‘Because deciding to smoke or not to smoke is something you should do when you don’t have anything to prove. Think it over.’ To smoke or not to smoke, that’s the question. Even the most notorious doubter in history is called upon in this smoky tragedy of legal limits versus free choice. The quoted Reynolds tobacco company advertorial is one of the examples Frans Van Eemeren and Peter Houtlosser bring in to present the integrated pragma-dialectical model. In Rhetorical Argumentation. Principles of Theory and Practice, Christopher Tindale (2004) puts forward a model of argument that is characterised as rhetorical. In the introduction to this project, Tindale mentions this ‘rhetorical turn’ of the pragma-dialectic school. Van Eemeren and Houtlosser (2000) consider rhetoric part of dialectic, as dialectic deals with abstract and general questions, whereas rhetoric deals with specific cases and with context, elements that are to be embedded in the general.
First I will present the pragma-dialectic method and Tindale’s project, then I will deal with Tindale’s comments on the integrated pragma-dialectic model. Finally I will put forward the Reynolds case for my own discussion on the position of rhetoric and reasonableness in the integrated pragma-dialectic model, and the relation between dialectical and rhetorical norms. I will show how the advertorial can function as a prototype for the very notion of the complex shifting of norms in argumentation.

1. The pragma-dialectic model
The pragma-dialectic theory combines an approach to language use drawn from pragmatics with the study of critical dialogue from a dialectical perspective. It defines dialectic as ‘a method of regimented opposition’ in verbal communication and interaction ‘that amounts to the pragmatic application of logic, a collaborative method of putting logic into use so as to move from conjecture and opinion to more secure belief’ (Van Eemeren & Houtlosser 2000, p. 297).

All argumentation is considered to be part of a critical discussion aimed at resolving differences of opinion. This discussion consists of four stages: the confrontation stage, the opening stage, the argumentation stage, and the concluding stage. The aim of the participants should be to solve a difference of opinion within the boundaries of reason. As for assessment, the reconstruction of speech acts should make it possible to test discussions against procedural rules. Any derailment of these rules is considered to be fallacious.

In 1999 Van Eemeren and Houtlosser developed a model for integration of a rhetorical component in the pragma-dialectic approach. Their arguments for this idea are based upon praxis: although one is principally engaged in a critical discussion to solve a difference of opinion in a reasonable way, speakers or writers will also work towards a solution in their own favor (eg.: ‘as favourable as possible/ resolving the difference in their own favour/ getting things their way/ have their point of view accepted/ that best serves their interests) (Van Eemeren & Houtlosser 2000, p. 295). The way people’s own interests direct and influence the resolution of a dispute is an element of effectiveness, which is called the rhetorical aspect of argumentation: strategic attempts to personally influence the resolution process. In general, rhetoric is called ‘the theoretical study of practical persuasion techniques’ (ibid., p. 297).

A second argument for the integration proposal follows out of this and is of a more general kind. The authors claim to bridge the historical gap between dialectic and rhetoric. As for the integration, this is how they see the relation between dialectic and rhetoric: ‘We view dialectic –in line with Agricola- as a theory of argumentation in natural discourse and fit rhetorical insight into our dialectical framework’. From this, it is clear that rhetorical moves operate within a dialectical framework. Effective persuasion must be disciplined by dialectical rationality. In other words, the effectiveness element that is extracted from argumentation praxis is accepted as long as it does not interfere with principles of critical discourse, and in case of conflict between the two, praxis must yield to principles.

The reconciliation ‘in which the parties seek to meet their dialectical obligations without sacrificing their rhetorical aims’ is called ‘strategic manoeuvring’: ‘In so doing, they attempt to exploit the opportunities afforded by the dialectical situation for steering the discourse rhetorically in the direction that best serves their interests.’ (ibid., p. 295). Those opportunities are to be found in every of the four stages and can be pinned down to topical choice, adaptation to the audience, and presentation. The key criterion for assessing whether a rhetorical strategy is ‘being followed’ in any stage is that of convergence. Reconstruction provides insight into the strategic manoeuvres carried out to reconcile rhetorical aims with dialectical commitments. The strategic manoeuvres prove to be acceptable or to involve a violation of the rules for critical discussion.
For a conclusion, which may be a grounding argument as well, Van Eemeren and Houtlosser bring up the concept of ‘no incompatibility’: strategic maneuvring does not automatically imply that the critical principles for resolving conflicts are abandoned (ibid., p. 297). A final argument for the integration model is formulated in the conclusion of the Reynolds article:

This example shows, by the way, not only that a pragma-dialectical analysis becomes stronger and more useful when rhetorical insight is incorporated, but also that a rhetorical analysis of argumentative discourse is more illuminating when it takes place in a well-defined dialectical framework. (ibid., p. 302)

2. Rhetorical argumentation
Before I deal with Tindale’s comment on the integrated model of the Amsterdam school, I will give a short overview of his project. Tindale follows Perelman’s constructive understanding of rhetoric (as the study of the methods of argument) insofar as approaching argumentation in this way encourages us to view it as fundamentally a communicative practice. But he adds: ‘as a practice, as a central human activity, argumentation is essentially rhetorical in ways that far exceed methodology alone’ (Tindale 2003, p. 19). For this constructive understanding of rhetoric he refers to Bitzer (1968) who calls it: ‘A mode of altering reality … by the creation of discourse which changes reality through the mediation of thought and action’. In the end, ‘whether we see the aims of rhetorical argumentation as leaning towards persuasion, deliberation, or inquiry, the ways in which it helps us change our point of view and directs our actions reflect this understanding.’(ibid., p. 19). Argumentation is to be appreciated as an activity that changes how we perceive the world by changing the way we think about things. Tindale’s presentation of the field links the logic perspective to the product of argumentation, the dialectic perspective to the procedure, and the rhetorical to the process.[i]

Product, procedure and process are each important ideas in the understanding of and theorizing about arguments. … A complete theory of argument will accommodate the relationships among the three. … Still, it is the rhetorical that must provide the foundations for that theory, and it will influence how we understand and deal with the logical and the dialectical in any particular case. (ibid., p. 7)

All three of Aristotle’s means of persuasion form an essential aspect of the argumentative situation, in that ethos is linked to the arguer (who is always involved in, or even constructed by the text), pathos to the audience (a dynamic factor); a third key concept of his book is ‘logos’, or argument itself (ibid., p. 20).
‘In a very general sense’, Tindale claims, ‘an argument is the discourse of interest that centers, and develops in, the argumentative situation.’ This situation he calls the ‘dynamic space in which arguer and audience interact, but interact in a way that makes them coauthors’ (ibid., p. 23), since this space of the argumentative situation is crucial to our self-understanding and our understanding of others. After all, as social beings, we all are ‘in audience’ most of the time. ‘Rather than persuasive discourses that impose views on an audience, rhetorical argumentation, through the situation it enacts, invites an audience to come to conclusions through its own experiencing of the evidence.’ (ibid., p. 24).

Tindale’s rhetorical argumentation draws features from the rhetorical tradition and mixes them with newer innovations. He shows how argumentation is a crucial element in the early Greek texts, in a further rehabilitation of the Sophists. Also, he claims that rhetoric is more than a matter of style, and shows how some rhetorical figures have a distinct argumentative value[ii]. He turns to Bakhtin’s theory of dialogical relationship to further develop the idea of rhetorical argumentation and show the central role of audience in it. Bakhtin’s theory opens up our ways of thinking about how arguers anticipate and incorporate the ideas of their audiences and how the argumentative context is alive with the contributions of two (or more) parties. Each of two apparently opposing views is influenced by the view that it opposes. Not only Bakhtin’s concept of the superaddressee, but also Perelman’s concept of the particular and universal audiences are drawn from in order to address the final question of assessment and normativity.

3. Tindale and pragma-dialectics
To put it mildly, Tindale’s idea of rhetoric is quite different from the integrated pragma-dialectic model, where rhetoric is the ‘handmaid of dialectic, and rhetorical moves operate within a dialectical framework’ (ibid., p. 15). The specificity of rhetoric should be embedded in the general nature of abstract questions, and the norm of rhetoric is effectiveness, whereas dialectic embraces the idea of reasonableness.
The key criterion for assessing whether a rhetorical strategy is ‘being followed, or ‘fully present’ in any stage is that of convergence. According to Tindale, it seems that success in those terms may mean no more than being able to match one’s own rhetorical interest with one’s dialectical obligations through strategies that exploit the opportunities in an argumentative situation (ibid., p. 17). It is not clear whether this ‘convergence’ is actually a measure of quality by providing a (rhetorical) criterion of success, which would have to be ‘effectiveness’.

Another problem with assessment is the negative requirement governing appropriate strategies. Rhetorical strategies are subjected to the pragma-dialectic rules of reasonableness, and thus not acceptable when they’re not also reasonable. This means that persuasiveness alone is not sufficient to be acceptable. The requirement of reasonableness represented by the rules for discussion serves as a check on the arguer simply having her own way. This means that a fallacy is committed when the arguer’s commitment to proceeding reasonably is overruled by the aim of persuasion. All fallacies can even be regarded as derailments of strategic manoeuvring.
This view on fallacies is taken further up to the aim that the pragma-dialectic school assigns to argumentation. Tindale wonders whether all argumentation be fruitfully addressed as if it were aimed at resolving a difference of opinion and whether as a consequence, evaluation can strive to do no more than test the acceptability of standpoints. Moreover, as for the case studies, it seems hard to cast them as critical discussions involving conflicts of opinion. In fact, what is the ‘opposing opinion’ in the Reynolds Tobacco Advertorial, and ‘what actual conflict exists in this case?’ (ibid., p.18).

Tindale sees important features in the IPD-model: the idea that rhetorical figures are important presentational devices, and the argumentative role suggested for figures of speech. He concludes with a new evocation of his own task, which is to show the fundamental importance of rhetorical features to argumentation. ‘Once we see argumentation as representing more than a critical discussion, whether its goal is consensus, persuasion, or understanding, we find more to say about rhetoric’s role.’ (ibid., p. 18).

4. More to say: traditions and stereotypes
‘… theoreticians have characterized rhetoric’s norm as that of effectiveness, while dialectic embraces the idea of reasonableness. Although Van Eemeren and Houtlosser insist there is no incompatibility between these norms, they do not resist this traditional characterization of rhetoric and so, again, it seems natural to ground effectiveness in reasonableness.’ (ibid., p.15). In fact, the integration model has launched a great amount of new research on the relationship between logic, dialectic and rhetoric.[iii]
One of the problems with a traditional characterization of rhetoric, is that it can easily give way to sterile stereotypes: ‘The common reproaches to rhetoric hold that it produces feigned and untruthful speeches, addressed to man’s lower instincts, rather than to reason, and possessed of unnecessary bombast and flowery use of language. Contrariwise, dialectic will be described as useless logic chopping, full of sophistry and leading to no practical gains. This was not Aristotle’s point of view.’ (Krabbe 2002, p. 29).
Of course, we must acknowledge – with Van Eemeren and Houtlosser (2002, p. 3) – ‘that neither the dialectical perspective nor the rhetorical perspective is so clearly and univocally defined that we know exactly what we are talking about. The perceptions and descriptions of the two perspectives vary considerably over time. The same applies even more strongly to their mutual relationship and the way in which the one perspective may be subordinated to, combined with, or even integrated in, the other.’[iv]

As for this mutual relationship; many structures have been proposed: not only integration, but also mutual dependence, hierarchy (both ways), contradiction, overlapping, parallelism, complementarity, but also ‘almost no difference at all’.[v] Apparently, in the end Aristotle is to blame for all this confusion with his famous antistrophos between dialectic and rhetoric: ‘The trouble started when the names were assigned.’ (Hohmann 2002, p. 41).

Blair assumes ‘there is no one type of relationship among logic, dialectic and rhetoric, but rather several – at least four, […] The first is the conceptual or logical relationship among the norms of the three perspectives. The second is the contingent or empirical relationship among their norms. The third I call the relationship of theoretical priority, and the fourth, that of normative priority’ (Blair 2003, p. 91/97). He concludes that any complete theory of argumentation will account for the role of each, not emphasizing any one at the expense of the others’ (ibid., p. 104), and that in the study of arguments and argumentation, ‘all three must be considered in relation to one another.’ (ibid., p. 105).
In this light, one can expect the pragma-dialectical scholars to be wary about those stereotypes, and indeed, the proposal to integrate both systems is an enormous and inspiring project. Yet, I wonder with Tindale whether there is no way out of this traditional view on rhetoric. The rhetorical dimension indeed enriches the IPD-model, but does this mean that the adding of this effect norm results in a more complete and satisfying concept of argumentation?

After all, as Kienpointner (1995, p. 543) points out: ‘many scholars see rhetoric as a rather narrow subject dealing with the techniques of persuasion and/or stylistic devices’, but others conceive of rhetoric as ‘a general theory of argumentation and communication’. Moreover, it is clear that ‘However different they may be, both perspectives, but the dialectical perspective in particular, include a logical component of some sort.’ (Van Eemeren 2002, p.3). Tindale notes that the intersubjective reasonableness prevalent in rhetoric is even one of the pillars of the critical reasonableness conception characteristic of dialectic (Tindale 2000, p. 27).
Van Eemeren and Houtlosser integrate the rhetorical element in the pragma-dialectic model on the grounds of what they call ‘no incompatibility’. When argumentation is not only evaluated but also described in the light of this abstract ideal model of dialectical obligations; one ends up with the assumption that the rhetorical is not dealing with reasonableness, because, by itself, it does not resort under this dialectical obligation of a critical discussion. It is basically this implicit exclusion of reasonableness and dialogue from rhetoric that worries me.[vi]

This way, the ‘conflict’ between the two has a polarizing effect, in that it tends to neglect the fact that reasonableness is a general and very common human motif in argumentation, not only in theory, but also in reality, in praxis[vii]. The conflict model implicitly excludes reasonableness from the rhetorical point of view.
This implicit consequence also shows in the supposed aim of participants of argumentation. According to the Amsterdam school, this aim is double: participants aim at solving a disagreement, and they do this by means of a critical discussion. Their rhetorical aims come down to effectivity, in the traditional sense of defending their own point.

People engaged in argumentative discourse are characteristically oriented toward resolving a difference of opinion … This does, of course, not mean that they are not interested in resolving the difference in their own favor. Their argumentative speech acts may even be assumed to be designed to achieve primarily this effect. The alleged rhetorical quality of argumentative discourse does not mean that speakers or writers are exclusively interested in getting things their way. (Van Eemeren & Houtlosser 2000, p. 295)

The assumption is that people can be primarily interested in resolving a difference of opinion in their own favor, but that even then, there must be a small margin (‘not exclusively’) left for norms of critical discussion, whether this be pretended or true. This again suggests that resolving differences of opinion in your own favor can never completely be governed by the ideals of reasonableness. Participants in the discussion can never ‘escape’ from their dialectical obligations:

Even when they try as hard as they can to have their point of view accepted, they have to maintain the image of people who play the resolution game by the rules and may be considered committed to what they have said, presupposed or implicated. If a given move is not successful, they cannot escape from their ‘dialectic’ responsibilities by simply saying ‘I was only being rhetorical’. As a rule, they will therefore at least pretend to be primarily interested in having the difference of opinion resolved. (ibid., p. 295)

If argumentation is an activity to be played by the rules, then the aim and the role of the participants can easily become caricaturized and ethos can be narrowed down to the obligation to maintain a certain image. The question is whether the all too human faculty of merely pretending to obey to rules, a very interesting issue at that, can actually become the issue of an argumentative analysis, be it pragma-dialectic or maybe even rhetorical.

For optimal rhetorical result, the moves must be adapted to audience demand. […] For optimally conveying rhetorical moves and making them have a real effect on the listener or reader, the various presentational devices that can be employed must be put to good use (ibid., p. 299).

It is very well possible to study argumentation in the light of dialectical norms, but here rhetoric is integrated as a new set of norms, this time about getting things you way. The question is whether this normativity is in compliance with the rhetorical aspects of argumentation, and whether these norms are similar enough to the dialectical norms to be integrated in one model.[viii] All derailments of the obligation of reasonableness, as we’ve seen, are called fallacies, and this apparently holds also true for the integrated model. Here is where I would like to push further Tindale’s comment on assessment. Although it is theoretically perfectly possible to draw lines (or formulate rules) and examine texts (or procedures) concerning critical obligations, it is difficult to do the same from a rhetorical point of view. As the classical rhetorical advices or norms for effective communication primarily concern the art of seeing possibilities, to be adapted to whatever audience in whenever situation, those advices can hardly be turned into something like ‘rhetorical obligations’. In his definition ‘la rhétorique est l’art de persuader par le discours’, Reboul also mentions the ‘art’ aspect: ‘Mais ‘s agit-il d’une simple technique? Non, il s’agit de bien plus. Le veritable orateur est un artiste en ce sens qu’il découvre des arguments d’autant plus efficaces qu’on ne les attendait pas, des figures dont personne n’aurait eu l’idée et qui s’avèrent être justes; un artiste dont les performances ne sont pas programmables et ne s’ imposent qu’après coup.’ (Reboul 1998, p. 4 – 6)

The way from pragma-dialectic norms to rhetorical praxis to new and ‘integrated’ norms has a problematic aspect to it, because the ideal of a model with a set of obligations for participants with fixed views is called upon to provide a full description of, and a norm for argumentative interaction.[ix]

Tindale considers rhetoric to be of a more fundamental nature: all argumentation aims at bringing about a change (eg. to get a disagreement solved) by means of verbal (or even visual) interaction.

