A Dialogue on Smoking
Arguing, proving, inferring, concluding, solving a mathematical problem, might all be said to be kinds of reasoning. Their aims and purposes are different. The aim of argument is conviction; one tries to get someone to agree that some statement is true or false. You may get a man to agree that a statement is true by showing him that it follows from other statements which he already accepts. You may get him to agree that a statement is false because from it there follows another which he rejects (P. F. Strawson, Introduction to Logical Theory [London: Methuen, 1952], 12).
To help students understand Pascal’s wager argument, I have written a dialogue in which one of the two characters tries to persuade the other to stop smoking—on grounds that smoking is not in his (the other’s) long-term rational self-interest. The arguer’s interlocutor is not, at least initially, receptive to the argument. In fact, he is downright defensive about it. As the dialogue proceeds, the interlocutor makes a number of objections to the argument that are reminiscent of objections made to Pascal’s argument. Eventually, however, he softens, and may in the end be persuaded.
Once the dialogue has run its course, I use it as the basis for discussion of Pascal’s argument, showing where the arguments are alike and where (and how, and why) they differ. It will be seen that Pascal’s argument is unique, as appeals to self-interest go. My hope is that students come away from this article (and its embedded dialogue) with a deeper understanding of, and appreciation for, Pascal’s argument. By almost any standard, it is a magnificent intellectual achievement. If there are human beings a third of a millennium from now, they will still be thinking and talking about it.
The dialogue’s characters are Gavin and Kirk, the oldest and second-oldest, respectively, of four brothers from a working-class American family. Gavin is 66 years old and retired from a factory job in the automotive industry. Kirk is 64 and within two years of retirement as a university professor (of philosophy). Like any two brothers who are close in age, they have had their squabbles, fights, and periods of alienation, some brought on by political differences, some by personality clashes, and some (no doubt) by sibling rivalry. Gavin has been smoking cigarettes since he was 18 years old. Kirk has never smoked—although he says he experimented a time or two with Swisher Sweets cigarillos, without inhaling.
The setting for the dialogue is Gavin’s house in rural Michigan, just a few miles from the house in which the men grew up. Kirk is visiting from his home in Texas. As they sit on the porch one afternoon, reminiscing, Kirk brings up the topic of Gavin’s smoking, the older brother having just lighted a cigarette. Kirk expects Gavin to bristle at the broaching of this topic, and he is not disappointed.
KIRK (gently at first, then sternly): Have you been smoking all these years? I remember you starting when you were 18, shortly after getting a job in the factory. You didn’t have the courage to tell me about your decision. When I found a pack of cigarettes in your jacket one day (they were menthols—Newports, I think), I was furious. I confronted you about it, and you feebly tried to explain your behavior. You said you had been going to bars with friends and needed something to do with your hands while you sat at the table. This “explanation” did not mollify me. We had vowed many times during our youth never to smoke. We belittled those who smoked (including our parents) and thought ourselves superior to them in intelligence, wisdom, and self-control. I felt betrayed by your behavior. I still do.
GAVIN: You see, that’s why we can’t get along. You bring up stupid stuff.
KIRK: But seriously, why are you still smoking? Are you crazy?
GAVIN (indignant): I smoke because I enjoy it. It’s none of your business whether I smoke, or why, or how much, or where, or with whom. None of your damn business!
KIRK: I beg to disagree. You’re my brother, after all. I love you.
GAVIN (visibly uncomfortable): Don’t say that.
KIRK: Say what?
GAVIN: You know what.
KIRK: That I love you?
GAVIN: Yes.
Kirk: But I do, and I don’t mind saying it. You shouldn’t mind hearing it. When you love someone, you want what’s best for him or her. Both of us know that smoking is bad for one’s health. It’s not just not good; it’s bad. I would go even further and say that it’s one of the worst things a person can do, from a self-interested perspective.
GAVIN: This conversation is stupid, and not just because you’re going all sentimental on me. I couldn’t quit smoking if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.
