Over the last 150 years the New York Times, quite arguably the most influential newspaper in the world, has invoked the concept of reasonableness 746, 762 times (not counting adverbial uses, such as reasonably) to describe people and the decisions they make, the objects they construct, the processes they design, and, of course, the arguments they make and have. Turning to the editorial page, the official record of the Times’ judgments on the meaning of important political events and their attempts to persuade policymakers how to respond to them, we find 22, 314 invocations of reasonableness. The editorial page’s use of reasonableness matters because of its influence on elite decision-making, its significant inter-media agenda setting function, and because it explicitly purports to represent and cultivate a public voice. The Times’ editorial page is one of the few self-avowed organs of what John Rawls calls public reason. John B. Oakes, the page’s editor from 1956-1977, went as far as defining the “editorial we”, the voice of the editorial page and by extension its readers, as nothing short of the “community of the reasonable and responsible.” Where Rawls (1996) points to the U.S. Supreme Court as the exemplar of public reason, we point to the Times editorial page. The Times editorial page too gives public reason “vividness and vitality in the public forum,” though much more frequently and directly (237). This does not imply the page’s attempts to embody public reason are without controversy, far from it. The editorial page is a rhetorical battleground where what counts as public reason, and thus what counts as reasonable, is defined and debated. It speaks as advocate and advisor, interlocutor and instructor.

These 22, 314 invocations of reasonableness are not random. An analysis of the invocations of reasonableness on the New York Times editorial page from 1860 – 2004 reveals that reasonableness has several distinct meanings, modifies a large, but stable, class of referents, and works through a set of image schemata that demonstrate how reason is profoundly conditioned by our bodily experience. The meanings of reasonableness, we found, are flexible but finite. As used in the editorial page the term has four primary meanings: the capacity to and the results of judging in a contextually sensitive, prudent, manner (6% of total uses), the capacity to and results of using sound reasoning and credible evidence to support assertions (24%), the capacity to and the results of making impartial assessments and distributing social goods equitably (24%) and, the capacity to and results of proposing and abiding by fair terms of social cooperation (46%). In relation to meaning, our analysis revealed three important dimensions:  First, reasonableness refers to both the capacities of reason and the results of reasoning. Second, the meanings of reasonableness do not change over time as much as the frequencies of particular invocations of the term fluctuate in response to the times. Third, and most importantly, we found that in most of the extended socio-political controversies the editorial page commented on there was more than one of these meanings in play. That is, at the heart of the controversy was a dispute over which of these meanings should prevail. The critical question, then, is not what the meaning of reasonableness is, but, how and why arguers, both at the Times and represented in its pages, come to advocate for one of these particular meanings over another and what are the consequences of that choice.  The answers to this question have important implications for argumentation and democratic theory. These include, first, correcting for the omission of the political dimensions of equity and social cooperation in the accounts of reasonableness informing argumentation theory and, secondly, introducing an important critical component to the ideal of public reason (Hicks 2002, 2003, 2007; Hicks, Margesson, & Warrenburg 2006; Hicks and Dunn 2010).

In the present essay we turn our attention to the temporal dimension of the project, focusing on those periods when the invocation of reasonableness significantly peaked and asking how the interpretation of reasonableness responded to and shaped the political events and pressures of those periods. There are two historical periods when the Times’ invocations of the concept have peaked. The first is between 1890 and 1919. Over 50% of the uses of reasonableness in the entire population of editorials occurred in this epoch, commonly known as the progressive era. During this period the U.S. underwent a profound transformation, not only in the physical landscape of the country but, more importantly, through the invention of a distinctively modern, liberal governmentality that had to address the effects of rapid industrialization, the birth of modern transportation, the demands of organized labor, and the spread of U.S. hegemony and imperialism.

The second peak, and our focus here, occurred in the late 1950’s. The majority of these editorials address the Cold War, often focusing on the tactics of brinkmanship and the accompanying threats of nuclear war. These Cold War editorials are of particular interest because they depart from other editorials in their depiction of reasonableness. Specifically, they consistently focus on reasonableness as a strategic projection, an image to be crafted, and as a game to be played, albeit was the most serious of consequences. This is not to say that this is the first and only time that a strategic depiction of reasonableness found voice in the Times. But Cold War editorials do so more consistently and with a different emphasis. Rather than using the term to assess some person, argument, demand or amount as reasonable, these editorials portray reasonableness simultaneously as an ethical standard to evaluate the convictions and actions of interlocutors and as a strategic prop to be used by actors in political theater. A close reading of these editorials demonstrates how the meaning of reasonableness itself became the object of strategic maneuvering in the Cold War: The Times and the political actors portrayed in these editorials shifted between strategic and ethical accounts of reasonableness to suit their particular interests, exploiting the duality of reasonableness as capacity and standard to privilege their own views and to condemn the conduct of their interlocutors.

In what follows we show how the higher-order conditions of argumentation, namely the ethical and political commitments underwriting a critical ideal of reasonableness, served as the locus of strategic maneuvering in the editorial argumentation of the New York Times concerning Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev’s visit to the U.S. in September 1959 and the proposal for the complete disarmament of nuclear weapons he offered during that visit.

Khrushchev was a gifted rhetorician whose strategic maneuvering consistently challenged the Eisenhower administration. Khrushchev used each of the three methods common to strategic maneuvering: shifting the focal point of disagreement to his advantage, building popular support by provoking his audience’s fears and appealing to their desires, and presenting his claims in a visceral language and in a voice that could shift registers effortlessly. By 1959 he had mastered the rhetoric of reasonableness, using its moderate tone, its conciliatory stance, and its collaborative ethos, to back the Eisenhower administration into a series of argumentative dilemmas that threatened to reveal its military vulnerabilities, to cause its allies to doubt its commitments, and to expose its foreign policy as incoherent. To effectively counter Khrushchev meant winning the fight over what it meant to be reasonable. This contest occurred in the pages of the Times.

1. Sweet Reasonableness: Strategic Maneuvering and Second-Order Conditions
From 1955 to 1960 Nikita Khrushchev campaigned to transform the menacing image of the Soviet Union cultivated during Stalin’s brutal rule. The goal of the Soviet’s new public relations push, launched at the 1955 Geneva conference, was “to destroy the West’s stereotype of Soviet leaders as unreasonable, uncompromising monsters who speak only in insults and with whom there is no point in negotiating, since the end of capitalism is their life’s ambition” (Geneva: Russian Tactics Analyzed 1955, p.E5). To counter these stereotypes, Khrushchev used Geneva as an opportunity for strategic maneuvering through the exploitation of presentational choice, refashioning the Soviet’s foreign affairs rhetoric and the negotiation tactics of its delegates. Absent from the 1955 Geneva conference “were the old ferocious Soviet speeches replete with phrases like ‘imperialist warmongers’ and ‘capitalist cannibals.’ Gone too were the isolation and secretiveness of the Soviet delegates” (Geneva: Russian Tactics Analyzed 1955, p. E5). Instead the Soviets adopted a deliberately moderate tone in their statements and their delegates eagerly pursued the spotlight. “This whole complex of conduct,” the Times argued, “seemed to be a means of saying we are reasonable men. We are making concessions. If you will make concessions too, we can reach agreement” (Geneva: Russian Tactics Analyzed 1955, p. E5).

Khrushchev’s rhetorical campaign continued through the reconvening of the Geneva conference on May 11, 1959.   The forty-one days of talk at Geneva failed to produce any binding resolutions other than an agreement to continue meeting.  Khrushchev used the impasse as an occasion to call upon what Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1969) term the locus of the irreparable, proclaiming that the conferences’ failure created an urgent need for continued talks, but now with him and Eisenhower present. Eisenhower believed that renewed talks were premature, insisting he would not go to the summit unless there was “reasonable hope for agreement there,” which he regarded as a remote prospect at best (Geneva Again 1959, p. E1). The second round of talks, carried without Eisenhower or Khrushchev present, backfired, escalating the conflict between the two countries over the U.S. military presence in Berlin. Khrushchev, through a series of interviews with former New York Governor Averell Harriman issued an ultimatum to President Eisenhower. Khrushchev was quoted as saying that unless Eisenhower agreed to a settlement in Berlin he would “act unilaterally and terminate our rights himself.” Harriman also quoted Khrushchev as saying that: “Your generals talk of maintaining your position in Berlin with force. This is a bluff. If you send in tanks they will burn and make no mistake about it. If you want war you can have it, but remember it will be your war. Our rockets will fire automatically. In the event of fighting your troops would be swallowed up in a single gulp” (Geneva Again 1959, p.E1). Soviet First Deputy Premier Frol Kozlov echoed this hard line and issued an 18-month deadline for the withdrawal of U.S. forces. Eisenhower immediately denounced Khrushchev’s ultimatum as irresponsible, citing it as evidence that despite his public appearance Khrushchev was unreasonable. Eisenhower also quickly reassured Germany that the U.S. military commitment was an “an immovable stone” (Geneva Again 1959, p.E1).

In what turned out to be a brilliant rhetorical maneuver, Khrushchev directed Soviet Foreign Prime Minister Andrei Gromyko to issue a statement that his conversation with Governor Harriman had been misinterpreted; he had made no threat nor should the 18-month deadline be understood as a precursor to force. Khrushchev then argued that this misunderstanding, and its potentially grave consequences, made a face-to-face meeting between him and Eisenhower imperative. Khrushchev suggested that only a visit by each leader to the other’s country, along with a summit meeting between them, could correct this misunderstanding. In essence, Khrushchev claimed that the Cold War was motivated by a profound lack of understanding that could only be remedied by increased contact. This appeal was effective, especially among the British who joined him in a call for a summit. While Eisenhower stood firm in his insistence that any meeting between himself and Khrushchev be preceded by discernable progress on the Berlin issue, he was undermined by the State Department, who, heavily influenced by British pressure, issued an invitation to Khrushchev for a ten-day tour of the United States that would culminate in a summit to be held at Camp David (The Great Ike-Nikita Mystery 1993, p.28).

The news of Khrushchev’s impending visit ignited a firestorm of editorial argumentation in the Times; the most potent being written by Henry Kissinger. Kissinger (1959) argued that U.S. foreign policy’s overreliance on nuclear deterrence forced every decision to be weighed in terms of the risk of total annihilation, making us more likely to waver in our convictions. This vacillation would be exploited by Khrushchev, whose strategy, Kissinger argued, was to communicate with each of the Western powers independently, accentuating their disunity to negotiate a series of concessions from each that would further empower the Soviet Union. The New York Times echoed Kissinger’s fears. The Times forwarded concerns – attributed to unnamed high-level U.S. diplomats – that Khrushchev would use the summit to back Eisenhower into a rhetorical corner. Summits, by their very nature, demand that the parties either reach a fruitful resolution or end in failure. There is a tremendous pressure on the heads of government to make concessions, even if they are imprudent, to avoid being culpable for a summit’s failure. Exploiting this pressure, the Times argued, was precisely Khrushchev’s strategy. By continually proclaiming the Soviets’ desire to reach a reasonable agreement – while simultaneously making no real concessions and issuing demands that U.S. would never satisfy – Khrushchev could appear as “reasonableness itself,” claiming that despite his best efforts, the U.S. refused to negotiate in good faith. The U.S. would appear as the unreasonable aggressor determined to fan the flames of war.

The predictions that Khrushchev would continue to cast his intentions within the rhetoric of reasonableness were correct. On the eve of his talks with Eisenhower, Khrushchev made a “fervent appeal for a reasonable approach” at Camp David. “May God give us the strength,” he said to a large and supportive audience at the University of Pittsburgh, “to solve matters by reason and not force. That is what the people are expecting from us” (Khrushchev Open Talks with Eisenhower Today, 1959, p.1). The intelligence, wit and affability Khrushchev displayed in his press conferences and encounters with American citizens embodied reasonableness, dispelling the caricatures of him as a “communist devil” painted by anti-communist ideologues (Windt, 1971). The fears that Khrushchev would use reasonableness as a means for cornering Eisenhower on Berlin, were, however, misplaced. Rather than trying to force a specific agreement on Berlin, Khrushchev “readily dropped his ultimatum after only two days of talks’ (Windt, 1971, p. 15). Instead he upped the ante, proposing complete disarmament. We will discuss this proposal and the strategic maneuvering it engendered in the next section. But first let’s attend to the forms of strategic maneuvering his “fervent appeal” for reasonableness motivated.

Eisenhower faced a delicate argumentative task at Camp David. If the U.S. negotiated specific settlements it could send the European alliance the message that major decisions were being made without their consent. Not only could this appearance of indifference further strain relations within the alliance, it could also signal that the United States’ commitment to extend its nuclear umbrella was wavering. Either of these interpretations could, as Kissinger warned, be exploited to the Soviets’ advantage. If, on the other hand, the U.S. refused to offer or entertain specific proposals, trading only in generalities, the moral ground would be ceded to the Soviets. The inability to make or meet specific demands, particularly in the context of Khrushchev’s show of reasonableness, would surely confuse the American citizenry, perhaps shaking their convictions in the moral superiority of the United States. More damaging yet would be the inevitable attributions of unreasonableness. By appearing to be unwilling to propose or defend a standpoint, the responsibility for breaking the summit would fall squarely on Eisenhower’s shoulders. Khrushchev had made it clear that he would not hesitate in blaming Eisenhower for the continuation of the Cold War. And once successfully framed as unreasonable aggressors the U.S. could find it virtually impossible to defend its growing investments in Latin America and Southeast Asia as legitimate attempts to curb communist expansion.

Given the disastrous consequences of appearing as belligerent and unreasonable, the Eisenhower administration had to maneuver out of Khrushchev’s argumentative trap. We can discern the outlines of their rhetorical strategy by analyzing the arguments made by administration officials in the New York Times, which were often echoed on the editorial page. This strategy proceeded in three steps: representing Khrushchev’s reasonableness as just a political performance, contrasting this image of reasonableness with the true ideological conviction motivating Soviet political behavior, and, finally, to claim that the discrepancy between Khrushchev’s projection of reasonableness and his real convictions made it clear that the summit should be treated as nothing more than a public relations front in the Cold War.

First, reasonableness was consistently described as a strategic rhetorical performance and often marked as an affectation. For instance, in the July 19^th article “Drift to the Summit Marked by Confusion,” the Times echoes the sentiment of anti-communists who were convinced that Khrushchev would put “up a tremendous show of peaceableness, reasonableness, and respectability at the summit as a smokescreen for the eventual ejection of the West from Berlin” (Schmidt, 1959, p.E3). The use of performative terms like show, image, display, appearance, and illusion to modify reasonableness is prevalent throughout the Times editorial argumentation. Reasonableness is also described in affective terms, such as tone, attitude, and emotional expression. Take for example the editorial “Mikoyan Talks with Nixon,” where the Soviet minister’s reasonableness is “reflected” in “his smile and attitude.” That article invokes the most common way of casting reasonableness in affective terms: “sweet reasonableness.” Matthew Arnold popularized this phrase in his exegesis of Paul’s petition in Second Corinthians: “I beseech you by the mildness and gentleness of Christ.” The Greek word, which the King James Bible translates as gentleness, epiekeia, means more properly, Arnold argued, reasonableness with sweetness, or sweet reasonableness (Arnold 2010, p.207). One who is sweetly reasonable has a disposition defined by generosity, goodwill, magnanimity, and clemency towards the faults of others, a disposition at odds with popular representations of the Soviets, in general, and extended to Khrushchev, in particular. The Times indictment of Khrushchev’s appeals to reasonableness worked through a simple dissociative strategy: Khrushchev’s performance of “sweet reasonableness” was an illusion; his real motivation was to increase Soviet power.

