ISSA Proceedings 2002 – The Relationships Among Logic, Dialectic And Rhetoric

logo  2002-11. Introduction
A consideration of the relationship among logic, dialectic and rhetoric was found already in the work of Plato and Aristotle and others in the first golden age of Western philosophy, and this relationship has received attention down through Western history (see the historical observations in Krabbe 2000, Hohmann 2000, and Leff 2000). The late 20th century argumentation scholarly community was reminded of its salience (see Wenzel, 1980) and has returned to its examination. In the last five years or so, a flurry of activity has raised the profile of these questions in this community, particularly with the focus on how dialectic and rhetoric and their relationships bear on the identification, interpretation and assessment of arguments and argumentation (see the special issues of Argumentation edited by Hansen and Tindale 1998, and by van Eemeren and Houtlosser 2000a).

In the English-speaking philosophical community, in contrast, there has been little attention to argumentation at all, to say nothing of the relations among logic, dialectic and rhetoric. (The work of Henry W. Johnstone, Jr. is a noteworthy exception.) However, in the last thirty years a small number of philosophers, some of whom characterize their field (for rhetorical reasons) as “informal logic,” have been working out the implications of expanding the analysis and assessment of arguments beyond the identification of the deductive or entailment relationships they might exhibit. In broadening the scope of their perspective in this way, they initially (and belatedly) recognized the bearing of dialectic (see, for instance, Blair and Johnson, 1987), and more recently, the importance of rhetoric (see, for instance, Tindale, 1999). In doing so, they raise for themselves the question of the relationship among the three.

So, under the influence of the recent attention to rhetoric and to the relation between dialectic and rhetoric by the broader community of argumentation, and also due to their own internal theoretical development, some philosophers working in informal logic have come to an interest in these issues. It is from this historical situation that my own interest in this topic arises. This paper is an attempt to come to grips with the relationship of these three fields or perspectives. To begin, I explain the senses of logic, dialectic and rhetoric used in the paper. If the paper has a thesis, part of it is that there is no one type of relationship among these three, but rather several – at least four, and there may be more. For each of these types of ways the three can be related, the question arises as to how they in fact are related. The other part of the paper’s thesis is that even for each type there is not always only one way the three are related.

2. The concepts of logic, dialectic and rhetoric used in this paper
Logic
According to the Amsterdam school, argumentation is, or is most perspicuously to be interpreted as if it were, a particular kind of speech event (van Eemeren and Grootendorst 1984, 1992). As I understand it, according to the Pragma-Dialectical theory, argumentation presupposes an expressed disagreement. The word ‘disagreement’ is here used in a technical way, to denote a lack of complete identity of commitment. For example, if Anna states confidently that a certain restaurant will be open, and Ben, knowing that Anna sometimes has misplaced confidence in such things but no particular reason to doubt that she is right in this case, responds, “I hope so,” then Anna and Ben have a disagreement in the sense in question. So at a minimum, argumentation presupposes an expressed disinclination of at least one party to commit to precisely the same position or “standpoint” that another party expressedly does commit to, regardless of how similar their positions are otherwise. They disagree at least on some specifiable particular point. If the parties decide to try to settle their disagreement by engaging in a discussion, and the ensuing exchange is properly regulated, that is, regulated by the norms necessary and sufficient to procure a rational resolution of the disagreement, then (among other things) each party defends its position using logically-acceptable arguments. Such arguments are thus components of the overall communicative interaction of argumentation.

It is possible to consider arguments apart from their use in argumentation so conceived. Even each party in a Pragma-Dialectical “critical discussion” must consider both which arguments to offer or express and also which arguments on offer or expressed by other parties to accept. To be sure, the context of argumentation is essential to the interpretation of the arguments, but once they are interpreted in light of that context, one must consider their “logic.” By considering their logic, I mean that if it is an argument on offer, one can ask, “Do the grounds offered make it rational for me to accept the position they allegedly support?” If it is an argument one is considering offering and one is committed to a rational resolution of the disagreement, one can ask, “Do the grounds make it rational for me and my interlocutor to accept the position in support of which I am considering offering them?” To my knowledge no one has established that arguments cannot, ideally, be used for other purposes besides the rational resolution of disagreement. If it turns out that arguments can be put to other uses, then the question of their “logic” can be raised in those other contexts as well.

If one wants to reserve the word ‘argument’ to denote reasons that someone is publicly committed to, then we would need another word for the organized thoughts entertained by an interlocutor independently of whether he or she makes them public. We might then speak of the interlocutor’s reasoning, and so of the logic of his or her reasoning. And we do speak this way. However, no one owns the word ‘argument,’ and there is a long and respectable history in philosophy, and in non-technical English as well, of referring to such potential contributions to argumentative discourse as “arguments” and “reasoning” more or less interchangeably, whether or not they end up as someone’s public commitments.

My use of the word ‘logic’ might seem idiosyncratic to scholars who identify themselves as logicians. For example, Woods has said that “no theory is a logic if it lacks proof procedures” (1995, 192). To my knowledge there are no proof procedures available to answer the question that I’ve just suggested it is a task of logic to answer, namely, whether the grounds on offer make it rational to accept the position they are adduced to support. I stand to be corrected by logicians, but taking Woods as authoritative, the term ‘logic,’ “strictly speaking,” would denote the study of, and systems of, proof procedures for the necessary or entailment relations among sets of sentences, for different kinds of operator. Understanding ‘logic’ in this way, one can speak of examining the “logic” of someone’s argument or reasoning when one means examining it to see whether the premise sets used entail the conclusions derived from them according to some logical system. But as is well-known, logical validity in this sense is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition of a rational or reasonable argument. My use of ‘logic’ – Woods might say, my corrupt use of ‘logic’ – has the virtue of allowing for the possibility that reasoning or an argument might be logical in the sense that it is rational to use it or to accept it, even if its premises do not entail its conclusion. For instance, it might be invalid yet inductively strong, or it might be invalid but highly plausible. Or it might be invalid as it stands, but open to reconstruction that makes it valid if and only if some additional premise is accepted. In the latter case it becomes necessary, in order to decide whether the enriched premise set that entails the conclusion should be taken to be the argument, to decide whether it is reasonable to believe or accept that additional premise, which is not a logical question in the strict sense of ‘logic.’

Some (e.g., Goldman 1985, Pinto 1994) have said that, understood in the broad sense, logic is not an independent field, but a branch of epistemology. Johnson (2000, 281-283) has listed a number of reasons for resisting the reduction of  logic in the broad sense to epistemology, but even if he is wrong, that implication is no reductio objection against using ‘logic’ in this broad way, because the arguments for the subsumption of such logic under epistemology rely precisely on distinguishing it from logic in the strict sense. Anyone who wants to reserve the word ‘logic’ for logic in the strict sense might allow the term ‘informal logic’ to designate what I am calling logic in the broad sense.

However, let us resist terminological imperialism. One need not favour terminological anarchy to hold that if there is a healthy tradition of the use of a word in a certain way, that gives it some claim to legitimacy, even if it lacks the theoretical purity of a technical sense assigned to it by some science. Nobody owns the language, and just as the Pragma-Dialectical school does not own the word ‘argument,’ so too professional logicians do not own the word ‘logic.’ They are of course free to assign to it a precise technical sense for their purposes, but if others use it in other ways, logicians have no business telling them that on that ground alone they are misusing the word. What logicians can do is point out that this other use is different from theirs, and it can be important to keep that fact in mind. However, to declare that the term ‘informal logic’ is a solecism, as Hintikka has done as one criticism of informal logic (1989, 13), is irrelevant to the question of the legitimacy of the enterprise that is carried on under that name. Hintikka’s reasoning is like saying that the name ‘football’ is a solecism for a game that requires the player to carry the ball in his hands, and from that observation drawing the inference that there is something wrong with American or Canadian football. But that point aside, there is a perfectly good use of ‘logic’ according to which an argument’s logic can be deemed acceptable although the premises do not entail the conclusion and can be deemed faulty although they do entail the conclusion.

Dialectic
In evaluating the reasoning or the arguments in argumentation for various purposes, we are interested in their logical strength. To be sure, their logic can enter into the prior identification and interpretation of arguments, because one indication that a piece of discourse is an argument is that it contains a logically cogent case for a claim. In addition, even where situational and textual indicators suggest independently that an argument is present, what argument the discourse is taken to contain can be a function of what reconstruction of it is logically cogent as support for a claim. However, the principal reason we want to identify and interpret argumentative discourse is because we are interested in evaluating the logical merits of the reasoning or arguments expressed in it, for some purpose or another. One primary reason for this interest is that we want to decide whether we ourselves should be convinced by that reasoning or by those arguments.

However, if we focus particularly on arguments used in argumentation, there is another dimension to be taken into account besides their logic, when considering their adequacy for various purposes. Argumentation constitutes an activity in which there is a question about whether, or at least why, a position is worthy of belief or acceptance. And typically there is more than a question. More often, doubt about a point of view or disagreement with it is either voiced or anticipated. The practice of argumentation presupposes the questioning of a point of view. Objections to a protagonist’s arguments, and arguments against the position a protagonist is supporting, have to be met by the protagonist. He or she has either to produce additional arguments or to explain why it is not necessary to do so. If dialectic is understood broadly as question-and-answer interchanges, then the practice of argumentation is inherently dialectical.

Why do objections “have to” be met? Why does the protagonist “have to” produce a reply, or explain why not? Why “must” argumentation be dialectical? What is the basis of this imperative?  First, there is the practical matter of convincing the interlocutor. If his or her objections are not answered, the argumentation will fail in its objective. So there can be and usually is a rhetorical basis for meeting dialectical challenges. Second, and quite apart from winning the argument or succeeding in persuading the interlocutor, if the protagonist argues for the position because he or she believes it to be true (or highly probable, or very plausible, or the best alternative, or worthy of acceptance on some other basis), then, in order to be fully justified in that belief, he or she must be able to answer not only this or that particular interlocutor’s objections, but any other reasonable objections that he or she can discover. To be sure, we allow for qualified assertions when the protagonist has made only a partial inquiry, and the extent of the search for possible objections required for full confidence in an assertion is a matter of debate (see the discussion of Johnson’s concept of a “dialectical tier”: Johnson 1996, Govier 1997, 1998, Johnson 2000a); but being able to deal with objections in general is a condition of reasonable belief. So there is an epistemic basis for meeting dialectical challenges as well (see Goldman, 2000).

The epistemic basis for requiring dialectical rejoinders in argumentation has a rationale that is related to the protagonist’s objective of rationally justified beliefs. The very practice of argumentation – of advancing arguments with the expectation of their making a difference to the beliefs, non-cognitive attitudes or conduct of others and of expecting others to supply arguments in support of positions they propose – would have no point without the background assumption that having, or giving, reasons is having or giving more than a rationalization. The practice of argumentation presupposes that having or giving arguments is rational in some sense (see also Biro and Siegel 1991, Johnson 2000b). At the least, it imposes a requirement of consistency with our current beliefs and attitudes. And if there are any foundational starting points for conduct or attitudes (including epistemic attitudes), argumentation is the means of tying our current beliefs and attitudes down to those foundations.

There seem to be various kinds of norms that characterize dialectical interchanges. Some might be called “house-keeping” rules, for they are rules that maintain a tidy exchange. “Wait for your turn” and “keep to one point at a time” are examples. Other rules are more centrally connected to the practice, and might be seen as defining it – that is, they are constitutive rules. “Meet the burden of proof” would be an example of a rule constitutive of argumentation’s dialectical aspect. What the burden of proof requirements are will vary according to the type of dialectical practice. For instance, the Pragma-Dialectical burden of proof rule is that he or she who asserts must defend if, but only if, challenged (van Eemeren and Grootendorst 1984, 161), whereas Johnson recommends that the he or she who asserts must defend unless exempted from doing so (2000b, 310). These different burden of proof rules entail, if not entirely different conceptions of argumentation, at least different purposes for it.

Some of the norms governing dialectical interchanges will be a function of the objectives of such interchanges. If you and I are arguing over some proposal we disagree about, for example, whether Able or Baker is the candidate to whom a position should be offered, and each of us has the objective of convincing the other, we will each have to answer the questions and respond to the challenges raised by the other, but no others, for once one of us has convinced the other, the objective has been met. If, on the other hand, you are trying to come to a reasoned opinion on some issue, for example, about whether the ban on killing whales should continue, you should not stop considering objections once you have looked at the arguments of actual interlocutors. Let us say that only the Japanese and the Norwegian governments have advanced arguments against the whaling ban. Your interest does not lie in refuting the Japanese and Norwegian position, but in deciding what position seems right, all things considered. Thus, besides considering the merits of the Japanese and Norwegian arguments against continuing the ban, you need to consider that there might other arguments, either against or in favour of the ban, that deserve consideration.

Rhetoric
The differences between arguments in conversations, in the simplest case organized by the turns of a two-party dialogue, and arguments in speeches, in which the requirements of addressing a heterogeneous audience and the expectations of different kinds of speech-making occasion make quite different demands on the speaker, were noted already by Aristotle, as Krabbe has reminded us (2000). Krabbe suggested that Aristotle took dialectic to be the practice and theory of conversations and rhetoric to be the practice and theory of speeches, recognizing that speeches can contain elements of conversations and conversations can contain elements of speeches. Dialectic gives us the rules for winning dialogue games; rhetoric gives us their counterpart for successful speeches.

One hesitates to differ with Aristotle, however, I am inclined to cut the pie differently. One can identify what might be called the pragmatic properties of argumentation in both conversations and speeches. There are the different possible purposes or goals of the argumentative discourse, often several at once, and there are all the properties of the various kinds of situation in which the argumentative discourse can occur, often with their associated conventions, that necessarily condition it, whoever may be the parties involved in the discourse. My suggestion is that we take rhetoric as a discipline to include the study of the norms for most effectively achieving those purposes in those situations, whether the discourse situation be a two-party conversation (such as between parent and child, between lovers, between colleagues, between dialogue-game players); or whether it be presentation to a small group (such as an academic talk, a summation before a jury, a contribution to a policy-making meeting); or whether it be an address to a large group (such as a political speech to hundreds of party faithful, or a sermon, or a commencement address); or whether it be a presentation to an absent audience, more or less specifiable (such as a journal article or a monograph or a magazine article or a televised address); and so on. We can then speak of the rhetorical (as well as the dialectical and logical) properties both of conversations and of speeches, and indeed of any kind of communication whatever, and we do not have to try to assimilate all sorts of different kinds of communication to one or the other branch of the conversation/speech dichotomy, or model them all as either conversations or speeches.

Whether rhetoric is to be restricted to providing the norms of just effective argumentative communication, or alternatively is to be considered to provide the norms of effective communication general, are questions I do not need to try to answer, for my interest lies in rhetoric as it applies to arguments and argumentation, whether that is the whole of rhetoric or only a part of it. (The former is Reboul’s position, see 1991; the latter the view of many American scholars of rhetoric, for example Foss, Foss and Trapp, see 1991, Introduction.)

The norms of rhetoric differ in kind from those of logic and dialectic. One expects the norms of rhetoric to vary with the practices of different cultures, so that communicative behaviour that might be tolerated or expected in one could be found offensive or surprising in another, even if the communication is of the same type. A philosophy lecture that fails to trace its topic back at least to Aristotle would not on that account be condemned in most circles in the United States, but it would be in some circles in France. What makes for effective communication in general, and for effective argumentative communication in particular, is something to be discovered by empirical research. Rhetorical norms are contingent. The norms of logic and dialectic, in contrast, are culturally invariant. The kind of support expected might vary with the subject-matter, being different in mathematics, chemistry, sociology, law, public policy deliberations, and so on. And there might be different dialectical norms for different forums, being different for academic discussions, for criminal trials, for parliamentary debates, and so on. But these differences are due to variations in methodology or to functional variations in these argumentative practices, not to cultural contingencies. And what constitutes entailment, or what makes for a good longitudinal epidemiological study, does not vary from one social situation to another. It is possible that there are universal psychological traits that result in certain kinds of rhetorical norms being culturally invariant, but it remains the case that such norms are contingent, unlike those of logic and dialectic, which are necessary relative to the systems in which they operate.

3. Types of relationships among logic, dialectic and rhetoric
Understanding logic, dialectic and rhetoric in relation to argument in these ways, the question arises as to how they might be related one to another. In what follows I distinguish four different types of possible relationship. 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 normative priority, and the fourth, that of priority of theoretical emphasis.

The conceptual or logical relation among logical, dialectical and rhetorical norms. Cohen (2001) has recently suggested that so far as the evaluation of arguments goes, the norms of logic, dialectic and rhetoric are logically (that is, conceptually) independent of one another[i]. According to Cohen, any argument may be assessed according to its logical cogency, its dialectical satisfactoriness and its rhetorical effectiveness. In addition, he suggests, an argument’s assessment according to one of these criteria will be independent of its assessment according to either of the others. Cohen’s view is thus a position on one type of relationship among the three perspectives, namely the logical relationship among the norms appropriate to each of them. It is a position on the question of the implications of an assessment of an argument according to the criteria of one of them for the assessment of the argument according to the criteria of either of the others. Cohen’s position on the question of this logical relationship is clear: “Arguers and their arguments,” he says, “can succeed or fail in three separate ways” (75). Thus, if he is right, where an argument fits according to the criteria of any one perspective will be logically independent of where it fits according to either of the others. In other words, there is no logical relationship – there are no implications – among evaluations from the logical, rhetorical and dialectical perspectives.