KIRK: Will you hear me out? You just made two claims. The first is that you couldn’t quit smoking if you wanted to. The second is that you don’t want to. Let me say a few things about the first claim; we’ll get to the second later.
GAVIN (sighing): Here we go. The philosopher committing philosophy.
KIRK: You’re aware—I assume—that many people who have smoked, some for as long as you have, have quit smoking. You probably know some people like this. Our own stepfather, Stuart, quit smoking several decades ago after undergoing hypnosis. Did you know that?
GAVIN: I heard something about it, but don’t know the details.
KIRK: Stuart told me—and, as you know, he’s no kidder—that he wanted to quit smoking but hadn’t been able to. Someone in the factory told him about a hypnotist, so he made an appointment and went. When Stuart got to his truck after the session, he almost passed out from the smell. He told me that he had to hold his nose shut while he emptied the ashtray. Whatever the hypnotist did, it worked! I think the hypnotist associated smoking with something disgusting or awful, so that, when Stuart thought about smoking or smelled smoke or tobacco, it made him sick. To my knowledge, Stuart hasn’t smoked a cigarette since that day, 30 or so years ago. He’s 80 now, and in good health.
GAVIN: It’s an amazing story, for sure.
KIRK (removing a document from his briefcase): There are other ways to quit smoking besides hypnosis. According to WebMD, a reputable website, there are five ways: cold turkey (no outside help); behavioral therapy; nicotine replacement therapy; medication; and combo treatments. The problem with the first of these is that “[o]nly about 5% to 7% [of those who try] are able to quit on their own.” The others. . . .
GAVIN (interrupting): I don’t have enough willpower to quit. I’ve tried.
KIRK: You’ve tried?
GAVIN: Many times. After about one day, I give up. The craving is too strong.
KIRK: I’m surprised by that. Your will is strong—always has been—in other areas of your life. You’ve done amazing things, including putting up with me when we shared a room growing up. Remember when I locked my eight-track tapes in a box so you couldn’t listen to them? But seriously, how can someone with no willpower, or with weak willpower, have won so many medals in track and cross country in high school? I’ve done my share of competitive running. It’s hard! Ridiculously hard. Only a strong will can get you through it. Why is your will weak in relation to smoking?
GAVIN: I don’t know. Maybe I don’t really want to quit. What’s the point, anyway? I’m 66 years old. I never thought I’d live this long. If I die, I die. I can live with that.
KIRK (shocked): Now who’s talking stupid? You have a lot to live for. But I don’t want to talk about that right now. I want to stay focused on the claim—your claim—that you couldn’t quit if you wanted to. I think you could. I think you have adequate willpower—more than you think you have—and that if you tried some of the ways recommended by WebMD, you could kick the habit.
GAVIN (curtly): There’s no guarantee that anything I try will work.
KIRK (exasperated): Guarantee?! There are no guarantees in life. You know that. Everything we do has only a probability of success, from low to high. There’s no guarantee that the seeds you plant in the spring will end up as flowers in the summer or as harvestable food in the fall. There’s no guarantee that the airplane you board, or the car you drive, will arrive safely at its destination. There’s no guarantee that your children will turn out to be law-abiding citizens rather than criminals. I could go on, but you get the point. You won’t know whether you can quit smoking until you try, and I mean really try. No half-hearted efforts such as those in your past. It’s a commitment, a resolution, a vow. You can do it! Why would I lie to you about this? I would bet a lot of money that you could quit if you tried.
GAVIN (conciliatory): All right; I’m tired of arguing the point. I concede that I might be able to quit if I applied myself. But I don’t really want to quit.
KIRK: That’s the second claim you made, the one I said we’d come back to. What do you mean, precisely, when you say that you “don’t really want to quit”?
GAVIN: I mean that I enjoy smoking. I’ve been doing it for nearly half a century. It’s part of my daily life, my routines. Everyone has guilty pleasures. I’m sure even you do, Saint Kirk.