Second, Khrushchev was portrayed as an ideologue, who despite his proclamations of reasonableness remained convinced of Communism’s superiority. Take, for instance, Salvador de Madariaga’s, the former ambassador of Spain to the U.S., influential essay in the Times magazine which claimed that “On Mr. Khrushchev’s own showing, indeed on his own words, his position is incompatible with that of every reasonable man in the West. The Soviet Union is out to bury capitalism, i.e. liberal democracy. We are therefore in the presence of an irreconcilable struggle of sovereign wills” (de Madariaga 1959, p.SM17). Even a relative moderate like Harrison Salisbury, a Times correspondent who respected Khrushchev and was deeply familiar with Soviet life, suggested that the meetings would most likely be unproductive because Khrushchev was “proceeding on the firm assumption that the Soviet economic and social system will prove itself more productive than that of the United States. He is a convinced, if somewhat unorthodox Marxist” (Khrushchev’s Russia – 8, 1959, p.E1). The presupposition common to de Madariaga’s and Salisbury’s arguments, despite their political differences, was that reasonableness is threatened by unwavering conviction. Reasonableness, on this view, demands ideological flexibility, a mind that is not so committed to its own account of the truth that it fails to see the truth in the other’s standpoint. Conviction of the wrong kind, either too intense or too sequestered, is the mark of an unreasonable person. Khrushchev, it was routinely argued in the Times and elsewhere, was unreasonable because of the intensity of his conviction, displayed in his speeches and his service as one of Stalin’s lieutenants. The conceit of these arguments is that liberalism, always defined as concomitant with capitalism, is inherently reasonable because it allows for deliberation and choice, while communism subsists on dogmatic zeal.

Third, once Khrushchev was rendered unreasonable, all that was necessary was to remind the reader that to the communist negotiation was a weapon. Armed with the knowledge that the summit was a battle in the ongoing propaganda war, rather than a genuine negotiation, the goals of the summit could be redefined in purely strategic terms. Strategically maneuvering through defining the type of argumentative activity being used, and, therefore, the normative standards of assessment proper to that type, the Times routinely quoted Eisenhower and his administration trying to lower expectations of the summit, downgrading the possibility of successfully negotiating any binding agreements and suggesting that the most that could be hoped for was the relaxation of tension and perhaps laying the groundwork for future meetings (Geneva Again 1959 p.E1).

This three-prong strategy was designed to demonstrate that the second-order conditions of argumentation were absent, thereby making the negotiations illegitimate. Second-order conditions refer to an advocates cognitive and psychological ability to engage in critical discussion, or genuine negotiations, aiming for rational resolution and, more importantly, are committed to embodying a “reasonable discussion attitude” when encountering their interlocutors (van Eemeren, Houstlosser, & Snoeck Henkemans 2008, p.478). If Khrushchev’s ideological convictions were so intense as to blind him to the obvious economic and political superiority of liberal-capitalism, then his blindness was more the product of constant exposure to Soviet propaganda than any inherent personal defect. Such a characterization was a rhetorical move that squared his obvious intelligence with his presumed dogmatism, rendering him incapable of engaging in genuine argumentation. Because these second-order conditions of argumentation were lacking, the burdens of reciprocity and good will associated with reasonableness were lifted. This left the U.S. free to enter the summit in “bad faith,” just as it accused the Soviets of doing, treating the summit as an exercise in propaganda and using the talks as an opportunity to discover weakness in their interlocutor’s position that could be exploited at a future date.

The goal of the Eisenhower administration’s strategic maneuvering was to circumvent the argumentative dilemma contained in Khrushchev’s calls for reasonableness: How can advocates project reasonableness without signaling retreat, or even the willingness to retreat, from any of their prior commitments? The administration’s strategy utilized the press as a platform to argue that their interlocutor’s calls were a mirage, and therefore, the subsequent negotiations were an illusion, albeit an illusion absolutely necessary for maintaining peace.

2. Disarmament and Distrust: Strategic Maneuvering and Third-Order Conditions.
On September 18, 1959, the second day of Khrushchev’s visit, he augmented his calls for reasonableness with a bold proposal for complete nuclear disarmament. Now Eisenhower had an even more vexing question of how to respond to this grand proposal without appearing to be unreasonable, or justifying Khrushchev’s claims that the U.S. was the unreasonable aggressor sustaining the Cold War. This would require more strategic maneuvering.

Khrushchev caught the Eisenhower administration completely off guard. In a speech given to a large, supportive audience at the University of Pittsburgh, Khrushchev “called for ‘general and complete’ disarmament in four years” (Soft & Hard 1960, p.E1). The speech envisioned a nuclear free world where the U.S. and the Soviet Union lived as “good neighbors.” Khrushchev told the crowd about his “dream” of a “day when all of the arms would be sent to the open hearth furnaces to be melted down for peaceful uses, when the atom was only used for peace and when the sword is beaten into ploughshares” (Salisbury 1959, p.14). This was a deft strategic maneuver. Not only did Khrushchev use this proposal to maneuver topically, revising the anticipated disagreement space constituting the upcoming Camp David summit – the U.S. military presence in Berlin and its implications for German reunification – he reconstituted the audience and their demands, radically increasing the moral constituency that the Eisenhower administration had to address. By making his appeal directly to the American citizenry, rather than to diplomatic officials behind closed doors, Khrushchev sought to create the appearance of an ethical gap between the public and the administration. Khrushchev drove a wedge between the populace and the government, ratcheting up domestic pressure on the Eisenhower administration in the run up to a contentious US election. On September 19^th, in a speech given at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in New York, Khrushchev remarked that he was overwhelmed by the American people’s desire for peace, a desire at odds with how they were represented by their government. The U.S. people, he claimed, were both friendly and peaceful, whereas the U.S. “government still had to prove” that it truly desired peace (Salisbury 1959, p.14). This bifurcation between the desires of the people and of the State was a prominent theme in the speeches he gave during his trip. With each call for disarmament, Khrushchev sought to distance the people from their President, suggesting that Eisenhower was misappropriating his popular support, attempting to brandish it as weapon in the coming talks and turn the talks into a “bull contest.” Eisenhower risked turning the Camp David talks, Khrushchev warned, into a contest to see “who was more stubborn, who had the stronger legs and the longer horns and would shift the other from his position” (Salisbury 1959, p.14). In essence, Khrushchev argued that the American people were reasonable, but their leader was not.

This tactic incensed the Eisenhower administration. They were backed into another argumentative dilemma. How could they reject an offer of complete disarmament and still appear to the world as reasonable? How could they appear to entertain Khrushchev’s proposal without appearing to waver in their commitments to extend the nuclear umbrella to their NATO allies? Again their response was to focus on the meaning of reasonableness itself. And again it was the editorial page of the Times that provided the platform for doing so.

Khrushchev’s proposal was immediately portrayed as disingenuous. A “thinly disguised piece of demagogic propaganda,” was how it was described by Salvador de Madariaga, (de Madariaga 1959, p.SM17). Times correspondent Harry Schwartz declared that Khrushchev was attempting to sell himself as “the apostle of peace and disarmament to the masses” (Schwartz 1960, p.E3). The editorial page claimed that “the spectacular but fraudulent Soviet disarmament plans are essentially propaganda devices to exploit mankind’s hopes and fears and they cannot be met by pleas of reasoning, but only by equally dramatized but honest proposals that will persuade the world”(Reply to Khrushchev 1960, p.24).

The public relations battle, the Times editorial page contended, needed to be fought through redefining what it means to be reasonable. This, rather than mere platitudes of good will, the Times argued, entails “an assumption of reciprocal reasonableness or sincerity” (Reply to Khrushchev1960, p.24). Circumventing the dilemma posed by Khrushchev’s proposal required more than a smear campaign. It was necessary to forward a counterproposal that would conclusively demonstrate the “revolutionary mind’s” inability to reciprocate and prove that Khrushchev was insincere. The Western counterproposal differed from the Soviet’s plan by offering “phased and safeguarded agreements” (The News of the Week in Review 1960, p.E1). The counterproposal involved a system of strict controls and verification protocols, a series of safeguards the Times and the Eisenhower administration were confident that the Russians would fail to “even consider” (Soft and Hard 1960, p.E1).  The U.S. proposal held that “in the first stage, nations would notify the IDO of proposed space launchings. In the second stage, the use of space vehicles for nuclear weapons would be banned, the production of fissionable materials for weapons would halt and nuclear stockpiles would be reduced. In the third stage, nuclear weapons and military missiles would be eliminated” (The News of the Week in Review 1960, p.E1). At each stage each country would have the right to use inspections to verify that the other had complied with the terms of the agreement. In contrast, the “Soviet plan postpones any action on nuclear disarmament until the third stage when, within one year, all nuclear weapons and missiles would be abolished” (The News of the Week in Review, 1960 p.E1) and lacked verification provisions. The discrepancy between the two proposals, in particular the Soviet’s plan to delay the destruction of their weaponry until the U.S. had decreased its military presence in Europe, made it clear that Khrushchev had no real intention to follow through on his proposal. In short, the counterproposal exposed Khrushchev’s intention of using the proposal as a strategic maneuver to push the U.S. out of Berlin before reneging on his promise to disarm.

The effectiveness of this strategy depended on the Times redefinition of reasonableness as reciprocity and sincerity, both components of the social cooperation meaning. If Khrushchev rejected the counterproposal, refusing a series of inspections to verify that the terms of the agreement were satisfied, the U.S had legitimate grounds to treat his proposal as mere propaganda. This characterization worked in tandem with the strategy of claiming that Khrushchev’s calls for reasonableness were an illusion and insufficient to satisfy the second-order conditions of argumentation. But the counterproposal went further, demonstrating that the third-order conditions of argument were missing. Third-order conditions refer to the “external conditions” that “need to be fulfilled to conduct a critical discussion properly.” They “pertain . . . to the power or authority relations between the participants” and how those relations of power define the discussion situation (van Eemeren, Houstlosser, & Snoeck Henkemans 2008, p.478). These conditions include the presence of a social and political environment conducive to critical discussion to manage differences of opinion and the use of genuine negotiation to allocate risk and responsibility. There are minimum political thresholds of freedom, autonomy, and equality necessary to rely on critical discussion as a mode of conflict resolution. There are also affective thresholds, such a trust, confidence, and openness that must also be met to ensure critical argumentation proceeds properly. Neither the political nor the affective thresholds could be met because the two nations did not trust each other enough to generate and secure the requisite commitments underwriting a proposal to abolish nuclear weapons. Moreover, the Soviets were unwilling to abide by the terms needed to construct an environment of global governance capable of enforcing those commitments. Without such a system of global governance, any proposal that did not provide the means of generating and securing “reciprocal reasonableness,” could be tagged as utopian, fraudulent, or both. In short, the way out of the dilemma Khrushchev’s offer presented was to show that the socio-political environment was too fragile, or too hostile, to ensure that it would be carried out. Hence, for the Times, the Eisenhower administration’s refusal to take the proposal seriously was seen as reasonable and its refusal to entertain the idea of a world without nuclear weapons was taken as prudent.

3. Conclusion
The rhetorical battle between Eisenhower and Khrushchev played out in the Times has the potential to extend our understanding of the relationship between strategic maneuvering and reasonableness. Khrushchev’s strategic maneuvering embodied the three primary tactics identified by van Eemeren and Houtlosser (2001): exploiting topic potential to frame the issue in contention to one’s advantage, adapting one’s argument to the fears and desires of the audience, and enhancing the presentational force of one’s argument. The U.S. response, however, did not stay within these three parameters. Instead, the editorial argumentation in the Times consisted of a complex set of strategic maneuvers that revolved around claims that the higher order conditions of argumentation were absent.

The first of these maneuvers argued that Khrushchev’s calls for reasonableness were a performance that was belied by the intensity of his ideological convictions and, therefore, should be taken as an elaborate ruse. This move was designed to show that the second-order condition of argumentation, the ethical disposition needed for critical reasonableness, was absent. Ironically, the Times did not argue that what was necessary was a genuine show of reasonableness, or that the U.S. embodied the ethical dispositions required for it. What the Times left ambiguous was whether or not reasonableness within the context of international relations could be anything other than a performance, whether or not reasonableness itself could serve as a genuine ethical standard for assessing the actions of the two superpowers.

The second strategic maneuver claimed Khrushchev’s grand proposal for disarmament could be exposed as unreasonable, if a strategic counterproposal could show that, when pressed, Khrushchev would refuse the ethical obligation of reciprocity. This move was designed to show that the third-order conditions of argumentation, the social and political environment of mutual interdependence and trust argumentation demands, were absent. The irony is the U.S. had no expectation that its counterproposal would be taken seriously, and the Times made it clear that the Eisenhower administration would not want it to be accepted, as they too would refuse to live with the verification protocols the counterproposal set out.

Should these ironies lead us to conclude that these strategic maneuvers were derailments of critical discussion or did they expose the real limitations of Khrushchev’s claims, and therefore, work as effective tactics in the confrontation stage of the negotiations? The answer lies in whether or not Khrushchev’s calls for reasonableness–for the negotiations to be modeled on fair terms of social cooperation and the goodwill necessary to enact them–are taken as sincere or insincere. The Times clearly judged Khrushchev’s call for reasonableness and the disarmament proposal it engendered as insincere. But on what grounds besides the portrayal of Khrushchev and his colleagues as unreasonable–an unreasonableness that was not the product of any particular action or personal trait but an allegiance to a rival ideology?

While we can’t say that the Times’ assumption was mistaken, that Khrushchev was indeed sincere. We can say that the Times Cold War editorials clearly express an ideology that saw argumentation, at least in international relations, as nothing more or less than a weapon in an ongoing propaganda war. The Times shared George Keenan’s view that Soviet power is “impervious to logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to the logic of force” (1947, §5, ¶1).  This view effectively renders critical discussion moot; Khrushchev’s arguments and proposals were prejudged as empty rhetoric in the service of power. But what if Khrushchev’s call for reasonableness and his proposal for disarmament was not simply a ploy to expose U.S. military vulnerabilities, but an attempt to create an opening for genuine negotiation? Of course, he would have had to maneuver carefully to ensure that he did not tip his hand and set off alarms within the hard-liners in his own government. He would have to strategically use the U.S. press to pressure Eisenhower to meet with him personally and in private. And he would have to hope in that meeting both he and Eisenhower would have the opportunity to correct their misunderstandings and to build trust, restoring the higher-order conditions of argument essential to forging a lasting peace. Of course, this is our conjecture. But it may not be ours alone. Secretary of State Christian Herter invited Khrushchev to Camp David in spite of Eisenhower’s clearly stated opposition. Herter knew Eisenhower would be furious, but was persuaded by British intelligence reports that Khrushchev sincerely wanted to pursue disarmament, despite the forces in his own government that refused to even consider it (The Great Ike-Nikita Mystery 1993, p. 28).  For those laboring under the ideological assumption animating the Times Cold War editorials, however, this possibility was simply inconceivable; an assumption that is, itself, clearly unreasonable.

