In this chapter, you will learn:

  • About classical topics of argumentation
  • How to leverage topics of argumentation for rhetorical invention

We make arguments constantly–to family on social media, to friends about what to eat for dinner, to strangers through what we wear, to our pets about whether or not we’ve already fed them–but we rarely name the argumentative processes we are participating in. Argument and persuasion are things we do instinctively. In our daily lives, persuasion is a skill we learn by imitating what we see and hear others doing and then adjusting our strategies over time as we experiment with what works and what doesn’t. In our academic and professional lives, argumentation requires more formal instruction. Law school trains students to argue in court settings. Mathematics requires proofs. Science requires meticulous compilation of evidence to prove or disprove a hypothesis. Every discipline—every major in college—teaches a kind of argumentation.

In these last few chapters, we will help you develop your own argument and contribution to your chosen controversy’s discourse. You probably already have a pretty good idea what your own opinions are and what you think should be done at this point in the course. Whether you already know what you want to do or whether you are still thinking, the exercise below can help you articulate your final, primary claim.

Brief Exercise: Identifying questions about your controversy is a good place to start. If you already kind of know what you want to argue, experiment with the question templates below to identify the controversial questions your proposition answers. This will help you frame and articulate your argument as part of your controversy’s larger discourse. If you are still thinking, experiment with the following question templates to identify questions people are asking in your controversy. Brainstorm as many as you can. Then ask yourself which question(s) you are interested in and believe yourself capable of asking. Answering these questions for yourself in sentence form will likely get you your primary claims and possibly your overall thesis.

  • Should we do ____?
  • What effects will ____ have on ____ people?
  • Should we believe that ____ is good/right/just/fair [pick one or insert your own]?
  • Is ____ good/right/just/fair because it has or lacks the following good effects ____?
  • Is ____ good/right/just/fair because it embodies/relates to ____, which we also care about or which we do not like at all?
  • Is ____ good/right/just/fair because future generations will benefit/appreciate or suffer from ____?
  • Should we value and protect ____ by doing ____?
  • Should we not do ____ because we don’t know enough yet?
  • Should we learn more about ____ so that we don’t end up doing ____?

All of these situations you argue in, however, follow similar principles and strategies. Within each, it becomes a matter of knowing the audience you are writing to, recognizing their expectations and qualifications for what makes a good argument, and adjusting your reasons and claims accordingly. The goal of this chapter is to hone your awareness of argumentative patterns common across disciplines and ways to apply them to arguments you are making.

Rhetoric teachers since antiquity have taught students to build arguments from what classical philosophers called topics of argumentation. These are common modes of reasoning most people use and understand. The word “topics” in this chapter can be confusing for modern readers because we tend to think of a topic as a matter of subject rather than a matter of activity. “Topics” in this chapter can be better understood as a practice being participated in rather than an object being studied–as a way to argue rather than a thing to argue about.

In this chapter, we will explain each of the six classical topics of argumentation, model a few examples, and then offer general advice about how to apply each to your argument. We promise that these activities are already more familiar to you than you think.

The First Topic: Induction

Induction abstracts a general pattern from a specific example. Here are a few arguments from induction: Legalizing medical marijuana in California resulted in quack doctors and sham dispensaries giving and filling prescriptions to anyone who asked. From this experience we can conclude that, wherever and however a state legalizes medical marijuana, in effect that state also legalizes recreational marijuana. The Affordable Care Act eliminated the private healthcare plan that Marti Ceraso had purchased for years, requiring that he buy a more expensive plan featuring services he will never use. So it becomes clear that the Affordable Care Act does not let people keep the health insurance that they had before the law was passed. Toll road 183A did not reduce traffic congestion between Cedar Park and Austin, though it did allow private contractors to make a lot of money building roads and charging motorists. Obviously toll roads in Texas are a scam that benefits contractors and impoverishes commuters. Every one of these arguments, of course, will be more convincing if built on more than one example. One toll road that fails to deliver on its promises may suggest that all toll roads are a scam. Many toll roads that fail to deliver on their promises confirm that toll roads are a scam.

