By Herman M. Lagon
There was something poetic about learning logic in the 1990s at 5 p.m., with the sun yawning over the University of Iloilo’s old engineering building—the same one now turned into a hotel. Our professor, a fiscal lawyer whose name has faded into the margins of my memory, walked into our TTh classes with quiet precision. But it was not his lectures that stuck; it was that yellow-green, dog-eared copy of Jesuit Fr. Andrew H. Bachhuber, SJ’s Introduction to Logic. That book taught us not only how to argue but how to think—clearly, critically and consistently. Years later, in classrooms, debates and even social media convos, I would learn how rare and urgent those skills have become.
Logic trains the mind like physical workouts strengthen the body. You learn the difference between sound and unsound arguments, between truth and trickery. You begin to spot slippery slopes, false dilemmas, red herrings, appeals to popularity, post hoc fallacies, straw men, hasty generalizations, false authorities and ad hominem attacks in papers, press releases, campaign jingles and political speeches. I still remember the mental satisfaction of working through syllogisms, like solving a puzzle where every piece had to fit. In a country where emotional appeal often trumps reason, logic equips us to listen with discernment, not just with sympathy.
Fast forward to today, and that skill set is more crucial than ever. The 2025 midterm elections are almost up, and the noise is deafening. Candidates outdo one another with hugot lines, filtered photos and TikTok dances. Platforms are vague, slogans are recycled, trolls are in frenzy mode, and lies travel faster than any honest campaign ever could. Yet many of us will still base our vote on who we know, who entertains us, who gives us the thickest envelope or who makes us feel good—not on who makes sense. Logic, as dry as it may seem to some, could be the antidote to this spectacle.
Consider how many fall for slogans that feel good but mean nothing. Para sa mahirap—but what actual policies support that claim? Ipaglalaban kita—but against what, and by what legal means? Logic forces us to pause and ask, “Does the conclusion follow? Is the premise even true?” It teaches us to look past charisma and into coherence. Without logic, we become voters who clap at applause lines but cannot explain a candidate’s stance on inflation or education.
The failure to teach logic widely has real consequences. In 2023, the UP Media and Public Affairs Program reported that politically motivated disinformation networks could influence over 50 million Filipinos weekly. These are not just random trolls with bad grammar. They are highly engineered propaganda machines designed to exploit our cognitive biases. Logic helps us resist that by grounding our judgment in evidence and structure, not just sentiment and spectacle.
Logic is not only about spotting lies; it is about building better arguments. It teaches us to define terms, clarify positions and revise our views when confronted with better evidence. It fosters intellectual humility—the kind that admits error and welcomes correction. This is a radical and necessary skill in a society where pride often masquerades as conviction. Politicians may hate it, but democracy thrives on it.
We see the void of logic not only in national races but in local politics. A town councilor declared a flood control project “finished” because the ribbon-cutting made it to Facebook—never mind the waist-deep water during the last storm. A provincial board member proposed a curfew to curb teenage pregnancy, confusing correlation with causation. These are not isolated gaffes; they reflect a public discourse that rewards noise over nuance.
We hear them often. Kung walang magnanakaw, yayaman tayo—a classic case of false cause, as if corruption is the lone barrier to prosperity. Lahat ng tao sa amin boto sa kanya—an appeal to popularity, not proof of competence. Then there is the all-too-familiar Wala pa siyang kaso, kaya malinis ’yan, a non sequitur that equates the absence of a court charge with moral integrity. These lines reflect poor reasoning and are crafted to bypass it, counting on repetition and emotion to replace logic and truth.
Picture a voter who spots the fallacy in Kung hindi ako, sino? or sees through a politician’s cherry-picked poverty stats. That voter is harder to fool and more likely to ask sharper questions. Then there is this beauty from a dynasty candidate: Palangga ko gid kamo, gani ipakigbato ko gid kamo, no matter what. It sounds heartfelt—until you realize it romanticizes bypassing legal frameworks for the sake of applause. That is not leadership. That is pandering dressed in passion.
Of course, implementation matters if we continue to integrate logic seriously in high school or college—not just for academics but as a civic CPR. Teachers must be trained, curriculum must be context-based, and logic must be made engaging. Using local examples—from barangay sessions to Senate hearings—can bridge the gap between textbook and lived experience. The point is not to turn every student into a philosopher but to empower them as citizens. As a 2021 OECD report noted, countries that invest in reasoning skills early tend to see stronger civic participation and policy literacy among their youth.
This is not about elitism or stripping politics of emotion. Emotions belong in our choices—passion fuels activism, and empathy guides governance. But decisions must be informed, not manipulated. When logic and emotion work together, the result is not cold detachment but courageous clarity. It is the difference between being stirred and being swayed.
So yes, I owe a lot to that forgotten fiscal lawyer and that tattered logic book. They taught me that truth is not loud but patient, that argument is not aggression but structure, and that, especially in this country, the ability to reason well is as urgent as the ability to feel deeply. As we face May 12, may we vote not just with our hearts, but with minds sharpened by questions, guided by reason and brave enough to reject the comfortable lie for the costly truth.
***
Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