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1. Nokia Missio
Nokia Missio is a Christian revival movement that began in the Lutheran church in Nokia, Finland, after the charismatic awakening of the vicar, Markku Koivisto, in 1991. He began to hold revival meetings that featured intense praise and prayer and the use of spiritual gifts, such as speaking in tongues and healing through prayer. This was in considerable contrast to traditional Lutheran meetings (Juntunen 2007; Pihkala 2007; Nokia Missio n.d.). Soon, tensions arose between the Nokia revival and the rest of the Lutheran congregation. Koivisto then founded Nokia Missio, a registered association, but remained a minister of the Evangelical-Lutheran Church.

The bishop of Tampere repeatedly called the practise and theology of Koivisto in question (Pihkala 2007 & 2006; Koivisto 2007; Aro-Heinilä 2006, pp. 130–131). With Nokia Missio the discussion about the place of charismatic Christianity within the Lutheran church reached an acute stage (Laato 2001, p. 1). It should be noted that, for most Finns, Christianity is known in its Lutheran and non-charismatic form (97 % of those who belong to a religious group or church in Finland, belong to the Evangelical-Lutheran Church; Väestö n.d.; Uskonto Suomessa n.d.).

Finally, Koivisto announced his resignation from the Lutheran church altogether and founded a new church alongside the Nokia Missio association. The Nokia Missio Church started in August 2008 (Nokia Missio, n.d.; Nokia Missio perustaa uuden kirkon, 2008).
Since 2003, meetings have been held in a multipurpose arena in Tampere. In 2005, the activities have expanded also to elsewhere in Finland. The meetings are visited by members of different denominations as well as by members of the Lutheran church (Nokia Missio, n.d.; Hovi 2009).
No research has yet focused on the rhetoric of this movement (Karismaattisuuden haaste kirkolle 2007; Hovi 2009; Riihimäki 2009). Since the rhetoric of Nokia Missio differs remarkably from what Finns are accustomed to regarding religious speech, it is an interesting object of analysis. It would seem that the rhetoric is a part of the movement’s success. I here present an initial analysis in order to shed light on the rhetoric at play.

2. The Revival Meetings of Nokia Missio
The analysed material consists of all publicly available audio recordings from the revival meetings in Tampere of the first year of the Nokia Missio Church (Seurakunnassa puhuttuja saarnoja n.d.; Äänitallenteet, n.d.).

Based on the recordings, the meetings of Nokia Missio Church (hereafter NMC) usually follow this broad pattern: (1) an introductory part; (2) the main sermon; and (3) a concluding part (with music and prayer).

I focus on the introductory part, which usually comprises the following elements, the internal order of which varies from meeting to meeting (the order of the individual parts is not important – I only wish to give an overall impression of the content of these meetings): (a) words of welcome; (b) announcements; (c) worship-session; (d) testimonials; (e) words to the audience, “divine speech”; (f) worship-session; and (g) collection sermon. These elements are often present, although not in every meeting or in the same form (e.g., in meetings with a Holy Communion, the introductory part differs both in structure and in tone, cf. 10.8, 21.9, 5.10, 9.11.08).

Worship often flows together with prayer, song, words to the audience, and testimonials. “Praise” refers to song of praise including declarations of faith in God. “Words” refer to words from God, “divine speech” that the speaker understands to be mediated from God through the Holy Spirit and the speaker.

I exclude the part that usually receives most consideration when Christian persuasive verbal communication is in focus: the main sermon. I hypothesise that the introductory section may be of similar importance as the main sermon and therefore warrants an analysis on its own. Even though the main instructional content of the evening is presented through the sermon, the introductory section performs two important functions. First, it sets the stage, as it were, by focusing the evening on basic tenets of Christian life such as it is understood within NMC. This is clearly beneficial for the subsequent sermon, but also, second, the introductory section offers a variety of stimuli that on their own can have a substantial impact on the attendees.
I venture to assume that, for many attendees, the introductory part of the evening may determine whether they will experience emotional or cognitive change during the meeting.

3. The Rhetorical Situation
I take my departure from Lloyd Bitzer’s groundbreaking article (1968) on the rhetorical situation. Bitzer writes that rhetorical “discourse comes into existence because of some specific condition or situation which invites utterance”, and he defines the rhetorical situation as follows (p. 6): “a complex of persons, events, objects, and relations presenting an actual or potential exigence which can be completely or partially removed if discourse, introduced into the situation, can so constrain human decision or action as to bring about the significant modification of the exigence.”
Some situations present some kind of defect, challenge, or problem, which calls for a change or treatment, as it were. If this change can be started or partially or completely be realised through speech, we have a rhetorical situation. As Bitzer puts it, communication gets a rhetorical meaning in a similar way as an answer is born as a reaction to a question.
The rhetorical situation has three components: exigence, audience, and constraints.  Bitzer describes exigence as “an imperfection marked by urgency; it is a defect, an obstacle, something waiting to be done, a thing which is other than it should be” (p. 6). This imperfection creates a need for rhetoric.

The rhetorical situation requires an audience. According to Bitzer, a rhetorical audience consists of people who (a) can be influenced to think or act in a certain way, (b) who have the possibility, and (c) the will to create the change that can correct the problem.
The third element concerns constraints. This includes such elements of the situation that, “have the power to constrain decision and action needed to modify the exigence”, such as beliefs, attitudes, traditions, etc., that stand in the way of the audience responding properly to the exigence (p. 8).

Bitzer (pp. 12–13) describes a four-stage life cycle of the rhetorical situation: beginning, maturity, decay, and resolution, as follows.
Beginning. The rhetorical situation arises when a problem surfaces. The situation cannot develop further until there is an audience and rhetorical prerequisites are present. At this stage, the speaker needs to make the target-group aware of the problem.
Maturity. When the problem, the audience, and the circumstances are in a favourable constellation to each other, the situation is mature. The audience is aware of the problem and sensitive to the rhetorical response of the speaker. A rhetorical situation may, however, be more or less complex, and can be weakened in several ways, for example because of two or more simultaneous rhetorical situations that compete for attention, or because the audience is scattered.

Decay. When the situation develops further, it may become partly solved or more difficult to influence, perhaps because (a) people have formed their opinion about the situation or because (b) the interest for the matter has diminished.

Resolution. The rhetorical situation is resolved or disappears either since the problem no longer can be corrected (rhetorically) or because the problem has been dealt with, corrected, or for some other reason has ceased to exist.

Bitzer’s original article sparked a discussion about the rhetorical situation. Miller (1970) argued that the speaker has a greater creative space than Bitzer’s theory allows for. Vatz (1973) argued that situations are rhetorical, not the other way around, that the rhetoric controls the response of the situation by creating and defining the situation. These criticisms are still pertinent.
Incomplete as it may be, Bitzer’s theory is widely used. It helps in understanding some important prerequisites for persuading an audience. Although persuasion research has shown that numerous additional variables are at play in the persuasion process (see, e.g., Hart & Daughton 2005), Bitzer’s approach can be satisfactory for certain types of analyses. To keep my analysis focused and to maintain a specifically verbal-rhetorical perspective, I find that Bitzer’s theory provides a good starting-point.
The material does, however, invite many other kinds of approaches as well and, where useful, I will complement Bitzer’s approach with a few observations taken from Classical rhetoric, modern psychology, and speech communication.

4. Analysis
4.1 Introduction
As I go through the introductory part of the meetings, all spoken parts are analysed except for announcements and the collection sermon. The collection sermon certainly contains persuasive moves, but it would better be analysed as a type of sermon.
NMC has edited the recordings slightly by deletions. The lengths of the recordings indicate that in most cases only little of the spoken portions of the evening has been deleted. The average length of a recording is 1h 25m.
After an overview of the situation of the audience, I advance in the order typical for the meetings: words of welcome, praise and prayer, testimonials, and divine speech. Throughout I focus on the rhetorical situation and its life cycle in relationship with the audience.

4.2 Overview of the Situation of the Audience
Along with actual members, each meeting is visited by a diverse group of people. This is considered by the organisers who at times address those who do not yet believe as this church does (e.g. 2.11.08, 6m 56s, “flee you who do not yet know jesus … change your course tonight”).

It is unlikely that those very critical to the church would attend, but rather the attendees’ relationship with NMC ranges from curious guests to steadfast supporters. The starting point is rhetorically favourable: the members of the audience have chosen to attend. Consequently, the audience fulfils Bitzer’s first condition for a rhetorical audience, that it is possible to influence it. Since the change in question is a change of opinion, values, lifestyle, etc., it is in principle possible to achieve the desired effect also, the second condition for a rhetorical audience.
Without a will to change, the third condition, a rhetorical address cannot effect change. The first task is thus to remove this constraint by awakening and strengthening the will to change. I here want to use the idea of the life cycle of a rhetorical situation as a template for the rhetorical situation from the point of view of different categories of attendees.
From this perspective, some of the participants can be placed at the beginning of the life cycle of a rhetorical situation, others at the mature stage. Regarding the third and fourth stages, the rhetorical situation never decays, nor is it resolved. Those who decide that this church no longer interests them, no longer attend the meetings. For those who continue to attend, the situation is never truly resolved since fortification of one’s faith and growth in Christian life are lifelong processes. Thus, the rhetorical exigency can be upheld indefinitely. Bitzer (1968, pp. 12–13) notes that some texts speak to us because they speak to situations which persist and that are in some measure universal, and mentions as examples Socrates’ apology and the Gettysburg Address.
We can, then, assume to find the following four groups of attendees that require three different rhetorical strategies in order to be reached effectively.

(a) Non-believers, who only have a slight or temporary interest in the meetings (e.g. accompanying a friend). This is presumably a very small group. Here the rhetorical strategy needs to be to make the exigence clear. In other words, the speaker needs to let a rhetorical situation arise. According to Bitzer (1968, p. 2), however, “it is the situation which calls the discourse into existence”, not the other way around. Should we, then, understand the situation so that these non-believers are at the very beginning of a rhetorical situation, that they do have a problem but are not aware of it? Or is it, contrary to Bitzer’s theory, possible to give rise to a rhetorical situation through speech? I would suggest the latter, but with the comment that it is much more difficult to create an exigence than to respond to one.

We could consider that we here deal with a foundational type of problem: man’s place in the world, God, and existential questions shared by many. In this light, the rhetorical situation can be understood to exist even though one is not actively aware of it. By addressing this group of attendees, it may from one perspective seem as though the problem is brought about by rhetorical address, but from another perspective the address only makes a dormant problem clear. In fact, Bitzer allows for a rhetorical situation to consist of elements that make up “an actual or potential exigence” (p. 6).
To complicate matters further, one could argue that the problem created in a revival setting is what Bitzer calls a sophistic rhetorical situation, one that is not real or genuine in the sense that a critical examination cannot certify its existence. A sophistic rhetorical situation can be the result of error or ignorance, or fantasy, in which exigence and constraints are “the imaginary objects of a mind at play” (p. 11). However, if the exigence can be made to seem real for the attendees, this distinction becomes rather academic.
(b) Non-believers who have a personal interest in what NMC can offer, perhaps due to some spiritual need that makes them receptive to a gospel of salvation. If one can connect this exigence with a salvation-existential message, the rhetorical situation can be made acute and steer the listeners towards a mature rhetorical situation, and to conversion.
(c) Believers, who do not live the type of charismatic life of revival of NMC, but who are more or less interested in it. Also here the rhetorical strategy first needs to focus on making the exigence clear, not regarding conversion as for groups a–b, but regarding the need for a charismatic life.
(d) Charismatic revival Christians, who belong to NMC or a similar group. Here the rhetorical strategy needs to focus on upholding the rhetorical situation by focusing on spiritual development, commitment, etc.

Consequently, the challenge for the speaker is twofold: (a) to make the exigence clear, and (b) to move listeners from the beginning to a mature state of the rhetorical situation. Regardless of when the exigence first arises, during a revival meeting the speaker exerts considerable influence and can make the listener clearly aware of a problem, in Bitzer’s words, of “an imperfection … a thing which is other than it should be”. Here the problem is the need for salvation and conversion is the answer. The final goal, however, for all groups, is to advance into group d (cf. 23.11.08, from 11m 9s).
Although these groups can be seen as being on different stages in the life cycle of a complex rhetorical situation, it is more precise to view them as being in four different rhetorical situations, each with its own exigencies and constraints. If one views these as four different, less complex, rhetorical situations, it is easier to describe the various elements that affect each group, as I have done above. This would, then, in part help explain why only some participants are (presumably) effectively met each meeting: it is because two or more simultaneous rhetorical situations weaken a situation (Bitzer 1968, p. 12).

4.3 Persuasive Moves in Words of Welcome
In the transcripts I have indicated certain features, simplified from Seppänen (1997), for example the following:
now    – emphasis
OPEN UP    – spoken loudly
>never<   – spoken more rapidly
<yes>      – spoken more slowly
$happy$  – passage said smiling
@love@  – a change of tone of voice; explanation within double parentheses
((3s))  – approximate length of pause

I have not converted the speech into normal sentences (e.g. no capitals are used, with the exception of “I”). The examples are my translations of my transcripts from the audio recordings in Finnish.
In the words of welcome of the first meeting after the summer-break of 2008 we find several persuasive moves.

(1) how many of you, have been looking forward to these evenings? ((1s)) I have waited all summer and I have ((1s)) already had a taste … as this our revival through finland tour has begun and … today we are here … and ((2s)) it’s been absolutely amazing already and I believe that today, today god meets us here god’s presence is already ((1s)) in this place. I’ll read … ((reads Psalm 135)) @hallelujah! praise the name of the lord … @ let’s here stand up ((music starts to play)) and let’s … give the best to god … ((raises his voice)) father thank you for being in this place … thank you that … you speak to us … today is the day of salvation and of healing and … good things will happen to us (10.8.08, 0m 10s–3m 9s)

The persuasive technique used here is typical of the words of welcome. The main objective is to arouse a sense of expectation (this is clear during the first few minutes of the majority of meetings, e.g. 10.8, 7.9, 5.10, 7.12.08 and 11.1, 22.2, 5.4, 31.5, 14.6.09).
First, the speaker testifies that he has awaited these meetings. As a role model he indicates the ideal: expectation. Then, indirect greetings from the ongoing revival tour set a background; it has already been “wonderful”.
The speaker declares that God will meet the attendees. This may trigger a wish to sense what the speaker seems to be sensing. The expectation of change is a recurring element in the meetings (cf. also 18.1.09, 1m 15s, “lord we expect you to change us today lord appear! … change in our lives those things that need to be put right”).
The passage from Scripture exhorts the hearers to praise the lord and the command to rise activates the attendees: they cannot only observe from the outside, participating as spectators, but they should all stand in worship of God. Praise is far more than singing: the attendees are in the presence of God, where God can be revealed and even healings can take place (cf. 11.1.09, 2m 32s: “I hope that also you have a feeling of expectation, as I do … that during worship god will heal the sick”; 16.11.08, 1m 30s).