Our first bit of advice, therefore, about arguing from induction is: Don’t settle for one example to prove a pattern. Here are a few additional pointers:

Start with the general pattern, and then look for the examples. When arguing from induction, you will need to find an example, and that requires some research. But you must also invent a general pattern that you can derive from this example. In fact, when inventing arguments from induction, we recommend that you begin with the general pattern. Then look for an example or several examples to demonstrate specific instances of this pattern. Choose your examples based on how you think they will appeal to the audience. If you want to prove that animals are abused by the beef industry, then you might begin with the most graphic butchering that you can find to move your audience’s emotions. Then you could offer a series of shorter and less gruesome examples to show that this one graphic instance is part of a much larger pattern. If you want to prove that charter schools help children from impoverished areas succeed, then you might begin with an extended description of one kid who pulled himself out of poverty in part because of his education at Magnet High. Such an example would be vivid and emotionally moving. It would also grab the audience’s attention. Then you could follow with statistics (many examples) of kids who earn more money or achieve higher levels of education than their parents after having attended charter schools.

Pair your argument from induction with an argument at another topic. Disagreements that feature inductive argumentation often devolve into opposing sets of examples. Think of pollsters from opposing political parties during an election cycle: One offers a survey (many examples of people saying something) to show that the country favors Republicans; another offers a different survey (many examples of people saying something else) to show that the country favors Democrats. When you know that counterexamples will oppose your argument, think about switching to another topic of argumentation. Any topic discussed in this book or elsewhere should work. As long as you keep focused on the same subject, your audience won’t be confused by a change in argumentative strategy.

Qualify your argument by acknowledging that the general pattern doesn’t always hold. Induction doesn’t have to prove that specific instances always fit the general pattern. As we like to say, there are always exceptions to the rule. And an argument at the topic of induction can allow and admit to these exceptions. Some kids from impoverished neighborhoods do not get college degrees after attending Magnet High. Some cattle do not spend their lives confined to a small pen before getting bludgeoned to death with a rubber mallet. Counterexamples always exist. Your opponents will quickly find them. Nonetheless, enough kids succeed and enough cows suffer to show that a pattern exists.

As our discussion so far suggests, arguments from induction can give your audience reason to trust, reason to feel, and reason to believe. The audience will trust a speaker who can mention many examples and who can draw general patterns from these examples. Such a person seems knowledgeable and intelligent. An audience will feel various emotions based on the examples placed before them. These feelings will transfer to the general pattern. If we feel disgusted by one instance of poor sanitation in a fast-food restaurant, then we will likely feel disgust toward the entire industry once we think this one instance is part of a broader pattern. Finally, the general conclusion drawn from the specific example or examples is itself a reason to believe. Once we believe that the food processing industry abuses animals, we’ll be more likely to conclude that the industry is morally reprehensible and needs strict regulation.

The Second Topic: Analogy

Analogies compare two things. You’re probably familiar with this common exercise, often repeated on standardized tests: a screwdriver is to a screw as a _____ is to a nail. To complete the analogy, you must figure out the relationship implied by the first two items. Knowing that relationship will help you to figure out the second part of the analogy. The obvious answer to our puzzle is “hammer.” Screwdrivers turn screws, and hammers pound nails. Analogical arguments similarly compare things based on some common feature. Analogies don’t have to be perfect. In fact, an analogy can work even if the comparison is strained. Think of how many times people say that relearning a skill or a subject is “like riding a bicycle.” We all know that a refresher course in trigonometry is nothing like hopping on a 10-speed, but we accept one point of similarity: You never completely forget something you learned very well.

People use analogical arguments to claim that things should be treated similarly: “Tuna is the chicken of the sea, so you can use tuna in lots of dishes that call for chicken.” They also use analogical arguments to ask us to feel the same way about different things: “Country and western music is just like rap music. Both genres tend to glorify violence and misogyny. If rap music is to blame for urban crime, then country and western music is to blame for every instance of rural domestic violence, every convenience-store robbery, and every bar fight in West Texas.” People use analogical arguments to suggest that similar situations will have similar outcomes: “A handful of dedicated leaders and citizens pushed the U.S. government to end segregation. They did it with sit-ins, with marches, with protests, and eventually with legislation. Today a handful of dedicated activists can end abortion-on-demand. We will march to Washington. We will protest outside the offices of legislators. And, to protect the health of the mothers and the lives of the unborn, we will demand laws that restrict abortion services.” Like induction, analogy can be quite useful. And like inductions, analogies typically require some research since a good analogy requires a good example.