This is also a model of argument that would appear to aim for agreement. […] On the question of agreement, Todorov writes that for Bakhtin ‘[t]he goal of a human community should be neither silent submission nor chaotic cacophony, but the striving for the infinitely more difficult stage: ‘agreement’.’ The word used here, at root, means ‘co-voicing’ … An agreement, where achieved through dialogical argumentation, does not mean an identity between positions; it does not involve a winner and a loser who gives up her or his position. Rather than the holding of the same position, agreement stresses an understanding of the position involved. […] Among Bakhtin’s final notes we find the denial of a last word: the dialogic context has no limits and each meaning gives birth to more. Argument, like dialogue, is ongoing. (Tindale, 2004, p. 104-105)

Argument aims at a provisory settlement, not per se victory, or a literal ‘solution’ (disappearance) of a conflict, because no solution is ‘final’, and no position fixed. An important aim of participants is some kind of reconciliation between parties within the actual situation; that is the kind of effective communication the advices are aimed at. Here, the line between reasonableness and effect is indeed very thin, if there is any. The standards of the pragma-dialectic model and rhetorical effect are of a different kind.

Conclusion: by carefully keeping the aims apart, the integrated model paradoxically does not always reconcile both views. The no-incompatibility argument, the minimum condition for reconciliation, generates the opposite effect and thus cannot escape from the improductive categorization of rhetoric and dialectic.
Moreover, rhetorically speaking, rules are always also an element in the discussion; in a way they are to be affirmed and/or reinvented through each new discussion with every other audience in every new situation. This idea of situation is fundamental in rhetoric; as it is grounded in political and social life, where reasonability is not only to be understood as an activity within the boundaries of a set of norms, but also as a real attempt at finding agreements we are trying to find and negotiate about.
The pragma-dialectic model provides an important set of rules to work with, but as rhetoric is concerned with all aspects of argumentation and not only the ideal of reasonability that is unmistakably part of any argumentation, it seems that assessment should start from a broader perspective and then develop further into more well-defined and (also) normative analyses.[x] I will show my case by means of a proposal for analysis of the Reynolds company example.

5. Reynolds & rhetorics
Some surprising advice to young people from R.J. Reynolds Tobacco.
Don’t smoke.
For one thing, smoking has always been an adult custom. And even for adults, smoking has become very controversial.
So even though we’re a tobacco company, we don’t think it’s a good idea for young people to smoke.
Now, we know that giving this kind of advice to young people can sometimes backfire.
But if you take up smoking just to prove you’re an adult, you’re really proving just the opposite.
Because deciding to smoke or not to smoke is something you should do when you don’t have anything to prove.
Think it over.

After all, you may not be old enough to smoke. But you’re old enough to think.
Since it belonged to Reynolds’ dialectical commitments to make a real effort at convincing young people that they should not smoke, whereas Reynolds – being a tobacco company – cannot be expected to abandon altogether its rhetorical aim of persuading people to smoke, it may be assumed that some strategic manoeuvring is going on. The question is how the various moves are selected, adapted to the audience, and fashioned in such a way that the colliding dialectical and rhetorical aims are more or less reconciled. (ibid. p. 300)

The assumption of strategic manoeuvering is the starting point of this analysis. From Reynolds’s obviously colliding dialectical and rhetorical aims, it follows that they will try to reconcile their obligations with their aims. The strategy that’s convincingly being laid bare is one of a counter-productive effect in all discussion stages. As for a conclusion, we read:

Our analysis of Reynolds’ advertorial shows that in this text there is no lack of such violations. Reynolds thus illustrates that seemingly smart strategic manoeuvres do not lead to an acceptable strategy if they are not at the same time dialectically justified. (ibid., p. 302)

This assumption of strategic manoeuvring is an exact mirror of the problematic relationship between dialectical and rhetorical aims and norms in the integrated model. The assumption of conflict between the two aims in this particular mass communication case puts rhetoric at the side of plain and commercial selling techniques where the speaker is this giant tobacco company and the audience a target group of consumers, while dialectic fulfils the role of a well-meaning parent or government trying to convince us not to smoke.

And indeed, one cannot expect from a tobacco company to have another aim than selling cigarettes in the first place. From a traditional rhetorical point of view, the question is simply whether this move is effective in the ongoing dispute between the public, the American government, scientists, the tobacco industry, and many more actors. As for the Reynolds advertorial situation[xi], this evokes many interesting questions; I briefly mention three of them: What is the real (particular) audience? Surely it is a mix of smoking and non-smoking kids ànd adults, but also judges, the American government, and other tobacco companies. Second question: Why an advertorial? Reynolds chooses a verbal message, and a complex one at that: an advertisement that looks like an article. They don’t use visual elements, surely a more effective method[xii], especially concerning this notoriously difficult persuasion issue of (non-) smoking. Third question: what is Reynolds’ real aim? ‘I don’t think that Reynolds is trying to fool anybody’, Garver suggests, ‘I offer the competing hypothesis that Reynolds is aiming at the creation and presentation of a corporate identity, that of the upright, thoughtful corporation, albeit on engaged in selling a product of questionable value. They’ve given up on trying to show that cigarettes are not dangerous, and instead are trying to position themselves as corporate good citizens. […] On my hypothesis, there is a sort of persuasion going on, but no aim at resolving differences of opinion’ (Garver 2000, p. 308).

Reynolds advises kids to start smoking only when they don’t have anything to prove by it. Maybe that is the deeper communality that Reynolds achieves. The possibility of pretending to obey to (reasonable) rules (for kids as well as for tobacco companies) is exactly what unites them. ‘Kids do smoke, and we do produce cigarettes. What can you all expect us to prove? We both know that it is against certain rules.’[xiii] This ‘impossible’ argumentative situation is reflected by an impossible, indeed contra-productive, message: we don’t have anything to prove[xiv]. A rhetorical analysis provides for the revealing of a metonymic shift this implicit negotiation about rules brings about: the advertorial shows that any communication also provides a negotiation space[xv] about the rules by which we (don’t) argue, for better or for worse.

NOTES
[i] Aristotle’s triumvirate of logic, dialectic and rhetoric does serve as a model for modern theories of argument (eg. Habermas, Wenzel). (Tindale 2004, p. 4)
[ii] In a further development of Fahnestock (1999).
[iii] For recent work on this topic, see Frans H. Van Eemeren and Peter Houtlosser (2002), Frans H. Van Eemeren, J. Anthony Blair, Charles A. Willard and A. Francisca Snoeck Henkemans (2003), Garver (2000), Jacobs (2000) and Goodwin (2000).
[iv] See also Leff: ‘The historical record of dialectic and rhetoric is one of almost constant change as far as the identity, function, structure and mutual relationship of these arts are concerned’ (Leff 2002, p.53).
[v] In the United States, […] in a sense we have returned to a presocratic interest in logos – the Greek word that precedes more precise theoretical terms for ‘rhetoric’ or ‘logic’ and is easily broad enough to encompass pretty much everything we now describe as ‘rhetoric’ or ‘argument’ or both. (Schiappa 2002, p. 65)
[vi] See also Leff: ‘The isolated antithesis between rhetoric and dialectic may exaggerate the differences between them and make them appear as categorical opposites. (Leff 2002, p. 57)
[vii] See also Jacobs: ‘Adaptation to situation is an essential feature of the rationality of argumentation – and not merely some deviation from rational ideals. Reasonable argumentation is argumentation that makes the best of the situation. Ideal argumentation is not discourse that occurs in some ideal speech situation abstracted away from its conditions of use; ideal argumentation is realistic.’ (Jacobs 2000, p. 273)
[viii] See also Garver (2000, p. 308-309) ‘Those [dialectic] norms never determine what anyone will say.’
[ix] See also Jacobs (2000, p. 265): ‘Standards for good argumentation cannot be evaluatively applied to their objects if those standards are presupposed in the very description of the objects’.
[x] Blair questions whether one perspective can be given any theoretical priority: ‘the details of what it means to give theoretical priority to one or another of these perspectives remain to be worked out’ (Blair 2003, p. 105). Jacobs proposes normative pragmatics to function as a starting point for any argumentative analysis, as the meaning of the message should be pinned down first (Jacobs 2000).
[xi] See also Jabobs: ‘An emphasis on the strategic design of messages lies at the heart of rhetorical analysis. I think that is exactly where any argumentative analysis must begin. Argumentative discourse persuades or not by virtue of the message communicated, and the meaning of the message implicates a complex of interpretive effects and interactional sequels that can be thought of as the manifest persuasive design’. (Jacobs 2000, p. 273)
[xii] Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca about verbal persuasion: ‘the most solid beliefs are those which are not only admitted without proof, but very often not made explicit’ (Perelman and Olbrechts – Tyteca 1971, p. 8).
[xiii] Jacobs, in an analysis of another Reynolds advertorial, finds some specific rhetorical questions to have a similar function: ‘The author and reader are not cast as antagonist and protagonist here. They are presumed to share a common viewpoint in contrast to these morally defective agents who might actually put forward these possibilities as serious proposals.’ (Jacobs 2000, p. 271)
[xiv] ‘In fact, double messages seem to be a common strategy in tobacco company editorials on the topic of under-age smoking’ (Jacobs 2000, p. 267). The double message is not only an effective strategy, but also the expression of an essential aspect of reality: struggling with rules and obligations in this messy world we are unmistakably part of (Kids: ’I know I should obey, but I don’t’; Smokers: ’I know I shouldn’t smoke, but I do’; Tobacco companies: ‘We know we shouldn’t produce and promote harmful products, but we do’).
[xv] See also Goodwin: ‘… the argumentativity of language itself may force us always to insinuate more than we actually say. My suspicion is that this cluster of techniques – ‘openly presenting something as something’, ‘talking as if something were something’, ‘spinning something into something’ – provides a ‘manifest rationale for persuasion’ not yet discovered.’ (Goodwin 2000, p. 289)

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In this paper[i], I would like to propose an account of the normative nature of Argumentation Theory which aims to solve the problem of a dichotomy between descriptivism and prescriptivism as attempts at justifying the suitability of our normative models for the appraisal of real argumentation. This account presupposes a conception of argumentative value which is non-reducibly normative. Therefore, my second task will be to argue for it, something to be done by comparing this conception of argumentative value with an instrumentalist one. In order to give a measure of the standard of normativity that this conception of argumentative value involves, I argue that there is a sense of Biro & Siegel’s epistemological approach to argumentation which is also instrumentalist, and therefore, unacceptable.

1. Descriptive vs. normative? Whether we aim to develop descriptive or normative models for argumentation, a preliminary task is to shape a conception of argumentation able to steer our work. The reason is that, as a matter of fact, within the field of Argumentation Studies there is a lack of agreement on which are the identity conditions for argumentation. And the truth is that argumentation theorists cannot appeal to an ordinary univocal practice of naming ‘argumentation’ certain type of communication, certain forms of discourses, the structure of some linguistic activities, a particular kind of semantic reconstructions, or whichever other possible reference of the term.

By accomplishing the task of providing a set of identity conditions for argumentation, argumentation theorists define the object of their models. The representativeness of this object respecting the sort of phenomena they aim to deal with happens to be a main criterion in order to decide on the practical and theoretical value of these models.

But argumentation theorists are particularly interested in developing normative models for argumentation, that is, models able to rule out certain practices as (good) argumentation². Yet, the development of normative theories has characteristically raised a critical concern in relation to their epistemological status. With regard to the grounds of Argumentation Theory and the justification of the normativity of its models respecting the sort of phenomena it is to deal with, there would seem to be two alternative accounts: either these models are grounded on the theorists’ investigations about actual practices of argumentation, or they are portrayals of each theorist’s intuitions about the way we should argue.

But the thing is that both accounts are quite problematic as justifications of the normative status of particular models respecting real argumentative practices. On the one hand, assuming the descriptivist line of justification would pose the problem of explaining how a report of the way people actually argue can become normative for the very same practice. The reason is that, at this point, appealing to “the normal” way of arguing would not do any better because to say that a given argumentative practice is ‘abnormal’ is not, by itself, a means to rule it out. In order to rule out the ‘abnormal’ just because it is not normal, we would need additional assumptions regarding the acceptability or goodneess of “the normal” –and also the unacceptability or badness of the “abnormal”. That is, we would have to appeal to further intuitions concerning what is “good” or “bad”, “acceptable” or “unnacceptable” as argumentation.

Contrastingly, a theorist assuming a purely prescriptivist account of the normative status of her model would have to make her case by arguing for the adequacy of her intuitions respecting the appraisal of real, everyday argumentation. But as far as the determination of the soundness of such argumentation would depend on these very intuitions about what counts as good argumentation, this strategy is likely to be guilty of a different kind of circularity. This is so whether or not her intuitions actually seem adequate to us: after all, we are considering a metatheoretical question. Let me explain this a bit further.

I think that, nowadays, most theorists would acknowledge the problems of a descriptivist account of their work. The models that they have proposed have not been proposed because they are supposed to represent what people usually do when arguing, and they do not propose such and such conditions for argumentation because these conditions warrant that we produce “normal” argumentation. Rather, these models would express theorists’ intuitions about what people should and should not do in arguing. Consequently, current approaches would seem to present themselves as proposals whose acceptability as normative models depends on our own intuitions regarding how should we argue. But justifying that our intuitions are relevant and adequate for determining what is good argumentation would be a matter of these very intuitions about what is good argumentation. That is to say, in refusing descriptivism and lacking of an alternative to it, argumentation theorists would seem to disregard any “fact of the matter” to settle the question about the suitability of particular normative models. For this reason, a decision in this sense would seem to depend just on our willingness to accept or refuse certain rules or principles for arguing, and therefore, on our willingness to accept or refuse the corresponding models.

Certainly, this is not a theoretical, but a methateoretical problem: a particular model may be perfectly suitable for the appraisal of argumentation whether or not we are in a condition to justify that it is. Yet, for argumentation theorists, currently facing a multiplicity of proposals, it would be highly convenient to be in a position to argue for or against any of them. But this is not something we can do if our only reason to preffer a particular model is that we are willing to accept its rules.

In this respect, the dichotomy between a descriptivist and a prescriptivist justification for our normative models for argumentation does not seem to take us very far. Fortunately, we can try a third option: to consider that the very phenomenon that Argumentation Theory aims to deal with is in itself a normative one. According to this perspective, to explain the normative status of a normative model would actually mean to be able to answer the following question: how does this model manages to represent argumentative normativity?

As I would like to show, the point of this option is to stress that an adequate description of the way the activity of arguing actually gets to produce normative outputs would happen to be a normative model respecting these outputs, which in turn would shape the very concept of argumentative value. Therefore, in assuming the viability of this option, I contend that there exists a concept of argumentative value whose characterization is the proper goal of Argumentation Theory as a normative theory, an object by reference to which we acquire criteria to decide whether our models are right or wrong –just as if we were following a descriptivist account of the epistemological status of Argumentation Theory, but with the gain of being able to make sense of its normativity respecting argumentative practices.

Conceiving the normativity of our models as the result of their being attempts at describing certain object which is in turn normative would be tantamount to assume that there exists a concept of argumentative value which is not the output of any normative model, but the very source of sense of the activity of giving and asking for reasons. Such a concept of argumentative value would be, in turn, the output of the very practice as a normative one. In this paper, I would like to explore this alternative by considering a conception of argumentation as an activity aimed at establishing certain sort of correctness, i.e. the correctness of the claims for which we argue. Thus, I would like to propose a definition of argumentation as an attempt to show that a target claim is correct.

2. Constitutive and regulative normativity in argumentation theory
Yet, it can be argued, defining a concept is, in point of fact, a particular form of normative activity: by doing so, we rule out certain uses of the corresponding terms. So, at this point, I think I could recall Rawl’s distinction between constitutive and regulative normativity in order to analyse the sort of normativity that I take to be involved in Argumentation Theory.

Certainly, Argumentation Theory aims at providing regulatively normative conditions for argumentation, that is, models able to rule out certain argumentative practices, or to distinguish good from bad argumentation. As we have already pointed out, the epistemological problem that such models seem to pose appears when we try to ground their (regulatively) normative status, that is to say, when we try to justify their suitability and capacity to decide whether certain practices are good or bad argumentation, in a relevant sense of the distinction between “good” and “bad” ³. This is so because, as mentioned above, to consider that these models are grounded on reports of the way people argue does not explain how they can be normative respecting this practice; and to consider that they just implement sets of intuitions regarding the way we should argue would pose the ulterior problem of justifying the adequacy of these intuitions: in other words, appealing to our intuitions as the epistemological basis for our models amounts to make manifest that we just lack of criteria of correction for them –our models may be correct but we cannot justify that they are. Contrastingly, according to the alternative that I would like to defend in this paper, the criteria of correction that we are looking for would be provided by a notion of argumentative value which is previous and independent from any particular model. As I will argue in section 3, this conception of argumentative value will be, on the other hand, a non-reducibly normative one: after all, we are assuming that the very argumentative practice, precisely because of its normative nature, recomends and rules out certain particular practices.