Before the singing starts, the speaker focuses on the presence of God and sets forth a Christian ideal with a life filled with joy, salvation, and healing, and anticipates “good things for us” this evening. The prayer is in itself a mini-sermon or testimonial.
During the first few minutes of the evening we see an attempt to trigger expectations and deep emotions among the attendees. This gives the meeting an intensive start and corresponds well with the classical rhetorical goal of the exordium to raise the audience’s interest (Ad Her. I.6–7; Inst. IV.1.5). This interest may, however, not be without tension: such a strong beginning can create an exigence. It is unlikely that all members of the audience can identify with the intensively devoted charismatic output by the speaker. This can cause emotional tension, which in turn gives the speaker an opportunity to show the way towards a fuller life with God.
In the worship-session that follows, the expectations and keywords mentioned in the beginning are reinforced and carried forward through the lyrics of the songs and in-between comments by the worship-leader. For example, one speaker explains how the lyrics of a song help to expect that, “heaven draws close tonight”, and as the music begins, his voice is filled with emotion and he almost starts to weep (31.8.08, 4m 8s–6m 53s); or ecstasy can be mimicked through speech, music, non-lyric singing, and chanting (16.11.08, to 2m 59s); or music, speaking in tongues, blowing, and shouting can be combined in a suggestive manner (15.2.09, from 7m 9s).

The chapter of Tampere commented critically that the meetings are designed so that religious ecstasy results (Aro-Heinilä 2006, p. 147). The material is certainly a rich source for an analysis of actio – the delivery – even though we only have one component, the voice, available. This indicates the richness of the performance in rhetorical terms. Aristotle considered the voice to be the prime element regarding delivery (Rhet. III.1.4).

At the beginning of another meeting we find similar features, “>we experienced something wonderful and strange never before $experienced$ he he the presence of god’s spirit and anointment< … OPEN up your hearts and receive from god … >he wants to give ALSO TO YOU<” (5.4.09). Here the speaker testifies that she experienced wonderful things and indicates that the same can happen now, and tries to engage the attendees.
The speaker wants the attendees to feel the presence of God (cf. also 19.4.09, 1m 25s, “he fills you with the spirit now ((2s)) the holy spirit blows ((1s)) over all of this great crowd”; and 7.12.08, 1m 45s).
On many occasions, the speaker amplifies expectations by conveying an impression that the specific meeting is unique. This is well illustrated in the following passage where Koivisto speaks just before his sermon: “let us all … pr..pray along with this song ((2s)) that that here today and now IS NOT AN ORDINARY night but a night where the word of god becomes alive” (11.1.09, 14m 1s). The formulations about a special night are typical (cf. 25.1.09, 2m 30s).

In summary, the main objective of the words of welcome is to arouse a sense of expectation of “good things” during the evening, specifically a meeting with God. This is achieved by activating the attendees physically and emotionally through (a) a positive message; (b) claims that this particular meeting is unique; (c) appeals to the attendees to participate wholeheartedly, with open minds; and (d) through a varied use of voice in the delivery (actio). This last technique is important throughout the evening.

4.4 Persuasive Moves in Praise and Prayer
In the following, a man presents the worship-session at the beginning of a meeting, after which a woman continues with a prayer of thanksgiving.
(2) >receive wh..that which god wants to give (you) during the worship< … ((praying, with stronger voice; worship-music plays)) … you can remove all those bonds that people have … you will crush all hindrances from the road towards that your name would become exalted … we want to hand over at this moment also all those friends … save them … ((a woman continues, emotionally)) … lord, we like want to believe in you. we want to choose, I choose to believe in you (1.2.09, 0m 13s–2m 2s)
The man underlines that God wants to give something to the attendees and he encourages them to receive it. They are repeatedly reminded not to be passive listeners. In the prayer we have what could be called a manipulative prayer, that is to say speech that formally is a prayer but contains material that seems to fulfil the combined function of prayer, teaching, and emotional suggestion of the audience (see also example 1). An important indication of this is the dominance of statements of belief (e.g. “you can remove all those bonds that people have”) over requests and thanksgiving.

Since the audience is at least formally joining in this prayer, the speaker becomes the mouthpiece for the congregation. Considering the context, the music, and the group dynamics of many people gathered together and standing in front of a stage with a religious authority addressing God, it is easy to be drawn into joining the prayer also on a deeper level. Through the prayer, the attendees may come to acknowledge the statements of belief and of intent verbalised by the speaker.
In this way, the prayer-leader can “smuggle in” certain beliefs, wishes, goals, and so on into the consciousness of the congregation, as described by the group of theories known as dual processing (see also the beginning of 21.9, 2.11, 16.11.08, and 18.1.09). According to these theories, there are two different modes of processing, one unconscious, rapid, automatic, and high capacity, and one conscious, slow, and deliberative. The first tends to be intuitive, stimulus bound, and impulsive, whereas the other is analytic and reflective (Evans 2008, pp. 256–257).
By creating a mode of reception that is experience-based rather than cognitive-deliberative, it may be possible to reach some hearers more effectively. Through this technique it may even be possible to increase the resolve to embrace the goals and beliefs of the movement among those who rationally would not do so otherwise. It can also increase the expectations concerning the rest of the evening, for example regarding the main sermon, divine speech, and healing.

The speaker also formulates the thoughts presumably of those who lack certainty (i.e. ethopoeia, the rhetorical simulation of living character in discourse, in particular to understand or to portray the feelings of the character): “lord, we like want to believe … I choose to believe in you.” The purpose seems to be to act as a mediator on behalf of those who need a push into faith, so to speak, by putting herself in their position.
In summary, praise and prayer is mainly used in order to create a mode of reception that is experience-based rather than cognitive-deliberative. The use of music is crucial in order to engage the attendees physically and emotionally. This makes it possible to smuggle in certain beliefs, goals, and so on into the consciousness of the attendees by bypassing the critical cognitive sift. During worship and prayer the speaker functions as a mouthpiece for the whole congregation, drawing it into the prayer, indirectly committing the attendees to the contents of it.

4.5 Persuasive Moves in Testimonials
Examples are a powerful inspiration and have a prominent place in revival meetings. By providing paragons of the ideal, the speakers facilitate an emulation of this ideal.
The following excerpts (3.1–6) are from the meeting 5.4.09, which begins with claims about the time we live in.

(3.1) god appears forcefully. and now is not only the time to give one’s life to jesus if you don’t know god but also the time to be lit with god’s fire … to burn for the lord (0m 0s–3m 19s)
If carried away by the pathos of the speaker, the listener can share the experience of a special time in history. The participants may suddenly feel that the situation projected is real and that God’s acts are upon them. A rhetorical situation can thus be carried from beginning to maturity through rhetoric itself. It can be heard from the reactions of the audience that the mood is in fact rising.
After the opening-words, testimonials of God’s work follow. The soft background-music that at times rises to a crescendo supports the impression of miraculous events. The effect of the auditive stimulus of rhythm and harmony should not be underestimated: it is a vital part in creating a certain air of spirituality and God-presence.

(3.2) ((reads text)) @thank you lord,@ someone has written on the web, @today I found faith.@ … thank you lord, that also today is such a night when your life (– –) this night who does not know jesus … today could be li.. ((stronger voice)) the eh best day of your LIFE (4m 20s–5m 11s)
Against the background of others who have “found faith”, the speaker suggests that now could be the night when those who do not “know jesus” find faith as others have before them.
Some of the “works of the Lord” are fairly mundane: a lease for an apartment and a new job. These testimonials testify to the all-encompassing scope of spiritual life (cf. 5.4.09, 5m 23s). During an evening of “testimonials and prayer” (19.10.08) the organiser even made up a list beforehand with headings under which those wishing to testify could register, such as, “how God has guided in getting a place of study”.

The meeting continues with acts of physical healing.
(3.3) a woman who suffered from serious cancer … radiation treatments for the tumour in her abdomen had not been effective. >as a physician I would say that if that kind of radiation treatment is taken in the abdomen for a long time then it is< palliative … there was nothing to be done. she got this prayer cloth. ((1s)) the other day the patient went to a check-up … and <the tumour had disappeared without a trace>… PRAISE BE TO GOD! … FATHER WE EXPECT ALSO TODAY GREAT DEEDS … NOTHING is impossible (6m 13s–8m 17s)
Here an extraordinary healing is used as a backdrop for increasing the intensity of the thanksgiving. “Great deeds” are expected also today, “nothing is impossible” for God. The message is emphasised by genus grande. Since this modus is rarely used by speakers in Finnish society it generates an emotional response even regardless of content (cf. Speech Culture in Finland 2009, Ch. 1). Sharp exclamation is discouraged by the classics (Ad Her. III.11.22). Note also the ethically questionable argument of authority, where a physician at least indirectly uses her authority to confirm the miracle.

In summary, testimonials provide paragons of the ideal, exempla for God’s work in the lives of individuals. One type of testimonial relates to conversion and leads up to the idea that this very night could be the night when non-believers find faith as others have before them. Another type of testimonial illustrates how all aspects of life are governed by faith. A third type substantiates the belief that God heals physical ailments.
The testimonials are also used to manipulate the mood of the evening. By effectuate use of background-music, in combination with fantastic testimonials and the use of genus grande, the mood of the meetings rise, leading up to the feeling that “nothing is impossible” (see also 14.9.08, 16m 32s–21m 28s; and 30.11.08, 11m 5s–17m 10s).

4.6 Persuasive Moves in Words to the Audience, “Divine Speech”
The following words to the audience should be understood against the belief that a person with the proper gifts of the Spirit (1 Cor. 12–14) can receive “words of knowledge” and the power of healing. Since the mood of the meeting from the previous (example 3.1–3) is already intense, it is easier to accept that such gifts are at play than the case would be in a more serene service.

(3.4) ((background-music softens; Koivisto speaks gently)) … came to my mind that today there are are many individuals that god mee..mee..touches by the area of the abdomen ((4s)) a..and you feel already now ((4s)) that that the ailment that you have had there ((2s)) there comes already now relief and the pain leaves at this moment … there are also these eeh these cancer growths. and today in the name of jesus … know and ALSO FEEL that it disappears the tumour. (9m 11s–9m 55s)
The passage exhibits three typical traits for this kind of divine speech. First, the person or persons targeted are defined by describing how they feel or think and what their problem is. These kinds of descriptions typically contain both vague and specific details. Second, some kind of promise or hope of healing is proclaimed. Koivisto even goes so far as to saying that the pain leaves, “at this moment” (the declaration of instantaneous healings is critically noted by the chapter of Tampere; Aro-Heinilä 2006, p. 147).
Third, the style is remarkably soft and almost tentative. This gives the impression that the speaker is “listening in” the situation through the Spirit. Lowering one’s voice is another example of actio, here underlining the importance of what is said.

The next passage exhibits another gift of the Spirit: prophecy. The recipient of the message is not specified. It can be received by whoever who feels that it speaks to him or her.

(3.5) as god’s, holy spirit is poured >we will become< a crossroad-people … a country where sound and light become one >and … god ope..has opened< his heaven … I felt that god wants today to give <your voice the harmony of clarity there where you go.> ((loudly)) … not just your words but … powerful, and they cause healings when you pray for the sick, and they cause conversions (11m 41s–12m 58s)
The speaker indicates that God will make something special out of the Finnish people and that God will speak powerful words through “your” mouth. The syntax in this passage is erroneous and several phrases lack a coherent meaning. We seem to have aposiopesis at a few places (see also example 3.4). Combined with the use of abstruse symbols and, again, genus grande, the speaker conveys a sense of exceptionality and urgency.
How different groups are taken into account is exemplified during the same meeting when Koivisto address the elderly:

(3.6) I have like a message from god ((1s)) that … suddenly … it is just arranged that you’ll have new friends, new contact, perhaps some..someone young or some..someone kind of younger anyway who comes to see you and helps. today god has <heard your prayer> (11m 41s–12m 58s)

Koivisto promises that their prayers have been heard and that these people will get new friends. This is a hazardous rhetorical strategy: the message is comforting, but unless carried through in real life, will cause disappointment.
Sometimes the speaker combines several types of speech, such as tuition, evangelising appeal, and divine speech (e.g. 5.4.09, 14m 16s–16m 55s). By pushing many buttons, the speaker can address many levels of thought and emotion at the same time. Combined with an intimate address, the speaker can give the impression that he (and God) knows and reaches out to the hearer personally, as in phrases like these: “dare today. surrounded by god’s love to encounter also what’s in your innermost … you get … forgiveness” (15m 40s).
In summary, divine speech is predominantly of three types: promises or proclamations of physical or emotional healing, prophecies, and words of knowledge. Regarding healing, the promises vary from a promise of instantaneous healing “now” to the beginning of a process of healing. The prophetic words are often visions regarding how things or people will change according to God’s plan (e.g. 23.11.08, 1m 11s).

The recipients of words from God are defined by describing how they feel or think and what their problem is (ethopoeia), at times quite intimately. In the case of physical ailments, the description typically contains both vague and specific details. Second, some kind of promise is proclaimed. The speakers do not shrink from promising instantaneous physical changes and improvements in the life-situation of the hearers.
The style is soft and almost tentative, giving the impression that the speaker is “listening in” what God wants to say or do. Lowering once voice underlines the importance of what is being said.

5. Conclusion
It is easy to understand why the public interest regarding the Nokia revival has been most unusual. Any theological aspects aside, even just a rhetorical analysis of these meetings raises questions regarding the ethical integrity of the movement.
My analysis gives plausible confirmation to the hypothesis that the introductory part of the evening plays a key role regarding how the attendees are affected during meetings (only a field-survey could confirm this with certainty).
Using Bitzer’s idea of the life cycle of a rhetorical situation as a template for different categories of attendees, I have described the strategies needed for four different rhetorical situations, each with its own exigencies and constraints. Briefly put, the speaker needs to (a) make the exigence clear, and (b) move listeners from the beginning to a mature state of the rhetorical situation.
I have above summarized the analyses of four different types of spoken material in the introductory part of the meetings. Briefly put, change is effectuated in several ways and through several channels, pushing different emotional-experiential and pre-deliberative buttons. Together with the main sermon, which was not taken into account here, it is understandable how the meetings of NMC can attract certain types of attendees and effectuate change in their lives.
Throughout the meetings, actio stands out as the dominant feature alongside the dramatic content of what is said. The speakers exhibit a most varied use of voice and the performance is amplified with background-music and song. During proclamations the speakers often reach genus grande, speaking with an abundance of assurance whereas they during divine speech often lower their voice and speak softly and tentatively. A varied use of voice is in line with the ideal that a speech should delight (delectare).
The most striking feature of the meetings of NMC is the intensity – the almost tangible emotional experience –, which is apparent even just from audio recordings. This could not have been achieved without the use of various rhetorical techniques and persuasive strategies.