Like inventing an argument at the topic of induction, inventing an analogy starts with thinking about the conclusion. What do you want your audience to feel or believe? Based on the desired conclusion, you should look for a comparable situation that will elicit similar beliefs or feelings. If you want your audience to believe that the U.S. should not get involved in the Syrian civil war because such intervention will be endless and ineffective, then you should look for a comparable situation when military intervention dragged on without achieving its promised results. If you want to claim that states should abandon the federal government’s Common Core education standards because such standards get in the way of good teaching, then you should look for another instance where federal regulations have interrupted people’s local and helpful efforts. If you want to argue that the U.S. war on drugs is more harmful than a policy of legalizing and regulating, then you should look for another instance where strict legal penalties did more harm than tolerance and regulation.

As you think through the possible analogies, keep in mind a few rules of thumb:

Though good analogies don’t have to be perfect analogies, convincing analogies often compare things with many similarities. As we mention above, the things you’re comparing do not have to be exactly alike or even similar. They only have to share one important quality. Federal educational policy is quite different from federal healthcare laws, but you could argue that the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) is analogous to the Affordable Care Act (ACA) since both laws are instances of the federal government intervening in something that should have been left to local control or individual choice. Of course, the strength of this analogy lies in the many similarities between the things compared: both NCLB and ACA are federal laws; both are recent; both have been enforced with mixed success.

Analogies don’t have to prove that any general patterns exist. In this regard, analogy is easier than induction. Not all or even most efforts at exerting federal control are like NCLB, but the comparison shows that this law, like another, has the potential to be ineffective and destructive.

Extended analogies should feature two things that resemble one another. Those arguing for the legalization of marijuana like to compare federal laws that prohibit the sale of marijuana to the Eighteenth Amendment, which prohibited the sale or consumption of alcohol. You could elaborate on this analogy for paragraphs or pages because there are so many points of comparison. As you elaborate on these points of similarity, the analogy becomes more extended and more convincing.

Effective analogies should feature things that resonate with the audience. To argue against someone comparing criminalization of marijuana to early-twentieth-century prohibition, you could turn to cocaine for an effective counteranalogy and argue that some legal and seemingly harmless drugs should be made illegal. Once widely consumed and put in common products (such as medicines and soft drinks), cocaine was prohibited by the Harrison Act of 1914. You could argue that, like cocaine, marijuana should be studied before the drug is legalized. But for most people, the cocaine-marijuana analogy probably won’t resonate as much as the alcohol-marijuana analogy. Most people familiar with U.S. history know about the Prohibition era. And most adults have direct experience with alcohol. Many have experience with marijuana. Fewer have experience with cocaine. Lack of familiarity makes the cocaine-marijuana analogy seem foreign and less convincing. For an even less resonant analogy, you could compare marijuana to MDMA (a.k.a. “molly” or “XTC”), which was legal in the U.S. until 1985.

Further Discussion: Taking action to reduce carbon emissions is a daunting challenge, one that is often met with complaints that there are no feasible ways to substantially reduce the amount of greenhouse gases that people pump into the atmosphere. To counter those who claim that “it’s impossible to substantially reduce carbon emissions,” speakers often turn to analogy. At the end of his famous lecture (recorded in the documentary film An Inconvenient Truth [2006]) Al Gore notes that people decided to reduce chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) to stop harming the ozone layer. According to Gore, the worldwide effort to reduce CFCs is analogous to the effort to reduce carbon emissions—both require a global effort, and both are possible. More recently, in an episode of the television series Cosmos (Episode 12, “The World Set Free” [2014]), Neil deGrasse Tyson argued that reducing carbon emissions is comparable to the worldwide effort to reduce nuclear weapons—both require a global effort, and both are possible. Which of these analogies will resonate better with a contemporary audience? Which analogy compares things that most closely resemble each other? What would be a counteranalogy, a problem that was indeed too big for everyone to solve together?

