You know the difference between an opinion and an argument don't you? An opinion is what happens when your wife opens up her mouth; and an argument is what happens when you open yours.
It reminds me of an opinion my wife had a couple of weeks ago: "Stan!" she opined. "You should cut down the dead ash tree in the side yard." On that subject I had an opinion of my own: "Naw, I don't think so." Notice how well we reason such things out.
Such exchanges, which occur frequently between people, often result in arguments — defined, in this instance, as ever escalating exchanges of ever increasing rancor. Let's call that type of argument an argument of rancor.
There is another kind of argument, however, that we call an argument of reason. And while the two can often be intertwined, it is our purpose, for now, to separate them and favor the argument of reason.
We'll get back to the dead ash tree in my side yard, but right now let's go even further — back to the acacia wood in Moses' backyard.
You may recall that in the last article we suggested that Moses was not the Biblical character who took a horde of animals (and shovels) into the ark for an unscheduled float trip to Mt. Ararat. But then we took one of those shovels, dug ourselves a hole, and offered up the opinion that Moses indeed had not one ark, but two. Do you have an opinion on that? Do you want to offer up an argument?
As arguments of rancor usually go we might end up with an "intelligent" discussion with a Protestant brother like this:
HIM: Stan, you're all mixed up, boy. It was Noah that had the ark and all those animals. Moses had all those people and a tent. Now I know the tent, if you turn it upside down, like you Catholics do ta things, might look like an ark, sort-a, but the two are not the same, dang-it. You need to study your Bible som'ores.
ME: I stud'yit more than ya'll think. And Moses did too have two arks.
HIM: Yer crazy! Ya got those darn extra books in yer Old Testament and yer all confused.
ME: I'm not confused. Yer missing half the Old Testament, and what you got you ain't read yet. Moses did too, have two arks.
Now, the rancor and the barrier the two of us just raised could have been avoided had I just been more willing to explain. But I love to get in those rancorous digs.
Confessionals should have a sign outside that reads: "Leave your shovels here, pick up a ladder on the way out." You see, I could have avoided the rancor and the confessional if I had just responded in the first place with reason and evidence:
ME: I don't mean that Moses had a gopherwood ark for animals like Noah. But, in Exodus 2, Moses writes that when he was three-months old his mom put him in a basket, appropriately lined with bitumen and pitch, and floated him among the reeds of the river to hide him from history's first recorded infanticide. The basket was an ark that saved not only Moses' life, but, by extension of Moses' life, all of Israel.
Much later, in Exodus 37, we read about how God instructed Moses to, through Bezalel, build the acacia wood Ark of the Covenant, into which he placed Aaron's budding rod, the 10 Commandment tablets, and a ciborium of manna. This ark was a preserve for the objects that had saved Israel's life in the wilderness. Just as Noah's ark saved Noah's family and the animals from the flood, so Moses' two arks saved the Israelites and their animals from slavery, sin, and hunger.
Here's how to tell the difference between an argument and an opinion. An opinion is a statement without supporting evidence. An argument of reason is a statement with supporting evidence. In this latter example, rather than just stating my opinion, I backed it up with evidence, in this case the two Old Testament references and a summary of what they contain. I also explained that while I was using the same word "ark," in Moses' case, the word had different meanings in the different contexts.
Now, back to the dead ash in my side yard. On the particular day that Pam suggested I cut it down, I had rolled out of the dumb side of the bed… and I found it easier to just say "No." Repeatedly, I should add.
That first day we rode along the fringe of rancor even as the tree's bark began to molt, perhaps, I hoped, into a beautiful spruce or oak. During the next month we tossed back and forth reasons for and against the "how" of the tree's demise.
ME: It's too expensive. The other ash, the one that was in the front yard, cost us $2,500 to take down, and the tree-guy left behind an ugly stump that cost another $45 to grind up. Then there were days of grading and seeding and weeding. No.
HER: Cut it down yourself.
ME: I threw out the chainsaw 5 years ago. No.
HER: Buy a new one.
ME: You know how bad I am with motors. I'd rather the limbs just fall off.
HER: It looks ugly.
ME: Yeah, but don't you think its leafless branches remind our neighbors of life's eventual death and their need to repent.
HER: Oh, please!
At least we were into evidence and not rancor. It became somewhat of a game. But the game got serious when I heard of a major summer storm that was approaching and I realized that if one of the large, dead limbs were to crack off in the wind, it would hit the electrical and telephone lines to the house, and probably knock them out of service for days. To me, at the time, that was "evidence" against which I could not provide a rebuttal. I hurried down to the store, bought a new chainsaw, and that night started in on the tree.
Pam came out to help, but shortly into the process the engine kept stalling, and my "manly" efforts to pull the starter chord 34 times in a row to get it going, resulted in jammed chord and fused pull-plate. The new chainsaw was as dead as the tree. Pam, who got up on the smart side of the bed that day, suggested some evidence, totally side-stepping the argument: "It wouldn't be because the gasoline you were using was 6 years old, would it?" I had to admit that I had again ignored the instruction manual's argument of reason that provided the following evidence in a warning box: "Use of fuel older than 90 days (stale fuel), may cause hard starting… and void the product warranty." I had my "opinion" and I ignored the "evidence."
The storm came and went and the tree was still standing.
A week later, with a new, improved, and more expensive chainsaw, we made some real progress on the tree. But as I write this, Pam and I are both experiencing the best evidence for not cutting down the tree ourselves — evidence that neither one of us had thought of — evidence that provided a whole new light on cutting down large dead trees: The tree was covered in ivy — the wrong kind of ivy! Now Pam and I are covered with — well, it's not exactly green and leafy. (Itch! Itch! Itch!)
After two weeks and several trips to the doctor for steroids, we realize that even with a pile of evidence, the conclusion of our argument of reason may have been incorrect, incomplete, or inconclusive. We learned (again) that just any evidence may not be the right evidence, good evidence, or enough evidence. In fact, in a good argument, the evidence presented must have certain characteristics, before you can trust the conclusion. That is, a good argument of reason, is one in which you can trust the conclusion, in part, because you trust the evidence.
So, in the next article we'll begin to look at the four criteria of a good argument, and how you can be relatively certain to come to a good conclusion (with a lot less itching!).
Now, about that tree:
ME: "Hey, Pam, I got an idea?"
HER: "Oh, yeah? Well, first tell me which side of the bed you got up on today."
. It can get rancourous pretty darn quick! The French have a saying "Vive la difference!", — I agree, and I think our marriage has lasted as long as it has because we realize our differences, and try to work around them, because we're both stubborn as Missouri mules, and neither one of us wants to quit! Stirling, I wish you a joyful, laughter-filled day! 
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