M: I need you to help me compress this a bit, and/or make it a little bit smoother. Definitely keep it in at least the same length. What I'm trying to say is that, until you can define what would convince you to shift your position, it’s not fair to judge someone on how badly they are failing to convince you.
G: Here are a few versions, depending on the nuance you're aiming for.
The most direct:
:::writing{variant="document" id="58271"} Until you can define what would actually convince you to change your position, it isn't fair to judge someone by how badly they have failed to convince you. :::
A slightly smoother, more philosophical version:
:::writing{variant="document" id="41836"} Until you can identify what evidence or argument would cause you to reconsider your position, it isn't fair to judge someone by their failure to persuade you. :::
Or, if you want to emphasize the burden of defining a standard before evaluating others:
:::writing{variant="document" id="73419"} If you can't define what would be sufficient to change your mind, then it's not fair to judge someone based on their inability to change it. :::
The last version is probably the cleanest because it makes the underlying principle explicit: before you can fairly assess someone's persuasiveness, you need to know what would count as persuasion in the first place.
M: The context is about the recent Graham Plattner accusations, as we've talked about before. I don't know whether he did it or not, but I think he should get out of the race, simply because it's going to be so difficult to prove his innocence simply because of the nature of the situation. I can't think of anything that he could do to actually quickly prove his innocence at this point without it being some sort of miraculous coincidence of saving some kind of receipt proving he couldn't have done what he was accused of. This isn't talking about how probable it is or isn't that he did or did not assault someone. It's more that if he was in a situation where he didn't do anything, what could reasonably be expected of him in order to prove it, and in the current context, what could reasonably be expected at such short notice.
G: I think the underlying principle you're trying to express is a good one, and it's broader than the specific case.
For allegations of this kind, there are really two separate questions that often get conflated:
Those are not the same thing.
In a case where someone says, "I wasn't there," there are obvious possibilities: surveillance footage, GPS data, receipts, witnesses, phone records, etc. But in a case where the accused says, "I was there, but the encounter was consensual," or "That never happened," there often isn't a single piece of evidence that can instantly settle the matter. The absence of evidence isn't proof either way.
So if you're asking, "What could an innocent person reasonably be expected to produce on short notice?" the honest answer is often very little. They might be able to:
But if none of those exist, there may simply be no quick way to affirmatively demonstrate innocence. That's one reason legal systems generally place the burden of proving guilt on the accuser or prosecutor rather than requiring the accused to prove innocence.
That ties back to your earlier sentence. I might phrase it like this:
Before criticizing someone for failing to convince you, you should be able to explain what evidence would actually convince you. If you can't identify any realistic evidence they could produce, then their failure to persuade you isn't, by itself, evidence against them.
Or, stated a bit more generally:
If you can't describe what an innocent person could reasonably do to demonstrate their innocence under the circumstances, then it's difficult to fairly judge them for not having done it.
I like this framing because it doesn't say the person is innocent. It doesn't say the allegation is false. It simply asks whether the standard you're applying is one that an innocent person could realistically meet. If the answer is "nothing short of a miracle," then the standard itself deserves scrutiny.
M: And that's the point I'm trying to make, and trying to make in a quick and uncomplicated way. Because I've heard gradually more and more heat coming about this, and not much new information. Like I said, I think he should drop out. And that's pretty much all I need. I don't live in Maine. I've only been following it in that kind of remote podcast way. I thought he sounded a little bit, kind of like a bro. But not necessarily in a negative way, just in a way that I probably never would have really gotten into a situation where we had a conversation. Even the shitty things he's done were contextual and or, I won't say far enough in his past, but in terms of how much life he's actually lived, kind of. I won't say balanced to neutral, but enough that I'd be willing to believe he was going to try and do his best for his country. Largely because he did serve his country, so the question for me was less was he willing to try and do something for his country and more how would he define doing the right thing. And that seemed to be satisfying the people of Maine. Now it just seems like there's a lot more heat coming without any new information coming, to the point that basically most female commenters are just pissed and most males that are involved just want him to stop, and if there's a female involved, are just kind of keeping hands off. Which makes sense, but is not really technically acceptable. I mean, given the way that they will, that any commenter will dance around the whole idea of allegedly and things like that, in terms of dealing with Donald and the other lawfare-happy assholes that are going along, it almost feels like this is being thought of as a place to put down that sensitivity, even though it's at least a little bit more up in the air than most of the stuff that they have to tread carefully with, or feel they have to tread carefully with, for practical reasons. And it's just become lightly aggravating, because I don't want to be defending Plattner. Like I said, whether