KIRK: I’ll ignore that insult. I’m hardly a saint, and you know it. I’m glad you put the word “guilty” in there, because it suggests that you think there’s something wrong with smoking, or at least that it’s not in your interest to smoke. Guilt presupposes consciousness of wrongdoing, backsliding, screwing up, or not living up to one’s commitments.
GAVIN: You know what I meant. I enjoy smoking. I enjoy smoking not because of its risks (obviously), but in spite of its risks. Besides, it’s too late to think about quitting. What’s done is done.
KIRK: Stop right there. What do you mean, “What’s done is done”?
GAVIN: I’ve been smoking, virtually non-stop, for 48 years. There’s nothing I can do about the damage I’ve done to my body (if any). What’s done is done. It means exactly what it says.
KIRK: Let’s be careful not to commit any fallacies. It’s true that you can’t undo what’s been done, in the sense of erasing it from the book of history, but it doesn’t follow that there is nothing you can do either to repair the damage that you’ve done (the body has amazing restorative powers) or to prevent further damage. You’re here, now. The question is not what happened in the past—that’s set in stone—but what to do going forward. A moment ago, you mentioned risks. Let’s talk about those risks. Almost everything we do has costs as well as benefits. Some costs are financial, as when you pay for the seeds and equipment you use in your garden. Are you still gardening, by the way?
GAVIN (taking a drag on his cigarette): You know I am. You saw the flower beds when you came in. The vegetable garden is farther back, near the shed.
KIRK: Gardening is something you enjoy—and are very good at, if I may say so. The flowers this year are beautiful, and the vegetables you grow are an important part of a healthy and delicious diet. My point is that you do something because you believe it will bring you pleasure. You know when you do it that it will have costs as well, if only opportunity costs (the value of the highest-ranked forgone opportunity), but you judge that the benefits outweigh the costs. You’ve said that you enjoy smoking, by which you mean (I assume) that it brings you pleasure. You then mentioned risks. What are the risks of smoking, as you see it?
GAVIN (furrowing his brow): Okay; this is getting silly. You know the risks. Everyone does.
KIRK (producing another sheet of paper): According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, or CDC, “Smoking causes cancer, heart disease, stroke, lung diseases, diabetes, and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), which includes emphysema and chronic bronchitis. Smoking also increases risk for tuberculosis, certain eye diseases, and problems of the immune system, including rheumatoid arthritis. Smoking is a known cause of erectile dysfunction in males.” You mean that stuff?
GAVIN: Yes, of course.
KIRK: Let me get this straight. Smoking gives you pleasure, but it may also kill you, and you, as an informed person, know this.
GAVIN: Everyone has to die.
KIRK: Come on; be serious. Of course everyone has to die. But isn’t it better to die later rather than sooner (to reverse the popular saying)? Isn’t it better to live to be, say, 80, like Stuart, than to die at 66 or 70?
GAVIN: It depends on the quality of life. Quantity isn’t everything.
KIRK: That’s certainly true. But you have a high quality of life right now, wouldn’t you say? You enjoy each day. You have projects that give your life meaning. You engage in pleasant activities, such as gardening, reading, listening to music, and riding your bike. You have friends, children, grandchildren, cousins, siblings, neighbors—people who make you laugh and who enjoy your company. What makes life meaningful, anyway? For most people, it’s projects, activities, enjoyments, and experiences, including experiences you share with others. You have all those things are more. Wouldn’t it be nice to live for another 10, 20, or 30 years?
GAVIN (laughing): Can you garden at 96? Maybe. But who says I’m going to last another year, much less 10 or 20 or 30?
KIRK (frustrated): We’re back to guarantees. As I said earlier, and as you well know, there are no guarantees in life. You can do everything right as far as health, diet, and fitness are concerned and still die of illness, or accident, at 35. Some people do everything wrong—including smoking—and live into their 80s. Life is a crapshoot. But that doesn’t mean we have no control over anything. There is much that a person can do to increase the chances of living a long, happy, productive life. Increase the chances: that’s the key. With all due respect, smoking decreases the chances.
GAVIN (visibly upset): Are you berating me?
