Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice [1 ed.] 9789027268082, 9789027211262

Citation preview

Argumentation in Context

9

Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice edited by

Frans H. van Eemeren and Bart Garssen

John Benjamins Publishing Company

Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice

Argumentation in Context (AIC) issn 1877-6884

This book series highlights the variety of argumentative practices that have become established in modern society by focusing on the study of context-dependent characteristics of argumentative discourse that vary according to the demands of the more or less institutionalized communicative activity type in which the discourse takes place. Examples of such activity types are parliamentary debates and political interviews, medical consultations and health brochures, legal annotations and judicial sentences, editorials and advertorials in newspapers, and scholarly reviews and essays. For an overview of all books published in this series, please see http://benjamins.com/catalog/aic

Editors Frans van Eemeren

ILIAS & Leiden University & University of Amsterdam

Bart Garssen

ILIAS & University of Amsterdam

Editorial Board Mark Aakhus

Eddo Rigotti

Marianne Doury

Sara Rubinelli

Rutgers University CNRS Paris

University of Lugano

Eveline Feteris

ILIAS, Swiss Paraplegic Research & University of Lucerne

G. Thomas Goodnight

Meiji University

Cornelia Ilie

Bocconi University

Sally Jackson

Northwestern University

Manfred Kienpointner

Budapest University of Technology and Economic

University of Amsterdam University of Southern California Zayed University, Abu Dhabi University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign University of Innsbrueck

Takeshi Suzuki

Giovanni Tuzet David Zarefsky

Gábor Zemplén

Volume 9 Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice Edited by Frans H. van Eemeren and Bart Garssen

Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice Edited by

Frans H. van Eemeren Bart Garssen University of Amsterdam

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

8

TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

doi 10.1075/aic.9 Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of Congress: lccn 2015025908 (print) / 2015029751 (e-book) isbn 978 90 272 1126 2 (Hb) isbn 978 90 272 6808 2 (e-book)

© 2015 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · https://benjamins.com

Table of contents Foreword

vii

part i  A general perspective applied to scientific controversies Arguing in the grooves: Genre and language constraints in scientific c­ ontroversies Jeanne Fahnestock

3

part ii  Argumentation in a political context Cultural differences in political debate: Comparing face threats in U.S., Great Britain, and Egyptian Campaign Debates Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1­ 973–1990: A case of social and political deep disagreement Claudio Duran Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address David Zarefsky

31

49 65

part iii  Argumentation in a legal context The voices of justice. Argumentative polyphony and strategic ­manoeuvring in  79 judgement motivations: An example from the Italian ­Constitutional Court Marina Bletsas A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation: The role of ­pragmatic ­argumentation in the justification of judicial decisions Eveline T. Feteris

99

Transparency in legal argumentation: Adapting to a composite audience in ­administrative judicial decisions H. José Plug

121

part iv  Argumentation in education Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont, Francesco Arcidiacono, ­Stephanie Breux, Sara Greco & Celine Miserez-Caperos

135

 Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice

Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing: One aspect of the ­evaluation of students’ written argumentative competence Paraskevi Sachinidou

151

The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning r­ esearch: ­Dialogue, externalisation and collective thinking Michael J. Baker

175

A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative ­writing ­instruction in the U.S.A. Lindsay M. Ellis

201

part v  Argumentation in an interpersonal context The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

217

The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

233

“I did not do it, because I would not do it”: Defending oneself against an ­accusation Henrike Jansen Argumentation from analogy in migrants’ decisions Sara Greco Can argumentation skills become a therapeutic resource? Results from an ­observational study in diabetes care Sarah Bigi

251 265

281

part vi  Strategic maneuvering The strategic function of argumentative moves in Corporate Social R ­ esponsibility (CSR) reports Anca Gâţă

297

The disguised ad baculum fallacy empirically investigated: Strategic maneuvering with threats Frans H. van Eemeren, Bart Garssen & Bert Meuffels

313

A strategic maneuvering analysis of Japan’s first internet election in 2013 Takayuki Kato & Takeshi Suzuki

327

Index

343

Foreword Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice contains a selection of papers reflecting upon the use of argumentation in real life contexts. The papers are selected from the contributions to the Proceedings to the 8th Conference of the International Society for the Study of Argumentation held in Amsterdam in 2014. After selection the papers have been reviewed and revised where this seemed useful. The volume consists of six sections: I. A general perspective applied to scientific controversies, II. Argumentation in a political context, III. Argumentation in a legal context, IV. Argumentation in education, V. Argumentation in an interpersonal context, VI. Strategic maneuvering. Each section includes several papers dedicated to the specific theme concerned. The first five sections are devoted to argumentation in a specific institutional context, the last section to strategic maneuvering as a vital concept in studying argumentation in practice. In section I, A general perspective applied to scientific controversies, Jeanne Fahnestock examines in ‘Arguing in the grooves’ (Chapter 1) several scientific controversies in order to determine what kind of genre-specific constraints apply to the various kinds of academic exchanges. In section II, Argumentation in a political context, Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck and Salma I. Ghanem compare in ‘Cultural differences in political debate’ (Chapter 2), using politeness theory, recent campaign debates from the United States, Great Britain and Egypt to determine if there were significant cultural differences or similarities in the way candidates argued for high office. Claudio Duran describes and analyzes in ‘The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990’ (Chapter 3) the argumentation in El Mercurio, Chile’s main daily newspaper, in articles in the printed edition as well as in blogs in the online edition during the months of ­September and October 2013. David Zarefsky explains in ‘Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address’ (Chapter  4) that, although Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address is normally understood as epideictic, intended only to dedicate a national cemetery, in fact, in this brief text an important argument is subtly and implicitly developed: that nationalism is necessary for democracy to flourish. In section III, Argumentation in a legal context, Marina Bletsas combines in ‘The voices of justice’ (Chapter  5) the polyphonic approach of Nølke, F ­ løttum, and Norén with the extended pragma-dialectical approach. She suggest a ­reconstruction of judgment motivations as a critical discussion between a ­plurality

doi 10.1075/aic.9.001for © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Scrutinizing Argumentation in Practice

of voices conveyed even in one and the same sentence. Eveline T. Feteris discusses in ‘A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation’ (Chapter 6) the role of pragmatic argumentation referring to consequences, goals and values in complex structures of legal justification. H. José Plug points out in ‘Transparency in legal argumentation’ (Chapter 7) that an important topic in the debate about transparency of the administration of justice is the communicative function of judicial decisions. This function should be conceived as the judge’s aim to have his argumentation understood (the communicative effect), as well as to have it accepted (the interactional effect). In section IV, Argumentation in education, Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont, Francesco Arcidiacono, Stephanie Breux, Sara Greco and Celine Miserez-Caperos analyze in ‘Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children’ (Chapter 8) children’s argumentative discussions centered on the resolution of cognitive tasks, starting from the hypothesis that children’s interventions are more complex and complete than usually described in psychological research on argumentation skills. Sachinidou Paraskevi explores in ‘Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing’ (Chapter 9) the relations of the argumentative strategies observed in the writing of adolescents’ texts within language evaluation tests. Michael J. Baker describes in ‘The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning research’ ­(Chapter 10) extensions of the pragma-dialectical theory for analyzing learning processes in students’ argumentation dialogues. Lindsay M. Ellis points out in ‘A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction in the U.S.A.’ (Chapter 11) that secondary and university instructors in the United States rely heavily on the Toulmin model to teach written argumentation. She encourages writing consultants to ask critical questions not only associated with Toulmin’s model but also those of the pragma-dialectical model of critical discussion. In section V, Argumentation in an interpersonal context, Marianne Doury and Pascale Mansier discuss in ‘The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context’ (Chapter  12) a variant of the ad hominem argument as challenging the opponent’s mental health. Susan L. Kline and D’Arcy Oaks examine in ‘The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions’ (Chapter 13) if common ground operationalized as interpersonal familiarity creates a discussion context in which particular argument acts are more likely to occur. Henrike Jansen deals in ‘“I did not do it, because I would not do it”’ (Chapter  14) with an argument saying that someone who is accused of something would never do the alleged act because of the harmful consequences. She gives an analysis and evaluation of this kind of argumentative strategy with the help of examples of two professional cyclists defending themselves against doping accusations. Sara Greco analyzes in ‘Argumentation from analogy in migrants’ decisions’ (Chapter 15) the

Foreword 

role of argumentation from analogy in international migrants’ decision-making processes on the basis of a corpus of interviews with migrant mothers residing in the greater London area. Sarah Bigi describes in ‘Can argumentation skills become a therapeutic resource?’ (Chapter 16) the results from an observational study of argumentation in the medical setting that show why argumentation skills can become a useful therapeutic tool in chronic care. In Section VI, Strategic maneuvering, Anca Gâţă discusses in ‘The strategic function of argumentative moves in Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) reports’ (Chapter 17) argumentative moves made in CSR reports to improve the image of the business and persuade various audiences that the company acts responsibly towards society. Frans H. van Eemeren, Bart Garssen and Bert Meuffels test in ‘The disguised ad baculum fallacy empirically investigated’ (Chapter 18) the hypothesis that ad baculum fallacies are seen as less unreasonable when they are presented as if they are well-meant advices in which the speaker cannot be held responsible for the unpleasant consequences if he does not get his way. Takayuki Kato and Takeshi Suzuki analyze in ‘A strategic maneuvering analysis of Japan’s first internet election in 2013’ (Chapter  19) political moves in the first Internet election campaign in Japan within the pragma-dialectical framework of strategic maneuvering. 7 April 2015

Frans H. van Eemeren and Bart Garssen

part i

A general perspective applied to scientific controversies

Arguing in the grooves Genre and language constraints in scientific controversies Jeanne Fahnestock University of Maryland

In this study, several scientific controversies are analyzed to identify some of the genre-specific constraints, both visual and verbal, that affect the resolution of these academic exchanges. Keywords:  academic exchange; scientific controversies; genre-specific constraint

1.  Introduction In 2011 the journal Science published a “Report” (their genre label) arguing that amber nodules found in Late Cretaceous sediments in Canada preserved both dinosaur and bird feathers (McKellar, Chatterton, Wolfe, Currie, 2011). Bird feathers were not surprising, but the dinosaur feather identifications were, as the paper mixed claims with different burdens of proof. Supporting evidence for the dinosaur feather label amounted to matching structures inferred from sophisticated and riveting micrographs of inclusions in the amber to a five-stage model of feather evolution. A lengthy supplement to the print article argued against identifying the inclusions in the two purported dinosaur specimens as hair or plant material, leaving feathers by the logic of elimination (McKellar et al., 2011). Five months later a “Technical Comment” challenging the identification of dinosaur feathers appeared in Science (Dove and Straker, 2012). A “Technical Comment” is a tightly controlled genre, limited to 1000 words, two figures or tables and 15 references, restricted to addressing only the core conclusions and methodology of the original argument, minus any mention of new data or unpublished work not accessible to the original authors; comments only see publication if their authors have first corresponded with the original authors (see “Information for Authors,” 2012). Focusing on the two putative dinosaur specimens, the two challenging authors cast detailed doubt on the visual interpretations, proposed that the protofeathers were more likely to be plant material, and ­emphasized that without doi 10.1075/aic.9.01fah © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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Jeanne Fahnestock

destructive analysis (that is analysis by mass spectroscopy) the material could not be convincingly identified anyway. The original authors replied in the “Response to Comment” genre (McKellar et al., 2012), answering some of the charges with descriptions of the “taphonomy” or embedding particularities of the specimens, pointing out that a suggested plant did not exist at the time, and repeating that destructive analysis of such rare specimens was not possible. And there as far as the specialist literature is concerned, the matter ended: standpoint – challenge – answer. There was no place in Science for continuing this discussion to a mutually acceptable conclusion. This modest disagreement never made it into the news, but the original report certainly did, thanks in part to the stunning images involved. Online, Science’s own news website correctly reflected the divided nature of the original report, the much less certain attribution of protofeathers to dinosaurs in two of the specimens and the less doubtful identification of bird feathers in other samples (Perkins, 2011). But this distinction did not survive in other online science news sourced to National Geographic (Photo Gallery, 2011), Wired (Keim, 2011) and Discover Magazine (Draxler, 2013) where more striking images of the undisputed bird feathers are associated with (literally are visually contiguous with) verbal claims about dinosaur feathers.1 In these cases, the typical format of the online news report, associating a headline with one salient image (with or without caption) in a single screen view, contributed to a misrepresentation of the original argument, as did the well-known practice, across news genres, of making titles more certain than the content they represent. Still another difference between the original and news versions of this case highlights the problem of labeling evidence, and images in particular, that support an argument. For reference options, the English lexicon typically offers alternative labels from more general to more particular terms, hypernyms to hyponyms (e.g., the more general pet and the less general dog can refer to the same individual animal). At different points in their argument, the original authors use all the following terms to refer to the inclusions seen in the amber; here they are organized according to their level of generality: filamentous structures – filaments – plumage – feathers – protofeathers – Stage I/II morphotypes [varieties of protofeathers]

.  The image selected for the Wired web page appears in the original report (McKellar et al., 2011, p. 1621, Fig 3. F). The discussion in the report’s caption and text (pp. 1621–1622) ­attributes the specimens in the image to Late Cretaceous birds. But the Wired headline, “Trove of Dinosaur Feathers Found in Canadian Amber,” makes it seem that the image represents dinosaur and not bird feathers.



Arguing in the grooves

For material that is unidentified but described by its physical shape, filament seems an appropriate choice, and the authors could have stayed with this or even more general terms (like inclusion) until they had made the case for their definition. But they prefer the bottom terms and indeed in their Supporting Online Material, they use the most specific labels Stage I/ Stage II Morphotype as headings for sections describing the “dinosaur” specimens. The refuting authors use filaments a few times but amber specimens and fibers more often; fibers is also a plausible label for the observed structures, and, in keeping with their doubts, fiber is less associated with feathers than filament is. Of the terms used in the original research report, feather has the widest currency in general usage, as indicated by its 2368 appearances in the 450 million word Corpus of Contemporary American English compared to 369 for filament and 0 for protofeather and morphotype. So not surprisingly, in the everyday register of the news, feather is the preferred label in summaries of the original research report. But to refer to the embedded entities as feathers accepts the conclusion, and it further favors selection of those pictures that look most like canonical feathers as representative images. Here something analogous to linguistic prototypes, the preference for salient members in a category, seems to take effect, since what most people think of as a “feather” does not look anything like what the original authors call dinosaur protofeathers or morphotypes. Here again a genre constraint – the use of terms in wider usage in news reports – potentially interferes with the argument. 2.  Genre and language constraints This brief look at a minor controversy highlights my topic today: the importance of genre conventions and the visual and verbal practices that follow from them in argument production and analysis. Genres, akin to activity-types in pragmadialectics (van Eemeren and Houtlosser, 2005), reflect recurring and often institutionalized audience-address situations, and texts assigned to genres follow the rules for a particular kind of language game, prescribing, among other features, a prevailing register, ways of addressing the audience, even different average sentence lengths. In print and online genres, there is also a visual component to generic stability. Texts in a certain genre are supposed to look a certain way in page layout and font, and they use visuals in predictable ways. Genres also change over time (as we’ll see later) and individual instances sometimes flaunt genre conventions (also coming). Most important in rhetorical terms, different genres favor arguments in different stases and access different topics and appeals, and they tolerate different presentational devices in their strategic maneuvering – even as they address different audiences.

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Jeanne Fahnestock

How can genres be categorized and labeled? Rhetorical theory offers three broad metagenres or genera dicendi, the forensic, epideictic and deliberative, and these fit well over the on-the-ground genres that have convenient labels like the horoscope or the commencement address or the newspaper editorial. My method is to follow the same claim through different genres, noting the generic constraints and options and, in some cases, identifying where problems occur because of them. What I want to do in the remainder of this presentation is first to discuss types of controversies in the sciences and how they typically end. Then I will look at three individual controversies, following them from the specialist literature into different kinds of genres and isolating some of the stylistic and argumentative features tolerated in those genres. I end with an open question on how best to characterize what could be called multi-genre arguing. 2.1  Types of controversies and their resolution But first, the label “controversy” can cover different kinds of contention in the sciences so some sorting out is needed (Giere 1987; Baltas 2000). I am going to set aside those better described as “deliberative” or policy controversies, though they involve scientific content, as for example the debate over whether to publish research on increasing the transmissibility of the potentially pandemic H5N1 virus (Patterson, et al. 2013). No one challenged the science, just the wisdom of doing or publishing it. My focus is instead on disagreements over entities and processes in nature, though these can and often do involve deliberative consequences (as we’ll see). For disagreements over natural entities and processes, the label “controversy” can still cover different kinds of contention. It is sometimes used when different researchers offer competing explanations of a new phenomenon or one that has resisted explanation. Competing arguments sprang up over antibody formation in the 1940s (Cambrosio, et al., 2005), over the nature of gene coding in the 1950s (Judson, 1979), or recently over the origins of the moon (Canup, 2013; Clery, 2013). In these cases there is consensus about a gap in knowledge that needs to be filled, if not on how to fill it, and these arguments need not address each other. Other controversies occur when non-expert publics resist the scientific consensus, as in the case of the autism/vaccination connection (Oldstone, 2004), or the claim that an XMRV virus causes Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a connection that has not survived the scrutiny of experts though it was held by some patient advocacy groups (Cohen and Enserink, 2011; Callaway, 2011). It is also called a controversy when an individual scientist or an isolated research group persists in withholding agreement from the mainstream, like Peter Duesberg doubting the HIV/AIDS connection (Corbyn, 2012), or Laura Manuelidis questioning



Arguing in the grooves

the ­consensus on prions as the cause of spongiform encephalopathies (Couzin-­ Frankel, 2011). Loner holdouts grab media attention, but rarely change the course of research. There are also cases of challenge and denial mimicking controversies in their early stages that eventually unravel as cases of fraud, as in the human cloning scandal of a few years ago (Cyranoski, 2006), or the faked Archaeoraptor fossil of a feathered dinosaur (Rowe, et al. 2001). Or an error is discovered, as in the case of the faster-than-light neutrinos traced to a loose cable connection in a detector (Reich, 2012). All these are worth studying, but I am focusing on controversies closer to the requirements of a critical discussion, like my opening example. These feature a standpoint and challenge among stakeholders with similar qualifications, who follow essentially the same rules of evidence, who publish in journals of similar status, and who proceed in good faith through fully articulated arguments until they “resolve a difference of opinion on the merits” (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 1; van Eemeren and Garssen, 2013, p. 521). But it is difficult to isolate or contain controversies at this level of purity and cleanly resolve them on the merits because they spill out into other forums, publications and media. Scientists themselves often seek out other genres addressing wider, less expert audiences to promote their views, and, increasingly, blogs, discussion groups, twitter feeds and facebook postings refract the issues and arguments, the way substances with different refractive indices bend light. Furthermore, since there is a cultural place for science news with professional science journalists as well as an associated publicity industry, scientists themselves are not the only arguers involved. High profile science claims are especially likely to expand into orbiting genres where they are amplified as new, amazing, overturning widely-held beliefs, and having potentially important consequences. Furthermore, the options for resolution or closure have some special features in the sciences (Beauchamp, 1987; McMullin 1987), outside the resolution methods of adjudication, mediation and negotiation identified in pragma-­ dialectics (van Eemeren and Houtlosser, 2009). The first and second methods, adjudication before a recognized tribunal and mediation before a neutral third party, are not typically practiced in the sciences. Though a science court was proposed in the 1970s (Mazur, 1987), there is no recognized entity issuing binding decisions on the correctness of one knowledge claim over another. And the case of Lysenko, where state tribunals banned his opponents in the 1940s and then condemned his views in the 1960s, is not one that scientists are eager to imitate (Graham, 1987). There are of course quasi-adjudicating bodies such as granting agencies and peer-reviewed journals, and occasionally discipline-based societies may resolve contentions, as the International Union of Geological Sciences did

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Jeanne Fahnestock

in 2009 when it moved the boundary between the Pliocene and Pleistocene by almost a billion years (Kerr, 2008; Kerr, 2009). Or sometimes a standing committee is assigned or a special committee is convened to reach a decision on a scientific claim where fraud could be involved (see the cases of Frank Sauer [McNutt, 2014], or of Marc Hauser [“Carpenter, 2012; Hauser report released,” 2014]). But these interventions are rare. The third method, resolution by negotiation, requires each side to make concessions in order to reach a settlement. But give and take seems an unlikely way to settle factual disagreements, though there are a few cases that play out like negotiated settlements. The controversy over whether humans crossed over from Asia to the Americas early by water or later by land could be settled by accepting multiple dates and routes (Pringle, 2011), and the controversy over whether dinosaurs were hot blooded or cold-blooded has a potential bridge in the suggestion that they were something in between, able to raise their core temperatures but not maintain them (Balter, 2014). Given the refraction of science arguments across genres and media, and the relative inapplicability of resolution by adjudication, mediation and negotiation, how are controversies in the sciences typically managed or resolved? Direct confrontation of the contending parties can be avoided. As is the case with other academic specialties, disagreeing research groups can simply ignore each other and operate in parallel universes, forming their own societies, publishing in their own journals, and attending their own meetings. That was the situation in the seventies and eighties between researchers who did not believe in the kinematics of cell pores and those who continually postulated them (Fahnestock, 2005), and in physical anthropology between those who used early methods of DNA analysis and those who considered all the results artifacts of contamination (Marchant, 2011). There is no pressing need for closure on these matters as there is in deliberative arguments. In fact it is often preferable if they are left open as an exigence for further funding. Yet while arguing in the sciences is in some ways unregulated, it does have one draconian form of closure and that is the formal published Retraction. A retraction is a special kind of speech act performed in the written genre of a letter published in the journal that printed the offending article. Usually the author retracts after an admission of error (see for example Lee et al., 2013); sometimes retractions do not represent all authors (Buck, 2010). When none of the authors is willing, the journal may issue a preemptive “expression of concern” (see for example Alberts, 2011) or, as in the case of Sauer cited above, take the initiative and issue the retraction itself (McNutt, 2014). Better than the public shaming of retraction is resolution by disengagement and silence, perhaps the most common way that controversies end in the natural



Arguing in the grooves

sciences. They are abandoned without a formal declaration of victory on one side or any concession or retraction on the other (McMullin, 1987, p. 81). But while the disagreement may be dropped by specialists arguing in disciplinary journals, it may be carried on in other genres and forums, and it is not uncommon for scientists to find other outlets where controversies can be sustained in different publications over months, years, and even decades. Such complications across genres are features of the three cases I want to sample. They involve specialist disagreements refracted in different genres. In each case, for purposes of illustration, I am going to emphasize one of the attendant genres and isolate certain language features differing from genre to genre. 3.  That woodpecker I begin with a case that actually involves the violation of genre norms. In April of 2005, the head of the Cornell University Ornithology Lab, two of his staff and the US Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Agriculture held a press conference to announce the rediscovery of the ivory-billed woodpecker, the largest woodpecker species ever to live in North America and one that had presumably been extinct for over fifty years. On the day of the news conference, following protocol that press releases should not precede peer-reviewed publication, a research report on the ivorybill was published in Science Online and the print article appeared a week later (Fitzpatrick et al., 2005) with considerable amplification in the genres available in that journal itself including a cover image, an editorial from then e­ ditor Donald Kennedy, who declared himself a lifelong birder ­(Kennedy, 2005), and a “Perspectives” piece by David Wilcove (2005) who had written an earlier work declaring the ivory-bill extinct, and, oddly showing up in the same issue though without an explicit connection to the woodpecker story, a news piece on how reliable Cornell’s birding volunteers are (Bhattacharjee, 2005). The title of the Science piece makes the claim with unhedged force: “Ivorybilled Woodpecker (Campephilus principalis) Persists in Continental North America.” The abstract affirms that the bird “has been rediscovered” and that observations and video “confirm” its existence (p. 1460). A significant but unusual stylistic choice in this title is its use of a full predication, subject and tensed verb. Though this genre convention may be changing, none of the other research reports in that 2005 issue of Science, or in most issues, or in any science journal use more than a noun phrase in their titles announcing their topic. Using a noun phrase allows authors to punt on the modality of their claim which the use of a tensed verb in a full predication does not allow. So from the start this argument departed

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 Jeanne Fahnestock

from a genre norm in both the fullness and the unhedged strength of the claim boldly made in its title.2 How was the case made for the certain existence of this bird in the original research report? The article explains that after an initial report from a credible outdoorsman reached the attention of Cornell University ornithologists, via two dedicated ivorybill hunters, they assembled a team of experienced birders who spent months in 2004 searching narrow strips of bottomland forest in Arkansas. Members of this team reported several individual sightings, and one searcher, almost by accident, caught a video image of a large bird flying away in the flooded woods. A link to the video and the testimony of the sightings appear in the Supporting Online Material [SOM] to the Science article. The typescript format of the sightings gives the particulars of time, place, and person, but all observers report the same species-diagnostic feature in precisely the same terms: they all saw broad white trailing edges to/of wings. Here as Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca would put it, the instances have been “pruned,” disciplined into a groove of figured repetition to underscore their applicability (1969, p. 358), but at the same time with considerable loss in the impression of spontaneity and therefore genuineness. At the opposite extreme, preserving spontaneity, the SOM also contains raw data in the form of the images of the immediate journal entries from the two birders who sparked the search. However, again, this evidence is off in the SOM. Personal testimony has great weight among birders, but it apparently counts less than the video that is the only item of evidence accessible to outsiders. So its analysis – requiring a translation into diagrams – occupies most of the main article (see Dove, 2010 analyzing the visual argument in this case). If one thinks of scientific reports being accessed entirely online, it seems odd to modularize a case this way. Why are there different levels in this argument, with some material in the main report and some off elsewhere? I want to digress for a moment here to observe that the genre of the science article has been in flux for several years now because of online publishing in both subscription and open access venues, and because of the relatively recent tendency to offload parts of an argument into the Supporting Online Materials. In online publishing, the limiting features of the print journal have been swept away, namely periodicity in publication and fixed length. An article can appear any time and theoretically at any length online. (Indeed early PLOS articles were often significantly longer than their print analogues – even 50 pages instead of the usual 3 to 5.) But oddly, SOMS are used even for articles that are published only online,

.  There is a substantial literature establishing the prevalence of hedging from science communication scholars (see e.g. Hyland, 1998).



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creating different sections that are sometimes marked by differences in formatting, sometimes not. Typically, the Materials and Methods section, once second in the invariant arrangement of the science article, is now demoted from the main article, and there is also a tendency to put data in undigested forms in the SOM. Even as it destabilizes in length and modularity, the genre of the science article still requires the containing background of a journal as a presumed guarantor of editorial control and peer review. The notion of the durable journal is oddly on display in an ad from one of the world’s largest for-profit online publishers. Advertising online or in the pages of Science or Nature, Hindawi always offers images of the covers of its journals in the aspect ratio of a print publication rather than that of a computer screen, though these journals have only an electronic existence. To return to the woodpecker case: Within a few months, refutations focusing on the video began to appear in print, the first within months from two Brazilian ornithologists who suggested that the identification of the bird in the video could only be considered a hypothesis not a certainty (see Jackson, 2006, pp. 7–8); a British researcher also submitted a disagreement with the definitive identification in 2006, though it was not published until the following year (Collinson, 2007). Most important, Science itself published a “Technical Comment” with David Sibley of the Sibley bird books as the lead author (Sibley et al., 2006). This challenge was answered with the expected “Response to Comment” from the original authors (Fitzpatrick et al., 2006). The Sibley group agrees that there is a bird in the video, but the point of contention comes down to whether that bird is an ivorybill or a pileated woodpecker, a surviving species almost as big as an ivorybill but lacking that diagnostic white on the trailing edge of its wings. So as engaged, this controversy occurs in the stasis of definition and since there are two possibilities, the arguments inevitably use the topic of opposites, which can be and occasionally was epitomized in the figure antithesis in this comment and response.3 One side maintains the video bird has the distinctive features of the ivorybill; the other side says it does not or that no conclusion is possible. The Cornell group had anticipated this competition, and their original article reports a flight simulation using wooden models of each bird

.  From the Sibley, et al. “Response” 17 March 2006: “The almost complete absence of white is consistent with the dark dorsal surface of the pileated woodpecker, and not [consistent with] the entirely white secondaries of the ivory-billed woodpecker.” From the Fitzpatrick et al. “Response” 17 March 2006: “The ivory-billed model yielded images strikingly similar to those in the Luneau video, but comparable images of a pileated model revealed the expected black trailing edge and were incompatible with the Luneau video.” An approach through “figural logic” can certainly be pursued in these controversies (see Fahnestock, 1999), but that is not the agenda in this paper.



 Jeanne Fahnestock

that the Sibley group refutes as lacking the suppleness of a living wing in flight. Yet despite their undermining of the Cornell case, Sibley and his co-authors do not conclude with a contradiction, “The ivory bill does not persist”; instead they claim, “Ivory-billed woodpeckers may persist in the southern United States, and we believe that conservation efforts on their behalf should continue.” (Sibley et al., 2006, p. 4). The only difference between this conclusion and the original article’s title is the little modal auxiliary may. A dimension of this controversy, therefore, has to do with the response of other experts to the degree of certainty expressed by the original authors in light of the evidence they offered. Why then did those authors not hedge their claim? A possible answer comes from a harsh critique that appeared in The Auk, the official journal of the American Ornithological Union, six months after the original report, from Jerome A. Jackson, a woodpecker expert and non-consenting author of an earlier critique that his fellow authors withdrew. After also making the case for the likelihood of a pileated woodpecker in the video, Jackson asks why, given the inconclusiveness of the video, these Arkansas sightings were treated so differently from similar unconfirmed reports in the past: “The answer, I believe, is that it is not necessarily the quality of the evidence but the attendant publicity and aura of authority associated with the announcement, that has raised the profile of the Arkansas reports” (Jackson, 2006, p. 5). Thus Jackson moves the controversy to the fourth or translational stasis, turning it into an argument over methods, procedures and conduct violating potent if undefined standards of science: “For scientists to label sight reports and questionable photographs as “proof ” of such an extraordinary record is delving into ‘faith-based’ ornithology and doing a disservice to science” (p.10). As Jackson critiques the case, the Cornell authors had pressing deliberative goals in getting habitat set aside and funding for continued research, and these action goals led to a necessary overstatement of their core forensic claim. As Jackson puts this point with wonderfully figured force: “[H]ow many major donors, how many granting agencies, how many government ­officials would contribute to the more than $10 million associated with this effort, if the message had been only ‘There might be Ivory-billed Woodpeckers out there’?” (p. 10). As far as the specialist literature is concerned, the woodpecker controversy disappeared. The original article stands un-retracted though its force has declined dramatically over time with no further evidence forthcoming. But the case for the ivorybill’s survival traveled to other genres, and it is worth asking how the level of certainty in the bird’s survival, so problematic in the expert discourse, was expressed in these other genres. Predictably, news outlets covered the woodpecker story extensively. Science news reports can be seen as essentially forensic arguments at one remove; they



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paraphrase others’ arguments and, as Jackson observed, “the report of ‘confirmation’ by scientists is often accepted at face value by nonscientists” (2006, p. 9). So one would expect that news reports would express the certainty of the ivorybill’s existence. But curiously another hedging option is available in news coverage thanks to the language conventions of the news genre.4 News articles can, and often do, report the speech act of the original arguers as well as the content of their statement. Consider the difference in degree of certainty between these headlines from reports on the woodpecker: “In the Swamp, ‘Extinct’ Woodpecker Lives” from the New York Times (Gorman, 2005a), and “’Extinct’ woodpecker found in Arkansas, Experts Say” the headline in National Geographic News online (Owen, 2005). Citing the speech act of a source as in the second headline has the rhetorical effect of hedging a claim.5 It is like giving the GPS coordinates of a point of view making it local rather than universal. Of course variants in the reporting verb (e.g., state vs suggest) and the source cited (e.g., an individual vs an institution) can also inflect the degree of the reported claim. But whatever the nuances of presentation, sourcing a claim as a speech act, routine in news reports, is a form of hedging. Another genre that circulates high-profile science stories is the commentary piece, usually in the form of an editorial or feature story. These arguments represent a shift in primary rhetorical genre from the forensic to the epideictic as they celebrate the significance of the discovery. Notable examples include a feature piece by James Gorman, “Found in Arkansas: Hope with Wings” (2005b), and an Op-Ed piece titled “The Woodpecker in All of Us,” by Jonathan Rosen (2005), both in The New York Times. These commentary pieces were ecstatic about the announced rediscovery, and they deserve analysis for their quasi-religious appeals. But as far as the modality of the central claim is concerned, under the rhetorical exigence of celebrating the significance the ivorybill’s recovery, the existence of the bird is taken as certain. We rarely celebrate probabilities. Still another genre perpetuated the ivorybill case, and that is the book length account of the ivorybill rediscovery. The author of The Grail Bird (2005) ­focusing

.  Hedging options in English have various linguistic correlates, beyond the use of may or sourcing as a speech act mentioned above: 1. Modal auxiliaries (e.g., may, might, could); 2. Adverbial modification (e.g., possibly, probably, almost certainly); 3. Adjectival inflection (e.g., putative, apparent, seeming) 4. Tentative verbs (e.g. seem, appear, suggest, hypothesize); 5. Phrasal markers of less certain status (e.g., for the most part, so to say). 6. Sourcing as a speech act (e.g., Experts say…, NASA reported that…); 7. Vagueness of scope (e.g., to sustain growth (which could refer to both metabolism and replication); 8. Attribution of a claim to its support (e.g., the results indicate that). .  The text of the New York Times article does include speech act attributions, and the Times gave extensive coverage to the ensuing debate about the bird’s existence.

 Jeanne Fahnestock

on the Arkansas ivorybill was Tim Gallagher, one of the two birders whose early sighting initiated the extensive search. Another, The Ivorybill Hunters (2007), came from an academic expert not connected with the Cornell search, Geoffrey Hill of Auburn University. The resources available for arguing in different genres and their stylistic correlates are dramatically on view in both these books, but for convenience I am going to concentrate on Hill’s work. Inspired by the reports from Arkansas and by other informants, Hill and two graduate students, almost on a lark, went camping and looking for ivorybills in the panhandle of Florida in 2005. In 2006 Hill’s group published an article in the Canadian journal Avian Conservation and Ecology with the modest title “Evidence Suggesting that Ivory-billed Woodpeckers (Campephilus principalis) Exist in Florida” (Hill et al., 2006). The evidence consisted of reported sightings, sound recordings of presumably distinctive knocks and calls, and trees with cavities and feeding signs suggestive of the bird’s presence. Most of these items of evidence are carefully hedged in the article: e.g., “Twice we recorded series of putative double knocks that appear to have been produced by two different individuals” (Hill et al., 2006, p. 6). However, in the following year, Hill published the book-length account of this search that is anything but hedged in its claims for the ivorybill’s persistence. By the end of the book, Hill claims an extensive population of ivorybill pairs along the Choctawhatchee river basin in Florida. In between, Hill is able to construct support in ways not available in the genre of the research report but amply available in the extended discursive space and open-ended format of the first person nature narrative. Nature writing, a vibrant tradition in US literature, is in some ways a complex multi-genre in itself, but such narratives have some common features: they are based on a journey or sojourn in a natural setting, filled with encounters and descriptions of natural kinds, animal, vegetable and mineral, and studded with informative or moral digressions. Hill’s book details the camp established by his graduate students, their experiences and mishaps, his many trips there, his gear, the setting up of sound recording stations, his improvised devices, his funding problems, his discussions with colleagues, and even his judgments of the Cornell case for the ivorybill. The sum of these narrative parts is a different argument for the bird’s existence. To give one example of the kind of argument that Hill can access in his narrative: Several episodes in The Ivorybill Hunters recount getting lost in the maze of bog and hammock along Florida’s Choctawhatchee River basin (e.g., pp. 22–30; 74–84; 121–122). These are tense events with narrative force, but they are also indirect arguments. For one of the main criticisms against the likelihood of the ivorybill’s persistence is the loss of its habitat thanks to drainage and clear cutting in the southern US. So Hill’s accounts of getting lost indirectly establish the extent and inaccessibility of the Choctawhatchee swamps. The reader is left with



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the impression that large tracts of ivorybill-friendly habitat survive and, given the inaccessibility of this terrain, it is not surprising that no one has found the birds before. Among other persuasive effects in this genre, the primary sightings of the bird acquire a textual “presence” in The New Rhetoric’s terms that is denied to them by the conventional requirement for stripped down language in a research report (Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca, 1969, pp. 115–120). The sightings last only a few seconds (Hill, 2007, pp. 38–39; 40–42; 174–81; 225–227), but they occupy paragraphs of build-up, a sudden surprising appearance and a shock of excited recognition, followed by justifications as to why the sighting was not as good as it might have been (view partially impeded, camera not quickly available, observer in an unstable kayak, etc.). Though compromised and fleeting, these sightings seem more certain. Perhaps the strongest appeal of the nature narrative overall is the stylistic choice of the first person singular I as a grammatical agent, a choice that personalizes the arguer in ways not directly possible in the scientific literature (though that literature is never voiceless and the use of the first person plural is now conventional). Of course a first-person focus could shrink a case to a partial view, but it has compensations. It invites the reader’s identification with the text’s speaker, in classical rhetorical terms an appeal from ethos but considerably stronger than what argument scholars usually mean by an ethotic argument (see Burke, 1969, pp. 55–59). Through identification the reader participates in the narrator’s process of becoming convinced. Hill in fact portrays himself as highly skeptical in the beginning, the one to ask hard questions of his young assistants. There is even a whole chapter devoted to interviewing a rural Arkansas man who claimed to spot an ivorybill in his backyard and whose account Hill finds less than convincing, leading him to question his own standards of evidence (pp. 85–95). He engages in digressions revealing his internal debates over different kinds of evidence (pp. 126–128; 144–147) and finds much to criticize in the Cornell group’s case for Arkansas ivorybills (pp. 43–45, 84, 133–141). He has conversations with experts on distinctive bird calls (pp. 167–170). He mulls over the literature (pp. 66–67; 71–72), seeks support from a doubting friend and fellow naturalist (pp. 187–192), tests his evidence with government biologists (pp. 210–218). As Hill overcomes his skepticism and hones his case, his conversion narrative models the process of becoming convinced for his readers. The arguments available in a book-length treatment like Hill’s can be summarized or paraphrased, as I have just done. But that is not how they are experienced by readers of its almost 250 pages. The overall length and the division into chapters extend the narrative pace, and this representation of the passage of time itself argues for the discovery. A research report presents its arguments synchronically,

 Jeanne Fahnestock

as though all present and cogent at the same time, while the narrative presents its arguments diachronically, developing over time as experienced. Which of these arguments from the same arguer, the stripped down version satisfying the genre constraints of the research report addressed to specialists or the capacious version at book-length addressed to a larger undefined public r­epresents the best argument that could be made for the Choctawhatchee ivorybills? 4.  Arsenic-incorporating bacteria The next controversy I want to look at also features arguments spilling over into the available grooves of surrounding genres. It began with a tantalizing announcement from NASA of a news conference related to the search for life on other planets (NASA, 2010). At the conference itself, the lead author of an article in Science, published online at the start of the conference, reported isolation of a strain of bacteria that could not only grow in an arsenic-rich environment but could even incorporate arsenic into its DNA in place of phosphorus, a revolutionary finding, widely covered in the news, suggesting biochemical processes never before seen on earth (Wolfe-Simon et al., 2010). But six months later, Science published eight Technical Comments along with the original authors’ response, the largest number of such challenges ever published for one paper (“Technical Comments,” 2011). A full year later in July 2012, two papers appeared in Science reporting failed attempts to replicate the results and further tests to show that the claims of arsenic incorporation were false (Erb, et al., 2012; Reaves et al., 2012). Publishing negative results is unusual and testifies to the high profile of this controversy. But these formal, published challenges represented the tip of an iceberg of criticism that was carried out in other genres, and this time I want to focus on the genre of blog posts and attached comments, beginning with a blog posted within two days of online publication by Rosie Redfield, a microbiologist at the University of British Columbia. Her critique received over 200 comments within a few days, some with further substantive criticisms (Redfield, 2010). This criticism was picked up by a professional science journalist, Carl Zimmer, author of Discover Magazine’s blog “The Loom.” Passing along the criticisms to well-known scientists, Zimmer received mostly critical responses (Zimmer, 2010b) including the assessment, “This paper should not have been published” which he duly used as the title for a piece in Slate.com (Zimmer, 2010a). Zimmer’s critics and Redfield and her commentators noted that the culturing medium contained sufficient phosphorus for growth, that the reported methods of DNA purification were inadequate, that arsenic compounds are unstable in water making it highly unlikely that they



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would survive in any cell, and that straightforward procedures for isolating the DNA and testing for arsenic had not been followed. Zimmer sent the criticisms he had elicited to the lead and last authors of the paper soliciting their comments. They responded by refusing to respond, the last author observing that, “when scientists involved in a research finding published in [a] scientific journal use the media to debate the questions or comments of others, they have crossed a sacred boundary” (Zimmer, 2010a). The lead author, Wolfe-Simon, also requested that Zimmer, “honor the way scientific work must be conducted. Any discourse will have to be peer-reviewed in the same manner as our paper was, and go through a vetting process so that all discussion is properly moderated” (Zimmer, 2010a). In short, the authors refused to debate through other genres, though they had initially used these genres to circulate their work. Like an agent provocateur, Zimmer included these “no-response” comments in his Slate piece, fueling further arguments (Zimmer, 2010a; for a time line see Zimmer, 2011). Most of those commenting on both his and Redfield’s site were annoyed by the “sacred boundary” label and vigorously defended post publication peer review conducted online. For some, blog posts and comments amounted to a new, honest, open, and even democratic science. A few comments to Redfield and Zimmer dissented, claiming that the authors should not have been pressured to respond immediately and objecting to having “’mob rule’ equated with peerreview in the Blogosphere since, “the Internet is an incubator for misinformation due to the innate lack of accountability” (Zimmer, 2011, p. 15). So overall the controversy shifted to the issue of how such debates should be conducted and whether the rapid refraction of commentary on the web represented an asset or liability to the conduct of science.6 Also on the blogs, with their linguistic license and occasional flaming, arguments surfaced on the personality, competence, and motives of the authors, of NASA, of the journal reviewers, and of the bloggers themselves. On the authors, questions about the quality of their research transferred easily into questions about their quality as researchers, and indeed Redfield ended her original posting by asking if the arsenic authors were just “bad scientists” (Redfield, 2010, p. 5), a remark that drew sharp criticism in some comments to her blog. Given this turn from the research to the researchers, one language feature worth examining is how agency for the research (i.e., who did what) is characterized in the formal versus the informal online genres. Here we can back up for a reminder that English presents its users with a constitutive constraint: sentences need subjects and verbs, and the predication patterns in English are fixed,

.  As of September 2011, a Scientific American blogger had collected links to 190 blogs ­discussing the arsenic bacteria case (Zivkovic, 2011).

 Jeanne Fahnestock

S­ entences can be stative (using linking verbs), or have active or passive verbs, or use so-called existential subjects or cleft constructions. The required subjects of sentences in any of these forms also come from predictable categories; in science writing these include 1.) human agents 2.) entities in nature 3.) processes, whether experimental or natural, and 4.) what Susan Peck MacDonald in her study of academic writing called “epistemic” subjects, namely terms like data, research, results, etc. (MacDonald, 1994 pp. 154–169). Genres differ in their mix of these, especially where human agents are concerned, and of all the possible permutations, active verbs attributed to human actors produce the strongest agency. To attribute actions to human agents, the original research report, following genre conventions, uses the “we” of plural authorship. In fact “we” appears as the subject and agent in almost 25% of the 97 independent clause predications in the original arsenic paper, higher than typical, as in this sentence from the abstract: “Here, we describe a bacterium, strain GFAJ-1 of the Halomonadaceae, isolated from Mono Lake, California, that is able to substitute arsenic for phosphorus to sustain its growth.”7 In the technical comments and the later refutations published in Science, the agency goes to corporate authorship, but in a conventional locution that actually singles out the lead author: e.g., “Wolfe-Simon et al. further reported that arsenic was incorporated into the DNA backbone of GFAJ-1” (Reaves, 2012, p. 470). In news reports and in online commentary, the agency sometimes went to the multiple authors but often devolved to Wolfe-Simon alone, a not implausible reduction because she appeared as the sole speaker in the NASA news conference, and multiple authors cannot speak as a chorus. The blogs, however, could be relentless in their personal focus on one responsible agent: “Felisa Wolfe-Simon Does NOT Get it ” (Bracher, 2011); “Felisa Wolfe-Simon (of arsenic infamy) is no more convincing in person than in print” (Eisner, 2011); and “Is Felisa WolfeSimon and Alien?” (Redfield, 2011). This personal spin may have been stimulated by the public attention Wolfe-Simon received, including a short piece in Glamour (“Five-Minute Mentor,” 2011) and mention in Time Magazine’s “100 Important People” of 2011 (Kluger, 2011). In informal genres, closer in register to everyday conversation, humans as grammatical agents and therefore human agency, which always involves intention and responsibility, is common. And while the conventions of assigning agency in scientific arguments mitigate the personal and construct ethos as institutional or

.  Notably this sentence is not hedged, but it is somewhat vague because of the generality of the phrase to sustain its growth, so the scope of this claim could involve only metabolism as opposed to metabolism and replication. See fn 4 above.



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collective, more popular genres reveal the strong act/person association, tacit in the disciplinary literature, that underlies the credibility of arguments in the sciences (on the act/person association see Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca, 1969, pp. 293–316). Because of the attention focused on the lead author, one more unusual genre appeared in this case: The personal criticism of Felisa Wolfe-Simon elicited a defense in the form of an apologia, an epideictic sub-genre of biography. In “Scientist in a Strange Land” Tim Clynes, writing in Popular Science, reports on extended interviews with a now media-wary Wolfe-Simon, and uses the classic qualitative stasis defense of remotio criminis, shifting the charge and blaming someone else – in this case NASA public relations officials (Clynes, 2011). This defense is quite deft, opening with a real event rendered as an allegorical scene of Wolfe-Simon on the shore of Mono Lake, attacked by gulls and sinking in the mud. It also reconstructs the research program with GFAJ-1 and the resulting Science article defensively. Responses to this apologia by bloggers acknowledge its effectiveness (e.g., Koerth-Baker, 2011), but there are also complaints that it rejuvenates the arsenic case and casts Wolfe-Simon in the prepared role of the heroic but misunderstood loner (Dobbs, 2011; Zimmer, 2011). The comments indicate that the believability of the science in the case is crucially affected by the reputation of the scientist, and reputation depends in part on the construction of agency in popular genres.8 5.  The hobbit The final controversy I want to discuss has been the sharpest and the most often reported as a controversy, and it has involved many more expert-to-expert arguments as well as media exposure, spinning off book-length popularizations and even NOVA and National Geographic documentaries. In 2003, Australian and Indonesian archaeologists were excavating a cave on the island of Flores in the Indonesian archipelago when they came across a skull, mandible and some limb bones apparently from a single individual (called LB1) as well as scattered isolated bones later attributed to from seven to thirteen different individuals.

.  The reputation/ethos of a person is also constructed by the images of that person in circulation. An image from the press conference places Wolfe-Simon at an angle slightly above the viewer (NASA, 2010) while the photo accompanying the Popular Science article places her slightly below. These images can be fruitfully compared in terms of the viewing angle from which the subject is seen. On the possible meaning of such differences in viewing angle, see Kress and van Leeuwen, 1996, pp. 146–148.

 Jeanne Fahnestock

The LB1 remains presented contradictory features: small stature (approximately 3 and a half feet) and a surprisingly small brain case, about one third that of a modern human. Tooth eruption and wear indicated an adult and the pelvic shape suggested a female. The researchers submitted two reports published in Nature with simultaneous news conferences in Indonesia and Australia (Brown et al., 2004; Morwood et al., 2004). These received the full apparatus of a major discovery, complete with cover image and an introductory piece in the same issue, as well as world-wide press coverage. The stakes were high, not only because of the unusual features of the find but also because the authors argued that LB1, found in sediment dated to between only 18 and 12 thousand years ago, represented a new species in the genus homo. The authors also speculated that the specimen’s diminutive size was due to the phenomenon well-known among animals of “island dwarfing,” probably from an original population of homo erectus. Not the find itself but the new species designation has been challenged in print by different groups with several different lines of argument, among them the common thread that LB1 is not a new species but a pathologically dwarfed modern human: A leading Indonesian archaeologist and his Australian collaborators suggested in PNAS in 2006 that LB1 was a microcephalic modern human related to a local group of pygmies living on Flores (Jacob, et al., 2006). In 2007 came the argument that LB1 might have suffered from the genetic disorder Laron’s syndrome, an hypothesis that could be tested by DNA analysis, apparently never successfully done (Hershkovitz, et al., 2007). Next in 2008, another group charged that the specimen suffered from cretinism caused by hypothyroidism, endemic among the local population (Obendorf, et al., 2008). This condition, the authors argue, explains some of the anomalous features of the remains such as a relatively untwisted arm bone compared to modern humans, oddly rooted molars and a primitive wrist. Meanwhile, other authors have argued against pathological explanations and, analyzing casts of the skull, the wrist bones and the feet, have supported the new species designation based on the uniqueness of these features (Falk et al., 2005; Falk, et al., 2007; Tocheri, et al., 2007; Jungers, et al., 2009). The refuters’ strategy is to take the metrics of anatomical features and to show that they are within the range of variation of established homo species, albeit of diseased ones; rebuttals take them out again. Back and forth, these are arguments depending on gradations, on where the specimens fall on various quantitative scales by having more or less of a certain trait, and on what constitutes an appropriate scale to begin with. The language choices in texts from this controversy, in both the original research reports and the pieces addressed to wider audiences, reveal the same features discussed so far so – the term substitutions, the hedging variations, the



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characterizations of agents and therefore of agency for the science. However, the linguistic groove I want to examine this time is a difficult one to trace. It ­concerns what happens to claims when they fall out of the main predication and into embedded structures. Embedded structures include dependent clauses, various phrasal modifiers such as participial phrases or appositives, and even prepositional phrases. Embedded structures are lower profile places that can beg the question for the status of their content. Consider these examples of predications, one containing content inside and one outside what most people would find believable: The pond froze over. The alien landed. Combining these by demoting one into a subordinate clause, can subtly alter the status of the backgrounded predication: When the alien landed, the pond froze over. When knowledge becomes more “taken for granted” it can show up in embedded structures unhedged; presumptions are in effect lodged in linguistic crevices. This incorporation can occur in stages across a single text since the status of claims tends to change in the course of an argument. But it can also occur when content travels to texts that are on allied topics. To appreciate this process of syntactic backgrounding into the status of “taken for granted” it is worth taking a look at a rare example of the opposite. This occurs in an editorial specifically on the Hobbit in 2009 in the New York Times which opens with the following suspension of judgment: “We’re not sure exactly what to make of Homo floresiensis (“Hobbits and Hominids,” 2009). But an article from the New York Times, not on homo floresiensis but on DNA analysis of ancient remains, contains the following after referencing the existence of the species: “This means that our modern era, since H. floresiensis died out, is the only time in the fourmillion-year human history that just one type of human has been alive” (Mitchell, 2012). And another article in the same paper on the David H. Koch “Hall of Human Origins” at the Smithsonian moves to the same off-hand incorporation: “Unlike Darwin, the hall reminds us, we know that there have been multiple human species, including Homo floresiensis, Homo neanderthalensis, Homo heidelbergensis, Homo erectus, Paranthropus boisei, Paranthropus robustus, Australopithecus afarensis and Sahelanthropus tchadensis” (Rothstein, 2010). Homo floresiensis occurs in a participial phrase here, and more important, it occurs in a series, bracketed with other undisputed ancient species. Series create arguments for genus inclusion; they construct default grammatical categories for their members, and the status of the majority of items can spill over to a problematic item. These examples of backgrounding suggest that embedded in the grammar means embedded in the culture as endoxa. The particular placement in the textual series reflects the physical placement of homo floresiensis among other busts reconstructing fossil hominids in the Smithsonian’s Hall of Human Origins; a photomontage of these busts also appears on the ­Smithsonian

 Jeanne Fahnestock

website where the face of Homo floresiensis stares out at the viewer. Things that are imagined and constructed into objects and images in this way acquire a certainty that is difficult to hedge or refute. 6.  C  onclusion It is easy to generate data about language, but not always easy to give it meaning. Adding the filter of genre helps to manage the richness and, at a minimum, tracing the same claim across genres reveals their conventions and constraints and so sharpens argument analysis when we stay with the original expression. But what is the bigger picture here? How should this multi-genre arguing, this refraction of a case be characterized? On one view, the proliferation is background noise in an echo chamber, often garbling the original arguments. What counts is the case following best practices and made in the disciplinary literature from the most qualified arguers to the most qualified audience. Genres that address larger publics are only better or worse approximations of the disciplinary argument. But the scientific article is currently changing dramatically, experimenting with new formats, backgrounding replicability conditions and at the same time regressing into undigested data. Furthermore, scientists themselves make arguments in other genres and pay attention to news reports and websites. From another viewpoint, the genuine arguing occurs in the larger more public forums. News reports based on interviews with the authors, commentary pieces, book-length narratives and blogs pull out details relevant to the assessment of the case, details not mentioned in the research literature – that there was an leucistic or anomalously white pileated woodpecker in those Arkansas woods, that a cesium chloride wash is the standard technique for purifying DNA from a gel, that the author of one of the Hobbit papers maintained until the last minute that the specimen was ape and not human. The research literature is too artificial and constrained, and what convinces even the specialists are these often omitted details that circulate in less formal genres. On still another view there is one mega-case that encompasses both the disciplinary literature and the more public genres. Arguments in the research literature, under the strictest genre constraints, represent a distilled version of the available arguments, but the refracting genres give a fuller account, especially the post publication peer review, of what actually persuades relevant audiences. I have long been a proponent of the first view, but I am no longer so sure. No matter what the final characterization, attention to genre and language conventions has analytic payoffs in the study of controversies, and in the spirit of pragma-dialectics, it may have normative ones as well.



