Chapter 10: argument
The rule is simple for an apparently serious game. Heraclitus proposes a claim; I dispute the claim; he defends it; I then dispute his defence; he defends again. This sequence continues until Heraclitus admits that the claim is wrong.
"What if your claim is already correct?" I inquire.
"Well, Mister Holmes, then you shall have to make sure that it is not."
Annoyed but too exhausted to counter, I give in and simply tell him to get on with it. For now, my purpose is to finish this quickly and rejoin Watson.
"Because you are an uneducated person, you must be stupid."
"What?"
"That is my claim, Mister Holmes. You are, after all, unfamiliar with my name."
I feel a vessel in my brain bursts. Closing my eyes and breathing out slowly, I repeat to myself the age-old saying that patience is a virtue, although a little voice in my head keeps telling me that I am in hell, and virtue is probably not the best quality to have. Wishing away distractions in my mind, I shake my head and start speaking.
"Fine. The flaw in that is quite simple. Since you imply that if one is uneducated, one must be stupid, I ask that you summon your so-call knowledge and show me evidence to support your claim."
Heraclitus raises one eyebrow and suddenly three leather bound books appear floating before us. They are labeled:
"IQ and education: statistics 1800-1900",
"IQ and education: statistics 1700-1800",
"IQ and education: statistics 1600-1700".
He reaches out and opens each of them in turn, revealing neatly drawn graphs and tables of numbers.
"Very well, Mister Holmes, let us take a look!"
To my bewilderment, all three graphs indeed show that those with low education have low IQ. Flabbergasted, I stare open mouth for almost ten seconds before recollecting myself.
"…Impossible…" I mutter.
"Will you accept my claim then, Sherlock Holmes?"
I keep my mouth shut.
Something must be wrong. It does not make sense for a real correlation between intelligence and education to exist!
I keep my eyes casted down and think and think and think…
Then it hit me.
I pick up the first book of the three volumes and flip to the very front, then carefully read through the first few pages, looking for the evidence to support my intuition. My finger traces the writings as my eyes glide along sentence by sentence. I feel Heraclitus staring at me silently, but I ignore him and press on my quest to search for one single sentence that will prove him wrong – one single sentence that will get me out of this bloody game; one single sentence that is proof I was not arrogant to think myself a capable detective…
Then I see it.
"… it should be noted that the resulting IQ in this book is based on the first popular intelligence test given in 1952…"
Got it.
My eyes meet Heraclitus for the first time after the books appeared. My confidence must have shown through because my opponent's gaze falters for the shortest amount of time as soon as my eyes met his.
"1912, Mister Heraclitus, is the year which the first intelligence test was created. Unfortunately, that test bases your knowledge on complex linguistic instrument of which an uneducated man would do little better than pure guessing. The correlation therefore exists only because they are one and the same. You have given me a book that simply says one's education directly correlates with one's education."
I pause for breath before delivering my final verdict.
"This statistics therefore do not truly represent your claim. If intelligence is to be measured according to the performance of the brain itself, this has shown naught worth considering."
To further my point, I steal the trick Heraclitus showed me earlier and summon three new leather bound books, open them, and show to the man three sets of graphs that represent no correlation between one's intelligence and one's education.
"This, Mister Heraclitus, is the true graphical trend that show the correlation between intelligence and education. You may check the dates and the validity of the IQ test used in these books. And this, my friend, ends your claim."
I made sure to finish my speech with the finality I used to make when revealing the criminal to Watson when I was alive.
"Impressive. Most would have accepted the statistics at face value and bowed over to the illusion of cold logic. It is, Mister Holmes, the very fundamental of argument to construct claims according to assumptions. In this case, we must assume what the appropriate intelligence test is and what qualifies as education, so that we can try to see if they are related in any way. As you see, the assumption can be less concrete than most people suppose. It is my belief that one can never step into the same river twice, because the water never remains still. The river is similar to assumptions: they are both in a constant state of change."
Heraclitus appears more humble now, and gives me a small bow.
