diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/68421-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68421-0.txt | 8460 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 8460 deletions
diff --git a/old/68421-0.txt b/old/68421-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 17b1d54..0000000 --- a/old/68421-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8460 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The ethics of rhetoric, by Richard M. -Weaver - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The ethics of rhetoric - -Author: Richard M. Weaver - -Release Date: June 28, 2022 [eBook #68421] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ETHICS OF RHETORIC *** - - - - - - - _The ETHICS of_ - Rhetoric - - - - - _The ETHICS of_ - Rhetoric - - _By_ RICHARD M. WEAVER - - ὥστε συμβαίνει τὴν ρητορικὴν οἶον - παραφυές τι τῆς διαλεκτικῆς εἶναι καὶ - τῆς περὶ τὰ ἤθη πραγματείας - - Thus it happens that rhetoric is an offshoot - of dialectic and also of ethical studies. - - —ARISTOTLE, _Rhetoric_ - - [Illustration] - - Chicago · HENRY REGNERY COMPANY · _1953_ - - Copyright 1953 by Henry Regnery Company. Copyright under - International Copyright Union. Manufactured in the United - States of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: - 53-8796. - - Second Printing, December, 1963 - - - - -Table of Contents - - - PAGE - - I. THE PHAEDRUS AND THE NATURE OF RHETORIC 3 - - II. DIALECTIC AND RHETORIC AT DAYTON, TENNESSEE 27 - - III. EDMUND BURKE AND THE ARGUMENT FROM CIRCUMSTANCE 55 - - IV. ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND THE ARGUMENT FROM DEFINITION 85 - - V. SOME RHETORICAL ASPECTS OF GRAMMATICAL CATEGORIES 115 - - VI. MILTON’S HEROIC PROSE 143 - - VII. THE SPACIOUSNESS OF OLD RHETORIC 164 - - VIII. THE RHETORIC OF SOCIAL SCIENCE 186 - - IX. ULTIMATE TERMS IN CONTEMPORARY RHETORIC 211 - - INDEX 233 - - - - -Acknowledgments - - -Acknowledgments with thanks are due the following: Charles Scribner’s -Sons for the passage from Allen Tate’s “The Subway,” from _Poems -1922-1947_; Karl Shapiro and Random House, Inc., for the passage from -_Essay on Rime_; and the Viking Press, Inc., for the passage from -Sherwood Anderson’s _A Story Teller’s Story_. - - - - - _The ETHICS of_ - Rhetoric - - - - -Chapter I - -THE _PHAEDRUS_ AND THE NATURE OF RHETORIC - - -Our subject begins with the threshold difficulty of defining the question -which Plato’s _Phaedrus_ was meant to answer. Students of this justly -celebrated dialogue have felt uncertain of its unity of theme, and the -tendency has been to designate it broadly as a discussion of the ethical -and the beautiful. The explicit topics of the dialogue are, in order: -love, the soul, speechmaking, and the spoken and written word, or what -is generally termed by us “composition.” The development looks random, -and some of the most interesting passages appear _jeux d’esprit_. The -richness of the literary art diverts attention from the substance of the -argument. - -But a work of art which touches on many profound problems justifies -more than one kind of reading. Our difficulty with the _Phaedrus_ may -be that our interpretation has been too literal and too topical. If we -will bring to the reading of it even a portion of that imagination which -Plato habitually exercised, we should perceive surely enough that it is -consistently, and from beginning to end, about one thing, which is the -nature of rhetoric.[1] Again, that point may have been missed because -most readers conceive rhetoric to be a system of artifice rather than an -idea,[2] and the _Phaedrus_, for all its apparent divagation, keeps very -close to a single idea. A study of its rhetorical structure, especially, -may give us the insight which has been withheld, while making us feel -anew that Plato possessed the deepest divining rod among the ancients. - -For the imaginative interpretation which we shall now undertake, we have -both general and specific warrant. First, it scarcely needs pointing -out that a Socratic dialogue is in itself an example of transcendence. -Beginning with something simple and topical, it passes to more general -levels of application; and not infrequently, it must make the leap into -allegory for the final utterance. This means, of course, that a Socratic -dialogue may be about its subject implicitly as well as explicitly. The -implicit rendering is usually through some kind of figuration because -it is the nature of this meaning to be ineffable in any other way. It -is necessary, therefore, to be alert for what takes place through the -analogical mode. - -Second, it is a matter of curious interest that a warning against -literal reading occurs at an early stage of the _Phaedrus_. Here in the -opening pages, appearing as if to set the key of the theme, comes an -allusion to the myth of Boreas and Oreithyia. On the very spot where the -dialogue begins, Boreas is said to have carried off the maiden. Does -Socrates believe that this tale is really true? Or is he in favor of a -scientific explanation of what the myth alleges? Athens had scientific -experts, and the scientific explanation was that the north wind had -pushed her off some rocks where she was playing with a companion. In this -way the poetical story is provided with a factual basis. The answer of -Socrates is that many tales are open to this kind of rationalization, -but that the result is tedious and actually irrelevant. It is irrelevant -because our chief concern is with the nature of the man, and it is -beside the point to probe into such matters while we are yet ignorant -of ourselves. The scientific criticism of Greek mythology, which may -be likened to the scientific criticism of the myths of the Bible in -our own day, produces at best “a boorish sort of wisdom (ἀγροίκῳ τινὶ -σοφίᾳ).” It is a limitation to suppose that the truth of the story -lies in its historicity. The “boorish sort of wisdom” seeks to supplant -poetic allegation with fact, just as an archaeologist might look for the -foundations of the Garden of Eden. But while this sort of search goes -on the truth flies off, on wings of imagination, and is not recoverable -until the searcher attains a higher level of pursuit. Socrates is -satisfied with the parable, and we infer from numerous other passages -that he believed that some things are best told by parable and some -perhaps discoverable only by parable. Real investigation goes forward -with the help of analogy. “Freud without Sophocles is unthinkable,” a -modern writer has said.[3] - -With these precepts in mind, we turn to that part of the _Phaedrus_ -which has proved most puzzling: why is so much said about the absurd -relationship of the lover and the non-lover? Socrates encounters Phaedrus -outside the city wall. The latter has just come from hearing a discourse -by Lysias which enchanted him with its eloquence. He is prevailed upon to -repeat this discourse, and the two seek out a shady spot on the banks of -the Ilissus. Now the discourse is remarkable because although it was “in -a way, a love speech,” its argument was that people should grant favors -to non-lovers rather than to lovers. “This is just the clever thing -about it,” Phaedrus remarks. People are in the habit of preferring their -lovers, but it is much more intelligent, as the argument of Lysias runs, -to prefer a non-lover. Accordingly, the first major topic of the dialogue -is a eulogy of the non-lover. The speech provides good subject matter -for jesting on the part of Socrates, and looks like another exhibition -of the childlike ingeniousness which gives the Greeks their charm. Is it -merely a piece of literary trifling? Rather, it is Plato’s dramatistic -presentation of a major thesis. Beneath the surface of repartee and -mock seriousness, he is asking whether we ought to prefer a neuter form -of speech to the kind which is ever getting us aroused over things and -provoking an expense of spirit. - -Sophistications of theory cannot obscure the truth that there are but -three ways for language to affect us. It can move us toward what is good; -it can move us toward what is evil; or it can, in hypothetical third -place, fail to move us at all.[4] Of course there are numberless degrees -of effect under the first two heads, and the third, as will be shown, is -an approximate rather than an absolute zero of effect. But any utterance -is a major assumption of responsibility, and the assumption that one can -avoid that responsibility by doing something to language itself is one of -the chief considerations of the _Phaedrus_, just as it is of contemporary -semantic theory. What Plato has succeeded in doing in this dialogue, -whether by a remarkably effaced design, or unconsciously through the -formal pressure of his conception, is to give us embodiments of the three -types of discourse. These are respectively the non-lover, the evil lover, -and the noble lover. We shall take up these figures in their sequence and -show their relevance to the problem of language. - -The eulogy of the non-lover in the speech of Lysias, as we hear it -repeated to Socrates, stresses the fact that the non-lover follows a -policy of enlightened self-interest. First of all, the non-lover does -not neglect his affairs or commit extreme acts under the influence of -passion. Since he acts from calculation, he never has occasion for -remorse. No one ever says of him that he is not in his right mind, -because all of his acts are within prudential bounds. The first point -is, in sum, that the non-lover never sacrifices himself and therefore -never feels the vexation which overtakes lovers when they recover from -their passion and try to balance their pains with their profit. And the -non-lover is constant whereas the lover is inconstant. The first argument -then is that the non-lover demonstrates his superiority through prudence -and objectivity. The second point of superiority found in non-lovers is -that there are many more of them. If one is limited in one’s choice to -one’s lovers, the range is small; but as there are always more non-lovers -than lovers, one has a better chance in choosing among many of finding -something worthy of one’s affection. A third point of superiority is that -association with the non-lover does not excite public comment. If one is -seen going about with the object of one’s love, one is likely to provoke -gossip; but when one is seen conversing with the non-lover, people merely -realize that “everybody must converse with somebody.” Therefore this -kind of relationship does not affect one’s public standing, and one is -not disturbed by what the neighbors are saying. Finally, non-lovers are -not jealous of one’s associates. Accordingly they do not try to keep one -from companions of intellect or wealth for fear that they may be outshone -themselves. The lover, by contrast, tries to draw his beloved away from -such companionship and so deprives him of improving associations. The -argument is concluded with a generalization that one ought to grant -favors not to the needy or the importunate, but to those who are able to -repay. Such is the favorable account of the non-lover given by Lysias. - -We must now observe how these points of superiority correspond to those -of “semantically purified” speech. By “semantically purified speech” we -mean the kind of speech approaching pure notation in the respect that -it communicates abstract intelligence without impulsion. It is a simple -instrumentality, showing no affection for the object of its symbolizing -and incapable of inducing bias in the hearer. In its ideal conception, -it would have less power to move than 2 + 2 = 4, since it is generally -admitted that mathematical equations may have the beauty of elegance, and -hence are not above suspicion where beauty is suspect. But this neuter -language will be an unqualified medium of transmission of meanings from -mind to mind, and by virtue of its minds can remain in an unprejudiced -relationship to the world and also to other minds. - -Since the characteristic of this language is absence of anything like -affection, it exhibits toward the thing being represented merely a sober -fidelity, like that of the non-lover toward his companion. Instead of -passion, it offers the serviceability of objectivity. Its “enlightened -self-interest” takes the form of an unvarying accuracy and regularity in -its symbolic references, most, if not all of which will be to verifiable -data in the extramental world. Like a thrifty burgher, it has no -romanticism about it; and it distrusts any departure from the literal -and prosaic. The burgher has his feet on the ground; and similarly the -language of pure notation has its point-by-point contact with objective -reality. As Stuart Chase, one of its modern proponents, says in _The -Tyranny of Words_: “_If we wish to understand the world and ourselves, -it follows that we should use a language whose structure corresponds to -physical structure_”[5] (italics his). So this language is married to the -world, and its marital fidelity contrasts with the extravagances of other -languages. - -In second place, this language is far more “available.” Whereas -rhetorical language, or language which would persuade, must always be -particularized to suit the occasion, drawing its effectiveness from -many small nuances, a “utility” language is very general and one has -no difficulty putting his meaning into it if he is satisfied with a -paraphrase of that meaning. The 850 words recommended for Basic English, -for example, are highly available in the sense that all native users of -English have them instantly ready and learners of English can quickly -acquire them. It soon becomes apparent, however, that the availability -is a heavy tax upon all other qualities. Most of what we admire as -energy and fullness tends to disappear when mere verbal counters are -used. The conventional or public aspect of language can encroach upon the -suggestive or symbolical aspect, until the naming is vague or blurred. In -proportion as the medium is conventional in the widest sense and avoids -all individualizing, personalizing, and heightening terms, it is common, -and the commonness constitutes the negative virtue ascribed to the -non-lover. - -Finally, with reference to the third qualification of the non-lover, -it is true that neuter language does not excite public opinion. This -fact follows from its character outlined above. Rhetorical language on -the other hand, for whatever purpose used, excites interest and with it -either pleasure or alarm. People listen instinctively to the man whose -speech betrays inclination. It does not matter what the inclination is -toward, but we may say that the greater the degree of inclination, the -greater the curiosity or response. Hence a “style” in speech always -causes one to be a marked man, and the public may not be so much -impressed—at least initially—by what the man is for or against as by the -fact that he has a style. The way therefore to avoid public comment is -to avoid the speech of affection and to use that of business, since, to -echo the original proposition of Lysias, everybody knows that one must do -business with others. From another standpoint, then, this is the language -of prudence. These are the features which give neuter discourse an appeal -to those who expect a scientific solution of human problems. - -In summing up the trend of meaning, we note that Lysias has been praising -a disinterested kind of relationship which avoids all excesses and -irrationalities, all the dementia of love. It is a circumspect kind of -relationship, which is preferred by all men who wish to do well in the -world and avoid tempestuous courses. We have compared its detachment -with the kind of abstraction to be found in scientific notation. But as -an earnest of what is to come let us note, in taking leave of this part, -that Phaedrus expresses admiration for the eloquence, especially of -diction, with which the suit of the non-lover has been urged. This is our -warning of the dilemma of the non-lover. - -Now we turn to the second major speech of the dialogue, which is made -by Socrates. Notwithstanding Phaedrus’ enthusiastic praise, Socrates is -dissatisfied with the speech of the non-lover. He remembers having heard -wiser things on the subject and feels that he can make a speech on the -same theme “different from this and quite as good.” After some playful -exchange, Socrates launches upon his own abuse of love, which centers -on the point that the lover is an exploiter. Love (ἔρως) is defined as -the kind of desire which overcomes rational opinion and moves toward -the enjoyment of personal or bodily beauty. The lover wishes to make -the object of his passion as pleasing to himself as possible; but to -those possessed by this frenzy, only that which is subject to their will -is pleasant. Accordingly, everything which is opposed, or is equal or -better, the lover views with hostility. He naturally therefore tries to -make the beloved inferior to himself in every respect. He is pleased if -the beloved has intellectual limitations because they have the effect of -making him manageable. For a similar reason he tries to keep him away -from all influences which might “make a man of him,” and of course the -greatest of these is divine philosophy. While he is working to keep him -intellectually immature, he works also to keep him weak and effeminate, -with such harmful result that the beloved is unable to play a man’s part -in crises. The lover is, moreover, jealous of the possession of property -because this gives the beloved an independence which he does not wish -him to have. Thus the lover in exercising an unremitting compulsion over -the beloved deprives him of all praiseworthy qualities, and this is the -price the beloved pays for accepting a lover who is “necessarily without -reason.” In brief, the lover is not motivated by benevolence toward the -beloved, but by selfish appetite; and Socrates can aptly close with the -quotation: “As wolves love lambs, so lovers love their loves.” The speech -is on the single theme of exploitation. It is important for us to keep -in mind the object of love as here described, because another kind of -love with a different object is later introduced into the dialogue, and -we shall discuss the counterpart of each. - -As we look now for the parallel in language, we find ourselves -confronting the second of the three alternatives: speech which influences -us in the direction of what is evil. This we shall call base rhetoric -because its end is the exploitation which Socrates has been condemning. -We find that base rhetoric hates that which is opposed, or is equal -or better because all such things are impediments to its will, and -in the last analysis it knows only its will. Truth is the stubborn, -objective restraint which this will endeavors to overcome. Base rhetoric -is therefore always trying to keep its objects from the support which -personal courage, noble associations, and divine philosophy provide a man. - -The base rhetorician, we may say, is a man who has yielded to the wrong -aspects of existence. He has allowed himself to succumb to the sights -and shows, to the physical pleasures which conspire against noble life. -He knows that the only way he can get a following in his pursuits (and -a following seems necessary to maximum enjoyment of the pursuits) is to -work against the true understanding of his followers. Consequently the -things which would elevate he keeps out of sight, and the things with -which he surrounds his “beloved” are those which minister immediately to -desire. The beloved is thus emasculated in understanding in order that -the lover may have his way. Or as Socrates expresses it, the selfish -lover contrives things so that the beloved will be “most agreeable to him -and most harmful to himself.” - -Examples of this kind of contrivance occur on every hand in the -impassioned language of journalism and political pleading. In the -world of affairs which these seek to influence, the many are kept in a -state of pupillage so that they will be most docile to their “lovers.” -The techniques of the base lover, especially as exemplified in modern -journalism, would make a long catalogue, but in general it is accurate -to say that he seeks to keep the understanding in a passive state by -never permitting an honest examination of alternatives. Nothing is more -feared by him than a true dialectic, for this not only endangers his -favored alternative, but also gives the “beloved”—how clearly here are -these the “lambs” of Socrates’ figure—some training in intellectual -independence. What he does therefore is dress up one alternative in all -the cheap finery of immediate hopes and fears, knowing that if he can -thus prevent a masculine exercise of imagination and will, he can have -his way. By discussing only one side of an issue, by mentioning cause -without consequence or consequence without cause, acts without agents or -agents without agency,[6] he often successfully blocks definition and -cause-and-effect reasoning. In this way his choices are arrayed in such -meretricious images that one can quickly infer the juvenile mind which -they would attract. Of course the base rhetorician today, with his vastly -augmented power of propagation, has means of deluding which no ancient -rhetor in forum or market place could have imagined. - -Because Socrates has now made a speech against love, representing it -as an evil, the non-lover seems to survive in estimation. We observe, -however, that the non-lover, instead of being celebrated, is disposed of -dialectically. “So, in a word, I say that the non-lover possesses all the -advantages that are opposed to the disadvantages we found in the lover.” -This is not without bearing upon the subject matter of the important -third speech, to which we now turn. - -At this point in the dialogue, Socrates is warned by his monitory spirit -that he has been engaging in a defamation of love despite the fact that -love is a divinity. “If love is, as indeed he is, a god or something -divine, he can be nothing evil; but the two speeches just now said that -he was evil.” These discourses were then an impiety—one representing -non-love as admirable and the other attacking love as base. Socrates -resolves to make amends, and the recantation which follows is one of the -most elaborate developments in the Platonic system. The account of love -which emerges from this new position may be summarized as follows. - -Love is often censured as a form of madness, yet not all madness is evil. -There is a madness which is simple degeneracy, but on the other hand -there are kinds of madness which are really forms of inspiration, from -which come the greatest gifts conferred on man. Prophecy is a kind of -madness, and so too is poetry. “The poetry of the sane man vanishes into -nothingness before that of the inspired madman.” Mere sanity, which is -of human origin, is inferior to that madness which is inspired by the -gods and which is a condition for the highest kind of achievement. In -this category goes the madness of the true lover. His is a generous state -which confers blessings to the ignoring of self, whereas the conduct of -the non-lover displays all the selfishness of business: “the affection of -the non-lover, which is alloyed with mortal prudence and follows mortal -and parsimonious rules of conduct will beget in the beloved soul the -narrowness which common folk praise as virtue; it will cause the soul to -be a wanderer upon the earth for nine thousand years and a fool below the -earth at last.” It is the vulgar who do not realize that the madness of -the noble lover is an inspired madness because he has his thoughts turned -toward a beauty of divine origin. - -Now the attitude of the noble lover toward the beloved is in direct -contrast with that of the evil lover, who, as we have seen, strives -to possess and victimize the object of his affections. For once the -noble lover has mastered the conflict within his own soul by conquering -appetite and fixing his attention upon the intelligible and the divine, -he conceives an exalted attitude toward the beloved. The noble lover now -“follows the beloved in reverence and awe.” So those who are filled with -this kind of love “exhibit no jealousy or meanness toward the loved one, -but endeavor by every means in their power to lead him to the likeness -of the god whom they honor.” Such is the conversion by which love turns -from the exploitative to the creative. - -Here it becomes necessary to bring our concepts together and to think -of all speech having persuasive power as a kind of “love.”[7] Thus, -rhetorical speech is madness to the extent that it departs from the -line which mere sanity lays down. There is always in its statement a -kind of excess or deficiency which is immediately discernible when -the test of simple realism is applied. Simple realism operates on a -principle of equation or correspondence; one thing must match another, -or, representation must tally with thing represented, like items in -a tradesman’s account. Any excess or deficiency on the part of the -representation invokes the existence of the world of symbolism, which -simple realism must deny. This explains why there is an immortal feud -between men of business and the users of metaphor and metonymy, the poets -and the rhetoricians.[8] The man of business, the narrow and parsimonious -soul in the allusion of Socrates, desires a world which is a reliable -materiality. But this the poet and rhetorician will never let him have, -for each, with his own purpose, is trying to advance the borders of the -imaginative world. A primrose by the river’s brim will not remain that -in the poet’s account, but is promptly turned into something very much -larger and something highly implicative. He who is accustomed to record -the world with an abacus cannot follow these transfigurations; and -indeed the very occurrence of them subtly undermines the premise of his -business. It is the historic tendency of the tradesman, therefore, to -confine passion to quite narrow channels so that it will not upset the -decent business arrangements of the world. But if the poet, as the chief -transformer of our picture of the world, is the peculiar enemy of this -mentality, the rhetorician is also hostile when practicing the kind of -love proper to him. The “passion” in his speech is revolutionary, and it -has a practical end. - -We have now indicated the significance of the three types of lovers; but -the remainder of the _Phaedrus_ has much more to say about the nature -of rhetoric, and we must return to one or more points to place our -subject in a wider context. The problem of rhetoric which occupied Plato -persistently, not only in the _Phaedrus_ but also in other dialogues -where this art is reviewed, may be best stated as a question: if truth -alone is not sufficient to persuade men, what else remains that can be -legitimately added? In one of the exchanges with Phaedrus, Socrates puts -the question in the mouth of a personified Rhetoric: “I do not compel -anyone to learn to speak without knowing the truth, but if my advice is -of any value, he learns that first and then acquires me. So what I claim -is this, that without my help the knowledge of the truth does not give -the art of persuasion.” - -Now rhetoric as we have discussed it in relation to the lovers consists -of truth plus its artful presentation, and for this reason it becomes -necessary to say something more about the natural order of dialectic -and rhetoric. In any general characterization rhetoric will include -dialectic,[9] but for the study of method it is necessary to separate -the two. Dialectic is a method of investigation whose object is the -establishment of truth about doubtful propositions. Aristotle in the -_Topics_ gives a concise statement of its nature. “A dialectical problem -is a subject of inquiry that contributes either to choice or avoidance, -or to truth and knowledge, and that either by itself, or as a help to -the solution of some other such problem. It must, moreover, be something -on which either people hold no opinion either way, or the masses hold a -contrary opinion to the philosophers, or the philosophers to the masses, -or each of them among themselves.”[10] Plato is not perfectly clear -about the distinction between positive and dialectical terms. In one -passage[11] he contrasts the “positive” terms “iron” and “silver” with -the “dialectical” terms “justice” and “goodness”; yet in other passages -his “dialectical” terms seem to include categorizations of the external -world. Thus Socrates indicates that distinguishing the horse from the -ass is a dialectical operation;[12] and he tells us later that a good -dialectician is able to divide things by classes “where the natural -joints are” and will avoid breaking any part “after the manner of a bad -carver.”[13] Such, perhaps, is Aristotle’s dialectic which contributes to -truth and knowledge. - -But there is a branch of dialectic which contributes to “choice or -avoidance,” and it is with this that rhetoric is regularly found joined. -Generally speaking, this is a rhetoric involving questions of policy, and -the dialectic which precedes it will determine not the application of -positive terms but that of terms which are subject to the contingency of -evaluation. Here dialectical inquiry will concern itself not with what -is “iron” but with what is “good.” It seeks to establish what belongs in -the category of the “just” rather than what belongs in the genus _Canis_. -As a general rule, simple object words such as “iron” and “house” have -no connotations of policy, although it is frequently possible to give -them these through speech situations in which there is added to their -referential function a kind of impulse. We should have to interpret in -this way “Fire!” or “Gold!” because these terms acquire something through -intonation and relationship which places them in the class of evaluative -expressions. - -Any piece of persuasion, therefore, will contain as its first process a -dialectic establishing terms which have to do with policy. Now a term of -policy is essentially a term of motion, and here begins the congruence of -rhetoric with the soul which underlies the speculation of the _Phaedrus_. -In his myth of the charioteer, Socrates declares that every soul is -immortal because “that which is ever moving is immortal.” Motion, it -would appear from this definition, is part of the soul’s essence. And -just because the soul is ever tending, positive or indifferent terms -cannot partake of this congruence. But terms of tendency—goodness, -justice, divinity, and the like—are terms of motion and therefore may -be said to comport with the soul’s essence. The soul’s perception of -goodness, justice, and divinity will depend upon its proper tendency, -while at the same time contacts with these in discourse confirm and -direct that tendency. The education of the soul is not a process of -bringing it into correspondence with a physical structure like the -external world, but rather a process of rightly affecting its motion. By -this conception, a soul which is rightly affected calls that good which -is good; but a soul which is wrongly turned calls that good which is -evil. What Plato has prepared us to see is that the virtuous rhetorician, -who is a lover of truth, has a soul of such movement that its dialectical -perceptions are consonant with those of a divine mind. Or, in the -language of more technical philosophy, this soul is aware of axiological -systems which have ontic status. The good soul, consequently, will not -urge a perversion of justice as justice in order to impose upon the -commonwealth. Insofar as the soul has its impulse in the right direction, -its definitions will agree with the true nature of intelligible things. - -There is, then, no true rhetoric without dialectic, for the dialectic -provides that basis of “high speculation about nature” without which -rhetoric in the narrower sense has nothing to work upon. Yet, when the -disputed terms have been established, we are at the limit of dialectic. -How does the noble rhetorician proceed from this point on? That the -clearest demonstration in terms of logical inclusion and exclusion often -fails to win assent we hardly need state; therefore, to what does the -rhetorician resort at this critical passage? It is the stage at which -he passes from the logical to the analogical, or it is where figuration -comes into rhetoric. - -To look at this for a moment through a practical illustration, let us -suppose that a speaker has convinced his listeners that his position is -“true” as far as dialectical inquiry may be pushed. Now he sets about -moving the listeners toward that position, but there is no way to move -them except through the operation of analogy. The analogy proceeds by -showing that the position being urged resembles or partakes of something -greater and finer. It will be represented, in sum, as one of the steps -leading toward ultimate good. Let us further suppose our speaker to be -arguing for the payment of a just debt. The payment of the just debt is -not itself justice, but the payment of this particular debt is one of the -many things which would have to be done before this could be a completely -just world. It is just, then, because it partakes of the ideal justice, -or it is a small analogue of all justice (in practice it will be found -that the rhetorician makes extensive use of synecdoche, whereby the small -part is used as a vivid suggestion of the grandeur of the whole). It is -by bringing out these resemblances that the good rhetorician leads those -who listen in the direction of what is good. In effect, he performs a -cure of souls by giving impulse, chiefly through figuration, toward an -ideal good. - -We now see the true rhetorician as a noble lover of the good, who works -through dialectic and through poetic or analogical association. However -he is compelled to modulate by the peculiar features of an occasion, this -is his method. - -It may not be superfluous to draw attention to the fact that what we -have here outlined is the method of the _Phaedrus_ itself. The dialectic -appears in the dispute about love. The current thesis that love is -praiseworthy is countered by the antithesis that love is blameworthy. -This position is fully developed in the speech of Lysias and in the first -speech of Socrates. But this position is countered by a new thesis -that after all love is praiseworthy because it is a divine thing. Of -course, this is love on a higher level, or love re-defined. This is the -regular process of transcendence which we have noted before. Now, having -rescued love from the imputation of evil by excluding certain things -from its definition, what does Socrates do? Quite in accordance with our -analysis, he turns rhetorician. He tries to make this love as attractive -as possible by bringing in the splendid figure of the charioteer.[14] In -the narrower conception of this art, the allegory is the rhetoric, for -it excites and fills us with desire for this kind of love, depicted with -many terms having tendency toward the good. But in the broader conception -the art must include also the dialectic, which succeeded in placing love -in the category of divine things before filling our imaginations with -attributes of divinity.[15] It is so regularly the method of Plato to -follow a subtle analysis with a striking myth that it is not unreasonable -to call him the master rhetorician. This goes far to explain why those -who reject his philosophy sometimes remark his literary art with mingled -admiration and annoyance. - -The objection sometimes made that rhetoric cannot be used by a lover -of truth because it indulges in “exaggerations” can be answered as -follows. There is an exaggeration which is mere wantonness, and with -this the true rhetorician has nothing to do. Such exaggeration is purely -impressionistic in aim. Like caricature, whose only object is to amuse, -it seizes upon any trait or aspect which could produce titillation -and exploits this without conscience. If all rhetoric were like this, -we should have to grant that rhetoricians are persons of very low -responsibility and their art a disreputable one. But the rhetorician we -have now defined is not interested in sensationalism. - -The exaggeration which this rhetorician employs is not caricature but -prophecy; and it would be a fair formulation to say that true rhetoric is -concerned with the potency of things. The literalist, like the anti-poet -described earlier, is troubled by its failure to conform to a present -reality. What he fails to appreciate is that potentiality is a mode of -existence, and that all prophecy is about the tendency of things. The -discourse of the noble rhetorician, accordingly, will be about real -potentiality or possible actuality, whereas that of the mere exaggerator -is about unreal potentiality. Naturally this distinction rests upon a -supposal that the rhetorician has insight, and we could not defend him -in the absence of that condition. But given insight, he has the duty -to represent to us the as yet unactualized future. It would be, for -example, a misrepresentation of current facts but not of potential ones -to talk about the joys of peace in a time of war. During the Second World -War, at the depth of Britain’s political and military disaster, Winston -Churchill likened the future of Europe to “broad sunlit uplands.” Now if -one had regard only for the hour, this was a piece of mendacity such as -the worst charlatans are found committing; but if one took Churchill’s -premises and then considered the potentiality, the picture was within -bounds of actualization. His “exaggeration” was that the defeat of the -enemy would place Europe in a position for long and peaceful progress. -At the time the surface trends ran the other way; the actuality was a -valley of humiliation. Yet the hope which transfigured this to “broad -sunlit uplands” was not irresponsible, and we conclude by saying that the -rhetorician talks about both what exists simply and what exists by favor -of human imagination and effort.[16] - -This interest in actualization is a further distinction between pure -dialectic and rhetoric. With its forecast of the actual possibility, -rhetoric passes from mere scientific demonstration of an idea to -its relation to prudential conduct. A dialectic must take place _in -vacuo_, and the fact alone that it contains contraries leaves it an -intellectual thing. Rhetoric, on the other hand, always espouses one of -the contraries. This espousal is followed by some attempt at impingement -upon actuality. That is why rhetoric, with its passion for the actual, is -more complete than mere dialectic with its dry understanding. It is more -complete on the premise that man is a creature of passion who must live -out that passion in the world. Pure contemplation does not suffice for -this end. As Jacques Maritain has expressed it: “love ... is not directed -at possibilities or pure essences; it is directed at what exists; one -does not love possibilities, one loves that which exists or is destined -to exist.”[17] The complete man, then, is the “lover” added to the -scientist; the rhetorician to the dialectician. Understanding followed by -actualization seems to be the order of creation, and there is no need for -the role of rhetoric to be misconceived. - -The pure dialectician is left in the theoretical position of the -non-lover, who can attain understanding but who cannot add impulse to -truth. We are compelled to say “theoretical position” because it is by -no means certain that in the world of actual speech the non-lover has -more than a putative existence. We have seen previously that his speech -would consist of strictly referential words which would serve only as -designata. Now the question arises: at what point is motive to come -into such language? Kenneth Burke in _A Grammar of Motives_ has pointed -to “the pattern of embarrassment behind the contemporary ideal of a -language that will best promote good action by entirely eliminating the -element of exhortation or command. Insofar as such a project succeeded, -its terms would involve a narrowing of circumference to a point where -the principle of personal action is eliminated from language, so that an -act would follow from it only as a non-sequitur, a kind of humanitarian -after-thought.”