Michelle: Most arguments are unwinnable. And it’s not because you're wrong, but because you're fighting in the wrong century. Mark: The wrong century? What does that even mean? Are you saying my debate style is... medieval? Michelle: Worse. It’s probably stuck in the 20th century. The ancient Greeks knew a secret to ending pointless fights that we've almost completely forgotten. And it has nothing to do with being right. Mark: Okay, now I'm intrigued. A secret that lets me win arguments without having to be right? That sounds like my kind of superpower. Michelle: It’s the core idea behind a book that’s become a modern classic on a very old subject. Today we’re diving into Thank You for Arguing by Jay Heinrichs. Mark: Ah, I've heard of this one. It’s got a huge following, right? Especially with students. Michelle: It does. And what’s fascinating about Heinrichs is that he’s not some dusty philosophy professor. He was a writer and publishing executive for over 25 years who became obsessed with this idea that rhetoric—the art of persuasion—is the most critical skill we've simply stopped teaching. He wanted to revive this "lost art" for all of us. Mark: A lost art. I like that. So, what’s the first secret from the ancient Greeks that we’ve all forgotten?

Michelle: The first secret is a total mind-bender: to get what you want, you have to stop trying to win the argument. Mark: Hold on. That makes no sense. The whole point of arguing is to win. Isn't it? Michelle: That’s what we think! But Heinrichs draws a sharp line between arguing and fighting. Fighting is about domination, about beating your opponent. Arguing, in the rhetorical sense, is about persuasion. It’s about achieving a goal. And sometimes, the best way to achieve your goal is to let the other person feel like they won. Mark: That sounds… manipulative. And also like a recipe for raising entitled children if I use it at home. Michelle: It can feel that way, but let me tell you my favorite story from the book. Heinrichs calls it "The Toothpaste Argument." It’s early morning. He’s in a rush, needs the bathroom, but his seventeen-year-old son, George, is in there. When he finally gets in, he discovers the toothpaste tube is completely squeezed dry. Mark: Oh, I know that feeling. That is a declaration of war in any household. Michelle: Exactly. So, the father, Heinrichs, does what any of us would do. He confronts his son. "George, who finished the toothpaste?" He’s looking for a culprit. He’s trying to win, to assign blame. Mark: And what does George say? Michelle: This is the genius part. George, who has clearly been reading his dad’s books, doesn't get defensive. He just looks at his dad and says, "That’s not the point, is it, Dad? The point is how we’re going to keep this from happening again." Mark: Whoa. That’s… brilliant. He completely sidestepped the blame. Michelle: He did more than that. He changed the entire frame of the argument. Suddenly, it wasn't about winning a fight over past actions. It was about solving a future problem. The father was so impressed, he just said, "Okay, George. You win. Now go get a new tube of toothpaste." And George, feeling triumphant, happily did. Mark: And the father got what he actually wanted—which was more toothpaste. He lost the battle but won the war. Michelle: Precisely. That’s the core of persuasion. Heinrichs points to the Roman orator Cicero, who said every persuasive effort has three goals, in escalating order of difficulty. First, change the audience's mood. Second, change their mind. And third, get them to act. The son, George, changed his dad's mood from anger to admiration, which made him willing to concede the point and ask for the action he wanted. Mark: So it’s less about having the knockout punch and more about being a kind of emotional architect for the conversation. Michelle: That’s a perfect way to put it. You’re guiding the other person toward the outcome you want, and often the smoothest path is one where they feel good, respected, and even a little bit victorious.

Michelle: And that brilliant move George made—pivoting from "who did it" to "how do we fix it"—is a perfect example of the book's single most powerful tool. He didn't just change the topic; he changed the tense of the argument. Mark: The tense? Like, past, present, future? How does that apply to an argument? Michelle: According to Aristotle, every argument is rooted in one of three tenses, and each tense corresponds to a core issue. The past tense is all about blame. Who did it? Who’s at fault? This is the realm of forensic rhetoric, like in a courtroom. Mark: Okay, that’s the toothpaste argument. "Who finished it?" Michelle: Exactly. Then there’s the present tense. This is about values. What’s good? What’s bad? Is this right or wrong? This is what Heinrichs calls demonstrative rhetoric—it’s what you hear in sermons or graduation speeches. It’s about defining a group’s identity and shared values. Mark: So that’s when an argument turns into a lecture about what kind of person you are. Michelle: You got it. And most of our pointless, circular fights get stuck in those two tenses—blame and values. Heinrichs gives a classic example: a couple is in the living room. The wife says, "Can you turn the music down?" The husband says, "You were the one who set the volume." Mark: Past tense. Blame. I’m familiar. Michelle: Then the wife says, "Well, I wouldn't have to if you didn't listen to such terrible music." Mark: Present tense. Values. "Your taste is bad." Wow. I feel seen. I have this exact fight about the thermostat at least once a week. It’s always about who touched it last or what the 'right' temperature is. Michelle: And it never goes anywhere, right? Because you’re not trying to solve anything. You’re just trying to be right. This is where the third tense comes in: the future. The future tense is about choice. What should we do? What’s the best path forward? This is deliberative rhetoric, the rhetoric of decision-making. Mark: So this is the magic bullet. How do you actually switch to the future? What do you say? Michelle: You say almost exactly what George said. You ask a question that moves the focus forward. For the music, it’s "What volume level works for both of us?" For the thermostat, it’s "What temperature should we agree on for the evenings?" For the toothpaste, it was, "How do we keep this from happening again?" Mark: It seems so simple, but it’s profound. It shifts the entire dynamic from a conflict to a collaboration. You’re not opponents anymore; you’re partners trying to solve a puzzle. Michelle: That’s the power of it. The moment you move to the future, you’re talking about what’s advantageous for everyone. You’re making a choice together. And that, Heinrichs argues, is the only tense where real persuasion and problem-solving can happen.