The Third Topic: Difference

Like analogies, arguments at the topic of difference draw conclusions based on comparisons. Instead of highlighting similarities, however, arguments at the topic of difference focus on differences. In order for analogies to work, the audience must assume that similar things deserve similar responses or will have similar results. In order for an argument at the topic of difference to work, the audience must believe that different things deserve different responses and will have different results: If you love capitalism and democracy, you should hate socialism and dictatorship.

  • If government regulation kills jobs and stalls growth, then the free market and private industry will kick-start the economy and employ hundreds of thousands of people.
  • If Republicans favor individual rights and market freedoms, then Democrats must favor state regulation and government handouts.
  • If Republicans favor corporations and the wealthy, then Democrats fight for small businesses and the middle class. To invent arguments at the topic of difference, begin with your conclusion. What do you want your audience to think, feel, or do? Then try to find or invent something that will lead them to the opposite belief, sentiment, or action.

Like analogies, arguments about difference are more effective if they feature good examples, if they present close comparisons, and if they resonate with the audience. In fact, all the advice we give about analogies applies to arguments at the topic of difference. Except this: While analogies don’t have to be perfect to be convincing, arguments at the topic of difference do have to compare completely—or at least extremely—different things. No one will assume that slightly different things deserve very different reactions. No one will believe that nearly identical policies will have wildly variant results.

Analogies and differences can give an audience reasons to believe, to trust, and to feel, so both are versatile topics. But arguments at the topic of difference tend to have more emotional resonance. Analogies can ask the audience to think and to feel the same way about two comparable matters. If I want to convince you that we should pass legislation outlawing discrimination against transgender people, then I can compare such discrimination to early 20th-century segregation. I can say that, like segregation, discrimination against transgender people violates people’s rights and liberties. This is essentially a reason to believe that we should support legislation that outlaws discrimination against transgender Americans. But it is also a reason to feel good about the campaign against such discrimination: Since transgender rights are analogous to racial equality, all good feelings about civil rights apply to both. Arguments at the topic of difference work similarly but have much stronger emotional resonance. Furthermore, arguments at the topic of difference don’t ask the audience to feel the same emotion about two things. Arguments at the topic of difference ask the audience to feel different emotions but with the same intensity. Arguments that appeal to nationalism often work this way. It is common, for instance, to hear the following reason to feel animosity toward certain corporations and certain individuals: If you love American industry, then you should hate companies that manufacture overseas. Another argument at the topic of difference is commonly used to convince people that they should disdain any opposition to an armed intervention: If you honor our soldiers, then you should despise war protesters.

The Fourth Topic: Correlation

As we’ve explained so far, certain kinds of arguments call for or depend upon certain kinds of evidence. Analogies, inductions, and arguments at the topic of difference require examples. Arguments about correlation typically depend upon signs. The basic presupposition behind an argument at the topic of correlation is that certain things relate to or somehow go with other things. Since some things tend to go with other things, they are often understood as signs that something else exists or will happen. If you want to prove that someone committed murder in cold blood, then you will have to find things that typically correlate to premeditated murder: “After killing the victim and dumping the body, this heinous man went to a local diner and ordered a grilled cheese sandwich.” Since people typically eat when they feel peaceful, it seems reasonable to conclude that this person was not passionate or upset before, during, or especially after the killing.

Correlation is useful when trying to invent reasons to trust (or not to trust) someone and when inventing reasons to believe that something exists or will exist.

Correlation can give an audience reasons to trust an authority or a speaker. Why can you trust this person as a knowledgeable source? They’ve written three books on the subject, and publication tends to go with erudition. Why should you not trust this person at all? They said the exact opposite thing to someone else last week, and inconsistency often relates to duplicity. You can present such reasons in support of an argument that your audience should trust (or not trust) an authority whom you cite. And you can also present such reasons to convince your audience to trust you. Copious research often correlates with authority. If you show your audience that you have done a lot of research, they will trust you based on this correlation. Living in a community often correlates with goodwill toward the people in that community. If you tell an audience of Texans that you live in Texas (or Austin), they will trust you as someone who bears them goodwill based on this correlation.