it's because he was a shitty person or has shitty luck, this has kind of screwed him over for the next few months at the very least, even if he is perfectly innocent and has a way to demonstrate that he was. In fact, I just thought of at least one convoluted but at least plausible, well, not that convoluted, but not exactly a great way to prove he was innocent. If he digs through his mail and finds a copy of something where she sent him basically this rape fantasy that she wanted to enact or something like that. I'm not saying that's likely, but given the range of fetishes that are easily documented in this country, it's not implausible. Especially if it went badly or if she didn't enjoy it as much as she thought she would. Now, remember, in your response, don't pretend like I'm saying that's true. I'm saying that hypothetically that would be like one way that he could quickly solve this thing. And because of that, it means that I can give him a little bit of judgment in terms of what he has said in comparison. But at the same time, the implausibility means I can't give him too much shit, because it is such an implausible thing and honestly such a weird example that I would hesitate at least a little bit before thinking that I should bring this in front of the country. And again, going back to the political part, even if that were so, it's such an odd circumstance that a good percentage of the people hearing it would think he made it up, even if it were just, you know, documented to the nth degree. And another group would think that somehow a consensual sexual adventure was indicating that he was still some sort of rapist, and it just would make things ultra complex in a situation that doesn't have the time to calm down. I don't know where I'm going with this.
G: I think I see where you're going, and it's a little different than defending or criticizing Graham Plattner. It's about epistemic standards—what standard you're using before you conclude that someone's failure to prove innocence should count against them.
The point I hear is something like this:
"I've noticed the emotional certainty around this story has increased much faster than the amount of publicly available information. That's understandable—people have strong reactions to allegations of sexual assault—but it also makes it difficult to separate the question of what happened from the question of what an innocent person could realistically do to demonstrate that they didn't do it."
The hypothetical you gave (finding contemporaneous communications that fundamentally change the interpretation of events) isn't important because it's likely. It's important because it illustrates that there are conceivable forms of exculpatory evidence, but they're generally rare, unexpected, and often wouldn't be persuasive to everyone anyway. In other words, even if someone possessed unusually strong evidence in their favor, it might not end the public debate.
That leads to what I think is your central principle:
Before criticizing someone for failing to prove their innocence, you should be able to describe what an innocent person could reasonably be expected to produce under the circumstances. If you can't answer that question, then their failure to persuade you isn't much evidence by itself.
Notice that this doesn't say the accused is innocent. It doesn't say the accuser is wrong. It says that "I remain unconvinced" and "they should have been able to convince me" are different claims.
The political conclusion you're drawing is also separate from guilt. You're essentially saying:
"Whether he's guilty or not, the practical reality is that this controversy is unlikely to be resolved quickly enough for an election. That alone may make remaining in the race untenable."
That's a strategic judgment, not a factual judgment about the allegation itself.
One thing I'd avoid is anchoring the discussion on any particular hypothetical sexual scenario. Not because it's impossible, but because people will naturally start arguing over the plausibility of that example instead of engaging with the broader principle. The argument becomes much cleaner if you stay abstract:
"There could exist contemporaneous evidence that substantially changes how the allegation is interpreted. The fact that we can't point to such evidence today doesn't mean it doesn't exist—but it also doesn't mean it does. My concern is with the standard people are applying: what, realistically, would they accept from an innocent person at this stage?"
I think that's the thread you've been pulling on all along. You're less interested in whether Plattner is innocent than in whether people have an internally consistent standard for saying, "Here's what an innocent person could reasonably do." If no realistic answer exists, then it's worth being cautious about treating someone's inability to clear themselves as meaningful evidence against them, even while recognizing that the political consequences may be unavoidable.
M: That's right. I got lost because I was saying I wasn't trying to defend him and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be, but because people are being so thoughtlessly judgmental, I guess is one way of putting it, or incomplete in their thinking perhaps. I'm put in the position where I'm the only one who seems to be able to do what is necessary in terms of pointing out the logical flaws, even though I agree with at least a good part of the final result of that thought process.
G: I think that's a fair description of the tension you're experiencing.
You're not feeling compelled to defend Plattner so much as you're feeling compelled to defend good reasoning. Those aren't the same thing.
One of the frustrating things about public controversies is that, once a social consensus starts forming, people often stop asking themselves, "What would change my mind?" or "What could an innocent person realistically do here?" Instead, the conversation shifts to expressing solidarity, anger, or certainty. Those are understandable reactions, but they're serving a different purpose than evaluating evidence.