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part ii

Argumentation in a political context

Cultural differences in political debate Comparing face threats in U.S., Great Britain, and Egyptian Campaign Debates Edward A. Hinck1, Shelly S. Hinck1, William O. Dailey1, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem 1Central

Michigan University / Texas A & M University / DePaul University

We compared recent historical debates from the U.S., Great Britain, and Egypt using politeness theory to determine if there were significant cultural differences and/or similarities in the way candidates argued for high office. The transcripts from these debates were coded using a schema based on face threats used in debates. Results indicate some differences between the way U.S. presidential candidates, British leaders, and Egyptian leaders initiate and manage face threats on leadership and competence. Keywords:  campaign debate; cultural difference; politeness

1.  Introduction Recent historical campaign debates in Britain and Egypt offer an opportunity to examine cultural differences in reasoning about public affairs. Debates for the office of British Prime Minister were held for the first time in 2010 between Gordon Brown, David Cameron, and Nick Clegg. Similarly, Egypt held the first debate between Abdel Moneim Aboul Fotouh and Amr Moussa. To date, limited amount of work has been done on these historic events (see Benoit & ­B enoit-Bryan, 2013) and less is known about cultural differences in arguing for office. Our interest is in the ways candidates manage face concerns in the potentially threatening encounters of campaign debates. Comparing the language strategies of the candidates representing different political cultures of the United States, Great Britain, and Egypt allowed us to explore trends in international campaign debate discourse.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.02hin © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

2.  The debates in context 2.1  The 2010 British Prime Minister debates On April 6, 2010 British Prime Minister Gordon Brown announced that dissolution of parliament and general election would take place in one month, May 6, 2010. At that time, public support was relatively evenly divided between G ­ ordon Brown’s Labour party and David Cameron’s Conservatives (Shirbon, 6 April 2010). The Liberal Democrats had a new leader in Nick Clegg. The campaign was significant in the sense that it was one of the few times that the politics of the time might result in a hung parliament, where three leading candidates running for office had not been the situation since 1979 (when Margaret Thatcher led the Conservatives, James Callaghan represented Labour, and David Steel was the candidate advanced by the Liberal party), where all three parties featured new leaders, and where debates were featured for the first time. Three debates were held about one week apart in the one-month campaign. The first debate concerned domestic policy, the second international policy, and the third economic policy. Although a variety of issues were addressed under each of those subject areas, two main issues were of concern at the time (Shirbon, 6 April 2010). First, Britain was facing an economic crisis much like the U.S. was in the wake of the 2008 recession. Looming before the British government was a huge budget deficit and markets wanted a clear sense of direction regarding how the government would go about responding to the problem. Second, the outgoing parliament had been tarnished with an expenses scandal where one hundred and forty-five members of parliament were accused of inappropriate expenses while serving in office. The format of the debate featured opening statements lasting one minute for each leader. After the three opening statements, the moderator would then take the first question on the agreed theme. Each leader was given one minute to respond to the question and then each leader had one minute to respond to the answers. The moderator was then allowed to open up the discussion for free debate for up to four minutes. Each leader was then given ninety seconds for a closing statement (BBC, 2010). According to the Select Committee on Communications’ Report (13 May 2014), the debates were a success: “the average viewing figures for each of the debates was 9.4 million (ITV), 4 million (Sky), and 8.1 million (BBC)” (p. 12). 2.2  The 2012 Egyptian debate The Moussa-Fotouh debate was the first and only political debate to have occurred in Egypt, at least at this point in time; thus, it was an important experiment in democratic practices for the Egyptian people in the immediate post-Mubarak political



Cultural differences in political debate 

climate. The presidential debate between Amr Moussa and Abdel Moneim Abul Fotouh took place in Egypt May 10, 2012 and was sponsored by several media organizations. Moussa was the former foreign minister and former head of the Arab League, and had also served as Ambassador of Egypt to the United Nations in New York, as Ambassador to India and to Switzerland. Abul Fotouh, is a medical doctor who was politically active since his college days. He was also a former member of the Muslim Brotherhood, an Islamic opposition party founded in 1928. The candidates had a very different relationship with the former regime under Hosni Mubarak. Moussa’s political career took place under Mubarak and Abul Fotouh was imprisoned for five years from 1996 to 2001. Despite the fact that these two candidates did not make the final election ballot, the selection of the candidates for that debate reflected the two leading candidates according to polls at that point in the campaign. The Moussa-Fotouh debate structure was based on American presidential debates. Amr Khafaga, editor in chief of Al Shurouk newspaper, one of the sponsors of the debate said that, “there is no precedent for such an event in Egypt so they’ve borrowed the debate rules from the U.S. Egyptianizing it a bit” (The Guardian, 2012). The Christian Science Monitor reported that, “in the hour-long run-up, hosts explained that the format was based on US presidential debates, and broadcast part of the 1960 Nixon-Kennedy debate.” Mona el-Shazly, a talk show host and Yusri Fouda, a former Al-Jazeera journalist moderated the debate. The debate was divided into two parts consisting of 12 questions. The first half of the debate focused on the constitution and presidential powers and the second half focused on the candidates’ platforms, the judiciary and security. Each candidate was given two minutes to answer each question and was allowed to comment on the other’s responses. In addition, the candidates were permitted to ask each other one question at the end of each half of the debate. Each candidate had two minutes for closing remarks. We were unable to locate exact numbers for viewership but one estimate described viewership as reflecting a high rate of interest (Hope, 2012). 2.3  The 2012 U.S. presidential debates President Barack Obama debated former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney three times during the 2012 presidential campaign. The record of the Obama administration’s first term included steering the country out of the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, sweeping new regulations of Wall Street, health care reform, ending American involvement in Iraq, beginning to draw down American forces in Afghanistan, and more (Glastris, 2012). Still, 52% of ­Americans polled during the 2012 campaign believed that the president had accomplished “not very much” or “little or nothing.” The economy was weak during

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

the campaign and despite some promising news of job growth many Republicans believed Romney could make a strong case for change in presidential leadership. Mitt Romney had a successful record as a businessman and Governor. At Bain Capital he led the investment company to highly profitable ventures and then served as the CEO of the Salt Lake Organizing Committee for the 2002 Winter Olympics. In 2002 he was elected Governor of Massachusetts. As Governor he supported and signed into law health care reform. He campaigned vigorously for the Republican presidential nomination in 2008 but lost to John McCain. That campaign experience prepared him well for the 2012 campaign and in a long series of primary debates won the presidential nomination. During the primary campaign his communication strategy was to appeal to the base of the Republican party. In a leaked video of a private campaign speech Romney claimed that 47% of Americans pay no income taxes. The fact that Bain Capital had made money by taking companies over to sell their assets with the result in some instances of eliminating jobs, that R ­ omney had been opposed to bailing out the U.S. automobile industry while Obama had offered loans to save it, that Romney was opposed to health care reform on a national level when he had been in favor of it at the state level, and the 47% comment hurt R ­ omney going into the last seven weeks of the campaign. According to Richard Wolffe (2013) “what had been a 4-to-5 point race in the battlegrounds became a 6-to-7 point race” (p. 204). The debates provided Romney with an opportunity to change the dynamic of the campaign (Balz, 2013). Beth Myers (Myers & Dunn, 2013) who served as Romney’s Campaign Manager indicated there were three goals for the first debate: “create a credible vision for job creation and economic growth,” “present the case against Obama as a choice,” and “speak to women” (p. 101). Given the lead that Obama had developed in the battleground states, Obama’s advisers believed that he did not “need to be aggressive anymore because it’s kind of baked in there” (Wolffe, 2013, p. 210). However, Obama became “caught between what he wanted to say on stage and what his agreed strategy was. He couldn’t attack in case it destroyed his own popularity. But he needed to attack to show he had some backbone” (Wolffe, 2013, p. 213). The conflict resulted in a poor performance that energized the R ­ omney camp. Viewership for the first debate was over 67 million (Voth, 2014), 65.6 million for the second debate (Stelter, 17 October 2012) and 59.2 million for the third debate (Stelter, 23 October 2012). 3.  Th  eory The concept of social face is based on the work of Goffman (1967) and Brown and Levinson (1987) who theorize that face is a universal concern in human ­interaction.



Cultural differences in political debate 

Politeness refers to the degree to which interactants find ways to disarm potential aggressiveness in interaction where social face is threatened (Brown & Levinson, 1987). Brown and Levinson (1987) distinguish between positive face—the desire to be held in favorable regard by others—and negative face, the desire to be unimpeded in one’s action. In previous work, we have argued that the candidates are called upon to place their positive face at risk in the debates (Hinck & Hinck, 2002; Dailey, Hinck & Hinck, 2008). Although threats to negative face can occur, debate rules and format are often agreed upon before the debates take place and function generally to protect the candidates from threats to negative face. Moderators’ questions tend to focus on campaign issues, usually deal with policy, but sometimes focus on other campaign issues including candidates’ character. In political debates candidates are called upon to argue with each other in response to questions from the moderators. The process of arguing in favor of one’s positions and against the other candidate’s positions constitutes a contest of positive face threat management; the audience watches a debate to evaluate how well the candidates respond to threats to their social image as prospective office holders. Our approach to the study of debates assumes that rational discourse over campaign issues provides voters with the best test of candidates’ claims about what they will do if elected to office. While not perfect, Jamieson and Birdsell (1988) argued that debates offer citizens one of the few campaign events where the candidates must respond to each other without the support of advisers and thus reveal how competent they are as advocates. Audience members not only can gain a great deal of information about the policy proposals of the candidates but can glean a sense of what kind of character each candidate brings to the prospect of leading. Building on Jamieson’s (1992) distinction between campaigns used to get people elected and campaigns meant to facilitate rational comparison between policies proposed, we believe that campaign debates that offer the electorate a meaningful discussion of the issues best serve democracies. In examining the face threats in presidential debates from 1960–2004, we found evidence to describe three types of campaign debates (Dailey, Hinck & Hinck, 2008): campaign debates that focused more on policies (1960, 1976, & 1980), aggressive debates that involved direct attacks on opponents (1984, 1988, 1996, & 2004), and debates that featured comparatively fewer direct attacks on opponents or policies (1992 & 2000). In reviewing the state of political debate research, the Racine Group (2002) noted that more study was needed to determine “what are the characteristics of best campaign debates” (p. 213). After completing our analysis of the debates from 1960–2004, we pointed to the debates of 1960, 1976, and 1980 as examples of debates that featured direct and indirect attacks on the substance of the candidates’ arguments over policy and leadership. More than identifying these campaign debates as examples of exchanges that came closest to fulfilling democratic

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

ideals for debates (Jamieson, 1992; Jamieson & Birdsell, 1988), we also noted a trend in U.S. debates since 1960 to grow more aggressive in direct threats to character, and a declining trend in exchanges over policies, leadership, use of data, and use of indirect threats to face. We view this trend toward more aggressive exchanges as less informative regarding policy differences for the electorate. Partly, this phenomenon might be due to the aggressive qualities of moderators’ questions (Hinck, Hinck, Dailey, & Hinck, 2013). However, even when a moderator calls attention to campaign tactics that involved harsh messages about the opponent’s discourse as was the case in the 2008 debates between John McCain and Barack Obama (Hinck, Hinck, & Dailey, 2013), the candidates still found it difficult to extricate themselves from a pattern of aggressive direct attack. A number of studies have explored some of the similarities and differences between debates in other countries. Using functional theory, Benoit and Sheafer (2006) compared debates in Israel and the U.S. and Benoit and Henson (2007) compared debates in Canada with those in Australia. Khang (2008) compared videostyles of debates in the U.S. and Korea. Jallifar and Alavi-Nia (2012) compared hedges and boosters used in Iranian and U.S. debates. Nagel, Maurer, and Reineman (2012) compared verbal, visual, and vocal aspects of debates. These comparative approaches to debates indicate a growing interest in cultural differences. Culture might be important in shaping the strategies chosen by candidates in debates and comparative studies might reveal assumptions that make second order reflection on argument strategies at a cultural level problematic. Historic first debates in the United Kingdom and in Egypt provided an opportunity to compare how politeness is manifested in political debates across cultures, at least to a limited degree. We thought that there might be differences between western national leaders in the way they debate issues and as well between western nations and Arab nations in the way their leaders debate issues in a political campaign. Therefore, we posed the following research question: RQ: Are there differences between face threat strategies in U.S., Great Britain, and Egyptian debates?

4.  Method 4.1  Selection of debates and the acquisition of primary texts We compared face threats in the debates using Brown and Levinson’s politeness theory. Seven debates were coded and analyzed for this study. The texts of the three 2012 United States Presidential Debates featuring Governor Mitt Romney and President Barack Obama were found on the website of the Commission on



Cultural differences in political debate 

­ residential Debates. The text of the three 2010 British Prime Minister Debates P involving, Nick Clegg, David Cameron, and Gordon Brown were found on the BBC website (news.bbc.co.uk.). Finally, the text of the May 10, 2010 Egyptian Debate between Moussa and Abul Fotouh was created from a You Tube video of the event (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrbkI1fkZFM&feature=player_ embedded). An Egyptian native translated the debate transcript used for analysis from Arabic into English. 4.2  Unitizing and coding the debates Two individuals served as coders of the transcripts. The coding process involved three decisions. First, the coders divided the transcripts into thought units. ­Hatfield and Weider-Hatfield (1978, p. 46) define a thought unit as “the minimum meaningful utterance having a beginning and end, typically operationalized as a simple sentence.” Since viewers of televised debates are interested in how ­candidates construct their messages unitizing the transcripts into statements of complete thoughts seemed most appropriate for this study. Second, the thought units were coded according to Dailey, Hinck, and Hinck’s (2008) coding schema. The coding schema is an extension of Kline’s (1984) social face coding system. Kline’s coding schema notes that positive politeness and autonomy granting/negative politeness are two separate dimensions of face support. Positive politeness is defined as the desire to be included and the want that one’s abilities will be respected. Negative politeness is defined as the want to be unimpeded by others. Positive face is supported by expressions of understanding solidarity, and/or positive evaluation; it is threatened by expressions of contradiction, noncooperation, disagreement, or disapproval. Since political debates are primarily concerned with a candidate’s ability to demonstrate his/her ability to lead, and to offer and explain policies and plans important to the well-being of the country, our analysis and coding schema focused on the positive face of the candidates. The coding schema is composed of three major levels. Statements at the first major level of the system are those that threaten the positive face of the candidates. Statements at this level of the system are further differentiated concerning the directness of the positive face attack (levels 1 and 2). Statements at the next major level of the system balance both threatening and supportive evaluative implications for the other’s face (level 3). Finally, statements at the final major level explicitly support the positive face of the candidates. Statements at this level of the coding system are further differentiated in terms of the directness of the positive support exhibited by the candidates (levels 4 and 5). An example of a direct threat on leadership competence can be seen in John Kerry’s words in 2004: “This

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

­ resident has made, I regret to say, a colossal error of judgment. And judgment is p what we look for in the president of the United States” (Dailey, Hinck & Hinck, 2008). An example of an indirect threat on leadership competence can be found in G. W. Bush’s statement from 2000: “My plan also says its going to require a new approach in Washington, D.C.; it’s going to require somebody who can work across the partisan divide” (Dailey, Hinck & Hinck, 2008). The third decision made by the coders focused on the topic of the action identified in the coded thought unit. Topics such as leadership/character, policy/plan, consequences of the plan, use of data, differences and/or disagreement between the candidates, campaign tactics, ridicule were identified. 4.3  Reliability To determine intercoder reliability the two coders both coded the first quarter of the first 2012 Presidential debate, the first quarter of the first Prime Minister Debate, and the first quarter of the Egyptian debate. There was 92% agreement on the thought unit designation, and Cohen’s Kappa of inter rater agreement of .86 on the coding schema for the different content elements of the debate. 5.  Results The sample for this particular study included seven debates (three U.S. Presidential debates in 2012, three Prime Minister debates in 2010, one Egyptian Presidential debate in 2012). Tables 1 through 4 contain the results of the coding of face threat in these debates according to the system we have developed and adapted over the last 12 years as was laid out in the Methods section. Table 1 has the raw percentage of thought units that were coded into one of the many categories of the coding scheme. For the U.S. and U.K. debates, these would be totals summed across the three debates. Also, included in all the tables are the averages for the coding categories for the debates from the 10 U.S. Presidential Campaigns we have coded before the 2012 debates. Table 2 looks at combined categories of face threat according to directness of that threat. Over the program of research, we have found interesting information when we sum across the direct face threat and indirect face threat categories. This table also reveals a new way to look at the summed types by providing a ratio of the direct to indirect face threat. As a rough basis of comparison, in the 1960 U.S. debates, this ratio was about 1.5, and in 2004 it was about 8.6. Generally, the ­preference for direct face attack has increased markedly across time, though the trend has been far from consistent. On the other hand, the decline in the use of



Cultural differences in political debate 

Table 1.  Raw percentage of thoughts units coded for face threat Face threat category

U.S. 2012

U.K. 2010

Egypt 2012

U.S. Avg.

Character and leadership

9.2%

8.9%

7.3%

5.1%

Policies and proposals

7.3%

7.5%

1.1%

7.3%

Blame for problems

1.7%

1.7%

0.6%

2.0%

Incorrect use of data

4.2%

2.0%

13.4%

6.2%

Inappropriate campaigning

0.9%

0.2%

0.0%

4.0%

Disagreement

0.1%

1.1%

0.0%

1.4%

Zinger insult

1.7%

1.8%

0.0%

0.5%

Character and leadership

2.2%

5.6%

10.1%

1.9%

Policies and proposals

1.3%

5.4%

0.0%

2.8%

Blame for problems

1.2%

1.2%

1.1%

2.2%

Incorrect use of data

0.6%

0.2%

1.7%

1.3%

Inappropriate campaigning

0.6%

0.4%

0.6%

1.7%

Disagreement

0.0%

0.4%

0.0%

0.4%

Zinger insult

0.1%

0.0%

0.6%

0.0%

3.9%

4.0%

0.6%

3.6%

Direct face threat:

Indirect face threat:

Neutral comment of support

indirect face threat has been fairly consistent starting at about 15% in 1960 and now hovering around 5% for the last three American campaigns. Table 2.  Comparison of the use of direct versus indirect face threat across the debates Face threat type

U.S. 2012

U.K. 2010

Egypt 2012

U.S. Avg.

Direct face threat

25.1%

23.2%

22.3%

26.5%

Indirect face threat

6.0%

13.1%

14.0%

10.3%

Neutral comment or face support

3.9%

4.0%

0.6%

3.6%

Ratio of direct to indirect face threat

4.20

1.77

1.60

2.57

Table 3 presents what we consider a disturbing trend in modern debates. Among the categories of face threat, we regard the roughest as the personal attack on the opponent’s character and leadership competence. In essence, “nasty” debates would tend to have more of this personal attack on character and competence and less of a focus on plans, policies, and ideas. In 1960, around 3% of the face threat thought units were made up of this personal and direct attack on character and

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

leadership competence. Even the proportion of direct face threat thought units spent on attacking the opponent’s character and leadership competence was only 4%. The highest proportions occurred in the 2012 debates, and those numbers are listed in Table 3. This is to say that more than a third of direct face threats in the debate were attacks on the opponent’s character and leadership competence. Table 3.  Proportion of face threat focused on the opponent’s character and leadership competence Basis for proportion

U.S. 2012

U.K. 2010

Egypt 2012

U.S. Avg.

Proportion of direct face threat

36.6%

38.5%

32.5%

19.3%

Proportion of all face threat

29.5%

24.6%

20.0%

13.9%

Table 4 takes a look at the categories of face threat if we combine the direct and indirect face threat forms of those categories. Again, to place the values in some context across the U.S. presidential debates, 2012 had the second highest percentage use of attacks of character and leadership competence and second lowest percentage of attacks on ideas, plans and policies. Table 4.  Percentage of face threat types combined across direct and indirect face threats Face threat type

U.S. 2012

U.K. 2010

Egypt 2012

U.S. Avg.

Character and leader competence

11.4%

14.5%

17.3%

7.0%

Policies and proposals

8.6%

12.9%

1.1%

10.1%

Blame for problems

2.9%

2.9%

1.7%

4.1%

Incorrect use of data

4.8%

2.3%

15.1%

7.5%

Inappropriate campaigning

1.4%

0.6%

0.6%

5.8%

Disagreement

0.1%

1.4%

0.0%

1.8%

Zinger insult

1.8%

1.8%

0.6%

0.5%

We think it is useful to draw attention to five different outcomes we see from these recent debates. These are the use of direct face threat, the use of indirect threat, the use of attacks on character and leadership competence, use of attacks on plans, policies and proposals, and the use of attacks on the manipulation of data. 5.1  Direct face threat A direct face threat is an attack on something about the opponent personally. For example, were Romney criticizing the Affordable Care Act, that would be an indirect face threat, but if he were criticizing “Obamacare,” then it would be a direct



Cultural differences in political debate 

face threat as the plan is now personally linked to Barak Obama. What we see across the three sets of debates in this study is a remarkable consistency in the use of direct face threat, and percentages that mirror the U.S. average (see Table 2). This leads us to say that there appears to be a “natural” sort of direct face threat for these sorts of debates. The way that the different sets of debates arrived at this median value were very different and will be discussed below, but from a macro view, debates that vary, approximately 10% over this 25% value may be excessively rough, while debates that fall 10% below seem “quiet” and lack vigor. 5.2  Indirect face threat In contrast to the overall level of direct face threat, the overall level of indirect face threat does vary across the three debate samples we use here. The U.S. debates show the very low level of indirect face threat that reflects a generally consistent decline across the American debates; both the British and the Egyptian debates show a high use of indirect face threat. Indeed, the British and Egyptian debate values for indirect face threat are just what would have been common in the early American debates, those that are held up as models for useful and healthy political discourse. Even in the ratio of direct to indirect face threat, the low values for the British and the Egyptians are on par with the low values from the early American debates. We view the American experience here as an indicator of the decline in the quality of debates, while the British and the Egyptians seem to have taken a better tact. 5.3  Attacks on character and leadership competence A disturbing trend in American political discourse is the vilification and demonization of opponents and enemies. This would include direct attacks centered on tearing down the nature, personality, abilities, and leadership of opponents. In American debates, up to 2000, the average percentage of direct attack on character and leadership competence was about 3.5%. After, 2000, the average percentage was 9.5%. Looking across the debates for this study, we see that higher level of direct attack on character and leadership competence in the British and Egyptian debates. When we look at the proportion of face threat expended in this type of personal attack, it is also quite high among each of the samples (see Table 3). Indeed, as noted above, the proportion of direct face threat focusing on direct attack on character and leadership competence in the 2012 American debates was the highest for any American debate, and the British exceeded even that number. Just as we are not encouraged by this trend in the American debates, we find it equally disturbing that the British and Egyptian debates also relied heavily on this rough form of campaign dialogue.

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

5.4  Attacks on ideas, positions, and plans The proportion of thought units used to criticize the other’s plans and policies has remained fairly consistent over time for the American debates, more so in the case of direct attacks on the opponent’s plans and policies. In the results for this study (see Table 4), the Americans and the British debaters used about the same amount of direct attacks in this category as the American average. The Egyptians, however, showed virtually no criticism or attack on the other’s plans and policies. Looking at the indirect attacks, such as criticism of a plan without also threatening the face of the opponent personally, the Americans show a small proportion of thought units, Egyptians show no thought units in the category, and the British show a very high level. Indeed, the American proportion is the lowest among the 11 American campaigns we have studied, while the British proportion is equal to the highest level among the American debates. In essence, the British c­ andidates were behaving as the Americans did in the early days of televised debates. We think this form of attack in the debates, especially attacks and criticisms that don’t focus on a person as much as a plan is one of the best practices for debates. Unfortunately, American presidential candidates seem to be using these kinds of messages less than in the earlier years of presidential debates, and it appears in the case of this one Egyptian debate, there is also a lack of focus on plans and policies. 5.5  Attacks on use of data Finally, one thing we found very striking about the comparisons here was the high percentage of thought units used to attack the opponent’s use of data in the ­Egyptian debate (see Tables 1 and 3). Basically this category includes those claims that the opponent (of the opponent’s administration or party) is using data in a biased and possible incorrect way. One may claim the other side isn’t revealing the whole picture of information that is available, that the other side was wrong in what it proposed was the other’s record on activities and statements, that the other side is not interpreting data as it should be, etc. We are used to seeing a prevalence of this type of argument or attack when the parties are claiming the other’s proposals and plans won’t work and are misguided. The attacked party might rebut saying the opponent’s criticism lacks merit due to a biased or incorrect interpretation of the data. This was clearly not the case in the Egyptian debates. Even though the amount of attacks on data use far exceeded any American debate, the amount of attack on the opponent’s plans and policies was virtually nonexistent. Upon examining the transcripts, we found the claims about inappropriate use of data were to rebut the opponent’s claims about one’s character and leadership. For example, if one party claimed (or implied as it turns out) that his opponent failed to resign from



Cultural differences in political debate 

the Mubarak government after a certain incident, the other would claim that the accuser did not have the record of events correct or failed in his interpretation of the what actions the other did take. Indeed, the major portion of face threat in the Egyptian debate was about (1) the opponents’ character and leadership competence and (2) the inappropriate way the would-be slanderer was using incorrect data in order to make the claim about deficient character or leadership. 6.  Discussion In looking at the aggregate results of direct and indirect face threats, the results indicate some similarities across the three campaigns. It was interesting to find that the amount of direct face threat across the sample mirrored the U.S. average of direct threat. This might be some indication of a cultural similarity. The fact that debates call for criticism of opposing candidates’ programs and records, and that the amount of direct face threat was similar in this sample suggests that more work might be done to assess standards of direct threat in other nations’ leader debates. However, these findings are limited to just the most recent campaigns and only one Egyptian debate. A larger, more comprehensive sample of debates from other countries might yield a different finding on the question of overall use of direct threats. When we turn to a consideration of indirect face threat some interesting differences appear. The fact that U.S. indirect threats were low suggests a concern with U.S. presidential candidates’ reliance on direct attacks. We wonder whether the decreasing use of indirect attacks reflects a misguided assumption on the part of candidates and advisers that respect for the opponent’s face should be abandoned in the hope of generating an impression of a strong candidate. However, the fact the U.K. debates and the Egyptian debate showed higher levels of indirect face threat reveals a potential cultural difference between the state of U.S. debates and those of these other two countries. Looking at specific content dimensions of the coding schema, the results concerning attacks on character and competence revealed a similarity between the three campaigns in terms of higher levels of direct face threats in the U.K. and Egyptians debates. However, it is interesting to note that with the U.K. this was a well-established democracy while Egypt was attempting to model western democratic practices in their historic first experiment with a political debate. The uniqueness of the events might have accounted for the intense nature of attacks on character and competence. The debates in the U.K. took place in the context of a three-person race, a situation that had rarely occurred in the past. Egypt had never held debates before and the candidates had limited experience to draw

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem

on in preparing for the debates. Thus the high degree of direct attack on character and competence might have meant that the candidates and their advisers saw little value in balancing concerns for the face of the opponent with the need to advocate for office. This, however, does not explain the intensity of the U.S. debates. In the 2012 campaign, the direct attacks on character and competence were the highest for American debates since 1960. Also, however, the British debates exceeded even that number. We can only speculate that as the British campaign tightened up in the last few days, the candidates increased the intensity of their attacks in the hope of drawing distinctions between themselves in ways that might win over voters. The last two findings raise some interesting topics regarding Egypt’s attempt to break free of authoritarian rule and move to a more democratic system of government. In terms of attacks on ideas, positions, and plans, American and British debates featured about the same amount of direct attacks, However, the ­Egyptian debate showed almost no instances where the candidates argued about ideas, ­positions, and plans. This finding by itself, suggests that the Egyptian candidates were less prepared to advance and test ideas, positions, and plans, and more predisposed to attack character and competence and to attack each other on the use of data. In fact, there were a high percentage of thought units devoted to attacking each person’s use of data in the Egyptian debate. When we looked more closely at the messages dealing with the use of data in the Egyptian debate, we realized that what we coded as arguments over the use of data could also be interpreted by an Egyptian as an attack on character or competence. For example, to say to your opponent that, “you must be using wrong information to come to such a conclusion as you have,” is considered to be an attack on a person’s capacity to see an issue in the same way that others do, that the opponent lacks the ability to make sense out of the social reality in the same way as most others do. Within this kind of a statement is an implied presumption for the candidate who utters such a comment and calls into question the opposing candidate’s ability to use information in the same way that others do. Thus, it might be the case that to be sensitive to the different ways in which individuals from other cultures engage in argument over political issues in debates, some revision might be necessary to account for the differences in the way that communities engage in political argument. Last, we think that it is interesting that the Egyptian debate featured so few exchanges over ideas, positions, and plans. We think it might be the case that when a nation attempts to move away from authoritarian forms of rule, democratic traditions and practices need to be cultivated over longer periods and institutionalized as political traditions before they can achieve the promise of ­informing



Cultural differences in political debate 

the ­electorate. Even after attempting to model the debate on the classic 1960 ­Kennedy-Nixon debates, the candidates did not engage in substantive exchanges over ­differences in ideas, positions, and plans.

7.  C  onclusion As we look across the intercultural comparison of campaign debates, we found that the amount of direct face threat used was relatively similar, a level that has actually been fairly consistent across the American debates as well as the use of direct face threat used to attack the character and leadership competence of the opponent. The differences include the relatively low level of indirect face threat used by the Americans, the extremely low use of any criticism of plans and policies in the Egyptian debate as well as extremely high use of criticism of the manner in which an opponent has used or manipulated data. In conclusion, the results of the study indicate interesting differences between these campaign events and warrant further exploration of cultural differences in political debates.

References Balz, D. (2013). Collision 2012: Obama vs. Romney and the future of elections in America. New York: Viking. BBC (March 3, 2010). http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/theeditors/pm_debates_programme_format.pdf Benoit, W.L., & Benoit-Bryan, J.M. (2013). Debates come to the United Kingdom: A functional analysis of the 2010 British prime minister election debates. Communication Quarterly, 61, 463–478. DOI: 10.1080/01463373.2013.799513 Benoit, W.L., & Henson, J.R. (2007). A functional analysis of the 2006 Canadian and Australian election debates. Argumentation and Advocacy, 44, 36–48. Benoit, W.L., & Sheafer, T. (2006). Functional theory and political discourse: Televised debates in Israel and the United States. Journalism and Mass Communication Quarterly, 83, 281–297. DOI: 10.1177/107769900608300204 Brown, P., & Levinson, S.C. (1987). Politeness: Some universals in language usage. Cambridge. Chick, C. (11 May 2012). Egyptian presidential debate underscores Islamist vs. establishment divide (+video). Christian Science Monitor. Retrieved from http://www.csmonitor.com/ World/Middle-East/2012/0511/Egyptian-presidential-debate-underscores-Islamist-vs.establishment-divide-video Coleman, S. (Ed.). (2000). Televised election debates: International perspectives. New York: St. Martin’s. Dailey, W.O., Hinck, E.A., & Hinck, S.S. (2008). Politeness in presidential debates: Shaping political face in campaign debates from 1960–2004. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield.

 Edward A. Hinck, Shelly S. Hinck, William O. Dailey, Robert S. Hinck & Salma I. Ghanem Deans, J. (16 April 2010). Leaders’ debate TV ratings: 9.4m viewers make clash day’s biggest show. The Guardian. http://www.theguardian.com/media/2010/apr/16/leaders-debate-tv-ratings ­ uardian. Egyptian presidential election TV debate-as it happened. (2012, May 10). The G Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/middle-east-live/2012/may/10/egyptpresidential-election-debate?newsfeed=true Fitzgerald, G. (23 April 2010). http://news.sky.com/story/774618/tv-debate-clegg-and-camer on-neck-and-neck Glastris, P. (March/April, 2012). The incomplete greatness of Barack Obama. Washington Monthly. http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/magazine/march_april_2012/features/the_ incomplete_greatness_of_ba035754.php Goffman, E. (1967). Interaction ritual: Essays on face to face behavior. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Hatfield, J.D., & Weider-Hatfield, D. (1978). The comparative utility of three types of behavioral units for interaction analysis. Communication Monographs, 45, 44–50. DOI: 10.1080/03637757809375950 Hinck, E.A., & Hinck, S.S. (2002). Politeness strategies in the 1992 vice presidential and presidential debates. Argumentation and Advocacy, 38, 234–250. Hinck, E.A., Hinck, S.S., & Dailey, W.O. (2013). Direct attacks in the 2008 presidential debates. In C. Rountree (Ed.), Venomous speech: Problems with American political discourse on the right and left. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. Hinck, S.S., Hinck, R.S., Dailey, W.O., & Hinck, E.A. (2013). Thou shalt not speak ill of any fellow Republicans? Politeness theory in the 2012 Republican primary debates. Argumentation and Advocacy, 49, 259–274. Hope, B. (May 11, 2012). First presidential debate reveals a wide open race. The national. http:// bradleyahope.com/2012/05/11/first-presidential-debate-reveals-wide-open-race/ House of Lords. (13 May 2014). Select committee on communications. 2nd Report of Session 2013–2014: Broadcast general election debates. http://www.publications.parliament.uk/ pa/ld201314/ldselect/ldcomuni/171/171.pdf Jalilifar, A., & Alavi-Nia, M. (2012). We are surprised; wasn’t Iran disgraced there? A functional analysis of hedges and boosters in televised Iranian and American presidential debates. Discourse and Communication, 6, 135–161. DOI: 10.1177/1750481311434763 Jamieson, K.H. (1992). Dirty politics: Deception, distraction, and democracy. New York: Oxford University Press. Jamieson, K.H., & Birdsell, D.S. (1988). Presidential debates: The challenge of creating an informed electorate. New York: Oxford University Press. Khang, H. (2008). A cross-cultural perspective on videostyles of presidential debates in the US and Korea. Asian Journal of Communication, 18, 47–63. DOI: 10.1080/01292980701823765 Kline, S. (1984). Social cognitive determinants of face support in persuasive messages. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Illinois at Champaign, Urbana. Myers, B., & Dunn, A. (2013). Debate strategy and effects. In K. H. Jamieson (Ed.), Electing the president 2012. The insider’s view (pp. 96–121). Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania. Racine Group, The. (2002). White paper on televised political campaign debates. Argumentation and Advocacy, 38, 199–218. Shirbon, E. (6 April 2010). British parties launch month-long election campaign Reuters. http:// www.reuters.com/article/2010/04/06/us-britain-election-idUSTRE63512T20100406.



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Stelter, B. (17 October 2012). The New York Times. http://mediadecoder.blogs.nytimes. com/2012/10/17/2nd-debate-also-a-ratings-hit-drawing-65-6-million-athomeviewers/? php=true&_type=blogs&module=Search&mabReward=relbias%3Ar&_r=0. Stelter, B. (23 October 2012). The New York Times. http://mediadecoder.blogs.nytimes. com/2012/10/23/final-debate-draws-nearly-60-million viewers/?module=Search&mabRe ward=relbias%3Ar. Voth, B. (2014). Presidential debates 2012. In R. E. Denton, Jr. (Ed.), The 2012. presidential campaign: A communication perspective (pp. 45–56). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Wolffe, R. (2013). The message: The reselling of President Obama. New York: Twelve.

The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990 A case of social and political deep disagreement Claudio Duran York University

This paper intends to describe and analyze the argumentation that has taken place in El Mercurio, Chile’s main daily newspaper, both in articles in the printed edition as well as in blogs in the online edition, during the months of September and October 2013. This argumentation constitutes a case of social and political deep disagreement. The nature of the disagreement lies in the ways of explaining the coup and the military regime. Keywords:  blog; deep disagreement; multi-modal argumentation; pragma‑dialectics; strategy for overcoming deep disagreement

1.  Introduction In several conferences of ISSA and OSSA, I have presented a number of papers on arguments in political propaganda taking the Chilean right wing daily El ­Mercurio as the source of the argumentation. The main thrust of these papers is the view that the study of argumentation in general should include the analysis of emotional, physical and intuitive arguments as well as logical ones. The paper presented in the 2010 ISSA conference (Duran, 2011) intended to show that, on the basis of work done in the previous papers, the psychoanalytic theory of Bi-Logic is in a position to explain some fundamental aspects of argumentation in agitation propaganda as developed by the press. That paper concluded with a reflection on the dramatic disagreement in Chilean society about the causes and circumstances of the military coup, the military dictatorship, and the return to democracy. In a paper on overcoming deep disagreement, David Zarefsky (2011) discusses a series of strategies to deal with this problem. His views helped me to develop a preliminary understanding of argumentation possibilities to break the deadlock in Chile through argumentation techniques. Since then I had tried to find material in El Mercurio that would help me to develop some mechanism to

doi 10.1075/aic.9.03dur © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Claudio Duran

deal with the disagreement. The social and political idea behind this initial project was that a society cannot truly function without an understanding of the reasons for a major crisis that divided it into two irreconcilable camps. I found an article in El ­Mercurio published in early 2010 by Arturo Fontaine, then Director of CEP (Centro de Estudios Públicos), a powerful think-tank representing the views of the highest levels of the entrepreneurial class in Chile. According to Fontaine, any attempt to discuss the drama of Chile would necessarily involve that the supporters of the coup would need to recognize the repressive nature of the military dictatorship; conversely, those who suffered the repression would have to accept that the government of President Salvador Allende ended up terrorizing the middle classes. I decided to look into blogs in El Mercurio on-line (emol.com) that could deal with the topic. During the many activities to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the coup in the months of September and October 2013, the amount of coverage of the coup and military regime has been impressive, still within the general frame of deep disagreement. I have focused mainly on articles from the editorial page of the printed edition that are reproduced in El Mercurio on-line, and on blogs that comment on those articles. The purpose of this paper is to describe and analyze the argumentation that has taken place in the blogs. 2.  Framework for the study of blogs In order to proceed with the analysis of the argumentation as it appears in the blogs, it seems necessary to develop a systematic framework. Usually blogs consist of expression of opinions, or points of view, with no attempt to participate in dialogues. In the case of the topic of this study, those opinions tend to be very black and white, with the people in favor of the military regime attacking the other side quite strongly, and vice versa. Ad hominem fallacies are found frequently, including insults and accusations of evil motivations. Therefore, what is the purpose to develop a systematic framework? In essence, because I believe that people need a social forum where they could exchange their views and opinions about economic, political, social issues in a way that could become interactive. The mass media, especially the internet media, seem to be appropriate vehicles for that purpose…. In his recent book Arguing with People, Michael Gilbert (Gilbert, 2014), introduces a complex model for argumentation among people that includes some core aspects of the pragma-dialectical model of Van Eemeren and Grootendorst, combined with his own theory of Multi-Modal Argumentation, as well as his understanding of argumentation as leading hopefully to coalescence (Gilbert, 1997). In



The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990 

this context, my main goal is hopefully, at some point in the future, to be able to propose formally to conduct dialogues along the lines of the new model. In what follows I introduce the model that has helped to get going in the analysis of argumentation in blogs in the case of social and political deep disagreement in Chilean society. At the same time, I discuss David Zarefsky’s ideas on transcendence of deep disagreement as they appear in his paper mentioned above. However, in this paper, the model is to an important extent used in order to show the limitations of interactions in the blogs. Needless to say, I do not want to be deterred by such limitations in future work. In dealing with his purpose of helping people to argue, Michael Gilbert introduces the idea of stages of argumentation that was developed, as mentioned above, by van Eemeren and Grootendorst: as is well known, the stages are confrontation, opening, argumentation, and conclusion. The novelty in Gilbert’s approach in this new book, is that he proposes that these stages should be analyzed in a way that, in each one of them, one must be clear as to which mode(s) of argumentation is (are) at stake. Thus, the interaction at the confrontation stage could be in the logical mode combined with, for example, the emotional mode; or it could be happening at the visceral mode; or kisceral mode together with the logical mode; or it could be in any one of the modes alone. And the same thing can happen in the other stages. This way of conceiving arguing adds to the process of understanding it a much needed complexity. I believe that both the pragma-dialectical and Gilbert’s approaches to argumentation are intended, if possible, to lead into coalescence. This idea is very important in my present study as discussed below. Now, I need to relate to this model some of the key ideas of Zarefsky in his paper on deep disagreement. David Zarefsky is concerned with the fact that argumentation assumes a certain degree of agreement such that, even when there is disagreement, there should be the possibility of arguing the case. Thus, productive disagreement must have an underlying stratum of agreement. However, there are situations in which each arguer’s claims are based on assumptions that the other arguer rejects. In this case he says “[d]eep disagreement is the limiting condition at which argumentation becomes impossible.” He says that this state of affairs was first characterized by Robert Fogelin (Fogelin, 1985). I examine Zarefsky’s views on possible ways of transcending deep disagreement in what follows, but first I entertain a few thoughts on this problematic issue. Given the pragma-dialectical/Gilbert model articulated above, it seems rather evident that most, or a great number, of cases of deep disagreement happen at the confrontation stage. Indeed why to argue if there is no basis of agreement whatsoever. However, let’s assume that in a certain argumentation process, disagreement is found in the opening stage, such that no agreement is possible as to the rules of

 Claudio Duran

the process of arguing: for example, one arguer believes that only logical rules of arguing are acceptable while the other claims that emotional rules are paramount. The same could be said about the stage of argumentation. In either situation, it seems clear that the arguers have to come back to the confrontation stage. If so, it seems that deep disagreement cases happen basically at the confrontation stage. Another key issue is the consideration of magnitude or levels or depth of deep disagreement. Not all cases are necessarily the same. It may happen that one of the arguers claims, to start with, that s/he disagrees completely with the other arguer; or the situation could be less radical, and the deep disagreement appears after a few exchanges in which they find areas of productive exchange. David Zarefsky discusses four possible strategies for overcoming deep disagreement. He groups these strategies in pairs under the following headings: inconsistency, packaging, time, and changing the ground. In its turn, each one of them is divided into two options. The overall picture is the following: 1. Inconsistency may happen as “hypocrisy” or “circumstantial ad hominem”. In both moves, the attempt is to get inside the opponent’s frame of reference and discredit it on grounds of inconsistency. The charge of hypocrisy happens when the arguer maintains a position which is inconsistent with another one maintained during the argument. The circumstantial ad hominem option takes place when a position of the arguer is contradictory to her or his own behavior. Now, in both cases, the arguer that is seeking an end to the deadlock expects that the inconsistency can be enough to make the other arguer realize where s/he really stands. 2. Packaging is divided into “incorporation” and “subsumption”. Incorporation consists in including the deep disagreed upon issue into a larger package which also includes things that the other arguer agrees with. Subsumption is a strategy which seeks to subsume the items of deep disagreement within a larger frame which can be acceptable to both arguers. In both cases of packaging, the expectation is to generate agreement around the disagreed topics such that the arguers may develop some sense of working together. 3. Time can happen as “exhaustion” or “urgency”. Exhaustion refers to cases that have been very long, tense, and emotionally draining. Urgency refers to a bad situation generated by a crisis that has undermined the arguers. Of course, a crisis may lead to exhaustion. The expectation in these two cases is that the arguers cannot continue in a deadlock that affects their lives so seriously. 4. Finally, changing the ground could take place as “interfield borrowing” or “frame-shifting”. In interfield borrowing one arguer assumes the field of the other arguer attempting to find an area of possible productive argumentation.



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In frame-shifting one of the arguers will try to move the argument from one context or frame to another where both could agree upon. In these two cases the expectation is to situate the argumentation on a common plane where agreement becomes possible. 3.  Analysis of blogs In this part of the paper, I examine specific cases of deep disagreement as they have been found in two blogs in El Mercurio, one in early September and the other one in early October, both in 2013. At that time, Chile was witnessing a remarkable and painful explosion of public debate as a consequence of the commemoration of the 40th anniversary of the September 11, 1973 coup d’ etat that deposed the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende. A number of high level politicians from all sides of the political spectrum got involved in different ways of commenting or arguing about the coup and the military dictatorship that followed. President Sebastián Piñera, a right wing politician but with a centrist tradition, made a public criticism of some of the civilians involved in the government of General Augusto Pinochet. Members of traditional institutions, including the powerful Catholic Church, were also involved in this public debate. In this social and political atmosphere, blogs in El Mercurio became a source of intense and voluminous participation of people representing the two sides of the deep disagreement. The task is now to examine the two blogs mentioned above. Now, this examination of the blogs is undertaken in two main and different, but related, ways. On the one hand, the blogs are described as they appear face value, with no intervention of the framework developed above. Then, they are related to the framework “sideways”, so to speak: the job is to show possible ways of relating aspects of the framework to issues presented in the blogs. As mentioned at the beginning, the blogs consist of viewpoints with no recognition of the need to exchange views in any formal sense. At the most, they can be evaluated as remaining at the stage of confrontation and this happens in a crude way, really. At this moment, it is pertinent to introduce a significant concept that Michael Gilbert discusses in his recent book (2014): his views on arguing with people have in mind what he calls “familiars”, that is, people with whom the arguers are familiar, they know each other well enough. Of course, this concept is at the other end of what happens in the blogs, to the extent that the participants could be called “unfamiliars”. This issue is considered when describing and analyzing the two blogs. Before undertaking the study of the blogs, I believe it is pertinent to discuss one personal exchange that I had in the late 1980’s, when Pinochet was still in power. It involved a dialogue that I had with a former student whom I met by

 Claudio Duran

chance in a coffee shop in Santiago. He was a member of the upper class in Chile, and a supporter of the coup and the military regime. When he was my student in the 1960’s, we had developed a friendly relation. Upon greeting each other, he told me how pleased he was to see me back in Chile, and then, almost immediately asked me how I felt about the military regime. My response was that it was a repressive dictatorship with horrible violations of human rights to which he agreed upon saying that he was sorry about that. He continued saying that in fact, Chile had developed economically in a way that, at some point, democracy would return, and then Chile, as was the case with Spain, would move politically from the centre right to the centre left, back and forth. He added that in that situation there would never again be another Allende. I was stunned such that I could hardly articulate anything else. If that dialogue with my former student indicates something is that perhaps it happened at an “earlier” stage than confrontation. Or maybe, that I could not even recognize confrontation. In hindsight, I think that I may have agreed subconsciously with him that that was going to happen, as indeed it has happened in Chile over the past 24 years! It was an experience that I keep going back to. I am not sure that I could have entertained an argument with him or anybody else at that time. Some reflection about this case is needed before I move to the study of the blogs. At that time, I did not know much about argumentation theory; my only training had been since the mid 1970’s in informal logic, not enough to know what to do in an argumentation case like this one. However, the point is a larger one and it involves at least two issues. One refers to the fact that most people in the world are not familiar with argumentation theory, so it is practically impossible for them to proceed along the lines of the framework that I developed above or any other systematic one. The second issue involved here relates to the need for educating people formally since the early stages of the education system. What are argumentation theorists going to do about this immense challenge? Leaving this sophisticated knowledge only for meetings in conferences, or writings that go around experts, or for high level teaching in academic institutions, would miss the very nature of what argumentation theorists have been doing. Perhaps I should move to the study of the blogs by stating that it is my expectation that this study could help promote the need to educate people. It may be a long shot, but it is worth trying. In the climate of intense public debate in Chile as a consequence of the 40th commemoration of the military coup, political leaders of all parties, religious leaders, educational professionals, and the general public at large got involved in all sorts of public statements and debates. This was the case of the Bishops of the Catholic Church who produced a public document on September 9, 2013.



The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990 

The Bishops state that the society continues to be divided into two ­irreconcilable  camps, and time has come to search for a true reconciliation. However, they say, in the present context, unfortunately strong accusations and reproaches tend to predominate. They continue by stating that the wounds left by the painful events in September of 1973 have not really healed. They claim that truth, justice and reconciliation are the road to a true understanding. They are also very critical of the abuses of human rights by the military regime during and after the coup. Finally, they remind people of the role the Church undertook in the defense of human rights during that regime. It is possible to characterize this statement of the Church in terms of David Zarefsky’ s strategy for overcoming deep disagreement called “time in the sense of urgency”. The Church makes it clear that the status quo of confrontation is not possible to maintain any longer. I have selected two blogs found in El Mercurio for a detailed study. One of them was originated by an article published by Senator Hernán Larraín from the most right wing party called UDI, Democratic Independent Union. UDI was created during the military regime in order to provide political support to it. His most important founder and leader was Jaime Guzmán, a young, prominent intellectual who played a most important role in the creation of legal, political, and economic structures during the government of General Pinochet. Larraín represents a rather centrist side in this party. The article was published on September 2, 2013. The other blog stems from an article published on October 8 by Eugenio Tironi, a centre-left intellectual from the PPD, Party for Democracy. I selected these two blogs for several reasons. One reason is the fact that Larraín, being in the most right wing party in Chile, has taken a conciliatory position and in his article he is asking for forgiveness so as to provide a basis for reconciliation. A second reason for the selection of blogs is that Tironi, on the other side, represents a clear centre-left position. His article develops a strong criticism of Jaime Guzman’s endorsement of the military regime. The point here is that both politicians tend to the centre of the political spectrum, thus they are more prone to get engaged in overcoming deep disagreement. A third reason is related to the fact that one of the bloggers in the Larraín article produces a more balanced account of the Chilean crisis, but paradoxically he loses that balance in the Tironi blog. The Hernan Larraín blog developed out of his article entitled “Las razones de un perdón” (“The reasons for asking for forgiveness”). In this article Larraín states that Chile still suffers from the profound wounds developed out of the political violence of the 1960’s and the three years of the Allende government. He says that there were groups in the left that were promoting violence. The coup ended with democracy and civil liberties. However, the military regime, at the same time that developed repression and violation of human rights, contributed to the creation of

 Claudio Duran

a successful economic model. In any event, after 40 years since the military coup, Chile is still a divided country. He urges people to come out of the confrontation and try to find a common ground in order to live in peace and united. He proposes to ask for forgiveness as the way for social healing. He himself takes this option in the expectation that forgiveness may take people on the road to reconciliation. What Larraín says here is similar to what Arturo Fontaine expressed in his article from early 2010. He says that there were groups in the Chilean left that promoted political violence and, at the same time, he recognizes that the military regime was repressive. He makes a point though that the regime also helped to promote economic development in Chile. Certainly, he seems to be putting on the table, some of the most significant factors of the deep confrontation in Chilean society. From the perspective of Zarefsky, it is possible to evaluate his position as a case of time with the option urgency, as well as it happens in the Bishops’ document. The analysis of the blog is interesting in several ways. First, very few people referred in their participations to the most significant point of Larraín, that of asking for forgiveness. More so, even fewer bloggers acknowledged his article in a direct and explicit way. One of the few who did so was very critical accusing Larraín of naiveté. Second, the blog consists of a large number of extremely critical points against the other side of the social and political divide: in essence, they are expressions of the confrontation. Third, there were few participants that got involved in exchanges, and when that happened they were confrontational. Finally, I found, as mentioned above, one set that is initiated by a blogger who appears balanced in his evaluation of the events in Chile, in a way somewhat similar to Fontaine and Larraín. I proceed then to analyze this particular exchange attempting as much as possible to refer to the Gilbert/Zarefsky framework presented above. The blogger, whom I refer to by the initials of his name as JAFM, describes the situation in the 1970’s in Chile as one characterized by the presence in the country of guerrilla operatives exported by the Cuban revolution, but also by Armed Forces trained by the United States in the School of the Americas. Also there were Chilean guerrilla groups. He says that Chile was in fact the reflection of the cold war. He blames the “political class” as a whole for the coup. He mentions that it is important to understand, but not justify the violations of human rights by the military regime. In a second participation, JAFM expresses the view that Chileans must teach their children to resolve conflicts through dialogue and respect for institutions. At the present stage, he values politicians as opposed to the political class of the 1970’s. One blogger, MEG, agrees entirely with him but does not explain. She does not mention Hernán Larraín, or forgiveness. Another blogger, AFV, also without reference to Larraín, appears to be in significant agreement with JAFM, to whom



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he addresses his participation, but does not acknowledge that he agrees with him. A third participant, MQ, does not refer to Larraín and attempts to defend Allende from the accusation of favoring armed struggle and inviting Cuban extremists in the country. He blames extreme left wing parties and groups but not relating them to Allende. He blames the United States and President Nixon in particular for the coup and makes the point that the USSR did not have any interest in Latin ­America beyond Cuba. A fourth blogger, JPRM, negates the presence of Cuban guerrilla operatives in Chile, and blames the United States as well. This blogger does not mention Larraín or forgiveness. A fifth participant, EJLC, agrees with JAFM with respect to his historical analysis, but disagrees with him in blaming the political class of the 1970’s. He himself blames Allende, whom he describes as the Chávez of that time, and his followers who introduced weapons in Chile. Therefore, in his view, the Armed Forces could not accept that and neither the disastrous economic situation. This blogger does not mention either Larraín or forgiveness. Blogger MQ accuses the previous blogger EJLC of spreading falsehoods with regards to introduction of weapons in Chile. A sixth participant, MSOE, mentions Larraín indirectly and metaphorically, with no reference to forgiveness. What she says may be of great interest in the study of blogs, although it is unclear to whom exactly she is referring to. She mentions that that there are three kinds of witnesses: those who saw well but have doubts; those who did not see well but believe they have seen well; and finally those who saw nothing but believe that they have seen everything. She also says that “something like this is happening….if Mr. Larraín lost a good and important part of this story.” Finally, JAFM, the initiator of these exchanges, comes back with a third participation, but not acknowledging any of the participants in the blog that after all he initiated. He presents now an indirect critical point to Larraín’s views, by way of saying that no economic advance can justify the violations of human rights. He insists in criticizing the political class of Allende’s time, but also mentions that his government was not doing anything to overcome poverty. There are several conclusions at this stage. The first one is the almost complete lack of reference to the author of the article to which the blog owes its existence. Of course, there could not be any dialogue or actual argumentation with him, but at least one would expect some reference to his ideas, especially given the fact that Larraín is writing about the need to overcome the deep disagreement in Chile. Second, there is deep disagreement found in this particular exchange in the blog, and no clear sense of further interactions. Third, even when there is agreement, paradoxically there is no recognition of it. Thus, fourth, the participants in this exchange seem intended in presenting their points of view only. Fifth, the fallacy of ad hominen appears here, for example, in accusations such as that of stating falsehoods. Sixth, the issues raised by MSOE, assuming that I am correct in their

 Claudio Duran

interpretation, may be seen as a sharp description of the way blogs go around: some bloggers see well but are prepared to doubt; some other do not see well but believe they do; and then there are those who see nothing and believe that they have seen everything. MSOE may be stating that there are many bloggers who truly do not know what they are saying, but still feel the need to present their views. In any event, the idea here is that if there could be further interaction, for example taking into account the Gilbert model, then possibly people could be able to understand each other in more positive ways. Finally, from the perspective of the Gilbert model, at the most, the exchanges remain at the level of confrontation. Looking at them from the point of view of Zarefsky’s ideas on breaking the deadlock of deep disagreement argumentation, perhaps only one of the points by JAFM could be seen as relevant: this seems to be the case, when he advocates the need to teach children the value of dialogue and respect of institutions as the way to avoid political violence. This could be interpreted as a case of packaging in the subsumption option. The reason is that, after all, JAFM has recognized the same as Fontaine and Larraín, the need to look at the negative aspects of the two sides of the social and political divide. He stops there, but Larraín claims that there ought to be forgiveness. Now, I evaluated his position above in terms of the case of time in the urgency option, and now I see that looking at JAFM’s view combined with Larraín’ s claim, the packaging possibility seems applicable as well. To be clear about this: in my own sense here I draw from Fontaine’s, Larraín’ s and JAFM’s need to examine the negative aspects of the left and right side of the deep social and political confrontation as the basis for overcoming it, therefore, borrowing JASM’s idea, subsuming them under the value of dialogue and respect of institutions. The second blog stems from Eugenio Tironi’s article entitled “¿Quien perdió?” (“Who Lost?”) The article refers to the October 5, 1988 plebiscite that the opposition to Pinochet won, and therefore signaled the beginning of the end of the military regime. According to Tironi, the real loser in the plebiscite was Jaime Guzmán whose significance as an ideologist of the regime has been discussed above. Tironi says that the real losers were “Jaime Guzmán and the ideology according to which, in due course, people accommodate themselves to their economic interests.” The article represents a very critical view not only on Guzmán, but on the whole of the military regime based on its commitment to neo-liberal economic policies. In his article, Larraín mentions that the military regime was successful in this sense in Chile. I intend to examine this point below, but at this stage I should point out that it does constitute a very difficult issue in terms of deep disagreement. What is clear is that this article develops a strong criticism of the right side of the political deep disagreement only, in contrast to the Larraín article, as well as Fontaine’s view in early 2010, and also the blogger JAFM.