Correlation can give an audience reason to believe that something exists or will exist. While it is helpful when trying to invent reasons to trust, correlation also can offer reasons to believe that something exists or is the case. If you want to prove that global climate change is real, you should look for things that accompany warmer climates: increased rainfall, intense storms, drought. If you want to prove that global warming is a theory blown out of proportion by histrionic scientists, then you should look for inconsistencies in their reports or evidence that has been altered or suppressed. Such things tend to go along with conspiracies to misinform. Arguments about motive tend to rely exclusively on the correlation of behavior and inward sentiment. Since we can’t see into a person’s mind or soul to verify his emotional state, we have to assume that a frown means he’s sad and a clenched fist means he’s angry. Such expressions relate to inward feelings.

To invent an argument at the topic of correlation, we suggest that you first figure out your claim. What do you want your audience to believe exists or is the case? Then try to think of things that correlate. If you want them to believe that smoking marijuana has harmful mental side effects, try to think of symptoms that correlate to reduced cognition or memory function: slurred speech, lack of ambition, poor short-term recall. If you want your audience to think that a political candidate is trying to win votes by saying things that they do not believe, then look for things that correlate with deception: inconsistency between words and deeds; vague messages that don’t commit to any specific actions; continually changing positions over time.

Before we move on to the next topic of argumentation, a brief warning about correlation: Historically, people have drawn questionable conclusions based on things that tend to accompany or relate to other things. We assume that expertise is the same the world over, so we trust meteorologists who pontificate about global warming (even though they are experts about weather, not climate), and we trust stock traders who talk about economics (even though they are experts about equities markets, not national or global economies). Correlation also leads people to assume causation, even though there may be no evidence that two things often found together cause one another. Stable marriages and financial well-being tend to go together. But we don’t know which (if either) causes the other. Anyone who recommends that others get or stay married so that they can be financially stable is mistaking correlation for causation. Much medical science is dedicated to separating correlation (symptoms) from causation (disease). In public argument, we tend to be less exact than medical doctors, but we should nevertheless be careful. Most worrisome is that correlation has contributed to regrettable developments in recent history. All racial profiling is based on correlation of skin color and criminality. Much discrimination is based on correlation of inferior social standing and gender or ethnicity.

While you should be careful with correlation, you should not rule it out as an argumentative tool. In fact, despite its dangers, this topic of argumentation persists because it is reasonable to assume that some things relate to or tend to go with other things. Rain doesn’t cause thunder, or vice versa, but the two regularly go together. And the person who hears a low rumbling in the distant sky and refuses to take out an umbrella because there is no guaranteed causal connection between the discharge of static electrical charges and precipitation is a wet fool.

Further Discussion: Much contemporary advertising (“image” ads, for instance) depend upon correlation of a lifestyle and a product. Since successful athletes and a brand of shoe go together, then you should buy that shoe. Since attractive people and a kind of beer go together, you should drink that beer. Is it insulting to suggest that lifestyles and identities correlate with products? Are marketers really telling us that we can be cool if we buy the right soda? Or are they simply showing us the relations that already exist between social groups and brand names?

The Fifth Topic: Definition

Definition, along with induction, is among the most common kinds of argument. Definitions give people reasons to believe certain things. When you hear a news anchor describe an area hit by tornadoes as a “federal disaster area,” you believe that the damage is severe. You imagine homes torn from their foundations, cars turned over, people injured or dead. Definitions give us reasons to feel a certain way. “Federal disaster areas” warrant our concern and our desire to help. Finally, definitions tell us what to do. We should give federal money and offer private charity to a “federal disaster area,” so people can rebuild their homes and recover their losses. Every definition presents some belief, evokes some feeling, and suggests some action. To call someone’s unfortunate demise an “accidental death” is to ask the audience to believe that no one is to blame, so they should feel sorrow and offer consolation. To call that same person’s death a “homicide” is to tell the audience that someone is to blame, so they should feel angry and find the culprit.

Because definitions are such powerful and useful arguments, they often sit at the center of controversies. Different stakeholders can be identified, as we mentioned in the introductory chapters, by the definitions that they prefer. If you are pro-life, then you define abortion as “murder,” and you define the contents of a mother’s womb as a “baby.” If you are pro-choice, you prefer different definitions, such as “medical procedure” and “fetus.” If you favor immigration reform, then you will define people who do not have explicit permission from the federal government to live and work in the U.S. as “undocumented immigrants.” If you prefer to keep the immigration laws as they are (or to make their enforcement more strict), then you will define these same people as “illegals.” If you favor a tax on inheritances valued at more than 5.3 million dollars, then you will likely call it an “estate tax.” If you want to reduce or eliminate such a levy, then you will likely call it a “death tax.”