"For your quick wit, I grant you this win."
After some formalities, Heraclitus and I say our goodbyes as I am to be sent to the next contestant. He brings his hands together as Socrates had and…
Clap!
Again, a force pulls me from the side and I travel through warped space reappearing in front of another man in the same Colossal-like stadium. From far away, I glimpse Heraclitus greeting a new contestant.
Suddenly, a voice snatches my attention away from the sight.
"When there is light, there is darkness; when there is up, there is down; for every Yin, there is Yang; for every happiness, there is sadness. Everything exists in balance, completed by its opposite. What say you?"
Surprised by the sudden philosophical quote, I jump at the sight of an Asian man with half shaven head, his remaining long hair tied back into a ponytail.
…No introductions necessary then, very well.
"What is the opposite of a chair? If you claim everything has an opposite, and a chair has no opposite, then your claim is wrong." I reply with confidence.
"A chair is not a thing. It is but a surface to which we sit. Molecules and atoms construct the chair, and these need to exist in balance, with the positive and negative force balancing them into matter. For without balance, the chair would simply collapse into a pile of non-connected molecules."
"That is quite true, sir, but your claim is foreword by 'for every happiness, there is sadness', a concept that you claim to be included in your definition of 'everything'. I fail to see why if happiness can be classified as 'thing', a chair cannot? Both are concepts based on human perception. I thereby refute your claim by giving an example of a chair, a thing which has no opposite."
The Asian man raises his eyebrows slightly and mutters to himself.
"Very fast, indeed."
He then unexpectedly turn back and start walking away from me.
"Walk with me, if you will, Mister Sherlock Holmes."
Unperturbed by his knowledge of my name, I decide to follow him and we walk side by side towards the other end of the Colosseum.
"I did not say that happiness is a 'thing'. That is a different claim. It is a claim that without sadness, there can be no happiness. My initial claim remains undisputed."
"Then such is the flaw in your statement. It is misleading and can be interpreted in too many ways. You only get to test me once, sir, and I have beaten you."
I reply with as little feeling as the man who is walking by my side shows toward me.
"Then entertain me, Mister Holmes. What if happiness is not a 'thing' in my first claim?"
We walk quietly for a few moments before I decide to reply.
"I believe your claim is still incorrect. It is true that there must be a balance of force for the molecules to arrange into a standing object. However, if we are to go to the very bottom of human knowledge on the smallest matter and examine whether it is in balance, we quickly find that as far as we know, it does not need to be. These minuscule particles blink in and out of existence, and their antithesis number less than the actual particles. As far as we know, balance of force, matter, and energy is only proven after assuming that particles already existed. We, however, cannot claim that the particles themselves must be balanced to exist."
My answer, which borders on becoming a small lecture, seems to impress the man as he keeps nodding his head all the while.
We walk in silence some more, before appearing at the end of a big wooden door that separates the podium from the outside world.
"And here I shall leave you, Mister Holmes, to face your final contestant. You have done very well; there are not many who can pass this stage by contesting with only three people. I bid you farewell and Godspeed."
Godspeed…you can take that back. Last thing I need is that bloody self-proclaimed God wishing me luck.
"Goodbye, sir, although I did not catch your name?" I inquire out of politeness.
The man refuses to reply and simply traces his steps back to where he was; ready to greet a new contestant.
Rudeness seems to be a norm in Hell. One would have thought the combined cultural history of the world would amount to greeting people properly at the very least…
I sigh softly and start to fumble in my coat pocket for a pipe. The act of smoking will at least remind me of the good old days when manners still matter. Before I light my tobacco, a lit match held by a frail hand suddenly appears in front of me. Holding back my surprise, I obediently suck in the air in order not to waste the match – old habit dies hard. As I am about to look up and thank the owner of the hand, a dreaded feeling befall me. I know before I even begin to groan because the man who so kindly lighted my pipe for me is, of course, God.
So that was a pun…Ha… Very funny, you half-bald asshole.