Mark: Okay, so I've got my goal straight, and I'm a time-traveling master of tenses, focused on the future. But what if the person I'm arguing with just... doesn't like me? Or doesn't trust a word I say? None of those tools will work then. Michelle: You’ve just hit on the third, and maybe most important, pillar of persuasion: Ethos. It’s argument by character. It’s not about your logic, it’s about your audience’s perception of you. Aristotle said it’s built on three qualities: virtue, practical wisdom, and disinterest. Mark: Virtue, wisdom, and disinterest. That sounds like a Jedi Knight, not someone trying to decide on a thermostat setting. Michelle: (laughs) It does sound lofty, but it’s incredibly practical. Virtue, in a rhetorical sense, doesn’t mean being a saint. It means the audience believes you share their values. You’re part of their tribe. Practical wisdom, or what the Greeks called phronesis, means you seem to know what you’re doing—you have street smarts. And disinterest means you seem to have the audience’s best interests at heart, not just your own. Mark: That makes sense. But how do you show all that? It seems like something you either have or you don't. Michelle: This is where Heinrichs introduces a fascinating concept: Decorum. Decorum is the art of fitting in. It’s meeting your audience's expectations for how you should look, act, and speak. It’s the unspoken language of trust. Mark: But isn't decorum just being a chameleon? A fake? What about being authentic? Michelle: That’s the classic pushback, and it’s a great question. Heinrichs argues it’s not about being fake; it’s about being appropriate for the occasion. You wouldn’t wear a bathing suit to a funeral. That’s decorum. He uses an amazing example: the final rap battle in the movie 8 Mile. Mark: Oh, I love that scene. Eminem, a white rapper, is in a club full of black artists in Detroit. Michelle: Right. On paper, he has zero decorum. He’s the outsider. His opponent looks and acts the part of an inner-city gangbanger. But Eminem wins. Why? Because he understands the real decorum of that room better. He calls out his opponent for being a phony who went to a private prep school. He exposes the opponent’s lack of authentic connection to the group's values. Then, he owns all of his own weaknesses before his opponent can even use them. Mark: So he proves he's more 'real'—he has more rhetorical virtue—than the guy who looks the part. He aligns himself with the audience's true values. Michelle: Exactly. He speaks their language, not just in slang, but in shared experience and authenticity. Decorum isn’t about changing who you are. It’s about knowing your audience so well that you can present the version of yourself that they will trust. It’s why this book is so popular in educational settings, like for AP English. It’s not just teaching debate tricks; it’s teaching a deep form of social intelligence. Mark: It’s the difference between just showing up and truly belonging. Michelle: And when your audience feels you belong, they’re ready to listen. They’re ready to be persuaded.

Mark: So when you put it all together, it feels like the big takeaway is that we've been thinking about arguments all wrong. It's not about having the best facts or the loudest voice. It's about setting the right goal, arguing in the right tense, and making the audience feel like you're one of them. Michelle: That’s it exactly. Heinrichs’s whole project is to show us that we’ve been trained to see argument as a form of verbal combat, a zero-sum game where there’s a winner and a loser. But classical rhetoric teaches us that argument is actually a tool for social cohesion. It’s about finding common ground, making choices, and moving forward together. The goal isn't to be right; it's to be effective. Mark: It’s a shift from a mindset of conflict to one of connection. And it makes you wonder, how many of our big, societal arguments are just permanently stuck in the wrong tense? Just these endless, exhausting cycles of blame and values. Michelle: That’s a great question for everyone to think about. What if we tried to apply these tools to bigger conversations? It’s a hopeful thought. We'd love to hear what you all think. Find us on our socials and share an argument you've had that was stuck in the past or present tense, and what might have happened if you’d shifted it to the future. Mark: A challenge for us all. This was fascinating, Michelle. Michelle: It’s a powerful way to see the world.