Contemporary professionals who advise politicians and run election campaigns spend a lot of their time worrying about definitions because they know that the party or the politician who invents a new definition will guide emotions and policy for a long time. Think of how different U.S. history would be if we had decided to define the attacks on September 11, 2001, as “international crimes” rather than as “acts of terrorism.” (At the time, many argued unsuccessfully for such a definition.) Think of how different law enforcement would be today if we defined every mass shooting as an incidence of “terrorism.” In order to invent definitional arguments, we suggest that you begin with the thing you want to define. Then ask yourself, “What do I want the audience to believe, to think, and to do about this thing?” Finally, try to find terms that will lead the audience to believe, think, and do as you wish. If you want people to believe that college admissions policies favor certain applicants based on race regardless of academic excellence, then you should look for words that suggest such a quality: “race-based admissions.” If you want the audience to feel that college admissions policies attending to academic excellence are fair, then you should look for words that suggest justice: “merit-based admissions.” If you want your audience to eliminate admissions policies that consider race, then you should look for words that suggest illegality: “unconstitutional race-based admissions policies.” If you prefer, on the other hand, that your audience appreciate and maintain college admissions policies that consider race, then you should look for another definition: “college admissions programs that promote diversity.”

To help you invent and elaborate your definition arguments, we offer three pointers: (1) Explain the category; (2) identify the essence; (3) emphasize the effect.

Explaining the definitional category: Many definition arguments ask the audience to put something specific into a broader group of other, similar things. To say that race-based admissions policies are “unconstitutional,” for instance, is to say that these policies belong in the broad category of unconstitutional things. All the things in this category will share certain features, just like all mammals have hair and give birth to live young (to name two shared traits). If you can explain the category and show your audience what qualities constitute the category, then you can also show your audience why this particular object belongs in the category. Mammals have hair, give birth to live young, and produce milk. Mice have hair, give birth to live young, and produce milk. Therefore mice are mammals. Unconstitutional policies do not accord with some part of the U.S. Constitution in effect or in practice. Someone might argue that race-based admissions policies result in a quota system, which in effect violates the Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, so they are unconstitutional. Often, people will disagree about the category itself. In these cases, you must explain the category before defining the object. The word “fair” carries so many definitions that few efforts to define something as “fair” can get away without explaining what is meant by this category. But even when there is no disagreement about the category—even when everyone agrees about what “terrorism,” “unconstitutional,” or “democratic” means—defining the category can give someone an advantage because that definition might become the standard that everyone will use.

Identify the definitional essence: Like explaining the category, identifying the essence of a definition allows you to set the terms of the debate. Explaining the category typically requires that you describe several qualities and then show that your object exhibits these qualities. Mammals, as we mention above, have hair, give birth to live young, and produce milk. If an animal does not have all of these qualities (and several others), it’s not a mammal. (The duck-billed platypus complicates this definition, of course: It’s a rare egg-laying mammal, a monotreme.) Things get messier when trying to deal with contested categories. We all agree about what qualities make a mammal, but what qualities make a democracy? Popular elections? Representation by a body of legislators? Direct ballot initiatives? Suffrage for all citizens? Or all of the above? If you choose all of the above, then you might be surprised to learn that you don’t live in a democratic state, for Texas’s state constitution doesn’t allow direct ballot initiatives. Many cities, such as Austin, do allow them, however. Not surprisingly, there is much debate among Texas residents about whether the state government, in order to be truly democratic, should allow direct ballot initiatives.

Identifying the definitional essence cuts through all the complexity by asserting that one quality is at the heart of the category. A democracy is any government that gives sovereignty to the people. Popular sovereignty, therefore, is the essence of democracy. The other qualities are inessential. Historically, arguments about Christianity have waffled between those who explain and those who essentialize the category of “true Christian.” Theologians who insist on a robust catechism claim that in order to be a Christian, one must believe in many things, such as the coeval existence of three figures in the godhead, the impending return of Christ to judge the living and the dead, the literal historical truth of the creation narrative in the book of Genesis. Theologians arguing for a minimal catechism claim that one belief constitutes the essence of Christianity: acceptance of Jesus Christ as humankind’s savior. We oversimplify millennia of theological arguments to make a simple point: Identifying the essence of the definitional category can effectively counter an argument that explains the definitional category.