What might such a logical relationship look like, were it to exist? One has been urged by Johnson (2000b), whom I interpret to take the position that an argument is not logically adequate if it is dialectically incomplete. Johnson does not put his point quite this way. He says that an argument is logically adequate only if sufficient support is provided for its conclusion. But he also holds that sufficiency is a criterion of logic, and that support for a conclusion is not sufficient if there are objections to or other criticisms of the argument as stated so far that have not been dealt with (see Johnson, 2000b, Ch. 7). So in my way of talking, for Johnson, dialectical adequacy, at least in a certain respect, is necessary for logical adequacy. I take it that Johnson would therefore disagree with Cohen’s position.

I must add the qualification, “at least in a certain respect,” because there is more to dialectical adequacy than meeting the burden of proof. For instance, among other things it also requires providing explications and explanations when these are requested and it forbids argumentative moves that improperly limit the argumentative moves of the other parties. So, on Johnson’s account, dialectic is presupposed by logic in the respect that a necessary condition of an argument’s being logically adequate is that it be at least partly dialectically adequate. This implication seems to me right. A claim that is in question is hardly adequately supported by the grounds adduced in its support if those grounds do not include adequate responses to legitimate objections, whether to the claim itself or to the arguments put forward so far.

However, is the converse not also true? One would have thought that for a response to an objection to be dialectically adequate, it must be logically adequate. The Pragma-Dialectical theory, for example, requires as a rule of dialectical adequacy that the argumentation adduced in support of a standpoint be valid and correctly use an appropriate argumentation scheme (van Eemeren and Grootendorst 1992). That amounts to the view that logic is presupposed by dialectic in the respect that a necessary condition of an argument’s being dialectically adequate is that it be logically adequate. This implication also seems to me right. It is difficult to imagine acceptable rules of dialectic that allow logically bad arguments to count as dialectically satisfactory responses. The norms of dialectic and those of logic thus seem to be interdependent.

If this reasoning is correct and the satisfaction of the norms of logic require the satisfaction of some of the norms of dialectic, and conversely, the two perspectives are nonetheless different, because there is more to logic than dialectic and more to dialectic than logic. Dialectic has to do with rules for well-ordered exchanges of arguments, whereas logic applies only to the arguments themselves; logic has to do with rules for well-designed arguments, which includes more than satisfactory dialectical design.

Johnson focuses on logic and Pragma-Dialectics focuses on dialectic. We should also consider whether there are norms of rhetoric that have implications for those of the other two perspectives when it comes to the assessment of arguments. Rhetoric calls upon us to shape our discourse to the success of our goals, taking into account the particularities of the situation. Since it is normally a principal objective of argumentation to convince whomever it is we are addressing of the truth or acceptability of our standpoint, it follows that argumentation should be assessed from the rhetorical perspective according to how well the means used might have been expected to contribute to that objective. It seems probable that argumentation that fails to allay the objections to our standpoint in the minds of our interlocutors will not be successful in convincing them, so it looks as thought there is a rhetorical reason for being dialectically astute. However, one can imagine argumentation that manages to preoccupy the interlocutors with some particular issue, and thereby distract them from the objections that they might otherwise raise. Think if Marc Antony’s speech over Caesar’s body in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, that manages to preoccupy the crowd with Caesar’s generosity and thereby cause them to forget for the moment his imperial ambitions. This kind of example suggests that rhetorical effectiveness does not logically imply dialectical completeness. The converse seems true as well. It seems possible that a dialectically thorough argument could be so complicated as to become tedious, so that the audience loses track of its meanderings, loses interest, and begins to wonder whether the arguer “doth protest too much,” and as a consequence, fail to be convinced by what is in fact a dialectically satisfactory case.  So it seems that there is no necessary connection between rhetorical effectiveness and dialectical completeness.

The same kind of point applies to the connection between rhetorical and logical norms. While on most occasions it is probably more effective in convincing the interlocutor to use logically strong arguments instead of logically problematic or weak ones, it is possible to imagine cases in which logically flawed arguments are persuasive. Certainly the concern about logical fallacies (as distinct from dialectical fallacies) presupposes this possibility. And conversely, a logically tight argument might, as a result of its complexity, fail to persuade an audience that thinks the arguer is getting a bit too fancy, suspects him or her of dressing up a weak case, and consequently fails to be convinced by what is in fact a logically strong case. It would follow, then, that as with dialectical norms, any connection between the logical strength and the rhetorical success of arguments is contingent.

In sum, first, one kind of relationship among logic, dialectic and rhetoric is the logical relationship among the applications of their respective norms or criteria for good argument. Second, any argument satisfying the criteria for logical goodness must partially satisfy criteria for dialectical goodness, and conversely, any argument satisfying the criteria for dialectical goodness must satisfy those for logical goodness. Third, there is no necessary or logical relations in either direction between satisfying the norms of logic or the norms of dialectic and satisfying rhetorical norms for arguments.

The contingent or empirical relations among logic, dialectic and rhetoric. To be distinguished from the logical relationship just discussed is the empirical relationship among the three sets of norms as applied to arguments. We have seen that certain connections seem necessary, but apart from those, will there be causal connections, or at least covariance, between the satisfaction of criteria that are contingently related? Specifically, will there be positive correlations between the logical or the dialectical adequacy of argumentation (or both) and their persuasiveness? And if so, is there a causal connection or is some other factor causing both?  Or are there more complex empirical relationships. For example, one might hypothesize that, keeping other aspects of logical quality constant, as an argument takes up and deals with the objections that are dear and pressing to the audience, it will be increasingly persuasive for them, but if the argumentation continues to entertain and respond to objections that do not interest the audience, its persuasiveness for them will progressively decline. The formulation of such hypotheses, and the design and implementation of their testing, lie outside the scope of this paper.

Normative priority. Suppose that the story told above about logical relations among the norms of these three perspectives is correct. And grant that the actual effect of meeting these norms upon the audience or the argument interlocutors is a matter to be discovered by empirical investigation. What ought to happen if the norms of these different perspectives were to render conflicting advice? What if logically sound arguments were in some situations less persuasive than logical fallacious ones? What if dialectically thorough arguments were in some situations less persuasive than ones that ignored many challenges? Would it ever be appropriate to use the fallacious or dialectically incomplete arguments because of their persuasiveness? And what ought to happen if the norms of one or more of these different perspectives were violated? What if a body of argumentation were logically and dialectically impeccable, but far more difficult to understand than necessary, and expressed in ways that antagonized its audience – in short, rhetorically clumsy; should it be rejected on that account? It seems to me that here there is no one right answer, but instead it will be appropriate for the emphasis to be different in different contexts or situations of argumentation. More specifically, the purpose of the evaluation and the perspective of the agent can be determining factors. Let me give some examples.

In criminal trials, the legal system sets the objectives of the argumentation used within it, and imposes numerous constraints. The Crown or prosecuting counsel in criminal courts in the common-law system has the task of establishing the accused’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The criminal defence counsel has the role of defending his or her client against the criminal charge. That requires trying to show that the Crown has not proved guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and in jury trails (since unanimity is required) it in turn consists in trying to persuade some members of a jury that the Crown has failed to make its case beyond a reasonable doubt. Suppose we want to assess the argument of a defence counsel’s final address to the jury. How do the normative criteria of logic, dialectic and rhetoric apply? It is an obligation of the accused’s lawyer to argue for the weakness of the Crown’s case in the most persuasive manner possible. Therefore, we ought not to not condemn the defence counsel’s argument if its logic is flawed in ways unlikely to impair or, indeed, likely to help, the persuasiveness of his presentation. Nor ought we to condemn the argument if the defence counsel fails to deal with parts of the Crown’s case, if this failure is, again, unlikely to impair or likely to help the persuasiveness of his presentation. In addition, the defence counsel would be in violation of his duty to provide the best defence possible if he were to bring forward reasons for thinking his client guilty, or to raise objections that would undermine his defence. It is the Crown’s role to do those things. It is true that the adversarial system forces the defence counsel to try to deal with the evidence of the Crown, and that by failing to respond to the Crown’s arguments or evidence the defence takes the risk that the Crown will use that failure in arguing for the guilt of the accused; but these are contingent exigencies, and with sufficient imagination it is possible to concoct, and probably with enough research, to discover, cases in which the successful argument fails to meet the highest standards of logic and dialectic. Such a case would not satisfy the Pragma-Dialectical rules for a critical discussion (see 1984), nor would it satisfy Johnson’s requirement of manifest rationality (see 2000), but it might be right case for the defence counsel to make.

A successful and respected civil litigation lawyer in Canada once said that there is only one argumentation rule for litigation, namely: “Know your judge.”[ii] Part of his point was that to win a favourable ruling or settlement, it is not necessary to prove that you have the better case, but only to persuade the presiding judge that you have the better case. The other part of his point was that different judges are swayed in different ways. In principle, the logical and dialectical acumen of judges can vary. Thus, again, in such situations rhetorical virtue or persuasiveness can in principle, and should, trump logical cogency or Johnson’s requirement of dialectical satisfactoriness.

It might be objected that I am just describing certain argumentation practices, and providing no principles that would justify the priority of meeting rhetorical standards over those of logic and dialectic[iii[. That point is well taken. So let me add that these particular practices have a very long history of functioning fairly well in realizing their objectives in the criminal and civil legal systems in a number of countries. Included in those objectives are the instantiation of moral and political values. So I suggest that a case can be made that such practices are justified, and consequently that the subordination in them of logical and dialectical norms to rhetorical standards is in turn justified.

Consider a different example, a setting for argument familiar to an academic audience: the academic journal article. Since there are many sub-genres, let me focus on those in philosophy journals in the analytic tradition. In an paper submitted for publication in such a journal, a mistake in logic, if noticed, is a serious obstacle to its prospects, causing at the least a revision to, or else, unless it is just a slip that is easy to fix, outright rejection of, the paper. The demands of dialectic are almost as stringent. The author must respond, not only to the questions and objections raised by the referees, but also to those already published in the literature, and, indeed, to any others that might reasonably have been raised by anyone. An author is not even castigated for inventing an objection only to rebut it, provided that it is not frivolous. It is true that editors and referees might agree that an objection does not deserve attention when in fact it does, so there is room for a small measure of dialectical leniency. Rhetorical shortcomings, however, are tolerated, especially if the logical and dialectical merits are strong. Moreover, rhetorical virtue is supposed never to trump the requirements of logical cogency and dialectical satisfactoriness. It is a virtue of such a paper that it is clear and easy to understand and to follow, but not a requirement. (Notice that in this sort of context it is difficult to separate dialectic from logic, for a paper that fails to respond to telling objections is not logically cogent, and one that responds to objections, but with logically flawed arguments, is not dialectically satisfactory.)

Once again, the objection that I merely report norms in practice without justifying them may be made, but I would reply along the same lines as above. The practice in which these norms are imbedded functions moderately well, and, in spite of certain failings, it is difficult to imagine an alternative that would be as good. I take it that the purpose of the practice is to expand our knowledge and understanding in philosophy, and that insisting on logical rigour and dialectical thoroughness above all are necessary to that end, whereas requiring rhetorical virtue is not.

I do not know if there are general principles on the basis of which it can be determined in which situation which norms should take precedence. I have just discussed examples in which the purpose or goal of the argumentation seems appropriately to make a difference as to which perspective gets normative priority. It seems to me that the perspective of the agent can also be relevant. For instance, we take it that the person formulating and presenting the argument should ideally have the rhetorical perspective among his or her considerations – for some purposes more than for others, but always to some extent. When selecting, no less than when composing, the arguments and the organizing of their presentation, he or she should consider who the audience is, what the occasion is and what the purposes of the presentation are. However, from the perspective of the person assessing the argument with a view to deciding whether to adopt its conclusion on the basis of the reasons offered in support of it, the key perspectives seem to be logical and dialectical. Do the grounds actually lend support to the claim, and are the objections answered that need to be answered?  These are the questions the consumers of the argumentation ought to have front and centre in their analyses. To be sure, in some roles (think of being a jury member), awareness of rhetorical devices designed to sway the consumer’s opinion might be needed in order to give appropriate attention to the logical and dialectical adequacy of the case presented.  Nonetheless, the norms used to decide what to believe (for instance, whether to convict or to acquit) should not be those of rhetoric, but those of logic and dialectic. On the other hand, someone assessing the argument with a view to giving advice to the arguer as to how to be more persuasive will appropriately focus on its rhetorical merits, though not necessarily at the expense of its logical and dialectical adequacy. I conclude from considerations such as these that there is no single, universally applicable order of normative priority when considering the norms of logic, dialectic and rhetoric.

Priority of theoretical emphasis. Students of argumentation will be aware that different theories tend to give different emphasis to logic, dialectic and rhetoric. For instance, the Amsterdam Pragma-Dialectical theory consists of an ideal model for a kind of dialectical interaction within which framework logic and rhetoric have subordinate roles (see van Eemeren and Grootendorst, 1984, 1992). To be sure, for an argumentative discussion to be rational, according to this model, the particular arguments used in the process of a dialectical exchange must be logically acceptable, and within that and various dialectical constraints, the interlocutors are free to use whatever rhetorical strategies they think will help them to have the disagreement settled in their favour (see van Eemeren and Houtlosser 2000b, 2000c). But when interpreting argumentative discourse, according to the pragma-dialectical theory, we should treat it as if it were an attempt to follow the rules of the idealized dialectical model. In this respect, dialectic has theoretical priority for this theory. Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1958) or Tindale (1999), in contrast, take the position that rhetoric has, or should be deemed to have, priority over logic and dialectic. La Nouvelle Rhetorique defines logic as the science of demonstration, where rational disagreement is impossible, and conceives argumentation to occupy disagreement space where only rhetoric has application. The role of dialectic is not addressed. Tindale’s position seems to be that, because arguments are in fact always situated in particular contexts, with such variables as their specific purpose, their audience, and the circumstances of their delivery, among other things, all influencing how we should interpret them, or design them, it follows that logical and dialectical norms cannot be brought to bear before rhetorical judgements are made. On this view, the first task of argument interpretation and assessment, and of argument design and presentation as well, is to situate the argument or argumentation rhetorically, and in this respect, rhetoric has theoretical priority. Toulmin’s influential model seems intended for the logical assessment of arguments and does not include any reference to dialectical or rhetorical elaborations. And many of the philosophers identified with the informal logic movement have taken their objective to be the interpretation and evaluation of arguments, yet with only a few exceptions they do not discuss the dialectical or the rhetorical dimensions of argumentation. For the Amsterdam school, the most important feature of argumentation is its dialectical dimension; for the New Rhetoric and Tindale, the most important feature of argumentation is its rhetorical dimension; for many informal logicians, the most important feature of argumentation is its logical dimension.

Those who give priority of theoretical emphasis to just one of the three perspectives cannot all be right, but they can all be wrong. Is there some way to decide which theoretical perspective ought to be given priority?

Historically, and in different disciplines, some have been given pride of place and the others ignored, denigrated, or relegated to minor roles. Yet the philosopher who treats logic as central and primary forgets that when he or she writes a paper or makes a presentation, there is unavoidably dialectical interaction with alternative views and contending arguments, and also all sorts of rhetorical decisions have to be made in framing, organizing and presenting the case. When the cultural critic makes the rhetorical perspective central, presumably he or she argues the case, and in doing so interacts with contending views and relies on logical standards. When the communication theorist emphasizes the dialectical and pragmatic properties of argumentation, he or she nonetheless allows that to the extent that the practice is rational in some sense, norms of logic are guiding, and to the extent that it is effective, norms of rhetoric are followed. It seems that any complete theory of argumentation will account for the role of each, not emphasizing any one at the expense of the others.

However, it is understandable that different interests will result in different emphases. If the theorist’s primary interest lies in the epistemic or justificatory functions of argumentation, then the logical perspective may appropriately be emphasized. If the primary interest lies in the conflict-resolution functions of argumentation, then the dialectical perspective should be emphasized. And if the primary interest lies in the communicative functions of argumentation, then the rhetorical perspective would appropriately be central. If, as seems to be the case, argumentation always has all of these functions to some degree, then no perspective should be emphasized to the complete exclusion of the others. However, the details of what precisely it means to give theoretical priority to one or another of these perspectives remain to be worked out.

4. Conclusion
In the paper that resurrected interest in these three fields as intersecting in the study of argumentation, Wenzel (1980) referred to them as “perspectives.” The implication was that argumentation could be studied from any one of them, and Wenzel’s thesis was that it would be a mistake to consider the study of argumentation to be complete without considering all of them. His view was that, as related to the study of argumentation, logic is concerned with the product of argumentation, dialectic is concerned with the procedures used, and rhetoric is concerned with the process of argumentation. I am not sure he thought that these concerns could be addressed independently of one another. My examinations in this paper seem to support Wenzel’s view that all three perspectives exist in every actual case of argumentation. However, it seems the picture is slightly more complicated than Wenzel envisaged. In the study of arguments and argumentation all three must be considered in relation to one another, but there is more than one type of relationship among them[iv].

NOTES
[i] The differences between Cohen’s characterizations of logic, dialectic and rhetoric and mine are not great, and immaterial so far as this point goes, I think. For Cohen, “In a purely deductive context, the logical axis could be replaced by a bivalent function, the two values being ‘valid’ and ‘invalid,’ for assessing inferences. But . . . the premises have to be weighed apart from their use in the inference at hand, . . . .  In real-life contexts, logic is better conceived as providing a sliding scale measuring the relevance, sufficiency and acceptability . . . of the premises as reasons for the conclusion” (2001, 74). “An arguer has argued well dialectically when all of the objections and questions that have been raised have been answered satisfactorily” (74-75). “The rhetorical perspective examines the argument’s effects on the audience.  . . . successfully persuading the audience to accept a conclusion is one of the possible effects of an argument” (75).
[ii]  Harvey Strosberg, at the Third International Symposium on Informal Logic, University of Windsor, June, 1988.
[iii] I owe this objection to A.H. van Rees.
[iv] Earlier versions of this paper were presented to WGRAIL (the Windsor Group for Research in Argumentation and Informal Logic) and a graduate class, both at the Department of Philosophy, University of Windsor, the Amsterdam Argumentation Research Group, Department of Speech, Communication, Argumentation Theory and Rhetoric, Universiteit van Amsterdam, and GROLOG (the Groningen Logic group), Filosofisch Instituut, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen. I would like to thank those audiences for their comments and constructive criticisms, all of which influenced the paper in its present form.