The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990 

I selected one specific set of exchanges in the blog because in it JAFM participates with a very strong criticism of Tironi. This set is initiated by blogger EJLC, also involved in the Larraín blog, who criticizes Tironi accusing him of a double moral standard. He relates Tironi to the communist party in Chile saying that communism has been involved in serious violations of human rights as was the case in the URSS, North Korea, Cuba, China, etc. A second blogger, FJGP, responding to EJLC, says that socialists and communists are the worst violators of human rights in history. A third participant, CCBC, also responding to EJLC, mentions that there were one hundred million people assassinated until 1998 by communists, pending the statistics until now. At this stage, JAFM intervenes in the exchange, with a strong criticism of Tironi, albeit not mentioning him explicitly, by stating that it is terribly difficult to argue with people in the left, because they take unmovable positions no matter what arguments are provided to them: they keep rejecting and refuting them. He continues by criticizing marxist-socialism on the counts of economic failure, political repression, and lack of respect of human rights, and he says that that was the doctrine of President Salvador Allende. Had he succeeded, Chile would be an underdeveloped country, with political repression, and violation of human rights. Then he shows great appreciation for Jaime Guzmán because he worked for the establishment of a political system that provided sufficient political stability that made it possible for international investment in Chile. As a consequence Chile is today a respected country in the world due to its economic achievements. A fifth participant, MQ, also involved in the Larraín blog, responds to JAFM by questioning if any country achieved development through neo-­liberalism. A sixth blogger, HF, attacks MQ saying that what he says is absolutely false and provides the names of a number of countries, including some traditional European developed countries, that succeeded due to neoliberalism. Finally, MQ himself responds by saying that HF understands very little about the topic since he is confusing capitalism with neo-liberalism. He invites HF to study a bit more the issue so that he realizes that in the countries that HF mentions the state has played a very important role in economic terms, which is the very opposite of a neo-liberal approach. Comparing the analyses of the two blogs, first, in the Tironi one, there is explicit and clear implicit reference to the author of the article, essentially by way of strong criticism of Tironi. However, no blogger mentions the main point of “who lost” in the plebiscite that Tironi makes. Blogger JAFM comes a bit close to it when he defends strongly Jaime Guzmán who is the ideologist that Tironi criticizes in his article. Second, the bloggers who respond to Tironi’s critics, do not refer to him directly or indirectly, but criticize those critics. No further interaction between them proceeds, but there is deep disagreement present here in the sense of attacks against communism and neo-liberalism. Third, there

 Claudio Duran

is some i­nteraction between the participant who questions JAFM and the one who responds to him, but very limited in terms of follow up. In any event, this is also a case of deep disagreement. Fourth, as in the Larraín blog, the participants seem just interested in presenting their points of view. Fifth, I think that what blogger MSOE expresses in the previous blog with regards to the three kinds of participants, may apply here: for, given the nature of their participations, it is not clear whether they do really know what they write about. This may be not fair, for I have not been an external critic of the objectivity of the participations of the bloggers, neither of the authors of the articles that originated the blogs. I come back to consider this issue at the end of the paper. Sixth, the fallacy of ad hominem is present in this blog as well, as it happens in the case of accusations of ignorance. Finally, from the Gilbert model perspective, exchanges remain at the level of confrontation as well as in the Larraín blog. With regards to the point of view of Zarefsky, there is no immediate case that could be made for overcoming deep disagreement in this blog as different from what happened in the previous blog. It is possible, however, to imagine a situation stemming from the exchange between MQ and HF: in this particular exchange, somebody may suggest that a main point would be to decide factually whether the state has been involved in the countries that HF presents as successful cases of neo-liberalism. If this were the case, then I would be inclined to evaluate the possibility of inconsistency as hypocrisy as the strategy to follow to resolve deep disagreement. The reason is simple to state: HF defends the success of neo-liberalism in several countries that he mentions explicitly, and MQ claims that in them the state has played an important role in economic development, which is the opposite of neo-liberal doctrine. But, obviously I seem to be imagining well beyond the actual texts of both bloggers. However, there is a productive point that could be assessed as positive in the imaginary case. It concerns the relation between inconsistency in the hypocrisy mode and changing the ground in the option of interfield borrowing. In the case under examination here, it seems that there is a clear similarity between both strategies because they do involve getting ‘inside’ the other arguer. This is a very promising issue for further research in the study of strategies for resolving deep disagreement. 4.  C  onclusions The on-going research that is developed in this paper has required the generation of a systematic framework for the study of cases of deep disagreement as they



The September 11, 1973 military coup in Chile and the military regime 1973–1990 

are manifested in blogs in the press. This framework could also be potentially used in dialogues with familiars. As presented above, the framework involves a ­combination of the argumentation model introduced in Michael Gilbert’s book Arguing with People, with the ideas on strategies in order to overcome deep disagreement discussed by David Zarefsky in his 2011 paper. Now, from this perspective, the research has been able to show that the Gilbert model, as expected beforehand, helps to conclude that there is no process of real argumentation involved in the blogs that have been analyzed: at the most, the argumentation happens at the stage of confrontation. Whereas, somewhat more productive have been Zarefsky’s ideas in that they have been useful in suggesting several worthwhile strategies for dealing with deep disagreement. Clearly, the door has been opened for more research. However, my overall goal is to apply this framework to the development of exchanges in blogs. I mean, that perhaps it could be possible to introduce the framework so that blogs could proceed according to it. Therefore, participants in the blogs could become able to know about the four stages of argumentation, try to follow them systematically, and in cases of deep disagreement, perhaps be able to try the strategies described by Zarefsky. This goal may seem ambitious, even unrealistic, but perhaps worth trying. Moreover, I see it in line with the need to educate people in general about the outstanding achievements of Argumentation Theory. One important issue in this context is the fact that participants in blogs are “unfamiliars” as opposed to what Gilbert says concerning the dialogical relation between familiars. With regards to Gilbert’s model, I have not dealt in this paper with his theory of Multi-Modal Argumentation when analyzing the blogs. It seems to me that the exchanges in the two blogs examined, may be assessed as a combination of the logical and emotional modes, perhaps the intuitive mode as well. But at this stage, I need to work more on the ways in which evaluations of the non-logical modes should proceed in the case of blogs: indeed there is no clear way of assessing emotions in a systematic way here. One could, of course, say that given some interactions, it is easy to assume emotional expressions by analogy to what happens in face-to-face dialogues. And yet another topic of great significance would be the study of levels or magnitude of deep disagreement. This issue has only been indicated in a preliminary way in this paper. There seems to be no question, at least intuitively, that cases of deep disagreement are not all of the same “depth”. For example, the question as to the atrocities committed by the military regime does introduce very deep disagreement when people who suffered them confront those who supported the regime. Emotions tend to be extremely high in this case. Comparing that situation with a debate about the state’s participation in the economy, it is possible to see

 Claudio Duran

that, while in this instance there is deep disagreement, the case does not reach the emotional level of the previous one. A related issue needs to be considered now. When presenting my interaction in the late 1980’s with my former student, I said that I was stunned by what he said about the fact that, since Chile had developed economically, then when democracy would return, the political scenario would be moving from the centre-right to the centre-left and vice-versa. Senator Larraín mentions in his article that the military regime violated human rights and at the same time developed a successful economic policy. The blogger JAFM mentions that economic development cannot be used to justify political repression. Also, several exchanges between the two sides, as can be perceived in the blogs analyzed, refer to the relation between economic success and repression. Here lays, in my view, one of the deepest sources of disagreement still present in Chilean society. For can the left side of the disagreement be prepared to accept that the military coup and repression were necessary in order to achieve economic well-being? A further point complicates matter even more. It seems clear that getting rid of the government of Pinochet was possible by an “agreement”, whose whole nature is not known, between the regime and the centre-left coalition that had formed since the early 1980’s in Chile. That agreement brought about the plebiscite that made it possible to end the regime. So, there is already some level, not insignificant, of breaking the deadlock between the two sides: at least, at the level of the political leaderships. One area of agreement here is the fact that the centre-left coalition would maintain the neo-liberal economic policies of the regime. Therefore, the Zarefsky strategy at play here may be evaluated as time in a combination of exhaustion and urgency, although it could very well had happened that during the negotiations a number of the other strategies may have been present. A final issue relates to the fact that my overall research, since I began the study of the right wing press in Chile with several colleagues in the 1970’s, intended to contribute to the development of a more democratic society. At the same time, we were committed to an objective and systematic study that should not be interfered by our commitment to a specific ideological position. This involves walking a fine line all the time. Thus, since I am myself a member of the left side of the political confrontation, how would I behave, at the present stage, if I were to have actual argumentations with people on the other side of the disagreement? For instance, if I were to meet my student and decide to argue seriously with him: would I be willing to accept that, given repression, violation of human rights and everything else, one thing that was positive of the military dictatorship was their successful economic policies? Only actual argumentation processes would be able to help in answering that troublesome question.



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References Duran, C. (2011). Bi-logical analysis of arguments in political Propaganda: The case of the Chilean press 1970–1973. In F. H. van Eemeren, B. Garssen, D. Godden, & G. Mitchell (Eds.), ISSA Proceedings 2011. Larraín, H., & Núñez, R. (2013). Las Voces de la Reconciliación. Santiago: Instituto de Estudios de la Sociedad. Fogelin, R.J. (1985). The logic of deep disagreements. Informal Logic, 7, 1–8. Gilbert, M. (1997). Coalescent argumentation. Mahwah, NJ: Routledge. Gilbert, M. (2014). Arguing with people. Tonawanda, NY: Broadview Press. Zarefsky, D. (2011). The appeal for transcendence: A possible response to cases of deep ­disagreement. In F. H. van Eemeren, B. Garssen, D. Godden, & G. Mitchell (Eds.), ISSA ­Proceedings 2011.

Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address David Zarefsky

Northwestern University (Emeritus) Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address normally is understood as epideictic, intended only to dedicate a national cemetery. In fact, however, an important argument is subtly and implicitly developed in this brief text: that nationalism is necessary for democracy to flourish. This argument will be identified and its layout described. Moreover, Lincoln employs all three dimensions of strategic maneuvering (topical potential, audience demand, and presentational choices) to enhance this argument. Its placement within an epideictic address is strategically useful and illustrates the ways in which epideictic can have argument content. Keywords:  argument structure; burden of proof; coordinative argument; deliberative; epideictic; eulogy; Gettysburg Address; Lincoln; strategic maneuvering

1.  Introduction Probably no figure in United States history is better known worldwide than Abraham Lincoln, who is taken as representative of the upward mobility Americans value and of the ideals the nation espouses. No speech delivered by Lincoln is better known around the world than the Gettysburg Address. Seemingly a model of simplicity, the Address actually is quite complex. Seemingly a purely ceremonial address, it actually also presents and develops an argument whose contents are mostly implicit. Seemingly a recitation of communal values, it actually upholds values that are highly controversial. And seemingly transparent in its message, it actually relies on silence, ambiguity, and assertion as means of strategic maneuvering. This essay is written in honor of the 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address in 2013. In what follows, a brief sketch of the context will be followed by an analysis that seeks to unpack the paradoxes noted above.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.04zar © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 David Zarefsky

2.  The battle and the speech The battle of Gettysburg, a small town in southeastern Pennsylvania, was fought on 1–3 July 1863. Although not fully evident at the time, it was a turning point of the war. It stopped the bold attempt by Robert E. Lee’s Confederate army to invade the North through Maryland and to threaten the capital, Washington. It thereby meant that the South could not win the war through invasion (although a later attempt at a raid was made) but would need to rely on attrition and war-weariness on the part of the North. But the Northern failure to capture Lee’s army after the battle, allowing it instead to escape to Virginia, meant that the war would not end decisively, certainly not soon. For the most part, the thousands who died in battle were left where they fell on the ground. Hoping to give the Union soldiers a dignified burial and also to control the stench and disease caused by rotting corpses, a group of private citizens undertook to establish a military cemetery on part of the battlefield. Their efforts, though not complete, progressed far enough for the cemetery to be dedicated on November 19, about five months after the battle. The principal speaker for the occasion was Edward Everett, former governor, representative, and senator from Massachusetts, former president of Harvard ­University, former secretary of state, and 1860 vice-presidential candidate of the Constitutional Union Party, one of the four major parties that year. Everett spoke for over two hours and, although he has been ridiculed for its length, his speech was an excellent example of its kind. (The text is readily available as an appendix in Wills 1992.) He verbally recreated the battle from start to finish and celebrated the Union victory. His detailed rhetorical depiction enabled audience members to feel as though they were present for all three days of the historic battle. Everett’s speech was followed by a musical interlude and then Lincoln rose for brief remarks formally dedicating the cemetery – the role he was invited to play. Popular myth has it that Lincoln wrote the speech on the back of an envelope while riding on the train to Gettysburg. This myth was created during the 1880s and has no basis in fact (Johnson 2013). In fact he wrote a draft before leaving Washington and then did final editing in Gettysburg the night before delivering the speech (Boritt 2006). At only 272 words, the text (Basler 1953, 7:23) is easily accessible; a copy is included in the Appendix. Briefly, Lincoln positions the present moment as part of a war testing the commitment of the American founders to nationalism premised on liberty and equality. It is appropriate, he says, for us to hallow the ground on which the soldiers defending this commitment fell, but in a larger sense we cannot, since the battlefield already has been dedicated through their bravery and sacrifice. What we should do, therefore, is to rededicate ourselves to their ideals and to finish the work on their project.



Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address 

3.  The argumentative character of the speech The speech can be characterized as a eulogy, a genre of epideictic discourse whose functions are to offer praise for the dead and advice for the living. While fulfilling these functions, however, it also implicitly contains a significant argument about what the audience should do. (A diagram of the argument appears in Figure 1.) The major standpoint (1) is the claim, “We should strengthen our commitment to the nation and its founding principles.” This claim is derived from Lincoln’s statement that “it is for us the living … to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced,” and the earlier statement that the Civil War is testing whether any nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to equality can endure. 1 We should strengthen our commitment to the nation and its founding principles.

1.1a The founders created a nation.

1.1b The war tests the endurance of the nation.

1.1c Our role is to rededicate ourselves to the task.

1.1b.1 Gettysburg is a great battlefield of the war.

1.1c.1a We are here to dedicate a cemetery.

1.1c.1b In a larger sense, we cannot do so.

1.1c.2a Our words won’t be remembered.

1.1c.1b.1 The soldiers already have done so.

Figure 1.  Argumentative structure of the Gettysburg Address

1.1c.2b We must assure that the dead did not die in vain.

 David Zarefsky

Supporting this standpoint is a three-point coordinative argument structure. Coordinative arguments are those in which the grounds are independent of one another but that support the claim only when taken together (van Eemeren, Grootendorst, and Snoeck Henkemans 2002). In this case, the claims are that (1.1a) the founders created the nation in liberty and committed it to equality, (1.1b) war tests the endurance of the national commitments, and (1.1c) our role is to rededicate ourselves to the task. The parts of this argument together support the major standpoint and prevent its being circular. The claim about the founders stands on its own, seemingly unchallenged. The claim that the war is a test brings with it the subsidiary claim that Gettysburg is “a great battle field of that war.” A fortiori, if the larger war is a kind of test, then its specific instantiation at Gettysburg is part of that test. The claim that our role is to rededicate ourselves to the founding principles is supported by a more elaborate subsidiary structure of multiple coordinative arguments. First is the pair (1.1c.1a) “we are here to dedicate a cemetery,” and (1.1c.1b) that, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate a cemetery. The combination of these two statements creates a paradox; they are not logically inconsistent but they appear to be so. The paradox is resolved through the claim in (1.1c) that we have a less obvious purpose, namely to rededicate ourselves to the commitment of the founders. The second pair of subsidiary statements is also a coordinative argument, though independent of the first: (1.1c.2a) what we say here will not be long remembered, and (1.1c.2b) we must assure that the dead did not die in vain. Here the paradox is that we obligate ourselves to honor the dead but our words, our means to do so, will not work. If our statements at the cemetery will not by themselves be enough to assure that the deaths were not in vain, then we must do something else to assure that result: we must rededicate ourselves to the task to which they presumably were committed. Laying out the argument in this fashion helps to make clear what Lincoln accomplishes in this speech. First, he not only consoles the living but directs them in a particular way: toward reaffirming what he claims are the nation’s founding ideals. Second, he portrays this action as a duty by showing that it is the natural progression in a sequence that begins with “our fathers” who proclaimed these ideals and the “great civil war” which is testing them. Third, the steps in this progression are asserted briefly rather than developed in any depth. This may be appropriate in a eulogy, where one does not expect the structural presentation of claims and reasons, but it has the effect of making contestable claims appear as if they are selfevident. Lincoln is taking advantage of the generic expectations of a eulogy in order to reduce his burden in advancing a deliberative claim about what we should do. Fourth, Lincoln adds force to the claim that “it is for us the living, rather, to rededicate ourselves” to the founding ideals, by implying that doing so resolves



Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address 

the two paradoxes identified above. (1) It is a way out of the predicament that it is appropriate for us to dedicate the ground and yet “in a larger sense” we cannot do so, by offering something we can do that will be at least as good as dedicating the ground. And (2) it offers a way out of the tension between wishing to assure that the dead not die in vain and yet believing that “what we say here” will be “little note[d] nor long remember[ed]”; that is, that our words will not rescue the dead from oblivion. The act of rededicating ourselves to the founding national ideals is thus doubly attractive.

4.  Strategic maneuvering Not only does the Gettysburg Address contain the implicit structure of an argument, but it also clearly reflects strategic maneuvering to present Lincoln’s position in the most favorable light. The speech reflects all three of the categories of strategic maneuvering discussed by van Eemeren (2010). 4.1  T  opical potential Lincoln’s choices regarding topical potential can be made clear by observing what he elects not to discuss. First, unlike Everett, he makes no mention of the battle of Gettysburg itself – not its progression, not even its outcome. Second, there is no discussion of slavery – unless that is how one chooses to read “all men are created equal,” which probably was not the intended context – and none of emancipation, even though the proclamation had been issued on 1 January and emancipation was recognized as an aim of the war. Third, there is no self-reference to Lincoln himself or to his office. What all of these silences enabled Lincoln to do was to focus his remarks less on the past than on the future, less on the dead than on the living. Everett’s focus was on the events of 1–3 July; Lincoln’s was on how those attending the dedication could give those events a larger and more transcendent meaning. For Everett, listeners could use the battle by vicariously participating in it and basking in the glory of a Union victory. These were purely consummatory ends. For Lincoln, however, they could use the battle as a stimulus to their own acts of rededication. The absence of references to slavery and emancipation may be harder to explain, because they are what we perceive the war ultimately to have been about. But Lincoln saw it somewhat differently. Despite his own strong antislavery beliefs, freeing the slaves was not his cardinal purpose in prosecuting the war. That was a means – granted, a necessary means, as he came to see – toward the

 David Zarefsky

goal of p ­ reserving democratic self-government and majority rule, which had been ­undermined by the act of Southern secession, especially when that act had no basis other than that slavery’s advocates had lost a lawful and fairly conducted popular election. Lincoln had said in his First Inaugural Address (Basler 1953, 4: 262–271) that the essence of secession was anarchy. That was the end to be prevented by victory in the “great civil war,” toward which both emancipation of slaves and the victory at Gettysburg were essential means. 4.2  A  udience demand Lincoln also adapted his presentation to audience demand, as is evident in his use of strategic ambiguity. Terms and phrases are used that admit of multiple readings, with quite different implications. For instance, just who are “these honored dead”? Gettysburg was a Union cemetery; no Confederate dead were buried there. Lincoln says as much when he refers to “those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.” But in the next paragraph he refers to “the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here” and “they who fought here.” These phrases are broader in scope and could be taken to refer to both Union and Confederate soldiers. Contemporary audiences often read the speech this way, as a universal tribute to all the fallen, although that reading is not completely faithful to text or context. This ambiguity allows Lincoln to speak to multiple audiences across time. Audiences in 1863 might have been more likely to celebrate the fallen Northerners, whereas after the wounds of war have healed, the speech can be understood by later audiences – say, those of 2013 – as national consecration in memory of all the Gettysburg dead. Since it is constrained within the moment of the battle, Everett’s speech cannot achieve such transcendence. A similar ambiguity is found in the pronoun “we.” It may refer to all people, both North and South: “we are engaged in a great civil war.” Or it may refer to his immediate audience: “we are met on a great battlefield of that war.” Universal and particular views of “we” interweave throughout the speech. In such a gifted writer as Lincoln, such shifts probably are not accidental. It seems more likely that Lincoln responds to audience demand by regarding his immediate audience both in its own right and as a synecdoche for the entire nation, North and South (those who are only metaphorically “here” at Gettysburg) and also for those not yet even born, who will be “here” when they are in the act of reading or memorizing the speech. In this way, Lincoln raises the audience onto a different and more abstract plane, on which partisan or sectional conflict is out of place and national reaffirmation is appropriate. The fact that he moves back and forth between the particular and the general suggests that the speech should be intended as simultaneously embracing both.



Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address 

The most obvious example of an ambiguous term is “dedicate.” It is used in the phrase “dedicated to the proposition,” meaning “committed” or “pledged.” But when the president says, “we have come to dedicate a portion of that field,” it means “to designate” or “to set aside.” In the next paragraph he means something different still, as he signals by his comment that he is referring to “a larger sense.” Here he supplies his own synonyms, “consecrate” and “hallow.,” suggesting a meaning such as “to distinguish sacred from profane.” The final uses, referring to “us the living,” return to the original sense of “dedicate” as “to pledge or commit.” What is more, Lincoln’s use of the word “rather” contrasts this sense of “dedicate” with “to set aside” or “to hallow,” which he used earlier. These shifts in the term’s meaning satisfy audience demand by providing a constructive outlet for audience energy despite the fact that listeners cannot rise to the act of consecration because the soldiers already have done that. If the audience cannot do what they came to do, Lincoln does not send them away with nothing. What they can do, and should do, is to commit themselves to give the nation “a new birth of freedom,” so that it once again is committed to the proposition that all are created equal. By using the same term, “dedicate,” Lincoln implies that his audience’s action is equivalent, at least in value, to what the soldiers did who consecrated the Gettysburg battlefield with their lives. The last example of strategic ambiguity to adapt to audience demand is the phrase, “the great task remaining before us.” Lincoln does not say exactly what the task is. To be sure, he offers clues in the final phrases of the speech. But is each synonymous with “the great task remaining before us” or is each an element of that task? And how might each of these phrases translate into practical action? To take just one example, it is reasonable to assume that to “take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion” means that the Union must fight on until it wins the war. But to make that meaning explicit would be to stipulate that the war must be ended by military victory, and Lincoln probably would not want to exclude the possibility that the South might simply tire of the struggle. Nor did he want to confirm the perception that he was stubborn and inflexible. This view was held by Northern critics who were themselves tired of the war and were calling for reconciliation with the South without the abolition of slavery. Besides, to call explicitly for Northern victory, even if that is what Lincoln really meant, would make it impossible for the speech to be read then or later as a conciliatory message addressed to North and South alike. The same could be said about what one would do to “highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,” depending on whether “these dead” refers to the Union soldiers who were buried at Gettysburg or to all who died on either side of the battle. By leaving the matter ambiguous, Lincoln is able to enlarge and unify his audience, thereby fulfilling the epideictic function of the speech.

 David Zarefsky

4.3  P  resentational choices The final category of strategic maneuvering is presentational choice – decisions about arrangement and language that advance the purpose of the speech. Several examples can be cited from the Gettysburg Address. To begin with, Lincoln chooses to present some of his key claims as assertions, claims put forward as if they are self-evident rather than standpoints to be justified by argument. A nominally epideictic address such as a dedication speech may be the perfect vehicle for doing so, since a structure of claims and proofs is not normally expected. Instead the speaker typically states and celebrates shared knowledge. Lincoln follows this pattern except that his values and knowledge claims, though stated as if unquestioned, in fact were highly controversial. For example, Lincoln says that the country was “brought forth” by “our fathers” in the year 1776, “four score and seven years ago.” That was, of course, the year of the American Declaration of Independence, when “our fathers” declared their commitment that all men are created equal. That is one of several possible dates that might have been selected for the national origin, but it was not the only one available to Lincoln. Others included 1765, when the Stamp Act Congress (the first intercolonial body) met; 1775, when the military rebellion began; 1778, when aid from France made the revolution viable; 1781, when the Articles of Confederation were ratified; 1787, when the Constitution was drafted; 1788, when the ninth state ratified it; or 1790, when Rhode Island made it unanimous. To have selected any of those dates would have implied a very different origin story. By selecting 1776 and presenting it as if there were no question, Lincoln locates the country’s beginning in the expression of ideals – and not just any ideals, but those of liberty and equality, the very values to which Lincoln would have his audience reaffirm their commitment. Furthermore, Lincoln characterizes the ideal of equality as a proposition. In context, a proposition was a hypothesis that would be tested and proved through the life of the country. It was like a geometric asymptote, something that would be continually approached even though never actually reached. It would serve as a goal toward which the nation always would strive. This was the same view of equality that Lincoln had expressed during his pre-presidential years, when he had attributed it to the founders and used it to explain how slavery could have been condemned by those who themselves owned slaves. The other obvious way out of that paradox was to say that the founders did not regard blacks as men within the scope of the Declaration. This was the view taken, for example, by Lincoln’s perennial political opponent, Stephen A. Douglas. How to choose between these interpretations? Fortunately, one doesn’t have to. By making the presentational choice to state as fact what is a highly contestable assertion, Lincoln is able to define away



Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address 

the controversy and leave listeners with the simple “truth” of what “our fathers” had in mind. Moreover, what was it to which “our fathers” gave birth in 1776? Lincoln states as fact that they “brought forth, on this continent, a new nation.” But it is questionable whether they did any such thing. The Declaration says that the former colonies “are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.” The emphasis is on states, plural, and there is no reference to a single nation. Eleven years later, the Preamble to the Constitution announces its aim to “form a more perfect union,” not a more perfect nation. By 1863, it was clear that movement was in the direction of nationalism, of seeing “the people” as a single entity and the nation as its embodiment. But rather than acknowledge that this is a new development or a gradual evolution, Lincoln read backwards and claimed it to be the view of the founders themselves. It was the view of some founders, but Lincoln swept away the whole historical controversy. What the country needed to be in 1863, he said it actually had been all along. This is what Robert L. Scott (1973) called “the conservative voice in radical rhetoric.” It enabled Lincoln to claim that the very same nation had survived for 87 years and was now being tested. To succeed at that test not only would meet the needs of the moment but also would vindicate the vision of the founders. This simple statement that the founders created “a new nation” enacts a theory of history and politics. Stated as a bold assertion, the claim no longer requires any argument. A final example of assertion as a presentational choice was the statement that the function of the Civil War was “testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.” That is, the war will determine whether democratic self-government, in the United States or anywhere else, is sustainable beyond the 87 years it already has survived. To abandon the war would be to forfeit the test, permitting those who had lost a fair election to overturn the results by military action until they got their way. Doing that would negate the legitimacy of popular elections, and without them there would be no democratic self-rule. If such a thing could happen in the United States, with its tradition and over 80 years of experience, then it could happen anywhere; so if democracy fails here, it fails everywhere. Lincoln puts forward this theory as fact, not needing to argue for it. In the process he obscures other possible accounts for the war, such as the view of many Southerners that military action now was necessary to interrupt the arc of history which, since Lincoln’s election, was tending toward slavery’s demise. ­Lincoln’s strategic maneuver redirects attention from slavery to the even higher principle of democracy and self-rule, which he pronounces to be the ultimate object of the struggle. The speech reveals several other presentational choices. The opening line, “Four score and seven years ago,” evokes the Biblical claim, in Proverbs, that “the

 David Zarefsky

days of a man’s life are threescore years and ten, or if by reason of strength, fourscore years.” The Union already has exceeded that boundary, so it is on course to “long endure,” provided that there is no successful revolt by dissatisfied Southerners. The persuasiveness of Lincoln’s argumentative claim for a commitment to nationalism is enhanced by its Biblical resonance. Another presentational choice is the use of negation as an indirect means of providing support. After saying that his audience was present to dedicate a cemetery, Lincoln states that they cannot do so because it already has been done by “the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here.” We therefore must do something else, and Lincoln presents what is a far greater and more important task than setting aside a piece of ground. But rather than saying directly that our task is more significant than theirs, he seems to do the opposite, maintaining that “the world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” The first clause in the sentence was clearly false, but the second clause is true in the sense that doing trumps saying. Since our talk is less significant than their action, we ought to do something else in order to even the exchange and assure that the dead will not have died in vain. Talk plus personal dedication is at least equal to action. But had Lincoln said this explicitly, he would be rightfully accused of hubris. So he made his point by using the presentational choice of negation. A final example of strategic maneuvering through presentational choice involves the closing prepositions “of,” “by,” and “for,” each of which relates to the noun, “the people.” The point of this closing statement is not the differentiation of the prepositions but the repetition of the noun. “The people” by 1863 was a term of nearly universal veneration, especially when it stood in opposition to terms such as “special interests.” “The people” could be dominated by elites just as they could be ruled by monarchs. The genius of the United States, and its uniqueness in the world, was that the people ruled. Government acted upon them, but also was created and composed by them, and it operated for their benefit. “The great task remaining before us” was to assure the survival of this form of government. That was what was at stake in the war, and that was what required a new commitment to ­American nationhood, keeping the people free from the elites that Lincoln thought had hijacked the Southern state governments and led them into the abyss of secession. The case of the United States would prove the viability of popular rule.

5.  C  onclusion Within the pragma-dialectical framework (van Eemeren 2010), strategic maneuvering offers advocates the chance to increase their rhetorical e­ ffectiveness while



Argumentation in Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address 

also meeting their dialectical obligations. On first glance, it may seem that the Gettysburg Address does the opposite: maximizing rhetorical success while evading one’s dialectical obligations. After all, Lincoln never substantiates that the United States is one nation, or that it was founded in 1776, or that its goal is the achievement of equality under popular rule. Even less does he answer objections that could be set out against any of these standpoints. What gives them force is that they are embedded within an epideictic framework that celebrates the dead while urging the living to dedicate themselves to a larger task. It is perhaps in this sense that Wills (1992) wrote that listeners to the speech “had their intellectual pocket picked,” leaving the battlefield on 19 November with a different sense of the United States from what they had when they arrived. It has become commonplace to observe that the Gettysburg Address epitomizes the war-induced shift from regarding the United States as a plural noun (“The United States are …”) to a singular noun (“The United States is …”). But this may be taking too limited a view of the matter. The defense of ­American nationalism did not issue forth from Lincoln at Gettysburg for the first time. He had been striking these themes for some years, at least since the “Peoria speech” of 1854 (Basler 1953). Often he had fully-developed arguments that anticipated or replied to critics, even if he did not reprise them at ­Gettysburg. In the ­Lincoln-Douglas debates he argued why the Union was older than the Constitution and perhaps older than the states (Zarefsky 1990). In the First Inaugural Address he had developed the case against secession and explained why the essence of the Civil War was a struggle for popular rule (Zarefsky 2012). What an epideictic address might do is to evoke the more fully developed argument through allusion to it and restatement of its conclusion. Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1958/1969) are right in observing that epideictic has an argumentative character, but it typically achieves that result by indirection rather than explicitly. Analysis of a masterpiece such as the Gettysburg Address helps us to see how. If argumentative structure and rhetorical functions are discernible in such an iconic text as this, then a fortiori they should be even easier to discern implicitly in more quotidian examples of epideictic discourse.

References Basler, R.P. (Ed.). (1953). Collected works of Abraham Lincoln. 8 vols. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press. Boritt, G. (2006). The Gettysburg gospel. New York: Simon and Schuster. Eemeren, F.H. van. (2010). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.2

 David Zarefsky Eemeren, F.H. van, Grootendorst, R., & Snoeck Henkemans, A.F. (2002). Argumentation: Analysis, evaluation, presentation. Mahwah, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum. Johnson, M.P. (2013). Writing the Gettysburg address. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas. Perelman, Ch., & Olbrechts-Tyteca, L. (1958/1969). The new rhetoric: A treatise on argumentation (J. Wilkinson & P. Weaver, trans.). Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. (Originally published in French in 1958.) Scott, R.L. (1973). The conservative voice in radical rhetoric: A common response to division. Communication Monographs, 40, 123–135. Wills, G. (1992). Lincoln at Gettysburg: The words that remade America. New York: Simon and Schuster. Zarefsky, D. (1990). Lincoln, Douglas, and slavery: In the crucible of public debate. Chicago: ­University of Chicago Press. Zarefsky, D. (2012). Philosophy and rhetoric in Lincoln’s First Inaugural Address. Philosophy & Rhetoric, 45, 165–188. DOI: 10.5325/philrhet.45.2.0165

part iii

Argumentation in a legal context

The voices of justice. Argumentative polyphony and strategic manoeuvring in judgement motivations An example from the Italian Constitutional Court Marina Bletsas

University of Bonn, Germany Combining the ScaPoLine (Nølke, Fløttum, & Norén, 2004; Nølke, 2009, 2011, 2013) with the (extended) pragma-dialectical approach (van Eemeren & Grootendorst 1984, 2004; van Eemeren 2010), I suggest a reconstruction of judgement motivations as critical discussions between a plurality of voices conveyed even in one and the same sentence. In particular, I present some illustrative examples of polyphonic strategic manoeuvring from a landmark judgment of the Italian Constitutional Court: n. 440/1995. Keywords:  critical discussion; Italian Constitutional Court; legal discourse; polyphony; pragma-dialectics; ScaPoLine; strategic manoeuvring

1.  Introduction When reading legal texts such as judgement motivations, one encounters a plurality of voices carrying different views on the issue at stake. This happens – quite unsurprisingly – at a textual level, but also at the micro-level of the utterance. The matter at hand is that of polyphony, a concept first introduced by Bakhtin (see 1981, 1984/1929) with regard to reported speech and literature. Among other things,1 Bakhtin uses the term to indicate that there may be two voices within a single utterance. In the case of a judgement, it is thus not simply a matter of a plurality of speaker voices, i.e. of real life entities such as the parties or the judge(s). There is also a plurality of enunciative voices, abstract entities which can be c­ arried by one

.  For a survey of the significant meaning variations of the term in Bakhtin’s work, see Roulet (2011).

doi 10.1075/aic.9.05ble © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Marina Bletsas

and the same speaker.2 Judicial texts, in particular judgements, are goldmines for the study of polyphony, since the latter is closely connected to the inherent argumentative nature of such texts (cf. e.g. Mazzi, 2007, p. 380). Since argumentation always stems from a quaestio at least in principle capable of arising a difference of opinion, a text laying out (at least) a quaestio, a decisional standpoint and its motivations, is highly likely to host various voices. In fact, Mazzi (2007, p. 395) too notes: The concept of polyphony […] is inherent in the genre of judgments, because the argumentative discourse that constitutes their backbone may indeed be interpreted in terms of a dialogue, where different voices are interwoven.

However, until now, little attention has been paid to this phenomenon in judicial texts. Besides Mazzi (2007), who draws on the polyphony concept as elaborated by Ducrot (1984a, 1984b), Rubinson (1996) can also be recalled. He however represents another, normative polyphony concept, prescriptively proposed for court practice, and does not presuppose polyphony as an inherent fact of the judgement, but rather as a desirable cognitive technique. The present paper is meant as a contribution to filling this research gap by taking into account ScaPoLine3 (see among others Nølke, Fløttum & Norén, 2004; Nølke, 2006; Nølke, 2013), a polyphony theory which has, to my knowledge, not yet been applied to the study of judicial texts, and by combining it with the pragma-dialectical approach to argumentation (see among others van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1984, 1992, 2004, van Eemeren, 2010). The latter offers a comprehensive argumentation framework in which the plurality of voices can be embedded. With the ScaPoLine initiator, Nølke (2009, p. 12), I thus focus here on “polyphonie en langue, conçue comme le produit des éléments de la langue susceptibles de favoriser une certaine lecture polyphonique de la parole” [polyphony in the langue, known as the product of the langue elements capable of favouring a certain polyphonic reading of the parole].4 I maintain that polyphony has a rhetoric-­argumentative significance and that it can lead to reconstruct appar-

.  The former case has also been called dialogal discourse, the latter dialogical. For the dialogal discourse, the term polylogue has been used, too (see Kerbrat-Orecchioni, 2004). The most common term for dialogical discourse is that of polyphony, although polylogue has also been used in this sense (see Kristeva, 1977). .  Théorie SCAndinave de la POlyphonie LINguistique. .  The translation proposed by Wade Baskin for the terms langue and parole of Ferdinand de Saussure’s Cours de linguistique génerale (2011/1916) are respectively language and speaking. I prefer to maintain the original French terms here, since they are quite established by now in the linguistic field.



The voices of justice 

ently monological texts as fully fledged critical discussions permeated by the striving for rhetoric efficiency known in Pragma-dialectics as strategic manoeuvring (see van Eemeren, 2010). I shall therefore try to combine the aforementioned linguistic theory of polyphony with extended pragma-dialectics into an integrated model, while paying particular attention to the perspective of rhetoric efficiency, since, as van Eemeren (2010, p. 153) pointedly writes, it is the “ample room left for strategic maneuvering [that] is, in fact, the basis of the legal profession.” The matters addressed in the present contribution are of methodological order and can be broken down into two questions: –– Can an integration of the pragma-dialectical and the polyphonic approach provide useful insights into argumentation analysis? –– Does polyphony account for strategic manoeuvring in judgement motivations? The fundamental suggestion put forward is therefore the integration of two theoretical pillars: (extended) pragma-dialectics on the one hand, and ScaPoLine on the other hand.

2.  Theoretical framework 2.1  The first pillar: Extended pragma-dialectics Pragma-dialectics is not new to judicial decisions. More than one scholar has applied the theory to legal discourse: Feteris (see e.g. 1999, 2000, 2002, 2008a, 2008b, 2011), Kloosterhuis (2005, 2006), Feteris and Kloosterhuis (2009), Plug (1994, 2000, 2005) and Jansen (2003, 2005) have turned to this theory with the aim of analysing and evaluating legal argumentation. The goal of this paper is however to enrich the purely pragma-dialectical, universal perspective with a strictly linguistic one in order to enable a precise identification of the various standpoints and arguments pertaining to protagonists and antagonists – even when these are not extralinguistic communication participants. I shall here dwell upon two aspects of pragma-dialectics: the ideal abstract model of a critical discussion, in which argumentation and standpoint are staged, and the rhetorical component of argumentation known as strategic manoeuvering. The former is articulated in four stages: a confrontation stage, where a protagonist puts forward a standpoint while an antagonist casts doubt upon it, thus ­establishing a difference of opinion; an opening stage, where the common ground of the p ­ arties is established; the argumentation stage, where arguments are advanced in support of a standpoint; the concluding stage, where

 Marina Bletsas

the ­standpoint is either accepted or refuted (cf. van Eemeren & G ­ rootendorst, 2004, pp. 57–68). The four stages take place when a discussion about a difference of opinion begins; it is however i­mportant to keep in mind that Pragmadialectics acknowledges the complexity of real life interactions by making clear that the logical order pictured above seldom coincides with the chronological one in a discussion, and that some stages of a critical discussion often take place implicitly. This is for example typical of the opening stage, which can mostly be elicited by the fact that protagonists holding a standpoint directly proceed to argue for it – and were they not to, it would not strike anyone as surprising if they were challenged to do so. On its way towards a resolution of a difference of opinion, the critical discussion thus described is invariably carried by both a dialectical and a rhetorical component at every single stage. While the former component aims at reasonableness, the latter strives for effectiveness. Extended Pragma-dialectics tackles the matter by christening this component strategic manoeuvring (see van Eemeren, 2010) and pointing out its three simultaneously present aspects: presentational choices, topical potential and audience demand. In this paper, I will limit myself to the aspect of presentational devices, which “pertains to the communicative means that are used in presenting the argumentative moves constituting a piece of strategic maneuvering” (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 118). 2.2  The second pillar: ScaPoLine The second theoretical pillar is represented by a linguistic theory of polyphony developed by a French-speaking group of Scandinavian Romanists around Nølke and indebted to Anscombre and Ducrot’s linguistic approach (see Anscombre & Ducrot, 1983; Ducrot, 1984a; 1984b), which it aims at systematising and formalising. For Ducrot (1984a, p. 183), “c’est l’object propre d’une conception polyphonique du sens que de montrer comment l’énoncé signale, dans son enunciation, la superposition de plusieurs voix” [the proper object of a polyphonic connection of meaning is to show how an utterance signals, in its enunciation, the superposition of several voices].5 ScaPoLine too deals with the plurality of points of view – abbreviated with POV in English (see Nølke, 2006) – communicated through an utterance. It aims at “préciser les contraintes proprement linguistiques qui r­ égissent l’interprétation polyphonique” [­ specifying the

.  Translation by Dendale (2007, p. 111).



The voices of justice 

strictly linguistic constraints governing the polyphonic interpretation] (Nølke, 2009, p. 15).6 This theory is an utterance oriented, semantic, discursive, instructional and structuralistic one. It distinguishes first of all between two analysis levels: the polyphonic structure, which deals with linguistic coding, and the polyphonic configuration, which has to do with utterance meaning. To better understand this distinction, we can refer to a canonic polyphony example given in the ScaPoLine papers:

(1) This wall is not white.

The utterance conveys two different points of view and is therefore polyphonic: POV1: “This wall is white” POV2: “POV1 is unjustified”

The implication of someone else than the utterer holding POV1 becomes evident in the empirical domain of the configuration, in “the interpretation that the addressee makes of the text with which he is confronted” (Nølke, 2011, p. 64). The task of the linguist is to trace the linguistic elements that dictate this interpretation at the structure level. In order to do this, a completion test is suggested by adding to (1): (cf. Nølke 2011, p. 63): (2) a. — I know it is so. b. (…), which my neighbour is unhappy about. (3) a. — Why should it be like that? b. (…), which my neighbour believes to be the case.

The anaphoric elements so and which in (2) relate to the content of the utterance (1), while that and which in (3) relate to the implications of (1). Trying the same test on the positive version of (1),

(4) This wall is white,

it becomes clear that both (2) and (3) relate to the utterance. The only difference between (1) and (4) being the negation, it can be concluded that negation is a marker of polyphony at the structure level, i.e. that it “provides the instruction for

.  A certain language parochialism has likely prevented the Scandinavian Theory – not unlike its Ducrotian precedents – from expanding far beyond the French-speaking field of Romance studies. Such borders have only just begun to be removed by sporadic non-French publications: see Nølke, (2006, 2011); Dendale, (2006, 2007); Roulet (2011); Gévaudan (2008). If the theoretical framework of ScaPoLine deserves a broader consideration, so does its ­application to different natural languages.

 Marina Bletsas

the polyphonic reading” (Nølke, 2011, p. 63). As can be seen, from a logical perspective, the polyphonic structure precedes the configuration, since it is composed of instructions for the configuration and thus yields semantic constraints on the interpretation. To gain insight into the structure however, the starting point cannot but be the configuration (cf. Nølke, 2006, p. 145). The polyphonic configuration is to be attributed to an entity named locutor as constructor (LOC) for its property of presenting the elements composing the polyphonic configuration. These are: LOC as a constructor itself as well as any copy of the locutor as a discourse entity, namely the locutor “as a virtual source of a point of view” (Nølke, 2006, p. 148), also called utterance locutor (cf. Nølke, 2009, p. 23); the points of view (POVs); the discourse entities (DE) and the utterance links7 (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 26). The POVs (cf. Nølke, 2013, pp. 32–33) are semantic units constituted by a source8 X, instantiated by a discourse entity, and a judgment upon a content p, which might here tentatively be qualified as of facts or actions. The POV form is expressed as [X] (JUDGE (p)) where the judgement, lacking specific indicators to the contrary, is by default one of truth.9 The POVs can be either simple or complex, in which case they will be either relational – as in a typical argumentative link, where a POVARG is put forward in support of a POVSTP – or hierarchical, when the judgement is made upon one or more different POVs. The DEs (cf. Nølke, 2006, pp. 147, 149–150; 2013, pp. 26–32) are semantic entities that can be held responsible for the points of view. They are constructed images of the discourse referents and relate to the LOC as string puppets to their master, to use Nølke’s efficient metaphor (cf. 2009, p. 23). In ScaPoLine special attention is paid to the speaker’s role, whose images can be distinguished as the following basic DEs:

.  In Nølke (2006), unlike in Nølke (2011), perhaps more confusingly for the Englishspeaking reader, enunciative links. .  The sources are variables corresponding to the utterers (énonciateurs) of Anscombre and Ducrot (1983): cf. among others Nølke (2011, p. 64). .  It has however rightly been noted that ScaPoLine has yet to be completed with the elaboration of “a clear and motivated list of modi necessary to describe the data” (Dendale, 2007, p. 119). Besides the epistemic mode, the deontic also is to be considered in the legal domain.



The voices of justice 

–– the textual locutor (L), i.e. “the source of a POV that the speaker had prior to [the] utterance act, and which” is still held (Nølke, 2006, p. 155); L can be constructed by LOC as a L at another point in time (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 27); –– the utterance locutor (l0), i.e. the source of a POV which is held hic et nunc in the utterance;10 l0 exists only in the present utterance (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 27); –– the locutor of the utterance (lt), i.e. the source of a POV held at the moment of the utterance construction and who is, in fact, an l0 at a different point in time (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 28). In addition, it is useful to present the represented locutor (RL), a discourse entity introduced to explain reported speech (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 52), which is a type of what is known as external polyphony because of the presence of DE different from the locutor’s images (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 36).11 Besides the speaker’s POVs, ScaPoLine also takes into consideration POVs of the addressee (text addressee [A] and utterance addressee [at]), and of thirds. The latter can be individuals – either textual thirds [T] or utterance thirds [τt] – as well as collective entities such as the LAW or an impersonal voice named after the French indefinite pronoun ON12 (cf. Nølke, 2013, pp. 30–32). The utterance links (cf. Nølke, 2013, pp. 33–35) finally connect the discourse entities to the points of view. They can be of responsibility, as in an unquestioned statement, or of non-responsibility, in which case they will be either of refutation, as in a negation, or of non-refutation, as in indirect speech. As far as the polyphonic structure is concerned, I shall confine myself to reporting two principles that apply to it (cf. Nølke, 2006, p. 152): on the one hand, the

.  “The utterance locutor is always responsible for the highest POV in a hierarchical point of view structure. This is why sentence adverbials, for instance are the utterance locutor’s responsibility.[…] An analogous difference between the t-locutor and the utterance locutor is that while the POVs of the latter may be shown (in Wittgenstein’s sense) […], those of the former can only be said (or narrated)” (Nølke 2006, p. 155). Following Wittgenstein’s distinction (1969, §§ 4.022 & fol.), this amounts to saying that the POVs of the lt can always be considered in terms of truth, but not the POVs that are merely shown: as such, they cannot be subject to discussion. .  As opposed to external polyphony, internal polyphony takes place when an utterance conveys both the POV of L and the POV of locutor0. .  ON is rendered in Nølke (2006, p. 156) as VOX PUBLICA, in Nølke (2011, p. 66) as ONE. In my opinion, it is better left untranslated, as in Dendale (2006, p. 13), due to the useful semantic ambiguity of the French pronoun, which can be translated in English into both one and they.

 Marina Bletsas

polyphonic structure necessarily contains at least one simple POV; on the other hand, the link between locutor and at least one POV is of responsibility. 2.3  Argumentative acts between Pragma-dialectics and ScaPoLine This paper shares the pragma-dialectical understanding of argumentation as a communicative and interactional (complex) speech act linked to the (complex) speech act of a standpoint it aims to defend (cf. van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004; 1984). The linking between the two speech acts is of the utmost relevance, since it is only in relation to one another that argumentation and standpoint can be recognised as such (cf. van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004, p. 3). In the following example

(5) Petra is tired, so she went to sleep.

the sole Petra is tired or she went to sleep do not per se make an argumentative speech act or a standpoint. It is only the reciprocal link that makes them such and is here expressed by so. In this sense, argumentative acts can be understood as relational POVs linking, on the one hand, a POV representing a standpoint and, on the other hand, a POV representing an argument. The former shall be named POVSTP, the latter POVARG.13 The link between POVSTP and POVARG is part of LOC’s construction and is therefore to be traced back to LOC even if it can apparently be attributed to another locutor’s image: in fact, even this image is LOC’s creation. In other words, since LOC decides what elements of the polyphonic configuration to stage and in what way, it is LOC who is held responsible for the utterance and any argumentative acts occurring through it (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 34). Since LOC is responsible for the polyphonic configuration, whose realisation entails many a presentational choice, LOC can be held responsible for strategic manoeuvering occurring by polyphony. 3.  Illustrative analysis I now suggest an intertwinement of Pragma-dialectics and ScaPoLine by using some examples from a judgement of the Italian Constitutional Court, specifically number 440/1995, regarding the constitutional legitimacy of art. 724, clause 1, it.

.  This is not to say that a simple standpoint cannot be endowed with argumentativity in a Ducrotian sense – but to deepen this matter here would go beyond the scope of this ­contribution.



The voices of justice 

Poenal Code, on blasphemy (it. bestemmia).14 This judgement was a milestone in the development of religious discourse in Italy, as it meant a shift in the jurisprudence and argumentation of the Court, resulting in the abolishment of the special treatment reserved for Catholicism in the punishment of blasphemy. For its intervention in the law, the aforesaid judgement is regarded in the legal community as a manipulative one (cf. Casuscelli, 2005, p. 4). The constitutionality issue was raised by the court of Milan. In the motivation of judgement 440/1995, the final question the Constitutional Court is confronted with is: Should the norm of article 724, clause 1 it. Poenal Code (religious blasphemy) be declared unconstitutional? The outcome will of course depend on the answer to the question: Is the norm constitutionally legitimate? The answer to the latter in turn will be decided by the court’s position on two possible arguments for constitutional illegitimacy – which can be formulated as follows: Is the norm indeterminate according to art. 25 of the Italian Constitution?15 and Is the norm discriminatory according to art. 3 and art. 8 of the Italian Constitution?16 In the argumentation supporting the answer to the latter, the deciding court raises a further matter, namely: What is the object of legal protection of the norm? Concentrating on the judgement part concerning constitutional indetermination, i.e. chronologically the first matter the court seeks to solve, I will now introduce some examples to show how, through the polyphonic configuration, it is possible to reconstruct the chosen argumentative extracts as critical discussions, while at the same time going beyond the universal perspective of ­Pragma-dialectics by identifying polyphonic means that are specific to single natural languages – in .  The norm text of art. 724, clause 1, it. Poenal Code reads: “Chiunque pubblicamente ­bestemmia, con invettive o parole oltraggiose, contro la divinità o i simboli o le persone venerati nella religione dello Stato, è punito con la sanzione amministrativa pecuniaria da euro 51 a euro 309.” [The person who publicly utters blasphemy against the Divinity or Symbols or Persons revered in the state religion shall be punished by a financial administrative sanction of 51 and up to 309 €.] The analysed judgement resulted in the abolition of the reference to the state religion. .  Art. 25 co. 2 Costituzione della Repubblica italiana: “Nessuno può essere punito se non in forza di una legge che sia entrata in vigore prima del fatto commesso.” [No punishment may be inflicted except by virtue of a law in force at the time the offence was committed.] .  Art. 3 co. 1 Costituzione: “Tutti i cittadini hanno pari dignità sociale e sono eguali davanti alla legge, senza distinzione di sesso, di razza, di lingua, di religione, di opinioni politiche, di condizioni sociali e personali.” [All citizens have equal social dignity and are equal before the law, without distinction of sex, race, language, religion, political opinion, personal and social conditions.] Art. 8 co. 1 Costituzione: “Tutte le confessioni religiose sono egualmente libere davanti alla legge.” [All religious denominations are equally free before the law.]

 Marina Bletsas

this case, Italian. In fact, the polyphonic theory suggested here can help to identify antagonistic voices that do not correspond to communication participants in the sense of extralinguistic beings, but are abstract voices coded in the same utterance. Also, thanks to the polyphony tools, it is possible to identify stages of an ideal critical discussion or antagonistic standpoints coexisting in the same utterance. Both these phenomena can be explained in terms of presentational choices that account for strategic manoeuvring: Speaking of “presentational choices” presupposes that when presenting argumentative moves arguers have some kind of communicative (or, more specifically, linguistic) repertoire available to choose from. In a very general sense this is indeed the case, because in principle one can always express the things one chooses to communicate in various ways, linguistically or otherwise. […] When speaking of making presentational choices in strategic maneuvering I am referring to utilising the pragmatic room for presentational variation to steer the discourse toward the achievement of certain communicative and interactional effects. (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 119, emphasis added)

With a view to the analysis, I name the various POVs relevant for the reconstruction of the critical discussion after its four stages. Therefore, the standpoints from which the discussion starts in the confrontation stage will be POVCONF(i) and POVCONF(ii). The various speech acts that can take place in the opening stage are abstractly represented as POVOP. The arguments in support of POVCONF(i) and POVCONF(ii) shall be POVARG(i) and POVARG(ii). If an argument becomes, in turn, a standpoint, it shall be marked as such as well (POVARG/STP). Different numeration systems are given to different argumentation structures (see van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1992, pp. 86–92): 1, 2, 3… for subordinate argumentation, i.e. when argumentation is made of various arguments supporting each other and finally the standpoint; i, ii, iii… for multiple and coordinate argumentation, i.e. respectively when multiple arguments support the standpoint independently from each other and when they function jointly. The latter joint function is signaled by an ampersand. The conclusive speech acts will be named POVCONC. The integrated model proposed can be outlined as in Table 1: Table 1.  POVs in a critical discussion Protagonist1 Confrontation POVconf(i) Stage Opening Stage Argumentation POVarg(i)(1,2... or i,ii...) Stage Concluding Stage

Antagonist/Protagonist2 POVconf(ii) POVop POVarg(ii)(1,2... or i,ii...) POVconc



The voices of justice 

The judgement upon the propositional content of a POV shall be given in the analytical tables of the following paragraphs through the explicitly verbalised markers found in the text. Otherwise, a judgement of truth is to be assumed, according to the ScaPoLine principles. 3.1  C  onfrontation Stage coded through REPORTED-DUBITATIVE SPEECH In the first example, the confrontation stage of a critical discussion is rendered through the polyphonic use of reported-dubitative speech. On a macro-level, example (6) stems from the confrontation stage in which the court of Milan puts forward a standpoint as to the indetermination of the contested measure.17 This standpoint of the court of Milan is outlined here as having been said (cf. example (6): si sostiene che, en. it is maintained that) by a RL: Inside this passage of reported speech, the beginning of a critical discussion is staged in the italicised utterance in example (6) around the question if the alleged indetermination stems from specific arguments:

(6) Si sostiene […] che, poiché la norma impugnata sanziona […] chi pubblicamente “bestemmia […] contro la Divinità o i Simboli o le Persone venerati nella religione dello Stato”, e poiché il Protocollo addizionale dell’Accordo di modifica del Concordato lateranense […] prevede testualmente il venir meno della religione cattolica come sola religione dello Stato italiano, ne conseguirebbe […] la indeterminatezza della fattispecie penale. [It is maintained that, since the contested norm sanctions the person who “utters blasphemy against the divinity or the Symbols or Persons revered in the State religion”, and since the Supplementary Protocol to the M ­ odifications Agreement 
of the Lateran Concordat provides verbatim that the catholic re-

.  It is to note that, although the standpoint the norm is indeterminate will ultimately be refuted by the Constitutional Court, the argumentation in its support is given in great detail. Since LOC holds the power to present the referents by constructing the images at will, there must be a reason why LOC indulges in this long construction of a complex critical discussion even though in the end it does not revolve around the question that will be decisive in the constitutionality matter (i.e. its discriminatory nature). One of the reasons can be found in a long discursive tradition of judicial texts according to which it is first the arguments and standpoints that will not be accepted that are put forward, only eventually followed by the voice that “sets things right”. The staging of critical discussions between POVs through reported speech (which means a partial, selective construction of other voices than the speaker’s) entails also the possibility to attribute wrong argumentation to other sources than the image of LOC’s self. On the other hand, the detailed argumentation attributed to different sources in defence of the standpoint the norm is indeterminate, which is theoretically accepted as argument for the standpoint the norm is unconstitutional, means that the reader has the time to get used to the final standpoint of the unconstitutionality of the norm.

 Marina Bletsas

ligion as sole religion of the Italian State be abolished, it would follow that the legal paradigm is indeterminate.]18

RL puts forward a complex standpoint, constituted by an argumentative POV and marked as such both by the fact that it is subsequently argued for and by sostenere (en. to maintain) the introductory verbum putandi, while L questions it. This confrontation stage is carried – besides by the assertive verb sostenere, which concerns POVCONF(i) – by the condizionale mood in its present tense (conseguirebbe, en. it would follow), which carries at least two POVs: POV1: “From x follows y” POV2: “POV1 is questionable”

In other words, the condizionale has a twofold function: on the one hand, it reports a protagonist voice maintaining that certain arguments follow a certain standpoint (POVCONF(i)). As such, it is known as condizionale riportivo (cf. Kronning, 2013). On the other hand, it casts doubt upon (and challenges) POVCONF(i) through an ideal antagonist, functioning, in Patota’s terms (2007, p. 116), as condizionale dubitativo. The condizionale is a typical means for LOC to stage the confrontation stage of a critical discussion in a monological text, because it implies neither a refutation nor a responsibility link, but only a non-refutation utterance link between the locutor and the POV attributed to a third, which is reported. Thus, the reader expects an argumentation either for or against a standpoint, and there is then room either for the acceptance or the refutation of said standpoint. The identified POVs can be distributed following the critical discussion scheme of Pragma-dialectics as in Table 2, in which the role of the condizionale of the verb conseguire (en. to follow) is reported as well: Table 2.  Analysis of example (6) Protagonist1

Conf. Stage

POVconf(i) (it is maintained/it would follow (POVstp1 (the legal paradigm is indeterminate) POVarg(i)(i) (blasphemy againts the State religion is punished) & POVarg(i)(ii) (the State religion was abolished)))

Antagonist/Protagonist2

POVconf(ii) (it would follow (POVconf(i)))

.  In this operative translation, I have kept as close as possible to the Italian original – even at the cost of the English grammaticality, if it helped to render the polyphonic means used in Italian.



The voices of justice 

As can be clearly seen in Table 2, we have a complex polyphonic structure in which three POVs (POVSTP1, POVARG(i)(i) and (POVARG(i)(ii)) that form a coordinate compound argumentation are related and, in turn, are subject to the judgement of a different source: L responds to the POV of RL, thus setting off to become the antagonist in the subsequent argumentation stage: it is noteworthy that L does not question the arguments in defence of the first standpoint POVSTP1 (the legal paradigm is indeterminate), which arguments the protagonist RL has already given in POVARG1(i) (blasphemy against the State religion is punished) & POVARG1(ii) (the State religion was abolished). It is rather the soundness of the relation between arguments and standpoint, which constitutes a new, hierarchical, standpoint (POVCONF(i)), that is being challenged in POVCONF(ii). So in one sentence a potential critical discussion is begun, and then interrupted by another one. The difference of opinion is thus shifted from the macroquestion: Is the norm indeterminate? to a sub-question: Does the indetermination of the norm follow from the given arguments (which per se constitute common starting points between protagonist and antagonist)? This can be explained in terms of strategic manoeuvering: from a rhetorical point of view, it is in fact the very aim of manoeuvering in the confrontation stage “to establish the definition of the difference of opinion that is optimal for the party concerned” (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 45). 3.2  C  onfrontation & Concluding Stage through NEGATIVE + DUBITATIVE SPEECH Example (7) gives an instance of a compound confrontation and concluding stage in the same utterance. The critical discussion revolves here around the matter expressed in the final standpoint, placed at the very beginning of the utterance and once more constituted in turn by a standpoint and arguments subordinately linked to it. For concision, we shall focus only on the marked part of the extract and operate under the assumption that the source of the POVCONF(i) and of POVCONC is L. (7)  Né la censura potrebbe superarsi ritenendo che la norma denunciata continui a riguardare la religione cattolica come confessione religiosa più diffusa del Paese – mutuando l’espressione dalla sentenza n. 14 del 1973 della Corte costituzionale – poiché non verrebbe ora in discussione la ratio della norma incriminatrice, bensì la sua (sopravvenuta) incompatibilità con il principio di tassatività. [Neither could the censure be overcome considering the contested norm as still regarding the catholic religion as the most widespread religion of the country – borrowing the expression from the judgement n. 14 of 1973 by the Constitutional Court – for it would not be the ratio of the incriminating norm that is in question, but rather its incompatibility with the taxativity principle.]