Emphasize the definition’s effect: As you’ve noticed by now, definitional debates quickly become abstract and complicated. Much of Western philosophy and law is filled with such endless arguments about how to define “good,” “nature,” “humanity,” and “property.” At a certain point, people stop talking about the things themselves and talk exclusively about the categories. They argue about words and their meanings. Such disagreements tend to be irreconcilable. In the abortion debate, for instance, the effort to define “life” has led to legal abstractions and confusions that few can parse. The U.S. Supreme Court ultimately decided to avoid defining “life” but to define “viable” as “potentially able to live outside the mother’s womb.” Any other definition or term would risk effects that the Court did not desire. Defining “life” more fully or more strictly would impinge on the mother’s right to privacy and impose on a doctor’s right to practice medicine. Rather than focusing on the essence or the explanation of the category, the Court’s definition focuses on the effects. Many functional definitions exist because we like the effects that they have. If we expand the definition of “historical landmark” to include architecturally interesting though fairly recent buildings, then we can preserve buildings that we like even if they’re not that old. If we define a “national monument” as any protected area, then the president of the United States can prevent the destruction of natural formations without asking for congressional approval. We allow such definitions not because we think that “protection” is an essential quality of monuments. In fact, when most people think of monuments, they think of marble statues in Washington, D.C., not rock formations in Wyoming. But the definition convinces because the audience likes its effects.

Emphasizing the definition’s effects is an effective way to step into a longstanding and complicated argument that has already featured many explanations and essentializations. After a while, when the audience is tired of trying to see all the necessary qualities or to see into the essence of the matter, they just want a definition that does something good. In this circumstance, a definition that emphasizes its effect is welcome.

Brief Exercise: Dissoi Logoi: To create persuasive definition arguments, sometimes the best strategy is to experiment with each of the techniques outlined above until you discover the form of argumentation your intended audience is most likely to accept. One way of doing so is to practice writing dissoi logoi (“double arguments”). Invent arguments for and against several propositions. As a class, see if you can elaborate on the following propositions: “Allowing doctors to prescribe lethal amounts or combinations of narcotics to terminally ill patients is euthanasia” and “allowing doctors to prescribe lethal amounts or combinations of narcotics to terminally ill patients is physician-assisted suicide.” Skilled speakers can persuasively argue both of these propositions without sacrificing their actual positions. The trick is recognizing how and when to shift from one definitional strategy to another.

The Sixth Topic: Causation

To argue at the topic of causation, you must assert that something causes or is the effect of something else. Causal arguments rarely stand alone. Only in select controversies do people argue heatedly and exclusively about whether one thing causes another thing. More typically, speakers use causal arguments to convince the audience of something else. For example, if you want to make someone dislike an action, then you can show that it is the effect of a bad motive or that it is the cause of someone else’s suffering. I am happy that my cousin paid for my dinner last night—until you point out that he only bought me dinner because they wanted to butter me up before asking me for a loan. You feel good about your new diamond necklace until I point out that purchasing diamond jewelry indirectly supports gangs of armed thugs who terrorize parts of Africa so that they can maintain control of the diamond market. Causal arguments are also useful when trying to convince people to do (or not do) something. Children don’t like to eat vegetables, so we tell them that eating carrots will improve their eyesight. Adults like to eat cake until they are reminded that a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips.