REFERENCES
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ISSA Proceedings 2002 – Formal Logic’s Contribution To The Study Of Fallacies

logo  2002-1Abstract
Some logicians cite the context-relativity of cogency and maintain that formal logic cannot develop a theory of fallacies. Doing so blurs the distinction between ontic and epistemic matters and engenders a subjectivism that frustrates the project of logic to establish objective knowledge. This paper reaffirms the distinction between ontic and epistemic matters by establishing objective criteria for truth, validity, and cogency. It emphasizes the importance of the ontic notion of logical consequence underlying intelligible discourse. By clarifying a notion of fallacy it shows how formal logic contributes to fallacy theory.

1. The project of informal logic
The desire of critical thinking theorists, pragma-dialecticians, and informal logicians to dethrone formal logic has animated and defined their movement since its inception in the 1970s. In general, three matters mark their dissatisfaction with formal logic.
1. They believe that the mathematical development of formal logic has led to its becoming irrelevant to the needs of everyday discourse whose medium is natural language.
2. They maintain that it focuses too narrowly on the implicational relationships among propositions and relegates to the extralogical ‘everything else’ important to the evaluation of arguments.
3. They criticize its being asymmetrical in respect of its inability to formalize fallacious reasoning and even invalidity as it has been able to develop decision procedures for valid arguments.

Wanting to analyze informal fallacies and to develop a typology to categorize them impelled informalists to develop alternative theories of argumentation. These matters have remained core concerns for them. Two essential features of arguments underpin their complaint about the posture and project of traditional logic.
1. They take an argument to consist in considerably more than a set of propositions, where one is thought to follow logically from others. Rather, an argument consists in a set of premises that allegedly support a conclusion with an intention to change someone’s belief. An argument is a dynamic social activity. Thus, argument analysis requires recognizing the question-answer, or the challenge-response, nature of interactive dialogue.
2. They insist on the contextuality of an argument. A good or bad argument consists in its success or failure to persuade a participant of a belief or to act in a certain way. An argument is evaluated in terms of premise acceptability, premise weight and relevance, and in terms of the suitability of the inferential link between premises and conclusion, all of which are relative to persons at times.

By demoting formal analysis of implicational relationships and elevating the contextual and dynamic nature of arguments, these logicians study real-life, ordinary language, arguments. The distinction between matter and form is not important for their method of analysis. In this way they believe themselves to close the gap between logic and the genuine needs of human beings.

2. Three mistakes in reasoning about argumentation
However, when these logicians take an argument to be a dynamic relationship involving an audience or disputants, they make three metasystematic mistakes.
1. By taking an argument to be a social activity with an aim to persuade a participant of one or another belief, they attribute agency to an argument when agency is properly a feature of an arguer. They confuse an argument with an arguer, and thus they confuse their respective evaluations.
2. By evaluating an argument in terms of premise acceptability, weight, and relevance, and in terms of suitable inferential links, they relativize cogency to the dispositions of one or another audience.
They destroy an important epistemic/ontic distinction in two respects:
1. they conflate inference and implication; and
2. they conflate thinking and being. A ‘good argument’ becomes a ‘convincing argument’ whose goodness is set by the standards of a given audience at a given time, irrespective of whether or not an argument is objectively valid or invalid, an argumentation cogent or fallacious.
3. They confuse ‘argumentation theory’ with ‘persuasion theory’, part of which includes argumentation, but more narrowly construed as consisting in propositions and their logical relationships. Here again they tend to confuse evaluating an argument with evaluating the various skills of an arguer.

While these logicians desire norms of good argument, they seem unable to provide an objective, or universal, foundation for such norms. Closing the gap between the project of logic and the needs of human beings seems to have provided license for unrestrained arbitrariness when it comes to assessing the cogency of an argumentation. In closing one gap they widened another one more pernicious than the first – that gap between distinguishing knowledge from narrow-minded opinion. When these logicians affirm the participant relativity of argumentation, when they place emphasis on cognitive aspects of argumentation, when they embrace the ‘extralogical’ within the project of logic, and when they emphasize argument context and the pragmatics of argumentation, they dangerously court psychologism and jeopardize establishing a sound fallacy theory. The arguer now takes center stage in this framework of assessment. The project of logic shifts from determining logical consequence to assessing an arguer’s ability to package information. Moreover, the audience also takes center stage from this perspective. Informal logicians seem to have devoted considerable attention to ‘good argumentation’ when really they have examined empirically how different human beings make up their minds. This is rather more a concern of psychology and sociology than of logic. No longer is it a logical question of whether an argument is valid or invalid, etc., but a metasystematic question of whether an argument works or does not work in a given context. This raises a question about the purpose of logic.

3. A classical notion of logic’s purpose
Taking logic as a part of epistemology whose goal is to cultivate objectivity, we hold that logic aims to develop concepts, principles, and methods for making a decision according to the facts. The need for logic would be obviated were humans omniscient or infallible. From a classical perspective, logic has been concerned with “the perfection of criteria of proof, the development of objective tests to determine of a given persuasive argumentation whether it is a genuine proof, whether it establishes the truth of its conclusion” (Corcoran 1989b: 37). The feeling of certainty is not a criterion of truth and persuasion is not necessarily proof. Perhaps we can agree with John Corcoran, who construes objectivity to be an important human virtue. He writes:
All virtues are compatible with objectivity, and most, if not all, virtues require it in order to be effectual and beneficial. Without objectivity the other virtues are either impossible or self-defeating or at least severely restricted in effectiveness. (1989b: 38)

By basing human dignity and mutual respect on the universal desire for objective knowledge, we can affirm an essential role of formal logic in everyday life – to overcome ignorance as much as possible. Assuming this posture helps to avoid reducing study of argumentation to psychology, or cognitive science, or even to rhetoric and persuasion theory.

The special problem of the informalist approach to argument analysis is to insist on contextuality. This emphasis subverts logic’s aim to develop topic neutral methods for establishing knowledge and steers it toward particularist standards of analysis. By declaring that a good argument need not be valid, that fallaciousness and cogency are participant relative, they focus on an agent’s ability to manipulate language and situations. This neglects an ontic underpinning of truth and falsity, validity and invalidity, and cogency and fallaciousness. If the purpose of argumentation is persuasion, then of course formal logic, which emphasizes logical consequence, is irrelevant, save for encountering participants knowledgeable about formal matters. Concern with formal matters even becomes obstructive. But then to say that someone is mistaken becomes arbitrary. Logic effectively surrenders concern with epistemic methodology and undertakes studying rules for regulating disputational discourse.

4. Woods and Walton attempt to bridge the difference
John Woods and Douglas Walton have been acutely aware of a ‘cognitivist’ tendency among informal logicians. Their studies of fallacies and argumentation have aimed to avert a collapse of informal logic into a psychologistic quagmire.
With informalists Walton takes an argument to be more than a ‘deductive system’ of propositions; an argument is a logical dialogue game. He tries to rescue fallacy theory from psychologism by maintaining that a bad argument does not have to seem to be valid in order to be a fallacy. Rather, making a case that an argument is bad is a normative claim. The principle underpinning his position is that propositional logic is the inner core of argument and that dialogue game is the outer shell of argument. However, what Walton gives to formal logic with one hand he takes back with the other. He writes:
But in speaking of criticism in disputation we are importing a framework, a conception of argument that includes more than just the semantic structure of the propositions that make up the core of the argument. It includes as well the pragmatic structure of certain conventions or rules of argument — locution rules, dialogue-rules, commitment-rules, and strategic rules. (Walton 1987: 95)

Walton’s theory of argumentation is firmly ensconced in an informalist framework. This conception of argumentation affects his definitions of formal and informal fallacy. Again, he says:
[Thus] a fallacy is a type of move in a game of dialogue that violates a certain rule of the game. Such a fallacy may be one of the kinds traditionally called an “informal” fallacy. Formal fallacies are those that pertain to the formal logic element, the core of the game that has to do with relations of validity in the set of propositions advanced or withdrawn by the players. Informal fallacies have to do with rules and procedures of reasonable dialogue. (Walton 1987: 95-96)

Walton reneges on his commitment to the role that formal logic has for argumentation theory and for fallacy theory. He shifts focus from argument assessment to arguer assessment and abandons objective knowledge.
Still, Woods and Walton have aimed to ‘formalize’ certain aspects of reasoning in ordinary discourse, as their numerous studies of fallacies attest. Woods in particular cites two distinct advantages to using formal methods. “One is the provision of clarity and power of representation and definition. The other is provision of verification milieux for contested claims about various fallacies” (Woods 1980: 59). He holds that “being a mathematical system is not necessarily a liability for a theory of the fallacies” even if fallacy theory cannot fully embrace certain mathematical features (Woods 1980: 58). Still, he holds that a fallacy theory need not be constructed along the lines of an axiomatic logistic system, which, in any case, he recognizes to be a virtual impossibility. However, he continues, “we know … that axiomatic formalization does not exhaust formal treatment” (Woods 1980: 59). Woods writes that his and Walton’s analyses of the fallacies have considerably benefited by “repos[ing] the theoretical burdens of the fallacies in probability theory, acceptance theory, epistemic and doxastic logic, and rationality theory” (Woods 1980: 60).
This leads me to suggest not that the mature theory of the fallacies is a branch of logic that is essentially informal, but rather that the mature story of the fallacies is a branch of formal theory that is essentially extralogical in major respects. The formal theory of the fallacies is not (just) logic. (Woods 1980: 60)
Woods here, as Walton elsewhere, vacillates between the two poles; this vacillation pivots on an equivocal use of ‘formal’. Our primary concern as logicians is not merely with a systematization, or formalization, of ordinary language argumentation according to the pragmatics of discourse, but with the inherent cogency or fallaciousness of argumentation. And this just concerns logical consequence, the traditional bailiwick of formal logicians. Woods and Walton have aimed to rescue the project of informal logic by employing some of the theoretical apparatus of formal logic, enriched, they believe, by notions of relevance and dialogue. However, they seem not to have fully rescued cogency and extricated the analysis of an argumentation from a contextualism that exposes analysis to unrestricted subjectivism.

5. Argumentation theory a part of persuasion theory
In reasoning about argumentation some logicians persist in confusing the activity of arguing with the activity of persuading. This confusion leads them to mistake the proper object of argument assessment and to lose sight of a concern with truth and falsity. They mistakenly call an argument good or bad, or right and wrong, when they really assess the arguer and his/her audience. While the goal of a persuader is to convince, the goal of a logician is to assist in establishing knowledge. This is impossible to achieve by basing truth and falsity, validity and invalidity, and cogency and fallaciousness on the subjective predispositions of one or another audience at one or another time.

Invoking Aristotle’s notion of the four causes in connection with his notion of technê helps to make sense of the complexity of practices in the art of persuasion. In this connection, then, the final cause is a desired action on the part of a participant. The material cause is a participant. The formal cause is a belief. The efficient, or productive, cause is a persuader. Arguments, or argumentations, then, are a persuader’s instruments. Formal logic perfects an argumental instrument. Just as no saw can cut wood, but the person using the saw cuts wood, so no argumentation can persuade a participant to believe something or to act in a certain way. Rather, an arguer using an argumentation provides occasion for a participant to change his/her beliefs. It is a category mistake to attribute agency to an argument. Nor, in truth, does an arguer convince anyone. Rather, presented with information in various forms, a participant grasps something in his/her mind as a mental act: this person experiences an ordered chain of reasoning to come to an understanding.

A successful persuader must know his/her own strengths and weaknesses in respect of the four causes. Considering the entire arena of persuasion, there are many points of evaluation: how adept a speaker is with rhetorical devices or knowledge of language and especially with knowledge of an audience’s beliefs. Considering only the argumentation itself, we assess it as an argumental instrument. An argumentation, then, can be assessed as a good or bad instrument independent of a context and, thus, independent of the beliefs of an audience. The question “Is it a good argumentation?” for a logician is analogous to the question “Is it a good saw?” for a cabinetmaker. Being a good saw is independent of the wood it is used to cut. Of course, we are working within a domain and thus with ‘intended interpretations’, that is, with intended uses. Nevertheless, granting this, a good saw involves: being composed of the right metal, having the right temper; the right shape, the right handle, weight, balance, number of teeth, angle of teeth, sharpness, etc. All this is distinguished from being the right tool for a function, which is relative to a task. An argumentation, then, can be assessed independently in respect of its propositional relations. A good argumentation involves: absence of ambiguity; having no smuggled premises; a conclusion that is a logical consequence of the premises; having a chain of reasoning cogent in context; etc. Of course, assessing an argument involves extracting the propositions expressed by ordinary language sentences and then checking them against the models established by formal logic.

6. Propositions, arguments, argumentations
Philosophers and logicians recognize different definitions of truth. Here we employ a correspondence notion along the lines of Aristotle, Tarski, and others to help assess argumentation objectively. Aristotle considered the truth or falsity of a sentence to depend on whether a given state of affairs is or is not the case, but not that a given state of affairs is dependent on the truth or falsity of a given sentence (see Categories 12: 14b14-22). He would also consider the validity of a given argument to have an ontic underpinning, since the ontic nature of the law of contradiction undergirds ‘truth following being’. There is an underlying ontology for truth and falsity and for validity and invalidity that makes impossible that true propositions imply a false proposition and that makes these matters participant independent. This ontology takes argument evaluation out of relativistic considerations and provides for a formal assessment.

An object language sentence might express one or more proposition. While a sentence might be ambiguous, a proposition is not. A proposition is true or false just in case the state of affairs denoted by the proposition is or is not the case. A premise-conclusion (P-c) argument to be a two-part system consisting in a set of propositions called premises (P) and a single proposition called a conclusion (c). In a valid argument the premise propositions imply the conclusion proposition, the conclusion is a logical consequence of the premises. Another way of expressing validity is to say that in a valid argument all the information in the conclusion is already contained in the premises (Corcoran 1998). Truth and falsity and validity and invalidity are ontic properties of propositions and arguments respectively. One way to establish knowledge of an argument’s validity is to find a chain of reasoning (a derivation) that is cogent in context that helps to link in the mind of a participant the conclusion to the premises as a logical consequence. We define formal derivation as follows:
A given proposition c is formally deducible from a given set of propositions P when there exists a finite sequence of propositions that ends with c and begins with P such that each proposition in the sequence from P is either a member of P or a proposition generated from earlier propositions solely by means of stipulated deduction rules.

Thus, an argumentation is a three-part system consisting in a set of propositions called premises, a single proposition called a conclusion (the bounding argument), and a sequence of propositions called a chain of reasoning. If the chain of reasoning is cogent in context and the bounding argument is valid, we have a deduction, otherwise a fallacy. Cogency and fallaciousness are properties of argumentations, not beliefs of a participant.

7. An ontic definition of cogency
With this understanding of argumentation, we can see that a cogent chain of reasoning is an ordered sequence of propositions that are conclusions of elementary valid arguments. Thus, cogency is an ontic property of such a chain. It is one thing for the sequence to be cogent; it is another thing for someone to understand that this is so. To affirm that cogency is an ontic property of such a sequence of propositions is to affirm the truth of the principle of transitivity of consequence, namely: “every consequence of a consequence of a given proposition is again a consequence of that proposition” (cited in Corcoran 1989a: 34-35). Cogency, then, is an ontic property of a good argumentation, specifically, of a deduction, and its counterpart, fallaciousness, is an ontic property of a bad argument, namely, of a fallacy. This extricates both deductions and fallacies, in respect of their consisting in propositions, from participant relativity and places responsibility for their recognition squarely on participants.

8. Formalist considerations at the core of intelligible discourse
One project of epistemology is to determine means for establishing knowledge of the truth and falsity of propositions. Traditionally this project has consisted in two processes, induction and deduction. Another project of epistemology is to determine a foundation for, and to discover the means by which to establish knowledge of, logical consequence. In this connection, ontology and logic are intimate companions. The contributions of formal logic to the project of establishing knowledge include the following. Formal logic:
*    has articulated the law of contradiction and the law of excluded middle as providing an ontic underpinning for intelligible discourse. These laws relate equally to states of affairs and propositions.
*    has articulated the principle of consistency. This principle equally underlies intelligible discourse and is applicable to various notions of truth.
*    has defined logical consequence as an ontic property existing between propositions. This notion underpins intelligible discourse by which we recognize, for example, the incoherence of a paradox, that true propositions cannot imply a false proposition.
*    has established the principle of form: every argument in the same form as a given valid argument is valid; every argument in the same form as a given invalid argument is invalid.
*    has developed the method of counterargument and method of counterinterpretation to establish knowledge of invalidity.
*    has developed the notion of cogency as consisting in linking the conclusion propositions of elementary valid arguments sequentially in an argumentation, or chain of reasoning. In this connection, formal logic has articulated the principle of transitivity of consequence.
*    has developed the notion of universe of discourse by which one determines what is germane to a specific discourse.
*    has developed a notion of precision in thinking as exemplified in, for example, the ideal of a logically perfect language. The work of semantics and linguistics is important, if only for helping to make more precise the logical form of a given proposition.
*    has established methods that aim at objective knowledge, two of which are the hypothetico-deductive method for disconfirming a hypothesis, or proving it to be false, and the deductive method used in axiomatic discourse for proving a hypothesis to be true.
*    has provided methods useful for discovering hidden consequences of propositions.
Formal logicians develop models – whether of formal or natural languages, of deductive systems, or of argumentations – that serve as ideals against which to assess ordinary language discourse.