REFERENCES
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1. Introduction
We all know that deductively valid arguments form only a very small subset of all possible arguments. If we would try to provide a complete overview of all forms of arguments people are using in all areas of life, it would hardly be a good idea to focus only on the few well-known argument schemes of propositional and categorical logic. However, the goal of representing all possible argument forms in a complete system of argument representation is not all what argumentation theory is about. Another legitimate part of argumentation theory is to develop argument representation systems for specific purposes.  This has been done, for example, by Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca (1969 <1958>) for arguments whose primary purpose is to persuade somebody; by the pragma-dialectical approach for arguments whose primary function is reaching consensus (van Eemeren & Grootendorst 2004); and by the epistemological approach to argumentation for arguments whose “standard function” is to justify knowledge and truth claims (Lumer 2005a, 2005b; Goldman 1999).

In contrast to these approaches to argumentation, I am interested in argument visualization systems whose primary purpose is to stimulate reflection and to confront people with the limits of their own understanding; that is, to stimulate critical reflection on one’s own assumptions, especially those that usually remain hidden. I would like to discuss argument visualization systems that focus on reflection under the heading of “reflective argumentation.” This comes close to the way Tim van Gelder defines “deliberation”: an activity, performed collectively or individually, that is “aimed at determining one’s own attitude” (van Gelder 2003, p. 98; see also van Gelder 2007). The central idea of reflective argumentation can be captured by a nice quote by Andre Maurois that Paul Kirschner, Simon Buckingham Shum, and Chad Carr used as a motto for their seminal book Visualizing Argumentation: Software Tools for Collaborative and Educational Sense-making: “The difficult part in an argument is not to defend one’s opinion but rather to know it” (Kirschner, Buckingham Shum, & Carr 2003, p. vii).

Wesley Salmon wrote already 50 years ago that the deductive argument “is designed to make explicit the content of the premises” (Salmon 1963, p. 15). Exactly this is the reason why I consider deductively valid argument forms as being crucial for reflective argumentation. Based on the fact that we know how deductive arguments like modus ponens or disjunctive syllogism must be constructed, we can take any claim we want to argue for and construct the premises so that they fit into the logical scheme we think is most adequate. This way, we can study those assumptions that would be necessary to guarantee the truth of a conclusion, and we can experiment with alternative formulations of our conclusion and our reasons to improve our argument. Since the chosen argument scheme itself should not be controversial based on its deductive form, we can concentrate our efforts on the question which argument scheme is most appropriate, and how to formulate the content of premises and conclusions. Thus, we are encouraged to focus on what is most important for any argument: the conclusion, the reasons, and the connection between reasons and conclusion.

For the purpose of this paper I call arguments that support reflection along these lines “powerful arguments.” More precisely, I define powerful arguments as arguments that leave only one choice for a potential opponent: either to accept the conclusion or to defeat one of its premises. In the first part of this contribution, I will present an argument for the thesis that so defined powerful arguments are possible when we do not only provide reasons as premises of an argument, but also what I call an “enabler.” An “enabler” is that premise in an argument that guarantees that the reason provided in this argument is sufficient to justify the claim or conclusion. In the second part I am providing an argument for the theses that powerful arguments promote mutual understanding and self-reflexivity.

I will present both these arguments by means of Logical Argument Mapping (LAM), a method for the visualization of arguments that I developed over the past years. Compared to other argument visualization tools (see Scheuer, Loll, Pinkwart, & McLaren 2010 for an overview), LAM is unique in requiring that every main argument and every argument that might be controversial in an argumentation has to be constructed by means of a deductively valid argument scheme (see http://lam.spp.gatech.edu/, and for a planned web-based and interactive software version http://agora.gatech.edu/). Since a deductively valid argument is only complete if it includes a conclusion, one or more reasons, and an “enabler” that guarantees that this reason (or these reasons) – if true – are sufficient to determine the truth of the conclusion, LAM promotes the construction of powerful arguments.

In the third part, finally, I will demonstrate with an example how LAM can facilitate a better understanding of others and of our own reasoning. My example is an article by Thomas Nagel in which he argued that we don’t have a moral obligation to respond to the “gruesome facts of inequality in the world economy.”

2. How are powerful arguments possible?
My argument for the thesis that powerful arguments are possible when we do not only provide reasons, but also an enabler that guarantees that these reasons are sufficient to determine the conclusion, is represented in

Figure 1

In Logical Argument Mapping, statements in oval text boxes represent universal statements. “Universal statement” is defined as a proposition that can be falsified by one counterexample. In this sense, laws, rules, and all statements that include “ought,” “should,” or other forms indicating normativity, are universal statements. Any other proposition is treated as a particular statement, including statements about possibilities. The distinction between universal and particular statements is important only with regard to the consequences of different forms of objections: If a premise is defeated, then the conclusion and every chain of arguments that depends on this premise is defeated as well; but if a premise is only questioned or criticized, then the conclusion and everything depending on it is only questioned, but not defeated. While universal statements can easily be defeated by a counterexample to the rule, law, or norm that is represented in form of a universal statement, it depends on an agreement among deliberators whether a counterargument against a particular statement is sufficient to defeat it, even though it is always sufficient to question it and to shift, thus, the burden of proof.

These considerations show that Logical Argument Mapping realizes – at least in a limited sense – what has been described in the literature as defeasible reasoning (Pollock 2008; Prakken & Vreeswijk 2001; Walton 2006). It is a limited form of defeasible reasoning because not the deductive argument schemes are defeasible, but only reasons and enablers. Although this contradicts the widely shared assumption that only non-deductive reasoning is defeasible (as claimed, for example, by Pollock 1995, p. 40 and p. 85, and Prakken 2010, p. 169), I cannot see any reason not to consider LAM as defeasible reasoning. According to the familiar semantics of defeasible, anything is “defeasible” as long as it “can be defeated.” Any deductive argument can be defeated by defeating one of its premises.

It is important for the reflective power of Logical Argument Mapping that it does not make sense to attack the conclusion of a deductive argument without attacking at least one of the premises, that is, either one of the reasons or the enabler. Since in a deductively valid argument the conclusion is necessarily true if all the premises are true, the attention of a potential opponent – and the attention of the constructor of an argument who is concerned with the possibility of opponents – is naturally directed to the premises.

It is of course possible to construct an independent argument with a conclusion that contradicts the conclusion of a given argument. But such an alternative argument – Pollock would call it a “rebutting defeater” (Pollock, 1995, p. 40) – is in itself not sufficient to defeat the original argument. Since such an alternative argument might be based on reasons and inference rules that the proponent of the original does not accept, the case of conflicting arguments only indicates that proponent and opponent “frame” the problem in question differently; that is, they construct arguments that are based on conflicting belief systems. (See Hoffmann, forthcoming, for an example, reconstructed by means of LAM, of how a Palestinian and an Israeli scholar provide conflicting arguments on how to deal with Hamas after its victory in the 2006 elections.) In Logical Argument Mapping, an argument or argumentation (i.e., network of connected arguments) can only be defeated by taking its assumptions seriously, not by providing something else.

3. Why powerful arguments promote mutual understanding and self-reflexivity
My argument for the thesis that powerful arguments, as long as they are defined as proposed in the introduction, promote mutual understanding and self-reflexivity is, to be precise, an argumentation. That is, the two reasons that are provided in Figure 2 are themselves justified by the arguments represented in Figure 3 and Figure 4.

Figure 2

Figure 3

Figure 4

4. An example: Thomas Nagel’s argument against “global justice”
In order to provide a more complex example of how Logical Argument Mapping can be used to support the process of understanding someone’s position, and of our own reasoning about this position, I want to present in Figure 5 a reconstruction of what I think is the core argument of Thomas Nagel’s article “The Problem of Global Justice” (Nagel, 2005). This reconstruction was motivated by the fact that my graduate students found it extremely hard to understand the argument. In my own efforts to identify the structure of Nagel’s argumentation, I went through several revisions of my original LAM map. Each of these revisions led to different objections to his argumentation. The revisions were mainly motivated by attempts to simplify the structure of the argumentation, and to refute my own objections against Nagel’s argument. This way, the experience of revising the argument time and again proves to me the potential of Logical Argument Mapping both to deepen an understanding of the given material and to stimulate self-reflection. I have to say that I found Nagel’s argumentation to be very strong at the end, although I started off with the assumption that his final conclusion is simply unacceptable.

Figure 5 represents only one chain of Nagel’s core argument, and it includes only one objection (in yellow) which “questions” the enabler of the main argument on the left side of the map. The complete core argument consists, I think, of two independent chains of arguments (see http://tinyurl.com/23vweqm).

Figure 5

As can be seen in the online version of the complete core argument, I am inclined to think that the second chain can be defeated. (The online map shows only the defeaters without marking the defeated parts, that is without marking the whole chain of statements that depends on the defeated premises). However, the chain that is represented in Figure 5 still stands, although “questioned” in its final part.

Nagel’s article is 34 pages long. A complete reconstruction of the entire article in a LAM map is published at http://tinyurl.com/22o9q9q. This map consists of about a hundred textboxes.

5. Conclusion
I tried to show in this paper – by means of both an argumentation and an example – that focusing on deductive arguments makes sense when the goal is to stimulate reflection on one’s own reasoning. The notion of “reflective argumentation” can be used to describe this special function of engaging in arguments. The advantage of using deductive arguments for this purpose is that a reconstruction of an argument in logical form can show us how its premises would need to look like if the goal were to guarantee the truth of the conclusion. The point is to get the content of the premises right. This can rather easily be achieved by using the well-known deductive argument schemes as a normative standard of argument construction. This standard determines how the premises must be formulated when we want to argue for a certain claim.

Visualizing arguments and argumentations in deductively valid form stimulates reflection because it challenges the arguer to break down his or her reasoning into argumentative steps as long as it takes to produce a chain of reasons and enablers that are all acceptable for the arguer without further justification. Based on the arguments provided in this paper, I consider Logical Argument Mapping (LAM) to be a powerful form of argument visualization.

REFERENCES
Goldman, A. I. (1999). Knowledge in a Social World. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Hoffmann, M. H. G. (forthcoming). Analyzing Framing Processes in Conflicts and Communication by Means of Logical Argument Mapping. In W. Donohue, S. Kaufman & R. Rogan (Eds.), Framing in Negotiation: State of the Art. New York, NY: Peter Lang.
Kirschner, P. A., Buckingham Shum, S. J., & Carr, C. S. (Eds.). (2003). Visualizing Argumentation: Software Tools for Collaborative and Educational Sense-making. London: Springer.
Lumer, C. (2005a). The Epistemological Theory of Argument—How and Why? Informal Logic, 25(3), 213-243.
Lumer, C. (2005b). Introduction: The Epistemological Theory of Argumentation—A Map. Informal Logic, 25(3), 189-212.
Nagel, T. (2005). The problem of global justice. Philosophy & Public Affairs, 33(2), 113-147.
Perelman, C., & Olbrechts-Tyteca, L. (1969 <1958>). The new rhetoric. A treatise on argumentation (J. Wilkinson & P. Weaver, Trans.). Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press.
Pollock, J. (2008). Defeasible Reasoning. In J. E. Adler & L. J. Rips (Eds.), Reasoning: Studies of human inference and its foundations (pp. 451-471). Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press.
Pollock, J. L. (1995). Cognitive carpentry. A blueprint for how to build a person. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.
Prakken, H. (2010). On the Nature of Argument Schemes. In C. Reed & C. W. Tindale (Eds.), Dialectics, Dialogue and Argumentation. An Examination of Douglas Walton’s Theories of Reasoning (pp. 167-185). London: College Publications.
Prakken, H., & Vreeswijk, G. (2001). Logics of defeasible argumentation. In D. M. Gabbay & F. Guenthner (Eds.), Handbook of philosophical logic (2nd ed., Vol. IV, pp. 219-318). Dordrecht; Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers.
Salmon, W. C. (1963). Logic. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall.
Scheuer, O., Loll, F., Pinkwart, N., & McLaren, B. M. (2010). Computer-Supported Argumentation: A Review of the state of the art. International Journal of Computer-Supported Collaborative Learning, 5(1), 43-102.
van Eemeren, F. H., & Grootendorst, R. (2004). A Systematic Theory of Argumentation. The pragma-dialectical approach. Cambridge Cambridge University Press.
van Gelder, T. J. (2003). Enhancing Deliberation Through Computer-Supported Argument Visualization. In P. A. Kirschner, S. J. Buckingham Shum & C. S. Carr (Eds.), Visualizing Argumentation: Software Tools for Collaborative and Educational Sense-making (pp. 97-115). London: Springer.
van Gelder, T. J. (2007). The Rationale for Rationale. Law, Probability & Risk, 6(1-4), 23-42.
Walton, D. (2006). Fundamentals of Critical Argumentation. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press.

1. Proverbs and argumentation
It is widely known and accepted that proverbs can fulfil argumentative functions in communication. Mostly, the argumentative force of proverbs is ascribed to their authority as pieces of popular folk wisdom. In terms of argumentation theory that would mean that proverbs are arguments from authority themselves which derive their persuasiveness from their broad acceptance among speakers.
In view of this interpretation, proverbial argumentation has often been criticized alongside a growing general scepticism against authorities and tradition especially since the 70ties of the last century. Proverbial argumentation seemed to have lost most of its persuasiveness, since arguments whose credibility is based only on tradition and their publicity among the folk were systematically doubted and questioned.

Nevertheless, proverbs are still common language devices among speakers – not only in ironic or playful language use. And although the argumentative function of proverbs was initially described as only one among several other pragmatic functions, Kindt (2002) has shown that even those seemingly non-argumentative functions contain implicit argumentation initiated by the use of the proverb. One of his examples is the complex speech act of consolation which includes mostly a relativization of the event that is complained about. The relativization itself is often justified by a reason, e. g. the mentioning of the proverb Every beginning is difficult relativizes the importance of the event by describing it as an inevitable but time-limited handicap.

The question is then, if there is more to the argumentative attractiveness of proverbs than their identity as arguments from authority.
An important point from the linguist point of view is that proverbs are usually phrased as universal propositions or can easily be reformulated as such (e. g. All’s well that ends well; Haste makes waste → All things done in haste are bound to waste). This means that proverbs usually can be used to express an inference rule from A to B (A → B). What is really interesting here, is to take a look at the substantial nature of this rule. Under many aspects proverbial inference rules and argumentation schemes, which are an issue at the centre of argumentation theory, are similar to each other. Already some attempts have been made (e. g. Goodwin & Wenzel 1981, Wirrer 2007) to show parallels between often described argumentation schemes, such as the argument from sign, and proverbs that more or less represent these schemes in terms of everyday language.

2. Proverbs and presumptive argumentation
Before looking at these concrete parallels between individual proverbs and argumentation schemes, it is worthwhile to specify the general nature of proverbial inference rules by comparing them to a certain kind of argumentation, namely presumptive argumentation as described by Godden & Walton (2007) and Ullmann-Margalit (1983 & 2000).
Presumptive argumentation differs from deductive argumentation since presumptively drawn inferences do not necessarily lead to right conclusions in the way deductive logic does. Instead presumptive argumentation schemes convey only plausible links from A to B, which allows to infer conclusions on a presumptive basis. These tentative inferences can be subject to refutation for example if new information becomes available that makes the original inference obsolete. Their validity is thus context dependent. Inferences on the basis of presumptive argumentation schemes have to be carefully questioned to evaluate their applicability in specific contexts.
Nevertheless, they are a very important part of everyday argumentation, especially since they entitle discussants to continue arguing even if not all relevant information is available but circumstances demand prompt decisions on the basis of what is currently known. Argumentation that aims at making a decision about how to act in a given real life situation is called practical argumentation and it is often associated with the dialogue type of deliberation. That is where presumptive inference rules account for a great part of the arguments put forward. Presumptive inferences are thus practical, context-dependent and refutable.