[18] - -The fault of this conception of language is that scientific intention -turns out to be enclosed in artistic intention and not _vice versa_. -Let us test this by taking as an example one of those “fact-finding -committees” so favored by modern representative governments. A language -in which all else is suppressed in favor of nuclear meanings would be -an ideal instrumentality for the report of such a committee. But this -committee, if it lived up to the ideal of its conception, would have -to be followed by an “attitude-finding committee” to tell us what its -explorations really mean. In real practice the fact-finding committee -understands well enough that it is also an attitude-finding committee, -and where it cannot show inclination through language of tendency, -it usually manages to do so through selection and arrangement of the -otherwise inarticulate facts. To recur here to the original situation in -the dialogue, we recall that the eloquent Lysias, posing as a non-lover, -had concealed designs upon Phaedrus, so that his fine speech was really a -sheep’s clothing. Socrates discerned in him a “peculiar craftiness.” One -must suspect the same today of many who ask us to place our faith in the -neutrality of their discourse. We cannot deny that there are degrees of -objectivity in the reference of speech. But this is not the same as an -assurance that a vocabulary of reduced meanings will solve the problems -of mankind. Many of those problems will have to be handled, as Socrates -well knew, by the student of souls, who must primarily make use of the -language of tendency. The soul is impulse, not simply cognition; and -finally one’s interest in rhetoric depends on how much poignancy one -senses in existence.[19] - -Rhetoric moves the soul with a movement which cannot finally be justified -logically. It can only be valued analogically with reference to some -supreme image. Therefore when the rhetorician encounters some soul -“sinking beneath the double load of forgetfulness and vice” he seeks -to re-animate it by holding up to its sight the order of presumptive -goods. This order is necessarily a hierarchy leading up to the ultimate -good. All of the terms in a rhetorical vocabulary are like links in a -chain stretching up to some master link which transmits its influence -down through the linkages. It is impossible to talk about rhetoric as -effective expression without having as a term giving intelligibility -to the whole discourse, the Good. Of course, inferior concepts of the -Good may be and often are placed in this ultimate position; and there -is nothing to keep a base lover from inverting the proper order and -saying, “Evil, be thou my good.” Yet the fact remains that in any -piece of rhetorical discourse, one rhetorical term overcomes another -rhetorical term only by being nearer to the term which stands ultimate. -There is some ground for calling a rhetorical education necessarily -an aristocratic education in that the rhetorician has to deal with an -aristocracy of notions, to say nothing of supplementing his logical and -pathetic proofs with an ethical proof. - -All things considered, rhetoric, noble or base, is a great power in the -world; and we note accordingly that at the center of the public life of -every people there is a fierce struggle over who shall control the means -of rhetorical propagation. Today we set up “offices of information,” -which like the sly lover in the dialogue, pose as non-lovers while -pushing their suits. But there is no reason to despair over the fact that -men will never give up seeking to influence one another. We would not -desire it to be otherwise; neuter discourse is a false idol, to worship -which is to commit the very offense for which Socrates made expiation in -his second speech. - -Since we want not emancipation from impulse but clarification of impulse, -the duty of rhetoric is to bring together action and understanding into -a whole that is greater than scientific perception.[20] The realization -that just as no action is really indifferent, so no utterance is without -its responsibility introduces, it is true, a certain strenuousity into -life, produced by a consciousness that “nothing is lost.” Yet this is -preferable to that desolation which proceeds from an infinite dispersion -or feeling of unaccountability. Even so, the choice between them is -hardly ours to make; we did not create the order of things, but being -accountable for our impulses, we wish these to be just. - -Thus when we finally divest rhetoric of all the notions of artifice -which have grown up around it, we are left with something very much -like Spinoza’s “intellectual love of God.” This is its essence and -the _fons et origo_ of its power. It is “intellectual” because, as we -have previously seen, there is no honest rhetoric without a preceding -dialectic. The kind of rhetoric which is justly condemned is utterance -in support of a position before that position has been adjudicated with -reference to the whole universe of discourse[21]—and of such the world -always produces more than enough. It is “love” because it is something in -addition to bare theoretical truth. That element in addition is a desire -to bring truth into a kind of existence, or to give it an actuality -to which theory is indifferent. Now what is to be said about our last -expression, “of God”? Echoes of theological warfare will cause many to -desire a substitute for this, and we should not object. As long as we -have in ultimate place the highest good man can intuit, the relationship -is made perfect. We shall be content with “intellectual love of the -Good.” It is still the intellectual love of good which causes the noble -lover to desire not to devour his beloved but to shape him according to -the gods as far as mortal power allows. So rhetoric at its truest seeks -to perfect men by showing them better versions of themselves, links in -that chain extending up toward the ideal, which only the intellect can -apprehend and only the soul have affection for. This is the justified -affection of which no one can be ashamed, and he who feels no influence -of it is truly outside the communion of minds. Rhetoric appears, finally, -as a means by which the impulse of the soul to be ever moving is redeemed. - -It may be granted that in this essay we have gone some distance from -the banks of the Ilissus. What began as a simple account of passion -becomes by transcendence an allegory of all speech. No one would think of -suggesting that Plato had in mind every application which has here been -made, but that need not arise as an issue. The structure of the dialogue, -the way in which the judgments about speech concentre, and especially the -close association of the true, the beautiful, and the good, constitute a -unity of implication. The central idea is that all speech, which is the -means the gods have given man to express his soul, is a form of eros, in -the proper interpretation of the word. With that truth the rhetorician -will always be brought face to face as soon as he ventures beyond the -consideration of mere artifice and device. - - - - -Chapter II - -DIALECTIC AND RHETORIC AT DAYTON, TENNESSEE - - -We have maintained that dialectic and rhetoric are distinguishable -stages of argumentation, although often they are not distinguished by -the professional mind, to say nothing of the popular mind. Dialectic is -that stage which defines the subject satisfactorily with regard to the -_logos_, or the set of propositions making up some coherent universe -of discourse; and we can therefore say that a dialectical position is -established when its relation to an opposite has been made clear and -it is thus rationally rather than empirically sustained. Despite the -inconclusiveness of Plato on this subject, we shall say that facts are -never dialectically determined—although they may be elaborated in a -dialectical system—and that the urgency of facts is never a dialectical -concern. For similar reasons Professor Adler, in his searching study of -dialectic, maintains the position that “Facts, that is non-discursive -elements, are never determinative of dialectic in a logical or -intellectual sense....”[22] - -What a successful dialectic secures for any position therefore, as we -noted in the opening chapter, is not actuality but possibility; and what -rhetoric thereafter accomplishes is to take any dialectically secured -position (since positive positions, like the “position” that water -freezes at 32°F., are not matters for rhetorical appeal) and show its -relationship to the world of prudential conduct. This is tantamount to -saying that what the specifically rhetorical plea asks of us is belief, -which is a preliminary to action. - -It may be helpful to state this relationship through an example less -complex than that of the Platonic dialogue. The speaker who in a -dialectical contest has taken the position that “magnanimity is a virtue” -has by his process of opposition and exclusion won our intellectual -assent, inasmuch as we see the abstract possibility of this position in -the world of discourse. He has not, however, produced in us a resolve to -practice magnanimity. To accomplish this he must pass from the realm of -possibility to that of actuality; it is not the logical invincibility -of “magnanimity” enclosed in the class “virtue” which wins our assent; -rather it is the contemplation of magnanimity _sub specie_ actuality. -Accordingly when we say that rhetoric instills belief and action, we are -saying that it intersects possibility with the plane of actuality and -hence of the imperative.[23] - -A failure to appreciate this distinction is responsible for many lame -performances in our public controversies. The effects are, in outline, -that the dialectician cannot understand why his demonstration does not -win converts; and the rhetorician cannot understand why his appeal is -rejected as specious. The answer, as we have begun to indicate, is that -the dialectic has not made reference to reality, which men confronted -with problems of conduct require; and the rhetorician has not searched -the grounds of the position on which he has perhaps spent much eloquence. -True, the dialectician and the rhetorician are often one man, and the -two processes may not lie apart in his work; but no student of the art -of argumentation can doubt that some extraordinary confusions would -be prevented by a knowledge of the theory of this distinction. Beyond -this, representative government would receive a tonic effect from any -improvement of the ability of an electorate to distinguish logical -positions from the detail of rhetorical amplification. The British, -through their custom of putting questions to public speakers and to -officers of government in Parliament, probably come nearest to getting -some dialectical clarification from their public figures. In the United -States, where there is no such custom, it is up to each disputant -to force the other to reveal his grounds; and this, in the ardor of -shoring up his own position rhetorically, he often fails to do with -any thoroughness. It should therefore be profitable to try the kind of -analysis we have explained upon some celebrated public controversy, with -the object of showing how such grasp of rhetorical theory could have made -the issues clearer. - -For this purpose, it would be hard to think of a better example than the -Scopes “evolution” trial of a generation ago. There is no denying that -this trial had many aspects of the farcical, and it might seem at first -glance not serious enough to warrant this type of examination. Yet at the -time it was considered serious enough to draw the most celebrated trial -lawyers of the country, as well as some of the most eminent scientists; -moreover, after one has cut through the sensationalism with which -journalism and a few of the principals clothed the encounter, one finds a -unique alignment of dialectical and rhetorical positions. - -The background of the trial can be narrated briefly. On March 21, 1925, -the state of Tennessee passed a law forbidding the teaching of the theory -of evolution in publicly supported schools. The language of the law was -as follows: - - Section 1. Be it enacted by the general assembly of the state - of Tennessee, that it shall be unlawful for any teacher in - any of the universities, normals and all other public schools - of the state, which are supported in whole or in part by the - public school funds of the state, to teach any theory that - denies the story of the Divine creation of man as taught in the - Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower - order of animals. - -That same spring John T. Scopes, a young instructor in biology in the -high school at Dayton, made an agreement with some local citizens to -teach such a theory and to cause himself to be indicted therefor with -the object of testing the validity of the law. The indictment was duly -returned, and the two sides prepared for the contest. The issue excited -the nation as a whole; and the trial drew as opposing counsel Clarence -Darrow, the celebrated Chicago lawyer, and William Jennings Bryan, the -former political leader and evangelical lecturer. - -The remarkable aspect of this trial was that almost from the first the -defense, pleading the cause of science, was forced into the role of -rhetorician; whereas the prosecution, pleading the cause of the state, -clung stubbornly to a dialectical position. This development occurred -because the argument of the defense, once the legal technicalities were -got over, was that evolution is “true.” The argument of the prosecution -was that its teaching was unlawful. These two arguments depend upon -rhetoric and dialectic respectively. Because of this circumstance, the -famous trial turned into an argument about the orders of knowledge, -although this fact was never clearly expressed, if it was ever discerned, -by either side, and that is the main subject of our analysis. But before -going into the matter of the trial, a slight prologue may be in order. - -It is only the first step beyond philosophic naïvete to realize that -there are different orders of knowledge, or that not all knowledge is of -the same kind of thing. Adler, whose analysis I am satisfied to accept -to some extent, distinguishes the orders as follows. First there is the -order of facts about existing physical entities. These constitute the -simple data of science. Next come the statements which are statements -about these facts; these are the propositions or theories of science. -Next there come the statements about these statements: “The propositions -which these last statements express form a partial universe of discourse -which is the body of philosophical opinion.”[24] - -To illustrate in sequence: the anatomical measurements of -_Pithecanthropus erectus_ would be knowledge of the first order. A -theory based on these measurements which placed him in a certain group -of related organisms would be knowledge of the second order. A statement -about the value or the implications of the theory of this placement would -be knowledge of the third order; it would be the judgment of a scientific -theory from a dialectical position. - -It is at once apparent that the Tennessee “anti-evolution” law was a -statement of the third class. That is to say, it was neither a collection -of scientific facts, nor a statement about those facts (_i.e._, a -theory or a generalization); it was a statement about a statement (the -scientists’ statement) purporting to be based on those facts. It was, -to use Adler’s phrase, a philosophical opinion, though expressed in the -language of law. Now since the body of philosophical opinion is on a -level which surmounts the partial universe of science, how is it possible -for the latter ever to refute the former? In short, is there any number -of facts, together with generalizations based on facts, which would be -sufficient to overcome a dialectical position? - -Throughout the trial the defense tended to take the view that science -could carry the day just by being scientific. But in doing this, one -assumes that there are no points outside the empirical realm from which -one can form judgments about science. Science, by this conception, must -contain not only its facts, but also the means of its own evaluation, so -that the statements about the statements of science are science too. - -The published record of the trial runs to approximately three hundred -pages, and it would obviously be difficult to present a digest of all -that was said. But through a carefully selected series of excerpts, it -may be possible to show how blows were traded back and forth from the -two positions. The following passages, though not continuous, afford the -clearest picture of the dialectical-rhetorical conflict which underlay -the entire trial. - - THE COURT (_in charging the grand jury_) - - You will bear in mind that in this investigation you are not - interested to inquire into the policy of this legislation.[25] - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Darrow_: I don’t suppose the court has considered the - question of competency of evidence. My associates and myself - have fairly definite ideas as to it, but I don’t know how - the counsel on the other side feel about it. I think that - scientists are competent evidence—or competent witnesses here, - to explain what evolution is, and that they are competent on - both sides. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Attorney-General Stewart_: If the Court please, in this - case, as Mr. Darrow stated, the defense is going to insist on - introducing scientists and Bible students to give their ideas - on certain views of this law, and that, I am frank to state, - will be resisted by the state as vigorously as we know how to - resist it. We have had a conference or two about the matter, - and we think that it isn’t competent evidence; that is, it is - not competent to bring into this case scientists who testify as - to what the theory of evolution is or interpret the Bible or - anything of that sort. - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Neal_: The defendant moves the court to quash the - indictment in this case for the following reasons: In - that it violates Sec. 12, Art. XI, of the Constitution of - Tennessee: “It shall be the duty of the general assembly in - all future periods of the government to cherish literature - and science....” I want to say that our main contention after - all, may it please your honor, is that this is not a proper - thing for any legislature, the legislature of Tennessee or - the legislature of the United States, to attempt to make and - assign a rule in regard to. In this law there is an attempt to - pronounce a judgment and a conclusion in the realm of science - and in the realm of religion. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Mr. McKenzie_: Under the law you cannot teach in the common - schools the Bible. Why should it be improper to provide that - you cannot teach this other theory? - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Darrow_: Can a legislative body say, “You cannot read - a book or take a lesson or make a talk on science until you - first find out whether you are saying against Genesis”? It can - unless that constitutional provision protects me. It can. Can - it say to the astronomer, you cannot turn your telescope upon - the infinite planets and suns and stars that fill space, lest - you find that the earth is not the center of the universe and - that there is not any firmament between us and the heaven? Can - it? It could—except for the work of Thomas Jefferson, which - has been woven into every state constitution in the Union, and - has stayed there like a flaming sword to protect the rights of - man against ignorance and bigotry, and when it is permitted to - overwhelm them then we are taken in a sea of blood and ruin - that all the miseries and tortures and carrion of the middle - ages would be as nothing.... If today you can take a thing - like evolution and make it a crime to teach it in the public - schools, tomorrow you can make it a crime to teach it in the - private schools, and the next year you can make it a crime to - teach it to the hustings or in the church. At the next session - you may ban books and the newspapers. - - _Mr. Dudley Field Malone_: So that there shall be no - misunderstanding and that no one shall be able to misinterpret - or misrepresent our position we wish to state at the beginning - of the case that the defense believes that there is a direct - conflict between the theory of evolution and the theories of - creation as set forth in the Book of Genesis. - - Neither do we believe that the stories of creation as set forth - in the Bible are reconcilable or scientifically correct. - - _Mr. Arthur Garfield Hays_: Our whole case depends upon proving - that evolution is a reasonable scientific theory. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Mr. William Jennings Bryan, Jr._ (in support of a motion to - exclude expert testimony): It is, I think, apparent to all that - we have now reached the heart of this case, upon your honor’s - ruling, as to whether this expert testimony will be admitted - largely determines the question of whether this trial from now - on will be an orderly effort to try the case upon the issues, - raised by the indictment and by the plea or whether it will - degenerate into a joint debate upon the merits or demerits - of someone’s views upon evolution.... To permit an expert to - testify upon this issue would be to substitute trial by experts - for trial by jury.... - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Hays_: Are we entitled to show what evolution is? We are - entitled to show that, if for no other reason than to determine - whether the title is germane to the act. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Mr. William Jennings Bryan_: An expert cannot be permitted - to come in here and try to defeat the enforcement of a law by - testifying that it isn’t a bad law and it isn’t—I mean a bad - doctrine—no matter how these people phrase the doctrine—no - matter how they eulogize it. This is not the place to prove - that the law ought never to have been passed. The place to - prove that, or teach that, was to the state legislature.... - The people of this state passed this law, the people of the - state knew what they were doing when they passed the law, and - they knew the dangers of the doctrine—that they did not want it - taught to their children, and my friends, it isn’t—your honor, - it isn’t proper to bring experts in here and try to defeat the - purpose of the people of this state by trying to show that - this thing they denounce and outlaw is a beautiful thing that - everybody ought to believe in.... It is this doctrine that - gives us Nietzsche, the only great author who tried to carry - this to its logical conclusion, and we have the testimony of - my distinguished friend from Chicago in his speech in the Loeb - and Leopold case that 50,000 volumes have been written about - Nietzsche, and he is the greatest philosopher in the last - hundred years, and have him pleading that because Leopold read - Nietzsche and adopted Nietzsche’s philosophy of the super-man, - that he is not responsible for the taking of human life. We - have the doctrine—I should not characterize it as I should - like to characterize it—the doctrine that the universities - that had it taught, and the professors who taught it, are much - more responsible for the crime that Leopold committed than - Leopold himself. That is the doctrine, my friends, that they - have tried to bring into existence, they commence in the high - schools with their foundation of evolutionary theory, and we - have the word of the distinguished lawyer that this is more - read than any other in a hundred years, and the statement of - that distinguished man that the teachings of Nietzsche made - Leopold a murderer.... (_Mr. Bryan reading from a book by - Darrow_) “I will guarantee that you can go to the University of - Chicago today—into its big library and find over 1,000 volumes - of Nietzsche, and I am sure I speak moderately. If this boy - is to blame for this, where did he get it? Is there any blame - attached because somebody took Nietzsche’s philosophy seriously - and fashioned his life on it? And there is no question in - this case but what it is true. Then who is to blame? The - university would be more to blame than he is. The scholars of - the world would be more to blame than he is. The publishers - of the world—and Nietzsche’s books are published by one of - the biggest publishers in the world—are more to blame than he - is. Your honor, it is hardly fair to hang a 19-year-old boy - for the philosophy that was taught him at the university.”... - Your honor, we first pointed out that we do not need any - experts in science. Here is one plain fact, and the statute - defines itself, and it tells the kind of evolution it does not - want taught, and the evidence says that this is the kind of - evolution that was taught, and no number of scientists could - come in here, my friends, and override that statute or take - from the jury its right to decide this question, so that all - the experts they could bring would mean nothing. And when it - comes to Bible experts, every member of the jury is as good an - expert on the Bible as any man they could bring, or that we - could bring. - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Malone_: Are we to have our children know nothing about - science except what the church says they shall know? I - have never seen any harm in learning and understanding, in - humility and open-mindedness, and I have never seen clearer - the need of that learning than when I see the attitude of the - prosecution, who attack and refuse to accept the information - and intelligence, which expert witnesses will give them. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Mr. Stewart_: Now what could these scientists testify to? - They could only say as an expert, qualified as an expert upon - this subject, I have made a study of these things and from my - standpoint as such an expert, I say that this does not deny the - story of divine creation. That is what they would testify to, - isn’t it? That is all they could testify about. - - Now, then, I say under the correct construction of the act, - that they cannot testify as to that. Why? Because in the - wording of this act the legislature itself construed the - instrument according to their intention.... What was the - general purpose of the legislature here? It was to prevent - teaching in the public schools of any county in Tennessee that - theory which says that man is descended from a lower order of - animals. That is the intent and nobody can dispute it under the - shining sun of this day. - - THE COURT - - Now upon these issues as brought up it becomes the duty of the - Court to determine the question of the admissibility of this - expert testimony offered by the defendant. - - It is not within the province of the Court under these issues - to decide and determine which is true, the story of divine - creation as taught in the Bible, or the story of the creation - of man as taught by evolution. - - If the state is correct in its insistence, it is immaterial, - so far as the results of this case are concerned, as to - which theory is true; because it is within the province of - the legislative branch, and not the judicial branch of the - government to pass upon the policy of a statute; and the policy - of this statute having been passed upon by that department of - the government, this court is not further concerned as to its - policy; but is interested only in its proper interpretation - and, if valid, its enforcement.... Therefore the court is - content to sustain the motion of the attorney-general to - exclude expert testimony. - - THE PROSECUTION - - _Mr. Stewart_ (during Mr. Darrow’s cross-examination of Mr. - Bryan): I want to interpose another objection. What is the - purpose of this examination? - - _Mr. Bryan_: The purpose is to cast ridicule upon everybody - who believes in the Bible, and I am perfectly willing that the - world shall know that these gentlemen have no other purpose - than ridiculing every Christian who believes in the Bible. - - THE DEFENSE - - _Mr. Darrow_: We have the purpose of preventing bigots and - ignoramuses from controlling the education of the United - States, and you know it, and that is all. - - Statements of Noted Scientists as Filed into Record by Defense - Counsel - - _Charles H. Judd, Director of School of Education, University - of Chicago_: It will be impossible, in my judgment, in the - state university, as well as in the normal schools, to teach - adequately psychology or the science of education without - making constant reference to all the facts of mental - development which are included in the general doctrine of - evolution.... Whatever may be the constitutional rights of - legislatures to prescribe the general course of study of public - schools it will, in my judgment, be a serious national disaster - if the attempt is successful to determine the details to be - taught in the schools through the vote of legislatures rather - than as a result of scientific investigation. - - _Jacob G. Lipman, Dean of the College of Agriculture, State - University of New Jersey_: With these facts and interpretations - of organic evolution left out, the agricultural colleges and - experimental stations could not render effective service to our - great agricultural industry. - - _Wilbur A. Nelson, State Geologist of Tennessee_: It, - therefore, appears that it would be impossible to study or - teach geology in Tennessee or elsewhere, without using the - theory of evolution. - - _Kirtley F. Mather, Chairman of the Department of Geology, - Harvard University_: Science has not even a guess as to the - original source or sources of matter. It deals with immediate - causes and effects.... Men of science have as their aim the - discovery of facts. They seek with open eyes, willing to - recognize it, as Huxley said, even if it “sears the eyeballs.” - After they have discovered truth, and not till then, do they - consider what its moral implications may be. Thus far, and - presumably always, truth when found is also found to be right, - in the moral sense of the word.... As Henry Ward Beecher said, - forty years ago, “If to reject God’s revelation in the book is - infidelity, what is it to reject God’s revelation of himself in - the structure of the whole globe?” - - _Maynard M. Metcalf, Research Specialist in Zoology, Johns - Hopkins University_: Intelligent teaching of biology or - intelligent approach to any biological science is impossible if - the established fact of evolution is omitted. - - _Horatio Hackett Newman, Professor of Zoology, University - of Chicago_: Evolution has been tried and tested in every - conceivable way for considerably over half a century. Vast - numbers of biological facts have been examined in the light of - this principle and without a single exception they have been - entirely compatible with it.... The evolution principle is thus - a great unifying and integrating scientific conception. Any - conception that is so far-reaching, so consistent, and that has - led to so much advance in the understanding of nature, is at - least an extremely valuable idea and one not lightly to be cast - aside in case it fails to agree with one’s prejudices. - -Thus the two sides lined up as dialectical truth and empirical fact. The -state legislature of Tennessee, acting in its sovereign capacity, had -passed a measure which made it unlawful to teach that man is connatural -with the animals through asserting that he is descended from a “lower -order” of them. (There was some sparring over the meaning of the -technical language of the act, but this was the general consensus.) The -legal question was whether John T. Scopes had violated the measure. The -philosophical question, which was the real focus of interest, was the -right of a state to make this prescription. - -We have referred to the kind of truth which can be dialectically -established, and here we must develop further the dialectical nature of -the state’s case. As long as it maintained this dialectical position, it -did not have to go into the “factual” truth of evolution, despite the -outcry from the other side. The following considerations, then, enter -into this “dialectical” prosecution. - -By definition the legislature is the supreme arbiter of education within -the state. It is charged with the duty of promoting enlightenment and -morality, and to these ends it may establish common schools, require -attendance, and review curricula either by itself or through its agents. -The state of Tennessee had exercised this kind of authority when it -had forbidden the teaching of the Bible in the public schools. Now if -the legislature could take a position that the publicly subsidized -teaching of the Bible was socially undesirable, it could, from the same -authority, take the same position with regard to a body of science. Some -people might feel that the legislature was morally bound to encourage -the propagation of the Bible, just as some of those participating in -the trial seemed to think that it was morally bound to encourage the -propagation of science. But here again the legislature is the highest -tribunal, and no body of religious or scientific doctrine comes to it -with a compulsive authority. In brief, both the Ten Commandments and the -theory of evolution belonged in the class of things which it could elect -or reject, depending on the systematic import of propositions underlying -the philosophy of the state. - -The policy of the anti-evolution law was the same type of policy which -Darrow had by inference commended only a year earlier in the famous trial -of Loeb and Leopold. This clash is perhaps the most direct in the Scopes -case and deserves pointing out here. Darrow had served as defense counsel -for the two brilliant university graduates who had conceived the idea -of committing a murder as a kind of intellectual exploit, to prove that -their powers of foresight and care could prevent detection. The essence -of Darrow’s plea at their trial was that the two young men could not be -held culpable—at least in the degree the state claimed—because of the -influences to which they had been exposed. They had been readers of a -system of philosophy of allegedly anti-social tendency, and they were -not to be blamed if they translated that philosophy into a sanction of -their deed. The effect of this plea obviously was to transfer guilt from -the two young men to society as a whole, acting through its laws, its -schools, its publications, etc. - -Now the key thing to be observed in this plea was that Darrow was not -asking the jury to inspect the philosophy of Nietzsche for the purpose -either of passing upon its internal consistency or its contact with -reality. He was asking precisely what Bryan was asking of the jury at -Dayton, namely that they take a strictly dialectical position outside it, -viewing it as a partial universe of discourse with consequences which -could be adjudged good or bad. The point to be especially noted is that -Darrow did not raise the question of whether the philosophy of Nietzsche -expresses necessary truth, or whether, let us say, it is essential to an -understanding of the world. He was satisfied to point out that the state -had not been a sufficiently vigilant guardian of the forces molding the -character of its youth. - -But the prosecution at Dayton could use this line of argument without -change. If the philosophy of Nietzsche were sufficient to instigate young -men to criminal actions, it might be claimed with even greater force that -the philosophy of evolution, which in the popular mind equated man with -the animals, would do the same. The state’s dialectic here simply used -one of Darrow’s earlier definitions to place the anti-evolution law in a -favorable or benevolent category. In sum: to Darrow’s previous position -that the doctrine of Nietzsche is capable of immoral influence, Bryan -responded that the doctrine of evolution is likewise capable of immoral -influence, and this of course was the dialectical countering of the -defense’s position in the trial. - -There remains yet a third dialectical maneuver for the prosecution. On -the second day of the trial Attorney-General Stewart, in reviewing the -duties of the legislature, posed the following problem: “Supposing then -that there should come within the minds of the people a conflict between -literature and science. Then what would the legislature do? Wouldn’t -they have to interpret?... Wouldn’t they have to interpret their -construction of this conflict which one should be recognized or higher or -more in the public schools?” - -This point was not exploited as fully as its importance might seem to -warrant; but what the counsel was here declaring is that the legislature -is necessarily the umpire in all disputes between partial universes. -Therefore if literature and science should fall into a conflict, it would -again be up to the legislature to assign the priority. It is not bound -to recognize the claims of either of these exclusively because, as we -saw earlier, it operates in a universe with reference to which these are -partial bodies of discourse. The legislature is the disposer of partial -universes. Accordingly when the Attorney-General took this stand, he came -the nearest of any of the participants in the trial to clarifying the -state’s position, and by this we mean to showing that for the state it -was a matter of legal dialectic. - -There is little evidence to indicate that the defense understood the -kind of case it was up against, though naturally this is said in a -philosophical rather than a legal sense. After the questions of law were -settled, its argument assumed the substance of a plea for the truth of -evolution, which subject was not within the scope of the indictment. We -have, for example, the statement of Mr. Hays already cited that the whole -case of the defense depended on proving that evolution is a “reasonable -scientific theory.” Of those who spoke for the defense, Mr. Dudley Field -Malone seems to have had the poorest conception of the nature of the -contest. I must cite further from his plea because it shows most clearly -the trap from which the defense was never able to extricate itself. -On the fifth day of the trial Mr. Malone was chosen to reply to Mr. -Bryan, and in the course of his speech he made the following revealing -utterance: “Your honor, there is a difference between theological and -scientific men. Theology deals with something that is established and -revealed; it seeks to gather material which they claim should not be -changed. It is the Word of God and that cannot be changed; it is -literal, it is not to be interpreted. That is the theological mind. It -deals with theology. The scientific mind is a modern thing, your honor. -I am not sure Galileo was the one who brought relief to the scientific -mind; because, theretofore, Aristotle and Plato had reached their -conclusions and processes, by metaphysical reasoning, because they had no -telescope and no microscope.” The part of this passage which gives his -case away is the distinction made at the end. Mr. Malone was asserting -that Aristotle and Plato got no further than they did because they lacked -the telescope and the microscope. To a slight extent perhaps Aristotle -was what we would today call a “research scientist,” but the conclusions -and processes arrived at by the metaphysical reasoning of the two are -dialectical, and the test of a dialectical position is logic and not -ocular visibility. At the risk of making Mr. Malone a scapegoat we must -say that this is an abysmal confusion of two different kinds of inquiry -which