KIRK (chastened): Of course not. We’re having a discussion. Sometimes discussions become heated, especially when emotions are engaged. I’m trying to explain to you that a rational person takes both the costs and the benefits of action into account before acting. You yourself mentioned risks. You acknowledge that smoking is risky. This implies that you care about certain things and that you know that your behavior endangers them.
GAVIN: This is becoming tedious. What’s the point?
KIRK: The point is that if you’re rational, and I know you are, your decision whether to continue smoking will take into account, or should take into account, not just the pleasure that it gives you, day in and day out, but also the pain or loss that it might bring about—the main loss being loss of life, which is the foundation of all else you value. I mentioned the pains and losses a couple of minutes ago, when I quoted from the CDC. Notice what I’m notdoing. I’m not trying to persuade you that what you call the pleasures of smoking are not really pleasures. I concede that they are, although I’m not personally acquainted with them. I’m not even impugning the quality of those pleasures. I’m sure you’ve heard of John Stuart Mill, the 19th-century British philosopher. Mill said that pleasure has both quantitative and qualitative dimensions. Two episodes of pleasure can be alike in quantity but different in quality. Mill, who was somewhat of an elitist, would say that the pleasure of listening to Ozzy Osbourne is of low quality compared to the pleasure of listening to Bach or Beethoven. The pleasure of reading Plato is of high quality as compared to the pleasure of reading a magazine article or a Twitter thread. In Mill’s famous words, “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied.”
GAVIN (disgusted): Oh, great. Now I’m getting a philosophical lecture.
KIRK: I’m sorry; it’s just that the point I’m trying to make was made very well by Mill—someone you should read, by the way. I’d start with his Autobiography. What I’m trying to say right now is that I take your word for it that smoking is pleasant. I’m even willing to concede, for the sake of argument, that smoking is a high-qualitypleasure (though Mill, I am sure, would deny this). Even so, the pleasure must be weighed against the pains or losses that it brings about. I know you’re going to say that there is no guarantee that smoking will have bad consequences for you. You’ll cite an example in which someone who smoked for most of his or her life lived to be 90.
GAVIN: You took the words right out of my mouth. Our own mother, bless her heart, has been smoking since she was 17, and she’s still kicking at 87! Hell, she’s not just kicking; she’s thriving! She’s on Facebook every day, posting pictures of her great-grandchildren, sharing memes, talking to relatives, looking at other people’s family photographs, and getting into squabbles about politics. She sleeps more than she used to, which is to be expected, and her mobility is not what it once was, but her mind is sharp and there’s no doubt that the good in her life outweighs the bad, both objectively and subjectively.
KIRK: I’m glad Mom is alive and well, but let’s face it: she’s lucky. She had no right to expect, when she started smoking, that she’d live this long. Most people who smoke as much as she did (and does) die much earlier than age 87. Do you want your lifespan to come down to luck?
GAVIN: I can’t con. . . .
KIRK (putting his hand up): Don’t go there. I’m not saying that you can control how long you live; I’m saying that decisions you make, now, can influence how long you live. Influence, not determine. It’s about expectation. You have to compare your life expectancy with smoking (i.e., while continuing to smoke) with your life expectancy without smoking (i.e., after quitting). Guess what? I have some numbers for you.
GAVIN: Why am I not surprised?
KIRK: There was a sobering article in the New England Journal of Medicine a few years ago. As you know (or perhaps don’t), that’s one of the premier medical periodicals in the world. The authors of the article discovered that “Smokers lose at least one decade of life expectancy, as compared with those who have never smoked. Cessation before the age of 40 years reduces the risk of death associated with continued smoking by about 90%.”
GAVIN (sarcastically): I hate to break it to you, Kirk, but I’m older than 40. Much older. What does that article have to do with me?