 Marina Bletsas

Again, we have potrebbe (en. could), the condizionale presente that opens the res dubia carrying two POVs (POVCONF(i) and POVCONF(ii)) and introduces to the confrontation stage as seen in Section 3.1. RL questions POVCONF(i) in POVCONF(ii) through the condizionale dubitativo. The argumentation stage follows, signalled by poiché (en. for).19 This leads to the outcome of the critical discussion, reached in the concluding stage: the refutation of POVCONF(i), which is however already anticipated at the very beginning of the sequence: condensed in the negative particle né (en. neither). If we assume for a moment that the condizionale only carries one POV, we can present the plurality of POVs carried by the negation in a simplified manner: POV1: “X could be” POV2: “POV1 is unjustified”

The mentioned stages of the critical discussion can be reconstructed as in Table 3: Table 3. Analysis of example (7) Protagonist1

Antagonist/Protagonist2

POVconf(i) (could be (POVstp1 (the censure can be overcome) Conf. stage

POVarg(i), 1/stp2 (the norm still regards Catholicism)

POVconf(ii) (could be (POVconf(i)))

POVarg(i), 2 (Catholicism is the most widespread religion))) [...] Conc. stage

[...] POVconc (neither (POVconf(i)))

It is noteworthy that negation implies a refutation, a non-responsibility link between POVCONF(i) and the discourse entity linked to it, but that the entire ­passage of example (2) is actually reported speech: through reported speech a non-­refutation link is built between LOC’s image (which can be traced back to the extralinguistic institution of the Constitutional Court) and the whole argumentation. This supports the hypothesis that the whole critical discussions are .  It is noteworthy that the internal argumentation of POVCONF(i), namely POVARG(i),1/STP2 and POVARG(i),2, are implicitly accepted by the parties as arguments for POVSTP1. Insofar this acceptance is part of the negotiation of the common starting points in the opening stage.



The voices of justice 

strategically staged in the long motivation of the judgment to slowly manoeuver the audience towards acquaintance with and acceptance of the final standpoint. The negation neither is strategically placed at the beginning of the sequence and right before POVSTP1, thus orienting the audience and anticipating the outcome of the macro-discussion – in the end the censure cannot, indeed, be overcome, as the Constitutional Court will decide: the norm is (if only partly) unconstitutional. The presentational choice made, as opposed to a logically more linear one where the confrontation stage would precede the concluding one, corresponds to the rhetorical aim pursued in the concluding stage of a critical discussion, which is “to establish the results of the critical procedure in the way that is optimal for the party concerned as to maintaining standpoints or doubts” (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 45). Of course, a concluding stage stricto sensu cannot take place in a monological text, but this is in fact also part of the strategic manoeuvering: the arguments are staged as if an actual discussion was taking place, where the interlocutor can explicitly accept or refute a standpoint in the end. 3.3  Argumentation Stage through QUOTED SPEECH In example (8) the argumentation stage is conveyed by a quotation. The voice quoted is that of the Constitutional Court at another point in time:

(8) A sostegno della censura, nell’ordinanza si riportano brani di precedenti pronunce di questa Corte che sono consistiti in espressi inviti al legislatore, non ancora accolti, per una revisione della disciplina in vista dell’attuazione del principio costituzionale della libertà di religione), dal momento che “la limitazione della previsione legislativa alle offese contro la religione cattolica non può continuare a giustificarsi con l’appartenenza ad essa della quasi totalità dei cittadini italiani”. [In support of the censure, the order reports passages of former rulings by this Court, which consisted in explicit requests addressed to the legislator to revision the discipline […], since “the limitation of the legal prevision to the offences against catholic religion cannot continue to be justified with the fact that virtually the entirety of the Italian citizens is religiously affiliated to it”.]

Quoted reported speech is used here for accepting and not for refuting a standpoint, as is attested to by the fact that it is syntactically integrated in the speech of the hierarchically superior locutor, without inquit, which implies sticking to the epistemically assertive indicative. Interestingly enough, the quoted utterance is presented here as an argument for the critical discussion attributed to the Court of Milan, whose standpoint will be refuted, as seen. But it is also a decisive argument for the final declaration of unconstitutionality, and it is strategically already reported at the beginning of the judgment, functioning as a material starting point.

 Marina Bletsas

Table 4 can serve as a reconstruction of the stage in the critical discussion: Table 4.  Analysis of example (8) Protagonist1 Conf. stage

Arg. stage

POVconf(i) (norm should be censured)

Antagonist/Protagonist2 (POVconf(ii) (not (POVconf(i)))

POV stp1/arg(i)1 (request (legislator revision discipline))

POVarg(ii)1 (justified (POVstp1/arg(ii)1 (legal prevision limited to the offences against catholicism)

POVarg(i)2 (cannot (POVarg(ii)1)

POVarg(ii)2 (the majority of italians are affiliated to catholicism)))

In POVCONF(i) it is maintained by a RL that the norm must be censured. POVCONF(i) is not explicitly challenged, but reveals itself as the final standpoint of the passage at the beginning of the argumentation stage, which involves arguments for an implicit POVCONF(ii) of another RL maintaining the contrary of POVCONF(i). In POVSTP1/ARG(i)1 the argument for POVCONF(i) is that the legislator should revision the discipline; at the same time, this is a standpoint supported by a subordinate argument: the complex POV STP1/ARG(i)2, according to which the argumentative POVARG(ii)1 justifying the limitation of the legal prevision to the offences against Catholicism (POVSTP1/ARG(ii)1) with the well-known (ON) affiliation to it of the majority of Italians (POVARG(ii)2) and altogether supporting the implicit POVCONF(ii) (the norm must not be censured) is not justified. Direct speech, which implies the construction of the locutor’s representation with all its locutor’s properties, as a mimed LOC (cf. Nølke, 2013, p. 56), is only used for two discourse entities in the analysed judgement: the third-person-DE LAW (which in this judicial text is to be taken as a stricto sensu reference; e.g. POVSTP1/ARG(ii)1) and the images of the locutor at a given moment in the past. These voices are thus integrated in the utterance supporting the point of view of the utterance locutor. It is a clear instance of reference to the auctoritas, the ethos, of endoxically acknowledged institutions whose prestige is commonly accepted by both the intratextual voices and the extratextual audience. It can also be noted that, intentionally or not, when this move is repeated over time, it may bring to the crystallisation of an ideological20 position of the Court. When a standpoint shift such as the one of this judgement takes place, such selective citing can help to support the final decision of unconstitutionality when the DE involved is an image of

.  For further reading on the interplay between the judge’s ethos and ideology, as well as the role of reported speech in this context, see Mazzi (2007).



The voices of justice 

the same extralinguistic subject instantiating the decision of judgement 440/1995: in fact, the new decision is staged as not so new after all, given that the voices of the same referent in the past back it up. In this sense, the choice to present these voices through direct speech, serves the rhetorical aim typical of strategic manoeuvering in the argumentation stage, which is “to establish argumentation that constitutes an optimal defense of the standpoints at issue” (van Eemeren, 2010, p. 45).

4.  Concluding In summary, I have tried to show how the integration of the polyphonic approach into the pragma-dialectical can enrich the latter with an analysis apparatus that allows going beyond the universal perspective inherent to the pragma-­dialectical approach. The polyphonic theory suggested here can in fact help to identify antagonistic voices coded in the same utterance as well as stages of an ideal critical discussion coexisting in the same utterance – and this while showing the specific linguistic means responsible for such phenomena, which may differ in various natural languages. Moreover, a systematic application of ScaPoLine to a discursive tradition can highlight the patterns of strategic manoeuvring polyphony used: in the judgement taken into consideration in the present paper, the use of polyphony could be identified as strategic manoeuvring by means of presentational devices, but other aspects of strategic manoeuvring are still to be taken into consideration through further research.

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 Marina Bletsas Dendale, P. (2006). Three linguistic theories of polyphony/dialogism: An external point of view and comparison. In N. Møller Andersen, H. Nølke, & R. Therkelsen (Eds.), Sproglig polyfoni (pp. 3–32). Roskilde: Institut for Sprog og Kultur, Roskilde Universitetscenter. Dendale, P. (2007). A critical survey and comparison of French and Scandinavian frameworks for the description of linguistic polyphony and dialogism. In R. Therkelsen, N. Møller ­Andersen, & H. Nølke (Eds.), Sproglig polyfoni. Tekster om Bachtin og ScaPoLine (pp. ­109–143). Århus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag. Ducrot, O. (1984a). Le dire et le dit. Propositions. Paris: Minuit. Ducrot, O. (1984b). Polyphonie. Lalies. Langue et littérature, 4, 3–30. Eemeren, F. H. van (2010). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse: Extending the pragmadialectical theory of argumentation. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.2 Eemeren, F. H. van, & Grootendorst, R. (1984). Speech acts in argumentative discussions. ­Dordrecht: Foris. DOI: 10.1515/9783110846089 Eemeren, F. H. van, & Grootendorst, R. (1992). Argumentation, communication, and fallacies: A pragmadialectical perspective. Hillsdale, N.J.: L. Erlbaum. Eemeren, F. H. van, & Grootendorst, R. (2004). A systematic theory of argumentation: The pragmadialectical approach. New York: Cambridge University Press. Feteris, E. (1999). Fundamentals of legal argumentation. A survey of theories on the justification of judicial decisions. Dordrecht: Kluwer. DOI: 10.1007/978-94-015-9219-2 Feteris, E. (2000). A dialogical theory of legal discussions: Pragma-dialectical analysis and evaluation of legal argumentation. Artificial Intelligence and Law, 8, 115–135. DOI: 10.1023/A:1008344203269 Feteris, E. (2002). A pragma-dialectical approach of the analysis and evaluation of pragmatic argumentation in a legal context. Argumentation, 16, 349–367. DOI: 10.1023/A:1019999606665 Feteris, E. (2008a). Strategic maneuvering with the intention of the legislator in the justification of judicial decisions. Argumentation, 22, 335–353. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-008-9100-4 Feteris, E. (2008b). The pragma-dialectical analysis and evaluation of teleological argumentation in a legal context. Argumentation, 22, 489–506. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-008-9083-1 Feteris, E. (2011). Strategic Maneuvring in the case of the ‘Unworthy Spouse’. In F. H. van Eemeren, B. Garssen, D. Godden, & G. Mitchell (Eds.), Proceedings of the 7th conference of the international society for the study of argumentation. Amsterdam: Rozenberg & Sic Sat. Feteris, E., & Kloosterhuis, H. (2009). The analysis and evaluation of legal argumentation: approaches from legal theory and argumentation theory. Studies in Logic, Grammar and Rhetoric, 16(29), 307–331. Gévaudan, P. (2008). Das kleine Einmaleins der linguistischen Polyphonie. PhiN. Philologie im Netz, 43, 1–10. Retrieved from http://web.fu-berlin.de/phin/phin43/p43t1.htm Jansen, H. (2003). E contrario reasoning and its legal consequences. In F. H. van Eemeren, J. A. Blair, Ch. A. Willard, & A. Snoeck Henkemans (Eds.), Proceedings of the 5th conference of the international society for the study of argumentation (pp. 559–559). Amsterdam: Sic Sat. Jansen, H. (2005). E contrario reasoning: The dilemma of the silent legislator. Argumentation, 19(4), 485–496. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-005-0526-7 Kerbrat-Orecchioni, C. (Ed.). (2004). Polylogue. Special Issue of the Journal of Pragmatics, 36(1). Kloosterhuis, H. (2005), Reconstructing complex analogy argumentation in judicial decisions: A pragmadialectical perspective. Argumentation, 19(4), 471–483. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-005-0515-x



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Kloosterhuis, H. (2006). Reconstructing interpretative argumentation in legal decisions. A pragmadialectical approach. Amsterdam: Sic Sat. Kronning, H. (2013). Il condizionale epistemico di attribuzione in italiano. La lingua italiana. Storia, strutture, testi, IX, 125–142. Kristeva, J. (1977). Polylogue. Paris: Seuil. Mazzi, D. (2007). The rhetoric of judges: The interplay of reported argumentation and the judge’s argumentative voice. In G. Garzone & S. Sarangi (Eds.), Discourse, ideology and specialized communication (pp. 379–399). Bern: Peter Lang. Nølke, H. (2006). The semantics of polyphony (and the pragmatics of realization). Acta Linguistica Hafniensia, 38, 137–160. DOI: 10.1080/03740463.2006.10412206 Nølke, H. (2009). La polyphonie de la ScaPoLine 2008. In A. Kratschmer & R.T. Birkelund (Eds.), Romanistik (Berlin, Germany): Bd. 3. La polyphonie. Outil heuristique linguistique, litteraire et culturel (pp. 11–40). Berlin: Frank & Timme. Nølke, H. (2011). Types of discourse entities in ScaPoLine. Linguistic Polyphony, 197, 58–77. Nølke, H. (2013). La polyphonie linguistique. Lalies. Langue et littérature, 33, 7–76. Nølke, H., Fløttum, K., & Norén, C. (2004). Scapoline: La théorie scandinave de la polyphonie linguistique. Paris: Kimé. Patota, G. (2007). Grammatica di riferimento dell’italiano contemporaneo. Novara: Garzanti linguistica. Plug, H.J. (1994). Reconstructing complex argumentation in judicial decisions. In F.H. van Eemeren & R. Grootendorst (Eds.), Studies in pragma-dialectics (pp. 264–253). ­Amsterdam: Sic Sat. Plug, H.J. (2000). Indicators of obiter dicta. A pragma-dialectical analysis of textual clues for the reconstruction of legal argumentation. Artificial Intelligence and Law, 8, 189–203. DOI: 10.1023/A:1008327715564 Plug, H.J. (2005). Reconstructing and evaluating genetic arguments in judicial decisions. Argumentation, 19(4), 447–458. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-005-0511-1 Roulet, E. (2011). Polyphony. In J. Zienkowski, J. Östman, & J. Verschueren (Eds.), Discursive pragmatics (pp. 208–222). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/hoph.8.12rou Rubinson, R. (1996). The polyphonic courtroom: Expanding the possibilities of judicial discourse. Dickinson Law Review, 101(3), 3–40. Saussure, F. de (2011). Course in general linguistics (W. Baskin, Trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. [Cours de linguistique générale, 1916]. Wittgenstein, L. (1969). Tractatus logico-philosophicus. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.

A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation The role of pragmatic argumentation in the justification of judicial decisions Eveline T. Feteris

University of Amsterdam In this contribution I discuss the role of pragmatic argumentation referring to consequences, goals and values in complex structures of legal justification. From a pragma-dialectical perspective I describe the stereotypical patterns of legal justification in hard cases and specify the different ways in which these stereotypical patterns can be implemented in different contexts in which judges give a decision that they justify by referring to consequences, goals and values. Keywords:  argumentation; argumentation from consequences; goal argumentation; legal argumentation; legal values; justification of legal decisions; pragmatic argumentation; pragma-dialectics

1.  Introduction In the justification of their decisions it is not uncommon for courts to use pragmatic argumentation in which they refer to the consequences of applying a legal rule in a specific case. In a ‘hard case’ in which the applicability of the rule is controversial, courts may argue that the consequences of applying the rule in the standard meaning would be ‘absurd’ in light of the purpose of the rule. An example of the use of pragmatic argumentation in such a hard case can be found in the decision from the US Supreme Court in the famous case of Holy Trinity Church v. US (143 U.S. 457) from February 29, 1892.1 In this case the Supreme Court had to decide whether or not the act prohibiting the importation of foreigners and aliens

.  The relevant parts of this decision, with indications of the paragraphs (I, II, III etc.) to which I refer in the text, can be found at the end of this contribution. For the complete decision see http://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/143/457/case.html.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.06fet © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Eveline T. Feteris

under contract to ‘perform labour’ in the United States (Chapter 164, 23 St. p. 332) was applicable to an English Christian minister who had come to the United States to enter into service of the Protestant Episcopal Holy Trinity Church in the city of New York as rector and pastor. According to the United States and the circuit judge the church was in error because the contract was forbidden by Chapter 164, 23, St. P. 332, according to which it is ‘unlawful for any person to assist or encourage in any way the importation or migration of any alien or foreigner into the United States to perform labour or service of any kind’. The opinion of the Supreme Court, delivered by justice Brewer, is that this immigration statute should, in the concrete case, not be applied to the act of the church, although the act is within the letter of this section (paragraph II). Brewer states that application in the broad meaning would have an absurd result, that is that the contracts for the employment for ministers, rectors and pastors would be included in the penal provisions of the act. He argues that the congress never had in mind any purpose of prohibiting ‘the coming into the U.S. of ministers of the gospel’. He maintains that the meaning of a statute can be found in the evil which it is designed to remedy, in this case the practice of large capitalists who contracted their agents abroad for the shipment of great numbers of ‘an ignorant and servile class of foreign labourers’ under contracts by which the employer agreed to prepay their passage and the labourers agreed to work after their arrival for a certain time at a low rate of wages (see paragraph IV). In its decision, apart from a reference to the system of the law, the intention of the legislator and the historical context of the legislation, the U.S. Supreme Court uses argumentation referring to the absurd consequences of applying the rule in the standard broad meaning: a consideration of the whole legislation, or of the circumstances surrounding its enactment, or of the absurd results which follow from giving such broad meaning to the words, make it unreasonable to believe that the legislator intended to include the particular act.

In its evaluation of the consequences the court refers to the purpose of the rule, that is to prevent the influx of cheap labour under contracts with poor conditions, as it can be reconstructed from the intention of the legislator in the parliamentary discussion that can be found in the reports of the committees and the congressional records. On the basis of this purpose, the court is of the opinion that the consequences would be absurd because they are not in line with what the legislator intended with the rule. In a legal context such argumentation referring to the consequences of applying a rule in a specific case, in argumentation theory also called pragmatic argumentation, plays an important role because the application of legal rules requires



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

the consideration of the consequences of the application in light of the purpose of the rule.2 Other terms used for argumentation in which courts refer to the consequences of application of a legal rule are ‘consequentialist argumentation’, and for the negative form that refers to unacceptable or absurd consequences often the term ‘argument from absurdity’ is used. Especially in hard cases in which applicability of the rule is controversial, it is not uncommon that courts refer to the consequences of application of the rule in a particular meaning or interpretation in light of the purpose of the rule as it was intended by the legislator. In the justification of the U.S. Supreme Court in its decision of the Holy Trinity Church case we see some characteristics of the use of pragmatic argumentation in legal justification that I want to discuss here. The first is that pragmatic argumentation is used in a particular kind of difference of opinion, in a ‘hard case’ in which there is a difference of opinion about the applicability of a legal rule. The standpoints in such a difference of opinion concern the applicability of the legal rule in different meanings or interpretations. The second is that in such a hard case pragmatic argumentation always forms part of a complex argumentation. The pragmatic argumentation is supported by other argumentation in which the (un)desirability of certain consequences is related to the purpose of the rule as intended by the legislator. Such a support is necessary because legal rules are a means to achieve certain purposes that are desirable from a legal, social, or economic perspective. In the law, for this reason, the desirability of the consequences of application of the rule in the specific case must be evaluated from the perspective of the purpose of the rule. In what follows, I go into the stereotypical patterns of complex argumentation in which pragmatic argumentation is used in the context of legal justification in hard cases. I shall discuss the implementation of pragmatic argumentation in stereotypical patterns of complex argumentation in legal justification. I explain the dialectical function of the different parts of the complex argumentation by characterizing them as argumentative moves that are put forward in reaction to certain forms of critique. Then, I give an exemplary analysis and explain the way in which the U.S. Supreme Court in the Holy Trinity case uses pragmatic argumentation by showing how the court instantiates general stereotypical patterns of argumentative moves in light of the institutional preconditions of the justification in the context of the specific case. I have chosen this case as an example because it is one of the few cases in which the U.S. Supreme Court makes an

.  For a discussion of argumentation from consequences and the argument from absurdity in law see for example Bustamante (2013), Carbonell (2013), MacCormick (1978, 2005). For a discussion of pragmatic argumentation in a legal context see Feteris (2002).

 Eveline T. Feteris

exception to the standard meaning of a statutory rule. For this reason it gives an extended justification in which it uses a combination of different forms of argument, among which pragmatic argumentation referring to the consequences of the application of the rule in light of the purpose as it was intended by the legislator. 2.  Th  e implementation of pragmatic argumentation in legal justification as part of a stereotypical pattern of argumentation In order to clarify the way in which pragmatic argumentation is implemented in the context of legal justification in a hard case I will proceed as follows. I explain how the argumentative moves in which the judge reacts to critique can be reconstructed as different levels in the argumentation and how the hierarchical ordering of these different levels results in a stereotypical pattern of argumentation. In doing so I make explicit the underlying choices that have to be made by a court in the decision process and that have to be accounted for in the justification of the decision so that the decision can be submitted to rational critique by the legal audience the decision is directed to. 2.1  Th  e argumentation on the first level of the main argumentation: Pragmatic argumentation A court that refers to the consequences of applying a rule in a particular interpretation uses argumentation that can be reconstructed as pragmatic argumentation, of which the legal implementation can be specified as follows in order to do justice to the the dialectical obligations of a judge.3 1 In the concrete case, rule R should be applied in interpretation R′ (with an exception for the specific case) 1.1a In the concrete case, application of rule R in interpretation R′ leads to result Y′ 1.1b Result Y′ is desirable from a legal point of view (1.1a-1.1b′ If in the concrete case application of rule R in interpretation R′ leads to result Y′ and if result Y′ is desirable, then rule R should be applied in interpretation R′)

.  For a discussion of the dialectical role of the judge in legal proceedings see Feteris (2012a).



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

Scheme 1: Implementation of the general scheme of pragmatic argumentation in the context of legal justification In a hard case in which there is a difference of opinion about the correct interpretation of the rule, in pragma-dialectical terms the argumentation is put forward in the context of a mixed dispute in which one party argues that a particular rule R should be applied in the concrete case in a specific interpretation R′ and the other party argues that this rule should be applied in another interpretation R″.4 This implies that the main argumentation, the argumentation on the first level, should reflect the choice between the rival points of view of the parties in dispute and should therefore reflect the balancing of the two positions on the basis of desirable and undesirable consequences (Y′ and Y″). In scheme 2 the different components of the complex argumentation on the level of the main argumentation are represented: 1 In the concrete case, rule R should be applied in interpretation R′ (with an exception for the specific case) and not in interpretation R″ (without an exception) 1.1a In the concrete case, application of rule R in interpretation R′ leads to result Y′ 1.1b Result Y′ is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1c In the concrete case, application of rule R in interpretation R″ leads to result Y″ 1.1d Result Y″ is undesirable from a legal point of view (1.1a-1.1d′ In the concrete case, if application of rule R in interpretation R′ leads to Y′, and Y′ is desirable from a legal point of view, and if application of rule R in interpretation R″ leads to Y″, and Y″ is undesirable from a legal point of view, then rule R should be applied in interpretation R′) Scheme 2 Pragmatic argumentation in the complex argumentation on level 1: the main argumentation in legal justification in a hard case In scheme 2 the arguments 1.1a and 1.1b form an implementation of the positive variant of pragmatic argumentation and the arguments 1.1c and 1.1d of the negative variant, the positive variant serves to defend the part of the standpoint that the rule must be applied in interpretation R′, and the negative variant serves to defend the part of the standpoint that the rule must not be applied in ­interpretation

.  For a description of the structure of various forms of disputes see van Eemeren and Grootendorst (1992, Chapter 2).

 Eveline T. Feteris

R″. The complementing argument in which the weighing or preference is made explicit can be reconstructed as 1.1a-1.1d′.5 2.2  Th  e argumentation on the second and third level of the subordinate argumentation A judge who puts forward pragmatic argumentation has a dialectical burden of proof for answering the critical question why result Y′/Y″ is (un)desirable from a legal point of view. Since legal rules can be considered as a means to attain certain goals that are desirable from a legal, social, or economic perspective, in the law the desirability or undesirability (absurdity) of a particular result is evaluated in light of the goal of the rule. The goal of the rule can be based on the explicit intention of the historical legislator as it can be found in legislative documents, etcetera (which is called a subjective teleological interpretation of the meaning of the rule). The court can refer also to what is called the ‘objective goal’ of the rule as envisaged by a ‘rational legislator’, as it can be reconstructed on the basis of the rationale of the rule in the context of the law as a whole (which is called an objective teleological interpretation of the meaning of the rule).6 To justify that the consequences are acceptable or unacceptable from a legal perspective, therefore in the justification a second level of subordinate argumentation should be distinguished that reflects the supporting argumentation justifying the (un)desirability of the consequences in relation to the purpose or goal of the rule that can be reconstructed as an answer to the critical question why the consequences are desirable from a legal point of view. In legal theory this argumentation that refers to the goal or purpose is often characterized as argumentation from coherence with certain legal purposes, goals, policies, principles and values.7 In pragma-dialectical terms, the argumentation can be characterized as a specific form of symptomatic argumentation that is provided in support of the normative argument 1.1b. It is stated that the result Y′ has a particular property that makes it desirable from a particular perspective that is relevant in that context. Here, in

.  For a discussion of a pragma-dialectical reconstruction of weighing and balancing in legal justification see Feteris (2008c). .  For a discussion of a pragma-dialectical reconstruction of the various forms of teleological argumentation see Feteris (2008a). For a discussion of the pragma-dialectical reconstruction of the argumentation in which courts refer to the intention of the (historical) legislator see Plug (2006). .  See for example Bertea (2005), MacCormick (1978, 2005) for a discussion of argumentation from coherence.



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

the justification of argument 1.1b, the symptomatic argument forms a justification of the positive evaluation of the result Y′ in argument 1.1b. In this case the fact that result Y′ is compatible with a particular purpose P (that is intended by the legislator) is considered as a property that makes that result Y′ can be considered as desirable from a legal point of view (and for the justification of 1.1d a similar argument justifying the undesirability of Y″). On the basis of this characterization the argumentation on level 2 of the subordinate argumentation can be reconstructed as follows: 1.1b Result Y′ is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1b.1a Result Y′ is compatible with purpose or goal P 1.1b.1b Purpose or goal P is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1d Result Y″ is undesirable from a legal point of view 1.1d.1a Result Y″ is incompatible with purpose or goal P 1.1d.1b Purpose P is desirable from a legal point of view Scheme 3:  Argumentation on level 2 of the subordinate argumentation The argument 1.1b.1b/1.1d.1b, in its turn, can be questioned. This requires a further justification that provides an answer to the critical question why purpose P is desirable from a legal point of view. Depending on whether a judge has referred to the purpose intended by the historical legislator (and thus opting for a subjective teleological interpretation of the rule) or the rational purpose objectively prescribed by the valid legal order (and thus opting for an objective teleological interpretation of the rule), in his supporting argumentation he will have to put forward different arguments. To justify the compatibility with the intention of the historical legislator, the judge will have to refer to documents, such as parliamentary discussions, in which this intention is mentioned.8 To justify the compatibility with the intention of a rational legislator, the judge will have to refer to goals, principles and values underlying the rule that constitute the ratio legis, the rationale or purpose of the rule.9 The argumentative pattern on the level of this argumentation can be reconstructed as follows:

.  For a discussion of a pragma-dialectical reconstruction of the various forms of teleological argumentation see Feteris (2008a). For a discussion of the pragma-dialectical reconstruction of argumentation in which courts refer to the intention of the legislator see Plug (2005). .  For a discussion of argumentation referring to the ratio legis see Canale and Tuzet (2009).

 Eveline T. Feteris

1.1b.1b Purpose or goal P is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1b.1b.1 Purpose or goal P is intended by the legislator and/or is a rational goal objectively prescribed by the valid legal order 1.1b.1b.1.1 Purpose or goal P can be found in the following legal documents (….) (subjective teleological interpretation) and/or Purpose or goal P is underlying the following rules, principles and values of the valid legal order (…) (objective teleological interpretation) Scheme 4:  Argumentation on level 3 of the subsubordinate argumentation In the preceding sections I have explained the stereotypical patterns of argumentation of which pragmatic argumentation forms part in legal justification. With this reconstruction I have clarified the dialectical obligations of a judge who justifies his decision in a hard case by referring to consequences of application of the rule in the specific case. These dialectical obligations define the dialectically relevant moves in the justification of legal decisions in a hard case: they prescribe the elements of the justification that are necessary from the perspective of the dialectical role of the judge to account for the different decisions and choices that have to be made in the discussion process.10 These dialectical obligations make explicit the potential forms of critique that the judge will have to react to in a satisfactory way in order for his justification to be acceptable from a legal perspective. To clarify these dialectical obligations I have translated his legal obligations in terms of the answers that he will have to give to the different critical questions that can be asked in relation to the different argumentation schemes that form part of his argumentation on the different levels of the argumentation. In this way it has become clear that the judge will have to react to several kinds of critical questions. 3.  E  xemplary analysis of the use of argumentation referring to consequences in light of the purpose of the rule in legal justification To show how courts may use pragmatic argumentation, and how they instantiate the general stereotypical patterns of complex argumentation, in this section I give an exemplary analysis of the way in which in which the U.S. Supreme Court in

.  For a discussion of legal justification as part of a critical discussion and the role of the judge see Feteris (1990, 1993, 2012a).



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

the Holy Trinity case uses pragmatic argumentation to justify its decision. I show how the court implements the general stereotypical patterns of argumentative moves I have described in the previous sections and I explain how this implementation is influenced by the institutional preconditions of legal justification. Since in U.S. law the ‘core’ of the decision is formed by that part that constitutes the ‘ratio decidendi’ of the decision that is important from the perspective of the decision as precedent, I concentrate on the first part (I–VI) of the decision that ends with ‘We find, therefore…’ (The text of the relevant parts is attached at the end of this contribution). As described in Section 1, in the Holy Trinity case the question was whether, as was decided by the District Court, the contract signed by the church was forbidden by Chapter 164, 23, St. P. 332 according to which it is ‘unlawful for any person to assist or encourage in any way the importation or migration of any alien or foreigner into the United States to perform labour or service of any kind’. The Supreme Court decides that the decision of the District Court has to be reversed because the contract was not forbidden. In its view the rule regarding the prohibition is not applicable in the specific case because the meaning of the term ‘labour’ should be taken in the restricted sense of ‘manual labour’, which implies, in the opinion of the Supreme Court, that it does not concern the activities of a Christian minister. The Supreme Court justifies this interpretation by referring to the purpose of the rule as intended by the legislator, the U.S. Congress, that is to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour: ‘We find therefore, that the title of the act, the evil which was intended to be remedied, the circumstances surrounding the appeal to Congress, the reports of the committee of each house, all concur in affirming that the intent of Congress was simply to stay the influx of this cheap unskilled labor’.

This case constitutes a ‘hard case’ because different interpretations of the rule are under discussion, and as the highest court the Supreme Court has to decide which of the interpretations is correct from a legal point of view. As has been explained in Section  2, such a hard case requires a complex argumentation in which the court must react to certain forms of criticism. In what follows, in 3.1, I address the justification of the appropriateness of the use of pragmatic argumentation that is presented in that part of the justification that begins with ‘It must be conceded that ….’ II). Then, in 3.2, I address the justification of the application of pragmatic argumentation that is presented in the following part of the justification that begins with ‘It will be seen that words …’ (III–VI), and explain how the Supreme Court instantiates the stereotypical pattern of argumentation in which it refers to the consequences of application of the rule in light of the purpose as it is intended by the legislator.

 Eveline T. Feteris

3.1  Th  e justification of the applicability of the argumentation scheme of pragmatic argumentation The argumentation of the Supreme Court that is put forward to justify the applicability of the pragmatic argumentation in the concrete case can be found in the sections II, III, IV, V and VI where the Supreme Court defends its narrow interpretation R′ by referring to the absurd consequences of applying the rule in the broad interpretation R″ in light of the purpose of the rule. As has been explained in Section 2.2, the Supreme Court has to defend a standpoint that concerns a preference for an adapted interpretation of the rule (R′) and a rejection of a broad interpretation (R″): 1 In the concrete case, rule R should applied adapted interpretation R′ (with a narrow interpretation of the term ‘labour’ that makes an exception for a Christian minister), implying that the rule does not apply to foreigners who perform labour as ministers of the gospel, and not in the standard interpretation R″, (with a broad interpretation of the term ‘labour’) implying that the rule applies to all foreigners who perform labour The Supreme Court acknowledges that the statute was applicable because the intention of the legislator was clear, but argued that an exception should be made. The court states that if the legislator had known the present situation, it would have made an exception for the concrete case on the basis of the absurd consequences in relation to the purpose of the rule and the values of the U.S. as a Christian nation. Since the court departs from the acknowledged standard interpretation of the rule and makes an exception for this case, it had an obligation to justify why this exception is justified. From a pragma-dialectical perspective the argumentation of the Supreme Court offers a good example of how a court implements the stereotypical pattern of argumentation in hard cases because the different levels of argumentation are represented. In what follows, for the different levels of the argumentation distinguished in Section 2.2 I explain how the various arguments are implemented in this case. On the level of the main argumentation the justification of the Supreme Court can be reconstructed as a complex argumentation, consisting of the positive and negative variant of pragmatic argumentation as described in scheme 3 in Section 2.2. With argument 1.1a and 1.1b the court puts forward pragmatic argumentation in which it refers to the result of application in interpretation R′ and states that this result would be desirable. With argument 1.1c and 1.1d the court puts forward pragmatic argumentation in which it refers to the result of application in interpretation R″ and states that this result is ­undesirable



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

(absurd). This result would be that in interpretation R′ the contracts for the employments of ministers, rectors and pastors would be excluded from the penal provisions of the act and that in interpretation R″ the contracts for the employments of ­ministers, rectors and pastors would be included in the penal provisions of the act. 1









In the concrete case, rule R should be interpreted as R′, implying that the rule does not apply to foreigners who perform labour as ministers of the gospel, and not as R″, implying that the rule applies to all foreigners who perform labour 1.1a In the concrete case, application of rule R in interpretation R′ would have result Y′, that the contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors are excluded from the penal provisions of the act 1.1b Result Y′ is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1c In the concrete case, application of rule R in interpretation R″ would have result Y″, that the contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors are included in the penal provisions of the act 1.1d Result Y″ is undesirable from a legal point of view

Scheme 5: Argumentation justifying the applicability on the level of the main argumentation To justify that result Y′ is desirable and result Y″ undesirable, on the level of the subordinate argumentation the argumentation put forward by the Supreme Court can be analysed as a reaction to doubt with respect to the first critical question, whether result Y′/Y″ is (un)desirable from a legal point of view. As has been described in Section 2.2, in its justification the court will have to deal with certain forms of doubt that are relevant from a legal perspective, in pragma-dialectical terms with the critical questions that are relevant for the specific implementation of pragmatic argumentation. The argumentation that the Supreme Court puts forward in defence of argument 1.1b and argument 1.1d, that the result Y′ would be desirable and result Y″ undesirable or ‘absurd’, can be considered as a reaction to the first critical question with respect to the desirability of result Y′ and the undesirability of result Y″. In the argumentation consisting of 1.1b.1a and 1.1b.1b the court justifies the desirability of the result in light of the compatibility with purpose P of the rule mentioned in the conclusion of the decision (at the end of VI) that is ‘to stay the influx of this cheap unskilled labour’, pointing out that this purpose is intended by the legislator. In this case the court uses subjective-­teleological argumentation by referring to the purpose as intended by the h ­ ­istorical legislator.

 Eveline T. Feteris

To support argument 1.1b.1b, that purpose P, to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour, is intended by the legislator, the court puts forward ­argumentation referring to certain authoritative sources from which the ‘spirit of the statute’ and the ‘intention of its makers’ can be inferred. First, the court explains in 1.1b.1b.1 and in the supporting arguments the intention of the legislature by referring to the common understanding of the words ‘labour’ and ‘labourers’ used in the first section of the act and by concluding that on the basis of the words it is clear that Congress had in mind only the work of the manual labourer as distinguished from that of the professional man, so that an exception for a Christian minister can be justified because the legislator has intended this (section III). As a support the court uses a selection of citations from precedents to justify its interpretation. Second, the court explains the intention of the legislator on the basis of the legislative history by referring to the evil which the act was designed to remedy from the perspective of the situation ‘as it was pressed upon the attention of the legislative body’ (section IV). In the court’s view the intent of Congress can be found in the evil the statute is designed to remedy, which can be found in the contemporaneous events, the situation as it existed, and as it was pressed upon the attention of the legislative body. The appeal to Congress was made ‘to raise the standard of foreign immigrants and to discountenance the migration of those who had not sufficient means in their own hands (….) to pay their passage’ (­ section IV). The court adds that it appears also from the petitions in the testimony before the committees of Congress that it was this cheap unskilled labor which was making the trouble, and the influx of which Congress sought to prevent (section V). Finally the court states that the extract from the report of the Senate committee (…) reveals also that ‘It seeks to restrain and prohibit the immigration or importation of laborers who would have never seen our shores but for the inducements and allurements of men whose only object is to obtain labor at the lowest possible rate, regardless of the social and material wellbeing of our own citizens, and regardless of the evil consequences which result to American laborers from such immigration.’ (section VI). In its conclusion (section VI) the court stresses that all these sources, ‘the title of the act, the evil which was intended to be remedied, the circumstances surrounding the appeal to congress, the reports of the committee of each house concur in affirming that the intent of congress was simply to stay the influx of cheap, unskilled labor’. Using the conventions of the stereotypical pattern of argumentation described in Section 2.2, the argumentation in which the applicability of the argumentation scheme is justified can be analysed as follows:



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

1.1b Result Y′, that the contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors are excluded from the penal provisions of the act, is desirable 1.1 b.1a Result Y′ is compatible with purpose P, to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour, that is to prevent large capitalists from shipping great numbers of ignorant and servile foreign labourers to the US who agreed to work after their arrival for a certain time at a low rate of wages 1.1b.1b Purpose P, to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour, is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1b.1b.1 Purpose P is intended by the legislator 1.1b.1b.1.1a The language of the title indicates an exclusion from its penal provisions of all contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors (III) 1.1b.1b.1.1b Reference to purpose P can be found in the documents from the discussion in the congress. It appears from the circumstances surrounding the appeal to congress, the reports of the committee of each house that it was this cheap, unskilled labor which was making the trouble, and the influx of which the congress sought to prevent which constituted the evil the statute was designed to remedy (IV–VI) 1.1d Result Y″, that the contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors are included from the penal provisions of the act, is undesirable (or ‘absurd’) 1.1d.1a Result Y″ would be incompatible with purpose P, to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour, that is to prevent large capitalists from shipping great numbers of ignorant and servile foreign labourers to the US who agreed to work after their arrival for a certain time at a low rate of wages 1.1d.1b Purpose P, to stay the influx of cheap unskilled labour, is desirable from a legal point of view 1.1d.1b.1 Purpose P is intended by the legislator 1.1d.1b.1.1a The language of the title indicates an exclusion from its penal provisions of

 Eveline T. Feteris



all contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors and pastors (III) 1.1d.1b.1.1b Reference to purpose P can be found in the documents from the discussion in the congress. It appears from the circumstances surrounding the appeal to congress, the reports of the committee of each house that it was this cheap, unskilled labor which was making the trouble, and the influx of which the congress sought to prevent which constituted the evil the statute was designed to remedy (IV–VI)

Scheme 6: Argumentation justifying the applicability of the argumentation scheme on the level of the subordinate argumentation The way in which the Supreme Court instantiates the stereotypical pattern of argumentation reflects the preconditions for the argumentative activity in legal justification in the U.S. in the historical context of this decision.

4.  C  onclusion In this contribution I have explained the role of pragmatic argumentation in legal justification from a pragma-dialectical perspective. I have characterized legal justification as an argumentative activity that plays a role in the resolution of legal differences of opinion in legal procedure. From a pragma-dialectical perspective I have shown how the stereotypical argumentative patterns of which pragmatic argumentation forms a part can be reconstructed in terms of the dialectical obligations of a judge. These dialectical obligations define the dialectically relevant moves in the justification of legal decisions in a hard case: they prescribe the elements of the justification that are necessary from the perspective of the dialectical role of the judge to account for the different decisions and choices that have to be made in the discussion process. Based on the dialectical characterization of the role of pragmatic argumentation and the obligations of the judge who uses this form of argumentation in a hard case I have reconstructed the stereotypical patterns of complex argumentation of which pragmatic argumentation forms part. I have done this by translating the arguments that have to be given as reactions to various forms of critique that are relevant from a legal perspective. I have reconstructed the stereotypical p ­ atterns



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

that are relevant for the justification of the appropriateness and the applicability of pragmatic argumentation in a concrete case. By way of illustration I have given an analysis of the argumentation of the U.S. Supreme Court in such a hard case in which it had to account for an interpretation in which it departed from the standard literal meaning of the term ‘labour’ in the context of a statute. I have explained how the court instantiates in its justification the stereotypical patterns of argumentation by translating the arguments that are given in terms of the arguments that form part of the argumentative pattern on the different levels of the argumentation. In this way I have clarified how the court reacted to the various forms of critique that it would be problematic to refer to the intention of the legislator and the purpose of the rule in relation to certain ‘absurd consequences’ to establish the meaning of a legal rule. Further research of the way in which courts use argumentation that forms a specific implementation of such a stereotypical pattern of argumentation that can be reconstructed as the justification of the appropriateness and applicability of pragmatic argumentation must clarify how courts adapt their choices and presentational devices in light of the preconditions of the argumentative activity in a particular legal system.11

References Bertea, S. (2005). Does arguing from coherence make sense? Argumentation, 19(4), 433–446. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-005-0510-2 Bustamante, T. (2013). On the argumentum ad absurdum in statutory interpretation: Its uses and normative significance. In E. T. feteris & C. Dahlman (Eds.). Legal argumentation theory: Cross-disciplinary perspectives. Dordrecht, etc. (pp. 21–44). Springer. DOI: 10.1007/978-94-007-4670-1_2 Canale, D., & Tuzet, G. (2009). Inferring the ratio: commitments and constraints. In: E.T. Feteris, H. Kloosterhuis, H.J. Plug (Eds.), Argumentation and the application of legal rules (pp. 15–34). ­Amsterdam: Sic Sat. Carbonell, F. (2013). Reasoning by consequences: Applying different argumentation structures to the analysis of consequentialist reasoning in judicial decisions. In E.T. Feteris & C. ­Dahlman (Eds.), Legal argumentation theory: Cross-disciplinary perspectives (pp. 1–20). Dordrecht, etc.: Springer. DOI: 10.1007/978-94-007-4670-1_1 Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (1992). Argumentation, communication, and fallacies. A pragma-dialectical perspective. Hillsdale N.J.: Erlbaum.

.  For a discussion of such an analysis of the strategic manoeuvring in the Holy Trinity case see for example Feteris (2008b and 2012b). For other discussions of the use of specific implementations of patterns of argumentation in a legal context see for example Feteris (2002, 2005, 2008a, 2009a, 2009b).

 Eveline T. Feteris Feteris, E.T. (1990). Conditions and rules for rational discussion in a legal process: A pragmadialectical perspective. Argumentation and Advocacy. Journal of the American Forensic Association, 26(3), 108–117. Feteris, E.T. (1993). Rationality in legal discussions: A pragma-dialectical perspective. Informal Logic, 15(3), 179–188. Feteris, E.T. (2002). A pragma-dialectical approach of the analysis and evaluation of pragmatic argumentation in a legal context. Argumentation, 16(3), 349–367. Feteris, E.T. (2005). The rational reconstruction of argumentation referring to consequences and purposes in the application of legal rules: A pragma-dialectical perspective. Argumentation, 19(4), 459–470. Feteris, E.T. (2008a). The pragma-dialectical analysis and evaluation of teleological argumentation in a legal context. Argumentation, 22, 489–506. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-008-9083-1 Feteris, E.T. (2008b). Strategic maneuvering with the intention of the legislator in the justification of judicial decisions’. Argumentation, 22, 335–353. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-008-9100-4 Feteris, E.T. (2008c). Weighing and balancing in the justification of judicial decisions. Informal Logic, 28(1), 20–30. Feteris, E.T. (2009a). The role of arguments from reasonableness in the justification of judicial decisions. Studies in Communication Sciences, 9(2), 21–39. Feteris, E.T. (2009b). Strategic manoeuvring in the justification of judicial decisions. In: F. H. van Eemeren (Ed.), Examining argumentation in context. Fifteen studies on strategic manoeuvering (pp. 93–114). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.1.07fet Feteris, E.T. (2012a). The role of the judge in legal proceedings: A pragma-dialectical analysis. Journal of Argumentation in Context, 1(2), 234–252. DOI: 10.1075/jaic.1.2.05fet Feteris, E.T. (2012b). Strategic manoeuvring in the case of the ‘Unworthy spouse’. In F.H. van Eemeren & B. Garssen (Eds.), Exploring argumentative contexts (pp. 149–164). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.4.09fet MacCormick, N. (1978). Legal reasoning and legal theory. Oxford: Clarendon Press. MacCormick, N. (2005). Rhetoric and the rule of law. A theory of legal reasoning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199571246.001.0001 Plug, H.J. (2005). Evaluating references to the intention of the legislator. In Luc J. Wintgens (Ed.), The theory and practice of legislation. Essays in legisprudence (318–330). Aldershot: Ashgate.

Church of the Holy Trinity v. United States 143 U.S. 457 (1892) U.S. Supreme Court Church of the Holy Trinity v. United States, 143 U.S. 457 (1892) Church of the Holy Trinity v. United States No. 143 Argued and submitted January 7, 1892 Decided February 29, 1892 143 U.S. 457



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

ERROR TO THE CIRCUIT COURT OF THE UNITED STATES FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK The Act of February 26, 1880, “to prohibit the importation and migration of foreigners and aliens under contract or agreement to perform labor in the United States, its Territories, and the District of Columbia,” 23 Stat. 332, c. 164, does not apply to a contract between an alien, residing out of the United States, and a religious society incorporated under the laws of a state, whereby he engages to remove to the United States and to enter into the service of the society as its rector or minister. The case is stated in the opinion. MR. JUSTICE BREWER delivered the opinion of the Court. I Plaintiff in error is a corporation duly organized and incorporated as a religious society under the laws of the State of New York. E. Walpole Warren was, prior to September, 1887, an alien residing in England. In that month the plaintiff in error made a contract with him by which he was to remove to the City of New York and enter into its service as rector and pastor, and in pursuance of such contract, ­Warren did so remove and enter upon such service. It is claimed by the United States that this contract on the part of the plaintiff in error was forbidden by 23 Stat. 332, c. 164, and an action was commenced to recover the penalty prescribed by that act. The circuit court held that the contract was within the prohibition of the statute, and rendered judgment accordingly, 36 F. 303, and the single question presented for our determination is whether it erred in that conclusion. The first section describes the act forbidden, and is in these words: “Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, that from and after the passage of this act it shall be unlawful for any person, company, partnership, or corporation, in any manner whatsoever, to prepay the transportation, or in any way assist or encourage the importation or migration, of any alien or aliens, any foreigner or foreigners, into the United States, its territories, or the District of Columbia under contract or agreement, parol or special, express or implied, made previous to the importation or migration of such alien or aliens, foreigner or foreigners, to perform labor or service of any kind in the United States, its territories, or the District of Columbia.”

 Eveline T. Feteris

II It must be conceded that the act of the corporation is within the letter of this section, for the relation of rector to his church is one of service, and implies labor on the one side with compensation on the other. Not only are the general words “labor” and “service” both used, but also, as it were to guard against any narrow interpretation and emphasize a breadth of meaning, to them is added “of any kind,” and further, as noticed by the circuit judge in his opinion, the fifth section, which makes specific exceptions, among them professional actors, artists, lecturers, singers, and domestic servants, strengthens the idea that every other kind of labor and service was intended to be reached by the first section. While there is great force to this reasoning, we cannot think Congress intended to denounce with penalties a transaction like that in the present case. It is a familiar rule that a thing may be within the letter of the statute and yet not within the statute because not within its spirit nor within the intention of its makers. This has been often asserted, and the reports are full of cases illustrating its application. This is not the substitution of the will of the judge for that of the legislator, for frequently words of general meaning are used in a statute, words broad enough to include an act in question, and yet a consideration of the whole legislation, or of the circumstances surrounding its enactment, or of the absurd results which follow from giving such broad ­meaning to the words, makes it unreasonable to believe that the legislator intended to include the particular act. (…) Among other things which may be considered in determining the intent of the legislature is the title of the act. We do not mean that it may be used to add to or take from the body of the statute, Hadden v. Collector, 5 Wall. 107, but it may help to interpret its meaning. (…) III It will be seen that words as general as those used in the first section of this act were by that decision limited, and the intent of Congress with respect to the act was gathered partially at least, from its title. Now the title of this act is “An act to prohibit the importation and migration of foreigners and aliens under contract or agreement to perform labor in the United States, its territories, and the District of Columbia.”



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

Obviously the thought expressed in this reaches only to the work of the manual laborer, as distinguished from that of the professional man. No one reading such a title would suppose that Congress had in its mind any purpose of staying the coming into this country of ministers of the gospel, or, indeed, of any class whose toil is that of the brain. The common understanding of the terms “labor” and “laborers” does not include preaching and preachers, and it is to be assumed that words and phrases are used in their ordinary meaning. So whatever of light is thrown upon the statute by the language of the title indicates an exclusion from its penal provisions of all contracts for the employment of ministers, rectors, and pastors. IV Again, another guide to the meaning of a statute is found in the evil which it is designed to remedy, and for this the court properly looks at contemporaneous events, the situation as it existed, and as it was pressed upon the attention of the legislative body. United States v. Union Pacific Railroad, 91 U. S. 72, 91 U. S. 79. The situation which called for this statute was briefly but fully stated by MR. JUSTICE BROWN when, as district judge, he decided the case of United States v. Craig, 28 F. 795, 798: “The motives and history of the act are matters of common knowledge. It had become the practice for large capitalists in this country to contract with their agents abroad for the shipment of great numbers of an ignorant and servile class of foreign laborers, under contracts by which the employer agreed, upon the one hand, to prepay their passage, while, upon the other hand, the laborers agreed to work after their arrival for a certain time at a low rate of wages. The effect of this was to break down the labor market and to reduce other laborers engaged in like occupations to the level of the assisted immigrant. The evil finally became so flagrant that an appeal was made to Congress for relief by the passage of the act in question, the design of which was to raise the standard of foreign immigrants and to discountenance the migration of those who had not sufficient means in their own hands, or those of their friends, to pay their passage.” V It appears also from the petitions and in the testimony presented before the committees of Congress that it was this cheap, unskilled labor which was making the trouble, and the influx of which Congress sought to prevent. It was never suggested that we had in this country a surplus of brain toilers, and least of all that the market for the services of Christian ministers was depressed by foreign competition.

 Eveline T. Feteris

Those were matters to which the attention of Congress or of the people was not directed. So far, then, as the evil which was sought to be remedied interprets the statute, it also guides to an exclusion of this contract from the penalties of the act. VI A singular circumstance throwing light upon the intent of Congress is found in this extract from the report of the Senate committee on education and labor recommending the passage of the bill: “The general facts and considerations which induce the committee to recommend the passage of this bill are set forth in the report of the committee of the house. The committee report the bill back without amendment, although there are certain features thereof which might well be changed or modified in the hope that the bill may not fail of passage during the present session. Especially would the committee have otherwise recommended amendments, substituting for the expression, ‘labor and service,’ whenever it occurs in the body of the bill, the words ‘manual labor’ or ‘manual service,’ as sufficiently broad to accomplish the purposes of the bill, and that such amendments would remove objections which a sharp and perhaps unfriendly criticism may urge to the proposed legislation. The committee, however, believing that the bill in its present form will be construed as including only those whose labor or service is manual in character, and being very desirous that the bill become a law before the adjournment, have reported the bill without change.” P. 6059, Congressional Record, 48th Cong. And referring back to the report of the committee of the house, there appears this language: “It seeks to restrain and prohibit the immigration or importation of laborers who would have never seen our shores but for the inducements and allurements of men whose only object is to obtain labor at the lowest possible rate, r­ egardless of the social and material wellbeing of our own citizens, and regardless of the evil consequences which result to American laborers from such immigration. This class of immigrants care nothing about our institutions, and in many instances never even heard of them. They are men whose passage is paid by the importers. They come here under contract to labor for a certain number of years. They are ignorant of our social condition, and, that they may remain so, they are isolated and prevented from coming into contact with Americans. They are generally from the lowest social stratum, and live upon the coarsest food, and in hovels of a character before unknown to American workmen. They, as a rule, do not become citizens, and are certainly not a desirable acquisition to the body politic. The inevitable tendency of



A pragma-dialectical approach of legal argumentation 

their presence among us is to degrade American labor and to reduce it to the level of the imported pauper labor.” Page 5359, Congressional Record, 48th Congress. We find, therefore, that the title of the act, the evil which was intended to be remedied, the circumstances surrounding the appeal to Congress, the reports of the committee of each house, all concur in affirming that the intent of Congress was simply to stay the influx of this cheap unskilled labor

Transparency in legal argumentation Adapting to a composite audience in administrative judicial decisions* H. José Plug

University of Amsterdam An important topic in the debate about transparency of the administration of justice includes the communicative function of judicial decisions. This function should be conceived as the judge’s aim to have his argumentation understood (the communicative effect), as well as to have it accepted (the interactional effect). In this paper I will analyse how the judge may maneuver strategically to achieve these effects on a composite audience. The analysis focuses on the communicative activity type of administrative judicial decisions. Keywords:  administrative law; audience demand; composite audience; judicial decision; legal argumentation; legal opinion; role-shifting

1.  Introduction In a recent study (Broeders, Prins and Griffioen, 2013) that was conducted by the Netherlands Scientific Council for Government Policy (WRR), it is argued that there is a need for a more contemporary transparency of the administration of justice relative to the different ‘outside worlds’ with which it comes into contact. According to this study, the need for transparency has become urgent because of changes in society under the influence of globalisation, individualisation and populism. One of the topics in the debate about transparency includes the communicative function of judicial decisions. From an argumentation theoretical perspective, the communicative function of a judicial decision should not only be conceived as the judge’s aim to have the argumentation underlying his decision understood (the communicative effect), but also to have his argumentation accepted (the interactional effect). The judge may be expected to have the intention to achieve these effects on the parties to *  I would like to thank the reviewer for the helpful comments.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.07plu © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 H. José Plug

the proceedings, his immediate addressees, as well as on a broader audience. Long before the current debate on transparency, literature on legal (argumentation) theory and on decision writing emphasized that, apart from the litigants in the case, the audience of the judge consists of members of the legal community (other judges, courts of appeal, lawyers interested the decision), law students and the general public. In order to address such a so-called composite audience (van Eemeren, 2010) in his justification of the decision, the judge may make use of different techniques when manoevering strategically. A recent pilot study carried out in administrative courts in the Netherlands demonstrates that judges do at times, indeed, attempt to address a composite audience when justifying their decisions.1 In this contribution I will clarify which audiences may be addressed in administrative judicial decisions. Then I will analyse the way in which a judge may manoeuvre strategically to adjust his argumentation to these audiences. In view of this analysis I will start with a first attempt to characterize administrative judicial decisions as a communicative activity type. 2.  Administrative judicial decisions as a specific activity type To analyse the strategic maneuvering in judicial decisions by the Dutch Administrative Court, these decisions should first be characterized as a communicative activity type. In the pragma-dialectical argumentation theory (van Eemeren 2010, 40, 129), strategic maneuvering refers to the continual efforts made in all moves that are carried out in argumentative discourse to keep the balance between reasonableness and effectiveness.2 A communicative activity type refers to a more or less institutionalized argumentative practice. Requirements pertinent to the activity type may affect the strategic maneuvering. In order to characterize judicial decisions by the Dutch Administrative Court in terms of communicative activity type, we may start from an overview as pre-

.  The pilot-study was conducted by P. J. van den Hoven, H. Kloosterhuis and H.J. Plug from September 2012 until May 2013. In this pilot, the decision making process of five judges of five different courts (administrative law sector) was studied, from their first encounter with the case files up until the moment that the final decisions were signed. .  In research in the field of law on judicial strategic behaviour, the term strategic is used differently. Baum (2006, 6) for example, uses the term as follows: “Strategic judges consider the effects of their choices on collective outcomes, both in their own court and in the broader judicial and policy arenas. […] Whenever (they) choose among alternative courses of action, they think ahead to the prospective consequences and choose the course that does the most to advance their goals in the long term.”