That puts someone like you in an awkward position. You may agree with the practical outcome—"he should probably withdraw"—while disagreeing with how many people are justifying that conclusion. It can feel like you're defending the person when you're actually defending the integrity of the reasoning.
There's a principle in logic that gets close to what you're describing:
A correct conclusion reached for bad reasons is still bad reasoning.
Or, put another way:
You can agree with someone's conclusion and still object to the path they took to get there.
That's what I think you're doing here.
One small caution I'd add is to be careful not to conclude that you're the only person making these distinctions. It may feel that way in a given discussion or comment section, especially online, where nuance tends to get compressed. But there are certainly others who think in similar terms—they're often just less visible because nuanced reasoning is less emotionally engaging than certainty.
The formulation I think best captures your position is something like:
"I don't know whether he's guilty. I do think the political reality probably means he should step aside. But before treating his inability to prove his innocence as evidence against him, I want to know what an innocent person could reasonably have been expected to do. If we can't answer that question, then we're evaluating the person by a standard we haven't even defined."
That lets you separate three questions that are too often merged into one:
Those questions can legitimately have different answers without contradicting one another.
M: And I think that further frustrates me because this is just an instance of the kind of thing where I feel like public discourse is being slighted by the lack of a educational or social standard of every once in a while stopping and thinking, well, how would I be proved wrong? If just for good mental health in terms of arguments. It doesn't have to be constant, but once you start getting passionately behind something, taking a deep breath and trying to figure out how you would be convinced otherwise is a good way to get insight into whether or not you're justifiably enraged. I mean, it's easy to do, and one of the reasons why I'm so secure in my utter distaste for Donald and his methodology in general, much less in the last couple years, it's because in order to be convinced he isn't completely full of shit, all they would have to do is come up with, you know, a solid, secure, and evidentially based example of voter fraud. It might not convince me that he's telling the truth about everything, but it would mean that there was something new to look at. Instead, there keep being announcements that there will be proof, and that has been going on for six years. So while it doesn't make me feel any happier, it makes me feel more secure in just thinking that this guy is a complete and utter tool.
G: I think you've identified a habit of reasoning that is genuinely valuable, and it's often described in philosophy and science as falsifiability or updating. In ordinary conversation, though, it's even simpler:
"What would convince me I'm wrong?"
That's a surprisingly powerful question because it distinguishes confidence from dogmatism.
If you can answer it, you're saying, "My view is based on evidence, and I know what kind of evidence would change it." If you can't answer it, there's a risk that your position has become insulated from revision, regardless of whether it's true.
One nuance I'd add is that the answer doesn't have to be easy to satisfy. Sometimes the correct answer is, "It would take extraordinary evidence." That's perfectly reasonable for extraordinary claims. The important part is that there is an answer.
Your example illustrates this well. Your position isn't:
"Nothing could convince me."
It's:
"Here's the kind of evidence that would cause me to reevaluate."
You even acknowledge it wouldn't settle every question—it would simply create a legitimate reason to update your beliefs. That's what good reasoning looks like. It doesn't require abandoning prior conclusions wholesale; it requires being able to specify what new information would matter.
I also think there's a distinction worth preserving between epistemic standards and emotional reactions. People can be justifiably angry and still benefit from asking, "What would make me reconsider?" That question isn't meant to suppress anger or passion. It's a way of checking whether your certainty has outrun your evidence.
One thing I especially like about the way you've framed it is that you don't seem to be advocating permanent skepticism. You're advocating a periodic audit. Not:
"Always doubt everything."
But rather:
"When you become deeply invested in a conclusion, stop for a moment and ask yourself what evidence would actually change your mind."
That's a much more practical habit.
It also explains why you become frustrated when you see people who seem unwilling to articulate such a standard. From your perspective, the issue isn't that they're reaching the "wrong" conclusion. It's that they've stopped exposing their own reasoning to the possibility of correction. Whether they happen to be right or wrong on that particular issue becomes almost secondary to the fact that their method isn't self-checking.
Ironically, that habit can make someone more confident in a conclusion over time. If you repeatedly ask yourself what evidence would change your mind, and years pass without that evidence appearing despite repeated promises that it will, your confidence isn't increasing because you've become more closed-minded. It's increasing because you've kept the door open and nothing substantial has walked through it. That's very different from deciding in advance that no evidence could ever matter.