the Greeks were well cognizant of. But the same confusion, if it -did not produce this trial, certainly helped to draw it out to its length -of eight days. It is the assumption that human laws stand in wait upon -what the scientists see in their telescopes and microscopes. But harking -back to Professor Adler: facts are never determinative of dialectic in -the sense presumed by this counsel. - -Exactly the same confusion appeared in a rhetorical plea for truth which -Mr. Malone made shortly later in the same speech. Then he said: “There is -never a duel with truth. The truth always wins and we are not afraid of -it. The truth is no coward. The truth does not need the law. The truth -does not need the forces of government. The truth does not need Mr. -Bryan. The truth is imperishable, eternal and immortal and needs no human -agency to support it. We are ready to tell the truth as we understand it -and we do not fear all the truth that they can present as facts.” It is -instantly apparent that this presents truth in an ambiguous sense. Malone -begins with the simplistic assumption that there is a “standard” truth, -a kind of universal, objective, operative truth which it is heinous to -oppose. That might be well enough if the meaning were highly generic, -but before he is through this short passage he has equated truth with -facts—the identical confusion which we noted in his utterance about Plato -and Aristotle. Now since the truth which dialectic arrives at is not a -truth of facts, this peroration either becomes irrelevant, or it lends -itself to the other side, where, minus the concluding phrase, it could -serve as a eulogium of dialectical truth. - -Such was the dilemma by which the defense was impaled from the beginning. -To some extent it appears even in the expert testimony. On the day -preceding this speech by Malone, Professor Maynard Metcalf had presented -testimony in court regarding the theory of evolution (this was on the -fourth day of the trial; Judge Raulston did not make his ruling excluding -such testimony until the sixth day) in which he made some statements -which could have been of curious interest to the prosecution. They are -effectually summarized in the following excerpt: “Evolution and the -theories of evolution are fundamentally different things. The fact of -evolution is a thing that is perfectly and absolutely clear.... The -series of evidences is so convincing that I think it would be entirely -impossible for any normal human being who was conversant with the -phenomena to have even for a moment the least doubt even for the fact of -evolution, but he might have tremendous doubts as to the truth of any -hypothesis....” - -We first notice here a clear recognition of the kinds of truth -distinguished by Adler, with the “fact” of evolution belonging to the -first order and theories of evolution belonging to the second. The -second, which is referred to by the term “hypothesis,” consists of facts -in an elaboration. We note furthermore that this scientist has called -them fundamentally different things—so different that one is entitled -to have not merely doubts but “tremendous doubts” about the second. -Now let us imagine the dialecticians of the opposite side approaching -him with the following. You have said, Professor Metcalf, that the -fact of evolution and the various theories of evolution are two quite -different things. You have also said that the theories of evolution are -so debatable or questionable that you can conceive of much difference -of opinion about them. Now if there is an order of knowledge above this -order of theories, which order you admit to be somewhat speculative, -a further order of knowledge which is philosophical or evaluative, is -it not likely that there would be in this realm still more alternative -positions, still more room for doubt or difference of opinion? And if all -this is so, would you expect people to assent to a proposition of this -order in the same way you expect them to assent to, say, the proposition -that a monkey has vertebrae? And if you do make these admissions, can -you any longer maintain that people of opposite views on the teaching of -evolution are simply defiers of the truth? This is how the argument might -have progressed had some Greek Darwin thrown Athens into an uproar; but -this argument was, after all, in an American court of law. - -It should now be apparent from these analyses that the defense was -never able to meet the state’s case on dialectical grounds. Even if it -had boldly accepted the contest on this level, it is difficult to see -how it could have won, for the dialectic must probably have followed -this course: First Proposition, All teaching of evolution is harmful. -Counter Proposition, No teaching of evolution is harmful. Resolution, -Some teaching of evolution is harmful. Now the resolution was exactly -the position taken by the law, which was that some teaching of evolution -(i.e., the teaching of it in state-supported schools) was an anti-social -measure. Logically speaking, the proposition that “Some teaching of -evolution is harmful,” does not exclude the proposition that “Some -teaching of evolution is not harmful,” but there was the fact that the -law permitted some teaching of evolution (e.g., the teaching of it in -schools not supported by the public funds). In this situation there -seemed nothing for the defense to do but stick by the second proposition -and plead for that proposition rhetorically. So science entered the -juridical arena and argued for the value of science. In this argument the -chief topic was consequence. There was Malone’s statement that without -the theory of evolution Burbank would not have been able to produce his -results. There was Lipman’s statement that without an understanding of -the theory of evolution the agricultural colleges could not carry on -their work. There were the statements of Judd and Nelson that large -areas of education depended upon a knowledge of evolution. There was -the argument brought out by Professor Mather of Harvard: “When men are -offered their choice between science, with its confident and unanimous -acceptance of the evolutionary principle, on the one hand, and religion, -with its necessary appeal to things unseen and improvable, on the other, -they are much more likely to abandon religion than to abandon science. -If such a choice is forced upon us, the churches will lose many of their -best educated young people, the very ones upon whom they must depend for -leadership in coming years.” - -We noted at the beginning of this chapter that rhetoric deals with -subjects at the point where they touch upon actuality or prudential -conduct. Here the defense looks at the policy of teaching evolution and -points to beneficial results. The argument then becomes: these important -benefits imply an important beneficial cause. This is why we can say that -the pleaders for science were forced into the non-scientific role of the -rhetorician. - -The prosecution incidentally also had an argument from consequences, -although it was never employed directly. When Bryan maintained that the -philosophy of evolution might lead to the same results as the philosophy -of Nietzsche had led with Loeb and Leopold, he was opening a subject -which could have supplied such an argument, say in the form of a concrete -instance of moral beliefs weakened by someone’s having been indoctrinated -with evolution. But there was really no need: as we have sought to show -all along, the state had an immense strategic advantage in the fact that -laws belong to the category of dialectical determinations, and it clung -firmly to this advantage. - -An irascible exchange which Darrow had with the judge gives an idea of -the frustration which the defense felt at this stage. There had been an -argument about the propriety of a cross-examination. - - _The Court_: Colonel [Darrow], what is the purpose of - cross-examination? - - _Mr. Darrow_: The purpose of cross-examination is to be used on - trial. - - _The Court_: Well, isn’t that an effort to ascertain the truth? - - _Mr. Darrow_: No, it is an effort to show prejudice. Nothing - else. Has there been any effort to ascertain the truth in this - case? Why not bring in the jury and let us prove it? - -The truth referred to by the judge was whether the action of Scopes -fell within the definition of the law; the truth referred to by Darrow -was the facts of evolution (not submitted to the jury as evidence); -and “prejudice” was a crystallized opinion of the theory of evolution, -expressed now as law. - -If we have appeared here to assign too complete a forensic victory to the -prosecution, let us return, by way of recapitulating the issues, to the -relationship between positive science and dialectic. Many people, perhaps -a majority in this country, have felt that the position of the State -of Tennessee was absurd because they are unable to see how a logical -position can be taken without reference to empirical situations. But it -is just the nature of logic and dialectic to be a science without any -content as it is the nature of biology or any positive science to be a -science of empirical content. - -We see the nature of this distinction when we realize that there is never -an argument, in the true sense of the term, about facts. When facts are -disputed, the argument must be suspended until the facts are settled. -Not until then may it be resumed, for all true argument is about the -meaning of established or admitted facts. And since this meaning is -always expressed in propositions, we can say further that all argument -is about the systematic import of propositions. While that remains so, -the truth of the theory of evolution or of any scientific theory can -never be settled in a court of law. The court could admit the facts into -the record, but the process of legal determination would deal with the -meaning of the facts, and it could not go beyond saying that the facts -comport, or do not comport, with the meanings of other propositions. -Thus its task is to determine their place in a system of discourse and -if possible to effect a resolution in accordance with the movement of -dialectic. It is necessary that logic in its position as ultimate arbiter -preserve this indifference toward that actuality which is the touchstone -of scientific fact. - -It is plain that those who either expected or hoped that science would -win a sweeping victory in the Tennessee courtroom were the same people -who believe that science can take the place of speculative wisdom. -The only consolation they had in the course of the trial was the -embarrassment to which Darrow brought Bryan in questioning him about the -Bible and the theory of evolution (during which Darrow did lead Bryan -into some dialectical traps). But in strict consideration all of this -was outside the bounds of the case because both the facts of evolution -and the facts of the Bible were “items not in discourse,” to borrow a -phrase employed by Professor Adler. That is to say, their correctness had -to be determined by scientific means of investigation, if at all; but -the relationship between the law and theories of man’s origin could be -determined only by legal casuistry, in the non-pejorative sense of that -phrase. - -As we intimated at the beginning, a sufficient grasp of what the case -was about would have resulted in there being no case, or in there being -quite a different case. As the events turned out science received, in -the popular estimation, a check in the trial but a moral victory, and -this only led to more misunderstanding of the province of science in -human affairs. The law of the State of Tennessee won a victory which was -regarded as pyrrhic because it was generally felt to have made the law -and the lawmakers look foolish. This also was a disservice to the common -weal. Both of these results could have been prevented if it had been -understood that science is one thing and law another. An understanding of -that truth would seem to require some general dissemination throughout -our educated classes of a _Summa Dialectica_. This means that the -educated people of our country would have to be so trained that they -could see the dialectical possibility of the opposites of the beliefs -they possess. And that is a very large order for education in any age. - - - - -Chapter III - -EDMUND BURKE AND THE ARGUMENT FROM CIRCUMSTANCE - - -We are now in position to affirm that the rhetorical study of an argument -begins with a study of the sources. But since almost any extended -argument will draw upon more than one source we must look, to answer the -inquiry we are now starting, at the prevailing source, or the source -which is most frequently called upon in the total persuasive effort. -We shall say that this predominating source gives to the argument an -aspect, and our present question is, what can be inferred from the -aspect of any argument or body of arguments about the philosophy of its -maker? All men argue alike when they argue validly because the modes -of inference are formulas, from which deviation is error. Therefore -we characterize inference only as valid or invalid. But the reasoner -reveals his philosophical position by the source of argument which -appears most often in his major premise because the major premise tells -us how he is thinking about the world. In other words, the rhetorical -content of the major premise which the speaker habitually uses is the -key to his primary view of existence. We are of course excluding artful -choices which have in view only _ad hoc_ persuasions. Putting the matter -now figuratively, we may say that no man escapes being branded by the -premise that he regards as most efficacious in an argument. The general -importance of this is that major premises, in addition to their logical -function as part of a deductive argument, are expressive of values, and -a characteristic major premise characterizes the user. - -To see this principle in application, let us take three of the chief -sources of argument recognized by the classical rhetoricians. We may -look first at the source which is _genus_. All arguments made through -genus are arguments based on the nature of the thing which is said -to constitute the genus. What the argument from genus then says is -that “generic” classes have a nature which can be predicated of their -species. Thus _man_ has a nature including _mortality_, which quality -can therefore be predicated of the man Socrates and the man John Smith. -The underlying postulate here, that things have a nature, is of course a -disputable view of the world, for it involves the acceptance of a realm -of essence. Yet anyone who uses such source of argument is committed to -this wider assumption. Now it follows that those who habitually argue -from genus are in their personal philosophy idealists. To them the idea -of genus is a reflection of existence. We are saying, accordingly, that -arguments which make predominant use of genus have an aspect through -this source, and that the aspect may be employed to distinguish the -philosophy of the author. It will be found, to cite a concrete example, -that John Henry Newman regularly argues from genus; he begins with the -nature of the thing and then makes the application. The question of what -a university is like is answered by applying the idea of a university. -The question of what man ought to study is answered by working out a -conception of the nature of man. And we shall find in a succeeding essay -that Abraham Lincoln, although he has become a patron for liberals and -pragmatists, was a consistent user of the argument from genus. His -refusal to hedge on the principle of slavery is referable to a fixed -concept of the nature of man. This, then, will serve to characterize the -argument from genus. - -Another important source of argument is _similitude_. Whereas those -who argue from genus argue from a fixed class, those who argue from -similitude invoke essential (though not exhaustive) correspondences. -If one were to say, for example, that whatever has the divine attribute -of reason is likely to have also the divine attribute of immortality, -one would be using similitude to establish a probability. Thinkers -of the analogical sort use this argument chiefly. If required to -characterize the outlook it implies, we should say that it expresses -belief in a oneness of the world, which causes all correspondence to have -probative value. Proponents of this view tend to look toward some final, -transcendental unity, and as we might expect, this type of argument -is used widely by poets and religionists.[26] John Bunyan used it -constantly; so did Emerson. - -A third type we shall mention, the type which provides our access -to Burke, is the argument from _circumstance_. The argument from -circumstance is, as the name suggests, the nearest of all arguments to -purest expediency. This argument merely reads the circumstances—the -“facts standing around”—and accepts them as coercive, or allows them to -dictate the decision. If one should say, “The city must be surrendered -because the besiegers are so numerous,” one would be arguing not from -genus, or similitude, but from a present circumstance. The expression -“In view of the situation, what else are you going to do?” constitutes a -sort of proposition-form for this type of argument. Such argument savors -of urgency rather than of perspicacity; and it seems to be preferred -by those who are easily impressed by existing tangibles. Whereas the -argument from consequence attempts a forecast of results, the argument -from circumstance attempts only an estimate of current conditions -or pressures. By thus making present circumstance the overbearing -consideration, it keeps from sight even the nexus of cause and effect. -It is the least philosophical of all the sources of argument, since -theoretically it stops at the level of perception of fact. - -Burke is widely respected as a conservative who was intelligent enough -to provide solid philosophical foundations for his conservatism. It -is perfectly true that many of his observations upon society have a -conservative basis; but if one studies the kind of argument which Burke -regularly employed when at grips with concrete policies, one discovers a -strong addiction to the argument from circumstance. Now for reasons which -will be set forth in detail later, the argument from circumstance is the -argument philosophically appropriate to the liberal. Indeed, one can -go much further and say that it is the argument fatal to conservatism. -However much Burke eulogized tradition and fulminated against the -French Revolution, he was, when judged by what we are calling aspect of -argument, very far from being a conservative; and we suggest here that -a man’s method of argument is a truer index in his beliefs than his -explicit profession of principles. Here is a means whereby he is revealed -in his work. Burke’s voluminous controversies give us ample opportunity -to test him by this rule. - -There is some point in beginning with Burke’s treatment of the existing -Catholic question, an issue which drew forth one of his earliest -political compositions and continued to engage his attention throughout -his life. As early as 1765 he had become concerned with the extraordinary -legal disabilities imposed upon Catholics in Ireland, and about this time -he undertook a treatise entitled _Tract on the Popery Laws_. Despite the -fact that in this treatise Burke professes belief in natural law, going -so far as to assert that all human laws are but declaratory, the type -of argument he uses chiefly is the secular argument from circumstance. -After a review of the laws and penalties, he introduces his “capital -consideration.” - - The first and most capital consideration with regard to this, - as to every object, is the extent of it. And here it is - necessary to premise: this system of penalty and incapacity - has for its object no small sect or obscure party, but a very - numerous body of men—a body which comprehends at least two - thirds of the whole nation: it amounts to 2,800,000 souls, - a number sufficient for the materials constituent of a great - people.