Transparency in legal argumentation 

sented by van Eemeren (2010, 143).3 This overview represents examples of different types of conventionalized communicative practices that are connected with specific kinds of institutional contexts, such as political and medical contexts. In the example of the legal context (Figure 1), the concrete speech event of the defense pleading at O.J. Simpson’s murder trial is considered to be a representation of a particular communicative activity type: the communicative activity type of legal proceedings. This communicative activity type belongs to the domain of legal communication and makes use of the prototypical genre of adjudication. domains of communicative activity

general genres of communicative activity

specific communicative activity types

concrete speech events

[=more or less [= families of institutionalized conventionalized macro-contexts] communicative practices]

[= types of conventionalized communicative practices]

[= instantiations of communicative activity types]

legal communication

-court proceedings defense pleading at -arbitration O.J. Simpson’s -summoning murder trial

adjudication

Figure 1.  An example of a speech event representing a communicative activity type ­implementing a genre of communicative activity instrumental in the legal communicative domain

Judicial decisions in general belong to the genre of adjudication and can be considered as a subtype of the conventionalized communicative practice of court proceedings. The communicative activity type of judicial decisions, however, should be specified in order to characterize the activity type in a meaningful way. This specification should be made by means of three different conventiondetermining features. The first feature that determines the conventions of a judicial decision is the field of law in which a legal dispute is situated: administrative law, private law, criminal law etc. The second feature is the type of court that has the competence to decide at a certain stage of the legal procedure: the court of first instance, the court of appeal or the court of last resort. The third feature that is relevant is the (territorial) jurisdiction under which the judicial decision has come into being and which national or international law was considered applicable.

.  Since a judicial decision is communicative activity type that is inherently argumentative we can call it an argumentative activity type (van Eemeren 2010, 145). In this article, however, I continue to speak of communicative activity type.

 H. José Plug

The ratio of this specification of features is that all three distinctive features are relevant to the analysis of the argumentation in the concrete speech event of a judicial decision; they entail different institutional conventions that are, in combination, pertinent to the concrete speech event: the actual decision. The specification of the conventions that bridge the gap between the specific legal communicative activity type of court proceedings and the concrete speech event of a judicial decision by the administrative section of the Dutch district court is represented in Figure 2. specific communicative activity types [= types of conventionalized communicative practices]

concrete speech events [convention determining features]

-court proceedings Field of law -arbitration Criminal law -summoning Civil law Administrative law Type of court (procedure) Court of first instance Court of appeal Court of last resort

[= subtype of conventionalized communicative practices]

[= instantiation of communicative activity types]

Judicial decisions by the District Court (section Administrative Law)

Dutch judicial decision [by the District Court Utrecht, 21-12-2012]

Jurisdiction National law (local, state federal law) European law International law Figure 2.  An example of convention determining features that specify a subtype of the ­communicative activity type of court proceedings

3.  Dutch administrative law procedure The activity type of administrative judicial decisions by the Dutch district court concerns binding decisions by this court in legal disputes between administrative authorities and citizens. Administrative law provides the government with the power to administer, but it also establishes limits on administrative activity. In the Netherlands, when a citizen disagrees with an order or a decision made by an administrative authority, he can object to this order or decision in court. As a general rule, a citizen is required to follow a preliminary administrative procedure



Transparency in legal argumentation 

before he can take his case against an order to court. This procedure allows the citizen to explain why he disagrees with the order, after which the administrative authority considers its order once again and to correct possible mistakes. The General Administrative Law Act (Algemene wet bestuursrecht) applies to both administrative decisions by the administrative authorities and to judicial reviews of these decisions by the district court (administrative law division).4 For the activity type of administrative judicial decisions this means that the General Administrative Law Act is pertinent to the institutional goal, the conventions and the format of the procedure preceding the judicial decision as well as the judicial decision itself. Some of the important characteristics of administrative legal procedure may be summarized as follows.5 The point of departure of the administrative procedure is the assessment of a decision ex tunc. This means that the judge has to determine whether or not the decision by the administrative authority was legal at the time it was taken. In doing so, the judge does not in principle take new facts into account. However, if the judge does not merely annul the decision, and instead replaces the administrative authority’s order by inserting his own judgment, then the assessment may take new facts into consideration. The judge must ensure that all aspects of the relevant law are applied. He may supplement the facts himself, if necessary. He should be able to make use of this power in situations where one party to the proceedings appears to be weaker than the other. There are two important restrictions the judge has to observe with regard to the scope of the dispute he decides upon and to the result of the dispute. Firstly, the judge should not go beyond the subject of the dispute (ultra petita). Secondly, the judge should not put the person in a worse position than he was in when he moved for an appeal (reformatio in peius). The judge has discretionary power in the area of procedure. Consequently, the judge defines the length of the process, leads the investigation during the trial, and can independently order an expert examination, if necessary. It is also the judge who ends the investigative phase if he considers the information that he has received to be sufficient to come to a decision. With regard to the accessibility of the administrative procedure, parties to the process can appeal to the judge without many requirements of form. There is no requirement to proceed with the aid of a lawyer; trial representation is not required.

.  Higher appeal against these decisions is open in the Administrative Law Division of the Council of State (or, in specific cases, the Central Court of Appeal). .  This characterization of the administrative legal procedure is based on Brouwer and Schilder (1998) and Verburg (2008).

 H. José Plug

In the judicial decision, the judge is obliged to state the grounds for his decision. However, the judge is not obliged to deal with each argument that is raised by the parties to the proceedings. The institutional point of administrative judicial decisions is to provide a binding decision in legal disputes between administrative authorities and citizens. The justification should provide insight into the decision and, if at all possible, render it acceptable. The justification should enable the parties to ascertain how and to what extent the facts and legal foundations, as presented by them, have been taken into consideration. On top of that, the justification should enable the public at large to monitor the administration of justice as well as gain insight into its proceedings.6 4.  Administrative judicial decisions and the composite audience In the pragma-dialectical argumentation theory, adaptation to the audience is one of the three aspects of strategic maneuvering; it refers to the requirements that must be fulfilled in strategic maneuvering to secure communion, at the point in the exchange, with the people the argumentative discourse is aimed at.7 In argumentative practice, this amounts to adjusting the argumentative moves in such a way to the audience views and preferences that there is as much agreement as possible between the arguer and the audience (van Eemeren 2010, 108, 112). The literature on legal theory (Makau, 1984, Rubinson, 1996), the law and economic approach (Garoupa and Ginsburg, 2009) as well as the more practical literature on opinion writing (Lebovits, 2008, Leubsdorf, 2001) recognizes that the audience of a judge may be diverse. Often the authors focus on the audiences of judicial decisions by the court in last instance, the Supreme Court, but the audiences of decisions by the lower courts may be discussed as well (Hume, 2009). Most authors, however, list more or less the same groups of different (possible) audiences: the litigants in the case, members of the legal community (other judges, lawyers interested in the decision), law makers, legal scholars, law students, media, the general public. In order to analyse strategic manoeuvring that takes place in administrative judicial decisions, a more detailed analysis of the audience is needed. The a­ udience

.  The justification principle is considered one of the most important principles in (administrative) procedural law. See also de Poorter and van Roosmalen (2009) and Plug (2012). .  The other two aspects of strategic manoevering that are distinguished are topical selection and presentational devices. Van Eemeren (2010, 93–95) emphasizes that these three aspects may be distinguished analytically, but that in argumentative practice they always go together.



Transparency in legal argumentation 

as a whole, consisting of different persons or groups, may be considered a composite audience that is heterogeneous with respect to the points at issue in an administrative judicial decision as well as to the starting points pertinent to the dispute that is sentenced upon in the decision. Both parties to the proceedings are the official antagonists who are addressed directly by the judge and who are therefore considered the primary audience.8 The other persons or groups that make up the audience are the antagonists who are reached indirectly by the judge. This ‘third party’ will also evaluate the acceptability of the argumentation that is brought forward in the judicial decision. The official antagonists are addressed by the judge in their procedural roles as ‘the plaintiff ’ (or ‘the applicant’) and ‘the defendant’. Characteristic of the primary audience of an administrative judicial decision is that this audience is not always homogeneous. Since trial representation is not required, the parties to the proceedings may not possess the same professional knowledge of the law. Usually, the administrative authority is represented by a lawyer or a legal specialist, whereas for a citizen who is party to the proceedings this may not always be the case. Another significant difference between the parties to the proceedings is that unlike most citizens who are involved in a legal dispute, an administrative authority may be considered a ‘repeated player’. It may only be expected that, compared to the average citizen, the (local) government is more often involved in legal disputes. This latter characteristic may become manifest in an administrative judicial decision when the judge addresses the administrative authority not only as a party to the present proceedings, but also in its capacity as a party in future proceedings. 5.  Addressing a compositite audience In administrative judicial decisions, judges could address non-litigant audiences in an indirect way. If a judge wanted to address (members of) this audience directly, he would have to initiate a new, second, difference of opinion in which the original ‘third party’ audience would then be considered the judge’s primary audience. However, the institutional requirements determined by the administrative law, impose limits to that option. In this paragraph, I will demonstrate how judges may maneuver strategically to address a ‘third party’ audience in either an indirect way or in a direct way.

.  From the administrative law as well as from jurisprudence it follows that arguments from both parties to the proceedings should be discussed in a judicial decision.

 H. José Plug

The first case illustrates how a judge can make use of the argumentation that has been brought forward by the parties to the proceedings, in order to address a ‘third-party’ audience indirectly. In this case, the applicant, a homeless Chinese lady, asked the Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA) for reception into the Netherlands. Pending the COA’s decision, the applicant requested the defendant, the city of Utrecht, for temporary reception based on the Social Support Act (Wmo). The defendant dismissed the request, but offered the applicant a temporary place in the local Sleep Inn, a shelter for the homeless. The defendant argued that the applicant should address the COA for a structural solution. The applicant is of the opinion that the solution proposed by the defendant is not adequate for her situation and she requests the court for an interim relief measure. In its decision, the court puts forward the following.

(1) The court is of the opinion that the defendant’s political standpoint that reception of the plaintiff should be a task of the central government is very understandable. (…). It is about the positive obligation to receive vulnerable persons, article 8 EVRM, and where the treaty prevails over national legislation. The court is of the opinion that decisions on this positive obligation, as made by the Dutch Administrative High Court (CRvB) and decisions made by the Council of State should be better attuned to one another. Since this is not the case, however, the court proceeds to decide on the current appeal under the conditions of the Social Support Act (Wmo). This decision is about the situation as it is and not about the desired developments in the administration of justice. (District Court Utrecht 21 December 2012, ECLI:NL:RBUTR:2012:BY8445)  [Translation José Plug] De voorzieningenrechter acht het politieke standpunt van verweerder dat de opvang van verzoekster een taak is die tot rijksoverheid behoort en niet op de gemeente moet rusten, zeer begrijpelijk. (…) Het gaat hier om de positieve verplichting tot opvang van kwetsbare personen, die voortvloeit uit artikel 8 van het EVRM, waarbij de nationale regelgeving moet wijken voor de verdragsverplichting. De voorzieningenrechter is van oordeel dat de rechtspraak van de Centrale Raad van Beroep (CRvB) en de Afdeling bestuursrechtspraak van de Raad van State over deze positieve verplichting meer op elkaar zou moeten aansluiten. Bij gebreke daarvan gaat hij echter over tot de beoordeling van het verzoek zoals dat nu voorligt en vanuit het kader van de Wmo. Die beoordeling gaat naar haar aard om de situatie hier en nu en niet om de gewenste ontwikkeling van de rechtspraak. (Rb. Utrecht 21 december 2012, ECLI:NL:RBUTR:2012:BY8445)

In this fragment of its decision, the court evaluates one of the sub standpoints as put forward by the defendant. With respect to this sub standpoint, the court makes a distinction between its political content and its legal effectiveness. As far



Transparency in legal argumentation 

as the political content of the argument is concerned, the court agrees with the defendant, but it refutes the argument on the grounds that it cannot be effective in the legal proceedings. In support of this argument the court puts forward that decisions by the Dutch Administrative High Court (CRvB) and the Council of State on the reception of vulnerable persons are not well attuned. By means of this argument the court provides the primary audience, the defendant, with a justification for the refutation of the defendant’s argument. Through this argument, however, the court indirectly addresses a third-party audience, the administration of justice, and criticises it for a lack of consistency in the judicial decisions that concern article 8 EVRM. If, however, the argumentation put forward by the parties to the proceedings does not provide any points of departure for the judge to address (members of) a ‘third-party’ audience in an indirect way, the judge may consider addressing this audience directly. Role shifting is one technique at the judge’s disposal when maneuvering strategically in order to address the ‘third-party’ audience directly. In accordance with his official, institutional role as an impartial decision maker, the (administrative) judge decides on the legal dispute that is brought before the court.9 This institutional constraint that stipulates not to go beyond the subject of the dispute (ultra petita), imposes a limit on the possibilities the judge has to address a ‘third-party’ antagonist directly.10 By shifting from the role of legal ­decision-maker to the role of (legal) advisor, the judge may maneuver strategically to make use of the opportunity to direct a standpoint at a ‘third-party’ antagonist. Strategic manoevering by making use of a role shift may be motivated by a broader interpretation of the task of the judge in view of the communicative function of administrative judicial decisions. With a view of the social or legal consequences the decision may have on (members of) the ‘third party’, the judge may choose not to restrict himself to his task as a legal decision maker. The following case illustrates the way in which judges may manoeuvre strategically by the reversal of roles. The case concerns a difference of opinion between a citizen (the plaintiff) and the social service of the city council (the defendant). Since 1998 the plaintiff has received a monthly social security payment provided

.  Apart from the competences of a judge that are prescribed in Dutch (procedural) law, the Dutch Association for the Judiciary (NVvR) formulated a Judges Code of Conduct (September 2011). .  Because the constraint is one of the procedural starting points that are pertinent to the activity type of administrative judicial decisions, it is not in contradiction with the pragma dialectical freedom rule that states that discussants may not be prevented from bringing forward a standpoint. See also van Eemeren (2013).

 H. José Plug

by the local authorities. In 2005 the defendant decided to cut back on the plaintiff ’s social security benefit by 5%, because the plaintiff failed to return a signed copy of a document that listed his schedule of activities (werkpolis). After the social service had rejected the request to reverse the decision regarding the cut back in the social security payment, the interested party appealed to the administrative judge. The judge decided as follows.

(2) Based on the above, the court concludes that in the existing local regulations, there is no legal obligation for the plaintiff to sign and return the said document to the defendant. (…). The conclusion that (…) may encourage the local government to amend their local act on reintegration. The court suggests that the local government consider whether including such obligation in the bye-law, fits the legislator’s order in article 8, section one, of the Work and Welfare Act, before deciding on such adaptation. (District Court Breda 8 November 2005, ECLI:NL:RBBRE:2005:AU8054)  [Translation José Plug] Het bovenstaande leidt de rechtbank tot de conclusie dat in de in verweerders gemeente geldende regelgeving geen bepaling is opgenomen die eiseres verplicht om een werkpolis te ondertekenen en terug te sturen. De constatering dat (…) zal in verweerders gemeente mogelijk de behoefte doen rijzen aan aanpassing van de Reïntegratieverordening (…). De ­rechtbank geeft, ten overvloede, in overweging om, alvorens tot zo’n ­aanpassing te besluiten, stil te staan bij de vraag of het in de verordening opnemen van een dergelijke verplichting past in de opdracht die de wetgever heeft gegeven in artikel 8, eerste lid, van de Wwb. (Rechtbank Breda 8 november 2005, ECLI:NL:RBBRE:2005:AU8054)

In the fragment under (2), the judge decides against the defendant on the ground that there is no law or act that prescribes the legal obligation to sign and return the said document. After that, the judge manoeuvres strategically by shifting from the institutional role of decision maker to the role of legal advisor. The judge exploits this technique to address a member of the ‘third-party’ audience, the local government, directly. The judge advances an implicit standpoint regarding anticipated (legal) consequences of the decision: the local government should not amend their local act on reintegration. By presenting his standpoint as an advice (‘The court suggests the local government to consider …’) the judge attempts to avoid the risk of trespassing upon the area of the legislative powers of the local government; an institutional constraint that follows from the principle of the separation of powers. At the same time, by adopting the role of a legal advisor, the judge attempts to avoid the risk of being accused of going beyond the subject of the dispute in his decision. As is discussed in Plug (2000), the judge may explicitly present his advice as an obiter dictum, in order to even minimize this risk.



Transparency in legal argumentation 

Both examples show how an attempt by the judge to address an audience may broaden the scope of the legal dispute he has to decide upon. By bringing forward a standpoint that introduces a difference of opinion with a (originally) ‘third-party’ antagonist, the judge, at the same time, provides the litigants and other members of the ‘third-party’ audience with more insight in the broader impact of the current decision. In doing so the judge may contribute to the communicative function of administrative judicial decisions and thus to the transparency of the proceedings of the administration of justice. 6.  C  onclusion Administrative law prescribes the rules that public authorities must adhere to in their decision-making and regulates relations between the government and citizens. In this contribution I have explored on what grounds administrative judicial decisions by the Dutch district court may be considered as a specific communicative activity type. Institutional requirements pertinent to this activity type determine that the justification of these decisions should be aimed at the litigants as well as at the public at large. At the same time, other institutional requirements that are pertinent to this activity type impose constraints on the possibilities the judge has when addressing such a composite audience. By means of two examples I have illustrated the way in which the judge may manoeuvre strategically to address members of a ‘third-party’ audience, without trespassing upon the limitations that are determined by the institutional requirements.

References Baum, L. (2006). Judges and their audiences: a perspective on judicial behaviour. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Broeders, D., J.E.J. Prins, H. Griffioen, a.o. (Eds.). (2013). Speelruimte voor transparantere rechtspraak (‘Scope for a more transparent justice system’). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Brouwer, J.G., & Schilder, A.E. (1998). A survey of Dutch administrative law. Nijmegen: Ars Aequi Libri. Van Eemeren, F.H. (2010). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse. Extending the pragma-dialectical theory of argumentation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.2 Van Eemeren, F.H. (2013). Fallacies as derailments of argumentative discourse: Acceptance based on understanding and critical assessment. Journal of Pragmatics, 59, 141–152. DOI: 10.1016/j.pragma.2013.06.006

 H. José Plug Garoupa, N., & Ginsburg, T. (2009). Judicial audiences and reputation: Perspectives from comparative law. Columbia Journal of Transnational Law, 452–490. Hume, R. J. (2009). Courting multiple audiences: The Strategic selection of legal groundings by judges on the U.S. Courts of Appeals. The Justice System Journal, 30(1), 14–33. Lebovits, G. (2008). Ethical judicial opinion writing. The Georgetown Journal of Legal Ethics, 21, 237–309. Leubsdorf, J. (2001). The structure of judicial opinions. Minnesota Law Review, 86, 447–496. DOI: 10.1080/00335638409383705 Makau, J. M. (1984). The Supreme Court and reasonableness. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 70, 379–396. Plug, H.J. (2000). Indicators of obiter dicta. A pragma-dialectical analysis of textual clues for the reconstruction of legal argumentation. Artificial Intelligence and Law, 8,189–203. DOI: 10.1023/A:1008327715564 Plug, H.J. (2012). Obscurities in the formulation of legal argumentation. International Journal of Law, Language & Discourse, 2 (1), 126–142. de Poorter, J.C.A., & Roosmalen, H.J.Th.M. van. Motivering bij rechtsvorming. Over de motivering van uitspraken met een rechtsvormend element door de Afdeling bestuursrechtspraak van de Raad van State. Den Haag: Raad van State. Rubinson, R. (1996). The polyphonic courtroom: Expanding the possibilities of judicial discourse. Dickinson Law Review, 101(3), 3–40. Verburg, D.A. (2008). De bestuursrechtelijke uitspraak - en het denkmodel dat daaraan ten grondslag ligt. Zutphen: Uitgeverij Kerckebosch.

part iv

Argumentation in education

Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont1, Francesco Arcidiacono1, Stephanie Breux1, Sara Greco2 & Celine Miserez-Caperos1 1University

of Neuchâtel / 2Università della Svizzera italiana

This paper analyzes children’s argumentative discussions centered on the resolution of cognitive tasks, starting from the hypothesis that children’s interventions are more complex and complete than usually described in psychological research on argumentation skills. Our results can be viewed as a possibility to reconsider the usual school situations in which children’s argumentative skills are assessed in order to better understand the social, relational and emotional conditions that support argumentation in children. Keywords:  children’s argumentation; communication; knowledge-oriented argumentation; reasoning; social interaction

1.  State of art and hypotheses The distinction between pragmatic (or practical) argumentation, i.e. argumentation oriented towards action, and knowledge-oriented argumentation, can be found as early as in Aristotle’s Topica and it is confirmed by Cicero in his works on topics (see Rigotti and Greco, forthcoming). Despite this ancient distinction, if one considers the panorama of current argumentation studies, there is no much research about knowledge-oriented argumentation, especially in cases in which children are involved. Our paper intends to contribute to filling this gap. To this purpose, we will rely on current studies in psychology that deal with children’s cognitive argumentation; on this basis, we will re-read adult-children discussions, which are normally studied in psychology, from the vantage point of argumentation, in order to analyze children’s knowledge-oriented argumentation. Argumentation has been studied by psychologists in a developmental perspective. In the 80s, studies led by Berkowitz, Oser and Althoff (1987) or Clark and Delia (1976) show that justification does neither appear spontaneously nor in a complex form in 6–8 years old children. In fact, arguments produced by these children correspond to very simple repetitions of a standpoint, while ­justifications

doi 10.1075/aic.9.08per © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

are only presented when explicitly requested by an opponent. According to these authors, children from six to eight years old are reported to resolve their disputes by either physical or verbal power manipulations, but without recourse to argumentative discourse. More recently, psychological research conducted by Kuhn (Kuhn, 1991; Kunh & Udell, 2003) and Golder (Golder, 1993, 1996; Golder & Coirier, 1996) mainly studied the argumentative abilities of children comparing them to those of adolescents and adults. These authors report that children’s argumentative discourse is poor, with argumentation skills only gradually developing from childhood to adulthood. Yet, contrarily to this developmental stream of research, other studies (Anderson et al., 1997; Orsolini & Pontecorvo, 1992; Pontecorvo & Arcidiacono, 2010; Stein and Albro, 2001; Stein & Miller, 1993), have observed three years old children who are already involved in conflictual interactions as well as four years old children who are able to understand and participate in disagreements in family discussions, thus demonstrating personal argumentative skills in these contexts. These observations regarding knowledge-oriented argumentation in pretty young children, contradict previous results. They are usually interpreted with the following hypotheses. First, it is assumed that the context in which children can produce argumentation should be always informal (family dinner, spontaneous conversations, etc.). Second, the issues and discussions are assumed to be related to values, moral judgment and pragmatic issues. Yet, the rationale behind these hypotheses is not clear; in other words, it is not said what the basis is for suggesting that informal situations would be more easy to deal with than formal ones, and that value-related and pragmatic questions would be more likely to be managed argumentatively than cognitive ones. Besides, in psychological literature on argumentation, some degree of ­heterogeneity can be observed regarding the definitions of what a “good” (or developmentally more advanced) argument is, and how it should be analyzed. Most studies are quantitative (e.g. some have counted the number of reasons ­generated for an opinion; others have developed a taxonomy describing the nature of the r­ easons given, and counted the variety of the categories used or they have discussed how complex their inter-relations are; etc.). These quantitative ­analyses only ­represent some possible ways to measure argumentative skills, yet without going into detail in a proper analysis of how children (together with adults) develop their argumentative discussions, what type of arguments they use and how these can be evaluated from the logical and communicative points of view. This paper intends to respond to some of these open problems. We will ­present a study of argumentation in adult-children interactions by relying on two analytical models: on the one hand, our study is generally framed in a pragmadialectical perspective (van Eemeren, 2009; van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004).



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

On this basis, we will analytically reconstruct children’s argumentation, including argumentation structures (Snoeck Henkemans 1997, 2000). On the other hand, we will integrate the Argumentum Model of Topics (AMT), proposed by Rigotti & Greco Morasso (2009, 2010), which is instrumental in reconstructing the inferential configuration of arguments, i.e. the relationship between arguments and their premises. Starting from this theoretical framework, we hypothesize that: (1) argumentation is likely to occur not only in informal situations like family dinners, peer interactions, etc. but also in formal situations like a school (or medical interviews, and others); and it does not only occur in debates centered on moral values but also around cognitive tasks, as those that we are taking into account; (2) children’s argumentation is probably more complex than expected by some of the authors mentioned above, and this not only in informal settings, but also in formal ones; (3) the relational and institutional context is very important to understand how children’s argumentation develops. 2.  Argumentation context In this paper, we rely on data derived from a “Neo-Piagetian task”. In this type of task, children are tested in order to assess their developmental level on cognitive concepts, for example on the concept of chance. There is a long tradition of studies using these tasks, which were originally designed in order to study children’s conceptual reasoning. This allows us to assume the background of psychologists who, starting from Piaget, have been studying children’s reasoning and to critically explore Piaget’s hypotheses that children’s reasoning is best tested when children are asked to provide arguments to back up their answers and not just assessed on verbal performances (Ducret, 2004; Piaget, 1926/2003; Vinh Bang, 1966). Furthermore, this also allows us to study specific dialogical settings as argumentation contexts, and explore their affordances for argumentation. The expected results will possibly suggest insights to revisit traditional test situations in order to create new settings, which might more easily favor children’s reasoning and argumentation. The task we are considering here sets up a specific reasoning and argumentation context, which is worth briefly describing as for its main characteristics. First, these are not naturally or spontaneously occurring discussions. Children are asked to comment on tasks that have been pre-defined by an adult-researcher, who has an agenda in mind. Arguably, this is not exclusive of (neo)Piagetian tasks; rather, this is typical of many other adult-child interactions in formal settings, such as schools, exams, medical interviews, speech therapy, and so on. Secondly, in most

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

cases, we have adapted the traditional Piagetian tasks. In fact, originally, Piagetian interviews consisted in conversations between one adult and one child. We have departed from this face-to-face interview model and chosen to work with little groups of children, because it is well known (Buchs, Butera, Mugny & Darnon, 2004; Carugati & Perret-Clermont (2015); Johnson & Johnson, 1994; Perret-Clermont, 1980) that peer interactions under certain circumstances can favor reasoning and argumentation, in particular when partners experience “socio-cognitive conflicts” i.e. the confrontation hic et nunc of different conflicting points of view that they feel the need to overcome. It has been observed that such socio-cognitive conflicts, under certain circumstances, are particularly likely to induce cognitive reorganizations and hence developmental progress (for a review: Perret-Clermont & Carugati, 2001 and Carugati & Perret-Clermont, 2015). Thirdly, the task is intended as a cognitive task, children being tested on their understanding of concepts. Hence the researcher’s expectations in these conversations normally favour knowledge-oriented argumentation. This does not mean, however, that pragmatic argumentation is excluded as we will see when dealing with our data (cf. Section 4). 3.  Methodology We will now focus on an argumentative interaction between three children and an adult in which the complexity of children’s argument is apparent. As mentioned in Section 1, our theoretical approach to the analysis of data is informed by the integration of the pragma-dialectical perspective, which we assume as a general framework, and the Argumentum Model of Topics for the analysis of the inferential configuration of arguments. We will first present an analytical reconstruction of argumentation (van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004), by specifying the standpoint(s) emerging from the discussion, the parties who are participating in the discussion, and the arguments that are advanced. Following Snoeck Henkemans (1997, 2000), we will provide an overview of the argumentation structure in this excerpt of discussion. As a second step, we will focus on one of the arguments emerged and provide a more focused analysis of its inferential configuration by means of the Argumentum Model of Topics (Rigotti & Greco Morasso, 2010). The AMT has been proposed as an analytical tool focused on inference and used for the reconstruction of argument schemes. This model has been elaborated taking the legacy of the tradition of topics into account. However, the model is also situated in the contemporary debate on the analysis of inference within argumentation theory (Rigotti and Greco, in preparation). Adopting this model allows discussing the implicit premises which children are relying on, both at the logical level and at the level of



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

cultural and symbolic resources they are mobilizing in order to respond to the task they are being proposed. The integration of pragma-dialectics and AMT has been discussed in detail in Palmieri (2014) and applied in a number of previous works (see for example Greco Morasso, 2011). It allows integrating a general overview of an argumentative discussion, including the connections between different arguments. At the same time, it permits to focus on the most strategic arguments and elicit their principles of support as well as possible implicit premises. 4.  Complexity of children’s argumentation 4.1  E  xcerpt 1 At the moment of the discussion reported in the excerpt (Table 1) taken from C.  Miserez-Caperos’ dissertation (in preparation), children have been discussing during more than 10 minutes. They have tried different strategies to find the tricked dice: roll the dice, knock them on the table, observe them, turn the dice, etc. They have noticed something that was totally unintended by the adult, i.e. that the yellow dice happens to be the only one with black spots (the others have white spots) and thereafter they have started considering that this yellow dice might be strange! They are now discussing the meaning of “black” and “white”. Table 1.  Participants: adult-researcher; Anita (10,9 ans); Alan (11,8 ans); Antonin (10,11 ans) 298

Anita

il est bizarre le jaune

the yellow one is strange

299

Res.

pourquoi il est bizarre Anita?

why it is strange Anita?

300

Anita

parce qu’il ne fait pas comme les autres.

because it doesn’t react like the others.

301

Res.

il ne fait pas comme les autres.

it doesn’t react like the others.

302

Alan

il ne mérite pas le luxe

it does not deserve luxury

303

Res.

et toi Antonin?

and you Antonin?

304

Antonin

parce qu’il a des points noirs

because it has black spots

305

Alan

((rire))

((laught))

306

Res.

et ça fait quoi d’avoir des points noirs?

and what are the consequences of having black spots?

307

Antonin

c’est ben le blanc, le blanc c’est bien. et le noir c’est mal

well, white, white is good. and black is evil (Continued)

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

Table 1.  Participants: adult-researcher; Anita (10,9 ans); Alan (11,8 ans); Antonin (10,11 ans) (continued) 308

Alan

ouais souvent dans les films le noir c’est le mal et le blanc c’est le bien.

yeah often in movies black is evil and white is good.

309

Antonin

ouais comme le Yin et le Yang

yeah like Yin and Yang

310

Res.

ah. et le blanc il a quoi de bien?

ah. and what is good with white?

311

Alan

euh lequel celui-là? ((montre le dé rouge))

erm which one this one? ((shows the red dice))

312

Antonin

[euh le blanc c’est]

[erm the white it is]

313

Res.

[je ne sais pas tu dis dans les films le blanc c’est bien]

[I don’t know you say in the movies the white is good]

314

Alan

je ne sais pas, souvent le noir ça représente le mal et le blanc ça représente le bien.

I don’t know, often black represents the evil and white represents the good.

315

Antonin

ouais comme le rouge et le bleu.

yeah as red and blue.

316

Alan

((rire)) mais euh ((rire))

((laught)) but erm ((laught))

317

Res.

ah, [donc vous pensez]

ah, [so you think]

318

Alan

[ouais par exemple aux échecs] les blancs c’est les gentils vu qu’ils commencent et les noirs c’est les méchants.

[yeah for example in chess] whites are good because they start and blacks are nasty.

319

Res.

ah d’accord

ah ok

320

Antonin

dans quasi chaque jeu de société les noirs c’est les méchants

in almost every board game black are nasty

Alan

c’est celui-là ((dé jaune)) parce qu’il est moche et il a toutes les raisons d’être un tricheur.

it is this one ((yellow dice)) because it is ugly and it has every reason to be a cheater.

Antonin

C’est le plus bizarre ((dé jaune)) et il a des points noirs.

it is the strangest dice ((yellow dice)) and it has got black spots.

… 378 … 383

In turn 298, Anita adopts the standpoint that “the yellow dice is strange”. “Strange” could mean, in this case, that if one has to suspect one dice, the yellow dice is the candidate to be suspected. At turn 304, Antonin mentions the different color (i.e. white and not black as the others) of the spots on the yellow dice. This could be interpreted as a support to Anita’s point that the yellow dice is “strange”. The researcher then asks children: “and what are the consequences of having black spots?” (turn 306) and later “and what is good with white?” (turn 310) in the hope



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

that the children will put forward arguments in support of their standpoints, thus engaging in a full-fledged argumentative discussion. In both these turns, the researcher acts as an antagonist in a (non-mixed) critical discussion, raising a question but without proposing an alternative standpoint. Her choice to act as an antagonist, and yet without explicitly contradicting the children, can be explained in connection with the specific features of this Piagetian dialogical setting, which has been purposefully designed in order to observe children’s argumentation. The researcher’s argumentative role is one of the aspects that we will have to consider in order to retrace the influence of context on the development of the argumentative discussion beforehand. The researcher’s questions get answered, as children engage in a complex discussion, in which they all act as protagonists while co-constructing arguments in support of the claim that “white is good and black is bad”. As psychologists, following Zittoun (2007), we know that people rely on cultural artifacts and symbolic resources when they face uncertainty and want to give meaning to the situation. Children seem to be using symbolic resources here to make sense of the present situation: they refer to cultural artifacts such as movies (turn 308), Yin and Yang (turn 309), chess (turn 318), board games (turn 320), in which black and white have specific symbolic meanings. Starting from Anita’s suggestion that the yellow dice looks strange, Antonin and Alan co-construct a complex chain of arguments in support of this claim.

1 S The yellow dice is strange

1.1 (300) it doesn’t do like the others

Coordinative 1.2b

1.2a (304) it has black spots

+

(307) white is good black is evil

1.2b.1

Multiple arg Multiple arg

Figure 1.  Argumentation structure of Excerpt 1

(308) often in movies black is evil and white is good

1.2b.2 (318) [for example the chess] the whites are good because they start and blacks are bad

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

In the diagram in Figure 1, inspired by the pragma-dialectical analysis of an argumentation structure,1 we observe that children are able to provide a standpoint and to produce arguments to defend it, by constructing a complete and rich argumentative discourse. We will now focus on argument 1.2 (in both its components 1.2a and 1.2b), which could be considered the core of the children’s argumentation, and analyse its inferential configuration by means of the Argumentum Model of Topics (AMT). This will enable us to precisely describe how this argument is connected to its standpoint. As anticipated in Section  1, the AMT model allows distinguishing premises of procedural (logical) nature, from premises of “material” or cultural or contextual premises, while at the same time it allows understanding how such premises are interconnected in real arguments (Rigotti & Greco Morasso, 2010). This is particularly important when studying children’s argumentation, because it is important to understand the procedural premises which children use in their argumentation, while at the same time isolating explicit and implicit premises of a material nature, which give us a sort of access to their “worldview”. In this sense, it is worth noting that an argument could be correct from a logical viewpoint, while still relying on material premises which could be discussed, or which are not immediately expected by the adults discussing with the children; eliciting what children’s implicit premises are gives us access to their starting points. The case we are analysing is particularly representative in this respect. Figure 2 presents an AMT-based analysis of argument 1.2 (a and b). The first step for doing an argumentative analysis is to identify the locus on which argumentation is based. As Palmieri (2014) makes clear, coordinative argumentation is analysed with a single inferential configuration. In our case, 1.2a and 1.2b are premises of one and the same argument, which relies on the “locus from effects to causes” as a principle of support. The locus from effects to causes establishes a connection between some data and their possible cause. This locus plays an important role in medical discourse, as it is at the basis of diagnoses. Its logical hold, however, is limited by the fact that one and the same effect may be the result of different causes. An example in the medical domain could be that, if a child has red spots on his face, this could be chicken pox but it could also be the result of some other virus, or even the effect of an allergy, and so on. In order to get to a precise diagnosis, all causes but one should be excluded (and this is not always possible).

.  We have made some little modifications to the pragma-dialectical standard notation, yet without substantially modifying the concepts.



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

LOCUS FROM EFFECTS TO CAUSES

Endoxon: White is good, black is evil

Datum: The yellow dice has black spots

Maxim: If an entity is marked with some evil component, it is strange (you must be suspicious of it)

First conclusion / Minor premise: The yellow dice has an evil component

Final conclusion: The yellow dice is strange (the candidate dice to be suspected of being tricked is the yellow one) Figure 2.  AMT representation of argument 1.2a and 1.2b

Loci are the basic relations whence inferences are drawn. However, they are not part of the inferential configuration of arguments. Different maxims – or inferential rules, also called warrants in some approaches (Toulmin 1958, Hastings 1962) can be derived from each locus. For example, different maxims can be derived from the locus from material cause, which is based on a relation between an object and its “material” (or ingredient). A possible maxim would be: “if the material is good, the product will be good”. This maxim is used when, for example, one argues that a given piece of furniture is good because it is made of solid oak wood. Another maxim of the same locus would be: “if the material cause is not present, the product cannot be manufactured”. This maxim is at play when one says, for example, that he cannot prepare a Swiss cheese fondue because he has forgot to buy cheese (and cheese is arguably the main material cause of fondue) In argument 1.2, the locus from effects to causes is at work with the following maxim, which constitutes a procedural premise of this argument: “If an entity is marked with some evil component, it is strange”, which means that you must be suspicious of it. Together with the minor premise “The yellow dice has an evil component”, this brings to the final conclusion that “The yellow dice is strange”, which means that the candidate dice to be suspected of being tricked is the yellow one. This latter is the standpoint that children are tentatively defending, as a working hypothesis to respond to the task they have been assigned.

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

It is evident, however, that the procedural component is not exhaustive of what happens in real life argumentation. In fact, the premise “The yellow dice has an evil component” is not derived from the procedural component; this is a piece of factual evidence that must be derived from “material” premises. These are represented, in Figure 2, on the left side of the diagram. Two premises of different nature constitute the material component of argumentation. First, an endoxon, i.e. a general premise representing common knowledge, or values that are shared by the interlocutors, which in this case can be formulated as: “White is good, black is evil”. Not coincidentally, endoxa are often left implicit, as it is the case in our example, precisely because they are considered as taken for granted by the arguers. Second, the material component includes a datum, i.e. a premise derived from factual evidence emerging in the specific and concrete dialogical setting in which argumentation is being developed. Data are often explicit, as in this case: “The yellow dice has black spots”. Taken together, these two material premises bring to the conclusion that the yellow dice has an evil component, which is then “exploited” to get to the final conclusion. The AMT reconstruction allows distinguishing material and procedural premises (both explicit and implicit). It also permits to understand their interplay in real-life argumentation. In this way, logical and contextual (or cultural) components of argumentative discourse are kept together. In this case, we see that the children’s argument – and we can properly speak of a common argumentation, because the children are co-constructing it – is based, from the procedural point of view, on a maxim which is often used in everyday reasoning: “If an entity is marked with some evil component, it is strange (you must be suspicious about it)”. Consider, for example, when you go to the supermarket to buy some fruit and you can pick up items yourself. You are about to choose some apples. You will identify the flawless, ideally perfect, apples, while leaving out the ones that have some signs that could be interpreted as effects of some undesirable cause (e.g. you won’t pick an apple which has a brown spot because it might mean that it is old or rotten). To make a more complex example, if you need to choose someone to trust – say, a babysitter, or a financial advisor, or a colleague that you need to hire – you will be naturally inclined to exclude those who seem to have some “evil component” – for example, they appear too nervous; – because this could be the effect of an “evil” cause. In sum, there are clues that attract our suspicion, even though this type of reasoning is a sort of cognitive shortcut, whose logical hold could certainly be discussed.2

.  Children move from stating sensory difference (colours) to a cultural analysis of “good” and “bad”. One could also further discuss the connection of certain “physical” feature to the attribution of value judgments, which may be at the basis of processes of prejudice and stereotypes. We wish to thank our reviewer for raising this point.



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

In the case of dice, children need to pick up the tricked one because they are asked to do so. However, they do not know where to start with. Based on the locus from effects to cause, children identify a clue for an “evil” component and ascribe this to the possibility for the yellow dice to have an “evil” cause. If the procedural component of this argument, as said, could certainly be discussed in terms of logical hold, particularly interesting in this example is the material component of argumentation, which concerns the symbolic meaning of the black and white colours. In the children’s view, black is evil and white is good – as they reason out moving from symbolic resources that are known to them. Needless to say, this endoxon could also be discussed, because its symbolic validity can certainly not be extended to all occurrences in which colours are manifested. These limitations on the procedural and material components notwithstanding, it is interesting to see the complexity of the argumentation co-constructed by children in this case. It is also interesting to see how cultural and symbolic resources (i.e. the fact that black is bad and white is good, or resources like chess, movies, etc.) are adapted in situations in which it would probably not be expected by the researcher. Knowing the implicit premises that children start from is, in any case, an important preliminary step in order to help them engage in sounder argumentation. 4.2  S ome notes on social and relational aspects in knowledge-oriented argumentation in children What we have done here is analyzing what happened in this interaction from a cognitive point of view. Yet, we could also analyze the same interaction from a psychosocial point of view. By so doing, we could observe the importance of context, in particular social and relational processes within peers and adults’ interactions, for the development of an argumentative discussion. When an interaction like this starts, there is almost always a moment of tension: children try to decipher the adult’s expectations and those of their peers, in search of an understanding of what kind of social game they are asked to enter. Usually, children try to comply with what they think are the social expectations in this context. But at the same time, they usually try to find their own place, mark it by their own moves, develop their understanding of the issue and express it (Breux & Perret-Clermont, 2014). In children’s perspective, the task they are faced with is not only that of elaborating a proper cognitive argumentation in order to solve a problem and check that the solution is reasonable; it is also a complex multidimensional social game that requires managing faces, rules of politeness, gender identities, and other agendas for self and others. As a consequence, the social situation is not fixed but dynamic and subject to negotiation. Adults’ (as well as peers’) interventions are not ­“neutral”. They modify the context and are interpreted by the children who

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al.

then modify their reasoning. Although the adult tries to understand the children’s cognitive development being as “neutral” as possible when he or she asks questions and makes counter-suggestions, still she is interpreted by children as if she spoke from a position of authority. For this reason, it is very difficult for a researcher in this dialogical setting to ask questions in order to provoke children’s argumentation without being interpreted as an antagonist who somehow has an alternative standpoint in mind. 5.  C  onclusion In this paper, we have analyzed data taken from adult-children conversations in the dialogical setting of a neo-Piagetian task. The analytic overview proposed on the basis of the pragma-dialectical approach has shown that children’s argumentation is more complex than usually expected on the basis of previous psychological research about children’s argumentative skills; in fact, it includes different levels of subordinate argumentation, which children can co-construct while answering to a researcher’s questions. Moreover, the AMT analysis of one of the children’s arguments shows that their command of argumentation is complete and sophisticated. In fact, even though the validity of some of the children’s premises might be questioned, still the reasoning backing up their standpoints appears to be well-developed, especially in a difficult context like that of the tricked dice. This type of analysis sheds a new light on argumentation in context, by considering settings in which children are involved, as well as discussing the role of researchers’ interventions whose intention (but is it really the case?) is to foster children’s argumentation. Researchers are, in fact, not “neutral” but involved in the same argumentative discussion as the children and their role is crucial in shaping the discussion itself. The analysis of cognitive tasks, as the one we have considered, also significantly contributes to the analysis of knowledge-oriented argumentation. Beside their argumentative relevance, these results bear important consequences for education as well. Educationalists often start from deficit hypotheses about children’s competences and then presuppose that they have to teach them how to improve their argumentation skills. But, if we assume that argumentative competences are already there, as it seems to emerge from our analysis, then the educator’s role amounts to creating conditions for these competences to be used. In general, before judging children’s argumentative skills, it might be necessary to study their contributions to argumentative discussions into detail, including procedural and material premises and the symbolic world of each of the protagonists. It would also be interesting to evaluate the meaning of the adult’s interventions in



Knowledge-oriented argumentation in children 

argumentative terms. In this case, for example, we often had the adult acting as an antagonist in a critical discussion, i.e. raising doubts or asking questions, but without explicitly presenting an alternative standpoint, as it happens in non-mixed disputes. Yet, because of the asymmetry that is still present between adults and children, this role of antagonist who only raises questions and doubts is not easy to maintain for a researcher because his or her interventions tend to be interpreted by children as hinting to some contrary standpoint that the researcher does not explicitly express. For this reason, it is not easy for an adult in this setting to maintain the dispute as non-mixed, which poses a psycho-social problem typical of this type of adult-child discussion, whose consequences on children’s argumentation should be further investigated (Greco Morasso, Miserez-Caperos & Perret-­ Clermont, 2015). In sum, children seem to be more competent than expected. But in children’s eyes researchers probably seem to be very strange interlocutors, opposing them but never explicitly.

Thanks We would like to thank the school authorities and teachers (Canton of Neuchâtel) who have helped us meet the children. We are grateful to the Swiss National Research Foundation for its support (contract no. PDFMP1-123102/1 as part of the Argupolis project (http://www.argu polis.net/); and contract no. 100019_156690).

References Anderson, R. C., Chinn, C., Chang, J., Waggoner, M., & Yi, M. (1997). On the logical integrity of children’s arguments. Cognition and Instruction, 15(2), 135–167. DOI: 10.1207/s1532690xci1502_1 Berkowitz, M. W., Oser, F., & Althoff, W. (1987). The development of sociomoral discourse. In W. Kurtines & J. Gewirtz (Eds.), Moral development throught social interaction. New York: John Wiley & Sons. Breux, S., & Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (2014). Etre élève et exprimer une pensée propre: un paradoxe? In M. Avanzi, V. Conti, G. Corminboeuf, F. Gachet, L. A. Johnsen, & P. Montchaud (Eds.), Enseignement du français: les apports de la recherche en linguistique. Réflexions en l’honneur de Marie-José Béguelin (pp. 327–340). Bruxelles: Peter Lang. Buchs, C., Butera, F., Mugny, G., & Darnon, C. (2004). Conflict elaboration and cognitive outcomes. Theory Into Practice, 43(1), 23–30. DOI: 10.1207/s15430421tip4301_4 Carugati, F., & Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (2015). Learning and instruction, socio-cognitive perspectives. In James D. Wright (Ed.) International encyclopedia of the social and behavioral sciences (2nd ed) Vol. 13, pp. 670–676.

 Anne-Nelly Perret-Clermont et al. Clark, R. A., & Delia, J. G. (1976). The development of functional persuasive skills in childhood and early adolescence. Child Development, 47, 1008–1014. DOI: 10.2307/1128437 Ducret, J.-J. (2004). Méthode clinique-critique piagétienne. Service de la recherche en éducation du Canton de Genéve, 1–19. Van Eemeren, F.H. (2009). Examining argumentation in context: Fifteen studies on strategic maneuvering. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.1 Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (2004). A systematic theory of argumentation: The pragmadialectical approach. Amsterdam: The press syndicate of the University of Cambridge. Golder, C. (1993). Savez-vous argumenter à la mode… à la mode des petits? Enfance, 46(4), 359–376. DOI: 10.3406/enfan.1993.2069 Golder, C. (1996). Le développement des discours argumentatifs. Lausanne/Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé. Golder, C., & Coirier, P. (1996). The production and recognition of typological argumentative text markers. Argumentation, 10, 271–282. Greco Morasso, S. (2011). Argumentation in dispute mediation: A reasonable way to handle conflict. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.3 Greco Morasso, S., Miserez-Caperos, C., & Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (2015). L’argumentation à visée cognitive chez les enfants. Une étude exploratoire sur les dynamiques argumentatives et psychosociales. In N. Muller Mirza & C. Buty (Eds.), Argumentation dans les contextes de l’éducation. (pp. 39–82) Bern: Peter Lang. Hastings, A.C. (1962). A reformulation of the modes of reasoning in argumentation. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL. Johnson, D.W., & Johnson, R. T. (1994). Collaborative learning and argumentation. In P. Kutnick & C. Rogers (Eds.), Groups in schools (pp. 66–86). London: Cassel Education. Kuhn, D. (1991). The skills of argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI: 10.1017/CBO9780511571350 Kuhn, D., & Udell, W. (2003). The development of argument skills. Child Development, 74(5), 1245–1260. DOI: 10.1111/1467-8624.00605 Orsolini, M., & Pontecorvo, C. (1992). Children’s talk in classroom discussion. Cognition and Instruction, 9(2), 113–136. DOI: 10.1207/s1532690xci0902_2 Palmieri, R. (2014). Corporate argumentation in takeover bids. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.8 Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (1980). Social interaction and cognitive development in children. London: Academic Press. (downloadable from: http://doc.rero.ch/record/12854?ln=de). Perret-Clermont, A.-N., & Carugati, F. (2001). Learning and instruction, social-cognitive perspectives. In N.J. Smelser & P.B. Baltes (Eds.), International encyclopedia of the social & behavioral sciences (pp. 8586–8588). Oxford: Pergamon. DOI: 10.1016/B0-08-043076-7/02405-0 Piaget, J. (1926/2003). La représentation du monde chez l’enfant. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Pontecorvo, C., & Arcidiacono, F. (2010). Development of reasoning through arguing in young children. Культурно-Историческая Психология/Cultural-Historical Psychology, 4, 19–29. Rigotti, E., & Greco Morasso, S. (2009). Argumentation as an object of interest and as a social and cultural resource. In N. M. Mirza & A.-N. Perret-Clermont (Eds.), Argumentation and education (pp. 9–66). New York: Springer. DOI: 10.1007/978-0-387-98125-3_2



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Rigotti, E., & Greco Morasso, S. (2010). Comparing the Argumentum-Model of Topics with other contemporary approaches to argument schemes; The procedural and the material components. Argumentation, 24(4), 489–512. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-010-9190-7 Rigotti, E., & Greco, S. (in preparation). Inference in argumentation: A topics-based approach to argument schemes. To be submitted to the Springer Argumentation Library series. Snoeck Henkemans, A.F. (1997). Analyzing complex argumentation. The reconstruction of multiple and coordinatively compound argumentation in a critical discussion. Amsterdam: Sic Sat. Snoeck Henkemans, A.F. (2000). State-of-the-art. The structure of argumentation. Argumentation, 14(4), 447–473. DOI: 10.1023/A:1007800305762 Stein, N. L., & Albro, E.R. (2001). The origins and nature of arguments: Studies in conflict understanding, emotion, and negotiation. Discourse processes, 32(2–3), 113–133. DOI: 10.1207/S15326950DP3202&3_02 Stein, N. L., & Miller, C.A. (1993). A theory of argumentative understanding: Relationships among position preference, judgements of goodness, memory and reasoning. Argumentation, 7(2), 183–204. DOI: 10.1007/BF00710664 Toulmin, S. (1958). The uses of argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vinh Bang, A. (1966). La méthode clinique et la recherche en psychologie de l’enfant. In F. Bresson & M. De Montmollin (Eds.), Psychologie et Epistémologie génétique: thèmes piagetiens (pp. 67–81). Paris: Dunod. Zittoun, T. (2007). The role of symbolic resources in human lives. In J. Valsiner & A. Rosa (Eds.), Cambridge handbook of socio-cultural psychology (pp. 343–361). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing One aspect of the evaluation of students’ written argumentative competence Paraskevi Sachinidou

Democritus university of Thrace Argumentation strategies constitute a crucial aspect of argumentation. The purpose of this paper is to explore the relations of the argumentative strategies observed in the writing of adolescents’ texts within language evaluation tests, to the elaboration of their theses and the evaluation of their argumentative competence. Despite the diversity of argumentative strategies employed, their standpoints are not fully elaborated and so their argumentative competence is diminished. These findings are important for the designing of argumentative teaching. Keywords:  adolescents’ argumentation; argumentative competence; argumentative strategy; language evaluation

1.  Introduction Argumentation strategies are of significant importance to the study and theory of argumentation. They reveal the deep structure of argumentation, the dynamic and convergent steps, moves and choices towards its construction, transcending semantic, pragmatic, lexico-grammar and rhetorical levels and relations. Strategic maneuvering is a term coined by pragma-dialectics to describe the multilayered functions of contextualized argumentation strategies (van Eemeren, 2010). In evaluating students’ written argumentative competence, employment of a variety of strategies is considered a fundamental aspect of argumentation development (Swain & Suzuki, 2009). Argumentation strategies are connected to a high metacognitive level of awareness (Kuhn & Udell, 2007) revealing the abstract design patterns with and through which an argument text is constructed.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.09sac © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

Within language evaluation tests, integration of reading and writing tasks draws a nexus of emerging dialectical argumentation strategies which supports students’ written argumentation potential. Nonetheless, activation of strategic routes to argumentation does not imply argument competence. It constitutes rather a first step towards argumentative competence, if reflective coordination, elaboration and contextualization of argumentative strategies do not apply. 1.1  Argumentation in educational context Although arguing is considered an experiential ability acquired quite early in a child’s everyday life (Kuhn & Udell, 2003), its development and moreover its elaboration and connection to educational, and institutional frames and disciplines is considered to be a highly demanding and challenging issue for both educators and students. Since critical thinking, science, communication, negotiation skills, decision making and social success were connected to argumentative skills (Baker, 2003, 2009; Byrnes, 1998; Gilardoni, 2009, pp. 723–725; Klaczynski, 2004; Kuhn & Udell, 2007, p. 90; Muller Mirza & Perret-Clermont, 2009, pp. 127–144), teaching argumentation became a crucial issue for education. What is learned intuitively can be further elaborated through education thus offering equal opportunities for social and individual development to all social agents. There have been various researches on the dynamics of argumentative skills within educational frames, all concluding its connection to a high metacognitive level, variably developed by person’s subjectivity, age and institutional elaboration (Kuhn & Udell, 2003). Additionally, even teaching practice is regarded as a demanding argumentation approach (Macagno & Konstantinidou, 2012, pp. 2–3; Rigotti, 2007; Sandoval & Millwood 2005; Schwarz, 2009, pp. 91, 93). 1.2  Written argumentation in language education Argumentation, as every communicational practice, is contextualized. Within pragma-dialectics this is a fundamental aspect of all the four principals (externalization, socialization, functionalization, and dialectification) in examining argumentation (van Eemeren, Grootendorst & Henkemans et al., 1996). Life domain, institution, instructional restrictions, subjects and culture construct the argumentative activity and consequently the argumentative type in practice (van ­Eemeren & Houtlosser, 2005, p. 70). Although these variables are obvious in life situations and in dialogue involving agents’ interaction face to face, they are ‘hidden’ and require a cognitively demanding and conscious reconstruction in written argumentation, especially for a child, (Dolz, 1996; Rapanto, Garcia-Mila & Gilabert, 2013; Schwarz, 2009, p. 95) acquired through educational practices. Since written argumentation is connected



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

to knowledge transforming models (Bereiter & Scardamalia, 1987; Grabe & Kaplan, 1996, pp. 121–122) and thus to the elaboration and negotiation of human cultural and social experience, it is strongly involved into educational practice and especially language education. In language education students are asked to constantly move back and forth across a continuum consisting of two domain circles, the one of the physically observable context of education and the other of the life domain where the language learning activity is reflected. These moves are even more cognitively and communicatively demanding and require metacognitive awareness and strategic coordination, especially when the educational subject is written argumentation. 1.3  L  anguage evaluation test, an educational context of emerging argumentation One crucial and explicitly institutional oriented aspect of language education is language evaluation tests. Language evaluation tests comprise a special and crucial educational context, a special genre within the institutional learning domain of education. They are crucial in determining the degree to which accomplishment of learning goals is achieved by both educators and students and special in that they consist broadly a communicative and educational learning activity aiming not only to the educational context but to real life communicative competence. In defining argumentative activities as: conventional entities that can be distinguished by ‘external’ empirical observations of the communicative practices in the various domains, or spheres of discourse, institutionally variants, some of which are culturally established forms of communication with a more or less fixed format (van Eemeren & Houtlosser, 2005, p. 76)

van Eemeren and Houtlosser offer a descriptive tool for language evaluation tests as argumentative activities trying to convey ways to reasonably convince educators for students’ communicational skills within the restrictions posed by educational institutional frames while at the same time reflecting life communicative skills. This is especially obvious when the language assignment task in language evaluation tests concerns written argumentation. In language evaluation tests, the integration of reading and writing tasks consists a textual and subjects’ network within which students’ written argumentation is constructed as an externalized, functional, social and dialogical communicative activity aiming to reasonably convince two interlocutors, the teacher, the physical subject of the educational context and the recipients of the text as these are constructed by the language assignment task. At the same time students’ are in dialogue, explicit or implicit, with the author of the text assigned for reading.