9. Reasserting the epistemic/ontic gap
Informal logicians have aimed to close the gap between logic and the needs of human beings, but at the cost of eliminating the difference between the process of arguing and its context, on the one hand, and the product of such a process, the argumentation itself, on the other. They commit the process/product fallacy. And, since a philosophical tenet of informal logic relates to its context relativism, their closing the gap between the theory and practice of logic and formal logic’s putative irrelevance depends on their adopting a post-modern obliteration of the subject-object distinction that confuses what is known with what is, and thus they are themselves guilty of the epistemic/ontic fallacy.

We know that an ad hominem argument can be a very effective tool in the hands of an accomplished rhetorician. However, a rhetorician’s success really rests on at least three factors, all of which pertain to the conditions of a participant:
1. a participant’s ignorance of formal logic;
2. a participant’s ignorance of facts and information;
3. a participant’s lacking a clear commitment to obtaining truth and a willingness to suspend judgment toward that end.
In this connection, then, logicians have two projects:
1. to isolate argumentation as a part of persuasion theory; and
2. to apply formal logic to fallacy theory. A constituent part of this work is sharply distinguishing the ontic from the epistemic.

10. Sketching a fallacy theory
If sketching a fallacy theory includes providing (1) a definition of fallacy and (2) a method of formal analysis, then formal logic offers the following definition, alongside deduction, refutation, and demonstration. A fallacy is an argumentation in which one or more of the following occurs:
1. the conclusion is not a logical consequence of the premise-set; or
2. the chain of reasoning is not cogent in context, whether or not the argument bounding the chain of reasoning is valid; or
3. the chain of reasoning is cogent but not in context. These considerations are ontic features of the argumentation that is a fallacy, and thus they are independent of participant recognition. Formal analysis of a fallacy might involve any of the familiar methods for determining invalidity and for refutation.

This process (1) is independent of argumentational pragmatics, dialogue rules, and context, and (2) requires extracting an argumentation from a natural language discourse and expressing it precisely with all the tools of formal logic. Using the model of an Aristotelian syllogism, we can show that a fallacy violates a valid syllogism pattern. In the case of ambiguity, while a given argument with an ambiguity has one grammatical pattern, it really has two underlying logical patterns. And in the case of equivocation, while an argument with an equivocal expression has a given grammatical pattern, it really has, with the addition of a fourth term, an underlying logical pattern different than a syllogism. Begging the question might be considered in two ways, neither of which involves fallaciousness.
1. When, among a premise-set, a false proposition taken to be true (or one whose truth-value is undetermined) implies a true proposition, it is a mistake to believe the conclusion to have been proved. Here there is no fallacy or mistake in reasoning. Rather, a participant is ignorant about what counts as a demonstration. Knowing that every true proposition is implied by infinitely many false propositions might help in this situation.
2. When a proposition to be established as a conclusion is itself among the propositions in the premise-set, there is no fallacy. Again there is ignorance on the part of a participant about demonstration. However, here there is a need for a restriction on the deduction system along the lines of Aristotle’s requirement for his syllogistic system: the conclusion must extend knowledge beyond what is immediately stated in the premise-set. Finally, the fallacies of ad hominem and appeal to authority introduce, or smuggle, additional premises that do not contribute to a conclusion following logically from premises. The other fallacies might be addressed in a similar fashion.

11. Concluding remarks
John Woods and Douglas Walton must feel an intellectual kinship with formal logicians such as John Corcoran because of their equal commitment to objectivity. The question is to what extent is the realization of their commitment compromised by their equally strong commitment to assessing arguments contextually. Their view of the systematic practice of logic seems incompatible with their view of the metasystematic practice of logic. Nevertheless, they expect that discourse on cogent and fallacious argumentation itself be cogent, and Woods (1989, 1994b, 1999, 2000) in particular hold out a place for formal logic in developing a sound argumentation theory with an analysis of the fallacies.
Critical thinking theorists, pragma-dialecticians, and informal logicians have aimed to diminish the gap between logic and the needs of human beings. However, they have also diminished the gap between knowledge and ignorance. We wish to re-assert that gap in respect of
1. knowledge of the truth and of falsity of a proposition,
2. knowledge of the validity and or invalidity of an argument, and
3. knowledge of the cogency and or fallaciousness of an argumentation. Obscuring this gap is detrimental to human understanding and conflict resolution. Our concern as educators to develop a person’s ability to avoid mistakes in the process of drawing conclusions ought to promote their continuing
1. to accumulate knowledge and information and
2. to perfect knowledge of logical consequence. The first project is a matter of science; the second is a matter of formal logic. Mediating conflicting viewpoints is a third matter. Becoming a virtuous person requires developing a lifelong commitment to examination and self-reflection in the pursuit of objective knowledge. Classical formal logic has a crucial role to play in that process as it applies to the role of argumentation in everyday life.

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Boger, George. (1998). Aristotle on fallacious reasoning in Sophistical Refutations and Prior Analytics. Argumentations and Rhetoric (CD-ROM), 1997 OSSA Conference Proceedings. St. Catherines.
Corcoran, John. (1989a.) Argumentations and logic. Argumentations 3, 17-43.
Corcoran, John. (1989b). The inseparability of logic and ethics. Free Inquiry 9, 37-40.
Corcoran, John. (1998). Information-theoretic logic. In Martinez, C., U. Rivas, & L. Villegas-Forero (Eds.), Truth in Perspective (pp. 113-135). Aldershot, England: Ashgate Publishing Limited.
FCCR. Hansen, Hans. V & Robert C. Pinto (Eds.). (1995). Fallacies: Classical and Contemporary Readings. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press.
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Finocchiaro, Maurice A. (1995). Six types of fallaciousness: toward a realistic theory of logical criticism. In FCCR (pp. 120-129).
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ISSA Proceedings 2002 – On The Pragmatics Of Argumentative Discourse

logo  2002-1The aim of the paper is to analyse a specific kind of argumentative discourse – conditionals – from the point of view of revealing pragmatic meanings. Conditionals (Brutian 1991, 1992) express reasoning, inference, implication, therefore they, alongside with causal utterences, are one of the main and important types of argumentation. It should be also noted that by conditionals I understand not only traditionally accepted constructions of the “If P, then Q” type but also those which can be transformed into the mentioned type. The semantic meanings of argumentative conditional utterances, including various subtle shades of meanings, have been thoroughly described, while the pragmatic aspect until quite recently has received little attention, whereas only the simultaneous consideration of both levels of meanings will lead to the adequate interpretation of such utterances. Thus, it is obvious why the pragmatic meanings of argumentative conditional discourse should be revealed and analysed.

There can be no doubt that to interprete any text (utterance, discourse) adequately, not only explicit, but also implicit, deep, non-explicit meanings must be taken into consideration. Within the last few decades many scholars have come to understand this fact. Paducheva (1985), for example, states that every text contains not only explicit, but also implicit information – meanings generated by the speaker and understood by the listener. T. van Dijk (van Dijk 1978: 331) speaks about the “deep orientation of the speaker”. Hintikka (1979: 119-150) speaks about the “hidden meaning” in a language. Many texts have been written from this perspective – highlighting the concept of “hidden grammar” by the use of terms such as “additional hidden meaning”, “shady utterance” and “additional semantic lines” (Nikolaeva 1985: 80), “substantial – subtextual information” (Galperin 1981: 40), “double-text” (Viezbicka 1978: 404), “additional implied meaning” (Arnold 1982: 34), etc.

In speaking about the importance of revealing of implicit meanings, it is necessary to stress that a text can be adequately understood only when both implicit and explicit elements are taken into consideration. To give preferance to either could lead to undesirable consequences. According to Viezbicka (Viezbicka 1981), giving preferance to implicit (hidden) elements is the most paradoxical result in rather interesting searches of hidden linguistic categories.
It is important to differentiate between two different types of implicitness: on the one hand, categorical meanings, that is, meanings connected with expressing proposition (some facts), and on the other hand, meanings connected with subjective assessment of these facts on the part of the speaker, that is, pragmatic meanings.
The paper aims at revealing and analysing the implicit meanings of the second type in conditionals. These meanings,  in turn, can be divided into two groups: a) those based on modal meanings and b) other kinds of meanings. It should be noted that this division is to some extent conventional, as the pragmatic meanings belonging to the second group necessarily include the first ones. And, generally speaking, we cannot speak about “pure” pragmatic meanings (Brutian 1996).

Now let us discuss the above-mentioned types of pragmatic meanings of conditionals more in detail.
It is common knowledge that one of the most important peculiarities of conditionals is their modality. This phenomenon is thoroughly studied in different languages. From this viewpoint conditionals are divided into 2 large groups:
1. sentences of real condition (conditio realis) and
2. sentences of unreal condition.

The latter, in its turn, consists of
1. sentences of potential condition (conditio potentialis) and
2. sentences of irreal condition (conditio irrealis).

This classification lies at the heart of classifications suggested by different authors, though it should be mentioned that in some cases they are presented in a slightly different, more differentiated form.

The modality of conditionals, which is studied in traditional grammar, can, in my opinion, be considered as the pragmatics of these utterances, as in this case we deal with the attitude of the speaker towards the expressed facts from the point of view of their reality or irreality. Compare Akatsuka’s (1985) statement that realis and irrealis represent the speaker’s subjective assessment of a situation. Close to it is Gorja’s (Gorja 1985) statement that while classifying conditionals, a very important factor is the pragmatic factor, that is the reality or irreality of the condition from the point of view of the speaker. Ilyenko (1961) considers the modality in conditionals as a subjective-objective category, which implies not only the attitude of the speaker towards the reality, but also the attitude of the addressee to the reality from the point of view of the speaker.

In case of real conditionals the speaker means that the situation is real: “If it snows, we’ll stay at home”.
In case of irreal conditionals (counterfactuals) the speaker implicitly negates the explicitly expressed facts, he speaks of the falsity of the proposition in the real world. Saying “If P, then Q”, the speaker at the same time means “Neither P, nor Q”. In other words, the facts expressed explicitly by both the main and subordinate clauses of such sentences are implicitly (at a deep level) negated by the speaker. Conditionals of the mentioned type are thoroughly examined in linguistic, as well as logical literature, and it is natural that the researchers could not have ignored their hidden, implicit, and at the same time, very important meaning of negation-the meaning of unfeasible or unrealized condition. Thus, for example, Ljapon (1979) speaks of the Russian subjunctive particle, which is a very important constituent in counterfactuals, as an equivalent of a negative particle. Znamenskaya (1984), with reference to various English dictionaries that give definitions containing negation words, speaks of the implicit seme of negation in the semantic structure of conditional sentences with the conjunction if. Panfilov (1971: 191), characterizing verbs in subjunctive mood, uses the expression “unrealized opportunity”. To denote sentences of irreal condition, some Spanish scholars, alongside the traditional term (“irreal condition”), use the terms “conditional sentences of implicit negation”, “ideal or implicit negation”.

Analysing the sentence “If Brutus hadn’t persuaded Caesar to go to the senate, the conspiracy would have failed”, Paducheva comes to the following conclusion: “The person who understands the meaning of the sentence… obtains the information that Brutus had persuaded Caesar to go to the senate” (Paducheva 1985: 71). In the following two dialogues the implicit meaning of negation is in the centre of attention: “I remember a fellow once said to me: “What would you do if you had Lord Moneybag’s income? – He implied that you hadn’t an income as big as Lord Moneybag’s”. “When I say: “If Hob worked hard, he would learn grammar”, what do I  imply?… – You imply that he doesn’t work hard. It’s an “implied negative” (Eckersley 1967: 82-84). Sometimes the implicit meaning of negation in argumentative conditional discourse is explicated in a wider context, e.g.: “If I were there, with him and he wasn’t so terribly stubborn, I could have saved him. But, unfortunately, I wasn’t there, with him and he was so terribly stubborn… I couldn’t save him”.

In connection with what has been said above, the following important idea should be stressed. The concept expressed by the terms “implied negation” and the like, only being linked with the concepts of the speaker (addresser) and the listener (addressee), can imply some pragmatic meaning. For example, the pragmatic meaning of “If I were the President of Armenia, I would support academics” can be revealed as a result of the following analysis: “I know that I am not the President of Armenia (it is excluded, it is impossible), and I am sure that everybody knows that it isn’t so, therefore the idea that I can (will) support academics expressed by me is false, which the addressee is well aware of”. In this respect, the analysis “I am not the President of Armenia and I don’t support academics” cannot be considered complete.
Let us consider now the pragmatics of potential conditionals, i.e. where the speaker does not know whether the situation is real or not. The implicit alternative version is of equal value to the given one from the point of view of correspondence to reality. For example, “If she is at home, she will make the dinner” = “If she isn’t at home, she won’t make the dinner”. The speaker states that both variants are possible, though he doesn’t actually know which one. It should be added that the subordinate clauses of this type of utterances can express a potential, possible situation (realizable or not-realizable from the speaker’s point of view) not only in the past, but also in the present and future.
Now let us analyse pragmatic meanings of the second group. Here the following meanings determined by context can be singled out: of advice, suggestion, wish, necessity, obligation, warning, order, disapproval, reproach, doubt, positive/negative evaluation, etc.

Let us first consider conditionals beginning with “If I were you…”. Besides expressing non-correspondence to reality, they express some advice, reproach, like in “If I were you, I would help him”.
In conditionals where both components express actions referring to the future, with the subject of the principal clause (sometimes, both clauses) expressed by the I person pronoun, the implicit pragmatic meaning of the speaker’s intention can be revealed. Thus, in “If  we have time tomorrow, we’ll visit Leiden”, not only are the relations of condition and consequence expressed, but also the idea that the speaker has the intention, is planning to go, together with some other people, to Leiden tomorrow. From the viewpoint of assessing the truth values, and hence, the nature of if and the whole utterance, a special approach is suggested by Strawson (1952). In analysing the utterance “If it rains, I’ll stay at home”, he states that there is a preliminary statement about intention, which, like any other non-conditional statement about intention, must be called neither true nor false and must be described in another way. Strawson gives the following explanation: if the person who has pronounced the given sentence goes out in spite of the rain, one can’t say that what he has said is false, but it should be concluded that he has lied, that, in fact, he wasn’t going to stay at home in case of rain, or that he has changed his decision.

Of great interest are utterances containing parentheses. Such utterances can be transformed into two-level conditionals which consist of metatextual and textual components. Generally speaking, from the point of view of constructing and adequately interpreting a text, parentheses, being functionally close to modal words, are important and interesting phenomena. Their presence in a text makes it many-layered, at least, semantically two-level, so that it expresses the main, factual information and additional, pragmatic (in the wide sense of this word) information. This has been mentioned by various scholars. Thus, for example, Nahapetova (1986) links the idea of parenthetical constructions with a special phenomenon – the parenthetical perspective of the text which is very close to the speaker’s  pragmatic intention. She differentiates two layers of information in utterances containing parenthetical constructions – the main and accompanying utterances, which leads to a more adequate interpretation of a text. The function of parenthetical constructions in organizing a text is, in the author’s opinion, not only in linking the parts of the utterance, but also in expressing various relations between them, such as causal, alternative, etc. Speaking about “two projections of communicative functioning”, Sljusareva (1981: 178-180) states that dividing the sentence and introducing modal elements into it, they not only represent rather economically the statement itself, but also its assessment on the part of the speaker.
In the light of what has been said above, the following meanings can be differentiated:
1. The meaning expressing the attitude of the speaker to the utterance which determines an objective assessment of the discussed subject. The meaning of such constructions is very close to the meaning of the subordinate clause of condition, e.g. “If being exact, it is not the best solution of the problem”.
2. The meaning of doubt as to the reliability of the information: “He has asked his parents what advice, if any, they could give him”.
3. The meaning of doubt as to the reasonableness of the choice of this or that expression: “He got furious, if this was the right word to express what he felt”.

Let us now consider argumentative conditional discourse in which implicit meaning of purpose can be revealed. As examples can serve, in particular, sentences expressing theorems, hypotheses, axioms. For example, in “If 3 sides of one triangle are accordingly equal to the sides of another one, then these triangles are equal” the following deep meaning can be explicated by means of transformation: “In order for 2 triangles to be equal it is necessary that 3 sides of one triangle accordingly be equal to 3 sides of another one”. Compare an analogous example given by Suppes (1957: 9): “If a triangle is equivalent, then it is isosceles”. According to him, this example can be transformed into: “In order for a triangle to be isosceles it is sufficient that it be equilateral”  or  “It is necessary that an equilateral triangle be isosceles”.
Let us analyse the following examples:
1. “If you are planning to participate in the conference, you must send to the planning committee interesting abstracts”. = “In order to participate in the conference you must send to the planning committee interesting abstracts”.
2. “If you wanted to marry her, you had to find a proper job”. = “In order to marry her you had to find a proper job”.

