was there any evidence that a mass execution would act as a deterrent to future insurrections.
The coolheaded Diodotus knew his audience—and what they needed to hear. He also understood the importance of rational argument, and he set the tone for it, eloquently deflecting Cleon’s call for vengeance. “The good citizen,” argued Diodotus, “ought to triumph not by frightening his opponents but by beating them fairly in argument.”
“And beat Cleon he did,” notes one writer. The assembly voted again—and, this time, narrowly decided in Diodotus’s favor. A second trireme with new orders was then “sent off in haste” to Lesbos, writes Thucydides, with “wine and barley-cakes” provided to the oarsmen and “great promises made if they arrived in time.” Thankfully, their trireme pulled into port just as Paches was reading the original decree brought to him by the first ship. The massacre was prevented, with only moments to spare.
Thousands of innocent lives were saved. All thanks to a single argument made back in Athens. An argument that Diodotus was able to win because he excelled at the art of debating, persuading, and public speaking. He knew not just how to craft a reasoned argument but also how to compose himself under pressure. He knew how to reach his audience, in their hearts, their minds, and the very core of their identity. He knew how to roll with his opponent’s haymakers and pick the critical opening to strike back. And when he did, Diodotus knew exactly how to use Cleon’s weaknesses to his advantage. He knew how to go in the underdog and come out the victor.
The point of this book is to show you all the tools and tactics that Diodotus, and all the world’s greatest speakers and debaters, employed. So you, too, can win every argument. Even when thousands of lives aren’t riding on it.
* * *
Every single person on the face of the planet—every man, woman, and child—has, at some moment or another, tried to win an argument. Whether it is in the comments section on Facebook, or in the marble hallways of Congress, or at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Whether they’ve trounced their opponent or walked away sullen, everyone might then imagine all the things they could and should have said. We’ve all been there. We cannot escape the human urge, need, and—yes—desire to argue.
But arguing itself tends to get a bad rap. It’s blamed for everything from political polarization to marital breakdown. In his 1936 classic, How to Win Friends & Influence People, Dale Carnegie wrote: “I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way under high heaven to get the best of an argument—and that is to avoid it. Avoid it as you would avoid rattlesnakes and earthquakes.”
I take issue with Carnegie’s conclusion—if he were still alive, maybe we could debate it.
I prefer not to avoid arguments. I seek them out. Rush toward them. Relish and savor them.
I have been arguing my whole life, in fact. I’ve even made a career of it—first, as an op-ed columnist and TV pundit in the UK; then as a political interviewer for Al Jazeera English; and now as a cable anchor for MSNBC in the United States. I’ve argued with presidents, prime ministers, and spy chiefs from across the world. I’ve argued inside the White House; inside Number 10 Downing Street; inside the … Saudi embassy!
Philosophically, I consider argument and debate to be the lifeblood of democracy, as well as the only surefire way to establish the truth. Arguments can help us solve problems, uncover ideas we would’ve never considered, and hurry our disagreements toward (even begrudging) understanding. There are also patent practical benefits to knowing how to argue and speak in public. These are vital soft skills that allow you to advance in your career and improve your lot in life. There are very few things you cannot achieve when you have the skill and ability to change people’s minds. Or to quote Winston Churchill, “Of all the talents bestowed upon men, none is so precious as the gift of oratory. He who enjoys it wields a power more durable than that of a great king.”
But when it comes down to it, a good argument, made in good faith, can also simply be fun. I actually enjoy disagreeing with others, poking holes in their claims, exposing flaws in their logic. Maybe it makes me an outlier, but I happen to think there is intrinsic value to disagreement. I’m in the same camp as the nineteenth-century French essayist Joseph Joubert, who is said to have remarked: “It is better to debate a question without settling it than to settle a question without debating it.”
I learned this lesson early on. I was raised in, one might say, a disputatious household. To put it plainly: we Hasans love to argue! My father would challenge and provoke my sister and me at the dinner table, on long car journeys, on foreign holidays. He never shied away from an argument over the merits or demerits of a particular issue. It was he who taught me to question everything, to be both curious and skeptical, to take nothing on blind faith, and to relish every challenge and objection.
In the late 1980s, when British Muslims were denouncing Salman Rushdie’s notorious Islamophobic novel The Satanic Verses, with some of them even burning copies of it on the streets of northern English cities, my father purchased a copy, read it cover to cover, and kept it in a prominent spot on his bookshelf. His Muslim friends would visit our home, see the book, and their eyes would bulge. “Why … why … would you buy that book?” they would splutter. “Because you can’t dismiss something you haven’t read,” my father would calmly reply.
You could say my father is a living, breathing embodiment of the dictum outlined by John Stuart Mill in his classic philosophical treatise On Liberty:
He who knows only his own side of the case, knows little of that. His reasons may be good, and no one may have been able to refute them. But if he is equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side; if he does not so much as know what they are, he has no ground for preferring either opinion.
I grew up appreciating the value of being able to “refute the reasons on the opposite side” and thereby learned to familiarize myself with both sides of any argument. It’s a skill I took with me first to university, where I debated at the Oxford Union alongside the great and the good of the British establishment, and then to a career in the UK and U.S. media where, in recent years, I have earned a reputation as one of the toughest interviewers on television.
There are millions of people across America, and the world, who want to learn how to win an argument, who are keen to improve their debating techniques, as well as master the art of public speaking in general—but who need a push.
You may be one of them. But why read this particular book to get that push? I’ll admit there are plenty of books already out there on how to argue or debate or give speeches that have been authored by academics and writers and debate coaches. Indeed, you’ll see that I cite from many of them in the pages and chapters ahead. But this book builds on my own unique set of experiences: from my student days debating with the likes of future British prime minister Boris Johnson and former Pakistani prime minister Benazir Bhutto, to the highlights from a career spent interviewing some of the biggest names from the worlds of politics, finance, and, yes, Hollywood.