KIRK: Slow down. You don’t have to be 40 years of age or younger to benefit from cessation. The authors tried to figure out what the increased life expectancy is for various age groups. Let me quote from the article: “Smokers who stopped smoking at 45 to 54 years of age and those who stopped at 55 to 64 years of age (median, 49 and 59 years, respectively) gained about 6 and 4 years of life, respectively.” Now I know you’re 66, which is outside the second range, so maybe the figure of four years is actually three years. For the sake of discussion, let’s assume it’s three years. The expected value of quitting smoking, for you, now, is three years of life gained. Wouldn’t you enjoy three additional years of life?
GAVIN (provocatively): There’s no guarantee. . . .
KIRK (apoplectic): Stop it, will you? We’re not talking about guarantees! How many additional years of life can you expect to have if you quit smoking today? Answer: three. It could be more than that; it could be fewer. But that’s what it’s reasonable to expect, given the statistics. My god, if you enjoy your life now, and I know you do, why wouldn’t you want an additional three or four years? I cherish every day. When I wake up, I plan my day, which I view as a slab of granite waiting to be sculpted into a beautiful work of art. First, I read at my desk (with coffee); second, I walk the dogs (which they love and which is good for them); third, I ride my bike (which I love and which is good for me); fourth, I eat (I ride, in part, in order to be able to eat what I want); fifth, I work (and play) at my computer; sixth, I watch television or go out with my wife. Sometimes I play my guitar, which is relaxing but also intellectually challenging. When you slip a nap in there, as I occasionally do, you get one wonderful day. Wonderful: full of wonder. I want lots and lots of days like this! The more, the better! I hope I live to be 100!
GAVIN (smugly): I have congenial routines as well. One of them involves smoking.
KIRK: Okay, now you’re getting on my nerves. It’s the smoking that’s killing you, for God’s sake!
GAVIN: So what’s the point of all this? You’re ruining a perfectly good evening. Do you not see the irony? You’re telling me that smoking is decreasing the number of days that are available to me, and what do you do? You take the enjoyment out of one of them, thus ruining it. One down, who knows how many to go? You remind me of that Debbie Downer character from Saturday Night Live. I’ll call you Kirk Downer from now on, or perhaps Kirk Killjoy, which is a nice alliteration. Let’s talk about something uplifting, like Donald Trump’s defeat.
KIRK: Now that’s why we can’t get along: politics.
GAVIN: It takes two to tango.
KIRK (conciliatory): You’re right about that. We’ve both been intransigent about politics over the past couple of decades. I wish we hadn’t been. Life is too short to be alienated from one’s family and friends. It’s best that we avoid politics from now on if we’re to remain on talking terms. I don’t want to be fighting with you about foreign or domestic policy when we’re in our 70s or 80s, or, God forbid, our 90s. I hope you give up smoking right now and life a long, happy life, as Mom has. Like her, you have no reason to expect to live that long—indeed, you don’t deserve to live that long, given your bad decision-making regarding smoking—but it could happen. Bad things sometimes happen to people who make wise decisions and good things sometimes happen to people who make foolish decisions. I think of that as the injustice—or rather, the nonjustice—of life.
GAVIN: I appreciate the sentiment, but back to my question, which you still haven’t answered to my satisfaction: What’s the point of all this? Why are we even discussing it?
KIRK: The point is this. It’s never too late to quit smoking, for you or anyone else. Even at the age of 66, having smoked for 48 years, you can benefit from cessation. How much benefit is it reasonable for you to expect? Three or four years of extended life, according to the experts. If the quality of your life were low, it wouldn’t matter much if you extended it; but the quality of your life is high, as even you agree, so it matters a great deal. Just think of the things you might get to do, or experience, with an additional three or four years. Two of your three children—your precious boys—are childless. They’re probably going to have children. Don’t you want to see them, hug them, play with them, teach them gardening, get to know them? You already have two beautiful, talented grandchildren. Don’t you want to see them graduate from high school and enter college? How proud you’ll be! They’ll look at their grandfather from the podium and see you beaming. Hell, maybe the Detroit Tigers will get back to the World Series. Wouldn’t you want to see that?
GAVIN: I gave up on the Tigers long ago.
KIRK: Not me. Hope springs eternal in the Tiger fan’s breast. As for the Detroit Lions, that’s another matter. You’d need 100 years of additional life to see them in the Super Bowl, and even that may not be enough.
