6 tricks that will help you win any argument

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 hallways of government, or at the family dinner table. 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. In fact, I have been arguing my whole life. First, as a student debater at the Oxford Union, then as a TV pundit in the UK, and now as an anchor and interviewer 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; argued inside Number 10 Downing Street; argued inside the Saudi embassy.

Here’s what I’ve learned about how to triumph from those encounters. Your opponent isn’t the key; your audience is key. They are the judge and jury. So here are six of my favorite tried-and-tested ways of winning over every audience – and winning every argument.

Focus on feelings, not (just) facts

You often hear the phrase “facts don’t care about your feelings.” But in the heat of an argument, it’s not so simple. Anyone who’s ever tried to change a friend’s mind and gotten nowhere has learned this all too well. You might have all your facts in hand, an argument that’s unassailable—and make no dent at all. People are stubborn, and wary, and afraid of change. Sure, facts might not care about any of those feelings, but consider this: our feelings rarely care about the facts.

The truth is that we often feel, rather than think, our way toward a particular position or viewpoint. According to the experts, we need that jolt of emotion to get us off the fence and make a decision. “Humans are not either thinking machines or feeling machines,” says Antonio Damasio, the acclaimed neuroscientist and expert on the brain, “but rather feeling machines that think.”

One of the best ways to give your audience that jolt of emotion and get them on your side is to tell a story. Human beings have long been captivated by good stories, by a solid narrative arc; by a beginning, a middle, and an end. The human brain, say the scientists, did not evolve to absorb only cold hard facts. It’s hardwired for storytelling.

When you’re looking to win an argument, you’re trying to guide your listeners to make a decision. You want them to choose you over your opponent. And that choice requires an appeal to feelings and emotions. The heart steers the head. And if it’s heart versus head, I promise you, pure logic is losing nine times out of ten.

So you need to rely not just on facts and figures but on good anecdotes and gripping narratives, in order to connect with your audience and get your points across. Remember: as Wharton professor of marketing and psychology Deborah Small explained to me, stories that “are concrete (rather than abstract), personal, and narrative in form tend to evoke more emotion.”

Or as Plato is said to have remarked: “Those who tell stories rule society.”

Play the ball—and the person

People will often tell you to play the ball, not the person. Tackle the argument, not the arguer. Don’t go ‘ad hom.’ That’s the only way to win, fair and square, they say.

They’re wrong.

To quote the philosopher Tom Whyman: “If ad hominem arguments are illegitimate, how come they’re so useful?”

How do you think Donald Trump, then a reality TV star and failed property developer, beat 16 much more qualified and experienced rivals to win the Republican presidential nomination in 2016? It wasn’t through a greater command of policy or even by raising more money than them. It was by mocking and belittling them with insults and nicknames. Remember Lyin’ Ted (Cruz)? Liddle Marco (Rubio)? Crooked Hillary (Clinton)? Trump verbally abused his way into the Oval Office.

You could say that the former president was following in the footsteps of one of the greatest orators of antiquity. The Roman statesman and lawyer, Marcus Tullius Cicero, was a character assassin par excellence with a “gift for invective,” notes author Sam Leith in Words Like Loaded Pistols. He once attacked an opponent as a “monster,” a “butcher,” and a “gelded pig.” He even ridiculed his “hairy cheeks.”

Cicero, like Aristotle before him, understood the significance of ethos: the way in which a speaker’s own credibility, authority, and standing is used to bolster their argument. Undermine that ethos and you undermine their ability to make that argument to an audience of neutrals.

Contrary to the conventional wisdom, that labels ad hominem arguments as “logical fallacies,” there is nothing inherently fallacious about pointing out that your opponent has a history of lying and can’t be trusted (the “abusive” ad hominem); or has a conflict of interest that they are hiding (the “circumstantial” ad hominem); or doesn’t practice what they preach (the “tu quoque” ad hominem).

Don’t get me wrong: in a perfect world you would only go after the argument itself, its merits and demerits, its pros and cons—and not the arguer behind it. But in our world, the real world, playing the ball and the man can prove to be a rather effective, and often necessary, tactic. It can discredit your opponent and their argument at the same time. It can win over a skeptical crowd and give you the upper hand.

So, as Whyman notes, “only an idiot would dismiss ad hominem arguments.”

Make ’em laugh

“If I can get you to laugh with me,” the British comedian and actor John Cleese once remarked, “you like me better, which makes you more open to my ideas.”

Laughter isn’t just the best medicine—it is one of the best ways to win over a crowd and triumph in a debate. Laughter provides your audience with “social glue.” Researchers at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill found that shared laughter brings people together—in ways that can help you as the person making them laugh.