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

Although reading and writing assignments are not always explicitly related in language evaluation tests, they consist interconnected, fundamental parts of literacy in educational contexts (Fitzgerald & Shanahan, 2000) creating thus an emerging dialogical context for language learning (Hyland, 2002, pp. 8–9; Nystrand, Camoran, Kachur & Prendergast, 1997) which comprises with the requirements of authenticity in language education (Hawkey, 2004; Weigle, 2002; Weir, 2005) and in argumentation in particular. This is especially obvious when there is a common thematic and generic textual orientation (Lemke, 1992, p. 259). Within language evaluation tests, students’ written argumentation: i. Externalizes their opinions ii. Responds to the doubts, objections, opinions and possible counterclaims of the teacher, the projected reader of their written discourse as well as the writer of the text to be read iii. Tries to resolve and manage a real or constructed, disagreement iv. It is dialectical in that it encompasses the envisaged agreements or disagreements of the teacher, the projected reader of the language assignment task and the author of the text to be read Effectiveness in language evaluation assignments is mainly considered towards three directions: (a) moving dynamically across a communicative continuum constructed by the language assignment task and the educational context, (b) ­understanding of discourse goals and (c) application of effective strategies to meet these goals. The last two directions are recognized by Kuhn and Udell (2007) as being the two potential forms of development in argumentative discourse skills. “These two forms of development can be predicted to reinforce one another”. (Kuhn & Udell, 2007, p. 1246). In learning and practicing written argumentation students have to strategically maneuver across, back and forth the communicational continuum constructed on the one hand by the language assignment task and on the other by the educational context, reconstructing a silent and physically absent dialogue as well as writtenly projected agents in the audience addressed (Hyland, 2002, p. 9). The integration of reading and writing tasks in language evaluation tasks creates the prerequisite dialogical network for the emerging of critical exchanges and strategic maneuvering moves towards the construction of students’ argumentative text. Texts assigned for reading and writing form an intertextual network which activates students’ intertextual dynamics (Eco, 1979, p. 21). This intertextual network enriches their argumentative knowledge and competence by developing their ability to enhance a variety of argumentative moves within a dialogically rich textual frame echoing various voices and agents (Dimasi & Sachinidou, 2015;



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

Panagiotidou, 2011). In that way, they form a ‘real life’ communicative setting (Hyland, 2002, p. 9). 1.4  Emerging argumentative strategies within language evaluation tests According to Reisigl and Wodak strategy is “a plan of accurate practices more or less intentional including discursive practices to achieve a particular goal” (Reisigl & Wodak, 2001, p. 23; Reisigl & Wodak, 2009). The recurrence and coordination of argumentative moves are considered as forms of argumentative strategies, strategic maneuvers (Rocci, 2009, p. 258; van Eemeren & Houtlosser, 2009, p. 7). In trying to construct their argumentative text, students use a variety of discourse strategies (Ferretti, Lewis, & AndrewsWeckerly, 2009; Nussbaum & Edwards, 2011) many of them emerging through the textual network constructed by the integration of reading and writing tasks in language evaluation tests. Language evaluation tests consists a hidden agenda of the constraints allowed and the opportunities offered by the educational context and the language curriculum in particular. The parameters determining the argumentative strategies used are also closely linked to the language assignment task and the communicative context designed by it. Since argumentative strategies are communicatively contextualized, they are determined by the communicative objectives (Hyland, 2002, p. 35) designed by both the language assignment task and the language evaluation test. Rhetorical goal relating to genre and text type and informational goals such as subject matter as well as logical construction relating to the potential of argumentation schemes, direct the use of argumentative strategies. In a complimentary and more detailed approach, pragma-dialectics distinguishes the parameters of the strategic functions of argumentative maneuvers in: a) results, b) routes to achieve results, c) constraints imposed by the institutional context and d) commitments defining the argumentative situation (van Eemeren & Houtlosser, 2009, p. 11). Adaptation to the demands of the audience to which argumentation is directed, selection from the topical potential of argumentation and choice of the stylistic devices in the presentation of argumentation are also considered as aspects of strategic maneuvering (van Eemeren, 2010, Ch4; van Eemeren & Houtlosser, 1999, pp. 484–486) giving a more detailed account of the forms and choices argumentative strategic practices take. The effectiveness of students’ written argumentation text is defined by subjects’ perceptions for argumentation formed within this communicational continuum between the educational context and the real life projection the later conveys. When looking into students’ argumentative strategies we can also gain insights into the educational formulation of their perceptions on what argumentation is and how it is effective, a reflection of the teaching and learning of argumentation.

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

2.  S  tudy 2.1  R  esearch questions a. What argumentative strategies do students employ within integrating reading and writing tasks in language evaluation tests while constructing their argumentative texts? b. In what way do these strategies elaborate the validity of their standpoints and their argumentative competence? c. Is gender a significant variable of argumentative strategies? 2.2  R  esearch material 2.2.1  Participants Participants are twenty, 16 year old students, 9 females and 11 males, coming from an urban area and a low socioeconomic background, at the second, out of three, grade of the Greek Lyceum. The second grade of Lyceum schooling was preferred due to the proliferation of the language curriculum goals at that educational level and its connection to the learning and teaching of argumentation in particular. It is a grade just before the final grade of secondary schooling and students’ final exams to enter university, thus more directed to the secondary educational curriculum, without at the same time being strictly connected to the exams and related language evaluation tests for entering university. The participants belong to the same class, randomly chosen out of five classes at the same Lyceum to promote a representative sample of an authentic class instance (Thomas, 2011), and were involved in the same language teaching course by the same teacher. In this way, they consist a relatively unified and at the same time authentic educational context for research (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). 2.2.2  Data The research material related to the final language evaluation paper given at the end of the school year 2013–2014, in a period of 2 hours, with integrating reading and writing assignments as designed by the Greek national language curriculum. Between texts assigned for reading and texts assigned for writing there are thematic and text type relevancies constructing an intertextual network, dynamically supportive for the writing of argumentative texts and thus of argumentative strategies involved. Institutional significance of final language evaluation tests is of importance since they compose one aspect of the degree to which language learning was accomplished and is numerically presented and valued by degrees of accomplishment. The research focus was the 20 argumentative texts written by students within the frame of their final language evaluation test as the main part of the assigned writing.



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

2.2.3  Methodology Two school teachers, familiar with the language curriculum at Lyceum and argumentation theory, were chosen as independents raters of students’ texts. They were properly trained and had extensive practice before any rating. In each stage of the research consensus discussions between raters were conducted. At first, a ‘generous reading’ (Bartholomae, 1986; Donahue, 2008, p. 323) of texts and of the language evaluation test was conducted in order to acquire an overall and comprehensive perspective of the research material and to determine the levels, categories and units of research without pre acquired decisions on the research units that would impose a research perspective before ahead. Recurring patterns with similar textual functions at semantic, pragmatic, logic and lexicogrammar level were observed and categorized into research units. The research units chosen, given the limitations of the current paper, are: a) diversity of standpoints used, b) gender diversity of standpoints, c) elaboration of standpoints e) idea negotiations with the reading assignment text f) lexico-­ grammar construction of textual voice and communicational context g) argumentation schemes. Given the research units chosen, an analysis protocol was constructed and tested to describe, analyze and evaluate students’ argumentative texts in educational contexts. An assessment rubric was constructed in order to explicitly frame the research units and turn the assessment of the six qualitative research units into numerical scores. Each text was analyzed applying the units chosen. Coding and evaluation were completed by the two raters. The overall consensus between the raters, expressed as the percentage of corresponding scores in all research units, is 87%. 2.3  R  esults The language assignment task preceding the writing of students’ text, referred to a subject familiar to students by their language curriculum. One of the most important problems of our time is the increase of unemployment, especially among young people. Investigate the reasons of the phenomenon as well as the consequences in the life of young people. Suppose that your text is the speech that you will give at an event that will be held at your school.’ (400–450 words).

The reading assignment text is an article in a daily newspaper written by a university teacher on the importance of higher education to social as well as individual life despite the growing numbers of unemployment for university degree holders. 2.3.1  Diversity of standpoints The number of standpoints employed to meet the questions of the language assignment text concerning the reasons and consequences of young peoples’

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

unemployment are 68 for causes and 65 for consequences, a total of 133 standpoints, slightly privileging numerically standpoints for causes to standpoints for consequences in a percentage of 1,046%. Given the word limitations of the text (400–450 words), an average of 3,4 standpoints for reasons and 3,25 for consequences is considered a quite appropriate length for their further elaboration (Figure 1). 80 Causes

Consequences

70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

T1 4 3

T2 3 2

T3 3 2

T4 2 2

T5 7 5

T6 4 4

T7 5 5

T8 T10 T11 T13 T12 T13 T14 T15 T16 T17 T18 T19 T20 TOTAL 4 3 4 2 3 3 3 4 1 4 4 1 4 68 3 3 4 1 2 3 3 3 3 3 1 4 9 65

Figure 1.  Diversity of standpoints

In 7 out of 20 texts the number of standpoints for reasons was equal to the number of standpoints for consequences. In 8 texts the difference between the standpoints for reasons and for consequences was only a minimum one, echoing teaching and curriculum directions of balance in the elaboration of the directions given by the language assignment task. A relatively balanced elaboration of assignment directions is considered to be a fundamental aspect of an effective argumentative text. It reveals the strategic planning through which an argumentative text is ­constructed as well as subject’s knowledge potential and depth of understanding for the ­language assignment task. In 5 texts, a difference of employment of reasons to consequences or vice versa is observed, revealing a difference in the knowledge dynamic for relevant information and ideas. More specifically, in 2 texts the standpoints employed for causes were 7 out 5 for consequences and 4 out of 1, whereas in 3 texts 4 standpoints were employed for causes out of 9 for consequences and relatively 1 out of 4 and 1 out of 3 (Figure 1).



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

2.3.2  Gender diversity of standpoints Gender diversity in number of standpoints deployed, although slightly favors males to females, falls under the statistical constraint that 55% of the participants are males and 45% females concluding to a female advantage of 2,17% standpoints. On the total, 69 standpoints were employed by males and 64 by females. Females employ more standpoints for causes, 35 standpoints, while males 33, resulting to a 2,94% difference. Males employ 36 standpoints for consequences while females 29, a difference of 10, 77% (Figure 2). 140

133

Causes Consequences

120

Total

100 80 68 60

65

40

69

64

35

29

33 36

20 0

Total

Female

Male

Figure 2.  Gender diversity of standpoints

2.3.3  Elaboration of standpoints Elaboration of standpoints deployed is closely linked to the definition of argumentation as a composition of a structured constellation of propositions that mean to achieve its discursive purposes and reach a reasonable critique (van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1992; van Eemeren et al., 1996, p. 5) and to its effectiveness and ­ erreti quality (De la Paz, Ferretti, Wissinger, Yee & MacArthur, 2012, p. 418; F et al., 2009; Nussbaum & Schraw, 2007; Walton, Reed & Macagno, 2008). In that sense, elaboration of standpoints in argumentation at both micro and macro level, transcends pragmatic, semantic, lexico-grammar and reasonable directions simultaneously. Given the above, explicit and reasonable articulation of supporting materials and strategic maneuvering are ascribed to the elaboration of standpoints as advancement steps to high-quality arguments and argumentation. At the micro level, elaboration of standpoints is linked to the reasonable, audience/reader oriented, interconnected, gradual and methodical deployment of standpoints and the adduction of arguments. While at the macro level, elaboration of standpoints

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

is related to the development of argumentation stage so as to reach resolution of the initial projected disagreement between interlocutors in general and between writer and reader in written argumentation. Hence, argumentative elaboration is also closely linked to argumentative structure, and argumentation schemes into their specific communicational context. Argumentation structure comprises of explicitly, gradual and discursively interconnected propositions, structured constellations of students’ propositions aiming at the gradual elaboration of their standpoints (Garssen, 2001, p.  81; Shultz  & Meuffels, 2011, p. 120; van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004, p. 4), relevant to the issue under discussion, with sufficient support to the main conclusion, and with reference to the logical acceptance of reasonable participants (Johnson & Blair, 1994, p. 55) and the communicational context. A successful argument is semantically, syntactically and pragmatically valid (Xiong & Zhao, 2007, p. 1543). One aspect of argumentation structure is argumentation schemes. According to Macagno (2015) argumentation schemes represent the formalization of abstract patterns of argumentative inference combining “material links with logical relations between the premise and the conclusion in an argument” (Macagno, 2015, pp. 2–3). They consist “an abstract frame that expresses the justificatory principle employed by the arguer”, as Hitchcock and Wagemans noted (Hitchcock & Wagemans, 2011, p. 185) “in order to promote a transfer of acceptability form the explicit premise to the standpoint” (van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 2004, p. 4). Argumentation schemes transcend the semantic and reasoned structure of argument and offer us a descriptive, reflective, analytical and evaluative insight to the structure of argumentation and argumentative text. As a consequence, in defining whether a standpoint is elaborated the criteria proposed and applied in the present study are: (a) reference to the issue under discussion, (b) adequate advancement of links between premises and the standpoint one wishes to defend via argument schemes so as to insure acceptability of the premise and sufficiency of transference to the standpoint (Garssen, 2001, p. 81), (c) argumentative discourse indicators (d) appeal to audience reasonableness and (e) communicational contextualization for the specific activity type or genre argumentation is aimed. Only 45 standpoints out of 133 were elaborated by students, a percentage of 33, 84%. Elaboration of standpoints is mainly related to reasons, 26 out of a total of 68 standpoints, a percentage of 38, 24% and 19 out of a total 64 standpoints for consequences, a percentage of 29,69%. The 42 standpoints related to reasons and not elaborated and the 45 standpoints not elaborated and related to consequences consisted merely of one proposition leaving other premises and inference unexpressed and implicit. Females constructed 22 elaborated standpoints and males 23 which given the gender statistical difference of the participants, results to an almost equality (Figure 3).



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing  140 120

133

Elaborated standpoints Standpoints

100 80

68

65

60 45 40 26

19

20 0

Causes

Consequences

Total

Figure 3.  Elaboration of standpoints Example 1 Technology has been developed in such a degree

that is the dominant skill in many parts of production

Moreover due to the development of technology specialzation is asked

this change has provoked a reduction for young peoples’ jobs

which means that it is quite difficult for a person with skills to work without being special in a field

so the work places are dominated by machines while people stay out of work

Figure 4.  Examples of standpoints’ elaboration

 Paraskevi Sachinidou Example 2 ideology in school and family

directs students to academically demanding university departments

underestimating manual work

accumulation in few university departments

there is no professional future

Figure 4.  (Continued)

2.3.4  Negotiations with the reading assignment text At the semantic level of argumentation students negotiated and transformed ideas from the reading assignment text thus applying in writing the knowledge transforming model which is considered most appropriate for the writing of argumentation texts (Andrews, 1995, p. 167; Baker, 2009, p. 138; Grabe & Kaplan, 1996, pp. 121–2). With negotiation, reference is made to the deployment and interactional construction of meanings and to lexico-grammar and reasoned structures that subjects’ activate within communicational contexts in their effort to convey meanings and communicate, a strategy quite familiar to the integration of reading and writing tasks (Donahue, 2004; Garcia-Mila & Andersen, 2007, p. 42; ­Sachinidou & Dimasi, 2010). For the purpose of this paper, negotiation focused only to the semantic grounds of ideas and information between the reading and the writing assignment text. Negotiations were numbered according to ideas students used from the reading assignment text, to deploy standpoints. 21 one out of 68 (31%) standpoints for



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

the causes of young peoples’ unemployment and 32 out 65 (49, 23%) standpoints for the consequences of unemployment are found in the reading assignment text. Students retrieve and transform ideas and information from the reading assignment text related to the subject and goal of their text and consequently diminish the cognitive load that argumentation involves (Kuhn & Udell, 2007, p. 1247). Idea selection with reasoned discourse is an additive value to the construction and development of argumentation (Anderson, Chinn, Waggoner & Nguyen, 1998, p. 172). Semantic negotiations reveal a dialogical and intertextual dimension of students’ argumentation texts that enhances their effectiveness by invoking strategies supportive of argumentation (Figure 5). 80 68

70

Standpoints reading text Total standpoints 65

60 50 40 32 30 20

21

10 0

1

2

Figure 5.  Negotiations with the reading assignment text

2.3.5  Lexico-grammar construction of textual voice and communicational context Textual voice and textual identity are defined both by the communicational and social potentials available to the writer (Scollon, 1996, p. 7). In writing argumentative texts within the assignments of the language evaluation test, students engage in the construction of a textual voice as designed by both the language assignment task and the educational context comprised by the language evaluation test. Lexico-grammar construction of textual voice reveals one aspect of style and stylization and the strategies involved in presenting different voices and selves in the discourse (De Fina, 2011, p. 273; Fahnestock, 2011, p. 279) employing and at the same time revealing genre constraints, opportunities and dynamics and

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

s­ubjects’ communicational potential and knowledge not only as discourse producers but as discourse recipients as well. The lexico-grammar construction of textual voice situates the writer and the reader in the communicational context as potentially interactional agents and constantly inscribes, changes and challenges their cognitive representations (Van Dijk, 1998, 2010) thus directing to argumentation (Rocci, 2009, p. 258). Person markers are one aspect of lexico-grammar construction of textual voice under various forms, mainly in the pronoun system and verb suffixes’. The first singular person was used in all 20 texts. In 19 out of 20 texts first plural person was used. In 7 texts, second plural person was included and in just 3 texts appeared second singular person. In all texts third singular and third plural persons were used. Genre of language assignment, speech to an audience, contextualized students’ choices of person markers’. Emphasis was given to the first singular and first plural person and third singular and third plural person which were present in all texts. Writer’s voice is explicitly stated and differentiated by other textual voices in the first singular person, discursively constructing an identity of a knowledgeable subject whose judgment is clearly fore grounded and appreciated for its expertise and authoritative power and thus increasing persuasive effects (Schulze, 2011, p.  132). First plural person, observed in 19 texts in an inclusive sense, unities writer and reader (Fahnestock, 2011, p. 285) as belonging to the same identity group, with mutual perspectives and interests as designed by the language assignment task. Obvious audience appeal is observed in 7 texts through second plural person, “one of the markers of a more oral style” (Fahnestock, 2011, p. 281), in 20 18 16 14 12 10

20

19

20

20

8 6 4

7

2 0

3 a singular

a plural

b plural

b singular c singular

c plural

Person markers

Figure 6.  Lexico-grammar construction of textual voice, person markers



Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

accordance with the public speech genre to which the language assignment task is directed. Second singular person was used only in three texts in the generic sense of a rhetorical appeal to the human audience. Third singular and third plural person were used in all 20 texts stating the objective positioning of an observer to actions, subjects, ideas, a premise of reasonableness (see Figure 6). 2.3.6  Argumentation schemes Argumentation schemes represent abstract patterns of semantic, pragmatic and reasonable relations between the premise and the conclusion in different and dynamic combinations (Macagno, 2015). The direction in which the activation of these combinations will be driven, is drawn in a map of complex possibilities and is closely related to the purpose of the argument and therefore to its pragmatic meaning emerged in a communicational context as well as to the strategies connected with the purpose of the move. The strategies available or of which a subject avails himself of, direct the combination of relations represented by argumentation schemes in the perspective of the ontological structure of the subject matter of the claim (Macagno, 2015, pp. 20–24). In referring to the causes and consequences of young peoples’ unemployment, the language assignment task oriented students mainly to causal argumentation, structured on an interdependent chain of reasons and effects and thus facilitating and supporting two argumentative aspects of argumentation schemes: (a) promote transfer of acceptability from explicit premises to the standpoint and (b) fit to the sort of propositions (Garssen, 2001, p. 91) the assignment task is oriented to. Since the purpose is to support a judgment in a state of affairs, what causes young peoples’ unemployment and the consequences that this has on their lives, the writer had to choose how to structure his arguments following two directions: (a) external arguments based on speaker’s superior knowledge and (b) internal arguments providing reasons on the features and characteristics of the subject matter to support an evaluative judgment on an entity or a state of affairs. (Macagno, 2015, p. 21)

In using the first singular verbal person and thus constructing a knowledgeable identity, students chose an external argument perspective. At the same time, providing reasons on the actions that lead to young peoples’ unemployment and the consequences that this has on them, they characterize and evaluate entities and activities “aligning the addressee into a community of shared values and hierarchies of values and beliefs” (Martin & Rose, 2005, p. 95) and thus using internal arguments. The view point of the language assignment task directed another aspect in students’ argumentative schemes. In arguing about the reasons of young

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

­ eoples’ unemployment they evaluate mainly actions and activities while in p ­arguing for the consequences of the subject matter they evaluate entities of being, ascribing attitudes to subjects’ behavior.

3.  C  onclusions Before drawing on to the conclusions of the study it must be noted that it concerns a small group of students in a specific educational context and can only be indicative for further future research. Nevertheless, it is directed by a proposed descriptive, analytical and evaluative protocol of strategies drawn by students in writing argumentative texts within integrating reading and writing language evaluative tasks, indicative for future research. A variety of argumentative strategies employed by students within integrating reading and writing tasks in language evaluation tests in constructing their argumentative texts is observed. More specifically: a. There is a variety and a significant number of standpoints deployed. 133 standpoints were indentified in 20 texts, an average of 6, 65% per text (figure 1). The increased number of standpoints is considered as a presupposition for a reader that needs to be convinced or is in need for more information (­Martin  &White, 2005, p. 119), a goal in accordance with argumentation development (Knapp & Watkins, 2005, p. 192) and educational contexts (Neff et all 2004, p. 152). b. There is 2,17% gender diversity on standpoints employed, slightly privileging females to males (Figure 2). c. Elaboration of standpoints is quite low, only 33,84%, 45 out of 133 standpoints employed. Students, both females and males, rest at the standpoint of the argument not making explicit premises aiming to conclusion justification. In that way, they disperse the relevance of the standpoint to its conclusion and the issue under discussion while minimizing the depth and effectiveness of argumentation (De La Paz et al., 2012, p. 418; Knapp & Watkins, 2005, p. 192) and its validity (van Eemeren, Grootendorst & Snoeck Henkemans, 2002, p. 132) (Figure 3). d. The elaboration of their standpoints is mainly related to the causes of the issue under discussion (Figure 3). e. Students transform, modify and adjust the information of the text assigned for reading, to the goals of the new communicative circumstance, recontextualising and negotiating meanings and structures (Donahue, 2008, pp. 90–103;



f.

g.

h.

i.

j.

k.

Argumentative strategies in adolescents’ school writing 

Linell, 1998, p. 154; Plakans & Gebril, 2012). In this perspective, they thus construct a basic premise of argumentation (Baker, 2003, 2009) (Figure 5), its dialecticism. Despite this knowledge supporting negotiation moves, students lack elaboration of relatively standpoints constructed. Although they seem to direct themselves to a knowledge transforming writing model, they ultimately apply a knowledge telling model (Bereiter & Scardamalia, 1987; Grabe & Kaplan, 1996, pp. 121–122), making only a move related to the semantic and rhetorical transformation of the information but with no further elaboration. This, according to Plakans and Gebril (2012), consists an indication of “possible need for firm teaching direction, especially if the task is persuasive writing” (Plakans & Gebril, 2012, p. 31). In negotiating semantically with the reading assignment text, students deploy nomination and explicitly referential strategies drawing from a common pool of words from the text read as well as cultural strategies drawing from a common cultural pool of ideas (Lemke, 1992). They take distances from the reading text at whatever they disagree with thus forming implicitly stated counterarguments which is considered as a primary differentiated characteristic of mature argumentative writing (Knapp & Watkins, 2005, p. 192; Kuhn, 2005). Despite their previous differentiation, students do not ascribe negotiation of these ideas into their texts and therefore not addressing alternative perspectives while diminishing their argumentative completeness and effectiveness. In negotiating meanings with the reading text, they also negotiate discursively constructed identities and voices ascribing to their written argumentative text a polyphonic subjects’ network which, potentially, can further activate their argumentation. Nevertheless, they rest at an implicit polyphony, drawing on the information of the reading text and using them only for mnemonic ­supportive activation of their cognitive potential without any further elaboration and reflection. They invoke experiential material in their effort to explicitly construct their arguments in lack of content knowledge (De La Paz et al., 2012, p. 417; ­Donovan & Bransford, 2005; Ferretti et al., 2009). They discursively construct, using lexico-grammar devices such as person markers, an identity of a subject whose viewpoint and life perspective is argumentatively and institutionally valued. Their genre-specific (public speech) identity comprises with the above perspective. Their individualized and social voice is in constant interaction directed by their interpretation of the communicative situation and context as these are projected by the educational context. Therefore, personal style associated to individual voice and socially dimensions of voice related to discourse and

 Paraskevi Sachinidou

genre blend, constructing the identity of an apprentice writer (Prior, 2001, p. 59; Tardy, 2012, p. 65). l. Students’ schematic strategies are in response to their task assignment and the reading text. m. Schematic strategies are explicitly, discursively and semantically stated with discourse markers (conjunctions, verbs, nouns). The contextual framing of students’ strategies in a continuum between the physical observable educational context and the communicational context formed by the language assignment task comprises an important step towards their argumentative and communicational competence (van Eemeren, 2010; van ­Eemeren  & Houtlosser, 2005). Despite the variety of strategies used and their contextualization, students’ argumentation remains at the start point of their standpoints, merely listing information with little elaboration and coordination of the explicit reasoning and rhetorical steps leading to the conclusion of their arguments and the support of the issue for which they argue. In the argumentation strategies used, students reveal a primary and shallow knowledge of results, routes to achieve results, constraints imposed by the institutional context and commitments defining the argumentative situation (Igland, 2009, p. 510; van Eemeren & Garssen, 2008, p. 11). Their argumentative strategies are inconsistent, only applying patterns learned as steps for argumentation construction which are often left implicit and with little elaboration to reach inferences. In that sense, their strategic maneuvering is incomplete and ineffective. Systematic teaching and learning of contextualized argumentative moves as classes of dynamic, rich and open ended activations of choices building argumentative strategies and argument validity is needed. This does not mean that teaching and learning of argumentative moves should be seen as a canonical classification and employment of relative moves but rather as a strategic maneuvering of ­constantly reflecting, structuring and restructuring moves involving into a variety of argumentation instances and activities in order to form a metacognitive, reflective and dynamic awareness of argumentation.

Acknowledgements The author would like to thank Professor Maria Dimasi at Democritus University of Thrace, Greece, department of Language, Philology and Culture of Black Sea Countries, for directing her to argumentation studies and Professor Fabrizio Macagno at Universita Nova De Lisboa, Portugal, for trusting her with a copy of his article to be published.



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 Paraskevi Sachinidou Van Eemeren, F. H., Grootendorst, R., & Snoeck Henkemans, F. et al. (1996). Fundamentals of argumentation theory. A handbook of historical backgrounds and contemporary developments (1st ed.). Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Publishers. Van Eemeren, F. H. (2010). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse. Extending the pragma-dialectical theory of argumentation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.2 Van Eemeren, F. H., & Garssen, B. (2008). Controversy and confrontation in argumentative discourse. In F. H. van Eemeren, & B. Garssen (Eds.), Controversy and confrontation: Relating controversy analysis with argumentation theory (pp. 1–26). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. DOI: 10.1075/cvs.6.02eem Van Eemeren, F. H., & Houtlosser, P. (1999). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse. Discourse, 1, 479–497. Van Eemeren, F. H., & Houtlosser, P. (2005). Theoretical construction and argumentative reality: an analytic model of critical discussion and conventionalised types of argumentative activities. In D. Hitchcock & D. Farr (Eds.), The uses of argument. Proceedings of a Conference at Mc Masters University 18–21 May 2005 (pp. 75–85). Ontario: Ontario Society for the Study of Argumentation. Van Eemeren, F. H., & Houtlosser, P. (2009). Strategic maneuvering. In F. H. van Eemeren (Ed.), Examining argumentation in context: Fifteen studies on strategic maneuvering (pp. 1–24). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. DOI: 10.1075/aic.1.02eem Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (2004). A systematic theory of argumentation: The pragma-dialectical approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (1992). Argumentation, communication, and fallacies: A pragma-dialectical perspective. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Publishers. Van Eemeren, F.H., Grootendorst, R., & Henkemans, F.S. (2002). Argumentation: Analysis, evaluation, presentation.  Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Publishers. Fahnestock, J. (2011). Rhetorical style: The uses of language in persuasion. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199764129.001.0001 Ferretti, R.P., Lewis, W. E., & Andrews-Weckerly, S. (2009). Do goals affect the structure of students’ argumentative writing strategies? Journal of Educational Psychology, 101(3), 577–589. DOI: 10.1037/a0014702 Fitzgerald, J., & Shanahan, T. (2000). Reading and writing relations and their development. Educational Phycologist, 35, 39–51. DOI: 10.1207/S15326985EP3501_5 Garcia-Mila, M., & Andersen, C. (2007). Cognitive foundations of learning argumentation. In S. Erduran, & M. P. Jimenez-Aleixandre (Eds.), Argumentation in science education. Perspectives from classroom research. Science and technology library (Vol. 35, pp. 29–45). ­Amsterdam, Netherlands: Springer. Garssen, B.J. (2001). Argument schemes. In F.H. van Eemeren (Ed.), Crucial concepts in argumentation theory (pp. 81–99). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Gilardoni, S. (2009). Argumentation in classroom interaction. Teaching and learning Italian as a second language. In G. Gobber, S. Cantarini, S. Cigada, M. C. Gatti, & S. Gilardoni (Eds.), Proceedings of the IADA workshop, Word Meaning in Argumentation Dialogue, 15–17 May 2008. Special Issue 2 (pp. 723–737). Milan: Facolta di Scienze Linguistiche et Letterature Straniere, Universita Catholica del Sacro Cuore. Grabe, W., & Kaplan, R.B. (1996). Theory and practice of writing: an applied linguistic perspective [Applied Linguistics and Language Study]. London: Routledge.



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Hawkey, R. (2004). A modular approach to testing English language skills. The development of the Certificates in English Language Skills (CLES) examinations. Studies in language testing (Vol. 16), (Ed. by M. Millanovic & C. Weir) Cambridge: Cambridge Universtiy Press. Hitchcock, D., & Wagemans, J. (2011). The pragma-dialectical account of argumentation schemes. In E. Feteris, B. Garssen, & F. Snoeck Henkemans (Eds.), Keeping in touch with pragma-dialectics: In honor of F.H. van Eemeren (pp. 185–205). Amsterdam: John ­Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/z.163.13hit Hyland, K. (2002). Teaching and researching writing. London: Longman. Igland, M.-A. (2009). Negotiating problems of written argumentation. Argumentation, 23, ­495–511. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-009-9167-6 Johnson, R.H., & Blair, A. (1994). Logical self-defense (U.S. edition). New York: McGraw Hill. Klaczynski, P.A. (2004). A dual-process model of adolescent development: implications for decision making, reasoning, and identity. In R. V. Kail (Ed.), Advances in child development and behavior (Vol. 32, pp. 73–119). San Diego, CA: Elsevier Academic Press. Knapp, P., & Watkins, M. (2005). Genre, text, grammar: technologies for teaching and assessing of writing. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press. Kuhn D., & Udel W. (2003). The development of argument skills. Educational Pchycologist, 74(5), 1245–1260. Kuhn, D. (2005). Education for thinking. USA: Harvard University Press. Kuhn, D., & Udell, W. (2007). Coordinating own and other perspectives in argument. Thinking and Reasoning, 13(2), 90 – 104. DOI: 10.1080/13546780600625447 Lemke, J.L.(1992). Intertextuality and educational research. Linguistics and Education, 4(3), 257–267. DOI: 10.1016/0898-5898(92)90003-F Lincoln, Y.S., & Guba, E.G. (1985). Naturalistic inquiry. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications. Linell, P. (1998). Discourse across boundaries: On recontextualizations and the blending of voices in professional discourse. Text, 18(2), 143–157. Macagno, F. (2015). A means-end classification of argumentation schemes. In F.H. van Eemeren & B. Garssen (Eds.), Reflections on Theoretical Issues in Argumentation Theory (pp. 183–201). Heidelberg: Springer. DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-21103-9_14 Macagno, F., & Konstantinidou, A. (2012, November 11). What students’ arguments can tell us: using argumentation schemes in science education. Retrieved from: http://ssrn.com/ abstract=2185945 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.2185945. Martin, J.R., & Rose, D. (2005). Designing literacy pedagogy: scaffolding asymmetries. In R. Hasan, C. M. I. M. Matthiessen, & J. J. Webster (Eds.), Continuing Discourse on Language: A Functional Perspective (Vol. 1, pp. 251–280). London: Continuum. Martin, J.R., & White P.R.R. (2005). The language of evaluation. Appraisal in Engllish. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Muller Mirza, N., & Perret-Clermont, A.N. (2009). Argumentation and education: theoritical foundations and practises. Berlin: Springer. DOI: 10.1007/978-0-387-98125-3 Neff, J., Ballesteros, F., Dafouz, E., Martinez, F., Rica, J. P., Diez, M., & Prieto, R. (2004). The expression of writer stance in native and non-native argumentative texts. English modality in perspective, 141–161. Nussbaum, M.E., & Edwards, O. V. (2011). Critical questions and argument stratagems: a framework for enhancing and analyzing students’ reasoning practices. Journal of the Learnning Science, 20(3), 443–488. DOI: 10.1080/10508406.2011.564567 Nussbaum, M.E., & Schraw, G. (2007). Promoting argument–counterargument integration in students’ writing. Journal of Experimental Education, 76(1), 59–92. DOI: 10.3200/JEXE.76.1.59-92

 Paraskevi Sachinidou Nystrand, M., Camoran, A., Kachur, R., & Prendergast, C. (1997). Opening dialogue: Understanding the dynamics of language and learning in the english classroom. New York: Teachers’ College, Columbia University. Panagiotidou, M.E. (2011). Cognitive approach to intertextuality: The case of semantic intertextual frames. Newcastle Working Papers in Linguistics. 17, 173–187. Newcastle: University of Newcastle. Plakans, L.M., & Gebril, A. (2012). A close investigation into source use in integrated second language writing tasks. Assessing Writing, 17(1), 18–34. DOI: 10.1016/j.asw.2011.09.002 Prior, P. (2001). Voices in text, mind and society: Sociohistoric accounts of discourse acquisition and use. Journal of Second Language Writing, 8, 45–75. Rapanto, C., Garcia-Mila, M., & Gilabert, S. (2013, May). What is meant by argumentative competence? An integrative review of methods of analysis and assessment in education. Review of Educational Research, 83(4), 483–520. DOI: 10.3102/0034654313487606 Reisigl, M., & Wodak R. (2001). Discourse and discrimination: Rhetorics of racism and antisemitism. London: Routledge. Reisigl, M., & Wodak, R. (2009). The discourse-historical approach (DHA). In R. Wodak & M. Meyer (Eds.), Methods for Critical Discourse Analysis (2nd revised ed., pp.  87–121). ­London: Sage. Rigotti, E. (2007, 12). Introdurre alla realta attraverso e discipline. I quadermi di Liberta di educazione, 67–70. Rocci, A. (2009). Maneuvering with voices. The polyphonic framing of arguments in an institutional advertisement. In F.H. van Eemeren (Ed.), Examinig argumentation in context: Fifteen studies on strategic maneuvering (pp. 257–284). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. DOI: 10.1075/aic.1.15roc Sachinidou, P., & Dimasi, M. (2010). Texts’ and writters’ dialogues. Texts as expressions of discourse negotiations constructing subject’s identity (in greek). In K. Dimadis (Ed.), Proceedings of the 4th Congress of the European Society of Modern Greek Studies. 9–12 September, Granada (1, pp. 119–138). Granada, Spain: hhtpp//www. eens.org. Sandoval, W., & Millwood, K. (2005). The quality of students’ use of evidence in written scientific explanations. Cognition and Instruction, 23(1), 23–55. DOI: 10.1207/s1532690xci2301_2 Schulz, P.J., & Meuffels, B. (2011). Breast cancer screening. A case point. In E. Feteris, B. Garssen, & F. Henkemans (Eds.), Keeping in touch with pragma-dialectics: In honor of F.H. van Eemeren (pp. 117–133). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. DOI: 10.1075/z.163.09sch Schulze, J. (2011). Writing to persuade: a Systemic Functional Linguistic view. Gist Education and Learning Research Journal, 3, 127–157. Schwarz, B. (2009). Argumentation and learning. In N. Muller Mirza, & A.-N. Perret Clermont (Eds.), Argumentation and education.Theoritical foundations and practices (pp. 91–126). Berlin, Germany: Springer-Verlag. DOI: 10.1007/978-0-387-98125-3_4 Scollon, R. (1996). Discourse identity, social identity, and confusion. Intercultural Communication Studies, 6(1), 1–16. Swain, M., & Suzuki, W. (2009). Interaction, output, and communicative language learning. In B. Spolsky, & F. Hult (Eds.), The handbook of educational linguistics (pp. 557–570). Malden, MA: Willey-Blackwell Publishing. Tardy, C. (2012). Voice construction, Assessment and extra-textual identity. Research in the Teaching of English, 47 (1), 64–99.



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The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning research Dialogue, externalisation and collective thinking Michael J. Baker

CNRS - Telecom ParisTech This paper describes extensions of pragma-dialectical theory for analysing learning processes in students’ argumentation dialogues. It is argued that although pragma-dialectics is the most appropriate theory in this context, it needs to be ‘psychologised’ by the consideration of additional discursive, dialogical, epistemological, interpersonal and affective dimensions of dialogue. In conclusion, prospects for new rapprochement between argumentation theory and psychology are discussed. Keywords:  collaborative learning; argumentation dialogue; pragma-dialectics; psychology; externalisation principle

1.  Introduction Research in the branch of educational psychology research known as “collaborative learning” studies the factors that influence learning in small groups of students (see Dillenbourg, Baker, Blaye & O’Malley, 1996, and Dillenbourg, 1999, for syntheses). The students under study may be working together on educational activities as varied as co-writing, science laboratory work, information search on computers or discussing conceptual issues in different taught disciplines (e.g. notions of “friendship” or “justice” in civic education, “energy” in physics, or “Nature” in biology). Collaborative learning research arose during the 1970s, in reaction to the focus of information processing psychology on the individual, and following the appropriation into mainstream psychology of the work of Vygotsky (1930; partially translated from Russian to English in 1978) that gives a central role to social interaction in learning and development. Within society in general, the rise of Internet technologies created new possibilities for communicating and

doi 10.1075/aic.9.10bak © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Michael J. Baker

collaborating on a global level, in work and education, which transformed the object of study. In a first generation of research, the focus was on understanding the characteristics of groups that influence learning in their individual members, such as the number of participants, differences between them (e.g. differences in prior knowledge, or gender) and the nature of the task to be carried out, especially the way that it was organised (e.g. into phases of individual knowledge search, group knowledge sharing, group text writing). For example, a significant body of research was carried out on the question as to whether learning together was more efficient than learning alone. Due to the complexity of the problem, and difficulties in generalising results, a new paradigm emerged that focussed on identifying the types of interactions between students that either hindered or favoured learning. With respect to hindrances, it has been shown, for example, that lack of mutual understanding in groups leads to low learning effects (Barron, 2003). By contrast, groups in which students co-create common ground and explain their ideas to each other (Webb, 1991) are associated with significantly higher learning effects than groups who do not do this. In the wake of the post-Piagetian “socio-cognitive conflict” paradigm (Mugny & Doise, 1978), that studied learning resulting from interpersonal conflicts of viewpoints, researchers have sought to understand the processes by which argumentative interactions between collaborating students function with respect to knowledge co-elaboration and learning (see, for example, the collective works: Andriessen & Coirier, 1999; Andriessen, Baker & Suthers, 2003; Muller Mirza & Perret-Clermont, 2009). However, this research has often been carried out either on the basis of everyday notions of what “argument” is, or else by drawing on a limited set of argumentation theories (e.g. Toulmin, 1958) that are not necessarily well adapted to the task at hand, i.e. analysing argumentative interaction. This paper explores the use of the pragma-dialectical theory (e.g. van ­Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1984) for analysing students’ argumentation dialogues in a way that brings to light interactive knowledge elaboration and learning processes. I propose firstly that the pragma-dialectical theory of argumentation is the most appropriate approach in this context because — quite simply — it is a theory of argumentation in dialogue, and that is what collaborating students are supposed to be primarily engaged in. Secondly, although the components of pragma-dialectical models are well fitted to the task of understanding the way in which students’ argumentation dialogues unfold, other analytical dimensions of social interaction (epistemological, inter-discursive, dialogical, interpersonal and affective) need to be integrated with the pragmatic and the dialectical in order to understand collaborative argumentation-based learning. Finally, such a research project also requires integration on the level of t­heories  —  of



The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning research 

a­rgumentation, dialogue and cognition  — particularly with respect to the “externalisation principle” of pragma-dialectics, and the relations between what are considered to be ‘internal’ and ‘external’ to argumentation dialogue. I argue that consideration of discursive and dialogical approaches to psychology could lead to a new and more general r­ approchement between argumentation studies and psychology. The main sections below follow the above three main claims: pragma-­ dialectics as a model for analysing students’ argumentation dialogues, additional dimensions of social interaction to be taken into account, and, in a concluding discussion, more general considerations of the relations between argumentation studies and psychology. 2.  C  omponents of the pragma-dialectic model and students’ argumentation dialogues Early work on the role of interpersonal conflict of viewpoints in collaborative learning tried to correlate frequencies of such conflicts with learning outcomes. Given conflicting results, some researchers conjectured that it was the way in which conflicts were cooperatively resolved by argumentative interaction that was the important factor in learning (Mevarech & Light, 1992), rather than simple frequencies of socio-cognitive conflicts. The research on which the present paper was based (e.g. Baker, 1999, 2002, 2003, 2009a, 2009b) followed this conjecture in attempting to analyse students’ argumentative interactions with a view to understanding the processes by which they could lead to cooperative learning. Such an understanding is important for both interpreting experimental results as well as for designing educational situations for productive argumentation. Given that dialogue was the object of analysis, models of argumentation in dialogue, derived from formal dialectics (Barth & Krabbe, 1982) and pragma-dialectics (van ­Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1984), were applied to this analytical task, some of the results of which are reported below. 2.1  Corpora of students’ dialogues The ensuing discussion is based on the analysis of corpora of students’ problem solving dialogues and debates in small groups, in taught domains such as physics, biology and geography (Baker, 1999, 2002, 2003, 2009a, 2009b). The students under study were all engaged in regular (French State) education and were between 16 and 18 years of age. The students’ tasks and topics to be debated were designed and supervised by both teachers and researchers.

 Michael J. Baker

In addition to variation in the teaching domain concerned, the corpora analysed can be categorised along the intersection of two dimensions (with cases of corpora in all four cases). The first dimension concerns the nature of the students’ task: either to engage in collaborative problem-solving (e.g. to draw a diagram to represent energy in experimental situations, such as electrical circuits), during which disagreements and argumentative interaction sequences may occur spontaneously and sporadically, or else to actually debate in small groups (of two to four participants) a question posed by the teacher (e.g. “Should France’s policy of reliance on nuclear energy be pursued?”). The second dimension concerns the medium of discussion: corpora were either collected in situ, by video-recording and transcribing face-to-face spoken interactions in the everyday classroom, or else they involved small-group ­interactions, also collected in schools, with computer-mediated communication at a distance, using specially designed interfaces for written communication (“CHAT”) and joint action on shared graphical interfaces (e.g. for drawing diagrams, including Toulmin-like argument diagrams: Baker, Quignard, Lund & Séjourné, 2003). In the case of corpora of ‘ordinary’ face to face small group interactions, the analytical goal was mainly exploratory and methodologically oriented, aiming at identifying the pragma-dialectical structure of interactions, interactive processes of co-elaboration of solutions and their conceptual foundations, and situating the latter within the former. With computer-mediated argumentative interaction corpora, it was also possible to identify differences between students’ viewpoints (claims, arguments, opinions) before and after their argumentative discussions, and to study the relations between these changes and characteristics of the discussions. In this case, the data elicited before and after the interaction/debate comprised either students’ short texts, written individually, or else their “opinions” (using a “for/neutral/against” choice button on the screen) with respect to each sentence of the individual (short) texts of each member of the dyad. The aim here was of course to understand what pragma-dialectical and other (see next section) interactive processes could be responsible for individuals’ changes in view. The following subsections discuss some dimensions of the pragma-dialectical model in relation to argumentation dialogue sequences in the interaction corpora described above. In total, the corpora comprise approximately 55 hours of dialogue, across 44 groups of 2 to 4 students. The analysis approach is inductive, using a common method in qualitative research (Given, 2008) that aims at progressively ‘saturating’ the data (i.e. multiplying analyses until no new phenomena emerge). It is therefore not possible to generalise, in the strict sense of



The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning research 

the term, beyond this data-set, although the scale of the corpus, its diversity of tasks and the systematic inductive approach provide some inductive support for the claims made. 2.2  Stages of argumentative discussion 2.2.1  Confrontation stage Following the pragma-dialectical model, in the confrontation stage of an argumentative discussion, a confrontation of views is expressed (a standpoint and its non-acceptance). In students’ dialogues, non-acceptance can take a large variety of forms, from a vehement “Ah! No, no, no, no!” (physics problem ­solving) to weaker casting of doubt (“Hhhm, it’s not very clear, is it?”, or “That’s not really my impression”). In some cases, non-acceptance is expressed indirectly, by counter-arguing directly after a statement (standpoint), for example (Extract 1): Extract 1: Students’ debate on Genetically-Modified Organisms1 Christine: For example in poor countries, they don’t have a lot of food, but GMOs produce a lot, so in these countries they can now have something to feed themselves with. Isn’t that so? Elaine: But there is already enough food for everyone. It’s the way it’s shared out that has to be examined.

In idealised terms, in the confrontation stage, one person makes an assertion, expressing a positive cognitive attitude (such as belief) towards a point of view, and another expresses an attitude of non-acceptance towards it. In students’ argumentation dialogues, such confrontations can correspond to a variety of combinations of cognitive attitudes. This is important to note since the initially expressed attitudes towards claims are important for understanding how they are likely to change throughout the dialogue. Such attitude combinations within groups are partly due to the ways in which groups of students are commonly created in educational practice. One common approach is to create (supposedly) homogenous groups (e.g. dyads) of students, asking each student to play either a “for” or and “against” role in debates about contentious issues (e.g. acceptability of capital punishment), with the aims of enabling students to gain better knowledge of the relevant pro and contra arguments, and to practice argumentative techniques (e.g. Resnick, Salmon,

.  All extracts from dialogue corpora have been translated by the author from the original French, whilst attempting to preserve the informal character of students’ speech or written communication (including orthography and typography in this case).

 Michael J. Baker

Zeitz, Wathen & Holowchak, 1993). Although the advantages for research are clear in this case (homogeneity of groups, and thus generalizability of results), the groups will probably nevertheless be heterogeneous to the extent that the assigned pro or contra positions may or may not correspond to the students’ own personal opinions (Table 1). Table 1.  Possible attitude combinations for assigned and personal opinions Assigned dialectical role Personal opinion

For

Against

For

Congruence-1

Mismatch-1

Against

Mismatch-2

Congruence-2

Worse, this approach may lead students to only ‘play the (argumentative) game’, in which case it is not clear how this might impinge on their own genuine beliefs about the issues being debated. Furthermore, students do not always have clear, firm or well-justified opinions about the issues they are asked to debate in schools, one educational goal being precisely that they should elaborate such opinions. A second approach is to create groups (often dyads) of students according to some criterion (for example, interpersonal affinity, “friendship”, or even simple spatial proximity: students who sit next to each other in class), and to ask each small group to debate an issue. This is usually followed by reports of each group’s conclusions to the whole class, under teacher moderation. In this case, to simplify, each student could be either “for”, “neither for nor against” or else “against” a particular issue.2 It is also commonly the case that there will be an uneven distribution of initial opinions (for, for/against, against) amongst a whole class of, for example, 24 students (all of whom must, of course, engage in the classroom activity). In that case, groups will most probably be heterogeneous in terms combinations of personal opinions of their participants (Table 2). Therefore, in addition to the “for” and “against” attitude confrontation, others can occur, such as where both students are in fact against, or else both in favour of the issue debated; or else where neither is sure, or one is clearly against and the other not sure (Table 2).

.  This was the approach described in de Vries, Lund & Baker (2002) where students clicked on buttons on the computer interface corresponding to each of these opinion choices.



The integration of pragma-dialectics and collaborative learning research 

Table 2.  Attitude combinations in dyads Student 1 For Student 2 For

For/against

Against

Case 2.1: consensual Case 3.1: Case 1: Dialectical discussion sharing asymmetrical debate conflict of opinions arguments

For/against

Case 3.1: Case 2.2: consensual Case 3.2: asymmetrical debate discussion sharing asymmetrical debate arguments

Against

Case1: Dialectical conflict of opinions

Case 3.2: Case 2.3: consensual asymmetrical debate discussion sharing arguments

What kind of debate could occur in cases where students share the same opinion, and have not been assigned to for/against roles? In previous work (Baker, ­Quignard, Lund & Séjourné, 2003) we have shown that dialogues involving exchange of arguments can occur even when students are both “against” or else both “neither for nor against” an issue (such as authorisation of production of genetically-modified organisms, GMOs), as shown in the examples below (Extracts 2 and 3): Extract 2: all three students “neither for nor against” Genetically-Modified Organisms Audrey: So what do you think of GMOs? Caroline: I think they have positive points like helping to cure cancer, but they also have harmful effects like cloning human beings Blandine: you let yourself go Caroline and you girls what do you think of GMOs? Audrey: I completely agree with you. There are positive and negative points Blandine: Yeah, Caroline Extract 3: both students “against” Amandine: So what do you think of GMOs? Stephanie: I think they’re crap, but they allow vaccinations to be made. And what about you, what do you think? Amandine: I’m against too, because for me, genes are natural phenomena and you shouldn’t modify them, it’s like cloning Stephanie: That’s true. I wouldn’t like to eat anything with human genes it’s completely artificial

In the case where all three students stated that they were “neither for nor against”, as with the case where both said they were “against”, the ensuing dialogues were not opened by a clear confrontation involving an expressed standpoint and its non-acceptance. The dialogues do, however, involve sharing of possible arguments

 Michael J. Baker

for and against contentious issues, and in some cases minor disagreements on specific points, and may thus be of some educational value. 2.2.2  Opening stage Turning to the opening stage of argumentative discussion, it involves expression of initial commitments to defend the standpoint of the confrontation phase or to subject it to critical examination, the establishment of the dialectical roles (Barth & Krabbe, 1982) of proponent and opponent. An important difference with respect to degrees of commitment to claims can be seen between argumentative interactions taking place in domains where students already have reasonably well-developed personal ideologies (systems of ideas and values), and those where they generally do not (such as in mathematics or physics).3 In the former case, entrenched positions can occur (such as being resolutely against nuclear energy policy in France), and students’ debates need to be seen as global ideological ‘clashes’ (e.g. an ecological ‘save the planet’ ideology ­­ versus a ‘inexorable progress of science’ worldview). In scientific domains it is usually only possible for students to debate where none of the group members know clear resolution (demonstration, inference) procedures that would decide the issue definitively, and where what is at stake is the co-construction of key notions (such as “energy”, “angle”, “heat”) underlying the problem-solving domain. In these scientific domains, dialectical roles are often unclear and highly unstable, as students ‘argue around’ and explore questions. For example, in Baker (2009a) a case of an extended argumentation sequence was analysed, during which two students engaged in physics problem-solving essentially switched dialectical roles back and forth, as they gradually clarified their thinking. Such a phenomenon is in fact inherent in (collaborative) learning situations where — by hypothesis and by design — knowledge is supposed to be under co-construction, and so students will not always be in a position to take firm stances during such a process (Nonnon, 1996). 2.2.3  Argumentation stage During the argumentation stage, students produce and critically appraise (counter-)arguments with respect to the main claim(s) being debated. Given the remarks made above concerning the flexibility of students’ dialectical roles, in scientific problem-solving domains, it is clear that arguments can be expressed by students, for and against both their own views as well as those of their partners.

.  As discussed below, students nevertheless usually have everyday prior “conceptions” concerning scientific issues, organised in zones of local coherence associated with specific social situations. However, these are not usually associated with value-systems.