For its part, respecting the constitutive normativity of Argumentation Theory, my task is to make palatable the idea that normative models for argumentation are devoted to the tasks of defining what argumentation is, and also what good argumentation is. The identity conditions of argumentation and good argumentation are supposed to be constitutive of both concepts, so that the type of necessity that our models would involve is far from metaphysical; rather, it would be a matter being able to make sense of certain practices as argumentation and as good argumentation, respectively.

Actually, I think that not only the second but also the former task is crucial for Argumentation Theory being able to provide (regulatively) normative models of argumentation. As any other term, ‘argumentation’ is a term with applicability conditions. They constitute its meaning, the concept of argumentation, so that an adequate report of these conditions would enable us to rule out cases of false argumentation. This is an important task for Argumentation Theory: consider that the traditional charge against Rhetoric was that its techniques are available when good reasons are not available, or when reasons would be less successful than other means of persuasion. In principle, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with that. But the suspicion may be sound: rhetorical techniques can be deceptive in presenting as argumentation what in fact cannot be considered as such –namely, I would claim, because it is impossible to attribute to the performer the intention of showing a target claim to be correct. In those cases, we do not have bad argumentation, but false argumentation, and rhetorical techniques are used to produce the same effect of “fair play” that real argumentation, in general, produces. This effect is due to the pragmatic implications of appealing to reasons, and when this appeal is not real but apparent, Rhetoric becomes the art of deceiving convincingly.

3. The instrumentalist vs. The non-reducibly normative concept of argumentative value
As explained above, the alternative that I would like to propose regarding the justification of the normative status of Argumentation Theory presupposes that the activity of arguing has normative outputs, that is to say, outputs that, by themselves, shape the very concept of argumentative value. In other words, I am assuming that the concept of argumentative value is not the result of this or that normative model for argumentation, but rather that normative models have as their goal to represent such pre-existing concept. This concept of argumentative value would be the condition that makes sense of the activity of arguing as it is –arguers behave thus and so because they pursue such a value- and also as it should be –the only way to achieve that value is to argue thus and so. Consequently, this conception of argumentative value is non-reducibly normative: our activities of giving and asking for reasons make sense because we commit ourselves with the valuability of the normative outputs of this type of practices. Good argumentation recomends itself as argumentation just because the claims for which we argue, when we argue well, have argumentative value. On the other hand, there is nothing extrinsic to the very practice of arguing that serves to recommend this value. Rather, it is this practice, as a normative one, what shapes the concept of argumentative value. In the account of argumentative value that I would favor, the argumentative value of a claim consists in its having been shown to be correct⁴.

Because of that, our current proposal would have as its counterpart an instrumentalist conception of argumentative value, that is to say, a conception of argumentative value which is not non-reducibly normative. Arguably, such conception would be in a position to give an account, in a descriptive way, of the property “being good argumentation”.

Unfortunately, I think that certain form of instrumentalism regarding a conception of argumentative value is virtually universal within the field. And I suspect that the reason is that instrumentalism might provide certain type of “external” criteria to decide on the adequacy of our models. After all, by adopting an instrumentalist conception of argumentative value, we would be in a condition to justify the regulatively normative status of our models: the instrumentalist would justify her rules or conditions for argumentation by assuming that “arguing thus and so warrants getting this and that”. If she manages to establish both that this claim is true, and also that getting this and that is something valuable, then she would be justifying the corresponding normative model for argumentation.

In order to make my case that instrumentalism is virtually universal, I would like to show that authors like J. Biro & H. Siegel or R. H. Johnson, acknowledgable because of their fight of descriptivism, are still instrumentalist at some point, regarding the conception of argumentative value. This discussion should shed light on the ulterior question of the non-reducibly normative nature of the concept of argumentative value, which is, on the other hand, the possibility condition of our proposal.

What is for a piece of argumentation to be good? According to the instrumentalist, argumentation goodness is a matter of the functions that we consider argumentation should accomplish. Thus, if we consider that argumentation is, above all, a means to solve a difference of opinion (Pragma-dialectics), to achieve universal persuasion (Perelman or Tindale), to rationally persuade (Johnson) or to warrant our beliefs (Biro & Siegel), good argumentation would be argumentation that achieves one or another of these goals. As it has been frequently pointed out, the rhetorical approach and Pragma-dialectics seem to be less committed with a normative account of argumentation than Informal Logic or the Epistemological Approach. But according to authors like Biro & Siegel (1992, 1997) or Tindale (1999), this happens to be, to a great extent, a matter of emphasis: regarding Pragma-dialectics, the possibility of reaching an adequate normative level would depend on whether pragma-dialecticians insist on the ‘rationality’ of the way parties solve their difference of opinion or on the fact of solving it; whereas regarding the Rhetorical Approach, reaching the normative level would be a matter of insisting on the ‘ideality’ of the audience to be persuaded. An account of good argumentation as argumentation achieving rational persuasion or promoting rational beliefs would be more clearly committed with a normative account of argumentation goodness, according to which the distinction between good and bad practices is normative in the sense that good practices, so characterized, would recommend themselves. Because of that, neither Biro & Siegel, nor Johnson consider that their own proposals are instrumetalist.

In principle, the formulation of any instrumental account of argumentation goodness might sound like a platitude. Certainly, there is a sense in which argumentation, as knives, meals, fathers or ideas can be good or bad –in a purely prescriptivist sense of the distinction between goodness and badness. In this sense, goodness and badness are properties to be determined by reference to the features that we value in each type of “things”, let me say. An instrumentalist account would try to show that these features happen to be valuable as means to an end. Up to a point, argumentative discourses can be considered good or bad depending, for example, on their style, their effectiveness to an audience or listener, their historical significance, their originality, their fertility, or whatever. Yet, a properly instrumental characterization of argumentation goodness would contend that the relevant sense of ‘good argumentation’ that our normative models should be able to discriminate is that of argumentation achieving certain functions which, allegedly, are characteristic of this practice. The reason is that, as Harvey Siegel (1992) has pointed out, we can always question whether it is good to be instrumentally good. If we manage to establish that argumentation has certain function that defines it as an activity, then questions like this would lay disarmed.

However, it is a matter of controversy which is the characteristic function of argumentation. Moreover, according to authors like J. Goodwin (2005) argumentation has no function at all, despite individuals may use argumentation for a variety of purposes. I would like to adopt this idea, which I take to be also suggested by S. Toulmin in The Uses of Argument:

(…) this was in fact the primary function of arguments, and that the other uses, the other functions which arguments have for us, are in a sense secondary, and parasitic of this primary justificatory use (Toulmin 1958, p. 12)

According to Toulmin, justifying is the primary use of argumentation. In my view, the sense of “primary use” that Toulmin is pointing at is not that of “the most common use” (such as the most common use of a knife is cutting) but rather that of the “constitutive use” by means of which certain activity counts as argumentation (just in the same way in which taking a piece of stone as a tool for cutting makes of it a knife). The constitutive use of those communicative activities that we name ‘argumentation’ is justifying. Aiming at justifying is what makes of certain activity argumentation. Correspondingly, good argumentation is argumentation that actually achieves justification. But justification would be the constitutive use of argumentation just because argumentation is a normative activity and ‘justifying’, in principle, just means ‘arguing well’.

Because of that, contrary to the instrumentalist definitions of “good knife”, “good meal”, “good father” or “good idea”, a definition of good argumentation as argumentation by means of which we justify our claims is not an instrumental one, in the following sense: justification is not something that we might achieve or fail to achieve after arguing well, and more importantly, it is not something that we may achieve by other means. This is so because justification is the normative output of the activity of arguing as a normative one. Knives, meals, fathers or ideas are not normative objects, that is to say, good cuts, good digestions, good sons, or good effects in general, are not constitutively tied to the quality of the “objects” by means of which we bring them about.

Consequently, presenting ‘justification’ as the normative output of argumentation would be quite a contentless move. After all, what is ‘justifying’? Do we have independent accounts of this? Let me offer an example to explain a bit further what I mean.

Biro and Siegel (1992, and 1997) have criticised Pragma-dialectics as an instrumentalist account of argumentative value precisely by pointing out that the resolution of a difference of opinion is something that parties might achieve or fail to achieve after arguing “well”. But the truth of this claim depends on how we interpret “well”. If we assume that there is a sense of good argumentation which is independent of whether we solve a difference of opinion, then it is true that parties may argue well in this sense and yet failling in solving their difference of opinion. I think that Biro and Siegel are right in assuming that there is such a sense of good argumentation, that is, of justification, which is not dependent on how parties solve their differences of opinion. But I also think that they should give independent reasons for that assumption, that is, reasons which do not presuppose that there is a value that this definition does not capture. Actually, if we refuse such a sense of good argumentation, then justifying a claim, according to a pragma-dialectician, would be to get at this claim as the result of a process of critical discussion. Why should we disregard this conception of ‘justification’? Pointing out that parties may solve their differences of opinion in an irrational way is question begging, unless we have an independent account of what is to be rational, that is, an account able to distinguish between rationality and justification⁵. But this is, precisely, what Biro & Siegel’s account, and up to a point, also Johnson’s account, lack. They identify argumentation goodness with rationality, either of the corresponding beliefs or of the persuasion achieved by it. Actually, that is why they may consider that their account is not instrumental: arguably, achieving rational persuasion or rational beliefs is not something that we might achieve or fail to achieve after arguing well. Also, allegedly, it is not something that we might achieve by other means. I do not agree with this view. In order to motivate my reluctance, I would like to show that the two senses of “rational belief” that they may appeal to for making their cases, result in the collapse of their accounts of argumentative normativity.

Biro & Siegel (1992, 1997) say that good argumentation is argumentation whose premises warrant belief in its conclusion. But which sort of warranty are they talking about? On the one hand, we may think at first sight that it is related with truth: a warranted belief would be a belief that it is true –“you can believe it because it is true”, that’s the sort of warranty we would be looking for!

But Biro & Siegel aim to preserve fallibilism, that is, the idea that a belief may be justified and yet being false. Actually, that is the reason why they do not directly say that good argumentation is argumentation whose premises show that the conclusion is true. Rather, they go on with their normative account of argumentation goodness by propossing the following definition: “an argument succeeds to the extent that it renders belief rational” (Biro & Siegel 1997, p. 278)

Let us assume that good argumentation is argumentation epistemologically acceptable⁶. What, then, does it mean “rational belief”? Does it mean a belief which is epistemologically acceptable? That is to say: is ‘rational’ equivalent to ‘justified’ (whichever the conditions according to which we judge that a belief is justified, that is to say, that the argumentation whose target claim’s content coincides with the content of that belief is a good one)? Or, does “rational belief” just mean that the belief is held by reasons (whether good or bad)? For my part, I preffer this second sense of the expression “rational belief” because it enables us to make sense of the rationality of those who believe the target claim of a piece of argumentation whose reasons are false when they do not know that they are false. According to this sense, justification and rationality would not be the same thing, unless we are willing to accept that argumentation having false premises, that is, bad reasons, may still be good argumentation.

The problem in Biro & Siegel’s, and also in Johnson’s accounts, is that, if we adopt the first sense of the expression “rational belief”, then their account of argumentation as a means to produce rational beliefs or to warrant the rationality of the corresponding beliefs is empty, non-informative: good argumentation would be argumentation making rational our beliefs, that is, conferring our beliefs the target argumentative value we aim to define. On the other hand, if we adopt the second sense of the expression, it is not clear at all why should we assume that good argumentation is argumentation producing rational beliefs or warranting the rationality of our beliefs: after all, when we engange in the activity of giving and asking for reasons, we are supposed to subject our beliefs to reasons, whether they are good or bad. Moreover, when we argue because we disagree, we do not necessarily presuppose that our opponent is irrational: very often, we just think that she is wrong, either in her reasons or in her inferences. Actually, the rationality of our opponent’s belief (in the sense of beliefs that cohere with, or are supported by, other beliefs of her, whether true or false) does not stop further argumentation: rather, we aim at achieving “correct” beliefs, in that sense of correctness which is the ground of the activity of arguing as a normative one.

We may assume that rationality and correctness regarding beliefs is the same sort of thing. Certainly, argumentation and justification are closely related to rationality. But I think that we can preserve both this connection and also the distinction between rationality and justification if we assume that to say that someone has acquired a belief which is rational is to say that, according to her standards, the content of that belief is the target claim of a piece of good argumentation. Yet, her standards may determine the rationality of her belief, but not its objective justification. This second sense of “rational belief” avoids emptiness by distinguishing between justification and rationality. But it fails in providing a suitable conception of argumentative value, precisely because it turns out to be instrumentalist: good argumentation may fail to produce rational beliefs in this sense; and in any case, it is not our only means to acquire rational beliefs.

4. Conclusion
The normativity of argumentation is not exactly an expression of “that which should be believed”, but rather of that “that which is argumentatively valuable”. Of course, there is a close relationship between argumentation and rationality: we pursue good argumentation because, in enganged in the activity of giving and asking for reasons, the sense of this activity is searching for that argumentative value which is the ground that makes sense of this activity, that is, which makes it rational to argue. Additionally, there is a conception of “rational belief” which is related to the subject’s determination of justification, that is, to the subject’s determination of good argumentation.
According to our proposal of conceiving of Argumentation Theory as an attempt at defining what is good argumentation, each normative model would have as its goal to provide an adequate account of ‘justification’, understood as the constitutive use of the activity of arguing as a normative one. Yet, each model would conceive of justification in very different ways. For my part, I consider that justifying a claim, belief or judgement is equivalent to showing it to be correct.

This way, I would be proposing a conception of justification related to a certain sense of the distinction between correct and incorrect claims, beliefs and judgements. At this point, I think we can find a correspondence between the realms of Theoretical and Practical Reasons regarding the idea of “correction”. As it happens in the case of moral normativity, which constitutes the determination of ‘correctness’ and ‘incorrectness’ from the point of view of Practical Reason, and thus, it shapes the concept of moral value, argumentative normativity would shape the very concept of theoretical value. Consequently, we should regard a sense of ‘argumentation goodness’ that cannot be unloaded in terms of the features that we may value in argumentative discourses or in terms of the functions that, arguably, such discourses should accomplish: to properly characterise this sense of the distinction, we should make sense of the idea of theoretical value and, therefore, we would be indirectly appealing to the very distinction we aim to describe.

In this respect, we may say that the normativity involved in the activity of arguing happens to be unconditional in a sense in which the constitutive normativity involved in the use of concepts –including the concept ‘argumentation’- is not: the conditions that determine the use of any concept are indeed constitutive of that concept; if we refuse these conditions, we abandon the concept altogether. But still, communication can go on, our communicative behaviour may be perfectly rational, and accessible to others: by refusing some of these conditions we may try to broaden the use of the corresponding term, or to question part of the meaning of the concept. On the contrary, there is no alternative to a refusal of the conditions that determine this sense of “good argumentation”, whichever they happen to be, because such refusal amounts to senselessness as indiscerniblility between correct and incorrect claims, beliefs and judgements –in the theoretical sense of the distinction just mentioned. In that respect, we may say that the unconditionality of argumentation’s normativity exceeds conventionality. And it makes sense to speak of an intrinsic value of argumentation, because such sort of value cannot be sensibly negotiated.
This characterization of argumentation goodness would then be non-reducibly normative. Also, it would depend on semantic and pragmatic conditions able to determine whether certain speech act is an act of showing that a target claim is correct. That is to say, these conditions will be constitutive respecting the properties “being the target claim of an act of arguing”, “being an act of showing”, and “being a correct claim”. But in turn, they will be regulative respecting argumentation as an attempt at showing a target claim to be correct.
Additionally, as far as this proposal assumes that the very activity of arguing gives rise to normative outputs, the grounds of a normative model for this activity would consists in its being a characterization of this activity as a normative one. That is to say, we will have to be able to show that the normative nature of argumentation is part of our everyday concept of “argumentation”. We should give an account of this normative character in dealing with the applicability conditions of the term –in point of fact, as suggested at the end of section 2, these conditions of applicability would enable us to distinguish between the activity of arguing and related activities such as “informing”, “suggesting”, “hinting”, etc.
Consequently, a suitable normative model of argumentation–ex hypothesi, an adequate description of our concept of argumentative value-, would comprise an account of two types of normativity: on the one hand, it will have to provide a systematic articulation of the concept of argumentation, that is, a definition that would sanction the uses of the corresponding terms –‘arguing’, ‘arguments’, ‘argumentative’, etc. And on the other hand, it will have to provide a systematic articulation of the concept of argumentative value, and therefore, it will have to provide criteria to sanction our intuitions respecting what counts as good argumentation. According to our proposal, that would be argumentation actually showing that the claims and beliefs for which we argue are correct. As far as these criteria happen to be systematically successful in raising verdicts on the correction of our claims, they would constitute both a description of our conception of good argumentation and also a means to decide on it.