Now, what about proverbs? Proverbs also represent specific inference rules that function as short-cuts for speakers to cope with already known recurrent problem situations in everyday life. These situations typically call for a decision on how to act further. In this regard they function as evaluations and (indirect) directives according to the problem situation. For example A cobbler should stick to his last is linked with an abstract problem situation where an individual is given the chance to gain authority or to assume some kind of higher position. The proverb clearly gives the advice to keep up the status quo instead of risking overextending oneself.
Their practical orientation towards decision making, their context-dependency as well as their status as non-deductive inference rules show important similarities between the status of proverbial reasoning and presumptive argumentation schemes.

3. Proverbs as representations of presumptive argumentation schemes
And in fact, as was already mentioned, many proverbs can be analysed as linguistic representations of already known presumptive argumentation schemes, even though they are mostly less generally formulated and often relate to specific contexts. In 1981, Goodwin & Wenzel have already shown that for many argumentation schemes English proverbs can be found whose inference rules coincide with more abstract argumentation schemes.

For my own study I took a slightly different approach: Instead of taking known argumentation schemes as a starting point to look for matching proverbs, I began with collecting a corpus of German proverbs to see what different groups of inference rules they established. One important thought here was that maybe some proverbs constituted abstract argumentation schemes that are not yet discussed in argumentation theory. Moreover, I analysed not only the isolated proverbs but their usage in concrete contexts by compiling a second corpus of German newspaper articles with mentions of all the proverbs.

One benefit of this second corpus is that, because of some proverbs being semantically underdetermined, the true character of their inference rules can only be detected by analysing their usage in specific contexts.
In addition to that, it is interesting to note that if proverbs actually systematically represent everyday schemes of argumentation this could explain a lot about their continuing popularity among speakers even though their persuasiveness on the basis of mere genre authority may have dwindled. Also, it could show why proverbs have some argumentative force, even if their literal meaning is clearly not acceptable as a general rule, e. g. All  good  things  come  in  threes. Because if they are not used as literal rules for inference but as loose references to an underlying argumentation scheme, their benefit for the argumentation could lie in that reference and the applicability of that scheme in the given context.
And finally, from a linguistic perspective, the parallel between argumentation schemes and proverbs could add to a better understanding of the different pragmatic functions proverbs can fulfil in communication. My idea here is that maybe the fact that a specific argumentation scheme is represented in a proverb has an influence on the possible pragmatic functions this proverb can fulfil.
In this paper I would like to concentrate on the following questions: Do proverbs systematically represent presumptive argumentation schemes? And if so, can proverbs even be seen as a resource for the formulation of new argumentation schemes? These are some of my results.

4. Some Results
The analysis of 348 German proverbs resulted in the identification of 23 represented argumentation schemes. Five different ways of representation can be distinguished: 1) Clearly assignable proverbs, 2) proverbs that can be assigned to different schemes according to the context they are used in, 3) metaphorical double-representation, 4) proverbs that represent lesser-known or new argumentation schemes and 5) proverbs that warn against fallacies. Aside from newly formulated schemes I used the collections of argumentation schemes by Walton (1996) and Walton, Reed & Macagno (2008) as a starting point for my observations. Since my corpus consists of German proverbs I translated some of them for the following examples if equivalent English versions cannot be found.
Among the clearly assignable proverbs representations could be found of e. g. the argument from sign, causal argumentation (especially the argument from consequences), the ad minore argument and the argument from commitment.

The German proverb Wer A sagt, muss auch B sagen (Who says A, must say B, too) is a good example for a proverbial representation of the argument from commitment, whose linking premise is formulated by Walton, Reed & Macagno as follows: „Generally, when an arguer is committed to A, it can be inferred that he is also committed to B.“ (Walton, Reed & Macagno 2008, p. 335).

An example for a representation of the argument from sign is Too much laughter discovers folly. The original argumentation scheme for the argument from sign by Walton, Reed & Macagno (2008, p. 329) is:
(1) Specific Premise: A (a finding) is true in this situation.
General Premise: B is generally indicated as true when its sign, A, is true.
Conclusion: B is true in this situation.

The reconstruction of the proverb as a representation of this argumentation scheme could look like this:
(2) Specific Premise: Person x laughs too much.
General Premise: It is generally a sign of folly when people laugh too much.
Conclusion: X commits folly in this situation.

Proverbs that could be assigned to different argumentation schemes either at the same time or depending on the context were e. g. All good things come in threes, which can be used as a quasi-inductive argument or in the sense of a means-to-end argument, which is also called a practical inference. For example, if an athlete, asked about his chances to win an upcoming contest, answers: “I have already won two times. I’m optimistic. All good things come in threes.”, the proverb adds to a quasi-inductive argument which uses the outcome of two previous events as a basis for a prediction about the future. Other possible usages can be found in other contexts.

Metaphorical proverbs often represent two schemes: One on the metaphorical level and one on the meaning level: A German example here is Wie man in den Wald hineinruft, so schallt es auch heraus (As you call into the woods is how it sounds back). On the metaphorical level a causal argument is represented, and even a strong one as it refers to the laws of physics. But what is rather meant here, is an argument from reciprocity, which has as a general premise a rule like If A treats B in a specific way, A will have to expect similar treatment from B. The point here may be that the persuasiveness of the metaphorically represented argument from cause adds to the acceptability of the presumptive argumentation scheme of reciprocity.
Also, some schemes could be identified that aren’t yet discussed in argumentation theory or have not been given much notice recently, but which nevertheless may be important for everyday argumentation since more than one proverb makes use of this abstract inference rule. An example here is one which I called the argument from a given opportunity, whose general premise I identified as If A is given an opportunity x, A should make use of x. Representations of this rule can be found in proverbs such as Make hay while the sun shines, Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today or One must celebrate when one has the chance.

An example of an argument scheme which scholars have already described but which recently did not receive much attention is the aforementioned argument from reciprocity. A lot of proverbs can be represented by this scheme such as What goes around comes around, Tit for tat, One good deserves another and the German How you call into the woods is how it sounds back.

And last but not least there are proverbs that either warn against common fallacies or which can be used to derive counter arguments. One swallow doesn’t make a summer or All that glitters is not gold warn against the fallacy of hasty generalization while People in glasshouses should not throw stones can be interpreted as a warning against the fallacy of inconsistent commitment. If the fallacy has already been committed they can also be used as counter arguments.

5. Conclusions
As a consequence of my findings, I think that some proverbs can indeed be said to systematically represent abstract argumentation schemes. They even seem to constitute some kind of folk logic, as Goodwin & Wenzel already suggested. Many proverbs thus can be interpreted as linguistically fixed and contextually adapted versions of argumentation schemes often used in everyday argumentation.
Also, proverbs indeed prove to be an interesting resource for the identification of new argumentation schemes.
And finally, the analysis of my second corpus gives some promising hints that there is a parallel between scheme representation and pragmatic functions of proverbs in contexts. For example, proverbs that represent means-to-end argumentation are mostly used either as commendations or as retrospective explanations.

REFERENCES
Goodwin, P. D., & Wenzel, J. W. (1981). Proverbs and Practical Reasoning: A Study in Socio-Logic. In W. Mieder & A. Dundes (Eds.), The wisdom of many. Essays on the proverb (pp. 140-160). New York, NY: Garland.
Kindt, W. (2007). Muster der Alltagsargumentation als Grundlage für Inferenzen. In G. Kreuzbauer (Ed.), Persuasion und Wissenschaft. Aktuelle Fragestellungen von Rhetorik und Argumentationstheorie (pp. 111-128). Wien: Lit.
Ullmann-Margalit, E. (Ed.). (2000). Reasoning Practically. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ullmann-Margalit, E. (1983). On Presumption. The Journal Of Philosophy, 80(3), 143-163.
Walton, D. N. (1996). Argumentation schemes for presumptive reasoning. Mahwah, N.J.: Erlbaum.
Walton, D. N., & Godden, D. (2007). A theory of presumption for everyday argumentation. Pragmatics & Cognition, 15(2), 313-346.
Walton, D. N., Reed, C., & Macagno, F. (2008). Argumentation schemes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wirrer, J. (2007). Phraseme in der Argumentation. In H. Burger (Ed.), Phraseologie. Ein internationales Handbuch zeitgenössischer Forschung = Phraseology. An international handbook of contemporary research (pp. 175-187). Berlin, New York: M. de Gruyter.

1. Introduction
The aim of this paper is to question the value of the concept of the so-called “argumentum ad baculum” (appeal ‘to the stick’). This aim is distinct from the purpose of many earlier works that focused on analyzing whether appeals to threat are or are not fallacious and under which circumstances they might be justified (e.g. Wreen 1989, Levi 1999, Kimball 2006, Walton & Macagno 2007). Instead, this paper investigates whether there is a consistent phenomenon at all that can be called “ad baculum”.[i]

Of course, it must be recognized that any term (such as “ad baculum”) that is established and widely used in argumentation theory and rhetoric has a presumption of usefulness. It is therefore the burden of those who doubt the usefulness of the concept to show that it does significantly more harm than good for the discipline.[ii] Nevertheless, there are circumstances under which this burden of proof can indeed be satisfied. If a term obscures rather than explains the essential qualities of the phenomenon or phenomena it describes, then a discipline may be well advised in changing or abandoning it. One instance in which this might be the case is terms that unite concepts by addressing accidental rather than essential qualities. In the worst case these kinds of terms will unite phenomena under themselves that have very little in common with each other and only share one accidental quality.

To illustrate this point in an extreme case: I might observe that all of my friends by the name of Markus are very thin, nearly anorexic. I might even confirm this observation by looking for more Markuses and finding that most of them are also rather skinny. And I might even be statistically right in my belief that the average Markus is slimmer than the average citizen (due to, for example, the popularity of that name in a certain cohort or social group that is also prone to skinniness or anorexia). Still, I would be ill advised to talk of a “Markus figure” when describing the physique of somebody or analyzing the relationship between “Markusness” and skinniness because the group in question is united only by an accidental quality.

2. Terminology test
In order to analyze whether the term “ad baculum” is of the above kind, one must test it for two qualities:
a) do the phenomena commonly united under the name “ad baculum” share one common essential quality, and
b) could all significant instances of “ad baculum” also be described by other categories that might be more relevant?

The first of these tests can be performed by substituting the proposed essential quality (the occurrence of a warning, threat or other appeals to fear or reference of a potential undesirable outcome – to use the widest possible meaning of “ad baculum”) by another quality. If the phenomenon under scrutiny (i.e. the argument or fallacy) maintains most of its observed relevant aspects, then it is very likely that its ‘stickness’ is not essential and should therefore be avoided as a defining quality of the phenomenon.

The second test can inform us whether any separate term for the phenomena that are commonly referred to as “ad baculum” is needed at all. If “ad baculum” is indeed a term united only by accidental qualities and all phenomena to which it refers can be aptly and better described by other concepts, then one might be well advised to discontinue its use in contemporary argumentation theory.

3. Ad Baculum as Fear Appeals
In order to gain a better understanding of the way the term “ad baculum” is commonly used let us first turn to one of the most famous and perhaps oldest instances of a fear appeal in western rhetoric, the Melian dialogue by Thucydides. This dialogue is a semi-ficticious exchange by two parties (the Melians and the Athenians) during the course of the Peloponnesian war. Thucydides includes it in his history of the Peloponnesian war and gives us the background under which it supposedly occurred (Thucydides 1921, 155-177 / V,84-V,115): The Athenians had just landed with a large military force on the island of Melos and demanded the Melians to accept Athenian rule or else be attacked. The Melians ask the Athenians to discuss the matter with the leaders of Melos. The subsequent discussion contains a number of famous fear appeals that might be labeled instances of “ad baculum”. Three exemplary ones shall be singled out and paraphrased here:

Melian dialogue 1 (Athenians to Melians): If you do not accept our rule, we will forcefully subdue you.

Melian dialogue 2 (Melians to Athenians): If you attack us, Sparta will come to our help and defeat you or revenge us.

Melian dialogue 3 (Athenians to Melians): If we do not subdue you, our current subjects will revolt against Athenian rule.

According to Thucydides the two parties did not find a solution to their difference of opinion, the Melians insisting on their independence and the Athenians on their will to subdue Melos. Soon after, an Athenian military expedition attacked and conquered Melos, killed all Melian men, and sold the women and children into slavery.

Needless to say, there is something evidently revolting about this blatant use of violence. However, this aspect should not obscure the analysis of the dialogue. The three selected fear appeals above illustrate the scope of argumentative moves that can be covered by the term “ad baculum”. An appeal “to the stick” can be a warning (i.e. the potential negative consequence alluded to has not been created by the protagonist: e.g. MD2 & MD3) or a threat (i.e. the potential negative consequence alluded to has been created by the protagonist: e.g. MD1). It can refer to negative consequences independent of whether they will actually happen (e.g. MD1) or not (e.g. MD2). And the potential negative consequence can be a threat to either the protagonist (e.g. MD3) or (probably more commonly) to the antagonist (e.g. MD1 & MD2). These aspects show only part of the scope of what can be referred to as “ad baculum” and are by no means exhaustive. They do however serve as a useful reminder to the variety of different argumentative moves that feature some kind of fear appeal.

4. Extent Treatments of Fear Appeals
Of the three fear appeals above the first one (MD1) is probably the most evident instance of “ad baculum”. It would be treated as fallacious or otherwise problematic by most communication disciplines. The reasons for the negative judgment of this argumentative move are quite different however. This is not the place for an exhaustive comparison of the treatment of “ad baculum” of all disciplines and schools in question. For our purposes, it will be sufficient to illustrate that the very same phenomenon (“ad baculum” in MD1) can be categorized quite differently.

Formal Logic: Copi and Cohen treat the “ad baculum” only briefly. They consider its fallaciousness to be so evident as to make any further discussion of it superfluous: “The appeal to force is the abandonment of reason.” (Copi & Cohen 2002, 148). Their main objection to fear appeals (as well as to related “ad” fallacies such as “ad hominem”, “ad populum” and “ad misericordiam”) seems to be the lack of a relevant argument scheme under which they can be subsumed. That this criticism does not hold true for all kinds of fear appeals will be shown below.

Informal Logic: There are a variety of different approaches to the “ad baculum” in informal logic. These offer different reasons for its fallaciousness and some distinguish between fallacious and non fallacious uses of fear appeals. Perhaps one of the most interesting explanations is offered by Douglas Walton. He treats some instances of “ad baculum” (presumably including MD1) as improper dialectical shifts from persuasive dialogue types into negotiation or bargaining (comp. Walton 2000, 180ff, Walton & Macagno 2007, 72ff.). In this approach the fear appeal itself is constructed as being less problematic than then pretense of engaging in one dialogue type although using the techniques of another type.