[27] - -He then gave his reason for placing the circumstance first. - - This consideration of the magnitude of the object ought to - attend us through the whole inquiry: if it does not always - affect the reason, it is always decisive on the importance of - the question. It not only makes itself a more leading point, - but complicates itself with every other part of the matter, - giving every error, minute in itself, a character and a - significance from its application. It is therefore not to be - wondered at, if we perpetually recur to it in the course of - this essay.[28] - -The _Tract_ was planned in such a way as to continue this thought, while -accompanying it with discussion of the impediment to national prosperity, -and of “the impolicy of those laws, as they affect the national -security.” This early effort established the tenor of his thinking on the -subject. - -While representing Bristol in Parliament, Burke alienated a part of -his constituency by supporting Sir George Savile’s measure to ease -the restraints upon Catholics. In the famous _Speech to the Electors -of Bristol_ he devoted a large portion of his time to a justification -of that course, and here, it is true, he made principal use of the -argument from genus (“justice”) and from consequence. The argument from -circumstance is not forgotten, but is tucked away at the end to persuade -the “bigoted enemies to liberty.” There, using again his criterion of the -“magnitude of the object,” he said: - - Gentlemen, it is possible you may not know that the people - of that persuasion in Ireland amount to at least sixteen or - seventeen hundred thousand souls. I do not at all exaggerate - the number. A nation to be _persecuted_! Whilst we were masters - of the sea, embodied with America and in alliance with half - the powers of the continent, we might, perhaps, in that remote - corner of Europe, afford to tyrannize with impunity. But there - is a revolution in our affairs which makes it prudent for us to - be just.[29] - -During the last decade of his life, Burke wrote a series of letters -upon the Catholic question and upon Irish affairs, in which, of -course, this question figured largely. In 1792 came _A Letter to Sir -Hercules Langrishe, M.P._, upon the propriety of admitting Catholics -to the elective franchise. Here we find him taking a pragmatic view -of liberality toward Catholics. He reasoned as follows regarding the -restoration of the franchise: - - If such means can with any probability be shown, from - circumstances, rather to add strength to our mixed - ecclesiastical and secular constitution, than to weaken it; - surely they are means infinitely to be preferred to penalties, - incapacities, and proscriptions continued from generation to - generation.[30] - -In this instance the consideration of magnitude took a more extended form: - - How much more, certainly, ought they [the disqualifying laws] - to give way, when, as in our case, they affect, not here and - there, in some particular point or in their consequence, - but universally, collectively and directly, the fundamental - franchises of a people, equal to the whole inhabitants of - several respectable kingdoms and states, equal to the subjects - of the kings of Sardinia or of Denmark; equal to those of the - United Netherlands, and more than are to be found in all the - states of Switzerland. This way of proscribing men by whole - nations, as it were, from all the benefits of the constitution - to which they were born, I never can believe to be politic or - expedient, much less necessary for the existence of any state - or church in the world.[31] - -Greatly exercised over events in France, Burke came to think of -Christianity as the one force with enough cohesion to check the spread -of the Revolution. Then in 1795 he wrote the _Letter to William Smith, -Esq._ Here he described Christianity as “the grand prejudice ... which -holds all the other prejudices together”;[32] and such prejudices, as -he visualized them, were essential to the fabric of society. He told -his correspondent candidly: “My whole politics, at present, center in -one point; and to this the merit or demerit of every measure (with me) -is referable; that is, what will most promote or depress the cause of -Jacobinism.”[33] In a second letter to Sir Hercules Langrishe, written in -the same year, he could say: “In the Catholic Question I considered only -one point. Was it at the time, and in the circumstances, a measure which -tended to promote the concord of the citizens.”[34] - -Only once did Burke approach the question of religion through what may be -properly termed an argument from definition. In the last year of his life -he composed _A Letter on the Affairs of Ireland_, one passage of which -considers religion not in its bearing upon some practical measure, but -with reference to its essential nature. - - Let every man be as pious as he pleases, and in the way that he - pleases; but it is agreeable neither to piety nor to policy to - give exclusively all manner of civil privileges and advantages - to a _negative_ religion—such is the Protestant without a - certain creed; and at the same time to deny those privileges to - men whom we know to agree to an iota in every one _positive_ - doctrine, which all of us, who profess religion authoritatively - taught in England, hold ourselves, according to our faculties, - bound to believe.[35] - -It is not purely an argument from definition, but it contains such an -argument, and so contrasts with his dominant position on a subject which -engaged much of his thought and seems to have filled him with sincere -feeling. - -We shall examine him now on another major subject to engage his -statesmanship, the rebellion of the North American Colonies against Great -Britain. By common admission today, Burke’s masterpiece of forensic -eloquence is the speech moving his resolutions for conciliation with that -disaffected part of the Empire, delivered in the House of Commons on -March 22, 1775. In admiring the felicities with which this great oration -undoubtedly abounds, it is easy to overlook the fact that it is from -beginning to end an argument from circumstance. It is not an argument -about rights or definitions, as Burke explicitly says at two or three -points; it is an argument about policy as dictated by circumstances. -Its burden is a plea to conciliate the colonies because they are waxing -great. No subtlety of interpretation is required to establish this truth, -because we can substantially establish it in the express language of -Burke himself. - -To see the aspect of this argument, it is useful to begin by looking -at the large alternatives which the orator enumerates for Parliament -in the exigency. The first of these is to change the spirit of the -Colonies by rendering it more submissive. Circumventing the theory of -the relationship of ruler and ruled, Burke sets aside this alternative -as impractical. He admits that an effort to bring about submission would -be “radical in its principle” (_i.e._, would have a root in principle); -but he sees too many obstacles in geography, ethnology, and other -circumstances to warrant the trial. - -The second alternative is to prosecute the Colonists as criminal. At this -point, the “magnitude of the object” again enters his equation, and he -would distinguish between the indictment of a single individual and the -indictment of a whole people as things different in kind. The number and -vigor of the Americans constitute an embarrassing circumstance. Therefore -his thought issues in the oft-quoted statement “I do not know the method -of drawing up an indictment against a whole people.”[36] This was said, -it should be recalled, despite the fact that history is replete with -proceedings against rebellious subjects.[37] But Burke had been an agent -for the colony of New York; he had studied the geography and history of -the Colonies with his usual industry; and we may suppose him to have had -a much clearer idea than his colleagues in Parliament of their power to -support a conflict. - -It is understandable, by this view, that his third alternative should -be “to comply with the American spirit as necessary.” He told his -fellow Commoners plainly that his proposal had nothing to do with the -legal right of taxation. “My consideration is narrow, confined, and -wholly limited to the policy of the question.”[38] This policy he -later characterizes as “systematic indulgence.” The outcome of this -disjunctive argument is then a measure to accommodate a circumstance. -The circumstance is that America is a growing country, of awesome -potentiality, whose strength, both actual and imminent, makes it -advisable for the Mother Country to overlook abstract rights. In a -peroration, the topic of abstract rights is assigned to those “vulgar and -mechanical politicians,” who are “not fit to turn a wheel in the machine” -of Empire.[39] - -With this conclusion in mind, it will be instructive to see how the -orator prepared the way for his proposal. The entire first part of his -discourse may be described as a depiction of the circumstance which -is to be his source of argument. After a circumspect beginning, in -which he calls attention to the signs of rebellion and derides the -notion of “paper government,” he devotes a long and brilliant passage -to simple characterization of the Colonies and their inhabitants. The -unavoidable effect of this passage is to impress upon his hearers the -size and resources of this portion of the Empire. First he takes up the -rapidly growing population, then the extensive trade, then the spirit -of enterprise, and finally the personal character of the Colonists -themselves. Outstanding even in this colorful passage is his account of -the New England whaling industry. - - Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice, - and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses - of Hudson’s Bay and Davis’s Straits, whilst we are looking - for them beneath the Arctic Circle, we hear that they have - pierced into the opposite region of polar cold, that they - are at the antipodes, and engaged under the frozen Serpent - of the South. Falkland Island, which seemed too remote and - romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but - a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious - industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to - them than the accumulated winter of both the poles. We know - that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon - on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude and pursue - their gigantic game along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what - is vexed by their fisheries; no climate that is not witness - to their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the - activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of - English enterprise ever carried this most perilous mode of hard - industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this - recent people; a people who are still, as it were, but in the - gristle; and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.[40] - -It is the spectacle of this enterprise which induces Burke to “pardon -something to the spirit of liberty.” - -The long recital is closed with an appeal which may be fitly regarded -as the _locus classicus_ of the argument from circumstance. For with -this impressive review of the fierce spirit of the colonists before -his audience, Burke declares: “The question is, not whether the spirit -deserves praise or blame, but—what, in the name of God, shall we do with -it?”[41] The question then is not what is right or wrong, or what accords -with our idea of justice or our scheme of duty; it is, how can we meet -this circumstance? “I am not determining a point of law; I am restoring -tranquillity.”[42] The circumstance becomes the cue of the policy. We -must remind ourselves that our concern here is not to pass upon the -merits of a particular controversy, but to note the term which Burke -evidently considered most efficacious in moving his hearers. “Political -reason,” he says, elsewhere, “is a computing principle.”[43] Where does -political reason in this instance leave him? It leaves him inevitably in -the middle, keeping the Colonies, but not as taxable parts of the Empire, -allowing them to pay their own charge by voluntary grants. In Burke’s -characteristic view, the theoretic relationship has been altered by the -medium until the thirteen (by his count fourteen) colonies of British -North America are left halfway between colonial and national status. The -position of the Tories meant that either the Colonies would be colonies -or they would terminate their relationship with the Empire. Burke’s case -was that by concession to circumstance they could be retained in some -form, and this would be a victory for policy. Philosophers of starker -principle, like Tom Paine, held that a compromise of the Burkean type -would have been unacceptable in the long run even to the Americans, and -the subsequent crystallization of American nationality seems to support -this view. But Burke thought he saw a way to preserve an institution by -making way for a large corporeal fact. - -It must be confessed that Burke’s interest in the affairs of India, -and more specifically in the conduct of the East India Company, is not -reconcilable in quite the same way with the thesis of this chapter. -Certainly there is nothing in mean motives or contracted views to explain -why he should have labored over a period of fourteen years to benefit -a people with whom he had no contact and from whom he could expect no -direct token of appreciation. But it must be emphasized that the subject -of this essay is methods, and even in this famous case Burke found some -opportunity to utilize his favorite source. - -In 1783, years before the impeachment of Warren Hastings, he made a long -speech in Parliament attacking Fox’s East India Bill. He was by then -deeply impressed by the wrongs done the Indians by British adventurers, -yet it will be observed that his _habitus_ reveals itself in the -following passages. He said of the East India Company: - - I do not presume to condemn those who argue _a priori_ against - the propriety of leaving such extensive political power in the - hands of a company of merchants. I know much is, and much more - may be, said against such a system. But, with my particular - ideas and sentiments, I cannot go that way to work. I feel - an insuperable reluctance in giving my hand to destroy any - established institution of government, upon a theory, however - plausible it may be.[44] - -Then shortly he continued: - - To justify us in taking the administration of their affairs - out of the hands of the East India Company, as my principles, - I must see several conditions. 1st, the object affected by the - abuse must be great and important. 2nd, the abuse affecting - the great object ought to be a great abuse. 3rd, it ought to - be habitual and not accidental. 4th, it ought to be utterly - incurable in the body as it now stands constituted.[45] - -It is pertinent to observe that Burke’s first condition here is exactly -the first condition raised with reference to the Irish Catholics and -with reference to the American Colonies. It is further characteristic of -his method that the passages cited above are followed immediately by a -description of the extent and wealth and civilization of India, just as -the plea for approaching the Colonies with reconciliation was followed -by a vivid advertisement of their extent and wealth and enterprise. The -argument is for justice, but it is conditioned upon a circumstance. - -When Burke undertook the prosecution of Hastings in 1788, these -considerations seemed far from his mind. The splendid opening charge -contains arguments strictly from genus, despite the renunciation of -such arguments which we see above. He attacked the charter of the East -India Company by showing that it violated the idea of a charter.[46] -He affirmed the natural rights of man, and held that they had been -criminally denied in India.[47] He scorned the notion of geographical -morality. These sound like the utterances of a man committed to abstract -right. Lord Morley has some observations on Burke which may contain -the explanation. His study of Burke’s career led him to feel that -“direct moral or philanthropic apostleship was not his function.”[48] -Of his interest in India, he remarked: “It was reverence rather -than sensibility, a noble and philosophic conservatism rather than -philanthropy, which raised the storm in Burke’s breast against the -rapacity of English adventurers in India, and the imperial crimes of -Hastings.”[49] If it is true that Burke acted out of reverence rather -than out of sensibility or philanthropy, what was the reverence of? It -was, likely, for storied India, for an ancient and opulent civilization -which had brought religion and the arts to a high point of development -while his ancestors were yet “in the woods.” There is just enough of -deference for the established and going concern, for panoply, for that -which has prestige, to make us feel that Burke was again impressed—with -an intended consequence which was noble, of course; but it is only fair -to record this component of the situation. - -The noble and philosophic conservatism next translated itself into a -violent opposition to the French Revolution, which was threatening to -bring down a still greater structure of rights and dignities, though in -this instance in the name of reform and emancipation. - -The French Revolution was the touchstone of Burke. Those who have -regarded his position on this event as a reversal, or a sign of fatigue -and senescence, have not sufficiently analyzed his methods and his -sources. Burke would have had to become a new man to take any other stand -than he did on the French Revolution. It was an event perfectly suited to -mark off those who argue from circumstance, for it was one of the most -radical revolutions on record, and it was the work of a people fond of -logical rigor and clear demonstration. - -Why Burke, who had championed the Irish Catholics, the American -colonists, and the Indians should have championed on this occasion the -nobility and the propertied classes of Europe is easy to explain. For him -Europe, with all its settlements and usages, was the circumstance; and -the Revolution was the challenge to it. From first to last Burke saw the -grand upheaval as a contest between inherited condition and speculative -insight. The circumstance said that Europe should go on; the Revolution -said that it should cease and begin anew.[50] Burke’s position was not -selfish; it was prudential within the philosophy we have seen him to hold. - -Actually his _Reflections on the Revolution in France_ divides itself -into two parts. The first is an attempt, made with a zeal which seems -almost excessive, to prove that the British government was the product -of slow accretion of precedent, that it is for that reason a beneficent -and stable government, and that the British have renounced, through their -choice of methods in the past, any theoretical right to change their -government by revolution. The second part is a miscellany of remarks on -the proceedings in France, in which many shrewd observations of human -nature are mingled with eloquent appeals on behalf of the _ancien régime_. - -Burke appears terrified by the thought that the ultimate sources and -sanctions of government should be brought out into broad daylight for the -inspection of everyone, and the first effort was to clothe the British -government with a kind of concealment against this sort of inspection, -which could, of course, result in the testing of that government by -what might have been or might yet be. The second effort was to show -that France, instead of embarking on a career of progress through her -daring revolution, “had abandoned her interest, that she might prostitute -her virtue.” It will be observed that in both of these, a presumed -well-being is the source of his argument. Therefore we have the familiar -recourse to concrete situation. - - Circumstances (which with some gentlemen, pass for nothing) - give in reality to every political principle its distinguishing - color and discriminating effect. The circumstances are what - render every civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious - to mankind. Abstractedly speaking, government, as well as - liberty, is good; yet could I, in common sense, ten years ago, - have felicitated France upon her enjoyment of a government (for - she then had a government) without inquiring what the nature - of the government was, or how it was administered? Can I now - congratulate the same nation on its freedom?