NOTES
[i]  I have been very lucky of having helpful and detailed criticisms and comments on a first version of this paper by professor Harvey Siegel, specially, taking into account that his possition is, to a great extent, the target issue of the paper. It is only fair to publicly thank him for his attention and kindness. The work presented in this paper has been financed by the Spanish Ministery of Education and Science, FPU program, ref. AP 2002-1373.
[ii]  Sometimes, the word ‘argumentation’ is used in a normative sense according to which ‘argumentation’ is always ‘good argumentation’, just as ‘reasons’ would always be ‘good reasons’. I am not simpathetic to this usage because it precludes the possibility of distinguishing between ‘bad argumentation’ and ‘false argumentation’ on the one hand, and ‘bad reasons’ and ‘false reasons’ on the other hand. As I will argue below, I think that by means of the distinction between bad and false argumentation we are able to express two different kinds of discoursive ‘symptoms’. Analogously, I think that the difference between bad and false reasons may play a role in explaining certain psychological phenomena such as rationalization.
[iii] At this point, I am just adopting a purely prescriptivist sense of the distinction between goodneess and badness, or correctness and incorrectness; that is, I am not presupposing any particular feature in the corresponding objects.
[iv] Following a toulmian conception of qualifiers, I am interested in a conception of ‘correct claim’ according to which a claim is correct if it has been put forward with the degree of pragmatic force that the truth values of the reason and the warrant that we have for it sanction. Consequently, I contend that good argumentation, that is, argumentation showing a target claim to be correct, is dependent on semantic conditions determining the correction of a target claim, and also on pragmatic conditions determining that an act of arguing is an act of showing. That is the way in which I would try to represent the concept of argumentative value that, according to the thesis defended in the present paper, is the goal of any normative model for argumentation. Yet, this is only a proposal, that is, it should be possible to find other ways of representing the concept of argumentative value that I take to be at stake in Argumentation Theory.
[v]  After all, a pragma-dialectician might challenge: “you say that solving a difference of opinion according to the pragma-dialectical rules does not warrant the rationality of the process because parties may start from agreed but false or unjustified premises, and they can also follow wrong or problematic rules of inference (Biro & Siegel, 1992: 90). But the thing is that we have to make sense of a concept of rationality that does not depend on the objective value of the output, otherwhise, we could hardly make sense of the rationality of ancient scientists holding wrong astronomic or physical theories”.
[vi]  I think that the refusal of the idea that good argumentation is argumentation epistemologically acceptable is grounded on a prejudice regarding the possibility of gaining knowledge about values. If we accept that our judgements, beliefs and claims about values can be not only justified –in the sense of being the content of the target claims of good argumentation (whichever the way we are to determine the goodness of argumentation)- but also true or false, then I can think of no reason to refuse that argumentation, which is the kind of activity by means of which we decide on the acceptability of our judgements, beliefs and claims, is concerned with epistemological acceptability.

REFERENCES
Biro, J. & H. Siegel (1992). Normativity, argumentation and an epistemic theory of fallacies. In: F.H. van Eemeren, R. Grootendorst, et al (Eds.) Argumentation Illuminated. Amsterdam: Sic Sat, 85-103.
Biro, J. & H. Siegel (1997). Epistemic normativity, argumentation and fallacies. Argumentation,11, 277-292.
Eemeren, F. H. van & R. Grootendorst (2004). A Systematic Theory of Argumentation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Goodwin, J. (2005). Argument has no function. In: Hitchcock (Ed.), The Uses of Argument: Proceedings of a conference at McMaster University, 165-166.
Johnson, R. H. (2000). Manifest Rationality: A Pragmatic Theory of Argument. Mahwah, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Perelman, C. and L. Olbrecht-Tyteca (1958). La nouvelle rhétorique. Traité de l’argumentation. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.
Rawls, J. (1999). Two Concepts of Rules. In John Rawls: Collected Papers. S. Freeman (ed.), Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 20-46.
Siegel, H. (1992). Rescher on the Justification of Rationality. Informal Logic, 14, 23-31.
Tindale, Ch. (1999). Acts of Arguing: A Rhetorical Model of Argument. Albany, NY: SUNY.
Toulmin, S. E. (1958). The Uses of Argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

I would briefly consider and pose to your refutational criticism three questions: why to refute, how to refute, when to refute. These questions concern the place of confirmation/refutation between logic and rhetoric and involve the pair apology vs. criticism.
I’ll begin with an apodictical starting, only in order to establish a subjective certainty among many uncertainties.

The logical process of refutation is naturally associated with the act of dissuasion. How can we dissuade? Which are the tools of dissuasion? The typical human weapon of dissuasion should be a discouraging argument, an argument against, a proof of falsehood. Indeed it is unquestionable that ‘the use of reasoning is more characteristic of man than the use of physical strength’, using the words of Aristotle (Rhetorica 1355 b 1). Dissuasion, or changing the belief or the behaviour of an audience, is the perlocutionary effect of refutation, whose illocutionary effect may by confusing, confounding, shedding doubt.
But refuting is not a performative act. And dissuasion is not the simple opposite of persuasion. I would like to consider the origin, the nature and the implications of this difference, a difference that concerns perhaps some other general and problematic couples such as validation/invalidation, affirming/denying, approving/disapproving, constructive analysis/destructive analysis.

The terminology of refutation /dissuasion
There are some curious and interesting linguistic facts. The common language, said John Austin, is not the last, but indeed the first word. The speech acts theory may be yet useful in many ways. For example, in refuting one demonstrates the falsehood, by refuting one dissuades. We can dissuade from believing and from saying, or from doing and making something. Furthermore dissuasion may have a side-effect, a ‘perlocutionary sequel’ (Austin 19752, p. 118), such as to cast doubt, confuse, block, paralyse.

What means ‘to refute’? the three names of refusal
If I deny, object, challenge, I deny, object, challenge just because I say what I say: the speaker names something and, as he names it, it appears. On the contrary if I say ‘I refute’ I’m simply announcing my intention to do that. Saying that I’m confuting is not to confute, while saying that I’m denying (objecting, challenging), is to deny (object, challenge). In the frame of the speech acts theory, the first act is like to utter a descriptive ‘I eat’, the second is like to utter an operational ‘I promise’.
.
To refuse, to object and to refute are three different ways of dissenting.

Who is refusing expresses his disagreement without necessarily offering any reason. He rejects but he does not explain why a thesis or a thing should not be accepted.

To object (or criticize) is to express our disagreement stressing out the incompatibility of our world vision with the adversary’s world vision. It consists in refusing with reason/reasons.

To refute is very different both from to refuse and to object. Who is refuting in the strong sense is testing and weakening the internal consistency of the contested theory, starting from its very presuppositions and its world vision (cf. Dell’ Aversano & Grilli 2005, p. 123).
‘The refutation is successful when the questioner is able to draw from his interlocutor’s admissions either some conclusion incompatible with the original thesis (not necessarily its direct contradictory) or some absurdity whose derivation used the thesis as premiss’ (Hitchcock 2000, p. 60). The process is somewhat similar to the demolition of a building using its own kinetic force accumulated during its construction.

In this perspective to refute consists indeed in accepting premises, rules of inference, world vision and refusing proofs and arguments of the interlocutor/adversary, while in objecting or criticizing one is accepting nothing at all (including premises, rules, world vision, proofs and arguments, as well as obviously the conclusion) in order to demonstrate that the opposing argument is bad.
Refutation is not a simple attack on the arguments of the opponent. It is not a simple process of exposing flaws in opponents’ arguments. It is not a simply pointing out that there is a flaw in the opponents’ argument, a simply process of responding to opponent arguments, such as ‘the source for their evidence is biased’, ‘ their evidence is out of date’, this ‘is an isolated example’ (Hanson 1994, pp. 43, 139, 152).

‘Strictly interpreted, the term refute means to overcome opposing evidence and reasoning by proving it is false or erroneous.’ (Freeley 19969, p. 281).

So, we have at least two different notions of refutation: a strict one, a falsifying refutation (that falsifies, makes false) and a large one, a non-falsifying refutation (that weakens,undermines, makes feeble). ‘Non-falsifying refutations are in no sense proofs against the propositions they refute… Falsifying refutations are proofs in some sense, but they are not proofs in every sense’ (Woods & Irvine 2004, p. 82). But it seems to me a little contradictory to speak of ‘a soft, a mild, a loose, a half-refutation’: refutation is or is not. Refutation should be the place of ‘dissolution of reasoning’ (Rhetorica, 1402 a 35) or the field of the annihilation of errors (Vigrahavyavartani), as says the title of a work by a Buddhist thinker,
Nagarjuna (1992).
This dissolution can be done by logical tools or by rhetorical tools. There is indeed a non conclusive rhetorical refutation capable of refuting the adversary rather than to establish the truth: an argument that is neither ad rem nor ad hominem, but ad personam, namely that refutes the supporter of thesis instead of the thesis itself.

We have the couple to persuade/to dissuade. But what is the contrary of ‘to convince’, which is often used, properly or not, as synonymous of to persuade? Schematically, we can represent the situation this way:
to persuade / to dissuade
to convince / ? *to dis-convince

And what is the contrary of ‘to refute’? To accept, to approve, to confirm, to support, to admit, to prove: none of them seems precisely the opposite right term.

to demonstrate true / to demonstrate false
? * to accept / to refute

So I can dedicate a victory or a book, but there is not a ‘disdedication‘ or something like this. I have not a definitive explication for this phenomenon, but perhaps it relates to the asymmetry between confirmation and refutation.

To confute is strictly connected with a polemical mood. Our society and our education do not favour polemic. ‘Refusal is a difficult act to perform persuasively’… While it is always face threatening to refuse someone’s request, one can perform the refusal with more or less politeness’ by offering an apology, plus some explanation or reason, and an acknowledgement of the regret for the other’s face loss (Mullholand 1994, pp. 310-311).
But, with the words of Cicero, ‘disputation cannot be held without reprehension’ (‘neque enim disputari sine reprehensione nec cum iracundia aut pertinacia recte disputari potest’, Cicero 1931, I, 28). And all the history of thought is an uninterrupted sequence of refuted arguments, of arguments and counterarguments.

I would consider and move from a few accepted facts and from some problematic questions, about the role and primacy of ‘negative’ and the centrality of refutation.
The following are six remarks, again apodictically asserted, followed by some more problematic points.

Six remarks
1. It is certainly easier to demonstrate something false than to demonstrate something true.
2. ‘What could I say to show that you are wrong’ and ‘what could I say to show you that I am right’ are very different and asymmetrical questions.
3. Refutability, rather than provability, is considered today an essential feature of science and, more generally, criticism is considered an essential feature of rationality.
4. Refutation is significantly important in every field, especially in the logical and reasoning field.
5. Dissuasion is also important in educational and social fields.
6. A refutation consists in convincing someone that a certain thesis is inconsistent. It has a destructive and polemical nature. But, on the other hand, refutation is connected with freedom of thinking and of word, with John Stuart Mill’s ‘liberty of thought and discussion’, and it is a symptomatic sign and promoter of a liberal, libertarian society.

Seven questions
I have the advantage to speak first in this session, so I can pose some problems, leaving the answers open for the forthcoming discussion.

1. Confirmation and refutation are asymmetrical notions, if only because it is certainly easier to demonstrate something false than to demonstrate something true. Is the same true also for persuasion and dissuasion?
2. Negative evaluation and criticism seem to have a priority over positive evaluation and advocacy: is the primacy of negative evaluation based on a practical or on a logical basis?
3. A refutation may be more or less convincing? ‘Convincing refutation’ is a redundant expression? And what about ‘mild refutation’, ‘half-refutation’?
4. Are there refutations that are non refuting? Is sophistical refutation a proper, a suitable expression? Is it a correct translation of the aristotelian élenkos (proof, tool of persuasion, especially in order to reply and to refute) as we find in Analytica Protera (60 b 111) and in Sophisticoi elenchoi (165 a 3): ‘a syllogism of the contradiction’ (antipháseos syllogismós, 170 b). In other terms, for Aristotle to propose an élenkos is to antisillogízesthai, namely to establish a syllogism with a conclusion opposite to the conclusion we want to refute.
5. Is it possible to persuade without convincing?
6. A successful refutation relies upon convincing someone that a certain view is wrong: how can refutation positively lead to a right view? Is the refutation only a destructive tool? What is, if any, the positive value of refutation? The pars destruens is a step of the proof, or is it the only true, the only possible kind of proof? I would follow the spirit of John Stuart Mill and his reflection on ‘negative logic’ and his belief that negative criticism would be indeed poor enough as an ultimate result; but as a means to attaining any positive knowledge or conviction worthy of the name, it cannot be valued too highly: ‘if there are any persons who contest a received opinion, or who will do so if law or opinion will let them, let us thank them for it, open our minds to listen to them, and rejoice that there is some one to do for us what we otherwise ought, if we have any regard for either the certainty or the vitality of our convictions, to do with much greater labour for ourselves’ (Mill 1989, pp. 46-47).
7. Is refutation a logical act or a more complex affair?

In the following part of my paper, I will try to answer only to this last question.

Role and primacy of negative. centrality of refutation
The primacy of negative evaluation is discussed and convincingly supported by Maurice Finocchiaro (Finocchiaro 1980, pp. 421-24; 1994a, pp. 21-35; 1994b, pp. 1-21.) The author of Galileo and the art of Reasoning recognises to the negative evaluation a constitutive function for reasoning and to the critical argument a priority over constructive argument. This status of primacy ‘corresponds to trends and results discernible in other approaches to logic and other fields of scholarship and of culture in general’ (Finocchiaro 1980, p. 421).
First, in the context of art history and criticism, there are objective standards for negative evaluation, but not for positive evaluation, because it seems that there are wrong reasons for disliking a work of art, but ‘I do not think that there are wrong reasons for liking a statue or a picture’ (Gombrich 1966, p. 5).
Second, in the context of psychology and psychotherapy, one can tell someone how not to be unhappy, whereas he can’t tell him how to be happy (Ellis & Harper 1968, pp. 69-70).
Third, in the context of epistemology of Karl Popper, the real scientific mark is falsifiability rather than provability. ‘In the Popperian approaches, the essential feature of a scientific theory is its falsifiability or testability rather than its provability or confirmability; the essential feature of rationality lies in its critical attitude, i.e. in being open to criticism, rather than in being right or in being in possession of the truth; the most significant feature of the growth of scientific knowledge is the occurrence of errors and the struggle for their elimination’ (Finocchiaro 1980, p. 422).
Fourth, in the context of logical teaching, the so-called critical thinking prevails, whose ratio is to teach how to avoid the invalid and fallacious reasoning as means of teaching how to improve one’s reasoning. ‘The stress on criticism is often abused and frequently superficial… and its practice justification lies in the preponderance of fallacious reasoning… Its theoretical justification, however, must be in the critical-evaluative nature of reasoning itself, in the fact that reasoning is correct when it lacks specifiable faults’ (Finocchiaro 1980, p. 424).
From a practical point of view, to recognise fallacies is relatively simple. To reason validly is more difficult. It is easier complaining about inconsistency, criticising integrity, denying a fact or consistency or relevance or validity than demonstrating and claiming or securing them. From an epistemic point of view, it is well known, even independently from Popper, that one disconfirming instance is enough for refuting a thesis and enables us to have a certainty, even if negative.

Refutation and confirmation
Two schools confront each other on the issue of confirmation and rejection: for the first one the refutation of errors is of no relevant advantage for the discovery of truth; apology is considered more important than criticism, confirmation more relevant than refutation; the other one relies on the so called ‘epistemology of error’ supported by Bachelard and Popper, and by XVIIIth century poet-philosopher Giacomo Leopardi, who said that ‘Every progress eradicates an error; it sets no truth (‘Ogni passo della sapienza moderna svelle un errore; non pianta niuna verità’, Leopardi 1969, p. 688). Even Socrates’ daemon tells him what not to do, where not to go, which conclusion not to draw. He exerted only a dissuasive power. Dissuasive power (like the power attributed to punishments) is important in society too.

Refutation between logic and rhetoric
We are arguing when we produce reasons for and against, when we offer motives for acting or causes for explaining. The argumentative line is double: in favour of or versus something.

The answer to the seventh of our preceding questions is: there is a logic, but also an art of refutation. Arguing is a complex and comprehensive act. It is an act of saying and of doing. A good functional and interactive definition of refutation is proposed by the Swiss linguist Jacques Moeschler: ‘an illocutionary reactive function of negative evaluation containing an argumentation’ (Moeschler 1982, p. 148). The definition is good, even if limited.

Refutation is based on (logical) rules and improved by (rhetorical) moves.

I refer not simply to the fact that there exist some figures of refutation such as the rejectio, the prolexis or anticipated refutation, the refuting dilemma, the anticategoria et cetera.
It is rhetorical the choice of the time of refutation.
It is rhetorical the sequential order of the proofs and disproofs. Which of them is better to introduce first? We have to edify after having demolished or vice versa?
Refutation is the sum of many different aspects: logical and cognitive, dialectical and rhetorical, ethical and behavioural. In particular, ‘why to refute’, ‘how to refute’, ‘when to refute’ are questions whose answers are rhetorical in nature.