So that’s reason number one: I’ve had to learn every debating technique in this book to be able to step in front of the camera and challenge leaders from around the globe.
But here’s an even bigger reason: while there are also, admittedly, plenty of books already out there that focus predominantly on the art of persuasion, or negotiation, or compromise, this book isn’t one of them. Simply put, this book is all about teaching you how to win.
So this book is intended as a practical guide—for trial lawyers who want to triumph in the courtroom; for corporate executives who want to dominate in the boardroom; for political candidates who want to run for office and win their TV debates; for teachers and lecturers who want to succeed in getting their point across; for students who want to excel in speech and debate tournaments or at Model UN; for spouses who … well, you know the rest.
My goal is to turn you, the reader, no matter your background or ability, into a champion of debate, a master of rhetoric, a winner in the art of argument.
In the first section of the book, on the fundamentals, I’ll show you how to captivate an audience, distinguish between pathos and logos, and become a better listener as well as a better speaker. I’ll explain why humor is often key to winning a debate, and I’ll also mount a defense of the much-maligned ad hominem argument.
The second section will introduce you to time-tested tricks and techniques—from the “Rule of Three” to the “Art of the Zinger” to the “Gish Gallop”—and show you how to wield and weaponize them in the real world. You’ll come to recognize the value of a triad as well as the power of synchoresis—and also learn what Rambo has to contribute to the world of argument and debate.
The third section focuses on the work you need to conduct behind the scenes to ensure you’re ready for prime time. I’ll teach you how to build up your confidence, rehearse your delivery, and research your arguments. To me, there is nothing—nothing!—more important than practice and preparation.
Finally, there’s the conclusion, or the “Grand Finale.” How do you bring everything to a close? How do you leave your audience wanting more? I’ll lay out the different ways to end a speech on a high—and with listeners on your side.
This book is chock-full of behind-the-scenes anecdotes and examples from my own debates—which have ranged from the Oxford Union in England to Kyiv in Ukraine. I’ll share secrets from my televised bouts with the likes of Erik Prince, John Bolton, Michael Flynn, Douglas Murray, Slavoj Žižek, Steven Pinker, and Vitali Klitschko, among many others. I’ll also unpack lessons on the art of rhetoric from luminaries ranging from the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle to the British comedian John Cleese to the Barbadian pop star Rihanna.
People often ask me: “Can what you do really be taught?”
The short answer is: yes.
The longer answer is: yes, if you have the right teacher and are willing to listen, learn, and put in the hours.
Anyone can win an argument.
Let me teach you how.
1WINNING OVER AN AUDIENCE
Designing a presentation without an audience in mind is like writing a love letter and addressing it “to whom it may concern.”
—Ken Haemer, design expert
It was a cold, wintry evening in rural southwest England in February 2012. I had been invited to join BBC Radio 4’s flagship political panel show, Any Questions? The show is broadcast in front of a live audience that is allowed to ask questions of the panelists, who tend to be a mix of politicians and pundits.
That night we were in the small town of Crewkerne—population seven thousand—and, as I walked onstage at the Wadham Community School, I turned to scan the audience in the hall. The house was packed, but it took only three words to describe the whole of the crowd: elderly, white, conservative.
I leaned over to fellow panelist David Lammy, a Black Labour member of Parliament, and whispered: “We may be the only people of color, and the only people under the age of forty, in this entire room.”
As the show began, so did the contentious political arguments. One of the big stories in the news that week was the fate of extremist preacher Abu Qatada, a Jordanian asylum-seeker who had been dubbed “Osama bin Laden’s spiritual ambassador to Europe” and held in the UK without trial for a decade. The Conservative-led coalition government wanted to have Abu Qatada deported to Jordan—despite a credible fear that he might be tortured by the authorities back in Amman. And, on just the second question of the night, a member of the audience rose and asked about the issue directly: “Should the British government ignore the instruction of the European Court of Human Rights and simply deport Abu Qatada to Jordan?”
My mind was racing. I was in the hot seat, center stage. I knew that millions were listening on the radio, many of whom would agree with my own liberal stance: Abu Qatada should be tried in the UK and not tortured in Jordan. But how could I convince the Daily Mail–reading, conservative audience facing me down in Crewkerne? How could I get them on board with my argument?
When the questioner had spoken, the audience had clapped rousingly. They seemed to want Abu Qatada gone! I knew that if I simply cited reports from Amnesty International or the articles of the European Convention on Human Rights, I would lose this crowd. Instead, I had to adapt my usual liberal arguments and appeal to what I knew that particular audience would value and cherish—namely, British tradition, British history.
So, when host Jonathan Dimbleby came to me for an answer to that provocative question from the audience, this is how I answered. I said it was “absurd” to claim Abu Qatada could not be prosecuted in a UK court. Why?
The bigger point for me is the principle. When I was in school—we’re in a school—I learned about the Magna Carta; I learned about trial by jury; I learned about habeas corpus; I learned about free speech. The “glorious history of liberty” in this country. And I find it amazing that twenty years later, such is the pernicious impact of the “War on Terror” that I have to come back on a program like this, I have to go into TV studios, and debate certain journalists, and say, “Wait a minute, what happened to those liberties? Why have we suddenly abandoned those liberties that made this country great?”
The audience erupted in applause. By bringing it back to the Magna Carta, England’s first ever bill of rights, I had connected with them. I now had their full attention and loud support, so I pushed on.
No matter how odious and nasty Abu Qatada may be, the whole point of human rights is that it is the nasty and odious people who need human rights the most, and need the protection of the law the most, because if we don’t extend it to them, there’s no point [in having them].
Copyright © 2023 by Mehdi Hasan