Pragma-dialectics: Van Eemeren and Grootendorst treat instances of “ad baculum” as a violation of rule 1 of the set of rules for a critical discussion (Eemeren & Grotendorst 1992, p. 212): “Parties must not prevent each other from advancing standpoints or casting doubt on standpoints” (Van Eemeren & Grotendorst 1992, p. 208). According to this approach instances of “ad baculum” are fallacious because they hinder the solution of a difference of opinion by breaking the rules for a critical discussion. Discussion partners that are interested in an optimal resolution process must therefore avoid resorting to or permitting open threats to the other party.

Rhetoric: Due to the large variety of different approaches referred to as rhetoric it is impossible to chose any one representative rhetorical treatment of “ad baculum”. Rhetoric understood as ars persuadendi or “the art of influencing the Will” (Whately 1963, p. 175) might not be a very good choice for the analysis of fallacies in the first place, because it lacks much of the normative elements of the approaches mentioned above. In its most radical version, rhetorical theory might well endorse any communicative act that leads to persuasive success. But even under these circumstances some argumentative moves might still be considered problematic. If (as is the case in the “ad baculum” in MD1) a potential persuasive effect is very limited in its reach, in other words it is not stable and not replicable, then it might be considered defective. From a rhetoric perspective, MD1 could be considered deficient because its persuasiveness depends on the maintenance of an immediate and credible threat, a quality that makes this form of persuasion very expensive and at the same time less stable than conventional argumentation that does not depend on altering external states.[iii]

5. A Taxonomy of Ad Baculum
What is interesting about the approaches above is that, for most of them, the threat itself is not the main problem but rather a symptom of an underlying issue: (i) a problematic shift in dialogue types; (ii) an obstacle to the free participation of a critical discussant or (iii) an instable form of persuasion, that can be triggered similarly by a number of non-threat related moves. The variety of underlying issues is an indicator for the heterogeneous character of the phenomena referred to as “ad baculum”. Of course the three problems mentioned above are far from constituting a complete list of underlying issues that can be found in instances of “ad baculum”. To start with they do not take into consideration the full breadth of different kinds of “ad baculum”.

In order to understand what kind of issues can be underneath the various instances of “ad baculum”, a brief taxonomy of the most important aspects of fear appeals will be helpful. As indicated above, a fear appeal might take the form of a threat (negative consequence created by persuader) or a warning (negative consequence not created by persuader). Furthermore the threat can be credible (the persuader is planning to bring about the negative consequence in case the addressee responds in the wrong way) or empty.[iv]

The aforementioned division between fear appeals addressed to the protagonist and those addressed to the antagonist is of little significance for the analysis of underlying issues. One further division that should be taken into account, however, is the type of persuasive goal that is being pursued by the protagonist of the fear appeal. It is of central importance insofar as it captures a number of the more absurd examples used in certain (more hostile) treatments of fear appeals in the literature. The persuasive goal is of two basic types: either a change of belief in the antagonist or the performance of an action.

Taken together the three divisions create the basic taxonomy of fear appeals below (Figure 1):

Figure 1

6. Consequences of the Taxonomy of Ad Baculum
This brief taxonomy enables us to give a more complete analysis of the underlying issues in different kinds of appeals ‘to the stick’. If it can be shown that all types of “ad baculum” are either valid arguments following a standard argument scheme or are fallacious due to reasons that are independent of the threat itself, then we can assume that we do not need “ad baculum” as a separate concept to describe any instances of fear appeal. While this would make the concept of “ad baculum” superfluous, showing as much would not yet be sufficient to claim that the use of the concept would actually be harmful. This claim requires additional reasons to be considered in a later step.

Depending on the theoretical starting point and perspective, any one type of fear appeal above might be fallacious or deficient for more than one reason. That reason is independent of the accidental quality of a threat or a fear appeal if it can be easily fulfilled or triggered by non-threat related aspects. Also the fact that a type can generally be subsumed under a valid argument scheme does not of course mean that any instance of that type would be a strong argument. It would rather mean that it can be tested by means of the critical questions associated to that scheme.

The following types of fear appeals are covered by threat independent fallacies or standard argument schemes:
1) Reverse naturalistic fallacy (types 1a / 1b / 1c): Types 1a, 1b and 1c are forms of reasoning from the desirability of a proposition onto the plausibility of a proposition. As such, they are the mirror image to the better-known “is-ought” problems (“It exists in nature therefore it is good”) and are just as fallacious. Any change in the quality of the proposition within an argument leaves that argument worthless. This type of fallacy or argumentative deficit is entirely independent of threats and can be reproduced in any argument scheme with a variety of propositional quality changes. Most of the resulting forms of reasoning are however so blatantly fallacious that they are not at all likely to fool any intelligent addressee. Woods’ example of an “ad baculum” of this type is “If you do not fully and sincerely believe proposition p is true then I will insult your sister” (Woods 1998, 496). It is easy to imagine very similar fallacies without the use of threats such as “If you do fully and sincerely believe proposition p is true then I will buy you a car,” or “Professor Woods says that it would be nice if proposition p were true, therefore you should believe that proposition p is true.” Instances of 1a, 2a and 3a would therefore (i.e. because they are reverse naturalistic fallacies) be fallacious independent of whether they include references ‘to the stick’ or not.

2) Truth claim negotiations (types 1b / 1c): In addition to being reverse naturalistic fallacies, types 1b and 1c have another significant argumentative deficit. In introducing potential negative consequences into the discourse that are created purely for the purpose of persuasion, the protagonist leaves the discourse type of pure argumentation and enters the type of negotiation or bargaining. Negotiation or bargaining are, however, inadequate discourse types when it comes to truth claims. Once again this deficit or fallacy is quite independent of the involvement of threats. There is no relevant structural difference between “If you do not believe proposition x then I will hit you” (“ad baculum”) and other forms of negotiation, such as “If you believe in proposition x then I will believe in proposition y.”[v]

3) Empty threats (types 1c / 2c): Types 1c and 2c are appeals to threats that are unlikely to materialize even if the addressee of the threat does not act in accordance with the persuader’s interests. Put another way, these empty threats are blatant lies that try to create a wrong appearance for the purpose of persuasion. As such they are once again essentially independent of the threat itself. Most conversational standards or normative systems include a rule or regulation that bans putting forwards standpoints or arguments that the protagonist believes to be false or for which he lacks sufficient evidence (e.g. Grice’s Quality Maxim, Grice 1975, 46). Any blatant lie, whether it refers to an empty threat, an empty promise, or any other faulty statement would be a breach of those rules.

4) Freedom of speech violations (types 2b / 2c): Some instances of types 2b and 2c can be attempts to stop an antagonist in a discussion from advancing standpoints or casting doubt on standpoints of the opponent. In that case, they violate rule 1 of the critical discussion, and according to the pragma-dialectical theory would hinder the effective solution of a difference of opinion. While threats can certainly lead to a violation of the pragma-dialectical freedom rule, they are by no means the only (and probably not even the most important) form of a rule 1 violation. Many forms of diminishing the freedom of speech of the opponent are easy to imagine that do not involve any form of fear appeal. A hearty laughter at any word of the opponent would be just one example of this kind of fallacy that is independent of any appeal ‘to the stick’.

5) Instable persuasion / dialectical shifts (types 2b / 2c): Seen from a rhetorical perspective, many instances of types 2b and 2c will also be deficient forms of persuasion. As noticed above, argumentative moves which force the protagonist to alter external states for the purpose of persuasion are generally less stable and considerable more expensive than pure argumentation. While not necessarily constituting a fallacy, this fact makes any avoidable shift from pure argumentation to negotiation and bargaining undesirable. A similar concern can be expressed from an informal logical perspective about inappropriate dialectical shifts away from a critical discussion to a negotiation (Walton 1992, 141ff.). In both cases the underlying problem (the inappropriate shift) is independent of the presence of a threat or warning and can be caused by a variety of other factors as well.

6) Causal argumentation (effect to cause, type 2a): The only remaining type of fear appeal that is not covered by one or more threat independent kinds of fallacy[vi] is type 2a. The obvious reason for this is the fact that although this kind of reasoning does indeed include an appeal “to the stick,” it follows a perfectly valid argument scheme. Depending on the taxonomy of argument schemes one wants to employ, type 2a might be called an argument from consequences (Walton 1995, 218ff., Walton 2000, 132ff.), argument from prudence (Woods 1998, 496) or simply a type of weak causal argument (in this case an argument from effect to cause, Herrmann et al. 2010, 58ff.).[vii]  The questions which of those (very similar) argument schemes best represents fear appeals does not need to be settled for the purpose of this paper because the testing procedure would be similar for all of them. In order to test whether any particular fear appeal of type 2a is a strong or weak argument one only needs to employ the set of critical questions for that scheme (as well as potentially additional critical questions that are scheme independent). Those critical questions (e.g. Kienpointner 1996, 156f., Walton 1996b, 75ff., Walton 2000, 137ff., Herrmann et al. 2010, 58ff.) are a sufficient testing tool for any given argument scheme and do not need any “ad baculum” specific supplement.

7. Conclusions
The analysis of the taxonomy of fear appeals above indicates a few important conclusions: First, all instances of appeals ‘to the stick,’ be they fallacious or non-fallacious ones, can be covered and analyzed by categories that are entirely threat- or warning independent. Second, not only is the category of “ad baculum” superfluous, but it might be positively obscuring the analysis of a given fallacious move because it offers too simple an answer to questions about the underlying reasons for the fallaciousness of the move at hand. Third, refraining from labeling a certain argumentative move “ad baculum” facilitates the distinction between fallacious and non-fallacious fear appeals because the latter are not already stigmatized by a negatively laden term.

It is this last point that also answers the remaining question: Even if it might be the case that all phenomena that are commonly united under the label “ad baculum” can be sufficiently (and perhaps even more precisely) covered by other categories, does that mean that the use of the term “argumentum ad baculum” in contemporary argumentation theory is positively harmful? Yes. Inasmuch as the term unites phenomena by only accidental qualities, it obscures the analysis of potential underlying problems in different types of fear appeals and most importantly produces a ‘guilt by association’ type prejudice against proper uses of fear appeals one might be well advised to avoid using this term for the purposes of contemporary argumentation analysis or at least supplement any use of the term with a more detailed description of the specific type referred to and the theoretical perspective used.[viii]

This conclusion, which suggests the abandonment of the term “argumentum ad baculum” as an umbrella term for very different kinds of fear appeal only extends to this particular fallacy. The method of dividing a particular fallacy (in this case the “ad baculum”) into its underlying types and analyzing each type independently, might well be useful for criticizing other “ad” fallacies as well.[ix] The result of these analyses would probably be different for different fallacies.

NOTES
[i] This paper assumes a basic familiarity with the idea of a fear appeal or “argumentum ad baculum”, literally translated as appeal “to the stick”. For a historical introduction to the concept see, among others, Hamblin (2004) p. 135ff., Woods (1998) p. 494ff., Walton (2000) p. 31ff., van Eemeren (2001) p. 135ff. and van Eemeren et al. (2009) p. 2ff.
[ii] It must, of course, also be acknowledged that terminology in argumentation theory and rhetoric does not always have to follow the same standards of rigidity as do similar concepts in some hard natural or mathematical sciences.
[iii] In other words it constitutes a shift away from pure argumentation into negotiation. For the purposes of this paper „argumentation“ is used in the sense of „mean of enforcing the will against resistance by changing the state of information in a reasonable way“; „negotiation“ is used as „mean of enforcing the will against resistance by exchanging costs and benefits“.
[iv] Technically speaking the same division holds true for warnings, but for reasons given below, this division is practically irrelevant because the plausibility of the manifestation of negative effect is one of the components of the critical testing of the argument scheme that is used for a warning.
[v] This is not to be confused with a negotiation of the type of “If you refrain from challenging proposition x in this discussion then I will refrain from challenging proposition y.” which, despite sounding rather similar and producing comparable practical results, aims at a particular action rather than a belief of the discussants.
[vi] The list above should be more than sufficient for the purpose of the main claim, namely that all types are covered by at least one fear appeal independent underlying deficient. This should be no means suggest the completeness of the list of reasons however. A number of further reasons for the fallaciousness of certain types of fear appeals have been suggested of which Woods concept of a “veiled intimidation ad baculum” is probably one of the most prominent (Woods 1998, 497).
[vii] Strictly speaking all of the types above can be reconstructed as moves resembling a causal argument from effect to cause. The general structure of all types would be: “Action / belief C will lead to consequence E. E is undesirable. Therefore C is undesirable.” The first part “Action / belief C” would in that case form the y-axis and the second part “will lead to” would form the x-axis of our taxonomy. Since the critical testing of all types other than 2a would however very quickly reveal grave deficits it seems more useful for the purpose of this paper to treat as separate types straight away.
[viii] This conclusion does not mean to suggest that certain types of threat appeals cannot be fruitfully analyzed or researched. It merely suggests that in order to be consistent one must limit oneself the one of the types (e.g. a freedom rule violation, compare van Eemeren et al. 2009, 85ff.) rather than consider the heterogeneous field of so-called “ad baculum” moves.
ix A similar approach is being employed in the distinction between the three kinds of “ad hominem” (abusive, circumstantial and tu quoque). Without this distinction the term “ad hominem” would also be too heterogeneous to be useful for contemporary argumentation theory.

REFERENCES
Copi, I. M & Cohen, C. (2002). Introduction to Logic. Upper Saddle River: Pearson.
Eemeren, F. H. van (2001). Fallacies. In: Ibid. (ed.), Crucial Concepts in Argumentation Theory (pp. 135-164), Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.
Eemeren, F. H. van & Grootendorst, R. (1992). Argumentation, Communication and Fallacies. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Eemeren, F. H. Van, Garssen, B. & Meuffels, B. (2009). Fallacies and Judgments of Reasonableness. Dordrecht et al.: Springer.
Grice, H. P. (1975). Logic and conversation. In: P. Cole & J.L Morgan (Eds.), Syntax and Semantics, III: Speech Acts (pp. 41-58), New York: Academic Press.
Hamblin, C. L. (2004). Fallacies. Newport News: Vale Press.
Herrmann, M., Hoppmann, M, Taraman, J. & Stölzgen, K. (2010). Schlüsselkompetenz Argumentation. Parderborn: UTB Schöningh.
Kienpointner, M. (1996). Vernünftig argumentieren. Hamburg: Rowohlt.
Kimball, R. H. (2006). What’s Wrong with Argumentum ad Baculum? Reasons, Threats, and Logical Norms. Argumentation 20, 89-100.
Levi, D. S. (1999). The Fallacy of Treating the Ad Baculum as a Fallacy. Informal Logic 19, 145-159.
Thucydides (1921). History of the Peloponnesian War. Vol. III. Transl. by C. F. Smith, Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Van de Vate, D., Jr. (1975). The Appeal to Force. Philosophy & Rhetoric 8, 43-60.
Walton, D. (1992). Types of Dialogue, Dialectical Shifts and Fallacies. In: F. H. van Eemeren, R. Grootendorst, J. A. Blair & C. A. Willard (Eds.), Argumentation Illuminated (pp. 133-147), Amsterdam: SICSAT.
Walton, D. (1995). A Pragmatic Theory of Fallacy. Tuscaloosa & London: University of Alabama Press.
Walton, D. (1996a). Practical Reasoning and the Structure of Fear Appeal Arguments. Philosophy and Rhetoric 29, 301-313.
Walton, D. (1996b). Argument Schemes for Presumptive Reasoning. Mahwah: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Walton, D. (2000). Scare Tactics: Arguments that Appeal to Fear and Threats. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
Walton, D. & Macagno, F. (2007). The Fallaciousness of Threats: Character and ad Baculum. Argumentation 21, 63-81.
Whately, R. (1963). Elements of Rhetoric. D. Ehninger (Ed.), Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press.
Woods, J. (1998). Argumentum ad baculum. Argumentation 12, 493-504.
Wreen, M. J. (1989). A Bolt of Fear. Philosophy & Rhetoric 22, 131-140.