Like rhetoric, refutation is, using Austin’s formula, ‘the total speech-act in the total speech-situation’ (Austin 19752, p. 52) that implies ethos, pathos and logos. It is at the same time the capacity of inventing and of discovering, the skill of answering and of ordering, the ability of speaking and of acting. And finally it is a discourse that produces effects, first of all the result of dissuasion.

Such a complexity makes my thesis easily refutable. I rely on the fact that, even if to refute is the most powerful way of replying, it is not at all the first one to try nor is it the more efficient move from the rhetorical point of view. So I hope that you will first kindly try simply to object and criticize my paper, keeping your demolition charge till last. I’m conscious however that every theory (about knowledge and ethic or about disease and food) is good, acceptable or irrefutable only until the next refutation.

REFERENCES
Aristotle (1924). Rhetorica. W.D. Ross (Ed.).Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Austin, J.L. (1962, 1975). How to do things with words. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cicero (1931). De Finibus bonorum et malorum. Engl. Trans. by H. Rakham, On Ends. Harvard: Harvard UP.
Dell’ Aversano, C. & Grilli, A. (2005). La scrittura argomentativa. Firenze: Le Monnier Università.
Ellis, A. & Harper, R. (1968). A Guide to Rational Living. Hollywood, Ca.: Wilshire Book Company.
Finocchiaro, M. (1980). Galileo and the art of reasoning. Dordrecht: Reidel.
Finocchiaro, M. (1994a). The positive versus the negative evaluation of arguments. In: R. H. Johnson & A. Blair (Eds.). New Essays in Informal Logic (pp. 21-35). Windsor, On., Informal Logic Ed.
Finocchiaro, M. (1994b). Two Empirical Approaches to the Study of Reasoning. Informal Logic 16,1, 1-21.
Freeley A. J. (1996). Argumentation and debate. Belmont: Wadsworth P. C.
Gombrich, E.H. (1966). The Story of Art. New York: Phaidon Publishers.
Hanson, J. (1994). NTC’s Dictionary of debate (items: counterargument, press, refutation). Lincolnwood, Ill.: National Texbook Company.
Hitchcock D. (2000). The origin of professional eristic. In: Th. M. Robinson & L. Brisson (Eds.), Plato: Euthydemus, Lysis, Charmis: Proceedings of the Vth Symposium Platonicum (pp. 59-67). Saint Augustin: Academia Verlag.
Leopardi, G. (1969). Zibaldone. In: W. Binni (Ed.), Leopardi. Tutte le opere, vol. II, n. 2712. Firenze: Sansoni.
Mill, J. S. (1989). On liberty. Ed. by St. Collini. Cambridge: Cambridge U.P.
Moeschler, J. (1982). Dire et contredire. Pragmatique de la négation et acte de réfutation dans la conversation, Berne/Frankfurt am M.: Peter Lang.
Mullholand, J. (1994). Handbook of Persuasive Tactics. A Practical Language Guide. London/New York: Routledge.
Nagarjuna (1992). Vigrahavyavartani (Lo sterminio degli errori). Ital. Trans. by A. Sironi. Milano: Rizzoli.
Woods, J. &. Irvine, A. (2004). Aristotle’s Early Logic. In: D.M. Babbay & J. Woods (Eds.), Handbook of the History of Logic, vol. 1, Amsterdam/Tokyo: Elsevier.

1. Introduction: epistemic and cognitive transformations
Arguments serve many functions. Some of their functions are ethical, social, personal and political. A lawyer arguing on behalf of her client, two conflicting parties agreeing to mediation, people who feel they have been wronged seeking acknowledgement, or someone simply venting a bit of frustration are all using argumentation for some of these purposes.
The most philosophically salient of argumentation’s functions, however, are, broadly speaking, epistemological. Arguments persuade or convince an audience; they justify actions and decisions; they demonstrate truths, expose and refute errors, and test hypotheses; they critically explore; and they help us deliberate. The common element in all these cases is that successful argumentation brings about some sort of transformation in how and what we think. These transformations are all epistemic or doxastic (Pinto 2003, pp. 6f.). At the individual level, arguments may try to raise doubts, justify belief, or even yield knowledge. Arguments can convert nagging suspicions into confident belief as easily as they can transform smug belief into chronic doubt. It can crystallize indecisiveness into a decision, and, in the paradigm case, create knowledge from ignorance. Similar transformations occur at the interpersonal level: argumentation settles disputes, re-opens questions, determines the collective will, and, in the paradigm case for dialectics, forges consensus out of dissensus.

Explanations like arguments, also have many functions. And like arguments, their most philosophically important role is in bringing about cognitive transformations in a rational way. Paradigmatically, the perlocutionary act that explanations hope to perform is replacing incomprehension or puzzlement with understanding, rather than replacing ignorance or unreflective beliefs with justified beliefs and knowledge (Achinstein 1983, p. 16).
Not all cognitive transformations are epistemic. Seeing the duck-rabbit now as a duck, now as a rabbit, for example, does not seem to involve epistemé. Nor does coming to regard someone as a friend rather than a rival, or the aesthetic judgment involved in taking an object as an object of art, or learning how to tell a work by Beethoven from one by Mozart. Coming to understand something falls into this category.
Understanding is a cognitive achievement of the first rank, often exceeding knowledge. Understanding generally includes some knowledge: we are said to understand an event, for example, when we know that it occurred and we also know the reasons for or causes of its occurrence. This is the kind of understanding that is on display when we know how to answer the question why the event in question occurred, not just whether it occurred. But knowledge by itself is not always sufficient to produce understanding. There are senses of understanding that involve more: the change from incomprehension to understanding something may entail changes in attitudes, perspectives, associations, and abilities that are not represent-able in purely propositional terms (cf. Wittgenstein 1953, §152-4; Hacker1986, p. 248). And since understanding often goes beyond knowledge, it probably ought to have a higher profile in our epistemic projects and in the discourse of epistemology. However, since the epistemological tradition in large part arose as a response to the problem of skepticism, and has been periodically revitalized over the centuries in response to new skeptical challenges, it might be better to describe the transformations that explanations bring about as cognitive in a very broad sense than narrowly epistemic. But this just helps locate explanations in conceptual space vis à vis arguments rather than clearly defines or distinguishes them.

There are many important and promising areas of research for argumentation theorists arising from the juxtaposition of argumentation and explanation. Moving from arguments to explanations, we can begin by noting that explanations may be logically and syntactically indistinguishable from arguments, in order to ask whether the fallacies that occur in argumentation also infect explanations? Is there a distinctive class of explanatory fallacies to identify and worry about? Second, why is the dominant metaphor for arguments – argument is war – so inapplicable to explanations? That is, how can explanations share so much with arguments, but lack the central – some say defining – adversarial component? When it comes to explanations, the entire ‘dialectical tier’ of questions, objections, disagreements, and challenges are all possible. Even so, disagreement – the initial and, some say, fundamental dialectical factor – does not have to be present to initiate explanation.
Third, how does that dialectical difference manifest itself in the subsequent stages of reasoning in explanations? Since alternative explanations need not be competing explanations, how does the closure reached in successful explanation relate to the resolution reached in successful critical discussion?
Moving in the other direction, from explanations back to arguments, we are presented with another set of questions:

In the absence of the war-metaphor, what metaphors and models do apply to explanations? Can they be retro-fitted to arguments with good effect? Can there be a counterpart in argumentation to the fact that in at least some contexts successful explanations can co-exist peacefully with the possibility of equally successful alternative explanations? Should we broaden our argumentative practice to accommodate other than win/lose, zero sum outcomes? And perhaps most telling of all, why should arguments have to settle for producing consensus, justified belief, or knowledge rather than understanding or perhaps even wisdom? What changes in strategies or styles or structures would be best for reasoning in the understanding-directed and wisdom-directed contexts of explanations, rather than the belief-, knowledge-, or rational consensus-directed contexts of argumentation?
In the discussion that follows, I will bring explanations and arguments’ similarities into clearer focus, and their differences into greater contrast, in order to focus on one particular aspect within the area of understanding-directed argumentation. I will try both to explain and to argue for the thesis that when arguments and explanations are viewed as neighbors in the business of cognitive transformations, some of the limits to argumentation coincide with its boundary with explanation. As a test case, one notorious example of intractable arguments – religious differences – will be connected with an extreme kind of cognitive transformation – full-scale conversions.

2. Explanations and arguments are alike
Syntactically, an explanation may look exactly like an argument. Consider the sentence, ‘We can know that God exists because we can see the order in Creation‘.[i] It easily fits into an argument with a non-believer, but a different utterance of the exact same sentence could just as easily be used in an explanation of the natural component of revealed religions in a seminary seminar. The key word ‘because’ indicates reasons in both cases, but it does so without discriminating among logical premises, physical causes, and the variety of forms the explanans can take.
The complicated inferential structures found in arguments can be replicated in explanations, with the ambiguity of reasons – the difference between a proof’s premises and an explanation’s explanans – systematically preserved throughout. The nature of the inferential relations changes with the kind of argumentation present. In arguments, the inferential relations can be deductive, inductive, possibly abductive, or even just probabilistic. The latter three are sometimes regarded as the stand-ins we have to settle for when the ideal of deductively valid inferences is not available. The parallel, and equally prevalent, attitude regarding explanations was given full expression in Hempel’s ‘covering law model’ for explanation: in the best explanations, the explanandum is derived – and in the ideal case, derived deductively – from the governing laws and initial conditions that constitute the explanans. One philosopher goes so far as to proclaim, ‘an explanation is a proof’ (Kim 2005, p. 135). However, because there are contexts in which teleological explanations are completely acceptable – not to mention contexts appropriate for psychological, historical, and critical explanations – the deductive model has to be taken as just one among many, and not even the first among equals, when it comes to kinds of explanation.
The similarities run deeper than the shared locutions of the surface language. Explanation and argumentation also share rhetorical strategies and dialectical moves. In particular, there are audience-sensitive performance imperatives and principles of rationality in force. Obfuscation and jargon are as bad in explanation as they are in argumentation; insincerity and suppressed evidence are transgressions against the rules of rational presentation whether that presentation is in the service of rational persuasion or rational explanation. In both cases, assumptions can be called into question, inferences can be challenged, and points in need of clarification can be raised, all by way of objecting.

3. Explanations and arguments differ
Still, explanations are not arguments. There are both dialectical and rhetorical differences between them that are by-products of their different goals, even though both seem to have a kind of rational persuasion as the goal. To say that someone has been satisfied by an explanation, E, may mean that she has accepted E as the explanation of the target, T. But it could also mean that she has accepted E as an explanation of T. In the former case, appropriate to fields like physics, the argumentation needs to both establish E and exclude alternatives. In the latter case, more appropriate to fields like history in which multiple explanations are possible and events are subject to explanations as varied as their descriptions, only the first task is needed. Teleological and psychological explanations of my actions do not exclude physical and physiological explanations of the same behavior. Economic explanations of the causes of war do not exclude ideological ones. Something may be successfully explained in many ways without any of them being the explanation. Literary critics know this, even if they sometimes forget that not all explanations are literary interpretations.
Because of this, we explain differently than we argue. When the focus of the task is making the conclusion as attractive as possible, there is less pressure to make the premises and inferences as forceful as possible. It is the difference between inviting someone to accept a conclusion and forcing them to accept it.
Argumentation may well be an effective means to the end of rational persuasion, but it is not the only one, if by ‘rational persuasion’ we have in mind any cognitive transformation that ends in justified belief. After all, simply informing someone of something can produce the same result, as can the whole range of pedagogical techniques used by effective teachers. If teachers do not typically think of themselves as arguing when they teach, that is because students are typically receptive to what they have to say rather than resistant.
One form of successful teaching, like successful rhetorical argumentation, ends with the achievement of rational belief. The difference is to be found in the starting point: proponents in dialectical argumentation typically do not have receptive opponents. We can travel very different routes to the reach the same end states, so epistemic and other cognitive transformations cannot be defined simply by their starting points and endpoints.

The dialectical tier also plays itself out differently in explanations and arguments. Because explanations do not have to be initiated by disagreement, the interlocutors need not take the roles of opponents in discourse. Still, an explanation remains incomplete so long as there are outstanding objections, requests for clarification, or other unanswered questions. Someone might ask, for example, how the Marxist explanation of the history of the union movement in the American South accommodates the early civil rights movement, and reasonably expect some answer. The failure of the explainer to provide an adequate answer might count as a strike against the explanation. Alternatively, it might be taken instead as merely incompleteness, rather than a failure, in the explanation. To borrow some terminology from Thomas Kuhn, the unanswered question starts out as just a puzzle, but if it develops an attitude, it becomes an anomaly. (Kuhn 1970, p. 79f.) In either case, there are parallels in argument.
The common assumption is that explanations begin with their own assumption, namely, that the explanandum is true, and that this is the crucial difference. Their job is to answer the question how it can be true. Arguments begin with the prior question, Is it true? Thus, a successfully concluded argument may still leave room – and need – for explanation because knowing that something is the case does not necessarily include understanding how or why it is so. Understanding needs some kind of ‘narrative unity’. Propositions knit together by logical connections and inferential structures exhibit the strongest kind of unity, but it is not the only kind.

4. The difference that the difference makes
What difference do the different assumptions and the possibility of different kinds of explanatory narratives make? How does all this play out for explanatory strategies and explanatory models?
There are several different senses and uses for the word ‘understand‘. The particular sense I am interested in is what one author has called the ‘comprehension’ sense (Franklin 1983, p. 308). It manifests itself in the ability to explain, i.e., to fit the explanandum into a coherent narrative, and to maintain a kind of ’empathy’ or cognitive comfort level with that narrative. (von Wright 1971, p. 6). Finally, that narrative must have some grounding in fact, even if only a very tenuous one (more on this later). Again, achieving this kind of understanding, perhaps even more than acquiring knowledge, ought to be central to our individual epistemic projects and to our collective epistemological discourse.
One kind of integrated narrative, of course, is logical derivation, the heart of the deductive-nomological model of scientific explanation (Hempel and Oppenheim 1948). Offering a derivation of proposition p from specific initial conditions together with general laws is indeed one way to answer the question Why p? But why-questions are notoriously ambiguous, so there may be other ways to answer it. Deductions stand to explanations about the same way they stand to arguments: they are a very important part, but they are still only a part. Extra-logical pragmatic considerations are too central to gloss over for strict deductivist accounts to suffice (Kim 2005, p. 107 argues the deductivist position).

Argumentation theory would seem to be the natural place to look for the conceptual resources for exploring the dialectical, rhetorical, and logical dimensions to explanation, but the comprehension sense of understanding poses special difficulties. The templates provided by argumentation theory are designed to accommodate input in propositional form, but comprehension-understanding is primarily ‘objectual’ rather than ‘propositional’ (Kvanvig 2003, p. 191). The goal is to understand what it is to understand p, not what it is to understand that-p. This kind of understanding is surely a significant cognitive achievement worthy of philosophical attention, but it is not a propositional attitude suited for logical investigation. We may, for example, understand that things are the way they are without understanding those things at all. Think about the comment by a chess player who, staring at the board, sighs at long last and says, ‘I understand that you moved your knight to b3, but for the life of me I don’t understand that move at all’ (Franklin 1983, p. 310).
The objects of understanding can be as varied as machines and historical events, individual words, propositional signs and entire languages, physical phenomena and scientific theories, or human actions and humans themselves. Objectual understanding comes in degrees. We can intelligibly ask of someone who claims to understand quantum theory or Sanskrit how well they understand it. Objectual knowledge, but not propositional knowing-that, also comes in degrees. We can ask both Do you know Smedley? and How well do you know Mr. Smedley? Notoriously, the targets for our understanding include stories, poems, and texts of various kinds to be understood in various ways.
In the case of a machine, even the most complicated rube goldberg of a contraption, knowledge of the machine generally suffices for understanding, and that knowledge can be reduced to knowledge-that. There is nothing more than what can be expressed propositionally and captured by a detailed description. Human actions present a different case. We can observe someone’s actions without knowing the reasons for it. In the extreme case – say, the story presented in the film The Truman Show in which the character’s entire life was on exhibit – an observer could have virtually complete knowledge of a person’s life without any real understanding of it. What is missing is not more facts or more knowledge. The picture is complete but it doesn’t hang together. In this sense, understanding is not a matter of adding a piece or pieces of knowledge, but of how to put the pieces together and what to do with them.

If we were still under the spell of a picture theory of meaning and its associated conceptions of language, truth, and logic, there would be something elusive or mysterious about this sense of understanding. It is what prompted Ludwig Wittgenstein to say that the sense of the world is unsayable and must lie outside the world (Wittgenstein 1961, 6.41). But it is also what prompted later Wittgenstein to emphasize that understanding is more of an ability than a state. It is the ability to carry on, to explain, to continue the conversation, or to cope with the phenomena in other ways (Wittgenstein 1953, §199). The common source is that objectual, comprehension-understanding is closely connected with know-how (Ryle 1949, pp. 25ff.). I would go so far as to venture the claim that understanding is actually more closely connected with know-how than knowledge-that, and that this is what really accounts for the differences between argumentation and explanation.