[51] - -In his _Letter to a Member of the National Assembly_ (1791) he said: - - What a number of faults have led to this multitude of - misfortunes, and almost all from this one source—that of - considering certain general maxims, without attending to - circumstances, to times, to places, to conjectures, and to - actors! If we do not attend scrupulously to all of these, the - medicine of today becomes the poison of tomorrow.[52] - -This was the gist of such advice as Burke had for the French. That they -should build on what they had instead of attempting to found _de novo_, -that they should adapt necessary changes to existing conditions, and -above all that they should not sacrifice the sources of dignity and -continuity in the state—these made up a sort of gospel of precedent and -gradualism which he preached to the deaf ears across the Channel. We -behold him here in his characteristic political position, but forced to -dig a little deeper, to give his theorems a more general application, -and, it is hardly unjust to say, to make what really constitutes a -denial of philosophy take on some semblance of philosophy. Yet Burke was -certainly never at a greater height rhetorically in defending a reigning -circumstance. Let us listen to him for a moment on the virtues of old -Europe. - - But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, - economists, and calculators has succeeded, and the glory of - Europe is extinguished forever. Never, never more shall we - behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud - submission, that dignified obedience, the subordination of - the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the - spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the - cheap defense of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment, is - gone! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity - of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired - courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever - it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by - losing all its grossness. - - This mixed system of opinion and sentiment had its origin in - the ancient chivalry; and the principle, though varied in its - appearance by the varying state of human affairs, subsisted and - influenced through a long succession of generations, even to - the time we live in. If it should ever be totally extinguished, - the loss I fear will be great. It is this which has given its - character to modern Europe. It is this which has distinguished - it under all its forms of government, and distinguished it - to its advantage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from - those states which flourished in the most brilliant periods - of the antique world. It was this, which, without confounding - ranks, has produced a noble equality and handed it down through - all the gradations of social life. It was this opinion which - mitigated kings into companions, and raised private men to be - fellows with kings. Without force or opposition, it subdued the - fierceness of pride and power; it obliged sovereigns to submit - to the soft collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority - to submit to elegance, and gave a dominating vanquisher of laws - to be subdued by manners. - - But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions which - made power gentle and obedience liberal, which harmonized the - different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, - incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify - and soften private society, are to be dissolved by the new - conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery - of life is to be rudely torn off. All the superadded ideas, - furnished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the - heart owns and the imagination ratifies, as necessary to cover - the defects of our naked, shivering nature, and to raise it to - dignity in our own estimation, are to be exposed as ridiculous, - absurd, and antiquated fashions.[53] - -With the writings on French affairs, Burke’s argument from circumstance -came full flower. - -These citations are enough to show a partiality toward argument of -this aspect. But a rehearsal of his general observations on politics -and administration will show it in even clearer light. Burke had an -obsessive dislike of metaphysics and the methods of the metaphysician. -There is scarcely a peroration or passage of appeal in his works which -does not contain a gibe, direct or indirect, at this subject. In the -_Speech On American Taxation_ he said, “I do not enter into these -metaphysical distinctions; I hate the very sound of them.”[54] This -science he regarded as wholly incompatible with politics, yet capable of -deluding a certain type of politician with its niceties and exactitudes. -Whenever Burke introduced the subject of metaphysics, he was in effect -arguing from contraries; that is to say, he was asserting that what -is metaphysically true is politically false or unfeasible. For him, -metaphysical clarity was at the opposite pole from political prudence. As -he observed in the _Reflections_, “The pretended rights of these theories -are all extremes; and in proportion as they are metaphysically true, -they are morally and politically false.”[55] In the first letter to Sir -Hercules Langrishe, he ridiculed “the metaphysicians of our times, who -are the most foolish of men, and who, dealing in universals and essences, -see no difference between more and less.”[56] It will be noted that -this last is a philosophical justification for his regular practice of -weighing a principle by the scale of magnitude of situation. The “more -and less” thus becomes determinative of the good. “Metaphysics cannot -live without definition, but prudence is cautious how she defines,”[57] -he said in the _Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs_. And again in the -_Reflections_, “These metaphysic rights, entering into common life, like -rays of light which pierce into a dense medium are by the laws of nature -refracted from a straight line. Indeed, in the gross and complicated -mass of human passions and concerns, the primitive rights of man undergo -such a variety of refractions and reflections, that it becomes absurd to -talk of them as if they continued in the simplicity of their original -direction.”[58] Finally, there is his clear confession, “Whenever I speak -against a theory, I mean always a weak, erroneous, fallacious, unfounded -theory, and one of the ways of discovering that it is a false theory is -by comparing it with practice.” This is the philosophical explanation of -the source in circumstance of Burke’s characteristic argument. - -In a brilliant passage on the American character, he had observed that -the Americans were in the habit of judging the pressure of a grievance -by the badness of the principle rather than _vice versa_. Burke’s own -habit, we now see, was fairly consistently the reverse: he judged the -badness of the principle by the pressure of the grievance; and hence we -are compelled to suppose that he believed politics ought to be decided -empirically and not dialectically. Yet a consequence of this position is -that whoever says he is going to give equal consideration to circumstance -and to ideals (or principles) almost inevitably finds himself following -circumstances while preserving a mere decorous respect for ideals. - -Burke’s doctrine of precedent, which constitutes a central part of his -political thought, is directly related with the above position. If one -is unwilling to define political aims with reference to philosophic -absolutes, one tries to find guidance in precedent. We have now seen that -a principal topic of the _Reflections_ is a defense of custom against -insight. Burke tried with all his eloquence to show that the “manly” -freedom of the English was something inherited from ancestors, like a -valuable piece of property, increased or otherwise modified slightly to -meet the needs of the present generation, and then reverently passed on. -He did not want to know the precise origin of the title to it, nor did -he want philosophical definition of it. In fact, the statement of Burke -which so angered Thomas Paine—that Englishmen were ready to take up arms -to prove that they had no right to change their government—however brash -or paradoxical seeming, was quite in keeping with such conviction. Since -he scorned that freedom which did not have the stamp of generations of -approval upon it, he attempted to show that freedom too was a matter of -precedent. - -Yet this is an evasion rather than an answer to the real question which -is lying in wait for Burke’s political philosophy. It is essential to see -that government either moves with something in view or it does not, and -to say that people may be governed merely by following precedent begs the -question. What line do the precedents mark out for us? How may we know -that this particular act is in conformity with the body of precedents -unless we can abstract the essence of the precedents? And if one extracts -the essence of a body of precedents, does not one have a “speculative -idea”? However one turns, one cannot evade the truth that there is no -practice without theory, and no government without some science of -government. Burke’s statement that a man’s situation is the preceptor of -his duty cannot be taken seriously unless one can isolate the precept. - -This dilemma grows out of Burke’s own reluctance to speculate about -the origin and ultimate end of government. “There is a sacred veil to -be drawn over the beginnings of all governments,” he declared in his -second day’s speech at the trial of Warren Hastings.[59] To the abstract -doctrines of the French Revolution, he responded with a “philosophic -analogy,” by which governments are made to come into being with -something like the indistinct remoteness of the animal organism. This -political organism is a “mysterious incorporation,” never wholly young -or middle-aged or old, but partly each at every period, and capable, -like the animal organism, of regenerating itself through renewal of -tissue. It is therefore modified only through the slow forces that -produce evolution. But to the question of what brings on the changes -in society, Burke was never able to give an answer. He had faced the -problem briefly in the _Tract on the Popery Laws_, where he wrote: “Is, -then, no improvement to be brought into society? Undoubtedly, but not by -compulsion—but by encouragement, but by countenance, favor, privileges, -which are powerful and are lawful instruments.”[60] These, however, are -the passive forces which admit change, not the active ones which initiate -it. The prime mover is still to seek. If such social changes are brought -about by immanent evolutionary forces, they are hardly voluntary; if on -the other hand they are voluntary, they must be identifiable with some -point in time and with some agency of initiation. It quickly becomes -obvious that if one is to talk about the beginnings of things, about the -nisus of growth or of accumulation of precedents, and about final ends, -one must shift from empirical to speculative ground. Burke’s attachment -to what was _de facto_ prevented him from doing this in political theory -and made him a pleader from circumstance at many crucial points in his -speeches. One can scarcely do better than quote the judgment of Sir James -Prior in his summation of Burke’s career: “His aim therefore in our -domestic policy, was to preserve all our institutions in the main as they -stood for the simple reason that under them the nation had become great, -and prosperous, and happy.”[61] This is but a generalized translation of -the position “If it exists, there is something to be said in its favor,” -which we have determined as the aspect of the great orator’s case. - -That position is, moreover, the essential position of Whiggism as a -political philosophy. It turns out to be, on examination, a position -which is defined by other positions because it will not conceive ultimate -goals, and it will not display on occasion a sovereign contempt for -circumstances as radical parties of both right and left are capable of -doing. The other parties take their bearing from some philosophy of -man and society; the Whigs take their bearings from the other parties. -Whatever a party of left or right proposes, they propose (or oppose) in -tempered measure. Its politics is then cautionary, instinctive, trusting -more to safety and to present success than to imagination and dramatic -boldness of principle. It is, to make the estimate candid, a politics -without vision and consequently without the capacity to survive. - -“The political parties which I call great,” Tocqueville wrote in -_Democracy in America_, “are those which cling to principles rather -than to their consequences, to general and not to special cases, to -ideas and not to men.”[62] Manifestly the Whig Party is contrary to this -on each point. The Whigs do not argue from principles (_i.e._, genera -and definitions); they are awed not merely by consequences but also by -circumstances; and as for the general and the special, we have now heard -Burke testify on a dozen occasions to his disregard of the former and -his veneration of the latter. There is indeed ground for saying that -Burke was more Whig than the British Whigs of his own day themselves, -because at the one time when the British Whig Party took a turn in the -direction of radical principle, Burke found himself out of sympathy with -it and, before long, was excluded from it. This occurred in 1791, when -the electrifying influence of the French Revolution produced among the -liberals of the age a strong trend toward the philosophic left. It was -this trend which drew from Burke the _Appeal from the New to the Old -Whigs_, with its final scornful paragraph in which he refused to take his -principles “from a French die.” This writing was largely taken up with -a defense of his recently published _Reflections on the Revolution in -France_, and it is here relevant to note how Burke defines his doctrine -as a middle course. “The opinions maintained in that book,” he said, -“never can lead to an extreme, because their foundation is laid in an -opposition to extremes.”[63] “These doctrines do of themselves gravitate -to a middle point, or to some point near a middle.”[64] “The author of -that book is supposed to have passed from extreme to extreme; but he has -always actually kept himself in a medium.”[65] - -Actually the course of events which caused this separation was the same -as that which led to the ultimate extinction of the Whig point of view -in British political life. In the early twentieth century, when a world -conflict involving the Empire demanded of parties a profound basis in -principle, the heirs of the Whig party passed from the scene, leaving -two coherent parties, one of the right and one of the left. That is -part of our evidence for saying that a party which bases itself upon -circumstance cannot outlast that circumstance very long; that its claim -to make smaller mistakes (and to have smaller triumphs) than the extreme -parties will not win it enduring allegiance; and that when the necessity -arises, as it always does at some time, to look at the foundations of the -commonwealth, Burke’s wish will be disregarded, and only deeply founded -theories will be held worthy. A party does not become great by feasting -on the leavings of other parties, and Whiggism’s bid for even temporary -success is often rejected. A party must have its own principle of -movement and must not be content to serve as a brake on the movements of -others. Thus there is indication that Whiggism is a recipe for political -failure, but before affirming this as a conclusion, let us extend our -examination further to see how other parties have fared with circumstance -as the decisive argument. - -The American Whig Party showed all the defects of this position in an -arena where such defects were bound to be more promptly fatal. It is just -to say that this party never had a set of principles. Lineal descendants -of the old Federalists, the American Whigs were simply the party of -opposition to that militant democracy which received its most aggressive -leadership from Andrew Jackson. It was, generally speaking, the party of -the “best people”; that is to say, the people who showed the greatest -respect for industry and integrity, the people in whose eyes Jackson was -“that wicked man and vulgar hero.” Yet because it had no philosophical -position, it was bound to take its position from that of the other party, -as we have seen that Whiggism is doomed to do. During most of its short -life it was conspicuously a party of “outs” arrayed against “ins.” - -It revealed the characteristic impotence in two obvious ways. First, it -pinned its hopes for victory on brilliant personalities rather than on -dialectically secured positions. Clay, Webster, and Calhoun, who between -them represented the best statesmanship of the generation, were among its -leaders, but none of them ever reached the White House. The beau ideal of -the party was Clay, whose title “the Great Compromiser” seems to mark him -as the archetypal Whig. Finally it discovered a politically “practical” -candidate in William Henry Harrison, soldier and Indian fighter, and -through a campaign of noise and irrelevancies, put him in the Presidency. -But this success was short, and before long the Whigs were back battling -under their native handicaps. - -Second, frustrated by its series of reverses, it decided that what the -patient needed was more of the disease. Whereas at the beginning it had -been only relatively pragmatic in program and had preserved dignity in -method, it now resolved to become completely pragmatic in program and as -pragmatic as its rivals the Democrats in method. Of the latter step, the -“coonskin and hard-cider” campaign on behalf of Harrison was the proof. -We may cite as special evidence the advice given to Harrison’s campaign -manager by Nicholas Biddle of Philadelphia. “Let him [the candidate] say -not a single word about his principles or his creed—let him say nothing, -promise nothing. Let the use of pen and ink be wholly forbidden.”[66] E. -Malcolm Carroll in his _Origins of the Whig Party_ has thus summed up -the policy of the Whig leaders after their round with Jackson: “The most -active of the Whig politicians and editors after 1836, men like Weed, -Greeley, Ewing of Ohio, Thaddeus Stevens, and Richard Houghton of Boston, -preferred success to a consistent position and, therefore, influenced -the party to make its campaign in the form of appeal to popular emotion -and, for this purpose, to copy the methods of the Democratic Party.”[67] -This verdict is supported by Paul Murray in his study of Whig operations -in Georgia: “The compelling aim of the party was to get control of the -existing machinery of government, to maintain that control, and, in some -cases, to change the form of government the better to serve the dominant -interest of the group.”[68] Murray found that the Whigs of Georgia -“naturally had a respect for the past that approached at times the -unreasonable reverence of Edmund Burke for eighteenth century political -institutions.”