In the given examples, the subordinate clauses contain verbs expressing intention and desire, whereas the principal clauses – the modal operator of obligation. In addition to the implicit meaning of purpose the indirect illocutionary function of advice, wish (1) and reproach (2) is expressed.
Of interest are also such 2-component explicit constructions with if which are semantically identical to implicit 3-component conditionals, such as, for example, “If you are cold, the coat is over there”. Here the conditional relation is expressed not between the explicit components (the fact that the coat is over there does not follow from the fact that the addressee is cold), but between the first component and the implicit, verbally unexpressed link, which should be explicated, so that the utterance can assume the following form: “If you are cold (mind, I am telling you, etc.) that the coat is over there”. The explicated link, as it can be seen from the given example, expresses the pragmatic attitude of the speaker, his communicative intention connected with the illocutionary function, which is in informing us that the coat is over there.
Now, let us consider the following cases. The combination of the utterances “Tell him to stop. Because I’ll kill him now” should be interpreted the following way: “Tell him to stop. I am saying (warning about) it because if he doesn’t stop immediately, I’ll kill him right now”. “You smoke endlessly. It can cause cancer of the lungs” implicitly contains the following conditional warning: “You must not smoke (I am warning you against it), because if you do so (smoke endlessly), it’ll cause cancer of the lungs”.
Of great interest are propositions expressed by the formula “Not P and Q”. The meaning of the negative particle in such constructions leads to the interexclusion of its components, that is, the existence of one of them excludes the other one, which can be denoted by the formulae “If P, then not Q”, “If not P, then Q”. Let us analyse in this connection the following sentence taken from Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”: “You can’t fish and not eat”. Its transformation into a sentence of deep level according to the formula “If P, then not Q” leads to “If you fish, do not/not eat (you must eat it)”. In this case the conjunction and alongside with conditional meaning, expresses also the implicit illocutionary meaning of order (advice). Compare the similar example given by Rundle (1983): “Don’t drink and drive”. He speaks about the semantic synonymy of the given utterance to “If you drive, don’t drink”.

The conjunction or (either…or), the formal indicator of disjunction, expresses conditional meaning in contexts containing interexclusive words.  In other words, in such contexts the deep meaning of utterances with or can be revealed when they are transformed into utterances with if.  In addition, if the first part of the utterance is positive, the conjunction if  is used with a negative particle and vice versa, in case of the negative first component  if is used without a negative particle (see also Lakoff 1971, Strawson 1952, Pierce 1983). In the first part of such utterances the meaning of obligation and necessity is often expressed. The utterance “Either you find a job or I’ll divorce” is identical in meaning to “If you don’t find a job (and you must do it), I’ll divorce”, where the part “you must do it” is the pragmatic meaning of the utterance. Speaking about “the idea of choice” functioning as invariant basic seme, in the conjunction either…or which corresponds to strong disjunction, Ljapon (1987) singles out also the seme of “ignorance” which has pragmatic character. In her opinion, either…or not only informs that out of  two versions only one takes place in reality, but also that the speaker doesn’t know which one, in particular.

In sentences denoted by the formula “A, or else B” the meaning of special opposition with some shade of conditionality is expressed. In other words, the possible consequences of non-fulfilment of what is being spoken about in the first part are implied in such sentences. In the first part, which often is in the imperative form, the meaning of obligation, necessity is expressed by the speaker, as a rule. The following utterance can serve as an example: “Study hard, or else you won’t enter the University” ® “Study hard (you must study hard, I am ordering you to study hard, etc.) because if you don’t study hard, you won’t enter the University”.
Such are the cases of pragmatics in conditional argumentative discourse. In the end it should be stressed that the explication of implicit, mainly pragmatic meanings is not an end in itself.; it is a necessary and a very important step towards revealing the whole diversity of thought and adequately interpreting the given discourse which, in its turn, can add to the theory of argumentation.

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ISSA Proceedings 2002 – Religious Argument As Enthymeme: Aristotle, Paul, And Anselm

logo  2002-1This essay explores some distinctive features of religious argumentation, particularly as it is carried on in a classic philosophical text. The term “enthymeme” in the title carries Aristotle’s broad sense, designating rhetorical argumentation, rather than that of later rhetoricians, who stress an enthymeme’s tendency to omit a premise or conclusion.
For a paradigm case of religious argumentation in philosophy an obvious choice within the Christian tradition is Anselm’s reasoning in his Proslogion, the book containing the so-called “ontological proof of the existence of God.” The list of philosophers who have struggled with Anselm’s line of argument reads like a “who’s who” in the field, and the book continues to attract attention up to the present day. Any anthology of classic proofs in philosophy of religion would have to include Anselm’s or else give a reason for leaving it out.
Selecting Anselm requires looking back to Aristotle, along with the classical tradition generally, as the source for an appropriate rhetorical theory and thereby defines the task of this essay in the following way: first, to explore Aristotle’s broad definition of enthymeme to find out how far it may serve, not only for the purposes for which Aristotle uses it, but also for ethical-political and religious argumentation; next, to look at some distinctive features of religious argumentation, first in Paul’s epistles and then in Anselm’s Proslogion proof; and finally, to study Anselm’s Proslogion in its full rhetorical context, and to ask how it fits in with classical canons of argumentation.

1. Aristotle on the Enthymeme and the Syllogism
The concept of enthymeme has possibilities far beyond its usual humble place in contemporary argumentation theory. Although modern, as well as most classical, usage commonly identifies an enthymeme as a syllogism with a premise or conclusion deliberately omitted, Aristotle applies the word much more broadly than that when he introduces it as a technical term in the Rhetoric. This broad definition, however, needs to be sharpened in ethical and political terms before it can serve as an effective tool for analyzing religious argumentation.
The best place to begin a discussion of enthymemes is where Aristotle opens his Rhetoric, with a comparison between rhetoric and dialectic. “Rhetoric,” he says, “is the counterpart [antistrophos] of dialectic,” and he continues in the next paragraph that enthymemes “are the substance of rhetorical persuasion” (Rhet.I.1: 1354a1,14. By rhetoric here Aristotle is thinking of argumentation in places such as the Athenian courts, where accusers and defendants present their cases, on their own behalf, to immense juries of citizens. By dialectic, on the other hand, he refers to a kind of classroom exercise in philosophical disputation for which his book Topics evidently serves as a text. In a seminar on dialectic, one student has to present a thesis (usually on an ethical or political topic), and another asks the first student a series of questions that can only be answered by “yes” or “no,” trying to involve the first student in some kind of logical difficulty (Kennedy 1991: 26).
Aristotle sees a number of important similarities between what he calls the “enthymemes” of rhetoric and the “syllogisms” of dialectic: “Both alike are concerned with such things as come, more or less, within the general ken of all men and belong to no definite science” (Rhet. I.1: 1354a1-3). Further, he says, both kinds of argumentation take at least some of their premises from “opinions that are generally accepted,” which he calls “endoxa” (Topics I.1: 100a30;cf. Rhet. I.2: 1357a13). Finally, both kinds of argumentation work “from contraries,” presenting forced alternatives. “The subjects of our deliberation are such as seem to present us with alternative possibilities” (Rhet. I.1: 1357a4-5). Law courts demand verdicts of guilty or not guilty, and the dialectical exercises require one student to defend a thesis and the other to attack it. Both enthymemes and dialectical syllogisms present matters in dispute. Dialectic makes its syllogisms “out of materials that call for discussion; and rhetoric, too, draws upon the regular subjects of debate” (Rhet I.1: 1356b37-1357a1).

On the other hand, the differences between rhetoric’s enthymemes and dialectic’s syllogisms are at least equally significant: The central distinction is that, unlike dialectic, rhetoric assumes “an audience of untrained thinkers …” so that the “enthymeme must consist of few propositions, fewer often than those which make up a normal syllogism. For if any of these propositions is a familiar fact, there is no need to mention it; the hearer adds it himself” (Rhet. I.1: 1357a12-13, 17-19; cf. II.21: 1395b23-27). This passage is the basis for the later notion that an enthymeme is a syllogism with one part omitted. The difference in audience, in turn, calls for a different strategy of presentation. Whereas an audience trained in dialectic will consider only the strength of the argument itself, the audience for rhetoric will require also attention to the speaker’s character and the emotions of the audience (Rhet. I.2: 1356a1-21). The third distinction between the syllogism and the enthymeme is rather surprising, but it seems to hold for all that: it is that Aristotle relaxes the standards for formal validity he uses with rhetorical enthymemes but not with other kinds of syllogisms. As M.F.Burnyeat points out, the Rhetoric does allow for arguments to be made “in a more relaxed way” than normal standards of cogency (Rhet. II.22: 1396a34-1396b1; Burnyeat 1994: 15-16), so that Aristotle’s logic can accommodate this sort of flexibility. Whether Aristotle might prefer one sort of argumentation over the other is not the point, since the life context in which rhetorical arguments are put forward does not permit for the usual standards of cogency to be applied. On the basis of premises, at least some of which are mere likelihoods (at best true “for the most part” but not entirely), the juror or the legislator has to make a flat decision one way or another. As Burnyeat concludes, the jury must balance the probabilities of the two possible decisions to reach an “unqualified judgment,” such as “He is guilty,” or “We should go to war.” The result of Burnyeat’s investigation is that “nothing stands in the way of a verdict affirming that Aristotle’s logic can do justice to the realities of rhetorical practice. There is no need to fault either the speaker’s reasoning or his analysis of it” (Burnyeat 1994: 30).

Besides the rhetorical enthymeme and the dialectical syllogism there is also a third kind of argumentation, which from a certain point of view may be the most important of all: scientific “demonstration,” or apodeixis, “when the premises from which the reasoning starts are true and primary, or are such that our knowledge of them has originally come through premises which are primary and true” (Topics I.1: 100a27-30). Both dialectical and demonstrative arguments have the same logical form; both are “syllogisms,” but demonstrative syllogisms start from true premises, whereas dialectical syllogisms start from premises that may merely be endoxa, that is to say, just generally accepted rather than in fact true.
Demonstrative syllogism, dialectical syllogism, and rhetorical enthymeme are all useful tools for argumentation, and Aristotle does not always sharply distinguish them. For example, he sometimes speaks of the enthymeme as “a form of syllogism” (Post. Anal. I.1: 71a10; cf. Rhet. I.1: 1356b9-10), and even that it is a sort of demonstration (Rhet. I,1: 1355a5-7). At another place he even mentions in passing a different kind of enthymeme that does not really belong to rhetoric but to the special sciences (Rhet. I.1: 1358a6-8). But the key point in all this is that Aristotle does not think that the three kinds of argumentation are all tools for doing the same thing, just in a better or worse way. On the contrary, he insists that it would, for example, be a mistake to try to use a demonstrative syllogism in all cases. “For,” he says, “it is about our actions that we deliberate and inquire, and all our actions have a contingent character; hardly any of them are determined by necessity” (Rhet. I,1: 1357a25-27). When we are debating human actions, therefore, we need to use the proper kind of argumentation, and that may well be the rhetorical enthymeme.
Even if the rhetorical enthymeme is acceptable as an argument form for forensic, legislative, and ceremonial addresses, as Aristotle defines them, however, will it also work for religious argumentation? There are some obvious problems with Aristotle’s presentation here, which have been noted in earlier studies of the relation of Aristotle’s ethical and political theory to his Rhetoric. 

In the first place, what of the ethical responsibility of the speaker? The little Aristotle has to say about this in the Rhetoric is not very impressive. The strongest statement comes at the start of book two (II.1: 1377b24-28): “Particularly in political oratory, but also in lawsuits, it adds much to an orator’s influence that his own character should look right and that he should be thought to entertain the right feelings toward his hearers.” This sounds like rather cynical advice to aspiring politicians and trial lawyers (cf. Halliwell 1994: 221), but in a city that is neither ideal nor entirely corrupt a wise politician will need to use rhetoric (C.D.C. Reeve 1996: 203). But is it too much to ask that such orators should not only seem to have good characters and have the right feelings toward their hearers but also actually have such feelings? Later rhetoricians such as Cicero and especially Quintillion are much clearer on this point than Aristotle here, but any rhetoric intended to guide religious argumentation would have to leave no doubt at all on this score.
Along with the ethical responsibility of the speaker, what of the political responsibility? The two are practically indistinguishable for Aristotle, since ethics takes place in the social order, in the polis. Again, Aristotle’s formulations in the Rhetoric are somewhat disappointing on this topic. He writes that “rhetoric is a combination of the science of logic and of the ethical branch of politics; and it is partly like dialectic, partly like sophistical reasoning” (I.4: 1359b9-13).  This statement can be interpreted in various ways, but any reader who inferred from it that rhetoric is to be partly logical, like the art of dialectic, and also partly sophistical, like the ethical branch of politics, would find plenty of corroborating passages in the rest of the book.
And what of the ethical or political responsibility of the listeners to the discourse? As Kierkegaard remarks in his journals (Kierkegaard 1978, 5:5782), Aristotle hardly considers the responsibility of the listener at all. Much of classical Greek and Latin rhetoric does not do much better. For an account of religious rhetoric this is a fatal fault. A prophet or evangelist, for example, may get out the word, but a big part (sometimes the whole) of the responsibility for the success of the message rests on the listeners. Those who lack “ears to hear” will not hear.

2. St. Paul and St. Anselm
What is distinctive about religious argumentation, specifically within a Christian context? The next step in this essay will be twofold: first, to sketch some features of such argumentation, drawing upon what has already been found in Aristotle but using a sample passage from St. Paul; and second, to introduce a classic work of religious argumentation in the philosophical tradition, the Proslogion of St. Anselm.
The passage from Paul is from his first letter to the Corinthians 15:12-14 (NRSV): “Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” This passage, taken with its surrounding context, fits all of Aristotle’s criteria for a rhetorical enthymeme. In common with a dialectical syllogism, the passage takes up an ethically related issue and confronts the listener with an alternative: either Christ is risen or not. Unlike such a syllogism, however, this enthymeme is addressed to people who may be uneducated and for whom, therefore, the reasoning needs to be kept short and to the point. In fact, at least one premise (“Christ was one of the dead”) is a kind of endoxon within the Christian tradition (cf. Erikkson 1999: 275-76) and has to be supplied by the reader, making this argument an “enthymeme” in the usual sense too. Use of enthymeme is a common feature of New Testament scripture, as Vernon Robbins demonstrates in his recent article dealing with Luke 11:1-13 (Robbins 1998: 191-92; cf. Eriksson 1999: 290-91).  The whole context in I Corinthians is rhetorical. The preceding verses (9-11) support Paul’s ethos, as do the later verses (30-32) about the risks he has run for the sake of the message. As Anders Erickson has shown (Erickson 2001: 117-19), the passage also works against an emotional backdrop of pathos, including fear of damnation. That emotion then turns to joy in the following verses (20-28) when Paul bursts forth with the message of Christ’s resurrection.

Much of this rhetoric could be fitted into Aristotle’s delineation of enthymeme, though transposed into an early Christian setting. What drives Paul’s passage is an apocalyptic urgency in view of the coming resurrection, so that the pressure of a deadline requires that an unavoidable either/or decision be made on grounds that would not be considered sufficient for a demonstrative or dialectical syllogism. Moreover, there is even a certain political tenor in the passage that Aristotle might have found congenial. For just at the time when Aristotle was writing, the polis itself, the presupposition of Aristotle’s political theory, was already being supplanted by Alexander’s empire. Paul, writing centuries later when the city-states had been swallowed up by empires, has to address a polis of a very different kind. When he writes to the Corinthian congregation he speaks as part of a close-knit community, sharing its fears and its joys along with its responsibilities. Unlike Aristotle’s polis, however, membership in the Corinthian congregation does not exclude being part of other poleis, and at least according to Acts 26 Paul has no hesitation on another occasion to address, for example, a Roman governor on the strength of his membership in the Roman Empire itself.
Where Paul’s rhetoric most plainly differentiates itself from Aristotle’s as presented here, however, is in the long range scope of its ethical/political theory, and in the way it places the weight of responsibility for communication upon the listeners. For Paul it would not be sufficient, nor usually even relevant, to achieve the goals of Aristotle’s rhetoric: for example, to win a jury verdict, a senate vote, or a round of public applause. Paul does not think he is just giving a one-shot speech, but rather that he is delivering during his lifetime, through God, an eschatological message of salvation and eternal life. Yet difficult as Paul’s preaching mission may be, it is by itself still not as daunting as the part of his task he shares with his listeners, since they all, Paul included, have to take that message and go out and do it.
I shall not pursue the passage from Paul further, since others here can do that much better than I. My reason for discussing him has been simply to lay out some principles of religious argumentation as they might be taken up, for example, by another saint, St. Anselm, writing in the eleventh century of the common era. The whole world to which he writes is different from the world of Paul. A thousand years had passed, and there had been no second coming of Christ. Perhaps, one writer speculates, Anselm feels the need for “a renewed revelation of God after his failure to appear at the millennium” (Schufreider 1994: 243). The community to which Anselm writes is also much different from Paul’s. The monastery Anselm heads at Bec, in Normandy, follows the Benedictine rule of the time, requiring that all the hundred and fifty psalms be chanted aloud each week (Ward 1973: 27). Besides the canonical psalms, the monks also chant a whole host of other psalms, scripture passages, and commentaries, making their days and nights a continual cycle of prayer. By Aristotelian standards the monastery at Bec might well be called a little city-state, a polis, but one so unlike either Aristotle’s Athens or Paul’s Corinth as to belong almost on another planet.

Thus for a new community, and a new millennium, Anselm proposes a new form of religious argumentation, based apparently on the demonstrative syllogism. For the learned monks at Bec he had set out in the Monologion to write meditations proceeding sola ratione, “by reason alone” (Davies & Evans: 11). In the Proslogion, on the other hand, he makes clear from the start that he is not proceeding on any rationalistic basis.  Reason will not replace faith but fulfill it: “And neither do I seek to understand so that I may believe, but believe so that I may understand” (Schufreider 1994: 323; subsequent references to the Proslogion text are cited simply as “Pros.”). On this basis the Proslogion then begins, and in chapters two through four comes to the famous statement that God cannot be thought not to be. For, he says, speaking to God, “we believe that you are something than which nothing greater can be thought,” and such a being cannot exist in the understanding alone but must exist also in reality (Pros.: 325). The reasoning is short and elegant, as would befit a demonstrative syllogism, and it proceeds from premises Anselm is confident his monks will immediately recognize as true. There seems to be no need for rhetorical flourishes here, no appeals to emotion or to Anselm’s character, since the proof can stand on its own.
Still, does Anselm really intend the premises in his deductions to stand alone, and, even if he did, would they be able to do so? Already in chapter two at least one key premise seems to be omitted (Schufreider 1994: 127-29), and as the book continues more on more premises are left for the reader to fill in, with the result that what look like demonstrative syllogisms turn out on closer examination to be what, in classical rhetoric, are usually called “enthymemes.”
Nor is it the case that the inferences are so obvious as not to need to be spelled out fully. At chapter fifteen, for example, he argues that, not only is God “that than which a greater cannot be thought” but God is also “greater than can be thought” (Pros. 349). But how can this be? If God is greater than can be thought, how is anyone able to think of him? If God cannot be thought, he cannot be thought of as “something than which no greater than be thought” either, and the so-called proof of God’s existence in chapters two through four falls through right at the start.