Causal arguments are easy to make, but they’re hard to prove. Speakers often rely on some common assumption about what kinds of things cause or result from other kinds of things. Since we typically assume that eating sweets causes weight gain, we will readily accept your argument that cake will make us heavy. We don’t readily associate eating habits with disease, so we will less readily accept an argument that eating cake will make us diabetic. A consistent sequence of events can also serve as evidence of causation. If you consistently get a rash after you use a certain sunscreen, then it’s reasonable to conclude that the sunscreen causes skin irritation. Finally, correlation can be used to establish causation. Things that consistently go together often (but certainly not always) are in a causal relationship with one another. Since the children whose parents read to them consistently do well in school, we assume that reading to kids before bedtime will boost their academic performance. All such arguments about causation are imperfect, to say the least. Moreover, because causal arguments are so hard to prove, they tend to drag on. A fairly intuitive connection between contact sports and mental dysfunction is only now under debate because it has been so hard for scientists to conclusively prove that repeated blows to the head—even when a person wears a helmet and does not suffer from an evident concussion—can lead to long-term emotional and cognitive problems. Thankfully, in order to be convincing, arguments about causation do not have to be conclusive. The final scientific verdict may still be unsettled, but we can see enough correlation and sequence to know that we must start reducing the amount of head trauma that occurs in popular sports.

Applying the Topics

We’ve reviewed a range of argumentative topics to get you started. There are others. In fact, for thousands of years rhetoric instructors have told students to invent lots of arguments at numerous topics. Unfortunately, knowing the difference between an argument at the topic of correlation and an argument at the topic of causation won’t make you more persuasive. To use these topics well, you have to practice.

To start thinking about your controversy topic in relation to classical topics of argumentation, write down your principal claim—the idea, feeling, or action that you want your audience to believe, experience, or do. Then go down the list of topics. Try to invent at least one argument at each topic to support your principal claim. Inventing more than one reason at each topic is even better still. Some of the topics will lead you to useful reasons. Some won’t lead you to any reasons. But some topics will lead you to arguments you would not have considered. And a few topics will lead you to very persuasive reasons. The goal of this exercise (and of this chapter) is to invent more than you can use. Then you can decide which arguments are the best. The topics should help you to find more things to say. Arguing at the topic of correlation, we’ll point out that the speaker with more things to say often has better things to say. Arguing at the topic of causation, we’ll notice that having better things to say typically results in a winning argument.

Chapter Assignment: Constrasting Claims

One of the most popular exercises assigned to students of rhetoric required that they argue both sides of a contentious issue. The topics played a key role in this exercise, for they offered students a way to argue contrasting opinions using the same basic argumentative moves. Using the six topics in this chapter, write one- or two-sentence arguments on both sides of a case. Use our example as a guide:

Principal Claim: Tipping in restaurants should be the principal way to reward good service. Principal Claim: Tipping in restaurants should be replaced with another way to reward good service.
Induction: Tipping guarantees that good service will continue. At the Crown and Anchor, two bartenders were given different tips because they offered different qualities of service. When the lower-paid server saw how much more he could earn by being nicer and more attentive, he started to do a better job. Induction: Servers prefer to collect a guaranteed salary, especially if it comes with benefits, because they know that they will earn less if they have to scrounge for tips. At the Black Star Co-op, when given the choice, servers elected to receive a salary with benefits.
Analogy: Tipping for good table service is like giving an end-of-year bonus for good sales. Both promote initiative. Analogy: Tipping for good table service is like letting students decide teachers’ salaries. Both allow cruel punishment for questionable reasons.
Difference: At the post office, where people know they’re going to get a check no matter when your mail arrives, workers are slow, unenthusiastic, and rarely helpful. Tipping, on the other hand, motivates people to work hard for every customer. Difference: At Starbucks, where employees are given job security and benefits, they work hard because they feel like they’re part of a team, and they don’t have to always worry about whether being underpaid for the next latte will leave them unable to pay the rent. Tipping, on the other hand, leaves servers uncertain and bitter, so they often work less or have terrible attitudes.
Correlation: Merit-based rewards and high performance are often found in the same organizations. Tipping and good service go together. Correlation: Service industries that pay their workers with tips are more likely to have employees living below the poverty line. Tipping and poverty go together.
Definition: Fair evaluation of service should be based on customer satisfaction. Since tipping is the best expression of a customer’s evaluation of the service, it is the fairest way to compensate restaurant servers. Definition: Unfair treatment in the workplace happens anytime workers are evaluated based on customer whim rather than on an honest measure of their performance. Tipping is therefore unfair.
Causation: Tipping leads to good service, well-paid servers, and a vibrant restaurant industry. Causation: Tipping leads to wage theft, poverty, and a stressful work environment.