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March 2008  
  
The web is turning writing into a conversation. Twenty years ago, writers
wrote and readers read. The web lets readers respond, and increasingly they
do—in comment threads, on forums, and in their own blog posts.  
  
Many who respond to something disagree with it. That's to be expected.
Agreeing tends to motivate people less than disagreeing. And when you agree
there's less to say. You could expand on something the author said, but he has
probably already explored the most interesting implications. When you disagree
you're entering territory he may not have explored.  
  
The result is there's a lot more disagreeing going on, especially measured by
the word. That doesn't mean people are getting angrier. The structural change
in the way we communicate is enough to account for it. But though it's not
anger that's driving the increase in disagreement, there's a danger that the
increase in disagreement will make people angrier. Particularly online, where
it's easy to say things you'd never say face to face.  
  
If we're all going to be disagreeing more, we should be careful to do it well.
What does it mean to disagree well? Most readers can tell the difference
between mere name-calling and a carefully reasoned refutation, but I think it
would help to put names on the intermediate stages. So here's an attempt at a
disagreement hierarchy:  
  
**DH0. Name-calling.**  
  
This is the lowest form of disagreement, and probably also the most common.
We've all seen comments like this:

> u r a fag!!!!!!!!!!

But it's important to realize that more articulate name-calling has just as
little weight. A comment like

> The author is a self-important dilettante.

is really nothing more than a pretentious version of "u r a fag."  
  
**DH1. Ad Hominem.**  
  
An ad hominem attack is not quite as weak as mere name-calling. It might
actually carry some weight. For example, if a senator wrote an article saying
senators' salaries should be increased, one could respond:

> Of course he would say that. He's a senator.

This wouldn't refute the author's argument, but it may at least be relevant to
the case. It's still a very weak form of disagreement, though. If there's
something wrong with the senator's argument, you should say what it is; and if
there isn't, what difference does it make that he's a senator?  
  
Saying that an author lacks the authority to write about a topic is a variant
of ad hominem—and a particularly useless sort, because good ideas often come
from outsiders. The question is whether the author is correct or not. If his
lack of authority caused him to make mistakes, point those out. And if it
didn't, it's not a problem.  
  
**DH2. Responding to Tone.**  
  
The next level up we start to see responses to the writing, rather than the
writer. The lowest form of these is to disagree with the author's tone. E.g.

> I can't believe the author dismisses intelligent design in such a cavalier
> fashion.

Though better than attacking the author, this is still a weak form of
disagreement. It matters much more whether the author is wrong or right than
what his tone is. Especially since tone is so hard to judge. Someone who has a
chip on their shoulder about some topic might be offended by a tone that to
other readers seemed neutral.  
  
So if the worst thing you can say about something is to criticize its tone,
you're not saying much. Is the author flippant, but correct? Better that than
grave and wrong. And if the author is incorrect somewhere, say where.  
  
**DH3. Contradiction.**  
  
In this stage we finally get responses to what was said, rather than how or by
whom. The lowest form of response to an argument is simply to state the
opposing case, with little or no supporting evidence.  
  
This is often combined with DH2 statements, as in:

> I can't believe the author dismisses intelligent design in such a cavalier
> fashion. Intelligent design is a legitimate scientific theory.

Contradiction can sometimes have some weight. Sometimes merely seeing the
opposing case stated explicitly is enough to see that it's right. But usually
evidence will help.  
  
**DH4. Counterargument.**  
  
At level 4 we reach the first form of convincing disagreement:
counterargument. Forms up to this point can usually be ignored as proving
nothing. Counterargument might prove something. The problem is, it's hard to
say exactly what.  
  
Counterargument is contradiction plus reasoning and/or evidence. When aimed
squarely at the original argument, it can be convincing. But unfortunately
it's common for counterarguments to be aimed at something slightly different.
More often than not, two people arguing passionately about something are
actually arguing about two different things. Sometimes they even agree with
one another, but are so caught up in their squabble they don't realize it.  
  