3. Anselm’s Proslogion as Enthymeme
The problem with fastening on the tag phrase “something than which nothing greater can be thought” is that it distorts the place of chapters two through four within the whole work. Unfortunately Anselm’s Proslogion is one of those classics, such as Rossini’s “William Tell” overture, that are usually recognized by a tiny snippet of thematic material but much less frequently heard all the way through. Isolating one part of the book as a piece of logic loses the rhetorical force of the work as a whole.
For Anselm is not only a more than competent logician, he is also a master of classical rhetoric. Study of the classical “trivium,” including both logic and rhetoric, had been part of the curriculum revived by Lanfranc, Anselm’s teacher and predecessor as abbot of Bec (Hopkins 1972: 4), and Lanfranc is known to have given lectures on the pseudo-Ciceronian Rhetoric ad Herennium (R.W Southern; cited in Henry 1967: 241). For a full understanding the Proslogion thus needs to be studied comprehensively, not only in terms of its message but also its speaker and its audience. That is to say, in Aristotle’s sense, it needs to be approached as enthymeme.
Consider, after all, that title itself: Proslogion, meaning “address.” A rhetorician will rightly ask: to whom is it addressed? The apparent answer is that, taken in its entirely, the book is a prayer, directed mainly to God and a few times to Anselm’s own soul. Yet understanding this book as a prayer seems to make nonsense of it as a proof. After all, Anselm’s God is the supreme expert and would need nothing proved to him, least of all his own existence.

A closer look at the entire work, however, resolves the confusion. In a preface Anselm tells how he came to write the book. His previous meditation of this kind, the Monologion, he says, he wrote at the request of the monks of his abbey, to provide for them a prayer they could use in their daily meditations, so that they would be able to grasp the interconnection of various Christian doctrines. The “complex sequence of interconnected arguments” in that work, however, proved more than the monks could handle, and he struggled to find “a single argument that required nothing for its proof but itself alone” (Pros.: 313). The Proslogion is the outcome of that struggle. The speaker is to be the individual monk reading aloud the meditation in his cubicle. That is, as Anselm says, the book is written “in the person of one striving to elevate his own mind to the contemplation of God and seeking to understand what he believes” (Pros.: 313). And the individual monk is the audience, too, but not in the sense of a soliloquy (as in the Monologion), but rather of someone speaking to his own soul “in the presence of” God. The prefix “pros-” in Proslogion is here used in the sense of “before,” or “in the presence of” (Schufreider 1994: 278).

Three key claims are made in this short preface: first, that the Proslogion is fundamentally different in approach from the earlier Monologion; second, that this difference consists in the Proslogion making only one argument; and third, that the point of view from which the Proslogion is written is that of a person striving to elevate his mind to contemplate God and seeking to understand what he already believes. A common misreading of this preface is to act as if the “one argument” of the Proslogion is the proof or proofs in chapters two through four, but that reduces the vast majority of the book to a useless appendage. M.J. Charlesworth puts forward a much better proposal, taking the phrase “a single argument” (unum argumentum) to refer to a “train of reasoning considered as a whole,” a “formal deductive argument with a number of premises” (Charlesworth 1965: 52). This proposal, however, fails to make any clear distinction between the two books, since the Monologion is just as much a “train of reasoning considered as a whole” as the Proslogion. The Monologion may be more complex, but if complexity counts against the unity of a train of reasoning, the Proslogion itself cannot be said to be very unified.

The difference between the two books consists not so much in a difference in number of deductive arguments as in their fundamental purpose. As the titles indicate, they even belong to different literary genres. The Monologion is a meditation for a monk to mull over quietly to himself, but the Proslogion is a prayer “of a person striving to elevate his mind to contemplate God,” using deductive proofs as an aid to that end. Anselm makes the individual proofs as strong as possible, but he includes them not for their own sake but as part of a larger plan of elevating the soul to a vision of God. As Anselm Stolz has shown, an address to God in prayer is the goal of every proof. “Every proof either must be conducted in the form of an address to God or must at least conclude in such an address” (Stolz 1967: 199). This is “argument” of a different sort from the arguments in the Monologion, but it is still argument. The Proslogion appeals to the emotions as well as to the mind, and it challenges the one who meditates to abandon old ethical ways.

Anselm’s argument as a whole thus needs to be described as enthymeme for several interrelated reasons. The “one argument” of the Proslogion is enthymeme in Aristotle’s primary sense, first, because Anselm has had to simplify the original proofs fully worked out in the Monologion to fit the limited capacities of those for whom he was writing. Second, because this process of simplification requires leaving out many premises, the book is also full of “enthymemes” in the other sense of the term that later became conventional in classical rhetoric. Finally, the book is enthymeme because that is the only category that deals at the same time with proof to mind, heart, and will, to logos, pathos, and ethos. Once the concept of argument is allowed its full Aristotelian scope, including not only the demonstrative or dialectical syllogism but also the rhetorical enthymeme, there is no longer any reason to classify the book in any other way.

4. Stages Along the Mystical Way
Identifying the Proslogion rhetorically brings out the unity behind the diversity of literary styles in the book and thereby brings out the “one argument” toward which it is moving. The clue to the organization of the book is to be found in the sections of poetic prose that occur at critical points in the argument. In his edition Schufreider admirably preserves the poetic rhythm of the poetic sections of both the Latin and English versions of  the text. These poetic sections are part of a recognizable genre of writing, of “prayers to the saints,” that has a regular pattern of thematic development, and that same pattern underlies the structure of the Proslogion.
During the period in which he wrote the Proslogion Anselm also wrote for his friends a body of prayers, nineteen of which have survived and are available in Benedicta Ward’s translation. What these prayers illustrate is that Anselm expressed emotions freely and subtly in poetry. Evidently the monastic practice of meditative chanting of psalms throughout the day and night created a context in which poetic prose became a natural way of expression.
Ward’s research shows that Anselm’s prayers have a definite pattern that carries over into the long introductory prayer to the Proslogion. Although the prayers vary widely in length and complexity, they typically follow most of the same successive stages (Ward 1973: 56-59): first, a withdrawal from usual occupations into one’s cubicle, then a call for shaking off sluggishness and stirring up the mind, then two stages of “compunction of the heart,” and finally a conclusion, which expresses “union with God, the Blessed Trinity, in the bliss of heaven” (Ward 1973: 56). The core of the prayer is in the two stages of compunction, which are, according to Gregory the Great’s Moralia on the Book of Job, first, when one is “shaken with fear at his own wickedness,” and second, when one looks “up to the joys of heaven” and is “strengthened with a kind of hope and security. One emotion excites tears of pain and sorrow, the other tears of joy” (cited in Ward 1973: 55). Ward points out that the introductory prayer of the Proslogion fits much of this pattern: “withdrawal, self-knowledge, and compunction” (Ward 1973: 79). The second compunction, however, is here only “a longing for God,” followed by a thanksgiving and resolution to persevere in prayer (Ward 1973 79). Chapter fourteen of the Proslogion “returns to the theme of longing” and the last chapters “praise God and the bliss of heaven” (Ward 1973: 81).
Ward’s conclusions about this journey of the soul are highly suggestive and capable of being expanded when taken in conjunction with the logical demonstrations the Proslogion carries on at the same time. I am following here the division of the book proposed by Stolz, with one major modification. Stolz divides the book evenly into two halves, the first as chapters one through thirteen, where God is described as “that than which a greater cannot be conceived” and the second, chapters fourteen through twenty six, in which God is that which is “greater than can be conceived” (Stolz 1967: 194). While Stolz’s division allows for the logical turning point in the book, it does not, it seems to me, do as well with the psychological turning point, which comes at chapter eighteen.

My proposal, therefore, is that the book divides, after the preface, into three parts (chapters one through thirteen, fourteen through eighteen, and nineteen through twenty six). The opening chapter’s prayer expresses at first abasement for the human sinful condition generally and later some sorrow for one’s own transgressions, but the main message is a request to God for enlightenment. The so-called “ontological proof” chapters come as an answer to that request, and they are followed by other chapters that define with complete assurance some very problematic topics: God’s omnipotence, eternality, justness and mercifulness, and the like. At chapter fourteen, however, some of that assurance breaks down, as the monk asks why he has not experienced this and finally admits that “it is more than can be understood by any creature” (Pros.: 349). That chapter, in turn, leads to the thesis in chapter fifteen, that God cannot be thought, a startling admission (“Anselm’s confession”; Schufreider 1994: 209-30) that seems to overthrow everything he has been saying up until then. The following chapters move away somewhat from argumentation to express convictions in poetic prose, leading to the emotional turning point in chapter eighteen. This state is what is called, in the prayers of the time, the “first compunction” of sorrow for sin. Here the monk is overcome with “sorrow and grief,” not in general terms but personally, and he pleads to God: “Cleanse, heal, focus, illuminate the eye of my mind so that it may behold you” (Pros.: 355; italics in original). From that point on, confession combines with argumentation, evoking a “second compunction” of rejoicing in the bliss of heaven and culminating in chapter twenty-six, which is a final hymn to God.
Briefly put, the argument of the Proslogion interweaves logical demonstration with emotional expressions of, first, grief and then finally joy, so that both logos and pathos reinforce each other and each contributes to a narrative of the ascent of the soul to God. The logical turning point comes when the monkish speaker/listener concludes that God is beyond thought, and the emotional turning point is when he abandons some of his confidence in his own uprightness (his “ethos,” one might say) and becomes open to what Anselm would call wonder and joy in the love of God.

5. Aristotle, Anselm, and Paul
If the Proslogion is rhetorical argumentation in the tradition of Aristotle and his Greek and Latin followers, why does it differ so widely from them in arrangement? How does a pupil of the Rhetorica ad Herennium come to compose an argument that seems to lack every standard part of a persuasive speech?
Part of the answer is that these parts are there, although not in a usual way. The Proslogion’s preface serves as an exordium, helping to establish Anselm’s credibility. The only difference is that it is the monk, not Anselm, who will actually be delivering the speech. That preface also serves as a narratio, stating the theme of the argument that will follow. The opening prayer, in chapter one, works as a partitio to lay out the outline of the speech, but so subtly that it may pass unnoticed. The probatio or proof itself begins with a refutation of the hypothetical opponent (the fool who says in his heart “there is no God”) and then goes on for most of the rest of the speech. Although it looks as if there cannot be a peroratio at the end summing up all what has been shown, because so many theses have been proposed, the speech does conclude by reaching the goal of its one argument. Anselm has clearly done his homework using whatever handbooks of classical rhetoric were on hand.
Another part of the answer has to be that the stock outline for a courtroom, parliamentary, or public occasion speech, as found in the handbooks, simply would not fit the occasion. When both the speaker and the audience admit they are totally guilty, and then both the speaker and the audience turn out to be the same person, the canned forensic oration does not work. When scores of theses have to be brought up and proven, when the only known opponent is purely hypothetical, when the person to be praised is God, and when the speech is expected to be delivered over and over again, day after day, week after week, by the same speaker to the same audience, in the privacy of one’s own cubicle, the best plan may be to scrap the old rules for speech writing and start over.
But the decisive part of the answer is that Anselm has been tutored not only by Aristotle and his school but also by the apostle Paul, through reading scripture as well as by way of Augustine. For both Anselm and Paul argumentation is a corporate experience; the speaker presenting the argument and the audience hearing it are to be persuaded together, by God. Both of them think the root problem is ethical/political, human sin, and the only solution has already been provided by what God had done. The result is that in a typical passage from Paul, as in the Proslogion, the dominant pathos is a transition from despair to joy. Anselm’s monks at Bec may or may not have shared Paul’s sense of urgency about a second coming in their generation, but they nonetheless prayed “without ceasing,” in their own way. Because Anselm and Paul have all this in common, they can, while sharing much with the classical rhetorical tradition, share even more with each other.

REFERENCES
Anselm (1998). “Monologion.” In: B. Davies & G.R. Evans (Eds.), Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works (pp. 3-81), Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Anselm (1994). “Proslogion.” In: G. Schufreider (Trans.), Confessions of a Rational Mystic: Anselm’s Early Writings (pp. 310-75), Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Aristotle (1941). “Posterior analytics” and “Topics.” In: R. McKeon (Ed.), Basic Works of Aristotle (pp. 110-206), New York: Random House.
Aristotle (1946). “Rhetorica.” In: W.D. Ross (Ed.), The Works of Aristotle 11 (pp. 1354a-1420b), Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Burnyeat, M.F. (1994). “Enthymeme: Aristotle on the logic of persuasion.” In: D.J. Furley & A. Nehemas (Eds.), Aristotle’s Rhetoric: Philosophical Essays (pp. 3-53), Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Charlesworth, M.J. (1965). St. Anselm’s Proslogion. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Eriksson, A. (1999). “Special topics in I Corinthians 8-10.” In: S.E. Porter and D.L. Stamps (Eds.), The Rhetorical Interpretation of Scripture: Essays from the 1996 Malibu Conference (pp. 272-301), Sheffield: Sheffield University Press.
Eriksson, A. (2001).  “Fear of damnation: Pathos appeal in I Corinthians 15 and 16.” In: T.H. Olbricht and J.L. Sumney (Eds.), Paul and Pathos (pp. 115-26), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature.
Halliwell, S. (1994). “Popular morality, philosophical ethics, and the Rhetoric.” In: D.J. Furley & A. Nehemas (Eds.), Aristotle’s Rhetoric: Philosophical Essays  (pp. 211-30), Princeton: Princeton University Press.
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ISSA Proceedings 2002 – Making The Case For War: Bush’s Rhetorical Validation Of America’s Action

logo  2002-1Wars are waged through words as well as weapons. This is not to say that military or security realities do not exist apart from rhetorical descriptions of them. Rather, the rhetoric that defines a nation’s interests, describes aggressive actions, and exhorts a people to support their leaders as they commit to military operations is a crucial component in any country’s war effort. No American president could mount a war without public discourse to explain and justify the war. Even in a situation when a country has been attacked on its home soil – as the United States was on September 11, 2001 – rhetoric is necessary to contextualize the attack, give it meaning, and justify the appropriate response to it. This paper will examine the rhetoric of U.S. President George W. Bush following the September 11 airline hijackings that resulted in attacks on the World Trade Center Towers and the Pentagon, and in a downed plane in Pennsylvania. We will review three theoretical constructs that can illuminate President Bush’s discourse: presidential crisis rhetoric, war rhetoric, and the rhetoric of militant decency. We will then use these theories to explain how Bush discursively developed five themes: the nature of the crisis situation, the power of the United States, the character of the United States, the character of the enemies of the United States, and the social responsibility of America. Finally, we will explore implications of Bush’s rhetorical choices, the theoretical frameworks that we have used, and some broader international issues.

This paper will analyze six statements the president made in the wake of the hijackings: Bush’s three public appearances throughout the day on September 11, his address to the Joint Session of Congress on September 20, his announcement on October 7 that the U.S. had begun military strikes in Afghanistan, and his State of the Union address on January 29, 2002. The six speeches express an evolution of discourse as the narrative of the events evolved from a crisis to war.

In his examination of presidential crisis rhetoric, Windt (1992) argues that situations do not constitute crises until they are labeled as such by a president. While Windt (1992) excludes external military attacks on the United States from the category of rhetorically created crises, he also discusses Franklin Roosevelt’s message of December 8, 1941, asking Congress to declare war on Japan as an example of crisis rhetoric. This illustrates that even if a president faces a situation where the facts appear incontrovertible, the president’s interpretation of these facts and events defines the nature of the crisis and strongly influences the response of the citizens. In creating or defining these crises, Windt (1992) argues that presidents use three strategies. First, the president establishes that the country faces a new situation that demands a response. Here the president offers a narration of salient facts and a characterization of the motives of the agents involved. Second, the president places this new situation within an ongoing conflict between antagonistic forces. Finally, the president calls for public support of new policies.

George W. Bush, in his post-September 11 rhetoric, was responding to a series of horrific events that were witnessed by a worldwide audience. The images and reports of carnage and mayhem certainly constituted a crisis apart from the political meaning of the events. Despite what viewers had seen seen, the president needed to provide factual data as well as an interpretive framework. Bush’s post-September 11 rhetoric provided another crucial function as his administration responded militarily to the attacks. As Windt (1992) notes, crisis rhetoric also seeks “to unify the people behind a particular policy announced by the President” (97).

Campbell and Jamison (1990) specifically analyze presidential war rhetoric and also argue that presidents utilize predictable strategies as they justify their calls to war. Presidents employ five arguments that have endured because they are necessary for the president to demonstrate rhetorically an appropriate understanding of the powers of the office. First, the president tries to convey that the desire to go to war is a thoughtful, rather than rash, decision. Second, the president presents a narrative that justifies war. Third, the president appeals to the audience to show unity in their support for the war effort. Fourth, the president must establish that he or she is justified in taking on the powers of commander in chief. And finally, the president may employ “strategic misrepresentations” to legitimize further the call to war (Campbell & Jamieson, 1990, 105).
A final theoretical framework will be helpful in understanding the post-attack rhetoric of President Bush: the concept of militant decency. Friedenberg (1990) describes the public statements made by President Theodore Roosevelt as he positioned the nation to wage both a physical and ideological war. This rhetoric featured three themes: a portrayal of the United States’ power, an extended development of the United States’ character, and a description of social responsibility that the United States should and would assume. According to Friedenberg (1990), this rhetoric of militant decency can illuminate the rhetoric of other presidents who try to promote military action.