GAVIN (softening): I didn’t think it possible, but you’ve given me food for thought. I do believe, now that you’ve reminded me of it, that I have a lot to live for. I enjoy my life very much and would love to add a few years to it. I wouldn’t give just anything to extend my life, mind you, but giving up smoking is something I’m willing to try. I’ll start with hypnotism, because it worked for Stuart; if that doesn’t work, I’ll contact the American Lung Association to see about enrolling in its “Freedom from Smoking” program. I know you won’t believe this, but I was visiting its website the other day—before you even arrived in Michigan. This shows that I’ve been thinking about quitting. The website says that the program “has helped hundreds of thousands of people quit smoking for good.” I have a high-school buddy, Rodrick, who may want to go with me to the meetings. Misery loves company.
KIRK (smiling): I’m glad to hear that you’ve come around, big brother. Some people view it as a weakness to be persuaded by rational argument. I figured you’d be one of them and never even give me a chance to state my case. That you listened to me—that you put up with my pedantry and my hectoring—is a testament to your patience, or maybe it’s just brotherly love at work. Let me know if you need anything as you struggle to break the habit. I sincerely believe you can do it. When the craving seems irresistible and you think you’ll succumb to temptation, remember all those times when you wanted to stop running, or simply slow down, during a cross-country race. You didn’t. You kept going. Your body may be old and weak (it’s at least older and weaker), but your will is young and strong. The most important race of your life is about to begin.
GAVIN: All this talk about running reminds me to ask you something. Are you still cycling?
KIRK: Yes; I’m in my 40th year of it. I ride every day, at least 20 miles. I rack up 7,000 miles a year, give or take a few hundred. It’s one of those things in life that’s both enjoyable and beneficial, or, as I like to put it: it interests me and it’s in my interest. It also gives me a chance to think. I’ve solved a lot of philosophical problems while pedaling. As for why this is the case, I don’t rightly know. It must have something to do with the fact that, while riding, I have no distractions—other than heavy-metal music, but, if anything, that improves my thought. Don’t tell Mill I said that!
GAVIN: Isn’t cycling dangerous? You’ve had some serious accidents, as I recall.
KIRK: Unfortunately, yes. I broke my left collarbone two years in a row, the first time shattering it into five pieces. I have a metal plate and several screws to show for it. (Pulls shirt back to give Gavin a glimpse of a protruding screw.) I broke my left elbow three decades ago in a stupid fall. There’s a screw there as well. I’ve also broken my back (a vertebrae) and several ribs. These are just the accidents that left me with broken bones. I’ve had several other accidents that caused contusions, cuts, sprains, and what we cyclists call “road rash.” Crashing is an occupational hazard of cycling. Even the best bike-handlers in the world, such as Peter Sagan, hit the pavement from time to time.
GAVIN: Aren’t some cycling accidents fatal?
KIRK: Yes, sadly. People die while abike. Others become paralyzed, which is horrible to contemplate. As I said, crashing is an occupational hazard of the sport.
GAVIN: Not to be too blunt about it, little brother, but I think you should give up cycling, on account of its dangers. I know you enjoy it, and I know the exercise is good for you, but the risks are many and serious, and you, like me, have a lot to live for. You’re no spring chicken, you know. A fall will do more damage to a 64-year-old than it would to a 25-year-old or even a 45-year-old. I’m so impressed by the argument that you made to me about smoking that I’m going to run the same argument by you. I hope you’ll be just as patient with me as I was with you, and I hope you don’t let your stubborn pride get in the way of admitting that I’m right. You’ll be an ex-cyclist by the time you fly home to Texas.
KIRK (looking at his watch): Whoa! It’s six o’clock. Where did the time go? I told Mom that I’d be at her house for dinner by 6:15. As you know, I’m leaving for Texas tomorrow morning, so maybe you can run your argument by me next year when I visit, or when you come to Texas—like that’ll ever happen. Take care, bro. Let me know how the hypnosis goes.