Peter Millican is Gilbert Ryle Fellow and Professor of Philosophy at Hertford College, University of Oxford.
For professional philosophers like me, the Brexit debate offers a great illustration of the value of what we teach. Rarely has there been an issue of such national significance, whose outcome depends so strongly on rhetorical (rather than economic or military) force. Some of this rhetoric has been well directed, some downright dishonest, but much – I suspect – has been unintentionally flawed through lack of awareness of logical pitfalls. Recognising this could help hugely in our current political crisis.
“You would say that…”
Take the common rebuff: “You only argue in favour of a public vote because you’re a Remoaner” (coupled here with another disreputable move: name-calling). It may well be that most who argue for – or against – a public vote on Brexit are motivated by their view of the 2016 result. But personal motive is utterly irrelevant to the rational assessment of a debate, as philosophers have recognised since antiquity (hence the fallacy has a Latin name: ad hominem).
Imagine a judge saying to a defendant: “You’re only presenting this argument because you want to be acquitted, so the jury should ignore what you say.” Or one scientist attacking a rival: “You’re only presenting those experiments because you want to promote your theory, so they should be ignored.” What matters in getting to the truth is not the motive of those who present some argument, but whether their argument is good or bad.
Playing up false analogies
Many other fallacies arise from misleading analogies. For example, I suspect that opposition to another public vote is largely founded on the British love of sport and fair play. The 2016 referendum divisively pitted “Leavers” against “Remainers”, and when the referee blew the final whistle, the Leavers had won.
Remainers later cast doubt on how fairly the game had been played, with shenanigans on social media that were dubiously funded and so on. But many on both sides saw such complaints as losing with bad grace: we generally think one should abide by the referee’s decision, whatever the action replay might reveal. But whether the same principle should apply to electoral malpractice and a result with huge significance for the country’s long-term future is highly debatable.
The sporting analogy can also falsely suggest that we can be expected to exhibit the same loyalty to “our side” as we do in football or cricket. But in politics it is obviously entirely reasonable to change our mind as we learn from events. Hence we expect to be offered new elections every few years, rather than allowing politicians to hijack our democratic voice by taking for granted that we irrevocably belong to “their team”. Those who voted for Brexit in 2016, but have since changed their mind, will understandably dislike being taken for granted in this sort of way.
Broken promises
A related point is that our political choices are far more likely to be conditional than our sporting allegiances. Many voted for Brexit because they were told that it would enrich the country (particularly the NHS) and pave the way for easy trade deals around the world. If their support was conditional on that expectation, then they cannot legitimately be counted as committed “Leavers” if the reality turns out to be quite different. So unless we check voters’ opinions after the available options have been clarified, we simply cannot know what their preferences would be.
Nor should politicians consider themselves unconditionally bound by any “promise” made under such circumstances. If you and I normally drive home from work together, and you promise to take me instead to the local football stadium tomorrow evening, I would feel justifiably aggrieved if – after the match has been cancelled – you insist on still taking me to that now unwanted destination against my will, “to honour your promise”. Promises are standardly accorded a right of cancellation.
“Will of the people”
Even more misleading than talk of “Leavers” and “Remainers” is referring to “the British people” as though this is a unified population with a unified “will”. Many have changed their mind since 2016, but even if they had not, we now have a significantly different electorate – more than two million newly eligible young people, while many older voters have died. With voting highly correlated to age, and more than 80% of the young reported as favouring staying in the EU, demographic change alone could easily have moved the overall balance of opinion.
Is it then fair to bind the current “British people” by a marginal vote of a somewhat different population three years ago, without giving them the opportunity to express a different view? It is particularly extraordinary to see Westminster politicians insisting on this, while themselves voting repeatedly on the prime minister’s deal, free to change their minds on a timescale of days.
A transparently fair vote of the British people – allowing them to take account of what has been learned since 2016 – cannot plausibly be represented as “anti-democratic”. Yet many politicians are wrapping themselves in misleading rhetoric to justify shutting their ears to public dismay about where we are heading.
Perhaps they can be persuaded otherwise by arguments like those above. But if not – and unless fault can be found in those arguments – then we do have to wonder whether something else is really driving them: such as personal ambition, or political ideology and lack of interest in the democratic will. Such politicians need to be called out and required to answer rationally. They must not be allowed to hijack our future with cheap rhetorical slogans.