The first aspect of the rhetoric of militant decency is the emphasis on power. The power can be individual, national, or presidential. The idea of forcible diplomacy is not new. Throughout history people have equated a nation’s strength with its ability to defend itself and wield its might against its enemies. Power gives a nation options in handling a situation but these options are also restrained by moral codes of righteousness. Friedenberg (1990) argues that the rhetoric of militant decency is militant because it is not hesitant about the use of power. It is decent because the power is to be used for just ends (Friedenberg, 1990, 31).
Second, there must by an emphasis on character. Here the president focuses attention not only on the head of state but also on the character of the country. A nation should be honest, it should have the courage to act, and the action should stem from a thoughtful understanding of the situation based on common sense. In addition a nation’s actions should mirror their position within the international community and befit their status. In this case the rhetoric is militant because it takes a firm stance on how a nation should strive to exemplify noble character and it is decent because it involves belief and action that is consistent with that nobility (Friedenberg, 1990, 31).

A nation also should be socially responsible in applying militant decency. Each nation must realize that they are only one piece of the complex puzzle that makes up the world. The actions of a nation should stem from a utilitarian concept that is grounded in moral conviction. Responses to situations should not be selfish but should be dedicated to the betterment of the whole. While defense of the homeland is paramount to a nation’s sense of security, that security is tenuous if there is significant unrest around the world. The religious nature of this theme is unmistakable. Here exists a clear distinction in defining moral decency as a conflict between good and evil, and between right and wrong. Viewed from the lens of social responsibility the rhetoric is militant because it imposes and upholds the socially responsible role, and it is decent because the action is for the common good.

The following analysis will focus on five dimensions of Bush’s rhetoric as he sought to interpret the crisis and justify war as a response. We will specifically examine Bush’s effort to depict the new situation created by the attacks, the power of the United States, the character of the United States, the character of the enemy, and America’s social responsibility.
The president’s first rhetorical task was to describe the situation the United States faced. Bush made his first public statement regarding the attacks during a visit to a Sarasota, Florida, elementary school, where he was informed of the events. The initial reports were sketchy, and Bush’s response was correspondingly terse. He observed that “this is a difficult moment for America” and termed the events “ a national tragedy.” He also informed Americans that he had mobilized the federal government to help the victims of the attack and to find the perpetrators. When Bush touched down in Louisiana later in the day, he was more descriptive of the situation. “Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward,” he began his remarks. He provided evidence of the steps that he, his cabinet, the military, and the federal government were taking to ensure U.S. security at this time. He reiterated that the United States was working to find the parties responsible for the attacks. He also contextualized the event by interpreting it as a test of America’s resolve. The president further developed this framework in his speech from the Oval Office on the evening of September 11. “These acts of mass murder were intended to frighten our nation into chaos and retreat” the president declared, concluding, “they have failed.” Bush again listed the steps that he and the government had taken to protect national security. He added, “The functions of our government continue without interruption” and also told the audience that the “search is underway for those who are behind these evil acts.” In the immediate aftermath of the attacks, two of the president’s highest rhetorical priorities were to label the horror and outrage produced by the attacks and simultaneously reassure the American people that their nation and government had not been brought down by the attacks.

In the weeks and months after September 11, the president had more opportunity to frame the situation. Bush’s description of the new situation faced by the United States depicted Americans as having been hitherto unaware of their vulnerability. “Tonight we are a country awakened to danger and called to defend freedom,” he said on September 20. In his October 7 speech Bush reminded his audience that “we have learned, so suddenly and so tragically, there can be no peace in a world of sudden terror,” which he described as “today’s new threat.” Several months later, in his State of the Union address, the president again expressed this interpretation of events. He noted that “the civilized world faces unprecedented dangers.” The new situation, according to Bush, ushered in an era of new awareness and responsibility for the U.S.
This portrayal of the United States had several implications. It depicted the United States as an unwitting and innocent party in the conflict. It also justified a swift and powerful military response. This view also suggested the moral qualities of the participants and the moral choice posed by the situation. The United States was a blameless victim, while its attacker was evil. Nations around the world would have “a choice to make,” said Bush on October 7, noting, “In this conflict there is no neutral ground.” Finally, Bush argued on October 7 that the attack on the United States had not only national repercussions, but was significant for the entire “civilized world.”
The public statements by George W. Bush in the wake of the World Trade Center attacks also embody the three themes of militant decency, which are power, character, and social responsibility. In all his speeches he emphasized the use of power. In his first statement on the morning of September 11, even though the details and the scope of the situation were unclear, the President indicated that the United States would “hunt down and find those folks who committed this act.” He further indicated his resolve as he noted that, “Terrorism against our nation will not stand.” Bush repeated this litany in his afternoon statement in Louisiana when he firmly declared, “Make no mistake: the United States will hunt down and punish those responsible for these cowardly acts.” The hunt metaphor clearly in line with use of power indicates a relentless vigil to discover the perpetrator of the crime where the hunter wields the power and the prey runs in fear. Bush then indicated that “all appropriate security precautions to protect the American people” had been taken and that the United States military “at home and around the world is on high alert status.” That evening in Washington Bush again rattled the saber, observing that “Our military is powerful, and it’s prepared.” By September 20 the president warned that the U.S. military would not make a distinction between terrorist groups and sovereign states that protected them.

President Bush’s speech before the Joint Session of Congress on September 20 reaffirmed Bush’s earlier statements with regard to America’s ability to demand righteous resolution. The hunt metaphor had become reality; Bush promised action. The president pledged, “Whether we bring our enemies to justice, or bring justice to our enemies, justice will be done.” He also articulated that the power of the US was a contributing factor in the terrorists’ decision to attack the U.S., noting that “They stand against us, because we stand in their way.”
The final aspects of power in the September 20 speech included declarations of the various alerts Bush had issued since September 11 which indicated the actual use of military force in the near future. He told the military, “Be ready. I’ve called the Armed Forces to alert and there is a reason. The hour is coming when America will act, and you will make us proud.” Concluding the September 20 speech Bush summarized the power and resolve of the U.S. by proclaiming that, “We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail.”
In the speech of October 7 power in the form of military force moved from being an option to being a course of action. Bush opened his speech saying that, “On my orders, the United States military has begun strikes against al Qaeda terrorist training camps and military installations of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan.” Bush then described how the power initiatives outlined in the September 20 speech had been implemented noting that he had mobilized law enforcement agencies, the National Guard, and the Reserves. The president also told the military that their goal was just. Bush meets Friedenberg’s criteria for militant decency. Although Bush was not hesitant about the use of power, that use was tempered with common sense and it was for a just end. Bush reminded Americans of the demands placed on the Taliban in the September 20 speech indicating that, “None of these demands were met. And now the Taliban will pay a price.”

The State of the Union address provided an assessment of America’s military action. Bush indicated a level of success by proclaiming, “we are winning the War on Terror.” Conceding that the war was not over, but alluding to the resolve of U.S. action Bush advanced that, “Our cause is just, and it continues.” Pointing to the ongoing nature of the conflict, he warned that any strike against the United States would result in a military confrontation. Bush closed the State of the Union by saying, “Steadfast in our purpose, we now press on. We have known freedom’s price. We have shown freedom’s power. And in this great conflict, my fellow Americans, we will see freedom’s victory.” He thus exemplified the use of power in militant decency.
Bush also evoked character as a component of militant decency. He declared on the afternoon of September 11, “The resolve of our great nation is being tested. But make no mistake, we will show the world that we will pass this test.” In the evening address the President created several depictions of character. Noting that the attacks were intended to instill fear in the nation, Bush posited that “they have failed.” He continued, “Our country is strong. A great people have been moved to defend a great nation.” Bush returned to his theme of American strength and endurance when he said, “Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These attacks shatter steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve.” And finally, with an optimistic vision of solidarity and confidence, Bush proclaimed that “This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time.” Similarly, he closed his October 7 speech by vowing, “We will not waver; we will not tire; we will not falter; and we will not fail.”
The president also developed a portrait of compassionate Americans. Bush noted on September 20 that he had “seen the decency of a loving and giving people who have made the grief of strangers their own.” During that speech Bush also said that the conflict was with the Taliban government of Afghanistan, and not the Afghan people nor Muslims. He directly stated to Muslims of the world, “We respect your faith.” According to the president, American compassion included religious tolerance.

The faith of Americans is another character trait Bush utilized in the September 20 speech. He observed that, “Prayer has comforted us in sorrow, and will help strengthen our journey ahead.” At the end of the address Bush also argued that the ideological struggle had God on America’s  side. “Freedom and fear, justice and cruelty, have always been at war, and we know that God is not neutral between them.” He concluded the September 20 speech with a prayerful exhortation. “Fellow citizens, we’ll meet violence with patient justice – assured of the rightness of our cause, and confident of the victories to come. In all that lies before us, may God grant us wisdom, and may He watch over the United States of America.” At the conclusion of the State of the Union address Bush crafted a vivid depiction of the American spirit: “Beyond all differences of race or creed, we are one country, mourning together and facing danger together. Deep in the American character, there is honor, and it is stronger than cynicism. And many have discovered again that even in tragedy – especially in tragedy – God is near.” According to Friedenberg (1990) virtue as embodied in Christian ideals is a strong component of good character.
Bush thus presented America as a strong country which displayed tolerance of diversity and good will toward other nations. Not only were these defining qualities of the United States, according to Bush, they were the reasons the United States was attacked in the first place. On the evening of the attacks the president said, “America was targeted for attack because we’re the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world.” During his State of the Union address, Bush described evidence of the “hatred” expressed by the enemies toward the United States.

Bush spoke of the courage and character of individuals as well as the nation. In the September 20 speech he spoke directly of the courage of Todd Beamer, one of the passengers who rushed the terrorists in the plane that was downed in Pennsylvania. He described the “endurance of rescuers, working past exhaustion.” He concluded the September 20 speech displaying the police shield of George Howard, “who died at the World Trade Center trying to save others.” The shield had been given to Bush by Howard’s mother, Arlene. In his speech of October 7 Bush referred to a letter he received from a fourth grade girl with a father in the military. “‘As much as I don’t want my Dad to fight,’ she wrote, ‘I’m willing to give him to you’.” In the State of the Union speech Bush again turned to children, the future of America, for an emotional appeal using character by referring to a note and a football left by a little boy for his father who was lost. “Dear Daddy, please take this to heaven. I don’t want to play football until I can play with you again some day.”
Bush also demonstrated presidential character in the speech of September 20 as he imposed the challenge of the situation on himself. He professed his personal resolve as he affirmed that, “I will not forget this wound to our country or those who inflicted it. I will not yield; I will not rest; I will not relent in waging this struggle for freedom and security for the American people.” In his State of the Union address he vowed, “We won’t stop short,” and thereby preempted comparison to his father’s Operation Desert Storm.
Bush’s depiction of the United States as the good party in this global conflict was matched by his portrayal of the enemy as the evil party. As noted earlier, theorists of presidential crisis rhetoric and war rhetoric note the narrative aspect of the president’s rhetorical interpretation of an event. As Fisher (1987) notes, characters are critical components of narratives; audiences judge the believability of narratives in part based on the believability of characters in those narratives. Presidents are careful to illustrate the character of their own country in describing situations of international conflict. Compelling protagonists require antagonists, so the president must also portray an enemy or enemies that can serve to unite and mobilize American citizens. Students of social movements point to the framing of the opposition as an important function of movement rhetoric (Stewart, Smith, and Denton, 1989). These characterizations of the enemy work to “gain legitimacy for the movement while stripping the opposition of its legitimacy” (Stewart, Smith, and Denton, 1989, 125). This purpose of social movement discourse is also an important function of rhetoric justifying war. In the case of the War on Terrorism, this was especially critical because the enemy was not immediately known; therefore, the president had to develop this enemy rhetorically. As this analysis will show, Bush’s rhetorical construction required sensitivity and precision.

Throughout his speeches, Bush described the enemy as having many evil qualities. Yet Bush faced several challenges in portraying the enemy. The president’s need to depict an enemy was frustrated initially by the lack of the enemy’s identity. When the enemy was identified it was a difficult enemy to label – it consisted of a group in hiding whose existence and motives were unfamiliar to most Americans. Moreover, Bush could not rely on easy (and often bigoted) portrayals of the enemy as being a country, a people, or a faith.
Bush began his characterization of the enemy by imbuing the enemy with the qualities of evil and cowardice. In his September 11 statement from Louisiana Bush called the unidentified attacker a “faceless coward.” That night he told his audience that Americans had seen “evil, the very worst of human nature.” On September 20 he described the terrorists as “enemies of freedom.” When announcing the United States’ air strikes against the Taliban, he observed that “the terrorists may burrow deeper into caves and other entrenched hiding places.” The enemy was not only wicked, but would run and hide when challenged.
Bush publicly declared the identity of the enemy in his September 20 speech. He identified both al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden as the parties responsible for the attacks. Because Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda were relatively unknown to the American people before the September 11 attacks, Bush gave Americans reference points for understanding how they functioned and what kind of threat they posed. The president warned that this enemy was really a loose confederation of terrorists. To clarify the workings of al Qaeda he provided this analogy on September 20: “Al Qaeda is to terror what the mafia is to crime.” This characterization foreshadowed law enforcement techniques such as seizing financial assets that U.S. officials had used against the mafia and would use against al Qaeda. Bush set al Qaeda in historical context in his September 20 speech by noting that they “follow in the path of facism, and Nazism, and totalitarianism.” The president also connected al Qaeda with previous acts, including the bombing of the American embassies in Tanzania and Kenya and the attack of the U.S.S. Cole. Bush also cautioned that the terrorists constituted a real threat. “Thousands of dangerous killers,” he noted in his State of the Union address, “are now spread throughout the world like ticking time bombs, set to go off without warning.”

While the president could identify a group and a leader as the enemy in the War on Terrorism, this enemy was untraditional and difficult rhetorically because it was not as easy to identify as a nation. In fact, Bush carefully delineated the relationship between al Qaeda and sovereign governments and religious practices. In his October 7 speech Bush repeatedly said that American military force was directed against the Taliban and not the people or other governing interests of Afghanistan. Nevertheless, he conveyed the message that any nation that protected terrorist groups would by definition act as terrorists as well. “If any government sponsors the outlaws and killers of innocents,” said Bush on October 7, “they have become outlaws and murderers, themselves.” A sovereign government that allied itself with the terrorist enemy would also be considered an enemy. Bush made his most sweeping claim in this regard on January 29 when he identified North Korea, Iran, and Iraq as an “axis of evil, arming to threaten the peace of the world.”
Bush also had to distinguish between the religious extremism of the terrorists and the legitimate practice of Islam. On September 20 he characterized the terrorists’ religious beliefs as a “fringe form of Islamic extremism.” He pledged respect for the Muslim faith and described the terrorists “as traitors to their own faith, trying, in effect, to hijack Islam itself.” This characterization of the enemy also highlighted the virtue of Americans’ religious tolerance.
Finally, the president provided motive for the character of the enemy. In his speech to the Joint Session of Congress he said that these terrorists were driven by their hatred of the U.S. He expanded on this idea in his State of the Union speech when he said, “They hate our freedoms – our freedom of religion, our freedom of speech, our freedom to vote and assemble and disagree with each other.” As noted earlier, this explanation of the enemy’s motivation reinforced the portrayal of the United States as the virtuous party in the conflict.

The president articulated the theme of social responsibility – the third component of militant decency. Bush began his remarks that afternoon in Louisiana with the announcement that freedom had been attacked. It is important to note that it is not American freedom that was assaulted, it was the universal value that many nations embrace. This was one of the first indications that the hunt to punish would go beyond U.S. borders. In the evening address Bush displayed power and signaled the theme of social responsibility when he warned, “We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them.” Beginning to publicly call for support from U.S. allies in this global battle against terrorism, Bush noted that “America and our friends and allies join with all those who want peace and security in the world and we stand together to win the war against terrorism.” The defense of freedom was an international effort.

While the September 11 attack was on American soil, the world was drawn into the battle and the United States became a defender of the world. The social responsibility that accompanies a nation’s power compels a nation to serve the global community. President Bush utilized the social responsibility topos of militant decency as a justification for intervention and action to combat terrorism. As the U.S. was obligated to fight world terrorism social responsibility dictated that America could rely on global assistance. Bush laid out the terms clearly on September 20: “This is not, however, just America’s fight. And what is at stake is not just America’s freedom. This is the world’s fight. This is civilization’s fight. This is the fight of all who believe in progress and pluralism, tolerance and freedom.” If global help proved insufficient or not forthcoming, the president made clear that the U.S. would act to fill the void. In his State of the Union speech he conceded, “some governments will be timid in the face of terror. And make no mistake about it: If they do not act, America will.”
The president framed America’s social responsibility in two final ways. First, the United States was compelled by history to join the fight against terrorism. He explained in his State of the Union address, “History has called America and our allies to action, and it is both our responsibility and our privilege to fight freedom’s fight.” Second, America was a noble defender of freedom because its goal was to protect universal rather than American freedoms. In his State of the Union speech he declared, “We have no intention of imposing our culture. But America will always stand firm for the non-negotiable demands of human dignity; the rule of law; limits on the power of the state; respect for women; private property; free speech; equal justice; and religious tolerance.” Bush upheld the doctrine of militant decency by forcefully advocating acceptance of universal values.