There could be a legitimate reason for arguing against something slightly
different from what the original author said: when you feel they missed the
heart of the matter. But when you do that, you should say explicitly you're
doing it.  
  
**DH5. Refutation.**  
  
The most convincing form of disagreement is refutation. It's also the rarest,
because it's the most work. Indeed, the disagreement hierarchy forms a kind of
pyramid, in the sense that the higher you go the fewer instances you find.  
  
To refute someone you probably have to quote them. You have to find a "smoking
gun," a passage in whatever you disagree with that you feel is mistaken, and
then explain why it's mistaken. If you can't find an actual quote to disagree
with, you may be arguing with a straw man.  
  
While refutation generally entails quoting, quoting doesn't necessarily imply
refutation. Some writers quote parts of things they disagree with to give the
appearance of legitimate refutation, then follow with a response as low as DH3
or even DH0.  
  
**DH6. Refuting the Central Point.**  
  
The force of a refutation depends on what you refute. The most powerful form
of disagreement is to refute someone's central point.  
  
Even as high as DH5 we still sometimes see deliberate dishonesty, as when
someone picks out minor points of an argument and refutes those. Sometimes the
spirit in which this is done makes it more of a sophisticated form of ad
hominem than actual refutation. For example, correcting someone's grammar, or
harping on minor mistakes in names or numbers. Unless the opposing argument
actually depends on such things, the only purpose of correcting them is to
discredit one's opponent.  
  
Truly refuting something requires one to refute its central point, or at least
one of them. And that means one has to commit explicitly to what the central
point is. So a truly effective refutation would look like:

> The author's main point seems to be x. As he says:
>

>> <quotation>

>
> But this is wrong for the following reasons...

The quotation you point out as mistaken need not be the actual statement of
the author's main point. It's enough to refute something it depends upon.  
  
**What It Means**  
  
Now we have a way of classifying forms of disagreement. What good is it? One
thing the disagreement hierarchy _doesn't_ give us is a way of picking a
winner. DH levels merely describe the form of a statement, not whether it's
correct. A DH6 response could still be completely mistaken.  
  
But while DH levels don't set a lower bound on the convincingness of a reply,
they do set an upper bound. A DH6 response might be unconvincing, but a DH2 or
lower response is always unconvincing.  
  
The most obvious advantage of classifying the forms of disagreement is that it
will help people to evaluate what they read. In particular, it will help them
to see through intellectually dishonest arguments. An eloquent speaker or
writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using
forceful words. In fact that is probably the defining quality of a demagogue.
By giving names to the different forms of disagreement, we give critical
readers a pin for popping such balloons.  
  
Such labels may help writers too. Most intellectual dishonesty is
unintentional. Someone arguing against the tone of something he disagrees with
may believe he's really saying something. Zooming out and seeing his current
position on the disagreement hierarchy may inspire him to try moving up to
counterargument or refutation.  
  
But the greatest benefit of disagreeing well is not just that it will make
conversations better, but that it will make the people who have them happier.
If you study conversations, you find there is a lot more meanness down in DH1
than up in DH6. You don't have to be mean when you have a real point to make.
In fact, you don't want to. If you have something real to say, being mean just
gets in the way.  
  
If moving up the disagreement hierarchy makes people less mean, that will make
most of them happier. Most people don't really enjoy being mean; they do it
because they can't help it.  
  
  
  
  
  
**Thanks** to Trevor Blackwell and Jessica Livingston for reading drafts of
this.  
  
  
  
**Related:**  
  
  
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What You Can't Say  
| | The Age of the Essay  
  
Italian Translation  
| | Russian Translation  
  
Swedish Translation  
| | Spanish Translation  
  
German Translation  
| | French Translation  
  
Arabic Translation  
| | Finnish Translation  
  
Italian Translation  
| | Turkish Translation  
  
  
  
  

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