First, let me explain the claim that know-how is more important for understanding than knowledge-that. It is generally assumed that truth is as important an ingredient for understanding as it is for knowledge because some factual knowledge is necessary as the grounding for genuine understanding. The reason behind the claim is that any understanding that rests on false assumptions or flawed data should not count as understanding, no more than Gettier examples should count as examples of genuine knowledge. Just as we no longer attribute knowledge of the arrangement of the planets to Ptolemaic astronomers, neither do we say that they really understood the retrograde motion of the planets against the background of the fixed stars, no matter how accurately their models preserved the phenomena. Yes, they could explain retrograde motion by reference to deferents, epicycles, and eccentricities, but if their explanations are no longer accepted as correct explanations, the resulting understanding is not real understanding. This leads one author to say that understanding requires some ‘facticity in the background’ (Kvanvig 2003, p. 191).

The insight is a good one, but the moral of the story has been wrongly extracted. First, it summarily rules out the possibility of understanding in any areas in which there are no truths, such as, at least according to some, ethics, aesthetics, and interpretation. Global metaphysical anti-realism may indeed bring some sort of general skepticism in its wake, but what we might call ‘understanding-skepticsm’ does not have to be part of it. Second, since understanding concerns the patterns, arrangements, and organization that narratives reveal, there is a type problem. What if the discovered pattern were extracted from all false data, albeit data that were systematically wrong. The validity of the pattern remains, but without any actual grounding. To take a concrete example, suppose a lay historian has gained a pretty good understanding of, say, the Holocaust. That is, she has cognitively come to grips with it and has a coherent, compelling narrative to tell about the 6 million Jews who were systematically exterminated, with policies and institutions dating from the earliest days of Hitler’s power. After all, she likes to point out, Dachau was first opened less than one month after Hitler became chancellor in 1933, and its gas chambers for mass executions were built in late 1939 to expedite the liquidation of the Jews to free up resources to fight the Russians. But a closer inspection of the history reveals that many of the data points incorporated into the construction of that narrative are only approximately true – which is to say, they are actually false. Dachau was first put into operation in March of 1933, slightly more than a month after Hitler became Chancellor. The gas chambers were actually built in 1940, and perhaps as a response to the influx of Russian prisoners.[ii] And suppose it was 5.9 million or 6.1 million Jews that were killed, not 6 million. The individual falsity of each of those claims nullifies its status as an item of knowledge, but I do not think that even their joint falsity nullifies the entire fabric of understanding.

When understanding is understood as a different kind of cognitive achievement than knowledge, then Robert Nozick’s curious claim that increased understanding can be derived even from explanations known to be false finally begins to make more sense (Nozick 1981, p. 11). Understanding doesnot require absolute truth. Therefore, it does not require knowledge. Approximate truths and justified belief can be good enough.
But understanding does require real know-how of some sort, if only because ‘justified belief-how’, to coin a phrase, is pretty much all there is to know-how.

5. What we can learn about argumentation from explanation?
It is a commonplace but still curious phenomenon that when one of the participants in an argument is successfully persuaded, it might happen only well after the arguing is over. Perhaps arguers need time to absorb and process the reasons they have been given before they can fully and finally accept them. Arguers are not, in general, especially receptive to the antitheses to their own theses. Or maybe it is simply that arguers generally do not want to lose face by admitting defeat. After all, arguers are commonly thought of as being opponents. Whatever the explanation – and I suspect that both of these explanations apply in some measure to many cases – the delayed effect is less pronounced in explanations. And this difference needs an explanation.
The cognitive state that an explanation hopes to bring about is comprehension-understanding, and that kind of understanding is not simply a matter of new beliefs. Therefore, if argumentation were simply a matter of inculcating new beliefs, successful argumentation could not produce understanding. Information, together with recognizably cogent reasons for its acceptance, is not enough. Nor is understanding wholly a matter of pattern recognition in the available data, because not all patterns are relevant to understanding and not all understanding is in terms of discovered patterns (unless, of course, created narratives are counted as discovered patterns).
So far, this just identifies what it is that arguments archetypically do, how they do it, and why the result falls short of understanding. To connect this to the lag-time in conclusion-acceptance, we need to look at what understanding is rather than what argument does not do. As noted, there is a practical component to understanding, some know-how, that is not just a matter of knowing-that. Understanding is more intertwined with abilities than ordinary beliefs are. And because know-how is such a critical part of understanding, successful explanation has to include a certain amount of training. Argumentation does not.

Why can’t we think of arguments that way? We can, of course, but we don’t. The biggest conceptual roadblock is the established dominance of the war-metaphor for arguments. The emphasis on opposition, with its winners and losers, is at odds with an instructional project that is most effective when the participants are both willing and co-operative. Explanations do not have to force things. Even when successful, they do not actually cause understanding the way that arguments can effectively cause belief. Rather, they serve as conditions for understanding by laying the groundwork. They prepare the way without forcing the way. In oppositional argumentation, resistance is assumed. That is not the case in explanation. Anyone who chooses to resist understanding will almost certainly be able to do so! Willful misunderstanding is a lot easier than willful ignorance. More often than not, what passes for willful ignorance is primarily a matter of willful deafness to the proffered reasons rather than the actual self-deception that is required when faced with compelling reasons. There really is something, well, compelling about cogent arguments.

The critical-communicative task is very different when the interlocutor is receptive and co-operative rather than resistant and adversarial. Explanations do not have to be compelling in the same way. The illocutionary act of explaining – of offering an explanation – is a matter of enabling the audience to be able to appreciate the attractiveness of the explanans as a companion to already accepted explanandum. Explanations that aim at comprehension-understanding help prepare the audience to look at things – including their own belief in the explanandum – in a certain way. That need not involve inculcating new beliefs at all.
Arguments can be thought of as preparing the audience for belief instead of making them believe. When argumentation is thought of that way, the rhetorical aspect of argumentation moves to the fore: instead of arguing against an opponent, it is arguing for a thesis and on behalf of that thesis. It becomes a matter of enabling the audience to appreciate the attractiveness of that conclusion.
One beneficial consequence of thinking of arguments this way is that it makes sense of the role of literature and the effectiveness of exemplars in ethics. Narratives can, of course, be arguments, at least insofar as they can be read as arguments, and now we have a partial explanation of the temptation to do so. What literature does, and does so very well, is help us see the world in a new way. That is, stories can be the occasions for profound cognitive transformations. By and large, cognitive transformations are the business of argumentation, but the transformations that fictions occasion are more like the transformations that explanations seek. Not surprisingly, then, when literature does provide us with a new lens for looking at things, and it is one that we cannot resist, it is because we are drawn to rather than pushed into it.

6. Conversions… & the limits of argumentation
The most dramatic of all cognitive transformations are full-scale conversions. Religious conversions are the most famous examples, so they are the most common models for thinking about conversions, but they are not the only ones. In the stereotypical case, the change is sudden, perhaps resulting from an epiphany or a mystical experience, but that is not essential. The loss of faith, no less than its acquisition, is a conversion, and conversion phenomena also occur in the social, political, ethical, and spheres. Like their near relatives, Kuhnian paradigm shifts, conversions can also be the result of the accumulated effects of gradual processes. A new view of the world does not need to come into focus all at once.
There is a more salient point of comparison between paradigm shifts, in the Kuhnian sense, and conversions: the relevant cognitive transformations cannot be brought about solely by appeals to logic and evidence (Kuhn 1970, chs. X, XII). Regardless of whatever the limits to purely logical deliberation may be, the scope of rational argumentation is broader. Even if we cannot conclusively demonstrate the rational necessity of a paradigm shift, we can still argue for it. We can argue for just about anything. What we cannot do, if Kuhn is to be believed, is prove the case. But I would guess that a good many of us already think that that limitation applies to almost everything arguable (Govier 1999, p.47).
Whole-scale conversions present a different case. Argumentation across different paradigms is manifestly possible. The claim of incommensurability is greatly exaggerated: even if the new paradigm cannot be understood in terms of the old one, there is no reason to suppose that an understanding of the prior paradigm must be lost by those who adopt its successor. Any ‘incommensurability’ between paradigms would have to be both oddly asymmetric (Weinberg 1998, p. 50), in addition to being ‘argumentatively permeable’.

Arguing for a paradigm shift is possible, even if proving the case is not, but genuine conversions would be a different matter. Here, all argumentation and not just logical disputation narrowly conceived, seems almost entirely futile. In part, the difficulty in arguing either for conversions or with converts is a matter of scale. Entire world-views, rather than individual propositions, are at issue. Consider the scientific shift from an Aristotelian-Ptolemaic world-view to a Keplerian- Galilean-Newtonian model. The move away from a geocentric astronomy had to be accompanied by a change in physics: the notions of natural places and motions no longer fit. And that meant changing from a qualitative to a quantitative vocabulary, from thinking in terms of form and matter, essence and accident, and potency and act to the language of mass and momentum, space and time. etc. Then the methodology of science had to follow suit, with repercussions throughout natural sciences and beyond. The same phenomenon occurs in the political sphere: the transformation of a political conservative, in the vernacular of contemporary American politics, to a left-leaning liberal involves changing one’s mind about the entire gamut of issues. By and large, one’s views on abortion, gay rights, war in Iraq, a balanced budget amendment to the constitution, free trade agreements, and a host of other topics are inter-related at least this much: knowledge of someone’s position on any one of these topics gives pretty good grounds for predicting that person’s views on every other one. The whole web of belief is at stake!
Actually, a good deal more than the web of belief is at stake: also at stake is the web of attitudes, along with what we might call the webs of values, interests, interpretations, and, most of all, understanding. Conversions are more than just a simple matter of changing one’s mind. For that part, argumentation is available. But for the rest of the cognitive transformation, explanation, cognitive training, and education are better strategies. Arguments coordinate the appropriate propositional attitudes with the array of propositions on the table (Pinto 2005, p. 1). They can license, sanction or mandate belief. And they do the same for disbelief, non-belief, strong commitment, provisional acceptance, and the rest of the attitudes. This one you should accept only tentatively; that one merits suspension of belief; and that other one can now be confidently eliminated from consideration. The non-propositional dimensions are another matter. But that does not mean they are non-cognitive or non-rational. What it does mean is that argumentation has its limits.

Conversions are, in Fogelin’s term, ‘deep disagreements’ (Fogelin 1985). They pose challenges both to arguers and to argumentation theorists. The challenge to arguers is that the scale of conversions requires that argument (to resort to the war metaphor) has to be waged on so many fronts. Beliefs are revised all across the board. But that just makes argument difficult, not impossible. A more formidable obstacle confronts theorists: conversions are not just a matter of belief-changes; far more important are the changes in understanding, and the corollary changes in attitudes, values, and interpretations. And, as we have seen, that can be the kind of cognitive transformation that resists argumentation. We are still free, of course, to argue about religion without end, but now we know why we should not count on much success in that endeavor.

NOTES
[i] This line of reasoning encapsulates an influential passage Romans 1: 18-20 (‘For all that may be known of God by men lies plain before their eyes’), a passage that was oft-cited in Early Medieval as justification for philosophical or natural theology.
[ii] For more detailed information and further references about the history of Dachau, see http://www.holocaust-history.org/dachau-gas-chambers/.

References
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Von Wright, G.H. (1971). Understanding and Explanation. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Weinberg, S. (1998). The Revolution That Didn’t Happen. The New York Review of Books, 8 October 1998.
Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophical Investigations. G.E.M. Amscombe, tr. New York: The MacMillan Company.
Wittgenstein, L. (1961). Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuiness, trs. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Nearly five years after September 11, 2001 United States leaders continue their homeland security campaign. Following the September 11th attacks, President Bush proclaimed to a mourning audience at the National Cathedral that terrorists ‘attacked America because we are freedom’s home and defender’ (Bush, September 14, 2001). After acknowledging the attack that ‘shattered steel’, the President bolstered the American public by promising that the terrorists ‘cannot dent the steel of American resolve. America was targeted for attack because we’re the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world. And no one will keep that light from shining’ (Bush, September 11, 2001). In the days and years ahead the President promised America would build ‘a House of Freedom’, in a world where ‘freedom and fear areat war’ and to fight freedom’s fight, in the President’s worlds, was ‘the great divide in our time. Between civilization and barbarism’ (Bush, September 13, 2001).

In its broadest sense, my research argues that it is apparent that since September 11, 2001 the Bush administration’s rhetoric has shifted numerous times, from an initial ‘rhetoric of ideological pronouncement’ featuring the common archetypal metaphors of ‘savagery’ and ‘civilization’ (Cohen, 2004a, 2005), to a ‘rhetoric of indoctrination’ urging the U.S. public to embrace the Bush administration’s shift in National Security Strategy making the grounds for preventive and preemptive war indistinguishable (Cohen, 2004b); to an explicit strategy of global ‘ideological argumentation’ that I will describe in this essay. Throughout this rhetorical sequence, the mechanism of casuistic stretching has enabled the President of the United States to negotiate and transcend certain contradictions inherent in the war on terror. By expanding the circumference of arguments promoting the so-called ‘war on terror’, however, most recently the administration has found itself on unstable argumentative grounds in its global efforts.
Specifically, the continued spector of al-Queda attacks in Bali, Madrid, London, and an Egyptian resort area, among others in the last year clearly shows how al-Queda targets are unambiguously wider than U.S. democratic values or prized symbolic targets. The changing global environment, or scene in the war on terror, invites argumentation critics to consider the ways there is a fundamental rhetorical disorientation tothe Bush administration’s latest anti-terror efforts, since new efforts in the war on terror can advance itself only by means of the leverage received from its September 11th rhetorical antecedents. Informed by this insight into the nature of the nation’s pursuit of its homeland security objectives, my essay will attempt to orient itself around some of the ways in which the Bush administration’s recent ideological argumentation was designed to better align the administration’s foreign policy rhetoric with that of its war objectives. This is not to suggest that the origination of the war on terror was not inherently ideological, but rather I maintain that the effort moved from ideological pronouncements of policy to ideological arguments backing foreign policies that attempted to mystify the stakes of the administration’s actions. I conclude however that this argumentation strategy is ill-equipped to be persuasive to the international audience as they are adopted and recirculated by members of this international community. Thus, the paper concludes by considering the Bush administration’s latest rhetorical strategy from a global perspective.

During the summer of 2005, United States residents witnessed political rhetoric over the United States role in the war on terror abroad, and reauthorization of security initiatives at home reach a near boil. Bush’s poll numbers were slipping. Karl Rove, the ‘architect’ of the Republican national strategy and bulldog in chief, was traveling in the United States fundraising for the Congressional midterm elections and trying to buck-up Republican lawmakers and citizens who were growing increasingly dissatisfied with the consequences of global war and revelations of its twisted logics. Rove said in a June 24, 2005 speech:
‘Conservatives saw the savagery of 9/11 and the attacks and prepared for war; liberals saw the savagery of the 9/11 attacks and wanted to prepare indictments and offer therapy and understanding for our attackers’ (Healy, June 23, 2005). Democrats saw an opportunity, and demanded an apology. Rove did not give them one, and instead the President and his men began to rearticulate the U.S. global strategy in the war on terror. On June 28, 2005, President George W. Bush spoke before the troops at Fort Bragg, North Carolina:
The troops here and across the world are fighting a global war on terror. The war reached our shores on September the 11th, 2001. The terrorists who attacked us – and the terrorists we face – murder in the name of a totalitarian ideology that hates freedom, rejects tolerance, and despises all dissent. Their aim is to remake the Middle East in their own grim image of tyranny and oppression – by toppling governments, by driving us out of the region, and by exporting terror.

To achieve these aims, they have continued to kill – in Madrid, Istanbul, Jakarta, Casablanca, Riyadh, Bali, and elsewhere. The terrorists believe that free societies are essentially corrupt and decadent, and with a few hard blows they can force us to retreat. They are mistaken. After September the 11th, I made a commitment to the American people: This nation will not wait to be attacked again. We will defend our freedom. We will take the fight to the enemy. (Bush, June 28, 2005)

In this speech, which you may recall, Bush spent time justifying U.S. actions in Iraq by noting that the U.S. would either fight abroad or at home. However, what you may not know is that this speech also marked the first time that Bush cited Osama Bin Laden as an authority-figure. Bush stated:
Some wonder whether Iraq is a central front in the war on terror. Among the terrorists, there is no debate. Hear the words of Osama Bin Laden: ‘This Third World War is raging’ in Iraq. ‘The whole world is watching this war’. He says it will end in ‘victory and glory, or misery and humiliation’. (Bush, June 28, 2005)

Clearly if Osama says it’s a war, it’s a war. For the first time the President took the overt position that a network of terrorists launched World War III. The remarks beg the question – how does the United States lead a global war while continuing to prepare the nation to stomach a fight against this enemy that lives among global populations and moves with global transportation flows that expose the vulnerabilities in the United States’ best homeland security plans.
Although controversy erupted over both Rove’s comments and the President’s victory plan, the London bombings provided the political cover and opportunity for the Bush’ administration to reinforce its position on global terrorism and to seek higher argumentative ground.
I turn to comparing Bush’s continued rhetorical choices in the war or terror to the responses of the Blair administration. First the scene. Three London Underground trains and a red double-decker bus were destroyed by bombs during rush hour on Thursday, July 7, 2005. Initially, British Foreign Minister Jack Straw stated the day bore ‘the hallmarks of an Al Qaeda-related attack’, police, however, did not rush to judgment and did not confirm the claim posted on the Internet by a group calling itself the Secret Organization of Al Qaeda in Europe taking responsibility for the bombing (Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1)

Unlike New Yorkers, Londoners retained the fresh memory of past attacks, most recently the Irish Republican Army’s mainland movement using bombs as a terror tactic, and the Germans’ bombing during World War II. Indeed, those unfamiliar with British history should remember that during the1980s the Irish Republican Army targeted London’s financial district, the Harrods department store, the prime minister’s offices, and was responsible for action against a Conservative Party conference in 1984 that was attended by then-Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher who managed to escape the bombing that killed 5 other people.