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Enabling students to actually engage in debate of any extended length usually requires preparing them carefully for such activities, for example by providing them with a set of texts that describe alternative views and arguments. Within scientific group problem-solving, relatively short argumentation sequences may occur and be resolved quite quickly, with problem-solving then being resumed, as in the following example (Extract 4): Extract 4: physics problem-solving: determining energy given out by a lit-up light bulb Fiona: So, there is energy transferred; there’s the bulb that’s shining, errr yeah? I’m telling you. There’s even heat! I suppose. Lionel: Err yeah, it’s shining so there must be heat in any case Fiona: Errr well you never know Lionel: Err well yes, but … Fiona: Well, my earrings shine but they’re not hot, I’m telling you! Lionel: You’re not thinking too hard …

Extract 4 above shows an argumentation phase in which a single (refuting) argument is expressed by Fiona (there exist things that give off light but not heat), with an immediate indirect concession by Lionel (“You’re not thinking too hard”). 2.2.4  Concluding stage The concluding stage should be concerned with determining and expressing the outcome of the avowed conflict of opinions. With respect to this stage, it is possible to state clear results across the dialogue corpora analysed here. Firstly, in all cases of sporadic argumentation sequences during science collaborative problemsolving, these sequences come to an end in the manner of Extract 4 above: one student makes a remark (such as the sarcastic example above, “You’re not thinking too hard”, or “What have we forgotten then?”, etc.) that can be interpreted as an indirect concession. That an argumentation sequence has been ‘won’ or ‘lost’ is never made explicit. Secondly, explicit concluding stages only occur (in the corpora) when students are explicitly asked to summarise the outcomes of their debates towards the end of the teaching session. Extract 5 is an example of such an explicitly requested concluding stage (GMO computer-mediated debate): Extract 5: an explicitly requested ‘concluding stage’ Camilla: Come on now, we’ve got to summarise our discussion Alice: about the environment, I’m not so sure about what you said. The summary is that you’re for and I’m against Camilla: (my throat hurts!) Alice: you’re ill? As for me, I feel like sleeping Camilla: you’ll see the day that this system is put into place, all the benefits it will bring

 Michael J. Baker

In this case (Extract 5), Camilla had already made the outcome explicit 6 minutes earlier in the discussion (Camilla: Ok, 1 all!); so here the students limit themselves to simply stating their respective positions. Following this ‘conclusion’, their debate in fact continues, until they simply stop discussing 5 minutes later (with friendly goodbyes of the type “Ok, lots of kisses, bye!”). One plausible explanation for the absence of explicit concluding stages in students’ argumentation dialogues is to be found in the nature of adolescents’ interpersonal relations: making conflict explicit — and especially the fact that one student has ‘lost’ (face) — could constitute a threat to friendship. Students would therefore tend to avoid making dialectical outcomes explicit, especially if they are members of a class-group where friendly interpersonal relations need to be maintained over a long period of time. In a series of experimental studies, Stein and colleagues (Stein & Bernans, 1999) showed that the nature of interpersonal relationships between two arguers was a significant predictor of the content and coherence of arguments, as well as the outcomes of argumentative discussions. There is now good evidence that gender differences are important in determining the extent to which conflict can be expressed whilst ­preserving friendship relations, with friendship having positive effects on learning in groups of girls, and the opposite with groups of boys (Kutnick & Kington, 2005). Adolescent ‘cultures’ may even preclude conflict and argumentation altogether, being more oriented towards what young people share (such as taste in rock music, hair and clothes styles) rather than what divides them (Pasquier, 2005). To conclude this discussion of the goodness of fit between pragma-dialectics and students’ argumentative discussions, two issues of importance for learning are discussed: conformity with pragma-dialectical rules, and perlocutionary effects of speech acts. 2.3  P  ragma-dialectical rules What are the rules that govern students’ argumentative discussions, and how do they relate to the famous ‘ten commandments’ of pragma-dialectics (van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1984, pp. 151–175; van Eemeren & Grootendorst, 1992, pp. 208–209)? This is an important and relatively new question for the psychology of (collaborative) learning, that has hitherto concentrated mostly on issues such as students’ abilities to produce arguments for and against their own and others’ claims, and to write and understand argumentative texts (Andriessen & Coirier, 1999). It is important since it concerns the study of students’ ­­argumentative skills considered in social interaction, the motor of socio-cognitive development from a Vygotskian point of view. An exhaustive review of the instantiation of



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pragma-­dialectical rules is not possible here; only those that have direct relevance to collaborative learning, and that are salient in the corpora under study, will be mentioned. Students do very occasionally make explicit references to the rules of their argumentative discussions, as shown in Extract 6 below (the reference to the rule is italicised): Extract 6: physics problem-solving Mary: But no! There aren’t two transfers Richard: Yes there are! Mary: But no, because look, you can’t, or else … Richard: But in any case, if there’s only one, it doesn’t work, I’m sorry Mary: But yes, but that’s all you keep saying

From analysis of the whole dialogue from which Extract 6 was taken, Mary can be understood as stating that Richard has persisted in maintaining both the same standpoint (that there must be two transfers of energy between a battery and a bulb) and an argument in favour of it (there must be two transfers, otherwise the circuit would not work), even though she has produced several arguments against that standpoint that he has not been able to counter, and that this is not an acceptable way of discussing. This suggests that she functions according to a version of the pragma-dialectical rule number 9, according to which a participant who has failed to defend a standpoint must retract it (and cease continuing to maintain it). But such explicit references are rare: in the majority of cases, it is necessary to analyse the operation of pragma-dialectical rules from the students’ communicative actions in dialogue. On the issue of the pragma-dialectical proscription of repetition — of standpoints, of attacks, or defences —, although such repetition is very frequent in students’ discussions, and can be seen as violating norms of ideal argumentation dialogue, with respect to collaborative learning this can be seen in both ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ terms. In negative terms, obstinate repetition of claims and arguments can sometimes be seen as an indication of inadequate intersubjectivity (Forman, 1992), or ability to understand others’ views, corresponding to cognitive rigidity (although the persistent student may in fact be right!). In more positive terms, it needs to be pointed out that ‘repetition’ is rarely exact, and is often associated with reformulation, negotiation of meaning, or, in Naess’ (1966) terms, precization. Such meaning-making processes are of course the very objectives and substance of collaborative learning, provided that they lead to clearer mutual understanding of the task domain on the part of the students. But making meanings ‘slide’ can also be an attempt to avoid valid criticism and preserve one’s own view ‘at all costs’. Except 7, below, shows a case where a student makes more precise

 Michael J. Baker

the way in which an argumentative defense is in conformity with the rules of the task (which is in fact not, normatively, the case): Extract 7: reformulating a defense when under criticism (physics problem-solving) John: There are several [transfers of energy] to be done. One there. Should we put another one there? Susan: Pprrrttt! John: You see, it leaves from a reservoir and it comes back to a reservoir Susan: Is that right!? John: A reservoir to start with and a reservoir to end with

At the beginning of this extract, John proposes that there should be an energy transfer from the battery to the bulb and another from the bulb to the battery (in fact, he has confused electrical current with energy). Faced with Susan’s expression of non-acceptance (“Pprrrttt!”), he produces a defense (“it leaves from a reservoir [the battery] and it comes back to a reservoir” [also the battery]). Faced again with non-acceptance from Susan, he makes precise how his argument is in conformity with the rules of constructing energy chains, provided by the teacher, that state that an energy chain must start and end with a reservoir, which involves reformulating the expressions “leaves from” and “comes back to”, to “start with” and “end with” (see Baker, Andriessen & Järvelä, 2013, Chapter 1, for more details). Another aspect of pragma-dialectical rules that is highly relevant to group learning in schools concerns rights of all participants to “freely” advance s­ tandpoints, and/or to cast doubt on them. Two main points may be made here. Firstly, with increasing size of groups (e.g. moving towards a debate involving a whole class of 24 students), it is clear that students’ possibility of actually exercising such a right will diminish, due to “production blocking” (Lamm & Trommsdorff, 1973), i.e. the impossibility for all to intervene in the discussion, or inhibition for other reasons (e.g. shyness). Secondly, in countries such as France, certain discourses, such as those propounding racial hatred, are forbidden in state and public arenas, including schools. Students will therefore not have the right to “freely” advance such standpoints. As Golder (1996) has stated: one does not argue with just anyone, about anything or everything, in any situation. It may be said, therefore, that students’ debates in school are also governed by ethical rules of conduct on a societal level. The final rule that I shall mention here is that which requires dialectical outcomes to be made explicit. As stated above, this is never done in the corpora under analysis, probably for reasons of preservation of interpersonal relations between adolescents. Finally, one may enquire as to the nature and the origin of rules that should or do govern students’ argumentative discussions. In the pragma-dialectical model, the rules of conduct for argumentative discussion have the critical f­unction



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of defining a set of norms that are most conducive to the (rational, efficient) ­resolution of a dispute. In the case of students’ argumentation dialogues, I propose that the rules according to which they operate be seen as particular manifestations of cooperative activity. In educational situations, there is usually an attempt to ‘engineer’ cooperation, by imposing the shared goal that students produce a single problem solution, or outcome to the debate, that satisfies the task’s constraints and on which all group participants agree. Therefore, behaviours such as ‘stalling’, by refusing to listen to others, intransigently maintaining standpoints, repeating defenses despite criticism, etc., block achievement of the cooperative goal of achieving a mutually understood and agreed solution. Research has been carried out in education on defining general cooperative “ground rules” for different types of students’ discussions (such as “exploratory”, “cumulative” and “disputational”: Mercer, Wegerif & Dawes, 1999) that have been shown to favour learning and that include what might be termed proto-pragma-dialectical rules. The above discussion has been very restricted, with respect to both the pragma-dialectical rules considered and the corpora analysed. Providing a more systematic study in this direction would be an interesting research project. 2.4  P  erlocutionary effects of speech acts in students’ argumentative discussions The successful realisation of the perlocutionary effects of constellations of ­argumentative speech acts involves, essentially, either the acquisition or else the ‘deletion’ of a belief. Van Eemeren and Grootendorst (1984) theorise this process in terms of the very powerful image of “acceptance/non-acceptance as the cream on the milk” (ibid., p. 70). A speaker’s pro-/contra-argumentation relating to an expressed opinion may lead to a successful “convince” perlocution, then — on the cream of the milk bottle — to the listener’s (non-)acceptance, then conviction and, at the bottom of the bottle, (non-)belief. This is one place in which psychology makes an ‘intrusion’ into pragma-dialectics, since what is at stake is the way in which what people think is transformed as a result of engaging in argumentative discussion. And of course, most educational interventions aim, in some sense, at changing students’ beliefs in a systematic way, in a certain direction. In educational psychology, a certain principle of educational intervention has become so widely accepted — since, in fact, the work of Piaget (1964), from the 1940s onwards — that it barely requires citation. That principle is that change in students’ beliefs, knowledge states, is a function of their prior knowledge, which students themselves construct on the basis of their interactions with their environments. Education and learning are not therefore simply matters of transmission, reception and acquisition of knowledge. If one seeks to change what students’

 Michael J. Baker

think, one has to base this on a clear understanding of what they already think. In the domain of science/mathematics education, this has given rise to a subfield of research on “students” conceptions” and/or “mental models” (Vosniadou, 1994), which may be deep-seated and qualitatively different from scientific norms (Driver, Guesne & Tiberghien, 1985). In a very influential article entitled “Knowledge in Pieces”, diSessa (1988) argued that students’ conceptions are not organised in a systematic way; rather, they comprise areas of localised coherence, linked to specific concrete situations. What this means is that the successful accomplishment of an argumentative speech act constellation, “convince”, is very unlikely to be restricted to the simple ‘addition’ or ‘deletion’ of an isolated proposition, but rather will, if successful, involve localised restructuring of knowledge or belief systems. And indeed, the requirement for such more or less deep restructuring may be an obstacle to being convinced. Very little research has been carried out in educational psychology on the specific role of argumentative discussions in changing students’ beliefs qua conceptions. Rather, research has concentrated on discussions in general, in collaborative problem-solving situations. And yet, psychological researchers have been too hasty here, in identifying what students say in dialogue with what they ­actually believe (their “conceptions”). Rather, following pragma-dialectics (see directly above), we should see what students express in argumentative discussions as reflecting primarily what they “accept”, restricting the term “belief ” to more stable conceptions, over several dialogues and problem-solving situations. Cohen (1992) has proposed a distinction between belief and acceptance: belief is a disposition to think or feel (it can not be decided upon); acceptance is a decision to reason with what is proposed by the interlocutor, to take it as a premise for joint reasoning, ‘as far as it goes’. This seems to correspond well with students’ engagement in collaborative problem solving, where — since by hypothesis or design, we are concerned with learning situations — none of the students really knows ‘the answer’ and will not be in a position adopt a firm standpoint or belief. What students say and co-construct in dialogue primarily reflects what they jointly accept. This restates the problem of understanding how to change students’ beliefs in terms of the relations between acceptance and belief. Below, I report two specific empirical studies that aimed at understanding the relations between changes in what students accept, before and after argumentative discussion, and the characteristics of the discussion itself. In both studies, students communicated via a typewritten ‘CHAT’ interface, at a distance, with their individual viewpoints on the question being collected in the form of texts prior to discussion (“pre-texts”). At the end of the discussion, students were asked to individually update their texts (“post-texts”) “in the light of the debate”. Differences between pre- and post-texts were analysed (main opinions, arguments, types of



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knowledge evoked) and compared with characteristics of the debate (argumentation sequences and their outcomes). The first study took place in a (school) scientific domain (physics): students were asked to explain the phenomenon of the propagation of sound in terms of a molecular model (see de Vries, Lund & Baker, 2002; Baker, 2003). Analysis showed that students mostly changed their opinions towards ‘weakening’ of attitudes, from “yes”, “yes/no” to “no”, and very rarely in the other direction. This was associated with a predominance of counter-argumentation leading to expression of non-acceptance (concession). This is coherent with remarks made above, according to which students whose knowledge is under co-construction will not be in a position to take firm stances and thereby to convince others to accept their claims. Rather, the dialogue proceeds principally by the elimination of ‘flawed’ proposals. In fact, one student explicitly stated the following: “Since we’ve discussed it, it can’t be right”. The second study took place with respect to a socio-scientific question, in a civic education class (see Baker, Quignard, Lund & Séjourné, 2003; Baker & Séjourné, 2007; Baker, 2009b), specifically on debating the following question, in groups of two students: “Should the production of Genetically-Modified ­Organisms (GMOs) be allowed in France?”. Here it was found that students very rarely changed the main opinions they expressed, before and after the debate (when they were clearly “for” or “against” GMOs, before debating, they remained so, in their post-texts). However, they did, as a result of the debate, enrich their viewpoints with additional or refined arguments, whilst conceding counter-­ arguments. In the case where students stated, in their pre-texts, that they were “neither for nor against” (the ­production of GMOs), the debate led students to a clearer understanding of their own opinions, and to more firm stances. For example, one student wrote: “Before I was neither for nor against. But now we’ve discussed, I realise that I’m really in favour.” Changes in students’ beliefs are thus usually subtler than definitive acquisition or abandonment of proposals: for example, “realising that what one thought was true for certain might not be”, or “maintaining one’s position, but in a more open, subtle, nuanced form, that recognises possible counter-arguments”. Finally, changes in students’ beliefs, conceptions, as a result of engaging in argumentative discussions are not limited to perlocutionary effects of speech act constellations. They may also include conceptual changes within the dialogues themselves, and this is clearly important with respect to research on students’ conceptions (see Baker, 2002, and §3 of the present paper, below). Such conceptual shifts — at least in the dialogue itself — are the counterparts of argument by dissociation and association, described by Perelman and Olbrechts-Tyteca (1958). The following (Extract 8) is an example taken from a physics problem-solving dialogue

 Michael J. Baker

(see study 1 described above, concerning explaining the phenomenon of sound) involving conceptual dissociation of the notions of “movement” and “vibration”: Extract 8: a proposed conceptual dissociation between “vibration” and “movement” Andrew: Another explanation: take a string that’s not under tension. If you touch it, it’s going to move a lot but it won’t vibrate much. By contrast, a string under tension, like with a guitar, it will move little but vibrate a lot. Boris: I agree with you but at one point I thought that you didn’t agree with me. For me the two phrases are right, it’s just that simply they don’t explain the same thing (vibrations and movements).

In conclusion to this discussion of change in view relating to students’ argumentative discussions, systematic research on changes in students’ viewpoints (acceptances, beliefs, conceptions, mental models) as a result of their engagement in argumentative discussions is at its very early stages. It is already clear, however, that such changes are much more subtle than acquisition or deletion of beliefs in standpoints, considered as perlocutionary effects of successful constellations of argumentative speech acts. 2.5  I ntermediary summary In the above discussion, I have considered some dimensions of the pragma-­ dialectical theory and model in relation to the analysis of students’ argumentative discussions produced in educational situations. I would claim that the ­pragma-dialectical model fulfils very well its descriptive and critical functions here, in that it enables clear structures to be imposed on the corpus data, in terms of argumentative stages and rules of conduct, thus clearly situating potential interactive learning processes in an argumentation dialogue context. From the analysis of stages of argumentative discussion there emerged a broad variety of dialogues that certainly involve “sharing of arguments”, and are thus of importance in education, but which are not full conflicts of avowed opinions. Perhaps the most salient results concerning stages of discussion are, firstly, the fact that students avoid explicit closing stages (unless specifically asked to produce them), which can be readily explained in terms of the importance, especially for adolescents, of preserving friendly interpersonal relationships. Secondly, in the argumentation stage, students’ commitments to dialectical roles can be highly volatile, as they explore the question being debated from ‘all angles’. This too can be explained, but in this case in terms of the very nature of exploratory educational situations, in which students’ knowledge is, by hypothesis and design, ‘under co-construction’.



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The examination of the nature of perlocutionary effects of argumentative speech act constellations in the case of students’ collaborative dialogues represents one particular point of entry of psychology into pragma-dialectics, in the form of research on how students’ “conceptions” or “mental models” evolve in these contexts. Changes in students’ viewpoints, beliefs, conceptions, associated with their participation in argumentative discussions, certainly go beyond the addition or ‘deletion’ of beliefs, and will comprise more or less localised changes in cognitive coherence, as well as reconceptualisations of the fundamental notions underlying the task to be carried out. I have mentioned interactive learning processes, such as knowledge restructuring, conceptual change, within the above discussion of the pragma-dialectical model in relation to students’ dialogues. But these processes require a more systematic study in this context; and for this, I argue below, additional dimensions of social interaction need to be taken into consideration and integrated into a coherent model of educational argumentative discussions. 3.  O  ther dimensions that need to be taken into account for the study of collaborative arguing to learn The most clear connexion between pragma-dialectics and cognitive change is with respect to perlocutionary effects of argumentative speech act constellations, produced in argumentative sequences with particular outcomes, that can trigger knowledge restructuration, leading to more or less localised changes in the degree of coherence of viewpoints. The relevance of the pragmatic and dialectical dimensions of argumentation dialogue to the study of change in view is therefore established. But, in order to be able to analyse a broader range of collaborative argumentation-­based learning processes in a more systematic way, it is necessary to define and integrate five other analytical dimensions of task-oriented social interaction. They will be mentioned briefly below (see Baker, 1999, and Baker, 2003, for a more complete presentation). The epistemological dimension refers to the nature of the knowledge domains of reference with respect to which the discussion takes place. This can be defined in terms of institutionalised domains of knowledge (savoir), such as economics, politics, biology, physics, in terms of the factual versus axiological (judgement, ethics) distinction, and in terms of the physical or social origin, for the psychological subject, of the idea/proposition (e.g. derived from perception in the current situation, from reasoning, from what the teacher previously said, from a book, from the TV, etc.). For students, arguments based on particular epistemological

 Michael J. Baker

domains/origins will have different ‘weights’ in discussion, and attendant beliefs will be more or less “epistemically entrenched” (Gardenförs, 1988). For example, in the scientific corpora discussed above, argumentation sequences are often ‘won’ by appealing to arguments based on perception in the situation, that thus appear undeniable (e.g. “There is only one battery, not two, on the table in front of us!”).4 In socio-scientific domains, arguments that appeal to emotionally and ethically charged phenomena, such as “human cloning” or “men having babies”, will usually give rise to immediate consensus (on their rejection). This dimension is thus crucial in understanding the unfolding of argumentative interactions between students, as well as attendant cognitive changes. The inter-discursive dimension concerns the ways in which interactive ‘work’ is done on cognition through language, by the performance of cognitive-linguistic operations (Grize, 1982; Vignaux, 1988) that transform interactively the meanings of dialogue acts (Baker, 1995). These include making new conceptual distinctions (argument by dissociation), reformulating proposals, generalising, predicating, inferring, and so on. Such operations may be performed during argumentation stages (e.g. when attacks are successively refined under ‘interactive pressure’: Bunt, 1995) and as means of negotiating dialectical outcomes. If appropriated in a relatively stable way by students, beyond the dialogues in which they are currently engaged, such interactive transformations would lead to a particular type of learning (improved conceptual understanding). The dialogical dimension concerns the interplay of socially inscribed discourse genres, the more or less reformulated expression of what one has already heard (Bakhtine, 1977). Learning in educational dialogue can be seen, at least partially, as the appropriation of ‘school discourse’ in relation to everyday discourse (Wertsch, 1991). Argumentative discourse does of course have its everyday and ‘school’ versions. In a longitudinal study of students’ computermediated debates, we analysed the gradual appropriation of the argumentative genre in terms of the necessity for students to articulate the school-preferred argumentative genre (in grammatically correct French) with their everyday language, including a “sms-language” genre associated with computer-mediated practices (Baker, Bernard & Dumez-Féroc, 2012). ‘Learning to argue’, within such an approach, is seen as the ability to produce a particular genre, relevant to the social context. The interpersonal dimension refers to the nature of the relationships between students, more or less friendly, as well as their different social identities (e.g. male, female, ‘rapper’, ‘funny guy’, ‘good student’, etc.) influence the extent

.  Of course, in such cases, the argumentative relation can and sometimes is contested.



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to which they can and will deepen verbal conflicts, possibly endangering their relationships (e.g. Kutnick & Kington, 2005). This was discussed in more detail above, with respect to the general avoidance of making argumentative outcomes explicit. The affective dimension is highly important in the case of argumentative interactions, given that personal “face” (Brown & Levinson, 1987) and interpersonal relations may be particularly threatened by verbal conflicts of opinion. The affective and interpersonal dimensions are empirically related yet analytically separable, in that interpersonal relations mediate the extent to which affect is openly expressed and regulated, a ‘stronger’ relationship allowing more openness in this respect (Andriessen, Baker & van de Puil, 2011). For example, an insult may provoke anger or else amusement, depending on the interpersonal relationship and the interactive context: there is no straightforward bilateral relationship between interpersonal relationships and affect. Affect appears in pragma-dialectics in the form of expressive speech acts, where, although they “play no direct part in critical discussion”, “[t]his does not mean that they cannot affect the course of the resolution process” (van Eemeren, Grootendorst & Snoeck Henkemans, 1996, p. 287). Indeed, in the case of students’ argumentation dialogues, it has been shown that the necessity to regulate affects interacts in a complex way with knowledge coelaboration processes (Baker, Andriessen & Järvelä, 2013). Other psychological research has shown that affect enters into the very heart of argumentation, in that the choice of argumentative strategy (direct defense, or else attack the attack?) correlates with the extent to which the attack is perceived as aggressive (Muntig & Turnbull, 1998). The more an attack is perceived as aggressive, the greater is the probability that proponents will directly defend their theses (and thereby, ‘themselves’), rather than counter-attack. Therefore, although, as mentioned ­ above, affect has no role to play in the normative dimension of pragma-dialectics, it is essential to take it into account in understanding how students might learn in and by argumentative discussion. To summarise, I propose that, in order to understand the full range of types of learning processes and outcomes relating to students’ argumentation dialogues, it is necessary to study and integrate (at least) the relations between the seven dimensions of argumentation dialogue described above: pragmatic, dialectical, discursive, epistemological, dialogical, interpersonal and affective. The integration of such dimensions into a coherent theoretical approach is, I believe, possible and useful, but would constitute a major research programme. It would require at least the integration of pragma-dialectics with theories of belief revision and cognitive dissonance, theories of the interactive transformation of meaning in exchanged discourse, of Bakhtinian dialogism, of interpersonal relations, facework and emotion.

 Michael J. Baker

4.  Concluding discussion: Pragma-dialectics and psychology In this paper I have discussed the extent to which pragma-dialectics constitutes a model for students’ argumentative discussions, within the framework of one branch of psychology (educational psychology) that studies collaborative learning. In this concluding discussion I broaden these reflexions to consider relations between argumentation studies and psychology in general. I shall argue that argumentation studies have a too narrow conception of these relations, and that other — discursive, dialogical, situated — psychologies could form a different way of conceiving the relations between the two fields. The role of psychology as conceived by pragma-dialectics appears with respect to its “externalization” metatheoretical principle (Van Eemeren, Groodendorst & Snoeck Henkemans, 1996, pp. 276–277): [t]he study of argumentation should not concentrate on the psychological dispositions of the people involved in an argumentation, but on their externalized — or externalizable — commitments.

As discussed above, for pragma-dialectics, the province of psychology is the study of perlocutionary effects of constellations of argumentative speech acts (changes in opinion, belief), argumentation studies being concerned with what is publicly accepted in argumentation dialogue, with attendant commitments. Turning to the older “new rhetoric”, the role of psychology is described as follows (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca, 1958, p. 12: my translation): The theory of argumentation, aiming, thanks to discourse, to obtain an efficacious action on minds, could have been treated as a branch of psychology. (…) The study of argumentation would thus become one of the objects of experimental psychology, where varied argumentations would be tested with varied groups of listeners, sufficiently well known so that one could, on the basis of these experiments, draw conclusions of a certain generality.

These two approaches to argumentation studies therefore share a vision of psychology as being concerned essentially with what is ‘outside’ dialogue (‘effects’ of it on speakers), argumentation itself dealing with is ‘inside’ dialogue. And, what is ‘outside’ dialogue is seen as concerning the changes occurring ‘inside’ the heads of speakers. I have already discussed above how a vision of perlocutionary effects as involving ‘addition’ or ‘deletion’ of beliefs is too restrictive (knowledge restructuring goes well beyond this). But this view of psychology from argumentation studies is also too limited in a more fundamental way, in that it assumes that (all) psychology is concerned with changes in (effects on) individuals’ minds. Certainly, what could be called mainstream cognitive and social experimental psychology would probably concur with this role for psychology as studying the



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‘effects’ of ­argumentation on individual people’s thoughts. But there are also recent approaches to psychology that consider the relation between thinking and language exchanged in dialogue in a different way, in alignment with Wittgenstein’s (1978, §109e) philosophy of language: [t]hinking is not an incorporeal process which lends life and sense to speaking, and which it would be possible to detach from speaking, rather as the Devil took the shadow of Schlemiehl from the ground.

Thinking is not ‘behind’ language games; it is an emergent property of them, inscribed in forms of life. A lapidary summary of the main claim of the cluster of ‘alternative’ approaches to psychology that I shall briefly mention here would be: thinking is ‘in’ the dialogue, not ‘outside’ it; or, dialogue is itself a process of thinking. And that includes especially argumentation dialogue, which is concerned with digging into the foundations of ideas. For Allwood (1997), dialogue is a process of collective thinking, whereby speakers co-construct a shared conceptual map in a particular domain of discourse. The Vygotskian “dialogical psychology” of Fernyhough (1996) also considers dialogue as a shared process of thinking, but goes further in seeing individual thinking (i.e. when alone, with or without egocentric speech) as an internalised more abstract form of dialogue. In this sense, the phenomenon of ‘thinking’, considered as a process, cuts across the ‘inner’/’outer’ divide. There is of course no question of denying the existence of the intersubjectively real phenomenon of individual, solitary thinking. But in methodological terms, the approaches to psychology in dialogical contexts just mentioned question the role that individual thoughts have in the analysis and explication of dialogue: they are only of relevance to the analysis of the process of dialogical thinking to the extent that they are mutually understood as part of the common ground (Clark & S­ chaefer, 1989). Thus, within a “discursive psychology” approach (Harré and Gillett, 1993), in a paper entitled “But what do children really think?”, Edwards (1993) argues that the question is essentially meaningless or unanswerable, since what children say in dialogue reflects their discursive co-constructions, localised and situated in the social exchange, rather than their cognitions ‘behind’ their words. Understanding learning in and by dialogue is therefore not a matter of determining what lies behind or outside it, in individuals’ heads, but rather one of analysing the stabilised qualitative changes in discursive constructions, across time. Finally, within the socio-cognitive conflict paradigm (see the introduction to this paper), Perret-Clermont and colleagues (Perret-Clermont, Perret & Bell, 1991, p. 55) concluded from a series of experiments on cooperative problem-solving that “it is no longer possible to decide a priori if a competence is purely cognitive or also involves the social competence of displaying that behavior. I­ ntelligence, then, can be considered as intrinsically a sociability”.

 Michael J. Baker

The conception of the relations between pragma-dialectics and psychology according to which the former is only concerned with the ‘outer’ (public commitment in dialogue), and the latter with the ‘inner’ (effects on individuals), is therefore not inevitable, because there are psychologies that aim to cross-cut such inner/outer, cognitive/social divides. The analysis of students’ argumentation dialogues, integrating the seven dimensions described above, would therefore constitute at the same time an analysis of public, externalised commitment and of the evolution of thinking, learning, as a collective process. This would form the basis for a new rapprochement between argumentation theory and psychological theory.

References Allwood, J. (1997). Dialog as collective thinking. In P. Pylkkänen, P. Pylkkö, & A. Hautamäki (Eds.), Brain, mind and physics (pp. 205–211). Amsterdam: IOS Press. Andriessen, J., & Coirier, P. (Eds.). (1999). Foundations of argumentative text processing, Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam Press. Andriessen, J., Baker, M., & Suthers, D. (Eds.). (2003). Arguing to learn: Confronting cognitions in computer-supported collaborative learning environments. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Andriessen, J., Baker, M., & van der Puil., C. (2011). Socio-cognitive tension in collaborative working relations. In S. Ludvigsen, A. Lund, I. Rasmussen, & R. Saljo (Eds.), Learning across sites: New tools, infrastructures and practices (pp. 222–242). London: Routledge. Baker, M.J., Bernard, F.-X., & Dumez-Féroc, I. (2012). Integrating computer-supported collaborative learning into the classroom: the anatomy of a failure. Journal of Computer Assisted Learning, 28, 161–176. Baker, M.J. (1995). Negotiation in Collaborative Problem-Solving Dialogues. In R.-J. Beun, M.J. Baker & M. Reiner (Eds.), Dialogue and Instruction: Modeling Interaction in Intelligent Tutoring Systems (pp. 39–55). Berlin: Springer-Verlag. Baker, M.J. (1999). Argumentation and constructive interaction. In P. Coirier & J. Andriessen (Eds.), Foundations of argumentative text processing (pp. 179–202). Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam Press. Baker, M.J. (2002). Argumentative interactions, discursive operations and learning to model in science. In P. Brna, M. Baker, K. Stenning, & A. Tiberghien (Eds.), The role of communication in learning to model (pp. 303–324). Mahwah N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Baker, M.J. (2003). Computer-mediated Argumentative interactions for the co-elaboration of scientific notions. In J. Andriessen, M.J. Baker, & D. Suthers (Eds.), Arguing to learn: Confronting cognitions in computer-supported collaborative learning environments (pp. 47–78). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Baker, M.J. (2009a). Argumentative interactions and the social construction of knowledge. In N.M. Mirza & A.-N. Perret-Clermont (Eds.), Argumentation and education: Theoretical foundations and practices (pp. 127–144). Berlin: Springer Verlag. DOI: 10.1007/978-0-387-98125-3_5



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Baker, M.J. (2009b). Intersubjective and intrasubjective rationalities in pedagogical debates: Realizing what one thinks. In B. Schwarz, T. Dreyfus, & R. Hershkowitz (Eds.), Transformation of knowledge through classroom interaction (pp. 145–158). London: Routledge. Baker, M.J., & Séjourné, A. (2007). L’ élaboration de connaissances chez les élèves dans un débat médiatisé par ordinateur. [The elaboration of students’ knowledge in a computer-mediated debate]. Dans A. Specogna (Éd.), Enseigner dans l’interaction [Teaching in interaction]. (pp. 81–111). Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy. Baker, M.J., Andriessen, J., & Järvelä, S. (2013). Affective learning together: Social and emotional dimensions of collaborative learning. London: Routledge. Baker, M.J., Quignard, M., Lund, K., & Séjourné, A. (2003). Computer-supported collaborative learning in the space of debate. In B. Wasson, S. Ludvigsen, & U. Hoppe (Eds.), Designing for change in networked learning environments: Proceedings of the international conference on computer support for collaborative learning 2003 (pp. 11–20). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Bakhtine, M. (1977/1929). [Volochinov, V.N.]. Le Marxisme et la Philosophie du Langage [Marxism and the Philosophy of Language]. Paris: Minuit. [Ist edition: Voloshinov, Leningrad 1929]. Barron, B. (2003). When smart groups fail. The Journal of the Learning Sciences, 12(3), 307–359. Barth, E.M., & Krabbe, E.C.W. (1982). From axiom to dialogue: A philosophical study of logics and argumentation. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Brown, P., & Levinson, S.C. (1987). Politeness: Some universals in language usage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bunt, H.C. (1995). Dialogue Control functions and interaction design. In R.J. Beun, M.J. Baker, & M. Reiner (Eds.), Dialogue and instruction, modeling interaction in intelligent tutoring systems (pp. 197–214). Berlin: Springer. Clark, H.H., & Schaefer, E.F. (1989). Contributing to discourse. Cognitive Science, 13, 259–294. Cohen, L.J. (1992). An essay on belief and acceptance. Oxford: Clarendon Press. De Vries, E., Lund, K., & Baker, M.J. (2002). Computer-mediated epistemic dialogue: Explanation and argumentation as vehicles for understanding scientific notions. The Journal of the Learning Sciences, 11(1), 63–103. Dillenbourg, P. (1999). What do you mean by collaborative learning? In P. Dillenbourg (Ed.), Collaborative-learning: Cognitive and computational approaches (pp. 1–19). Oxford: Elsevier. Dillenbourg, P., Baker, M.J., Blaye, A., & O’Malley, C. (1996). The evolution of research on collaborative learning. In P. Reimann & H. Spada (Eds.), Learning in humans and machines: towards an interdisciplinary learning science (pp. 189–211). Oxford: Pergamon. DiSessa, A. (1988). Knowledge in pieces. In G. Forman & P. Pufall (Eds.), Constructivism in the computer age (pp. 49–70). Hillsdale NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Driver, R., Guesne, E., & Tiberghien, A. (1985). Children’s ideas in science. Milton Keynes: The Open University Press. Edwards, D. (1993). But what do children really think?: Discourse analysis and conceptual content in children’s talk. Cognition and Instruction, 11(3/4), 207–225. Fernyhough, C. (1996). The dialogic mind: A dialogic approach to the higher mental functions. New Ideas In Psychology, 14(1), 47–62. Forman, E.A. (1992). Discourse, intersubjectivity, and the development of peer collaboration: A Vygotskian approach. In L.T. Winegar & J. Valsiner (Eds.), Children’s development within social context: Vol 2. metatheoritical, theoretical and methodological issues (pp. 143–159). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

 Michael J. Baker Gardenförs, P. (1988). Knowledge in flux. Modeling the dynamics of epistemic states. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Given, L.M. (2008). Qualitative research methods. Thousand Oaks (Calif.): Sage Publications. Golder, C., (1996). Le développement des discours argumentatifs. [The development of argumentative discourses]. Delachaux & Niestlé, Lausanne. Grize, J.-B. (1982). De la logique à l’argumentation [From logic to argumentation]. Genève: Librairie Droz. Harré, R., & Gillett, G. (1993). The discursive mind. London: Sage. Kutnick, P., & Kington, A. (2005). Children’s friendships and learning in school: Cognitive enhancement through social interaction? British Journal of Educational Psychology, 75, 1–19. Lamm, H., & Trommsdorff, G. (1973). Group versus individual performance on tasks requiring ideational proficiency (brainstorming). European Journal of Social Psychology, 3, 361–387. Mercer, N., Wegerif, R., & Dawes, L.(1999) Children’s talk and the development of reasoning in the classroom. British Educational Research Journal, 25(1), 95–111. Mevarech, Z.R., & Light, P.H. (1992). Peer-based interaction at the computer: Looking backward, looking forward. Learning and Instruction, 2, 275–280. Mugny, G., & Doise, W. (1978). Socio-cognitive conflict and structure of individual and collective performances. European Journal of Social Psychology, 8, 181–192. Muller Mirza, N., & Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (2009). Argumentation and education: Theoretical foundations and practices. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. Muntig, P., & Turnbull, W. (1998). Conversational structure and facework in arguing. Journal of Pragmatics, 29, 225–256. DOI: 10.1016/S0378-2166(97)00048-9 Naess, A. (1966). Communication and argument: Elements of applied semantics. London: Allen and Unwin. Nonnon, E. (1996). Activités argumentatives et élaboration de connaissances nouvelles: le dialogue comme espace d’exploration. [Argumentative activities and elaboration of new knowledge: dialogue as a space of exploration] Langue Française, 112, 67–87. DOI: 10.3406/lfr.1996.5361 Pasquier, D. (2005). Cultures Lycéennes. La tyrannie de la majorité. [High-school student cultures: the tyranny of the majority]. Paris: Autrement. Perelman, C., & Olbrechts-Tyteca, L. (1958/1988). Traité de l’argumentation. La nouvelle rhétorique [A treatise in argumentation: the new rhetoric]. Bruxelles: Editions de l’Université de Bruxelles. Perret-Clermont, A.-N., Perret, J.-F., & Bell, N. (1991). The social construction of meaning and cognitive activity in elementary school children. In L.B. Resnick, J.M. Levine, & S.D. Teasley (Eds.), Perspectives on socially shared cognition (pp. 41–62). Washington DC: American Psychological Association. DOI: 10.1037/10096-002 Piaget, J. (1964). Six Études de Psychologie. [Six studies in psychology]. Paris: Denoël (Collection Folio/Essais). Resnick, L.B., Salmon, M., Zeitz, C.M., Wathen, S.H., & Holowchak, M. (1993). Reasoning in conversation. Cognition and Instruction, 11, 347–364. DOI: 10.1080/07370008.1993.9649029 Stein, N.L., & Bernas, R. (1999). The early emergence of argumentative knowledge and skill. In J. Andriessen & P. Coirier (Eds.), Foundations of argumentative text processing (pp. 97–116). Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam Press. Toulmin, S.E. (1958). The uses of argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.



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Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (1984). Speech Acts in argumentative discussions. Dordrecht­-Holland: Foris Publications. Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (1992). Argumentation, communication and fallacies. A pragma-dialectical perspective. Hillsdale, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. van Eemeren, F.H., Grootendorts, R., & Snoeck Henkemans, F. (1996). Fundamentals of argumentation theory: A handbook of historical backgrounds and contemporary developments. Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Vignaux, G. (1988). Le discours acteur du monde: énonciation, argumentation et cognition. [Discourse as an actor in the world: enunciation, argumentation and cognition]. Paris: Ophrys. Vosniadou, S. (1994). Capturing and modeling the process of conceptual change. Learning and Instruction, 4(1), 71–87. Vygotsky, L.S. (1930/1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Ed. by M. Cole, V. John-Steiner, S. Scribner, & E. Souberman. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Webb, N.M. (1991). Task-related verbal interaction and mathematics learning in small groups. Journal for Research in Mathematics Education, 22(5), 366–389. Wertsch, J.V. (1991). Voices of the mind. A sociocultural approach to mediated action. USA: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Wittgenstein, L. (1978). Philosophical investigations. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.

A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction in the U.S.A. Lindsay M. Ellis

Grand Valley State University Secondary and university instructors in the United States rely heavily on the Toulmin model to teach written argumentation. To date, pragma-dialectics (van Eemeren and Grootendorst 2004; van Eemeren 2010) is not a visible presence in American composition textbooks. This session encouraged writing consultants to ask critical questions not only associated with Toulmin's model but also those of the pragma-dialectic model of critical discussion in order to improve the critical thinking of writers. Keywords:  composition; critical thinking; critical questions pragma-dialectics; teaching; Toulmin model; writing

1.  Introduction When teaching written argumentation, both secondary and university instructors in the United States of America rely heavily on the Toulmin model (Hillocks 2011; Ramage, Bean and Johnson 2015; Smith, Wilhelm, and Fredricksen 2012). No other theoretical models of argumentation are as prominent in English composition textbooks and curricula, and the reach of the Toulmin model extends into science and math education as well (Chin & Osborn 2010; Enduran, Osborne, & Simon 2004; Krummheuer 1995). In the newly adopted Common Core State Standards for elementary and secondary education in the U.S., argumentative writing is heavily emphasized. As a result, a flurry of new books and curricula on teaching argumentative writing have been published in the last five years. One can see how predominant the Toulmin model is by simply flipping the pages of Teaching Argument Writing by George Hillocks (2011, xix) and Oh Yeah? Putting Argument to Work Both in School and Out by Michael W. Smith, Jeffrey Wilhelm, and James Fredricksen (2012, 12). Why is this the case?

doi 10.1075/aic.9.11ell © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Lindsay M. Ellis

Writing instructors have tragically little time to read the large body of research and scholarship pertaining to the many facets of their work. The Toulmin model is probably the backbone of most argumentative writing curricula in the United States because it is visually accessible and explicable. Teachers are able to quickly digest and apply the visual representation of its central concepts. Second, the Toulmin model seems helpful because it defines one vocabulary that enables discussion of the elements of an argument: claims, data, qualifiers, rebutting conditions, and warrants. When facing common problems in writing instruction, the Toulmin model provides educators a schema for diagnosis and treatment. It allows teachers to focus attention and facilitate discussion about these elements. Helping students to invent and include these elements in their papers is much of the substance of current written argumentation curricula. This article steps back and examines the American reliance on the Toulmin model from a distance–metaphorically from the University of Amsterdam, where the pragma-dialectical model of argumentation holds the privileged place that Toulmin’s does in the U.S.A. (Van Eemeren and Grootendorst 2004; Van Eemeren 2010). Some of the problems that U.S. teachers face when teaching argumentative writing might be problems not that the Toulmin model can help them to effortlessly solve, but ones that a reliance on Toulmin might be intensifying.

2.  C  ommon problems After working with writing instructors at all levels for the last ten years, I have observed a pattern of common problems and complaints from writing teachers and tutors. Common complaint

Common instructional comment

•  A  student says, “I don’t know what to write about,” when asked to write about a text that she has read.

“What’s your topic?”

•  A  student drafts a text, but the main claim is a commonplace. It is not contestable.

“Who would disagree with that?”

•  A  student states a controversial opinion, but offers no evidence to support it; he merely restates the opinion multiple ways.

“You haven’t told me why you believe this.”

•  A  student relies formulaically on a fiveparagraph theme structure: stating a claim in the first paragraph, giving three reasons in three subsequent paragraphs, and restating the claim in the concluding paragraph.

“I see you have five paragraphs.”



A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction 

Common complaint

Common instructional comment

•  A  student states a claim and cites others who agree, but doesn’t acknowledge or address the complexity of the issue.

“Can you imagine any objections to this idea?”

•  A  student states a claim and cites data, but doesn’t explain how the data supports the claim. For example, she includes quotes from a novel in a literary analysis paper, but does not offer interpretation.

“What does this quote mean to you?”

When coaching student writers who need help addressing these problems, the Toulmin model is a useful tool for certain things. It helps us to visually remind writers that claims need support, that support needs to be warranted, and that qualified claims aren’t weak, they are responsible. The Toulmin model is not, however, a heuristic for deliberation. It does not describe or assist the process of developing claims by thinking critically through the implications of possible stances on tough intellectual issues. Stephen Toulmin states this explicitly. The task he tackled in The Uses of Argument (1958) was to describe how already-held opinions might be justified logically: We are not in general concerned in these essays with the ways in which we in fact get to our conclusion, or with methods of improving our efficiency as conclusiongetters. It may well be, where a problem is a matter for calculation, that the stages in the argument we present in justification of our conclusion are the same as those we went through in getting at the answer, but this will not in general be so. In this essay, at any rate, our concern is not with the getting of conclusions but with their subsequent establishment by the production of a supporting argument. (16–17)

Because I believe that it is vitally important that we do teach the process of coming to good decisions, of reasoning one’s way to conclusions carefully, I think ­American teachers and tutors of writing need to supplement Toulmin’s model in our teaching argument writing toolbox. 3.  Differences in writing tasks In fact, beyond the Toulmin model diagram, a whole field of argumentation studies is thriving. In the Netherlands, secondary and university level instruction in argumentation is informed by what is called pragma-dialectics. In the version of pragma-dialectics developed by Frans van Eemeren & Peter Houtlosser (2002) and extended by van Eemeren (2010), argumentation is defined as the pragmatic ­marriage of dialectic (the rational search for the best solution to a problem through

 Lindsay M. Ellis

dialogue) and rhetoric (the search for the best available discursive means to one’s desired ends). Van Eemeren (2010) developed the concept of strategic maneuvering in pragma-dialectics to describe the ways that writers combine dialectical and rhetorical strategies in order to compose texts that are both reasonable (dialectic) and effective (rhetoric). I am drawn to pragma-dialectics because it shifts the definition of argumentation away from claims supported by data, and toward discourse aimed to resolve a difference of opinion. This changes (it reframes) the tasks of a writer. This reframing was an epiphany for me. I had been frustrated with the lack of attention to the intellectual work of developing good claims through the process of drafting argumentative prose. Like others, I had been particularly irked by the power of the ACT writing test to shape classroom instruction. The ACT writing test asks students to identify their topic and invent a main claim very quickly, too quickly, in fact, almost arbitrarily. Teachers feel intense pressure to teach to this test. Furthermore, the ubiquity of a Toulmin model-based understanding of argumentation has sanctioned the habit of beginning with a claim (I know what I believe; don’t try to change my mind.) and moving quickly to brainstorming and organizing support for that claim. Then students keep moving forward, considering and including any necessary warrants to explain the move from data to claim, qualifying the force of the claim, and acknowledging possible rebutting conditions. By contrast, the pragma-dialectical model for critical discussion, if used as an argument-writing heuristic, encourages writers to move through four phases, not necessarily linearly: –– the confrontation stage: identifying a difference of opinion –– the opening stage: establishing the terms and common starting points, i.e. the common ground between those who have the difference of opinion, perhaps the writer and the reader –– the argumentation stage: developing evidence and reasons to support standpoints and respond to critical questions –– and the concluding stage: evaluating the results of this argumentation on the merits, sometimes moving into a new confrontation stage when a new difference of opinion within the issue is identified. This model of critical discussion was developed through a descriptive study of actual language use understood through the lens of the long philosophical tradition of dialectic. The purpose of dialectic is to come to the best possible solution to a problem through discussion.



A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction 

By contrast, Stephen Toulmin’s purpose in creating an argument model was to offer a critique of mathematical logic as a tool for assessing the strength of ­practical arguments. To this end, he looked to the practice of law. “In the studies which follow,” he says by way of introduction to The Uses of Argument, “the nature of the rational process will be discussed with the ‘jurisprudential analogy’ in mind” (7). Why does this matter? Well, in law, it is not the lawyer’s job to choose whether to support the plaintiff or the defendant. In law, the client chooses the lawyer to represent him, and the lawyer’s job is to find the best available means of defending that client, of strengthening the case. A student writer, however, unless taking part in some school domain language game in which the roles are assigned, must develop his or her own standpoint as part of the composing process. Learning how to come up with a topic and deliberate among viewpoints when writing academic arguments is central to the endeavour. To this end, Stephen Toulmin’s work is less helpful than others’. In 1958, Stephen Toulmin wrote The Uses of Argument within the field of philosophy as a critique of the geometric approach to logical validity. In order to show that syllogistic reasoning is not the only way to argue logically, Toulmin developed a visual representation of argument structure. In his introduction, he explained the small scale of the unit for which he was designing a model: “An argument is like an organism. It has both a gross, anatomical structure and a finer, as-it-were physiological one…. The time has come to change the focus of our inquiry and to concentrate on this finer level.” (87) While the book was not influential among philosophers in Britain, its innovative message was recognized by speech communication scholars in the United States. Application to written composition followed in subsequent decades. Even though Stephen Toulmin carefully defined the scope of his work as a description of the smallest units in arguments that justify pre-chosen claims, his model is currently used to teach the whole, macrocosmic structure and invention process of written argumentative texts. This constitutes a four-step retooling of his work: from philosophy to communication, from oral discourse to written prose, from microcosmic to macrocosmic structure, and from description to invention. I think that this has led to confusion. 4.  Microcosmic model/macrocosmic application The Toulmin model for understanding the structure of single argumentation–one claim, supported by one piece of data, whose relevance is explained by one warrant, with one modal qualifier signalling its degree of force or probability, with one nod to its exceptions or possible rebutting conditions–this microcosmic structure

.

 Lindsay M. Ellis

is used as a curriculum for teaching the macrocosmic composition of whole essays. This is problematic because the common expectation for longer argumentative papers is that they include multiple argumentation supported by subordinate or coordinative argument structures. While it is true that each claim within more complex argument structures can individually be examined for explicit or implied warrant, backing, qualifier and conditions of rebuttal, simply knowing these six elements does not help students to compose well-organized macrostructures. 5.  Rebutting conditions are not rebuttals The definition of several terms are also confusing as a result of this application of Toulmin’s critique of analytic philosophy to the macrocosmic invention stage of written composition. Confusion exists about the difference between qualifier and rebutting conditions, as Toulmin defined them, and the bigger units of an argument: qualifications and rebuttals of rebuttals, and the difference among the terms qualifier, qualification, rebuttal, condition, exception, and counterargument. We struggle to teach argumentation well in schools when teachers don’t have uniform understandings–or even confidently unique–understandings of these terms. Toulmin explains his terms by explicating the following argument: Harry was born in Bermuda

}

So, presumably, Since

Harry is a { British subject

Unless

A man born in Both his parents were Bermuda will aliens/ he has become a generally be a naturalised American/ ... British subject On account of The following statutes and other legal provisions:

Following the pattern of the model: D––>So, Q, C  | | Since Unless W R  | B



A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction 

He defines his terms thus: Just as a warrant (W) is itself neither a datum (D) nor a claim (C), since it implies in itself something about both D and C–namely, that the step from the one to the other is legitimate; so, in turn, Q and R are themselves distinct from W, since they comment implicitly on the bearing of W on this step–qualifiers (Q) indicating the strength conferred by the warrant on this step, conditions of rebuttal (R) indicating circumstances in which the general authority of the warrant would have to be set aside. To mark these further distinctions, we may write the qualifier (Q) immediately beside the conclusion which it qualifies (C), and the exceptional conditions which might be capable of defeating or rebutting the warranted conclusion (R) immediately below the qualifier. (93)

This diagram and its explanation are adapted in multiple and varying ways in writing textbooks. There is confusion over the difference between a modal qualifier and a qualification. The former is a single word such as “presumably” in Toulmin’s example, or probably, maybe, or to indicate strength, definitely. Outside of school, when we ask for qualifications or ask someone to qualify a statement, we are often asking for fully articulated conditions of exception. This is closer to what Toulmin called the rebuttal. In Toulmin’s example, the rebuttal is a mention of the hypothetical conditions under which the claim might not be true: if Harry had, despite having been born in Bermuda, sometime later become a naturalized American, then he would not be a British citizen. Confusingly, the word “rebuttal” in common legal discursive practice and secondary school debate is used to mean a fully articulated counterargument, or counter-counter argument. In the teaching of writing in secondary schools, students are often asked to include a counter-argument and a rebuttal of that counter-argument in their papers. When the Toulmin model diagram is referenced as an aid to organization, and if teachers are trying to teach students to add fully articulated counter-­ arguments, then they may use the word rebuttal or leave it out and replace it with the word response to describe the act of undermining the strength of this counterargument in order to maintain the persuasiveness of their initial standpoint. Illustrating the potential confusion caused by conflicting definitions of these little words, in Hillocks’ (2011) book on argumentative writing, the word ­“Rebuttal” appears in his Toulmin model diagram. However, Hillocks subsequently dispenses with this word in the body of his text, mentioning it nowhere. Instead of including the concept of “conditions of rebuttal” that Toulmin includes in his structure, H ­ illocks teaches teachers that because argumentation concerns matters of ­probability, “two other elements are necessary: qualifications and

 Lindsay M. Ellis

c­ ounterarguments.” He encourages the use of qualifying terms: “probably, very likely, almost certainly, and so forth,” staying close to Toulmin’s text. But the use to which he puts counterarguments differs from Toulmin’s rebutting conditions. Hillocks states, “The very idea that we are dealing with arguments of probability suggests that differing claims are likely to exist,” and therefore, if hoping to make a persuasive argument, writers “would have to make a counterargument.” Readers are left here without a clear explanation. Is the counterargument the summary of the standpoint and reasons of the imagined audience with whom the writer has a difference of opinion; or is it an argument whose standpoint is that the reasons or warrants of his antagonists are weak? Hillocks doesn’t say, and this is not clarified for students. What is clear is a need for more thoroughgoing dialectic, as evidenced by the adaptation to the Toulmin model not only in the work of Hillocks (2011) but also Williams and Colomb (2001) and Smith, Wilhelm, and Frederickson (2012). All of these authors supplement the “rebutting conditions” in Toulmin’s actual work with “counterargument” or “acknowledgment” and “response.” 6.  The difficulty with warrants There is also significant confusion about how to help students learn to identify and to invent warrants, if the number of articles published in English Journal on the topic is any indication (Anderson & Hamel 1991; Warren 2010; Hillocks 2010). In Toulmin’s model, the warrant links one’s data to one’s claim: “These may normally be written very briefly (in the form of ‘If D, then C’); [or they can be expanded] ‘Data such as D entitle one to draw conclusion, or make claims, such as C’, or alternatively ‘Given data D, one may take it that C.’” (Toulmin 91). Yet it is rare to find examples of warrants in this “if-then” form. In their article, “Teaching Argument as a Criteria-Driven Process,” Anderson and Hamel exemplify this difficulty. Their own definitions of warrants and backing seem at odds with the example they give. Here are their definitions: Warrant: So what? (What’s the principle or rule being cited to connect the grounds to the claim?) Backing: What’s the ultimate principle, theory, or tradition underlying the warrant? (or, What makes you think so?)

And here are their examples; notice that the “if-then” statement is listed as backing rather than warrant: So what? That isn’t fair. I deserve a chance. What makes you think so? Fairness is an important principle for students to learn in sports. If students appear to be able to participate effectively, they should be given a chance to show their competence in a game. (44)



A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction 

In my experience, possessing a declarative knowledge of the definitions of warrants and backing does not easily translate into a procedural ability to identify them in everyday usage. Nor does it help writers to decide when warrants and backing need to be stated explicitly and when they can be left to readers’ implicit understanding. 7.  Defensiveness training Fourth (and I think most importantly), I think we in the United States have a systemic problem that an overreliance on the Toulmin model is not helping us to fix. Teachers feel pressured to coach students to quickly defend and justify their opinions in order to succeed on timed writing tests like the ACT. More time seems to be devoted to teaching the process of justifying opinions (Toulmin’s focus) than learning to develop nuanced positions through a process of critical deliberation. This troubles me because cognitive scientists tell us that humans have a natural tendency toward confirmation bias–toward noticing the data that supports beliefs. This is an adaptive strategy for our minds. Because our five senses can collect more information than we can process, we can only attend to the information that seems important. Unfortunately, this selection process tends to blind us to disconfirming evidence. Unless we are taught to slow down, to actively seek data that might support multiple viewpoints, humans tend not to. It is my hope that we develop more curricula that treats written argumentation as a means of critically assessing the strength of opposing viewpoints, that is, argumentative writing as a tool for coming to conclusions about which answer is the strongest one with regard to the questions that we ask. 8.  Conferring effectively How can pragma-dialectics help teachers to supplement the lack of attention to deliberation in the Toulmin model? It can provide even more questions to ask of writers, critical questions to add to the ones offered by Toulmin to help foster the reasonableness and the strength of argumentation. Rather than simplistically equating argumentative writing and persuasive writing, pragma-dialectics offers a more nuanced definition. Argumentative texts are understood as turns of talk in a critical discussion (van Eemeren and Grootendorst 1984, 1992, 2004). Pragmadialectics understands the writer to be a participant in a critical discussion during which he or she tries to support a standpoint (claim) in the face of the reader’s doubts or criticisms. While the aim of resolving a difference of opinion with one’s audience and the aim of persuading one’s audience are similar (because one way

 Lindsay M. Ellis

to resolve a difference of opinion is to effectively persuade one’s audience to agree with your standpoint), they are not identical. Pragma-dialectics (as its name suggests) enriches argumentation by reference to the long tradition of dialectic, reminding students from the outset that their purpose is to evoke a dialogue, to try to live up to the ideal of a critical discussion–even if the text has a single author whose audience is addressed in the imagination as he or she composes. In Toulmin’s The Uses of Argument, he suggests that data is given to support a claim when an audience asks, “What have you got to go on?” (Smith, Wilhelm & Fredricksen translate this as “What makes you say so?”) Arguers are prompted to articulate their warrant when asked, “How is that relevant?” (“So what?” ask Smith, Wilhelm & Fredricksen.) In addition to these questions, there are others that teachers can use to confer effectively. At the most fundamental level, “How’s it going?” is the most helpful step to begin a conversation with students about their work (Anderson 2000). Listening carefully to a student’s answer, writing coaches can determine whether the student has a topic or not. By thinking through the stages of a critical discussion, writing coaches can help students to understand their role as interlocutors tasked with identifying and then working to resolve a difference of opinion. I suggest the following questions for use in writing conferences. If a student seems to be working on the confrontation stage: –– What’s the issue that you are writing about? –– Who is your audience for this paper? Is there an audience other than your teacher? –– Is there a difference of opinion about this issue? –– What are the different points of view with regard to this issue? –– Which point(s) of view seem(s) best to you? –– Who might doubt that opinion or disagree with that point of view? If the student seems to be working on the opening stage: –– When it comes to this issue, what do the possible points of view have in common? –– What do you and your readers probably agree about when it comes to this issue? –– What are the constraints of your assignment? Does the assignment give clear instructions about length, genre, and definition of effective writing?1 .  Graded written work within the education domain almost always has both a primary and a secondary rhetorical context, even if the teacher is the only audience.  The teacher or some other audience may be the interlocutor in a critical dialogue about the issue, but always in the



A critique of the ubiquity of the Toulmin model in argumentative writing instruction 

If the student seems to be working on the argumentation stage: –– How is your text going to resolve a difference of opinion? –– What reasons can you imagine to support that point of view? –– Are you making a cause and effect argument, a symptomatic argument, or an argument by analogy? –– It sounds like you are making a cause & effect argument; –– will that effect indeed follow? Or could it be achieved more easily by way of another measure? –– is the effect of the cause really as good or as bad as you assert? –– are there any other good or bad side-effects that will follow? –– It sounds like you are making a symptomatic argument; –– is that quality also a symptom of anything else? –– do things like that have other typical characteristics as well? –– It sounds like you are making an argument by analogy; –– have you accurately described both of the situations or things you are comparing? –– have you clarified the resemblance between them? –– are there crucial differences between them? Are there perhaps other situations or things that better resemble the present case? (Adapted from  van Eemeren & Grootendorst 1992: 101, 102) If the student seems to be working on the conclusion stage: –– Which stance on this issue seems the strongest? –– Are the arguments for that standpoint completely persuasive to you? –– Do you have any doubts about them? –– Have you changed your mind about this issue through the process of writing this paper? –– Did you discover any differences of opinion about sub-issues while you worked on this paper? –– What do you think that readers should consider next in order to understand either the causes or the consequences of this difference of opinion?

background is the primary context of schooling—the issue of a student’s satisfactory progress toward learning goals.  In effect, every graded assignment asks a student: Are you capable of effectively accomplishing this composing task?  Every assignment handed in asserts the claim: Yes, I am capable of effectively accomplishing this composing task.  The extent to which the composition is effective argumentation to the secondary rhetorical situation is implicit argumentation in support of the claim to the student’s intellectual capabilities. 

 Lindsay M. Ellis

9.  C  onclusion If teachers of writing were to strategically ask these questions while conferring with students, the latter would improve not only their persuasiveness (rhetoric), but also their reasonableness (dialectic). Teachers and tutors can help students not only to support points of view, but also to determine those points of view though critical thinking. Eventually, the questions that teachers ask may become the questions that students ask themselves. Conferring with pragma-dialectic critical questions in mind can help students to learn which questions to ask themselves during the invention stage of the writing process to evaluate which claim should be their main claim, which solution, among all of the possible solutions, should be the one that they advocate.

Acknowledgements I am indebted to all of the members of the Argumentation and Rhetoric research program at the University of Amsterdam. Thank you for welcoming me so warmly for a year-long research sabbatical, during which I studied pragma-dialectics. Special thanks go to Bart Garssen and José Plug for agreeing to let me be a visiting scholar, to Annemiek Hoffer for managing the details, to all who presented during Friday research colloquia, to Frans van Eemeren for long lunch conversations, and to Ingeborg van der Geest for sharing her desk and her friendship.