The analysis of Bush’s speeches suggests several conclusions. We will consider implications relating to Bush’s advocacy, the theoretical constructs of presidential rhetoric, and international diplomacy. In assessing Bush’s arguments it is notable that he has achieved some important goals: he has guided the United States from a crisis situation to the leadership of an international war effort. He has also been able to gain domestic and international support for this war and to claim success for those actions. He has been able to do so because he skillfully made the case for war. He positioned America’s response as a righteous reaction to the intolerable acts of September 11. First, his interpretation of the situation called for a deliberate and forceful response. Second, he rhetorically demonstrated power to make Americans feel safe and to preempt future attacks. Third, he garnered empathy through his portrayal of American character in a time of crisis and he created an enemy that was shunned by the international community. Moreover, he defined this enemy without the convenience of automatic categories such as nationality or ethnicity. Finally, he presented an equation of social responsibility that defined the obligations of America in the global community. Within this equation America was a cooperative partner with her allies but would undertake any measure to achieve a just resolution.
Our analysis of Bush’s rhetorical achievements points to the inadequacy of current theories to explain the unique rhetorical nature of twenty-first century international crises. Theorists have traditionally separated crisis rhetoric from war rhetoric. In today’s climate of global terrorism, the traditional view of war has changed to include non-state-sponsored actors. These rhetorical categories, as Bush demonstrated, will blend out of necessity. The idea of militant decency may provide a blueprint for rhetoric addressing these situations. World leaders who want to justify military actions may have to consider how to demonstrate the righteousness of their actions as well as their force.
The consideration of the rhetorical justification for the War on Terrorism has international ramifications also. In the international community it is essential to establish a clear warrant for the use of force and the violation of a nation’s sovereignty. While international law may serve as a legal remedy to a conflict, any military intervention must be widely validated. This validation is achieved through rhetorical arguments. The discourse supporting the War on Terrorism was framed as a reaction. One area for future research would be the possibilities of using similar rhetoric as a rationale to provoke or initiate a conflict.

REFERENCES
Bush, G. W. (2001, September 11). Remarks by the president after two planes crash into World Trade Center. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010911.html
Bush, G W. (2001, September 11). Remarks by the president upon arrival at Barksdale Air Force Base. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010911-1.html
Bush, G. W. (2001, September 11). Statement by the president in his address to the nation. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010911-16.html
Bush, G. W. (2001, September 20). Address to a joint session of Congress and the American people. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010920-8.html
Bush, G. W. (2001, October 7). Presidential address to the nation. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/10/20011007-8.html
Bush, G. W. (2002, January 29). The president’s State of the Union address. Retrieved June 21, 2002, from Office of the White House Press Secretary: http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2002/01/20020129-11.html
Campbell, K. K. & Jamieson, K. H. (1990). Deeds done in words: Presidential rhetoric and the genres of governance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Fisher, W. R. (1987). Human communication as narration: Toward a philosophy of reason, value, and action. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press.
Friedenberg, R. V. (1990). Theodore Roosevelt and the rhetoric of militant decency. New York: Greenwood Press.
Stewart, C. J., Smith, C. A. & Denton, R. E., Jr. (1989) Persuasion and social movements (2nd ed.). Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press, Inc.
Windt, T. (1992). The presidency and speeches on international crises: Repeating the rhetorical past. In T. Windt & B. Ingold (Eds.), Essays in presidential rhetoric (pp. 91-100). Dubuque: Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company.




ISSA Proceedings 2002 – School Experience, Modes Of Discourse And Argumentation: A Comparative Study Of Women And Men

logo  2002-1In this paper, we intend to stress the argumentative or rhetorical dimension of human thinking.
Traditionally, studies about thinking have analysed problems that are fairly similar to those employed in the field of logic. In these problems, people must arrive at the only possible solution by applying a set of rules. However, we assume that this approach to thinking ignores a series of problems and situations that cannot be solved by one single solution as, for example, when we hold an opinion (Billig, 1987).
One of the main objectives of this study is to analyse some of the argumentative mechanisms that we use to defend our ideas. By using these mechanisms people criticise positions that are different from their own and justify them when these positions are criticised or when people suggest criticisms. In contrast, the most strongly held beliefs are usually presented without justification (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca, 1994).

Toulmin (1958) and Jonsen and Toulmin (1988) differentiate between two kinds of arguments: substantial or practical arguments and theoretical or analytical arguments. The first form includes the cases in which a conclusion that is not necessary deduced from the premises is inferred from them. In the analytical argument, on the other hand, a general conclusion is necessary deduced from the premises. So, while analytical arguments are based upon universal asserts and principles that makes us arrive at universal truths, practical arguments work with probabilities and depend on context. These two forms of arguments correspond to formal logic, on the one hand, and to everyday reasoning, on the other. Validity is approached by different ways. While in the first type it is reached through the deductive form of the argument, practical arguments are validated on the basis of their content. According to Toulmin, Rieke and Janik (1979), in deductive arguments conclusion adds no new information to premises. Conversely, the persuasive strength of everyday arguments rests upon the new information provided by the conclusion.

The difference between these two kinds of arguments resembles Bruner’s (1986, 1996) distinction between logical-scientific or paradigmatic versus narrative thinking. For this author, there are two modes of thinking, which posses their own functional principles and correction criteria. Both forms can be use to convince, but they differ in their procedure of verification. While paradigmatic thinking intends to provide formal and empirical proofs that may convince of their truth, narratives convince by their resemblance to life. So, the first type pursues increasing levels of abstraction in search of general causes, while narrative thinking deals with narratives construction by using situations and characters that result verisimilar. On the other hand, Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1994) points out that it is generally assumed that, while argumentation is used to convince the others, to convince ourselves we reserve logic. In contrast to this idea, they set a clear relation between argumentation and thinking or, in more precise terms, between argumentation and individual deliberation. Quoting Isocrates, they claim: “the arguments we use to convince other people are the same we use to deliberate”(Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca, 1994, p. 87). Agreement with oneself is a particular case of the agreement with others, so that in order to know deliberation proceses we may analyse argumentation directed to others.
Billig’s (1987) ideas regarding argumentation and thinking are closely related to our discussion. He claims that thinking must be conceived in social and dynamic terms, by assuming its connection to argumentation. Thinking posses a dialogic character. It is possible to know the way we think by analysing the way we argue. The idea that thinking has a social origin led him to defend that learning to argue may be critical for learning to think.
According to Billig (1987, 1991) thinking oscillates between particularization and categorization. Categorization refers to the processes by which an element is included within a general category. So, instead of being conceived as a unique and individual entity, each element is treated as one out of a set. Particularization is the opposite principle. According to this principle, each element is considered on the basis of its own idiosyncrasy or peculiarity. Billig asserts that these two strategies for arguing and thinking, categorization and particularization, are complementary. It means that one does not substitute the other.

The contributions of socio-cultural psychology about the relationship between the activity setting of formal education and the processes of abstraction and categorization are especially interesting. Let’s present these ideas in more detail.
One of the topics that has received more attention from the socio-cultural approach is the relationship between formal education and the modes of discourse and thinking associated to this socio-cultural setting. Several studies have analysed this relationship (Cole & Scribner, 1974; Rogoff, 1981; Scribner, 1977; Scribner & Cole, 1981). Many of them have shown that formal schooling privileges the use of an abstract and decontextualised speech genre, the so-called “rational discourse” (Wertsch, 1987).
According to Wertsch and Minick (1990), the features of rational discourse in school are related to the use of “text-based realities” in this setting. This concept refers to a specific form of object created and maintained through discourse. One of the characteristics of text-based realities is the fact that they impose narrow limits on participants so that reference to everyday experience remains beyond these boundaries. The other feature is that text-based realities are related to the use of decontextualised semiotic signs.
Against this form of discourse we find “contextualised forms of representation” (Wertsch, 1987). In these forms, objects and events are represented in terms of their specific particularity.

School, as we have said, privileges the use of abstract and decontextualised discourse. In these settings modes of discourse that focus on the individual experience of people are sanctioned. In contrast, discourses referred to abstract categories are considered more convincing. They elicit more approval than discourses linked to the individual experience of the person that utters them. Thus, we might expect that the use of these modes of discourse increases as the school experience increases. However, it does not mean the substitution of one form of discourse for another, but the possibility of using different forms of representing the environment and acting on it depending on the context in which the person is involved.
It is possible, thus, that several versions of the same event may coexist in the same person.

On the other hand, it is important to note that mediational means not only provide opportunities for the emergence of new modes of thinking. Just as they facilitate or make possible, mediational means also impose restrictions on our attempts at understanding the world and acting upon it (Wertsch, 1998).
The individual privileges one form of discourse or another depending on the activity setting. But even within one setting which privileges this form of decontextualised discourse and with people that master it, there are always examples of use of forms of discourse related to particular situations, whether personal or someone else’s.
As for the relationship between gender and discourse, there is no unanimous view within gender studies. Some authors remark on the differences between women and men. An example of this position is the work by Deborah Tannen (1990, 1994). This author claims that communication between men and women is cross-cultural. She notes that while men prefer public speech (or informative conversations), women use predominantly private discourse (or affective conversations). According to Tannen, women conceive the public arena as an extension of the private world. This would explain why women show a preference for referring to their personal experience rather than to abstract arguments, even in public settings. In the same way, the work by Gilligan (1982) about moral development showed two different voices for dealing with a problem. While boys tried to solve the moral dilemma by using general rules, girls tried to solve it by identifying with the particular situation and with the people involved. These results might be interpreted in terms of differences between men and women and support the idea that women’s ways of thinking are less decontextualised and more linked to concrete situations.
However, authors like Mary Crawford (1995) assert that the approach to difference does not take into account the variability of discourse between women and men. As this approach does not contemplate within-individual variability, neither does it take into account within-group differences. Men and women are considered as homogeneous groups, so that the differences between their discourses are usually attributed to gender only, without taking into account that this variable may co-vary or interact with other factors. School experience may be one of these factors.

This is one of our basic aims: to characterise these speech genres and relate them to school experience and gender. So, we asked women and men from different educational levels to participate in discussion groups in order to understand how school experience and gender were related to modes of discourse and argumentation.

Method
Participants: Women and men participated in this study; they came from three different educational levels: literacy level, advanced level in adult education and university students.
Procedure. The study consisted of several phases:
So, in order to analyse the way in which educational level and gender relate to each other, a study in which women and men from different educational levels were asked to participate in two debates. The topics of the debates were women’s work at home and out of home and children’s rearing practices and education.

Results
In order to facilitate the understanding of the results, we are going to present first the categories employed in the analysis of the ways of discourse and the results obtained from these analyses, and then the categories and the results from the analyses of argumentation.

CATEGORY SYSTEM: Generality vs. particularity of discourse
We are going to present part of a broader work, so we focus in some of the aspect of the dimension of discourse we analysed. One of the dimensions was the degree of generality versus particularity. Each utterance or speaking turn was classified as
1.1 Particular (P); Discourse referred to a specific situation, either of the individual or someone else’s.
1.2 General (G); The subject of the utterance is neither a specific person nor his/her personal situation. The topic/theme of the description or the opinion is a group of people (women, mother, unemployed men, etc.), a situation that does not correspond to any specific person (there are some cases in which women…), hypothetical cases (if you had to do…), as well as cases in which interlocutors are speaking of abstract
concepts (education, society, etc.). In short, general discourse refers both to situations that are explicitly general and to others that lack specificity.
These two modes of discourse may appear together in the same utterance. We categorize this form as mixed.

Regarding this dimension, data showed that participants’ discourse was similar or different depending on educational level. As the educational level increased, particular ways of discourse decrease and ways of discourse separated of concrete situations were more used. As we have said, school experience was the factor related to differences between participants’ discourse, so that all discussion groups of women were more similar to men from the same educational level.

CarrilloFigureOne

As we have said before, in school an abstract and decontextualised way of discourse is privileged. At the same time, forms of discourse that rely on particular experiences are sanctioned or, at least, are not encouraged. Our debates were carried out within a school setting. Participants might have used the tools privileged in this kind of setting. The more they had participated in these activities, the more frequently used abstract and decontextualised ways of discourse.
It is important to remind that the ways of discourse we use make possible some modes of thinking. So, ways of discourse that are more general and independent from non-egalitarian personal experiences (as we observed in the literacy level) might let people adopt more egalitarian perspectives.
On the other hand, although women’s and men’s ways of discourse form each level were similar with respect to the generality/particularity dimension, we found some relevant differences.
In the literacy level it was the only case were differences between men and women’s discourse were not found. However, in the advanced level discourse referred to particular experiences was more frequent in women’s discussion group (see figure 2).

CarrilloFigureTwo

 

At the same time, men form the university students’ group used abstract and general discourse more frequently than women from the same group. Conversely, mixed discourse, that incorporated examples within generic discourse and established a relationship between general ideas and concrete experiences, was more frequently employed in the group of women (see figure 3).

CarrilloFigureThree

Relying on these results, we can say that as the educational level of participants increased, more differences between the level of generality/particularity of discourse. Data suggest that women prefer to introduce our own or someone else’s personal everyday experience, as shown by the fact that women from the advanced level included more concrete examples within discourse referred to general cases than men form the same level.
It is important to remark that these data do not indicate that women does not master a more abstract way of discourse which permit us analyse a given phenomenon by going beyond particular personal experience. Te issue is not inability, but semiotic preference. In this sense, we can remind that general discourse was the predominant form used by women from the highest educational levels. In sum, although women are able to master the abstract discourse that is privileged in school, we prefer to include our personal relations and experiences in discussion.
However we must again emphasise that groups were similar and different in their discourse mostly depending on the educational level of the participants. Thus, although we found differences between women and men, women from each educational level tend to resemble men from the same level more than women from a different one.
Justification: another aspect that we analyse was
The second dimension of discourse that we analysed was the justifications used by participants. We considered whether participants justified their actions or opinions. The categories were the following:
2.1 Assertion (A); Consist of one or several statements in which participants told actions or expressed opinion, without any justification of them.
2.2 Assertion-justification (A-J); In this category we included the utterances in which acts or opinions were justified. These utterances consisted of one or several assertions together with a justification of why the events narrated happened or the opinions expressed were hold. For instance:
Cases in which the assertion was done in a previous utterance, whether by the same or by a different person, were also included in this category. Therefore, what made us score this category was the appearance of a justification. For example:

The data about justification were related to educational level and gender in the same way as the dimensions of discourse analysed above (see figure 4). The fact that participants justified their assertions depended on their educational level. Again, gender was a variable that modulated the relationship between educational level and justification. We shall start by summarizing the results about this relationship.

CarilloFigureFour

Men and women from the literacy level were the groups that provided lesser arguments to hold their assertions (see figure 5). They provided reasons to act and to defend their opinions in only the 10 % of their interventions. This conduct can be explained by two factors. First, they might not master the argumentative resources to convince and persuade others. As we have claimed, when a person participate in a debate, s/he tries, as presenting her/his position, to get the others to adhere to it. For this purpose, the speaker must anticipate the criticisms that s/he can receive and, in this sense, to include in the arguments justifications of what s/he says or does. As Aristotle maintained in his Rhetoric, one of the proofs used in argumentation are the enthymemes (rhetoric syllogisms), composed by an assert and its justification. But this kind of rhetoric resource was almost not used in the literacy level. Among other reasons because it demands the speakers not only to master some argumentative skills, but also to be aware of the fact that their perspective is only one among others, which can be also plausible. If, in contrast, they assume that their way of conducting is “the right one”, they would hardly try to justify it. According to Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1994), the most solid beliefs are usually presented without any justification. For participants, their opinion about domestic work may not incite any controversy, but correspond to common sense.

CarilloFigureFive

In contrast, in advanced level we found the highest proportion of justifications. They amounted the 35% of the cases. This let us think that for women and men from this level the topics in discussion were polemical. In this sense, their opinions about them should be accompanied by justifications, intending to avoid the criticisms that these opinions might rise. On the other hand, participants in these groups, specially the women, discussed about these topics in a vehement way, showing the importance of the issues at hand. Look for explanations of their situation was important for them. In some way, when a person tries to explain things, s/he is assuming that things could be different.
In the university students groups we use of justifications was more frequent than in the literacy level, but less frequent than in the advanced level. Maybe because these topics did not raise so much controversy as in the advanced level groups.

On the other hand, to explain why did appear a higher frequency of assertions without justification in the groups from this level, it is necessary to take into account the degree of generality-particularity of discourse. As mentioned, the use of general discourse in this level represented the 77.4% of the cases. That is, the most of utterances produced by university students referred to general situations or events. It means that participants in this group used another critical feature of argumentation for Aristotle: the maxim, that consists of a general assertion. In this rhetorical strategy that is alternative to enthymemes, speakers present a fact or opinion as something that is accepted by a group of people, as an assertion that cannot be doubted at all.
If we try to explain these results, we can point out that school may promote the use of this form of utterances. Knowledge transmitted in school is presented as facts that do not allow be questioned. There are very few cases (if any) in which the official version of the story narrated is questioned. As Cross (1996) points out, “educators become the spokespersons of the values assumed by the community, and they teach their audience and admitted science, that is presented as true and, in contrast to (constructed) science that is constructed, does not admit any controversy” (p. 95).

Finally, results showed that there were no differences between men and women in the use of justifications in the advanced and in the university students level. However, in the literacy level women justified their acts or opinions more than men form the same level. Although the topic was not controversial in this level, however, To explain this fact we can argue that, since in this level the topic was less controversial, for women, however, a was a little more.
On the other hand, in many of the aspects of discourse analysed we have found that participants differ from, or resemble others, depending on their educational level. We therefore think that this variable must be taken into account in any study that analyses or compares discourses produced by women and men. From our analysis we also can gather that men and women do not form homogeneous groups with regard to modes of discourse. Within these groups we have found important differences because of the educational level.

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