Perhaps the most eloquent response to the attack came from London Mayor Ken Livingstone, articulating the immorality of the attack, he was still in Singapore celebrating the decision that London was named host of the 2012 Summer Olympics. He stated:
This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty and the powerful. It was not aimed at presidents or prime ministers. It was aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. It was an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter, irrespective of any considerations for age, for class, for religion, or whatever. (cited in Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1)

Given that the attacks coincided with the opening of the G-8 nation summit, before Blair returned to London he issued the statement alongside international leaders such as George W. Bush and French President Jacques Chirac that ‘We will not allow violence to change our societies or our values’ (cited in Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1).

The initial response of world leaders was to express solidarity, their unity with the people of the U.K. during a time of mourning, and to emphasize the commonality of their societies and their values. United States and British leaders, however, offered distinctive rhetoric visions in the days ahead. At the G8 Summit Tony Blair recognized the timing of the blasts:
It’s reasonably clear that there have been a series of terrorist attacks in London. There are obviously casualties, both people that have died and people seriously injured and our thoughts and prayers, of course, are with victims and their families.

It’s my intention to leave the G8 within the next couple of hours and go down to London and get a report face-to-face with the police and emergency services and the ministers that have been dealing with this, and then to return later this evening. It is the will of all the leaders of the G8, however, that the meeting should continue in my absence, that we should continue to discuss the issues that we were going to discuss and reach the conclusions that we were going to reach.
Each of the countries round that table have some experience of the effects of terrorism and all the leaders, as they will indicate later, share our complete resolution to defeat this terrorism.
It’s particularly barbaric that this has happened on a day when people are meeting to try to help the problems of poverty in Africa and the long-term problems of climate change and the environment. Just as it is reasonably clear that this is a terrorist attack or a series of terrorist attacks, it is also reasonably clear that it is designed and aimed to coincide with the opening of the G8.

There’ll be time to talk later about this. It’s important however that those engaged in terrorism realise that our determination to defend our values and our way of life is greater than their determination to cause death and destruction to innocent people in a desire to impose extremism on the world.Whatever they do, it is our determination that they will never succeed in destroying what we hold dear in this country and in other civilised nations throughout the world. (Blair, July 7, 2005)
When Tony Blair returned to London he expressed ‘profound condolences to the families of the victims and for those who are casualties of this terrorist act … There will of course now be the most intense police and security service action to make sure that we bring those responsible to justice … We know that these people act in the name of Islam, but we also know that the vast majority of Muslims here and abroad are decent and law-abiding people who abhor this act of terrorism every bit as much as we do’ (qtd. in Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1). ‘The attackers’, he said, ‘are trying to use the slaughter of innocent people to cow us, to frighten us out of doing the things that we want to do, or to try to stop us going about our business as normal, as we are entitled to do, and they should not and will not succeed’ (qtd. in Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1).
In contrast, U.S. President George Bush identified the attacks as an ideological battle, and the necessary response as evidence ‘the war on terror goes on’. He pledged, ‘We will not yield to these people … We will not yield to terrorists. We will find them. We will bring them to justice. At the same time, we will spread an ideology of hope and compassion that will overwhelm their ideology of hate’ (cited in Daniszewski, July 8, 2005, p. A1)

Scholars of political communication and rhetoric have considered the ways that rhetoric may be used to oppress free and critical discussion, or to promote unreflexive or uncritical ways of thinking. To the extent that rhetoric reflects, deflects, and selects reality, reality is far from given but it is something experienced by rhetorical formation. The shift in the Bush administration’s war on terror rhetoric after the London attacks raises appreciable interest to argumentation scholars concerned with the way that ideological argumentation may foster of mystification of reality, the cost of which offloads onto publics as the death toll rises and is covered over.
Immediately after September 11, 2001, President George Bush articulated a homeland security rhetoric which preferred an ‘ideological pronouncement’ on behalf of the administration. Put simply, according to Suzuki, ‘ideological pronouncement’ is ‘a kind of rhetoric that undermines and limits the possibility of critical discussion among target audiences’ and functions ‘as an enemy of sound argumentation’”

Many scholars noted that after September 11th public space for criticism of administration policy became constricted for a variety a reasons while the nation mourned and the nation’s leaders sought to rally the public around the flag during a time of crisis (Benhabib, 2002; Cloud, 2003). As Suzuki (2001) notes, ideological pronouncements promote ‘a logic in search of absolutes and [is] likely to proliferate in periods of fascist ideology, especially in wartime’ (p. 255). In contrast, ideological argument promotes itself as a kind of rationality for explaining or establishing certain power relations. Michael Calvin McGee and Martha A. Martin (1983) describe ideological argumentation as a process that ‘characteristically avoids difficult entanglement in the specifics of its subject matter, seeking rather to settle problems by establishing or amplifying the ‘common’ morality of the community’ (p. 60). According to Michael Weiler (1993), ideology may masquerade as argument when it ‘presents itself in the form of rational, philosophical argument. It presents theses and gives reasons. It supports these reasons not with divine revelation or royal pronouncement but with scientific, empirical evidence’ (p. 25).
The Bush rhetoric here in contrast to that of the Blair administration is indicative of important amplified rhetorical differences in the global war on terror where the stakes of the controversy are mystified by appeals to common morality. This is not to suggest that the underlying ideology in the war on terror has shifted. Rather its articulation has moved from pronouncements to a type of presentation of ideological claims as a form of reasoning. By retooling its rhetorical strategy, Bush administration officials argued that the attacks were symptomatic of a battle in the war on terror, but also began to emphasize the ongoing, ideological nature of the battle perverting Islam to account for the shifting nature of the global battlefield.
I find Bush’s rhetoric here to be indicative of his administration’s shift to an overt ideological argumentative struggle that mystifies the stakes of war and legitimate legal mechanisms to pursue criminals; this struggle continues to pitch ideology at the center of its justifications for continued efforts in the war on terror. You might recall that since September 11th Bush had emphasized the ongoing nature of the war. But, his advisors were more cautionary. In July 2005, however, DefenseSecretary Donald Rumsfeld began to characterize ‘a global struggle against violent extremism’, replacing his earlier emphasis and application of ‘the global war on terror’. Gen. Richard B. Myers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, spoke of the redefinition publicly before the National Press Club, stating that he had ‘objected to the use of the term ‘war on terrorism’ before, because if you call it a war, then you think of people in uniform as being the solution’. He said the threat instead should be defined as violent extremists, with the recognition that ‘terror is the method they use’ (qtd. in Schmitt & Shanker, July 26, 2005, p. 7). And argued, future efforts require ‘all instruments of our national power, all instruments of the international communities national power’ (qtd. in Schmitt & Shanker, July 26, 2005, p. 7). The solution is ‘more diplomatic, more economic, more political than it is military’ (qtd. in Schmitt & Shanker, July 26, 2005, p. 7). Steven J. Hadley, the national security adviser, repeated the refrain, arguing ‘It is more than just a military war on terror. It’s broader than that. It’s a global struggle against extremism. We need to dispute both the gloomy vision and offer a positive alternative’ (qtd. in Schmitt & Shanker, July 26, 2005, p. 7).

Clearly these high-ranking Bush administration officials were going on the offensive, with a rhetorical attempt to bolster the Bush administrations anti-terror efforts in the wake of the London bombings. By focusing the war effort to address the ideology of Islamist extremism (rather than other threats posed by other streams of religious extremism, for example) the Bush administration was making an express commitment and argument to adapt its war arguments to the new situation. The rhetorical choice widened the circumference on the war, to that of a violent ideology from that of a method. By redefining the threat from that of a localized al-Qaeda to that of a ‘war on terror’ to a more specific ‘Islamic extremism’, the new rhetoric took aim at dozens of so-qualified groups. Moreover, members of the Bush administration clarified that the sacrifice, rather than be borne primarily by military, seems to ask more from the public to safeguard the homeland:
Douglas J. Feith, the under secretary of defense for policy, said in an interview that if the nation’s efforts were limited to ‘protecting the homeland and attacking and disrupting terrorist networks, you’re on a treadmill that is likely to get faster and faster with time’. The key to ‘ultimately winning the war’, he said, ‘is addressing the ideological part of the war that deals with how the terrorists recruit and indoctrinate new terrorists’. (Schmitt & Shanker, July 26, 2005, p. 7)

The difficulty with this rhetorical choice, however, is that it was widely recognized for its partisanship, at odds more or less with the Bush administration’s previous rhetorical strategy. While at the same time our nation’s interest in terrorism clearly remains separate and unique, the shift in rhetorical strategy to the struggle against global extremism functions to ‘join and separate’ (Burke, 1961, pp. 544-545); to articulate a global vision while at the same time maintaining the United States’ manifest destiny. The divisions among people, among nations, require rhetoric to establish unity through alliances, or commonality in national interests. At the same time, the choice was belied by the administration’s rhetorical motivations.

President Bush and his advisors did not decide to abandon the use of ‘war on terror’ rhetoric altogether. On the contrary, the Friday prior to General Meyer’s pronouncement in the shift of rhetorical strategy, the President called on Congress to renew the Patriot Act as part of its commitment to the War on Terror (Russell, July 28, 2005, p. A16). However, the speech also marked an end to a short period of rhetorical ambiguity from the Bush administration after the London bombings. As a number of commentators noted:
Perhaps we can laud the Bush administration for moving away from one simplification to another. After all the ‘the global struggle against the enemies of freedom, the enemies of civilization’, which Rumsfeld at one time tried to use does not exactly roll off the tongue (qtd. in, ‘If not war, what? By any name, the reality is grim’, July 29, 2005, p. B8)
During the 2004 election campaign there were many moments when candidate George Bush tried to refocus the nation away from the war on terror. For example, Bush’s August 6th, 2004 remarks to the UNITY: Journalists of Color convention in Washington included his opinion: ‘We actually misnamed the war on terror, it ought to be the struggle against ideological extremists who do not believe in free societies who happen to use terror as a weapon to try to shake the conscience of the free world. [laughter] No, that’s what they do. They use terror to – and they use it effectively, because we’ve got good hearts. We’re people of conscience, they aren’t. They will cut off a person’s head like that, and not even care about it. That’s why I tell you, you can’t talk sense to them’.

The New York Sun reported the laughter at Bush’s remark but that ‘the President made it clear he was not joking’. In a September 6, 2004, column, United Press International homeland and national security editor Shaun Waterman wrote that Bush repeated the remark, ‘stripped of hyperbole, in all seriousness’. Yet, in July editorials from global newspapers lampooned the Bush administration’s rebranding efforts. For example, a Sacramento Bee editorial opined, ‘If not war, what? By any name, the reality is grim’. The rebranding exercise was clear and exposed, from the London’s The Daily Telegraph to Al Jazeera.
In London, no one claimed that everything changed after 7/7. Tony Blair did not make pronouncements declaring war on the dead bombers. Clearly there were terrible mistakes made in the investigation when British intelligence services went hunting for conspirators in the attack, and fatally shot Electrician Jean Charles de Menezes on July 22nd, 2005. Yet, the police took responsibility and apologized for the fatal error. The Metropolitan Police Chief, Ian Blair, in fact articulated many citizens desire to continue on with their July 6th police force, and that the public – not bureaucrats or a special department of homeland security should decide what they want.

Most recently Ian Blair gave a rousing speech on November 16, 2005 laying out the stakes of this public discussion and the consequences for Britain as it hosts the Olympics. He asked:
What could and will Britain and its police be like in seven years time? … 7th July asked – and continues to ask – questions of those assertions. So, when I ask ‘what kind of police service do we want?’, I have an assumption: we want a 6th July police service, not a 7th July police service … However, we can’t have that to which 6th July aspired without understanding 7th July … That deeply regrettable death makes even louder the question, ‘what kind of police service do we want?’ And here I come to the second question, which is ‘who is to decide?’ and I return to my story about running back that far. Despite my whole professional lifetime in policing, I believe it should be you, not me, who decides what kind of police we want ….

In contrast to the United States’ post-September 11th experience, the Bush administration utilized the terror attack to justify a range of homeland security policies and shift in National Security Strategy (Cohen, 2004a, 2004b) and in contrast with presidential attempts to handle terrorist episodes (Winkler, 2005).
Bush’s most recent rhetoric, rhetoric after July 7th, worked to transcend the fundamental dilemmas of his war on terror in light of global terrorist episodes: how to reaffirm the hegemonic role of the United States while maintaining the global nature of the war on terror; and how to reconcile the escalating global loss of life due to terror attacks abroad while maintaining the United States special connection and recognition of a ‘post-9/11’ threat to U.S. soil.
President Bush’s October 6, 2005 speech at the National Endowment for Democracy provides a recent extended exemplar of the administration’s ideological argumentation where he articulates the military threat posed by militants as ‘part of global, borderless terrorist organizations like al Qaeda, which spreads propaganda, and provides financing and technical assistance to local extremists, and conducts dramatic and brutal operations like September the 11th. Other militants are found in regional groups, often associated with al Qaeda – paramilitary insurgencies and separatist movements in places like Somalia, and the Philippines, and Pakistan, and Chechnya, and Kashmir, and Algeria. Still others spring up in local cells, inspired by Islamic radicalism, but not centrally directed. Islamic radicalism is more like a loose network with many branches than an army under a single command. Yet these operatives, fighting on scattered battlefields, share a similar ideology and vision for our world’. Although there are many notable aspects of this speech, Bush takes the moment to reaffirm the centrality of Iraq to a front in the global war on terrorism and uses Bin Landen’s rhetoric as evidence to support the Bush administration’s prior ideological pronouncements, arguing:
Bin Laden has stated: ‘The whole world is watching this war and the two adversaries. It’s either victory and glory, or misery and humiliation’. The terrorists regard Iraq as the central front in their war against humanity. And we must recognize Iraq as the central front in our war on terror.

Bush warns his audience of a possible domino effect arguing that miltants controling one country will ‘rally the Muslim masses, enabling them to overthrow all moderate governments in the region, and establish a radical Islamic empire that spans from Spain to Indonesia. With greater economic and military and political power, the terrorists would be able to advance their stated agenda: to develop weapons of mass destruction, to destroy Israel, to intimidate Europe, to assault the American people, and to blackmail our government into isolation’. Finally, he describes the war on terror again by pronouncing its ideological terms, stating:
We’re facing a radical ideology with inalterable objectives: to enslave whole nations and intimidate the world. No act of ours invited the rage of the killers – and no concession, bribe, or act of appeasement would change or limit their plans for murder. On the contrary: They target nations whose behavior they believe they can change through violence. Against such an enemy, there is only one effective response: We will never back down, never give in, and never accept anything less than complete victory.

In so doing, Bush utilized Zarqawi’s words identifying Americans as “the most cowardly of God’s creatures’ to challenge the public to take courageous action. Courage here is equivocal to staying the course in Iraq, to pursuing the war on terror, and the ’cause of freedom’ articulated by the Bush administration since September 11th. The problem with the articulation of the struggle is that it equivocates an ideological struggle, marked by sporadic violence, to the armed conflict imposed by murderous dictators using the powers of their military industrial complexes. The implications of this rhetoric is important both from a moral and legalistic perspective. As O’Connell (2006) suggests, until 9/11 the United States and Britain had the same position towards terror episodes. The sporadic nature of terrorism means that they will not generally, by themselves, amount to armed conflict: ‘International terrorism implies the intermittent use or threat of force against person(s) to obtain certain political objectives of international relevance from a third party…. [T]he intermittent factor, which is a hallmark of terrorism, excludes it from constituting war per se. But … terrorist tactics may be adopted in war for the purpose of guerilla warfare’ (in O’Connell, 2006,np; see also (O’Connell, 2005). The British have long held that:
‘It is the understanding of the United Kingdom that the term ‘armed conflict’ of itself and in its context denotes a situation of a kind which is not constituted by the commission of ordinary crimes including acts of terrorism whether concerted or in isolation’ (Sassoli, 2004). American presidential rhetoric for decades also failed to equate terrorism with armed conflict, and terrorists as having state status. The distinction, as O’Connell notes is legally significant. The counter-attack for September 11th occurred on October 7th when the U.S. dropped its first bombs on targets in Afghanistan, creating combatants in Afghanistan not worldwide. However, in the Bush administration’s most recent ideological argumentation the administration is arguing that the global war on terror is a real war. That is, they equate the sporadic attacks by Al Queda on U.S. targets as an armed conflict and ideological conflict as grounds for armed conflict. I follow a number of scholars, particularly legal scholars such as O’Connell (2006) who have made this case more eloquently on grounds of international law, that ‘it is time to drop the war on terror rhetoric, and it is time to get the country into compliance with international and U.S. law’.