1. Introduction
Empirical research has demonstrated that variation in standpoint explicitness matters. In several research reports, explicit articulations of a standpoint or conclusion have been compared to more implicit articulations. Meta-analyses of such reports (Cruz, 1998; O’Keefe, 1997, 2002) have shown that messages with explicitly stated standpoints are more persuasive than messages without such standpoints. Such effects were not found for advertising messages, for which the conclusion – buy this product – seems relatively straightforward, regardless of the articulation of the conclusion (Cruz, 1998).

There are different ways in which explicit conclusions may be articulated, one of which is the use of probability markers. Advertising research has compared hedges (which mark a standpoint as moderately probable) and pledges (which mark a standpoint as very probable). In this study, it was investigated whether the reputation of the brand affects the persuasiveness of hedges and pledges. Based on a study conducted by Goldberg and Hartwick (1990), it was expected that hedges would be more persuasive for low-reputation brands, whereas pledges would be more persuasive for high-reputation brands. This expectation was put to a test in an experiment.

2. Standpoint explicitness
The pragma-dialectical approach to argumentation views argumentation as reasonable discourse aimed at resolving a difference of opinion (Van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1992, 2004). In order to discuss reasonably, a set of rules for critical discussion is proposed. One of the rules holds that parties should express themselves clearly, unambigiously and explicitly, because this allows for critical scrutiny. This means, for instance, that the proponent has to explicitly put his or her standpoint on the table. Although normatively reasonable, standpoint explicitness may seem to threaten the persuasive effectiveness of the proponent. As O’Keefe (1997, p. 2) summarizes, greater explicitness “invites closer scrutiny, counterargument, objection, rejection”. A number of studies have empirically investigated whether greater standpoint explicitness is associated with less persuasive effectiveness. These studies have been summarized in statistical meta-analyses (Cruz, 1998; O’Keefe, 1997, 2002). O’Keefe divided these studies into two categories: studies on conclusion omission (messages with or without a conclusion) and studies on conclusion specificity (the conclusion is explicit, but may be general or specific). In O’Keefe (2002), which contains more studies than O’Keefe (1997), the meta-analysis involving 35 comparisons demonstrated that more explicit articulation of standpoints was found to be more persuasive than less explicit articulation. This result was found for both the conclusion omission studies and for the conclusion specificity studies. In another meta-analysis with a different set of studies, Cruz (1998) reached the same conclusion. In sum, this means that the normative consideration of standpoint explicitness is in line with empirical results (cf. O’Keefe, 2007).

A meta-analysis summarizes findings from primary research. Some primary research reports may have findings that deviate from the general conclusion. This is the case for two advertising studies mentioned in Cruz (1988): Kardes (1988) and Sawyer and Howard (1991). As O’Keefe (1997, 2002) notes, Kardes (1988) is not a study on standpoint explicitness, but on specificity of supporting arguments. Contrary to the general findings on standpoint explicitness, the advertising study reported in Sawyer and Howard (1991) showed that the implicit standpoint was more persuasive than the explicit standpoint. Cruz (1998) gives two explanations for this result. In the first place, the advertising text was shorter than the texts in the average other study. In longer texts, explicit standpoints are needed to comprehend the proponent’s standpoint, whereas this is less likely the case for shorter texts. In the second place, the genre of advertising may play a role: “one conclusion is readily understood in all advertisements: Buy the product” (Cruz, 1998, p. 222). As a result, for advertising texts it seems that standpoint explicitness does not matter.

3. Probability markers
The purpose of an advertisement is to positively affect people’s attitude towards the product, attitude towards the brand, purchase intention and – ultimately – actual purchase. The message that an ad conveys is generally related to the benefits of the product or service: product X has benefit Y, leads to Y, gives you Y (cf. Darley & Smith, 1993). This is a descriptive standpoint or claim that can be true to some degree. An example is given in (1).

(1) Our nasal spray helps you breathe freely.

This uniformity in advertising message structure does not mean, however, that advertisers do not vary in the way they put forward claims. In one particular field of study, the interest has been on the effectiveness of probability markers that can be used in claims. A probability marker signals the degree to which a claim is true (Berney-Reddish & Areni, 2005, 2006). A pledge, such as ‘absolutely’ or ‘undoubtedly’, signals complete certainty of the claim, such an in example (2). A hedge, such as ‘likely’ and ‘possibly’, signals that the claim is not necessarily true, such as in example (3).

(2) Our nasal spray always helps you breathe freely.

(3) Our nasal spray in most cases helps you breathe freely.

A few studies have compared the relative persuasiveness of hedges and pledges in advertising claims. Berney-Reddish and Areni (2005, 2006) compared the two probability markers in four texts for different products, and showed that hedges and pledges were equally persuasive. A similar finding was reported in Hornikx, Pieper and Schellens (2008), who had participants rate eight different cosmetics claims with these markers.

Two characteristics of these experiments offer suggestions for future research. A first characteristic is that the experiments used multiple message designs with simple, abstract claims. The use of a multiple message design improves internal validity, but disadvantages ecological validity. It is an empirical question as to how persuasive hedges and pledges are in a more realistic advertising setting. This leads to the following research question:
Research question: Is there a persuasive difference between hedges and pledges in advertising claims in a realistic advertisement?

A second characteristic of the experiments – a consequence of the first characteristic – is that the proponent of the standpoint (the brand) was not identified. There are reasons to believe that the brand affects how people are persuaded by advertising claims. Goldberg and Hartwick (1990) reasoned that the effectiveness of the claim that brands put forward partially depends on their reputation. Brands with a high reputation are in a better position to express a strong claim than brands with a lower reputation. With an experiment for the brand Miro, Goldberg and Hartwick (1990) indeed demonstrated that extreme claims (e.g. ‘Miro came first against the world’s top 100 products in its category’) were more persuasive than less extreme claims (e.g., ‘Miro came twentieth against the world’s top 100 products in its category’) when the brand was introduced as a high-reputation brand, and that less extreme claims were more persuasive than extreme claims when the brand was introduced as a low-reputation brand. This relationship may also apply to hedges and pledges, as a claim with a pledge may be considered as a more extreme claim, and a claim with a hedge as a less extreme claim. Based on the study of Goldberg and Hartwick (1990), the following hypothesis was formulated:

Hypothesis: A hedge is more persuasive than a pledge in an ad for a low-reputation brand and a pledge is more persuasive than a hedge in an ad for a high-reputation brand

4. Method
An experiment was set up to answer the research questions and to test the hypothesis. Dutch participants were given a description of a company profile, an advertisements for nasal spray of that compay, and a questionnaire that contained the relevant dependent measures.

4.1 Material
Participants were told that an American company, Sinus Relief, was considering the introduction of their nasal spray on the Dutch market. Before participants were invited to read a potential advertisement, they were given background information about that company. Participants received a fictitious, but realistic company profile from the Wall Street Journal in which the company Sinus Relief was described. This procedure to manipulate brand reputation was borrowed from Goldberg and Hartwick (1990).

In one version of the article, Sinus Relief was presented as a high-reputation brand, and in another version, the company was presented as a low-reputation brand. The two versions each contained 190 words distributed over three paragraphs, but differed with respect to the company’s characteristics, such as number of years in business (more than 60 years vs. 10 years), sales volume (86 million vs. 3 million), market share (48% vs. 4%), and number of employees (2100 vs. 78).

This manipulation was checked in a pretest among 50 Dutch participants, of whom 60% was female, and of whom 68% had followed higher education. The participants were on average 30.84 (SD = 12.05) years old (range 20-62). Participants responded on 5-point semantic differentials (very bad – very good) to three statements: “The reputation of Sinus Relief among employees is”, “The reputation of Sinus Relief among customers is”, and “The reputation of Sinus Relief among investors is” (α = .87). In the high-reputation text, which was read by half of the participants, the reputation of Sinus Relief was perceived as higher (M = 4.25, SD = 0.38) than in the low-reputation text (M = 2.39, SD = 0.73); F (1, 48) = 128.95, p < .001, h² = .73.

Next to the company profile, the material consisted of two versions of an advertisement for a nasal spray from Sinus Relief. One version contained hedges, the other pledges. A number of markers were pretested among other participants (16 Dutch students): ‘always’ (9.19) and ‘absolutely’ (8.69) scored highest on a 10-point probability scale and were used as pledges, whereas ‘in most cases’ (6.00) and ‘usually’ (5.25) scored much lower and were used as hedges. Note that scores below the midpoint of the scale mean that a marker indicate improbability rather than probability, which would have made such a marker inappropriate to function as a hedge. In order to emphasize the use of markers, not one but two markers were used in text (4); ‘always’ and ‘absolutely’ as pledges, and ‘in most cases’ and ‘usually’ as hedges:

(4) “Got a cold? We know how annoying that is. Our nasal spray brings relief. It will [always / in most cases] help you breathe freely. Sinus Relief: [absolutely / usually] the best choice for your nose”.

The two ads each contained a picture of a woman, a brand logo, the product, and a text.

4.2 Participants
A total of 137 Dutch people participated in the study, of whom 51.8% was male, and of whom 69.3% had followed higher education. None of these people had participated in either of the two pretests. The participants were 33.51 years old on average (SD = 13.47), with ages from 18 to 67. The four groups of participants (see ‘Design’) did not differ in mean age (F (3, 132) < 1), or levels of education (c² (15) = 16.50, p = .35), but differed in gender distribution (c² (3) = 9.55, p < .05). This difference in gender distribution does not seem to have affected the results, because there was no main effect of gender on the dependent measures (F (4, 132) < 1).

4.3 Design
The experiment had a 2 (high vs. low reputation) x 2 (pledges vs. hedges) between-subjects design.

4.4 Instrumentation
The persuasiveness of the ads was measured on the basis of attitude towards the product, attitude towards the brand, and purchase intention. Attitude towards the ad was measured separately from persuasiveness (cf. Hornikx & O’Keefe, 2009).

Attitude towards the product was measured using four 5-point semantic differentials: good – bad, low – high quality, inattractive – attractive, and effective – ineffective (α = .78). Attitude towards the brand was measured using four 5-point semantic differentials: positive – negative, unreliable – reliable, good – bad, and expert – inexpert (α = .83). Purchase intention was measured with 5-point Likert scales that followed three statements: “I would like to receive more information about this nasal spray”, “I consider buying this nasal spray”, and “I would definitely buy this nasal spray if I needed nasal spray” (α = .76). Attitude towards the ad was measured using four 5-point semantic differentials: beautiful – ugly, not interesting – interesting, pleasurable – not pleasurable, inattractive – attractive (α = .84). In addition, the reputation manipulation was checked with the same statements that were used in the pretest (α = .86). The questionnaire ended with questions about participants’ age, gender, nationality, and highest education.

4.5 Procedure
Dutch people were invited individually to fill in the questionnaire at different locations in a Dutch city (e.g., railway station, shopping centre, university). People were not rewarded for their participation, which took about 7 to 10 minutes. After the questionnaires had been collected, the real research purpose was revealed, and participants were thanked for their cooperation. There were no disturbances during the experiment.

4.6 Statistical tests
The research question and the hypothesis were evaluated through a 2 (reputation) x 2 (marker) analysis of variance, where reputation and marker were both between-subjects factors.

5. Results
Before addressing the research question and the hypothesis, it was first checked whether the reputation manipulation was successful. As in the pretest, the brand reputation was perceived as higher in the high-reputation conditions (M = 3.92, SD = 0.58) than in the low-reputation conditions (M = 2.37, SD = 0.69); F (1, 134) = 200.97, p < .001, h² = .60. Furthermore, there was a main effect of reputation on persuasiveness (F (3, 130) = 12.28, p < .001, h² = .22). For the high-reputation version, the attitude towards the product (F (1, 132) = 21.73, p < .001, h² = .14), the attitude towards the brand (F (1, 132) = 34.40, p < .001, h² = .21), and the purchase intention (F (1, 132) = 13.61, p < .001, h² = .09) were higher than for the low-reputation version. Such a main effect did not occur for the attitude towards the ad: participants’ liking of the ad was not affected by the reputation of the brand (F (1, 132) < 1).

The research question about the persuasive difference between hedges and pledges was answered on the basis of the main effect of marker. There was no main effect of marker on persuasion (F (3, 130) < 1) or on attitude towards the ad (F (1, 132) < 1). It was expected that a hedge would be more persuasive than a pledge in an ad for a low-reputation brand and that a pledge would be more persuasive than a hedge in an ad for a high-reputation brand, but the relevant interaction effect between reputation and marker did not occur, neither for persuasion (F (3, 130) < 1), nor for attitude towards the ad (F (1, 132) < 1). Table 1 gives the descriptive statistics for the dependent measures in the four conditions.

Table 1. Persuasiveness and attitude towards the ad in function of brand reputation and marker

6. Conclusion and discussion
The present study investigated the persuasiveness of hedges and pledges in a realistic product advertisement for a fictituous brand that was presented as having a high or low reputation. The level of reputation was expected to interact with the type of marker. That is, high-reputation brands may benefit more from pledges than from hedges, whereas low-reputation brands may benefit more from hedges than from pledges. The results did not support the hypothesis: there was no interaction effect between reputation (high or low) and marker (hedge or pledge). This occurrence of a non-significant interaction effect cannot be attributed to the manipulation of reputation. In the first place, the manipulation proved to be successful: the high-reputation brand was perceived to have a higher reputation than the low-reputation brand. In the second place, the reputation manipulation affected participants’ response to the subsequently presented ad: ads were found to be more persuasive when they followed the high-reputation journal article than when they followed the low-reputation journal article.

Whereas earlier studies used abstract claims without any context, the present study used a more realistic setting with a fictitious ad, containing text and images, designed for a specific brand. In this context too, hedges and pledges were found to be equally persuasive, corroborating findings reported in Berney-Reddish and Areni (2005, 2006), and Hornikx et al. (2008). Suggestions for future research follow from characteristics of this study. Although having a higher ecological validity, the present study suffers from a low level of generalizability of the results as it involved only one ad. More experimental studies with ads for other products and brands should be conducted before conclusions about a possible relationship between markers and brand reputation can be drawn. Furthermore, it would be wise to also include conditions without markers, so that the persuasiveness of hedges and pledges can be assessed: are claims with markers more or less persuasive than claims without any marker?

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