References Anderson, E.M., & Hamel, F.L. (1991). Teaching argument as a criteria-driven process. English Journal, 80(7), 43–49. DOI: 10.2307/819270 Anderson, C. (2000). How's it going? A practical guide to conferring with student writers. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Chin, C., & Osborne, J. (2010). Supporting argumentation through students’ questions: Case studies in science classrooms. Journal of the Learning Sciences, 19(2), 230–284. DOI: 10.1080/10508400903530036 Van Eemeren, F.H., (2010). Strategic maneuvering in argumentative discourse: Extending the pragma-dialectical theory of argumentation. Amsterdam; Philadelphia: John Benjamins. DOI: 10.1075/aic.2 Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (1984). Speech acts in argumentative discussions: A theoretical model for the analysis of discussions directed towards solving conflicts of opinion. Dordrecht, Holland; Cinnaminson, U.S.A: Foris Publications. DOI: 10.1515/9783110846089 Van Eemeren, F.H., & R. Grootendorst (1992). Argumentation, communication and fallacies: A pragma-dialectical perspective. Hillsdale, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. (2004). A systematic theory of argumentation: The pragma-dialectical approach. New York: Cambridge University Press.



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Van Eemeren, F.H., & Houtlosser, P. (2002). Strategic manoeuvring. Maintaining a delicate balance. In F.H. van Eemeren & P. Houtlosser (Eds.), Dialectic and rhetoric: The warp and woof of argumentation analysis (pp. 131–160). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Enduran, S., Osborne, J.F., & Simon, S. (2004). Enhancing the quality of argument in school science. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 41(10), 994–1020. DOI: 10.1002/tea.20035 Hillocks, G. Jr. (2010). Teaching argument for critical thinking and writing: An introduction. English Journal, 99(6), 24–32. Hillocks, G. Jr. (2011). Teaching argument writing grades 6–12: Supporting claims with relevant evidence and clear reasoning. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Krummheuer, G. (1995). The ethnography of argumentation. In P. Cobb & H. Bauersfeld (Eds.), The emergence of mathematical meaning: Interaction in classroom cultures (pp. 229–269). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Ramage, J., Bean, J., & Johnson, J. (2015). Writing arguments: A rhetoric with readings (7th ed.). New Jersey: Longman. Smith, M., Wilhelm, J., & Fredricksen, J. (2012). Oh yeah? Putting argument to work both in school and out. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Toulmin, S.E. (1958). The uses of argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Warren, J.E. (2010). Taming the warrant in Toulmin's model of argument. English Journal, 99(6), 41–46. Williams, J., & Colomb, G. (2001). The craft of argument. New Jersey: Longman.

part v

Argumentation in an interpersonal context

The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier Laboratoire Communication et Politique

A variant of the ad hominem argument amounts to challenging the opponent’s mental health. Semi-technical designations borrowed from psychiatric paradigms (such as autistic, paranoiac, hysterical) are thus appealed to in order to qualify the opponent. Based on three examples from polemical discussions on political issues, we investigate what kind of behaviour triggers such accusations, how they are justified, and how they are handled by the speaker to whom they are addressed. Keywords:  ad hominem argument; disqualifying strategy; mental pathology

1.  Introduction The present paper proposes an exploratory introduction to a research program aiming at contributing to highlight how mental illness is perceived in our modern societies – and specifically, in France. In order to answer this question, some studies have been conducted, based on surveys and questionnaires on the perception of mental health.1 The way we chose to proceed is different. We focused on the use of various terms originating in esoteric bodies of knowledge pertaining to psychiatry, and that have been disseminated beyond their technical use in expert fields to ordinary discourses, in the political domain as well as in everyday conversations. Examples of such terms are “paranoid”, “schizophrenic”, “autistic”, “hysterical”, “psychotic” or “mythomaniac”.

.  See e.g. Lobban, F., Barrowclough, C. & Jones, S. (2005), Witteman, C., Bolks, L., & Hutschemeaekers, G. (2011); also see the 2009 survey achieved by the polling organization IPSOS on the perceptions and representations of mental illness, http://www.ipsos.fr/ipsospublic-affairs/actualites/2009-06-12-maladies-mentales-vues-par-grand-public-part-belleaux-representations.

doi 10.1075/aic.9.12dou © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

In their technical use, these terms designate specific mental pathologies. As such, they do not convey any negative judgment.2 When used in ordinary interactions, they nevertheless often serve as pejorative attributes aiming at disqualifying a person. This paper focuses on three of these items: “hysterical”, “paranoid”, “autistic”.3 We will first briefly evoke their possible use as insults in French, owing to their insertion in discursive patterns such as “espèce de…” or “sale…”. Beyond the use of these terms as mere insults, we will examine examples in which they fulfill an argumentative function, as part of ad hominem arguments. We will indicate what we mean by “ad hominem argument”, and justify our categorizing the examples we will account for as pertaining to this argument scheme. We will then identify the specific argumentative functions that may be achieved by the adjectives “hysterical”, “paranoid” and “autistic” in polemical contexts. We will correlate these specific argumentative functions with the technical definitions of “hysteria”, “paranoid disorder” and “autism”. We will conclude on what such argumentative uses of terms labelling mental pathologies tell us about the perception of mental disease in our society, and on how they contribute to stigmatizing persons suffering from mental troubles. 2.  French “parano” or “autiste” as insults We have just stated that the sort of items that are examined here often serve as pejorative means aiming at disqualifying a person, and even as insults. Some linguistic devices are characteristic of this insulting use. French offers specific discursive patterns which may change almost any item into an insult. Thus, in “espèce de X” and “sale X”,4 X has an offending dimension because of its insertion within such phrases, whatever its initial meaning may be. Even a neutral, descriptive word may work as an insult when obeying such a pattern. However, although any word

.  At least no more than terms referring to non-mental pathologies, such as cancer, pharyngitis or diabetes: such words clearly point to physiological dysfunctions, but they do not convey any disqualifying assessment of the person who suffers these pathologies. .  Due to the exploratory dimension of the research presented in this paper, we will confine ourselves to these three words, which we deemed representative of this psychiatric lexicon that spread out of its original specialized field throughout political discussions or everyday conversations. .  English “you X you” or “you fucking/dirty/lousy X” may be considered as rough equivalents for “espèce de X” or “sale X”.



The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context 

may be turned into an insult owing to such discursive patterns, the words that are intrinsically marked as pejorative are much more likely to be used in that way. Searching Google in order to investigate the frequency of phrases like “espèce de parano” or “sale autiste”, shows that they are quite common. Examples 1 and 2 illustrate such offensive uses of these terms. In Example 1, the administrator of a blog reacts to a participant accusing him of committing censorship unduly by calling him “espèce de parano”: (1)  On se calme le Bauju, pas la peine de monter sur tes grands chevaux, il n’y a pas de censure […] Ton commentaire n’avait plus lieu d’être, espèce de parano, alors je l’ai scratché. Tu ne l’avais pas vu?5 Let’s calm down Bauju, there is no use getting mad, there was no censorship […] Your commentary was pointless, you paranoid, so I erased it. Didn’t you see it?

In Example 2, a teenager expresses his hatred for one of his teachers, calling her autistic: (2)  Il etait une fois, dans ce qu’on ose appeler un lycee, une prof de sciences economiques et sociales […] qui etait bizare….cette chos.. heu, femme ( on va dire ca comme ca..) avait des petites manies: se mettre les doigts dans le nez, se les lecher, puis elle s’habille bizarement avec un petit bonnet bleu en laine […] ….pi lorsqu’elle parle, elle doit reformuler sa phrase au moins 10 fois avant d’en sortir le bon exemplaire: C EST UNE PUTAIN D AUTISTE DE MERDE !!! […]: SALE AUTISTE DE MES DEUX T’AS INTERET A ME METTRE 12 A MON DST SINON JE TE VOLE TON SAC A ROULETTE DE MERDE6 Once upon a time, in what they dare call a high-school, an economics teacher […] who was bizarre… this thing- oups, woman (let’s call her that way) had little manias: [she would] put her finger into her nose, lick them, she also gets dressed in a strange way with a small blue woolly hat […] and when she speaks she has to rephrase her sentence at least ten times before getting the right version: she’s a fucking shitty autistic! […] you autistic you, you’d better give me 12 for my exam otherwise I will steal your shitty trolley..

In both cases, the use of the qualifications “paranoid” or “autistic” is supported by the mention of types of behavior (hastily interpreting an action as censorship, wearing a blue woolly hat) presented as characteristic of the corresponding pathologies.7 In these sequences “paranoid” and “autistic” obey an offensive objective. .  http://parapentesaintevictoire.blogspot.fr/2014/05/panneau-retour.html .  http://www.tromal.net/conte/view.php?urlHistoCount=3623 .  Technical definitions of “hysteria”, “paranoid disorder” and “autism” are proposed respectively in Section 4, 5, 6 below.

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

They aim at hurting, humiliating, devastating the person they aim to disqualify. We will now turn to examples where the target of the attack, beyond the person, is the claim he or she advances: we will then consider that “hysterical”, “paranoid” or “autistic” are part of an ad hominem argument. 3.  Ad hominem argument Ad hominem arguments are generally defined as attempts at disqualifying a claim by attacking the person who advances it, or some circumstance attached to this person.8 Scholars distinguish between two (Govier, 1987, Walton 1987, Woods & Walton 1989, Krabbe & Walton 1993), three (Eemeren & Grootendorst 1992), four (Walton 1992; Macagno 2013), up to seven (Rolf 1991) subtypes of ad hominem arguments. Whatever the sub-classification may be, there seems to be a consensus on the abusive ad hominem type, which consists in attacking a claim by denigrating “the other party’s expertise, intelligence or good faith” (Eemeren & Grootendorst 1992: 153): this is the ad hominem subtype we are interested in here. We shall retain that first and foremost, an ad hominem argument is… an argument. In the examples that we will analyse, calling the opponent “hysterical”, “paranoid” or “autistic” does not necessarily support any explicit conclusion. But even when no reasoning of the type: X claims that p. X is schizophrenic/autistic/hysterical Hence, p should not be accepted.

is made explicit, we consider that the disqualification of the opponent that these adjectives achieve has an argumentative function for contextual reasons. The three examples we will examine pertain to political discourse. They appear within what Christian Plantin (2010) would call an “argumentative situation”. According to Plantin, an argumentative situation is governed by an argumentative question (“should the government implement Measure M?”, for instance) which may receive opposing answers, each of them being supported by arguments (“I’m for M because arg.1, arg.2…”), or (“I’m against M because arg.3, arg.4…”). In an argumentative situation, any statement should be understood as part of an answer to the argumentative question which structures the discussion, whether

.  See for instance Walton (1987), “the ad hominem argument […] criticizes another argument by questioning the personal circumstances or personal trustworthiness of the arguer who advanced it.” (p.317)



The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context 

it is ­presented as such or not. The question, writes Plantin, should be seen as an interpretative magnet which polarizes all the contributions that fall into its attraction field (2010: 33; translation is ours). In this perspective, the three adjectives which appear in the examples we will focus on are to be interpreted as personal attacks aiming at disqualifying, beyond the person of the opponent, the thesis that he supports. Hence they embody abusive ad hominem arguments. We consider the use of terms issued from psychiatry, like “hysterical”, “schizophrenic”, “autistic”, as a subtype of a more general type of abusive ad hominem arguments, aiming at presenting the opponent as belonging to a debased fraction of humanity. Of course we do not assume that this fraction really is debased, but rather that the use of such qualifications as personal attacks suggests that for the arguer, in some way, it is. Other variants of this general scheme consist in some cases in designating the adversary as an animal,9 as a female (when addressing a man),10 as or a child or a teenager (when addressing an adult).11 Example 3 simultaneously displays some of these disqualifying strategies. It is drawn from a French political newsgroup, and it combines the psychiatric and the animalistic variants of the ad hominem disqualifying strategy: (3)  Ce forum est essentiellement un exutoire pour une poignée d’autistes qui y déversent leurs délires d’illuminés, leurs élucubrations psychotiques ou leurs éructations de primates.12 This newsgroup is mainly an outlet for a handful of autistic individuals who pour in their cranks’ deliriums, their psychotic pipe dreams or their primates’ eructations.

4.  H  ysterical The first term originating in psychiatry we will examine in this paper is the adjective “hysterical”. “Hysterical” is frequently used in polemical contexts in order

.  As when Anne-Sophie Leclère, a National Front candidate for the 2014 local elections, compared French Attorney General, Christiane Taubira, to a baboon. .  Contesting the manliness of the opponent is a very common disqualifying strategy. It transpires from the revolting but nonetheless frequent injunction addressed to a boy in tears: “Don’t cry, you look like a girl!” .  As when, during the “Gayet Gate”, Manuel Valls suggested that “François Hollande behaved like a retarded teenager”; https://fr.news.yahoo.com/closer-fran%C3%A7ois-­hollande-agi-quotado-attard%C3%A9-quot-103503108.html .  fr.soc.politique

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

to qualify a whole debate, the communicative behavior of one participant in the discussion, or the discussant himself. In context, “hysterical” refers to heated exchanges, characterized by a highly emotional tone. In the context of a political discussion, pointing to the emotional dimension of one’s contribution amounts to disqualifying it as irrational and potentially biased. Even if the originally Freudian meaning of “hysterical” seems to be somewhat remote from its present uses in political discussions, accusing the opponent of being hysterical still suggests that he has lost control over his own communicative behavior. Hence the conditions for a rational discussion are not fulfilled, and the opponent’s argument does not deserve any serious examination. Furthermore, the accusation of loss of control is not the only vector of disqualification of the opponent. The adjective “hysterical” is deeply marked by the specific historical situations in which it was used, as the analysis of Example 4 will show. Example 4 is drawn from the French debate that preceded the adoption of the so-called “mariage pour tous” law, opening the marital institution to same-sex persons. During a particularly heated parliamentary session, Christian Jacob, who opposes the law, accuses Sergio Coronado, who supports it, of being hysterical:13 (4)  M. Christian Jacob. J’pense qu’on pourrait: profiter/ euh je le: dis à mes (.) mes collègues de la majorité/ qui pourraient profiter (.) agréablement de la: coupure du dîner/(.) pour reprendre/ (.) un peu leurs le leurs esprits/ (..) [protestations dans l’Assemblée] ‘ttendez\ (.) les les les attaques (..) qui ont été les vôtres/ vous savez/ (.) on peut avoir de vrais di- différences/ (.) et: et d’ailleurs j’ai apprécié le ton/ avec lequel Patrick Bloche (.) s’est exprimé tout à l’heure/ (.) nous sommes en désaccord/ (.) Total\ XX (.) MAIS/ (.) il l’a fait avec euh beaucoup de dignité/ avec des CONvictions qui sont les siennes/ (.) et qu’on accepte que l’on puisse s’exprimer d’la même façon/ (.) sans êt’ soumis (.) à des invectives voire à de l’HYStérie/ (.) à de l’HYStérie/ (.) de par certains collègues/ je pense à vous [montrant SC de la main] (.) mon cher collè/gue (.) mais si/ (.) ces propos (.) vous n’apportez (.) RIEN au débat/ (.) vous n’avez pas/ d’argument/ (.) vous z’hurlez/ vous êtes dans l’hystérie totale/ (.) et je pen/se qu’il faut profiter du moment du déjeuner/ pour se calmer\ (.) je- du dîner\ (.) [puis s’adresse à Mme la Ministre] I think we could take advantage of… – I’m addressing my colleagues in the majority who could pleasantly take advantage of the dinner break to come to their senses [protests in the Assembly]. Wait, you were the ones who made these attacks, you know, people may have important differences of opinion, and by the way, I appreciated the way Patrick Bloche expressed his ­position

.  Christian Jacob, president of the UMP Group at the French National Assembly, February 1st, 2013.



The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context 

a few minutes ago, we deeply disagree but he expressed his convictions with much dignity, and people should accept that we express ourselves in the same way, without suffering abuses or even hysteria, hysteria from some colleagues, I’m thinking of you [pointing to Sergio Coronado] my dear colleague, yes yes, these words, you make no valuable contribution to the discussion, you have no argument, you’re just yelling, you’re totally hysterical, and I think one should take advantage of the dinner break to calm down.

Nothing, in Sergio Coronado’s offensive turn accounts for such an attack, either in what is said, or in the tone in which it is said: it is by no way more emotional or heated than the contributions of the other participants, yet Jacob accuses his opponent of being hysterical. Regardless of its factual adequacy, Christian Jacob’s attack may be understood, as suggested before, as a strategy aiming at shifting the discussion from the criticism of the opponent’s arguments to his very person. Such a strategy may prove useful when no simple refutation is available. It may also be seen as obeying another logic, in connection with the history of the usage of the terms “hysteria” and “hysterical” in various contexts in France. This is indeed what Sergio Coronado suggests, when reacting to Jacob’s charge with hysteria as follows: (5)  Sergio Coronado: en fin d’séance tout à l’heure/ (-) euh le président euh Jacob/ m’a::: (.) se dirigeant vers moi/ m’a qualifié/ d’hystérique\ […] mais j’me suis interrogé\ pourquoi m’a-t-il qualifié d’hystérique puisque: (.) j’fais un peu d’histoi/re (.) et j’me suis rapp’lé/ en effet/ que (.) le mot hystéri/que servait à qualifier/ euh (.) notamment en période de trou/ble pour les dénigrer/ (.) euh par exemple: les suffragettes/ (..) par celles et ceux qui étaient opposés euh (.) au droit d’vote des femmes/ (.) ça a servi à qualifier euh Simone de Beauvoir/ au moment d’la publication du deuxième sexe/ (..) ou enco/re les trois cent quarante troissalo/pes (.) lors euh de la publication du manifes/te pour le droit à l’avortement\ (..) j’me suis dit pourquoi être qualifié par ce terme/ (.) alors que je n’suis NI une suffragette/ ni Simone de Beauvoir/ (.) ni encore/ une fem/ me demandant le droit/ à l’avortement\ (.) alors je (.) je suis rev’nu/ euh (.) euh au dix-neuvième siè/cle […] notamment aux travaux clini/ques (.) dans la foulée d’Charcot/ et je me suis rapp’lé en effet (.) et je pense que (.) c’est à ça que faisait référence sans doute le président Jacob/ (.) qu’à l’époque/ (.) à l’épo/que le mot d’hystérique servait (.) servait évidemment de (.) à qualifier TOUtes les femmes/ (.) toutes les femmes sont potentiellement hystéri/ques vous l’savez (.) cher collè/gue (.) hein/ (.) et une catégorie très particulière d’hommes\ (..) […] (.) les invertis\ (..) les invertis\ (..) alors (.) cher/ président Jacob\ (.) vous auriez pu êt’ plus franc/ (.) et faire co:mme dans les cours d’éco/le me traiter d’pé/dé\ (..) voilà/ (.) cette inju/re (.) qui fait tant de mal notamment aux jeunes qui découvrent leur sexualité/ (.) je tiens à vous rassurer\ (.) cher président Jacob (.) j’assu/me (.) j’en suis fier/ (.) et je n’ai pas (.) du tout (.) envie d’raser les murs/ (.) malgré/ (.) vos/ (.) injures\ (..) j’aimerais simplement dire (.) au président

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

Jacob/ (.) que ce type d’invectives (.) au sein d’cette assemblée/ (.) n’honore (.) ni vot’ grou/pe (.) ni les travaux (.) aujourd’hui (.) de l’Assemblée Nationale/ (.) j’ai hon/te (.) pour ceux/ (.) qui profèrent ce ty/pe (.) de propos (.) c’est vrai que l’heure est un peu tardi/ve et j’ai l’impression/ (.) que vos nerfs commencent à lâcher\ (.) merci Sergio Coronado: earlier at the end of the session, President Jacob, addressing me, called me hysterical. […] I wondered, “why did he call me hysterical?”, and as I am fond of history, I remembered that the word “hysterical” was used to disqualify people in troubled circumstances, for instance it was used to denigrate suffragettes by those who opposed women’s right to vote; it was used to denigrate Simone de Beauvoir when she published Le deuxième sexe; or it was used to denigrate the three hundred and forty three bitches when they ­published the manifesto for the right to abortion. And I wonder, why did Jacob call me hysterical, since I am neither a suffragette, nor Simone de Beauvoir or a woman claiming the right to abortion. So I went back to nineteenth century […] and I remembered the clinical works in the tradition of Charcot, and in fact I remembered – and I think that’s what Jacob was referring to – that at that time, the word “hysterical” was addressed to all women – as you know, all women are potentially hysterical, you know that, dear colleague – and “hysterical” was also applied to a certain category of men, namely, homosexuals; yes, homosexuals. So, dear President Jacob, you could have been more frank, and, as children do in the schoolyard, you could have called me a fag. Here it comes, this insult that causes so much pain to young people who discover their sexual orientation. I want to reassure you, dear President Jacob, I assume my sexual orientation, I am proud of it, and I don’t feel like hugging the walls despite your insults. I just want to tell President Jacob that such invectives, within this Assembly, do not honor either your group, or the work that the National Assembly has been doing today. I feel ashamed for those who utter such words. True, it is late, and I feel you’re losing your nerves.

Puzzled by the adjective “hysterical”, the use of which he deems unfounded, Coronado connects it with former uses: it was used against the “suffragettes”, that is, the feminist supporters of women’s right to vote, to disqualify them; it was used against Simone de Beauvoir as she published her book Le deuxième sexe, which was considered a feminist manifesto; it was used against the feminine activists who claimed the right to abortion. Sergio Coronado finally mentions that the diagnosis of hysteria was made for a specific category of male individuals, namely, homosexuals. On that ground, he suggests that Jacob’s accusation of hysteria amounts to calling him a fag: “vous auriez pu êt’ plus franc/ (.) et faire co:mme dans les cours d’éco/le me traiter d’pé/dé”. The accusation by Christian Jacob of being hysterical, as well as its analysis by Sergio Coronado, can be further analysed by examining some features of the



The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context 

technical definition of hysteria. Although hysteria (meaning matrix in Greek) has been described at length by Hippocrates, two main medical figures are more commonly associated with the trouble, both in the nineteenth century: Charcot who became famous for his public presentations of women in « full hysterical crisis », and Freud for whom hysteria was the turning point for the modern psychiatry and the psychoanalysis theory. After numerous controversies on hysteria in the 1960s, the term has now disappeared in the latest versions of both ICD14 and DSM,15 to be replaced by the concepts of conversion or dissociative disorders. The main symptoms that define hysteria (or conversion disorders) are the following: –– The patients are prone to exaggeration and the need to be heard and believed, including for their physical symptoms which become obsessive; –– The mental trouble is often associated with physical and not feigning symptoms for which no physical illness cannot be found; –– Because of their physical impairment and the inability for doctors to explain them, the patients become extremely preoccupied by their ill-health and very often accuse the medical professionals of lying on purpose. –– The patients truly and greatly suffer from their troubles which cannot be treated or attenuated by prescription medicine. It seems that the ad hominem use of the “hysteria” charge relies on a single semantic feature issued from the technical definition: the tendency to “exaggerate”. The emotional tone of a person, which seems to trigger the charge of being hysterical in ordinary contexts, is not part of the psychiatric meaning of the term. Accusing the opponent of being hysterical is a way of disqualifying his contribution to the discussion as not fitting reality (as it is “exaggerate”) and as irrational (as it is highly emotional). In addition, the fact that Charcot’s study on hysteria was focused on women’s accounts for the fact that later uses of the adjective “hysterical” address women (“suffragettes” or feminine activists), and, in the present case, supports Coronado’s suspicion that Christian Jacob is homophobic (he accuses Coronado of being hysterical because, as a homosexual, Jacob equates him with a woman). In the context of a discussion on a law that opens marriage to same-sex

.  ICD stands for International Classification of Diseases, a diagnostic tool for epidemiology, health management and clinical purposes established by the World Health ­Organization. .  DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) is a manual for diagnosing mental disorders published by the American society of psychiatry.

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

persons, charging someone with homophobia is a way of bluntly disqualifying his contribution to the debate as irretrievably biased. Example 4 is interesting in that it illustrates how the “hysterical” qualification, when applied to an opponent in a polemical discussion, may be a means of disqualifying this opponent’s position as emotional and biased. Example 5 shows how a specific context (here, the discussion of the law opening marriage to same-sex persons) may activate some semantic features associated to “hysterical” in what Sophie Moirand (2007) would call a collective discursive memory (the reference to “suffragettes”, to feminist activism).

5.  Paranoid French “paranoïaque” (and its shorter version “parano”), or English “paranoid”, is another term issued from psychiatry, and entering some ad hominem attacks. Example 6 is part of an interview of Marine Le Pen, an extreme-right politician, by the left-wing journalist Pascale Clark on France-Inter radio station. At the end of the interview, by way of closing, Pascale Clark always broadcasts a musical piece chosen by her guest. Marine Le Pen chose a song by Laurent Voulzy, the lyrics of which were written by Alain Souchon, entitled “Jeanne”. This song is about a contemporary man who claims his love for a medieval woman named “Jeanne”. The song does not explicitly refer to Jeanne d’Arc, but irresistibly evokes her. Whereas the interview should end with the song, Pascale Clark takes the floor and cites the lyrics of “Belle-Ile en mer”, another song by Voulzy/Souchon, and specifically, a brief sequence which evokes Voulzy’s feeling of rejection as a mixedrace child grown up in France.16 Though Pascale Clark does not explicitly charge Marine Le Pen with racism, it clearly is the way the latter interprets the quotation by Pascale Clark of “Belle-Ile-en-mer”’s lyrics. She then strives to force the journalist into avowing what she intended by quoting this song. Pascale Clark resists, calling Marine Le Pen paranoid:17 (6)  MLP: ouais (.) non non mais attendez madame (.) moi/ (.) très objectiv’ment\ (.) euh euh que votre: (.) la manière dont vous balancez vot’ petite vanne à la fin/ PC: c’est pas une [va:/nne (.) je rappelle les paroles d’une belle chanson

.  «Moi des souvenirs d’enfance/En France/Violence/Manque d’indulgence/Par les différences que j’ai» .  Marine Le Pen interviewed by Pascale Clark, Le 7/9, France Inter, 19 April 2012.



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MLP:  [ça veut dire quoi\ ça veut dire que vous m’accusez (.) ben oui/ ­madame mais qu’est-ce ça veut dire quoi quelque part vous m’accusez d’quoi\ PC: mais de rien/ MLP: mais si/ si\ j’ai bien vu votre petit air pincé genre [j’suis contente de moi/ (.) j’ai balancé PC: [mais arrêtez mais vous êtes parano/ mais MLP: [une p’tite vanne PC:  [vous êtes parano/ le monde entier est contre vous:/ c’est juste les paroles que j’rappelle/ c’est tout/ MLP: yes, no but wait Ms., the way you hurl your little dig at me in the end PC: that is no dig, I’m just evoking the lyrics of a beautiful song MLP: what does it mean? It means that you are accusing me, yes Ma’am, but what does it mean, you are accusing me of what? PC: I’m not accusing you of anything. MLP: oh yes you are, I saw your stiff face, meaning “I feel pleased with myself, I had a little dig at her” PC: stop that, you paranoid! You paranoid, the whole world is against you… I’m just evoking some lyrics, that’s all

Example 6 is typical of the use of the adjective “paranoid” as a disqualifying means. It enables Pascale Clark to suggest that Marine Le Pen is wrong in suspecting that the quotation of “Belle-Ile-En-mer”’s lyrics was an indirect way of accusing her of being a racist. Beyond that, “parano” suggests that this faulty interpretation of Pascale Clark’s intention by Marine Le Pen is due to a mental pathology (“you are parano”), which leads her into interpreting innocent words as personal attacks (“the whole world is against you”). The use of the adjective “paranoid” in ad hominem arguments such as exemplified above seems to match some aspects of the technical definition of paranoid disorders. DSM 5 considers the paranoid disorder as a subtype within “personality disorders”:18 The Paranoid Personality Disorder is characterized by a pervasive distrust and suspiciousness of other people. People with this disorder assume that others are out to harm them, take advantage of them, or humiliate them in some way. They put a lot of effort into protecting themselves and keeping their distance from

.  Which include Paranoid, Schizoid, and Schizotypal Personality Disorders.

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

others. They are known to preemptively attack others whom they feel threatened by. They tend to hold grudges, are litigious, and display pathological jealousy. Distorted thinking is evident. Their perception of the environment includes reading malevolent intentions into genuinely harmless, innocuous comments or behavior, and dwelling on past slights. For these reasons, they do not confide in others and do not allow themselves to develop close relationships. Their emotional life tends to be dominated by distrust and hostility (DSM 5)

When accusing Marine Le Pen of being paranoid, Pascale Clark suggests that she is over-suspicious, that Marine Le Pen reads “malevolent intentions” into her “genuinely harmless, innocuous comments or behavior” and that she suffers “distorted thinking” – which obviously is a way of discarding Pascale Clark’s accusation that she is a racist as a symptom of mental illness. More generally, the diagnosis of paranoia applied to the opponent gives clearance to the speaker of the personal attacks he may make: he does not have to answer for them while taking advantage of their devastating potential. However in this specific case, the strategy fails. If you want to rebut your opponent’s accusation of your having committed a personal attack by suggesting that he is paranoid, you should be able to propose an alternative credible interpretation for what you said. Here, there is no doubt that Pascale Clark’s alternative interpretation of what she did (I’m just evoking the lyrics of a beautiful song) is a poor one, and cannot support Marine Le Pen being charged with paranoia (the host of the radio broadcast is not supposed to express his/her aesthetic preferences). 6.  Autistic The last case we will handle briefly here is the use of “autistic” and more specifically, its use to qualify the government. In such cases, “autistic” often works as a quasi-synonym for “deaf ”. Example 7 is from Thierry Lepaon, the General Secretary of a left-wing trade-union (the CGT). Lepaon criticizes Hollande’s government for not defending the interests of the working classes.19 (7)  Les patrons ont pris l’offensive, ils ont l’oreille de ce gouvernement. Plus il cède aux patrons, moins les salariés sont audibles. Ce gouvernement est autiste de son oreille gauche, il entend bien à droite. Bosses have taken the offensive, they caught the government’s ear. The more the government lets them have what they ask, the less audible the workers

.  Thierry Lepaon, General Secretary of the CGT, on RMC radio station, 29th October 2013.



The psychiatrization of the opponent in polemical context 

are. This government is autistic on the left ear, it hears perfectly well on the right side.

On the same day Lepaon made this statement, a commentator criticized the French government in similar terms in a French magazine’s blog:20 (8)  Le gouvernement du Parti Schizofrène est devenu autiste de l’oreille gauche et n’écoute qu’avec celle de droite le Medef, le Cac 40, et les agences de notations Standard & Poor’s et Cie… The Schizophrenic Party Government became autistic in its left ear and listens only with its right ear to Medef [right-wing union], to the CAC 40 [Paris Stock Exchange], to rating agencies Standard & Poor’s and Co…

More generally, the adjective “autistic” is applied to any opponent that you fail to win over to your cause and who resists the arguments you have addressed. This strategy also appears in Example 9 by Jean-Claude Gaudin, Marseille City’s Mayor, who deems the government to be autistic because it does not satisfy his claims on the reform of school timetables:21 (9)  Le gouvernement est autiste. La Ville de Marseille a demandé un moratoire sur les rythmes scolaires. Il a été refusé. Elle a proposé un plan de développement du soutien scolaire. Il a été refusé. The government is autistic. Marseille city asked for a moratorium on the reform of school timetables. Its demand was rejected. It proposed a plan for developing support classes. Its demand was rejected.

Gaudin’s declaration elicited reactions on Twitter pointing to the adjective “autistic”, the pejorative use of which is considered inelegant in the following tweets: (10)  Tweet 1: mère d’enfant autiste et entendre le mot autiste à tout va au ­gouvernement et ds les cours d’école: STOP! Tweet 2: autiste n’est peut être pas le mot le plus délicat …. Tweet 3: On pourrait dire… sourd, mais c’est aussi un handicap. Tweet 4: L’utilisation du handicap comme une injure. Classe. Tweet 1: mother of an autistic child and hearing the word autistic all day long used by politicians and in schoolyards: STOP! Tweet 2: perhaps autistic is not the most delicate word… Tweet 3: You could say…deaf, but it’s also a handicap. Tweet 4: Using the handicap as an insult. Elegant.

.  Dingo 117, 29th October 2013, www.marianne.net .  La Provence, 12th June 2014.

 Marianne Doury & Pascale Mansier

Compared with “hysterical” and “paranoid”, the ad hominem use of “autistic” departs even more spectacularly from the technical definition of the corresponding mental disease. Criteria for diagnosing autism are (DSM5): A.  Persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction across multiple contexts […]): (1) Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity, ranging, for example, from abnormal social approach and failure of normal back-andforth conversation; to reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect; to failure to initiate or respond to social interactions; (2) Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction, ranging, for example, from poorly integrated verbal and nonverbal communication; to abnormalities in eye contact and body language or deficits in understanding and use of gestures; to a total lack of facial expressions and nonverbal communication; (3) Deficits in developing, maintaining, and understanding relationships, ranging, for example, from difficulties adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts; to difficulties in sharing imaginative play or in making friends; to absence of interest in peers. B.  Restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior, interests, or activities […]: Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech […]; Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns or verbal nonverbal behavior […]; Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus […]; Hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input or unusual interests in sensory aspects of the environment (e.g. apparent indifference to pain/temperature, adverse response to specific sounds or textures, excessive smelling or touching of objects, visual fascination with lights or movement). […]

From above, one can see that the second order criterion (the existence of restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior) makes no sense with regard to the ad hominem accusation of autism; and the “deficits in social communication and social interaction” are reduced to a unilateral incapacity to hear, equated with a mere physical handicap (in the phrase “autistic from the left ear”, “autistic” stands for “deaf ”).

7.  C  onclusion To sum up, in polemical contexts, integrating adjectives issued from psychiatry into ad hominem attacks may be shown to fulfil specific argumentative functions. These functions are partly determined by the semantic features issued from the technical definition of these adjectives that may be activated in their ad hominem use. Accusing the opponent of being hysterical is a way of disqualifying his position as emotionally biased, and enables one to dismiss a conflicting view without having to discuss it. Accusing the opponent of being paranoid enables one to make a personal attack without assuming the responsibility for such a disputable



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argumentative move, while taking advantage of the devastating effect it may have. Finally, calling the opponent autistic when he does not come to meet your point is a way of dismissing his resistance to your arguments as being a mere symptom of a mental pathology, which enables you not to acknowledge your argumentative failure. Whereas such qualifications undoubtedly serve disqualifying strategies, they are somehow toned down by the fact that they do not claim that the opponent is motivated by malevolent intentions: if he is wrong, it is not his fault, because he is mentally disabled, in one way or another. This preliminary study also opens some lines of reflexion on the perception of mental illness. Our post-modern society is considered to be biologically and genetically-oriented. In parallel, one’s mental health is often questioned and analyzed. For some authors, policy-makers lean heavily and wrongly upon psychiatry to define norms and pseudo-relevant behavior (Gori and Del Vogo 2008). For others, emotions are being used for economical purposes by pharmaceutical firms (Lane 2009). Whatever the reasons, the number of mental disorders medically recognized has been steadily increasing over the years.22 Mental illness terms – outside the medical field- are not only applied to individuals but are also used to characterize concepts or theories: for example, it was said that economy was autistic23 or that the French society was schizophrenic.24 Such uses outside the medical field are paradoxical, because of the many public campaigns aiming at de-stigmatizing persons suffering from mental disorders. For the past twenty years, most Western countries, including France, have launched media campaigns to emphasize that people suffering from mental disorders are “normal” persons. To name a few of these de-stigmatization campaigns, the World Psychiatric Association has launched “Open the doors” about schizophrenia25 worldwide; “Time to change” claims to be “England’s biggest programme to

.  The American society of psychiatry has published several manuals for diagnosing mental disorders. The last one (DSM 5), published in May 2013, lists over 600 hundred different disorders (http://www.dsm5.org/Pages/Default.aspx). 23.  «  L’économie autiste  », Le Monde, 25 June 2012. The author, Marco Morosini, claims that “what could appear to be a courageous voluntarism is actually nothing more than the confirmation of sixty years of autistic economy.” (« Ce qui pourrait paraître un volontarisme courageux n’est que la confirmation de soixante ans d’économie autiste») http://www.lemonde.fr/idees/article/2012/06/25/l-economie-autiste_1723092_3232.html .  Ezra Suleiman, Schizophrénies françaises, 2008, Paris: Grasset. .  http://www.openthedoors.com/english/index.html; “The WPA International Programme is designed to dispel the myths and misunderstandings surrounding schizophrenia.”

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challenge mental health stigma and discrimination”;26 in France, the FondaMental association aims at explaining mental illnesses to the lay man.27 However, all these initiatives have not prevented the use of psychiatric terms to depreciate one’s opponents. Therefore our study provides a key for understanding how French society is mentally-oriented, specifically in political interactions.

References Van Eemeren, F.H., & Grootendorst, R. 1992. Relevance reviewed: The case of Argumentum ad hominem. Argumentation, 6(2), 141–159. DOI: 10.1007/BF00154322 Gori, R., & del Vogo, M-J. (2008). Exilés de l’intime. La médecine et la psychiatrie au service du nouvel ordre économique. Paris: Denoël. Krabbe, E.C.W., & Walton, D. 1993. “It’s all very well for you to talk!” Situationally disqualifying Ad Hominem attacks. Informal Logic, 15(2), p.79–91. Govier, T. 1987. Problems in argument analysis and evaluation. Dordrecht/Providence: Foris Publications. Lane, C. 2009. Comment la psychiatrie et l’industrie pharmaceutique ont médicalisé nos émotions. Paris: Flammarion. Lobban, F., Barrowclough, C., & Jones, S. (2005). Assessing cognitive representations of mental health problems. I. The illness perception questionnaire for schizophrenia. British Journal of Clinical Psychology, 44, 147–162. DOI: 10.1348/014466504X19497 Macagno, F. 2013. Strategies of character attack. Argumentation, 27, 369–401. DOI: 10.1007/s10503-013-9291-1 Moirand, S. (2007). Les discours de la presse quotidienne. Observer, analyser, comprendre. Paris: PUF. Plantin, C. (2010). Les instruments de structuration des séquences argumentatives. Verbum, 32(1), 31–51. Rolf, B. 1991. Credibility. The art of being trustworthy. In F.H. van Eemeren, R. Grootendorst, J.A. Blair, & C.A. Willard (Eds.), Proceedings of the second international conference on argumentation. June 19–22, 1990 (pp. 377–383). Amsterdam: SICSAT. Walton, D. 1987. The Ad Hominem argument as an informal fallacy. Argumentation, 1(4), 317–331. DOI: 10.1007/BF00136781 ­ ennsylvania Walton, D. 1992. The place of emotion in argument. University Park, Pennsylviania: P University Press. Witteman, C., Bolks, L., & Hutschemeaekers, G. 2011. Development of the illness perception questionnaire mental health. Journal of Mental Health, 20(2), 115–125. DOI: 10.3109/09638237.2010.507685 Woods, J., & Walton, D. N. (1989). Fallacies. Selected papers 1972–1982. Berlin-Dordrecht-­ Providence: de Gruyter/Foris.

.  http://www.time-to-change.org.uk/ .  http://www.fondation-fondamental.org/page_dyn.php?mytabsmenu=1&lang=FR&page_ id=MDAwMDAwMDAwOA==

The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

School of Communication, Ohio State University This study examined if common ground operationalized as interpersonal familiarity creates a discussion context in which particular argument acts are more likely to occur. Undergraduate students discussed a US state ban on gay marriage using an online chat tool. Familiarity was manipulated with a “get-to-know-you” session, and conversational argument and interpersonal act coding systems were applied to the transcripts. Compared to the control condition, familiarity produced more interpersonal, disagreement, and process acts in the discussions. Keywords:  Conversation Argument Coding Scheme; deliberation; decision‑making; interpersonal relationships; online discussion

1.  Introduction Deliberation scholars have advocated the potential of online forums to foster ­dialogue, debate and discussion on social issues (e.g. Fishkin, 1995, Shane, 2004). The prevalence of networked communication also provides opportunities for collaborative learning and decision-making. Communication forms have become a focus by scholars to design systems that can improve communication and deliberation practice. For argumentation scholars, understanding online deliberation also includes understanding how joint action and mutual understanding are constructed in ways that facilitate interactants’ argumentation. Communication-relevant theorists such as Herbert Clark (1996) contend that joint action and mutual understanding are constituted in communication through processes of coordination and common ground. While online discussion research has examined the effects of social pressures such as group norms (Postmes, Spears, & Lea, 1998), attention to how common ground and coordination influences online discussion is sparse. The purpose of this study is to address this gap, by examining if common ground,

doi 10.1075/aic.9.13kli © 2015 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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as operationalized through interpersonal familiarity, creates a deliberation context in which particular argumentation acts are likely to occur. 1.1  Deliberation’s purposes and challenges Deliberation is considered to be a type of discussion that involves ordinary people seeking to solve challenging social problems together (Blacksher, Diebel, Forest, Goold, & Abelson, 2012). People are motivated to deliberate because they can become better informed, better able to identify common points of view, and better able to learn new perspectives. Despite the benefits of deliberation, however, over the last few decades a body of research has accumulated which asserts that deliberation about public issues is difficult because discussants with moderate opinions become less likely to speak out on public issues (Mutz, 2006). Noelle Neumann’s (1974, 1993) spiral of silence theory asserts that media depictions of a normative climate of opinion influences the expression of opinion, with those holding a perceived minority viewpoint less likely to speak out. Research on the effect of this mediated climate for opinion expression finds a moderate sized effect (Glynn, Hayes, & Shanahan, 1997). An unwillingness to speak out on public issues is also related to a fear of isolation (e.g. Kim, Han, Shanahan, & Berdayes, 2004; Willnat, Lee, & Detenber, 2002), negative perceptions of one’s opinion climate (e.g. Moy, Domke, & Stamm, 2001), and high communication apprehension (e.g. Willnat et al., 2002). To the challenge of deliberation in face to face discussion can be added the challenge of deliberating about public issues in online environments. Online communities develop shared practices for communicating that can result in members developing new group identities and relationships, which in turn can foster civic engagement with local communities (Baym, 2010). However, in CMC forums, reduced social cues and anonymity may lead some participants to ignore social norms of appropriate speech and be more willing to express extreme opinions. Anonymity and alternate social norms have been linked to inauthentic self-­ presentations and flaming in online interaction (Baym, 2010; Lea, O’Shea, Fung, & Spears, 1992). Yet because of their anonymous identities, discussants may also be more willing to express their opinions which can lead to positive outcomes. ­Perceiving that one’s identity is anonymous within CMC discussions, for instance, can reduce status differentiation, increase equalitarian participation and increase overall participation (Brashers, Adkins & Meyers, 1994; Kiesler, Siegel, & McQuire, 1984; Siegel, Dubrovsky, Kiesler, & McGuire, 1986). Although deliberation scholars have focused on discovering the benefits and tradeoffs in online forums, most researchers have not analyzed forum interactions for the quality of argumentation contained in them, despite recognizing that



The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions 

reasoning is a core interaction process undergirding discussion and democracy (Gutmann & Thompson, 1996). Rather, the emphasis has been on itemizing the effects of particular media affordances or particular psychological factors that affect opinion expression. No coherent view of argumentation and communication is provided to understand the core processes involved in decision-making, despite Meyers (1989) having shown that models of group decision-making are incomplete without considering the nature of argumentative interactions. 1.2  Conversational argument theory Both online and offline discussions can be understood with contemporary argumentation theories, which posit that communication acts constitute meanings and rational orientations towards social issues (Habermas, 1989). One argument theory relevant to online discussions is the conversational argument theory developed by Meyers, Canary, Seibold and their colleagues (see reviews by Meyers & Brashers, 2010, and Canary & Seibold, 2010). Conversation argument theory draws upon Gidden’s (1984) structuration theory to conceive argument as a “structurated social practice produced and reproduced in interaction” (Meyers, Seibold, & Brashers, 1991, p. 49). Argument is seen as both a system of observational interaction patterns and structures of rules and resources used by discussants. The Conversational Argument Coding Scheme (CACS) enacts the theory by identifying argument acts that contribute to group consensus. The system is presented in Table 1 (Meyers, Brashers, & Hanner, 2000, p. 9), and consists of six basic categories. Potential arguables are generative mechanisms that are assertions of fact or opinion, or propositions (calls for support). Reasoning activities consist of elaborations (providing evidence and reasons); responses (defending assertions met with disagreement); amplifications (establishing relevance); and justifications (offering validity). Argumentation also consists of providing convergence acts of agreement and acknowledgements, disagreement acts of objections and challenges, and delimitors, or acts that frame reasoning, secure common ground, or refute objections. Nonarguables consist of process, tangential and incomplete statements. Conversational argument theory has been applied to face-to-face and CMC group discussions, and using the theory, researchers have found that discussions with more developed argumentation (i.e. proportionately more convergence, disagreements, and delimitors) produce proposals that are agreed upon by the majority of discussants. An argument quality index constructed from the CACS predicts group productivity (Lemus, Seibold, Flanagan & Metzer, 2004; Seibold, Lemus, & Kang, 2010). In groups where the minority proposal was adopted, delimitors were used more than other argument acts (Meyers et al., 2000). Canary and his

 Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

c­ olleagues have also utilized conversational argument theory to study ­romantic couples’ discussions (e.g. Canary & Sillars, 1992; Canary, Weger, & Stafford, 1991). They have found that jointly constructed and complex arguments are rated as more appropriate, effective and reasonable than undeveloped arguments, and that the practice of developing points through reasoning is used more by couples who value cooperative argumentation. Table 1.  Conversational argument coding scheme I. Arguables

A. Generative mechanisms

  1. Assertions: Statements of fact or opinion.   2. Propositions: Statements that call for support, action, or conference on an argument-related statement.

B. Reasoning activities

  3. Elaborations: Statements that support other statements by providing evidence, reasons, or other support.   4. Responses: Statements that defend arguable met with disagreement.   5. Amplifications: Statements that explain or expound upon other statements in order to establish the relevance of the argument through inference.   6. Justifications: Statements that offer validity of previous or upcoming statements by citing a rule of logic (provide a standard whereby arguments are weighed). II. Convergence-seeking activities   7. Agreement: Statements that express agreement with another statement.   8. Acknowledgement: Statements that indicate recognition and/or comprehension of another statement, but not necessarily agreement, to another’s point. III. Disagreement-relevant intrusions   9. Objections: Statements that deny the truth or accuracy of any arguable. 10. Challenges: Statements that offer problems or questions that must be solved if agreement is to be secured on an arguable. IV. Delimitors

11. Frames: Statements that provide a context for and/or qualify arguable. 12. Forestall/Secure: Statements that attempt to forestall refutation by securing common ground. 13. Forestall/Remove: Statements that attempt to forestall refutation by removing possible objections.

V. Nonarguables-statements that are not related to the group’s argument.

14. Process: Non-argument related statements that orient the group to its task or specify the process the group should follow. 15. Unrelated: Statements unrelated to the group’s argument or process (tangents, side issues, self-talk, etc.). 16. Incompletes: Statements that do not contain a complete, clear idea due to interruption of a person discontinuing a statement.

Meyers, Brashers, & Hanner (2000, p. 9).



The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions 

1.3  Common ground as interpersonal familiarity and argumentation Given the central role that argumentation plays in public deliberation and group decision-making, quality deliberation would likely include a focus on the extent to which discussants know one another. Several lines of theory and research suggest that, when integrated, greater interpersonal familiarity between discussants should influence the types of argument acts produced in deliberative discussions. First, a substantial line of work on small group productivity has found that group cohesion is comprised of members’ social attractiveness to one another, emotional intensity, task commitment, and group identification (Forsyth, 2014). Meta-analyses find that group cohesion is positively related to group productivity and performance (Beal et al., 2003; Chiocchio & Essiembre, 2009; Gully, Devine, & Whitney, 1995). Causality is bi-directional in that cohesion helps groups succeed, which, in turn, creates more cohesion (Mullen & Copper, 1994). Most groups develop cohesion through an initial stage of orientation, called forming, in which they become familiar with each other and the group (Tuckman, 1965). Two other approaches to familiarity come from normative theories of argument and constructivist communication theory. Normative theories of argument like pragma-dialectic theory contend that critical discussion proceeds against the assumption that its participants hold each other with respect and regard and that participants are willing to determine and be motivated by the better argument (e.g. Burleson & Kline, 1979; van Eemeren, Grootendorst, Jackson, & Jacobs, 1993). Critical discussion works better when respect and regard are ratified in the early stages of the discussion (van Eeemeren & Grootendorst, 1984, 1992). M ­ ultiple goal communication theories also contend that competent communication preserves positive relationships and identities of discussants (O’Keefe & Delia, 1982). Constructivist multiple goal theory specifically suggests that managing face threats and relational aims in disagreements are resolved more efficiently when multiple goals are managed in an integrative fashion (e.g. O’Keefe & Shepherd, 1987). Taken together, both of these theories contend and provide support that interpersonal familiarity affects the use of face-attentive, integrative messages that, in turn, facilitate positive decision-making outcomes. Interpersonal familiarity is also an important consideration in CMC decision-making environments, with Walther (1996) finding that CMC interactions are more successful if interactants are familiar with and develop relationships with one another. A final theory that makes similar assumptions about communication and familiarity is Clark’s (1996) conception of mutual understanding For Clark, three components contribute to mutual understanding; joint action, coordination, and common ground. Joint action involves communicators working toward a shared goal, coordination involves conventions and actions oriented toward the goal, and common ground involves mutual assumptions, beliefs, and knowledge. Common

 Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

ground is essential to coordinating joint actions and achieving mutual senses of understanding, and includes communal common ground, or the “evidence about the cultural communities people belong to” as well as personal common ground, or “evidence from people’s direct personal experiences with each other” (p. 100). Presumably attributions of common ground should enable deliberators to ascertain differences between their standpoints more easily, and understand what reasoning may better integrate their positions. 1.4  S tudy purpose The purpose of our study was to examine how members’ argumentation acts in online group discussions are affected by a familiarity intervention. Given that common ground is a fundamental component of communicators’ interactions, greater familiarity between group members should produce more acts that foster positive and/or shared identities and relationships. Following Clark’s reasoning, we hypothesized the following effect of common ground, operationalized as familiarity: H1: A familiarity intervention with group members will increase acts that foster positive identities and relationships (i.e. interpersonal cohesion) in online group discussions, compared to group members assigned to a control condition.

We also expected that common ground, or familiarity, would influence the type of argument acts produced in group discussions. Prior research suggests that interpersonal familiarity may exert different effects on argument acts in online discussions. Sufficient findings suggest that homogenous groups are motivated to maintain their sense of community and consensus in political discussion, which would likely produce more convergence seeking, reasoning activities, and fewer disagreements (Mutz, 2006). Yet supplied with a discussion task that calls for producing a written synthesis of the group’s views, group members who are familiar with each other may more easily create an environment that enables their minority group members to voice their views without group sanctions. Given the lack of prior research on the effect interpersonal familiarity may have on particular discussion tasks, we just posed a research question: RQ1: What is the effect of a familiarity intervention on argument acts in online group discussions?

2.  Method Our study employed a between-subjects design with a familiarity vs no familiarity condition to examine differences in argumentation acts in online group discussions.



The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions 

2.1  P  articipants Participants were undergraduate students recruited from communication classes at a large Midwestern U.S. university. Thirty nine students (68% female) participated in the study for extra course credit. Most students were either juniors (33.3%) or seniors (55.6%), with an average age of 21. 2.2  Design and procedures We conducted the study within Carmen, a Learning Management System based on Desire2Learn, which was used at the university and which had at the time a chat discussion tool. Data collection involved two sessions. Participants were assigned randomly to one of two conditions, and given a group number. They visited a computer lab one week prior to the second session; participants in groups assigned to the familiarity treatment condition were given the relevant training and then completed a Session 1 survey. Participants assigned to the control condition only completed the Session 1 survey. The familiarity treatment session began with instructions projected on three screens arranged in the computer lab. The researcher read aloud the instructions that asked participants to introduce themselves to one another and exchange information about their hobbies, employment, major, class rank, and membership in organizations. In this way participants gained personal common ground through direct experience with each other, as well as communal common ground by learning about their shared views about their major, coursework, and membership in campus organizations. Participants logged into Carmen in a special course shell for the study, and were told they had twenty minutes to complete their discussion. The participants were also told that all communication within their group was to occur within the communication mode assigned to them. At the end of the intervention session, the Session 1 questionnaire was administered. Approximately one week later, the groups met again for Session 2. Participants were reminded of their group numbers and then were presented with the task, “Issue 1 and Ohio” by projecting the task via PowerPoint in the computer lab. The task described Issue 1 (an Ohio Constitutional Amendment that outlawed samesex marriage), and asked participants to discuss the pros and cons of the amendment by discussing three questions: (1) Is Issue 1 good for Ohio? (2) Does Issue 1 affect individual liberties?, and (3) Should Issue 1 stand or be overturned?. Groups were not composed on the basis of their overall attitude toward the amendment. Each group was asked to produce a group letter to the editor of The Columbus Dispatch about their discussion that reflected their perspectives, and to have one group member email their letter to the researcher. After presenting the instructions, the

 Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

researcher asked if there were any questions and then directed participants to find their groups and chat room online. Participants were asked to interact online for 45 minutes to complete the task, after which they completed the Session 2 survey, were thanked for their participation, and debriefed. 2.3  I nstrumentation 2.3.1  Familiarity manipulation check The manipulation check for the familiarity condition consisted of three 7-point (strongly disagree to strongly agree) Likert items related to interpersonal ­familiarity by the participants with other group members. The items were: I know my group members well; I am familiar with my group members’ interests; and I am familiar with my group members’ personalities. Responses to these items were averaged to form a measure of Familiarity (α = .967, M = 3.07, SD = 1.82). 2.3.2  Conversational argument coding scheme (CACS) Transcripts of the discussions were obtained and coded with the CACS (Canary & Seibold, 2010; Meyers & Brashers, 1998, 2010; Seibold et al., 2010). To prepare for the analysis, two coders read the coding manual for Canary’s (1992) version of the system, as well as chapter discussions by Meyers and Seibold on CACS coding practices (Meyers et al., 2000; Meyers, Seibold, & Brashers, 1991; Seibold & Meyers, 2007; Seibold, 2012). The coders learned the system working with one transcript, and then separately unitized four other transcripts into thought units. Unitizing reliability was acceptable (.06, using Guetzkow’s index). The coders next worked through the four transcripts to identify the discussion issues and lines of argument to categorize each thought unit into the coding scheme’s primary and secondary categories as shown in Table 1. The coders repeatedly met to discuss and resolve coding differences. Four transcripts were used to assess reliability on coding of the primary categories: generative mechanisms, reasoning arguables, convergence, disagreements, delimitors and nonarguables. The Cohen kappas were acceptable using Rietved and van Hout’s (1993) conventions, with ks ranging from .65 to .83 (Kappa M = .73). Once reliability was attained, the remaining transcripts were analyzed by one coder. CACS measures were formed for each participant, which were the sums of the secondary act categories related to the primary argument act categories. Five measures were generative mechanisms, reasoning arguables, convergence, disagreement, and delimitors. Two other measures that were formed were the sum of nonarguables that only focused on process statements, and the total number of argument acts.



The effect of interpersonal familiarity on argument in online discussions 

2.3.3  Interpersonal cohesion acts Participants’ phrasing and acts that were aimed at creating positive relations and identities were also coded. Ten interpersonal cohesion categories were utilized in coding: praise (“Good job”), expressions of positive affect (“lol :)”), humor moves (“Benny boy wears pink panties!!!”), gratitude and closings (“Thanks”), apologies (“Sorry, but I’m five lines behind”), greetings (“Hey everybody”), informal socializing talk (“We got our grades back”), slang (“Well, this stinks”), personal selfdisclosure (“I only had it one time on my visit I believe”) and verbal helping (“It’s under start and programs on this computer”). Reliability of these phrasings and acts on four transcripts was acceptable (k = .82). The total number of interpersonal cohesion acts was summed for each participant to form a measure of Interpersonal cohesion. 2.3.4  Pre-intervention familiarity Given that interpersonal familiarity was a key manipulation in the study, participants’ prior familiarity with the group members was used as a covariate in the analyses. This construct was assessed through three 7 point Likert-type items (e.g. “I know my group members well.”), which were averaged to form a measure for Pre-intervention familiarity, with k = .988 (M = 2.05, SD = 1.53).

3.  Results Our analyses utilized multilevel techniques, given that students’ individual responses were nested within groups and hence potentially influenced by the responses of other group members. A manipulation check analysis was initially conducted to verify that the familiarity intervention was effective in producing greater familiarity among the participants in the treatment than the control condition (coded as 1 or 0). A series of unconditional random intercept-only models were conducted to assess the degree of non-independence in each argument act variable across Level-1 units. Finally, a series of multi-level model analyses were conducted, with familiarity entered as the independent variable and pre-­ intervention familiarity entered as a covariate in the analyses. 3.1  P  reliminary analyses A familiarity manipulation check was conducted with an unconditional multilevel model with the intercept as the only variable, followed by a conditional model with the familiarity measure as a main fixed effect and baseline familiarity as a covariate. Familiarity was statistically significant (1.58, SE = .438, t = 3.62,

 Susan L. Kline & D’Arcy Oaks

p < .01), as was baseline familiarity (.432, SE = .124, t = 3.48, p