REFERENCES
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Burke, K. (1961). The rhetoric of religion: Studies in logology. Boston: Beacon Press.
Bush, G. W. (June 28, 2005). War update. Retrieved June 11, 2005, from http://www.presidentialrhetoric.com/speeches/06.28.05.html
Bush, G. W. (September 11, 2001). Statement by the president in his address to the nation. Retrieved October 1, 2001, from http://www.whitehouse.gove/news/releases/2001/09/20010911-16.html
Bush, G. W. (September 13, 2001). National day of prayer and remembrance for the victims of the terrorist attacks, by the president of the United States of America a proclamation. Retrieved May 1, 2002 Bush, G. W. (September 14, 2001). President’s remarks at national day of prayer and remembrance. Retrieved September 21, 2003, from http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010914-2.html
Cloud, D. (2003). Therapy, silence and war: Consolation and the end of deliberation in the ‘affected’ public. POROI, 2(1), http://inpress.lib.uiowa.edu/poroi/papers/cloud030816.html.
Cohen, E. L. (2004a). Crafting homeland security: The rhetoric of responsibility, security, and democratic practice. In: T. Suzuki (Ed.), Proceedings of the 2nd Tokyo international conference on argumentation. Tokyo, Japan: Japanese Debate Association.
Cohen, E. L. (2004b). National security strategy and the ideology of preventive war. In: L. Artz & Y. R. Lamalipour (Eds.), Bring-em on! Media and politics in the U.S. War on iraq. Chicago: Roman & Littlefield.
Cohen, E. L. (2005). Congressiona; debate over the 2001 patriot act: Arguments for consensus, error-correction, and expediency. In: C. A. Willard (Ed.), Critical problems in argumentation (pp. 779-786). Washington, D.C.: National Communication Association.
Daniszewski, J. (July 8, 2005). Terrorists strike in London; at least 38 killed, 700 wounded in subway, bus blasts. Los Angeles Times, p. A1.
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If not war, what? By any name, the reality is grim. (July 29, 2005). Sacramento Bee, p. B8.
McGee, M. C. & M.A. Martin (1983). Public knowledge and ideological argumentation. Communication Monographs, 40, 47-65.
O’Connell, M. E. (2005). Enhancing the status of non-state actors through a global war on terrorism. Columbia Journal of Transnational Law, 43, 435.
O’ Connell, M. E. (2006). Law, not war: The British example in the face of terrorism. Jurist: Legal News and Research, from http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/forumy/2005/07/lawnot-war-british-example-in-face-of.php
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This paper is a response to Tom Goodnight’s ‘rationale for inquiry’ into ‘science and technology controversy’, which was recently published in the forum section of Argumentation and Advocacy.

My first response to his published essay was printed in the same issue of that journal, as were responses by Alan Gross, Carolyn Miller and John Lyne. My purpose in this second response is to summarize some similarities in the arguments that Miller, Lyne and I independently presented in that published forum, and to offer a new critique of the language used to discuss science and technology controversy.
Gross’s response to Goodnight’s call to arms was to reenlist and begin preparing his armaments; he laid out theoretical frameworks for the analysis of scientific controversy borrowed from Joseph Gusfield, Victor Turner, and Jürgen Habermas.
Miller, Lyne and I, who like Gross are career rhetoricians of science, took a somewhat different approach when writing our responses. While we were excited to hear a call for the further support of a segment of our field, we could not help but also act as critics of the argument that Goodnight offered. While failing to advance theoretical frameworks of our own, we did suggest that there might be some problems with the initial map of the field that Goodnight sketched.
All three of us focused on Goodnight’s characterization of science and technology controversy as being generated from a contest between ‘traditional culture’ and ‘modernity’, ‘between community and society, between lifeworld and systems-world’ (p. 27), a repeated ‘struggle between prudencebased reason and modern reasoning [or reasoning] from science/technology’ (p. 28).
Invoking Habermas, Goodnight suggests that ‘systemsworld reasoning’ is ‘usurping lifeworld functions, at too high a price’, and at the same time, science is becoming ‘increasingly tied down by the practices of party politics’ (p. 27).
In response, he says, science and controversy studies should ‘engage the nexuses among risks deliberated from traditionbased, prudential reasoning or assessed by contemporary epistemic strategies’, and find a way to help public deliberation ‘continually negotiate its status, evolve, and reclaim its powers on either side of a divide between forces that would irreparably politicize science or progressively scientize the lifeworld’ (p. 28).

Miller, Lyne and I, well-trained debaters all, recognized an antithesis when we saw one, and we decided it was our duty to complicate it. Miller, looking to some cases of science controversy about which she’s written, points out that what strikes her the most in these studies is ‘the strategic instability of the distinction between epistemic and policy issues, between expert and public forums’ (p. 36). This, she suggests, is evidence that ‘the public sphere and the technical sphere are more intimately intertwined – and perhaps more similar to each other than Professor Goodnight’s earlier work maintains’ (p. 37). ‘Controversy in the technical sphere can involve ambiguity, emotion, and multiple forms of power, much like deliberation in the public sphere’, says Miller.

‘And controversy in the public sphere often is shaped and constrained by influences from the technical sphere’ (p. 37).

Lyne makes a similar point in describing his research on evolutionary biology controversies. He says: ‘In view of Goodnight’s narrative about the negotiation of a livable set of trade-offs between prudential reasoning and modern epistemic techniques, between the lifeworld and science, it is interesting to see the rhetorics of scientific modernity and common sense being used on all sides’ of the debate over evolution (p. 39). As such, says Lyne, ‘it seems best to acknowledge the commingling of science and common sense. The forces of modernity and traditional culture are no pure strains, but already-entangled provinces of meaning, semiotically constituted in reference to each other’ (p. 40).

In my own response in that journal, I move beyond description of the similarities between public and technical spheres to prescription, arguing that ‘there may be moments when we want to resist the urge to parse the elements of a controversy along the two-cultures divide, or even celebrate ‘the scientific-ity of modern life and the rhetoric-ity of modern science’; moments ‘when choosing not to police the borders between the technical and public spheres, encouraging some migration between the two, or even refusing to recognize those borders, is the best way to achieve the goal that Goodnight sets out for science and technology controversy study, [that is,] to reconfigure overall debate to more productive, sustainable, and equitable trajectories of disagreement’ (p. 32). To emphasize my point, I reverse the terms of Goodnight’s antithesis, arguing that we should seek to help public deliberation ‘reclaim its powers on either side of a divide between forces that would fail to recognize the inescapably political nature of science or that would refuse to respect the scientific expertise of those rare public rhetors who show that they are capable of contributing to the technical controversy’ (p. 32).
In our responses, all three of us rhetorical critics describe conditions where Goodnight’s antithesis does, or should, break down. Miller talks about the ‘contact zone’ which is in neither the expert or public realm, where backstage brokers exert their power in formulating science policy (p. 37). Lyne talks about the ‘third culture’, in which articulate celebrity scientists take on the role of public intellectuals (p. 40); he’s also encouraged by the rise of the Intelligent Design community, ‘where strategies that may not be rooted principally in science can incorporate elements of science’ (p. 40). I personally do not find as much encouragement there, but I do find encouragement in rhetorician of science Celeste Condit, who learned a great deal of biological science and then worked to publish her rhetorical critiques in scientific journals. Rather than only address other rhetoricians, Condit crosses the cultural divide and uses both common sense and epistemic reasoning to make a controversy out of the unreflective practices of scientists (like, for example, the assumption that brain differences between males and females should be researched rather than brain similarities between the sexes).

What may be the most telling example of the crossing of prudential reasoning with modern scientific reasoning is Goodnight’s own rhetorical call to theorize science and technology controversy. Insofar as Goodnight’s essay identifies the generating factors of science and technology ontroversy,describes the three forms it takes, and outlines five general statements to initiate the field of inquiry, I think it participates in a form of epistemic reasoning, proposing the theorization of this field as any good scientific paper might. But at the same time, Goodnight adopts the rhetorician’s preference for prudential reasoning when he recognizes that ‘each science/technology controversy is itself a singularity’ and when he says he’s tempted to resist the impulse to offer universals: ‘Instead, let us not theorize the spaces of contention’ he proclaims, right before initiating the theorization of the spaces of contention. Walking a fine line between the two cultures, he shows that sometimes the prudent thing to do is to adopt modern epistemic techniques.
Perhaps I am being imprudent then in embracing Goodnight’s initial call to not theorize the spaces of contention. As a scholar firmly situated in the humanities, I consider myself a rhetorical critic first and foremost, and I like to think that I turn to theory only when it can help me to illuminate the particular case. There are too many differences between cases and too many exceptions to the rule for me to feel comfortable about making large pronouncements concerning the generating forces, forms, or processes of science and technology controversy.
But I am comfortable examining multiple particular cases to illustrate the possibilities available to rhetors who seek to reconfigure discourse into ‘more productive, sustainable, and equitable trajectories’. And there have been many cases studied by rhetoricians of science over the last twenty years that I think we would do well to review in getting a better understanding of what can happen in controversy over science and technology. A preliminary look at some cases mentioned in this forum conversation suggests to me that paradoxically, two of the most interesting situations for critics of argumentation today arise not when there is science and technology controversy, but when that controversy is lacking.

First, there is the situation when science and technology controversy should exist but it is being suppressed. The case of the alleged biological effects of non-ionizing electromagnetic fields is an example. Carolyn Miller has studied this case of disagreement between epidemiologists and physicists, and concludes that the controversy is muted ‘because there is now virtually no funding for research on this issue in the United States; the policy dimensions of the controversy have tilted in favor of those who deny the biological effects of non-ionizingradiation, in part because policy-makers have been more willing to listen to them, in part because extra-scientific interests have been able to exert pressure in this direction’ (p. 35). It seems to me that this is a case in which the proper role of the argumentation critic may be to create controversy, or at least to amplify the dampened voice of the less powerful side in a scientific debate, adopting the sophistic ethic to ‘make the weaker case the stronger’ in a public forum.
Other similar cases might include the effort to create a controversy about what scientists consider a legitimate set of research questions in brain sex studies, or what the government deems a safe site for the storage of nuclear waste, or how determined our behavior is by the genes passed down to us by our Paleolithic ancestors.
In these cases, the scientifically-informed rhetorician can play the role of ‘third culture’ public intellectual as well as, if not better than, the rhetorically-informed scientist. The rhetorician can tell the story of a controversy that truly comes into focus only as a result of the well-researched argumentation analysis that we develop.
The second situation that argumentation scholars should find especially interesting right now is the flip side of the first: when controversy does not exist but is being manufactured as a rhetorical tool to serve the ends of a particular group. For example, the scientists who I invited to debate the Intelligent Design supporters in my public debate course earlier this year told me that there is no scientific controversy over evolution, and so they would not stoop to debating it in a public forum. Of course, that left the nonscientist observers in my class without an understanding of why evolutionary scientists reject the critiques of their heory, and forced those students to make an uninformed decision as to whether or not ‘Intelligent Design’ was in fact a legitimate scientific theory set in controversy against the current paradigm. Maybe this is a case where scientifically-informed critics of argumentation can take the place of scientists uncertain about their rhetorical skills and fearful of being outdebated by their opponents. In this case, it would be the proper role of the rhetorician to adopt Aristotle’s ethic to make the stronger case really appear the stronger to an uninformed public.

A similar case concerns the current scientific thinking surrounding global warming. One of the most compelling examples of criticism that I have seen lately on the matter of science and technology controversy was offered by Al Gore in the documentary An Inconvenient Truth and in his accompanying book. Filmed in front of one of the many audiences for his traveling slide-show-enhanced speech, Gore relayed the results of a study that was published in Science magazine of 928 randomly selected peer-reviewed scientific articles on global warming. He asked his audience: ‘After reading these articles, how many did the research team discover to be in doubt as to the cause of global warming?’ With a click of the slide advancer, he revealed the answer to that question: zero. Gore then relayed the results of a second study published in Science magazine, this one examining 636 articles in the popular press about global warming. ‘What percentage of these newspaper articles relayed doubt as to the cause of global warming’ – 53% – a stark contrast to that big zero that filled the other side of the screen to represent scientific articles that were in doubt about global warming. This presented a powerful conclusion to Gore’s argument that the oil industry has been successful in creating the public perception of a scientific controversy where one does not actually exist.
In this movie, filled with powerful and accessible arguments about the science of global warming, Gore adopts the stance of the scientifically-informed rhetorical critic, exploring the argumentation in scientific and public texts and making the case that scientists so far have been unable to persuasively make to the public. It seems to me that there is a niche here waiting to be filled by argumentation scholars who can move between scientific and public texts to expose thosecontroversies that are manufactured and that work against thepublic interest.

So this is my call for inquiry, to supplement Goodnight’s invitation to (re)initiate the study of science and technology controversy. I think we should not only accept Goodnight’s invitation, but we should also turn our attention to those cases where controversy is lacking (either because it is being suppressed, or because the controversy is itself a deception created by those whose interests are served by the illusion of keeping the debate open). And we should take care to adapt our analysis to the particular case. At times we should strengthen the borders between technical and public spheres, protecting life-world functions from colonization by systemsworld reasoning, and vice versa. But at other times, we might find it more appropriate to blur the boundaries, recognizing the ways in which scientists use forms of rhetoric thatare drawn from the public sphere and also recognizing that some public speakers are capable of employing technical reason in critiquing science on its own terms. And finally, there are times when we should point out that the drawing of boundaries between spheres by arguers is itself a part of the controversy.

In the final lines of this paper, I would like to make one more point about science and technology controversy as a field of inquiry. As self-reflective rhetoricians, I think we should be as sensitive about the linguistic choices we make as we are about the ones we study. When it comes to scholarship about science and technology controversy, the metaphors we use reveal a lot about how we are envisioning the field and our role in studying it.
The metaphor used most often in Goodnight’s essay compares controversy with ‘vast weather systems and disturbances’: disagreements ‘erupt’ each a ‘ripple’ in the larger exchange, disputes ‘rush outwards’ macro-disputes ‘swirl and eddy across the globe’, controversies ‘gather into themselves tensions’ each is a ‘singularity, drawing [different issues] into the vortex of disagreement’ as it ‘gathers force’ (p. 26-27).
Part of me likes this metaphor. It suggests that the controversies we study are complex -– forces of nature that are timeless, ubiquitous, and important. But another part of me fears the implications that follow, namely, that rhetoricians, in studying controversies, are taking on the role of that most disrespected of scientists, the weather forecaster (you know, that ‘expert’ seen on your local television station making lame repartee with the anchors and offering predictions that often turn out to be wrong). Or worse, insofar as we ‘aspire to channel or reconfigure the overall debate to more productive, sustainable, equitable trajectories of disagreement’, we are aligning ourselves with weather workers – rain-makers who travel to remote farming communities along with snake-oil salesmen and carnival sideshows. Are we setting ourselves up for failure by imagining controversies as vast weather-systems?

The other metaphor that Goodnight uses compares controversy to a disease. He says: ‘Controversies do not so much die out as become dormant, only to reappear in a more virulent form later’ (p. 27). The ‘colonization’ metaphor he uses aligns with this one as well, suggesting that the encroachment of creatures from one sphere into another will lead to disaster for the host. Lyne picks up this metaphor as well. He says: ‘One could, for instance, think of [science and technology controversies] epidemiologically, and follow their routes of transmission’ (38). This metaphor places rhetoricians in a more prestigious role (we become doctors or biomedical scientists, cultural heroes who save the day by healing the public), but it regrettably treats controversy in rather negative terms, as something to be prevented or cured.
I do not have the perfect metaphor to recommend as a replacement, nor do I think there ultimately is a perfect metaphor; the appropriate metaphor varies according to the purposes we want to put each particular study. But I think it would be good for us to discuss this a bit, to see which metaphors fit best with our goals as we describe science and technology controversy, analyze it, critique it, and offer recommendations for changing it.

REFERENCES
Ceccarelli, L. M. (2005). Let Us (Not) Theorize the Spaces of Contention. Argumentation and Advocacy 42,1, 30-33.
Goodnight, G. T. (2005). Science and Technology Controversy: A Rationale for Inquiry. Argumentation and Advocacy 42,1, 26-29.
Gore, A. (2006). An Inconvenient Truth. Emmaus, Pennsylvania: Rodale.
Gross, A. (2005). Scientific and Technical Controversy: Three Frameworks for Analysis. Argumentation and Advocacy 42,1, 43-47.
Guggenheim, D. (2006). An Inconvenient Truth. USA: Paramount.
Miller, C. R. (2005). Risk, Controversy, and Rhetoric: Response to Goodnight. Argumentation and Advocacy 42,1, 34-37.
Lyne, J. (2005). Science Controversy, Common Sense, and the Third Culture. Argumentation and Advocacy 42,1, 38-42.