“For people who are laughing together,” says social psychologist and study coauthor Sara Algoe, “shared laughter signals that they see the world in the same way, and it momentarily boosts their sense of connection. Perceived similarity ends up being an important part of the story of relationships.”

Got that? Make your audience laugh and they’ll like you, identify with you and remember what you say to them. Above all else, they’re much more likely to agree with you.

The strategic use of humour and mockery can also put your opponent on the defensive. Again, the ancient Greeks and Romans were way ahead of us. According to Michael Fontaine, a Cornell University professor of classics and translator of Cicero’s treatise on comedy, the Roman statesman used jokes as “weapons of war” and as a source of rhetorical power over others. “His enemies said, ‘This guy’s a total buffoon. He’s a clown. He’s telling jokes, he breaks protocol,’” says Fontaine. “And yet he keeps winning and winning and winning.”

Use some judo moves

What could a 140-year-old Japanese martial art have in common with the art of rhetoric and debate? Well, “judo” itself is derived from the Japanese word meaning “flexible” or “yielding.” To win in a debate or gain the upper hand in an argument, you often have to be both flexible and willing to yield, judo-style. To use your opponent’s energy against them and to knock them to the ground. So, sometimes, you do have to yield to a debate opponent—not because you’re losing, but because doing so will make you look more reasonable to an a audience and help you win.

There is, of course, an ancient Greek term for this rhetorical technique: synchoresis. The Collins English Dictionary defines it as “the act or an instance of conceding an argument in order to make a stronger one.”

You can concede a point here or there to throw your opponent off balance. You can even surprise them by pre-empting their points. You can also reframe the argument, the terms of the argument, in your favour whenever you get the chance—and whenever your opponent is least expecting it. These are all rhetorical judo moves.

To quote Kanō Jigorō, the founder of judo: “Resisting a more powerful opponent will result in your defeat, whilst adjusting to and evading your opponent’s attack will cause him to lose his balance, his power will be reduced, and you will defeat him.”

Come up with a zinger or two

“Unless there is the zinger or the kind of the cute line or whatever, the quotable moment,” George W. Bush once remarked, “there’s no victor, in a sense.”

I hate agreeing with Dubya. But he does have a point. We’ve all, at some point or another, enjoyed or appreciated a mic drop moment. The pithy quip. The calculated clapback. Barbed one-liners, or zingers, can be one of the most effective ways of undermining both your opponent and, by extension, their argument.

A well-timed, well-planned zinger can, in fact, “be both a bludgeon to injure an opponent and a shield to deflect an opponent’s attacks,” writes Chris Lamb in The Art of the Political Putdown. “But, perhaps most importantly, it can establish one’s superiority over a rival.”

Think Democrat Lloyd Bentsen, addressing Republican Dan Quayle in the 1988 U.S. vice-presidential debate: “Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy, I knew Jack Kennedy, Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy.”

Boom.

Think David Cameron, addressing Tony Blair at their first Prime Minister’s Questions in 2005: “It’s only our first exchange and already the Prime Minister is asking me the questions. This approach is stuck in the past and I want to talk about the future. He was the future once.”

Ouch.

Look and sound confident

Do you want to know how important it is to be confident, or at least project confidence, when making an argument? Consider this: in 2009, the New Scientist cited research from Carnegie Mellon professor Don Moore showing “that we prefer advice from a confident source, even to the point that we are willing to forgive a poor track record.”

Confidence is what allows you to look someone right in the eyes and say, “Sorry, you’re wrong” (even if, in your head, you suspect they might be right). Confidence is what allows you to stand in front of hundreds, thousands, or even millions, and speak from the heart. Confidence is what allows you to get knocked down in life—and get right back up again.

Confidence isn’t innate. It can be taught and developed; by volunteering to speak in front of bigger and bigger crowds, for example. By taking risks and stepping outside of your comfort zone. By visualizing success. I wasn’t born with the confidence to take on presidents and prime ministers on live television; to give speeches to audiences of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people. I had to learn confidence; I had to build up that belief in myself.

You have to try and do the same. And if you can’t make it…then fake it. Make sure you give the appearance of confidence both in yourself and in your argument. How? Stand up straight and keep your chin up, say the body language experts. Don’t slouch or fidget. Project your voice by speaking from your diaphragm. And always make direct eye contact with the people you want to persuade. 

These are all quick fixes for projecting confidence—and maybe even, over time, to feeling more confident.

So have belief in yourself. Get ready with an emotional appeal. Be willing to play the ball and the person. Use zingers, jokes, and judo moves. And prepare for rhetorical victory against any opponent and in front of any crowd.

Mehdi Hasan is a host of ‘The Mehdi Hasan Show’ on MSNBC. This essay is adapted from his new book Win Every Argument: The Art of Debating, Persuading, and Public Speaking, published by Henry Holt.