[69] - -But a party whose only program is an endorsement of the _status quo_ is -destined to go to pieces whenever the course of events brings a principle -strongly to the fore. The American Union was moving toward a civil -conflict in which ideological differences, as deep as any that have -appeared in modern revolutions, were to divide men. As always occurs in -such crises, the compromisers are regarded as unreliable by both sides -and are soon ejected from the scene. It now seems impossible that the -Whig Party, with its political history, could have survived the fifties. -But the interesting fact from the standpoint of theoretical discussion -is that the Democratic Party, because it was a radically based party, -was able to take over and defend certain of the defensible earlier Whig -positions. Murray points out the paradoxical fact that the Democratic -Party “purloined the leadership of conservative property interests in -Georgia and the South.”[70] It is no less paradoxical that it should have -purloined the defense of the states’ rights doctrine thirty years after -Jackson had threatened to hang disunionists. - -The paradox can be resolved only by seeing that the Whig position was one -of self-stultification; and this is why a rising young political leader -in Illinois of Whig affiliation left the party to lead a re-conceived -Republican Party. The evidence of Lincoln’s life greatly favors the -supposition that he was a conservative. But he saw that conservatism to -be politically effective cannot be Whiggism, that it cannot perpetually -argue from circumstance. He saw that to be politically effective -conservatism must have something more than a temperamental love of -quietude or a relish for success. It must have some ideal objective. He -found objectives in the moral idea of freedom and the political idea of -union. - -The political party which Abraham Lincoln carried to victory in 1860 was -a party with these moral objectives. The Whigs had disintegrated from -their own lack of principle, and the Republicans emerged with a program -capable of rallying men to effort and sacrifice—which are in the long -run psychologically more compelling than the stasis of security. But -after the war and the death of the party’s unique leader, all moral -idealism speedily fell away.[71] Of the passion of revenge there was -more than enough, so that some of the victor’s measures look like the -measures of a radical party. But the elevation of Grant to the presidency -and the party’s conduct during and after the Gilded Age show clearly -the declining interest in reform. Before the end of the century the -Republican Party had been reduced in its source of appeal to the Whig -argument from circumstance (or in the case of the tariff to a wholly -dishonest argument from consequences). For thirty or forty years its case -came to little more than this: we are the richest nation on earth with -the most widely distributed prosperity; therefore this party advocates -the _status quo_. The argument, whether embodied in the phrase “the full -dinner pail” or “two cars in every garage” has the same source. Murray’s -judgment of the Whig party in Georgia a hundred years ago: “Many facts in -the history of the party might impel one to say that its members regarded -the promotion of prosperity as the supreme aim of government,”[72] can -be applied without the slightest change to the Republican Party of the -1920’s. But when the circumstance of this _status quo_ disappeared about -1930, the party’s source of argument disappeared too, and no other has -been found since. It became the party of frustration and hatred, and like -the Whig Party earlier, it clung to personalities in the hope that they -would be sufficient to carry it to victory. First there was the grass -roots Middle Westerner Alf Landon; then the glamorous new convert to -internationalism Wendell Willkie; then the gang-buster and Empire State -governor Thomas Dewey. Finally, to make the parallel complete, there came -the military hero General Dwight Eisenhower. Eisenhower can be called the -William Henry Harrison of the Republican Party. He is “against” what the -Democrats are doing, and he is admired by the “best” people. All this -is well suited to take minds off real issues through an outpouring of -national vanity and the enjoyment of sensation. - -The Republican charge against the incumbent administration has been -consistently the charge of “bungling,” while those Republicans who have -based their dissent on something more profound and clear-sighted have -generally drawn the suspicion and disapproval of the party’s supposedly -practical leaders. Of this the outstanding proof is the defeat of the -leadership of Taft. To look at the whole matter in an historical frame -of reference, there has been so violent a swing toward the left that the -Democrats today occupy the position once occupied by the Socialists; and -the Republicans, having to take their bearings from this, now occupy -the center position, which is historically reserved for liberals. -Their series of defeats comes from a failure to see that there is an -intellectually defensible position on the right. They persist with the -argument from circumstance, which never wins any major issues, and -sometimes, as we have noted, they are left without the circumstance. - -I shall suggest that this story has more than an academic interest for -an age which has seen parliamentary government exposed to insults, some -open and vicious, some concealed and insidious. There are in existence -many technological factors which themselves constitute an argument from -circumstance for one-party political rule. Indeed, if the trend of -circumstances were our master term, we should almost certainly have to -favor the one-party efficiency system lately flourishing in Europe. The -centralization of power, the technification of means of communication, -the extreme peril of political divisiveness in the face of modern weapons -of war, all combine to put the question, “What is the function of a party -of opposition in this streamlined world anyhow?” Its proper function is -to talk, but talking, unless it concerns some opposition of principles, -is but the wearisome contention of “ins” and “outs.” Democracy is a -dialectical process, and unless society can produce a group sufficiently -indifferent to success to oppose the ruling group on principle rather -than according to opportunity for success, the idea of opposition becomes -discredited. A party which can argue only from success has no rhetorical -topic against the party presently enjoying success. - -The proper aim of a political party is to persuade, and to persuade -it must have a rhetoric. As far as mere methods go, there is nothing -to object to in the argument from circumstance, for undeniably it has -a power to move. Yet it has this power through a widely shared human -weakness, which turns out on examination to be shortsightedness. This -shortsightedness leads a party to positions where it has no policy, or -only the policy of opposing an incumbent. When all the criteria are -brought to bear, then, this is an inferior source of argument, which -reflects adversely upon any habitual user and generally punishes with -failure. Since, as we have seen, it is grounded in the nature of a -situation rather than in the nature of things, its opposition will -not be a dialectically opposed opposition, any more than was Burke’s -opposition to the French Revolution. And here, in substance, I would -say, is the great reason why Burke should not be taken as prophet by the -political conservatives. True, he has left many wonderful materials which -they should assimilate. His insights into human nature are quite solid -propositions to build with, and his eloquence is a lesson for all time in -the effective power of energy and imagery. Yet these are the auxiliary -rhetorical appeals. For the rhetorical appeal on which it will stake its -life, a cause must have some primary source of argument which will not -be embarrassed by abstractions or even by absolutes—the general ideas -mentioned by Tocqueville. Burke was magnificent at embellishment, but of -clear rational principle he had a mortal distrust. It could almost be -said that he raised “muddling through” to the height of a science, though -in actuality it can never be a science. In the most critical undertaking -of all, the choice of one’s source of argument, it would be blindness -to take him as mentor. To find what Burke lacked, we now turn to the -American Abraham Lincoln, who despite an imperfect education, discovered -that political arguments must ultimately be based on genus or definition. - - - - -Chapter IV - -ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND THE ARGUMENT FROM DEFINITION - - -Although most readers of Lincoln sense the prevailing aspect of his -arguments, there has been no thoughtful treatment of this interesting -subject. Albert Beveridge merely alludes to it in his observation -that “In trials in circuit courts Lincoln depended but little on -precedents; he argued largely from first principles.”[73] Nicolay and -Hay, in describing Lincoln’s speech before the Republican Banquet in -Chicago, December 10, 1856, report as follows: “Though these fragments -of addresses give us only an imperfect reflection of the style of -Mr. Lincoln’s oratory during this period, they nevertheless show its -essential characteristics, a pervading clearness of analysis, and that -strong tendency toward axiomatic definition which gives so many of his -sentences their convincing force and durable value.”[74] W. H. Herndon, -who had the opportunity of closest personal observation, was perhaps -the most analytical of all when he wrote: “Not only were nature, man, -and principle suggestive to Mr. Lincoln; not only had he accurate and -exact perceptions, but he was causative; his mind apparently with an -automatic movement, ran back behind facts, principles, and all things to -their origin and first cause—to the point where forces act at once as -effect and cause.”[75] He observed further in connection with Lincoln’s -practice before the bar: “All opponents dreaded his originality, his -condensation, definition, and force of expression....”[76] - -Our feeling that he is a father of the nation even more convincingly than -Washington, and that his words are words of wisdom when compared with -those of the more intellectual Jefferson and the more academic Wilson -strengthen the supposition that he argued from some very fundamental -source. And when we find opinion on the point harmonious, despite the -wide variety of description his character has undergone, we have enough -initial confirmation to go forward with the study—a study which is -important not alone as showing the man in clearer light but also as -showing upon what terms conservatism is possible. - -It may be useful to review briefly the argument from definition. The -argument from definition, in the sense we shall employ here, includes all -arguments from the nature of the thing. Whether the genus is an already -recognized convention, or whether it is defined at the moment by the -orator, or whether it is left to be inferred from the aggregate of its -species, the argument has a single postulate. The postulate is that there -exist classes which are determinate and therefore predicable. In the -ancient proposition of the schoolroom, “Socrates is mortal,” the class -of mortal beings is invoked as a predicable. Whatever is a member of the -class will accordingly have the class attributes. This might seem a very -easy admission to gain, but it is not so from those who believe that -genera are only figments of the imagination and have no self-subsistence. -Such persons hold, in the extreme application of their doctrine, that -all deduction is unwarranted assumption; or that attributes cannot be -transferred by imputation from genus to species. The issue here is very -deep, going back to the immemorial quarrel over universals, and we -shall not here explore it further than to say that the argument from -definition or genus involves a philosophy of being, which has divided and -probably will continue to divide mankind. There are those who seem to -feel that genera are imprisoning bonds which serve only to hold the mind -in confinement. To others, such genera appear the very organon of truth. -Without going into that question here, it seems safe to assert that those -who believe in the validity of the argument from genus are idealists, -roughly, if not very philosophically, defined. The evidence that Lincoln -held such belief is overwhelming; it characterizes his thinking from an -early age; and the greatest of his utterances (excepting the Gettysburg -Address, which is based upon similitude) are chiefly arguments from -definition. - -In most of the questions which concerned him from the time he was a -struggling young lawyer until the time when he was charged with the -guidance of the nation, Lincoln saw opportunity to argue from the nature -of man. In fact, not since the Federalist papers of James Madison had -there been in American political life such candid recourse to this term. -I shall treat his use of it under the two heads of argument from a -concept of human nature and argument from a definition of man. - -Lincoln came early to the conclusion that human nature is a fixed and -knowable thing. Many of his early judgments of policy are based on a -theory of what the human being _qua_ human being will do in a given -situation. Whether he had arrived at this concept through inductive -study—for which he had varied opportunity—or through intuition is, of -course, not the question here; our interest is in the reasoning which -the concept made possible. It appears a fact that Lincoln trusted in a -uniform predictability of human nature. - -In 1838, when he was only twenty-nine years old, he was invited to -address the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield on the topic “The -Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions.” In this instance, the -young orator read the danger to perpetuation in the inherent evil of -human nature. His argument was that the importance of a nation or -the sacredness of a political dogma could not withstand the hunger of -men for personal distinction. Now the founders of the Union had won -distinction through that very role, and so satisfied themselves. But -oncoming men of the same breed would be looking for similar opportunity -for distinction, and possibly would not find it in tasks of peaceful -construction. It seemed to him quite possible that in the future bold -natures would appear who would seek to gain distinction by pulling down -what their predecessors had erected. To a man of this nature it matters -little whether distinction is won “at the expense of emancipating slaves -or enslaving freemen.”[77] The fact remains that “Distinction will be his -paramount object,” and “nothing left to be done in the way of building -up, he would set boldly to the task of pulling down.”[78] In this way -Lincoln held personal ambition to be distinctive of human nature, and he -was willing to predict it of his fellow citizens, should their political -institutions endure “fifty times” as long as they had. - -Another excellent example of the use of this source appears in a speech -which Lincoln made during the Van Buren administration. Agitation over -the National Bank question was still lively, and a bill had been put -forward which would have required the depositing of Federal funds in five -regional subtreasuries, rather than in a National Bank, until they were -needed for use. At a political discussion held in the Illinois House -of Representatives, Lincoln made a long speech against the proposal in -which he drew extensively from the topic of the nature of human nature. -His reasoning was that if public funds are placed in the custody of -subtreasurers, the duty and the personal interest of the custodians -may conflict. “And who that knows anything of human nature doubts -that in many instances interest will prevail over duty, and that the -subtreasurer will prefer opulent knavery in a foreign land to honest -poverty at home.”[79] If on the other hand the funds were placed with a -National Bank, which would have the privilege of using the funds, upon -payment of interest, until they are needed, the duty and interest of -the custodian would coincide. The Bank plan was preferable because we -always find the best performance where duty and self-interest thus run -together.[80] Here we see him basing his case again on the infallible -tendency of human nature to be itself. - -A few years later Lincoln was called upon to address the Washingtonian -Temperance Society, which was an organization of reformed drink addicts. -This speech is strikingly independent in approach, and as such is -prophetic of the manner he was to adopt in wrestling with the great -problems of union and slavery. Instead of following the usual line of -the temperance advocate, with its tone of superiority and condemnation, -he attacked all such approaches as not suited to the nature of man. He -impressed upon his hearers the fact that their problem was the problem -of human nature, “which is God’s decree and can never be reversed.” -He then went on to say that people with a weakness for drink are not -inferior specimens of the race but have heads and hearts that “will -bear advantageous comparison with those of any other class.” The appeal -to drink addicts was to be addressed to men, and it could not take -the form of denunciation “because it is not much in the nature of man -to be driven to anything; still less to be driven about that which is -exclusively his own business.” When one seeks to change the conduct of a -being of this nature, “persuasion, kind, unassuming persuasion should -ever be adopted.” He then summed up his point: “Such is man and so must -he be understood by those who would lead him, even to his own best -interests.”[81] - -One further instance of this argument may be cited. About 1850 Lincoln -compiled notes for an address to young men on the subject of the -profession of law. Here again we find a refreshingly candid approach, -looking without pretense at the creature man. One piece of advice which -Lincoln urged upon young lawyers was that they never take their whole fee -in advance. To do so would place too great a strain upon human nature, -which would then lack the needful spur to industry. “When fully paid -beforehand, you are more than a common mortal if you can feel the same -interest in the case, as if something was still in prospect for you, as -well as for your client.”[82] As in the case of the subtreasury bill, -Lincoln saw the yoking of duty and self-interest as a necessity of our -nature. - -These and other passages which could be produced indicate that he viewed -human nature as a constant, by which one could determine policy without -much fear of surprise. Everything peripheral Lincoln referred to this -center. His arguments consequently were the most fundamental seen since a -group of realists framed the American government with such visible regard -for human passion and weakness. Lincoln’s theory of human nature was -completely unsentimental; it was the creation of one who had taken many -buffetings and who, from early bitterness and later indifference, never -affiliated with any religious denomination. But it furnished the means of -wisdom and prophecy. - -With this habit of reasoning established, Lincoln was ideally equipped to -deal with the great issue of slavery. The American civil conflict of the -last century, when all its superficial excitements have been stripped -aside, appears another debate about the nature of man. Yet while other -political leaders were looking to the law, to American history, and to -this or that political contingency, Lincoln looked—as it was his habit -already to do—to the center; that is, to the definition of man. Was -the negro a man or was he not? It can be shown that his answer to this -question never varied, despite willingness to recognize some temporary -and perhaps even some permanent minority on the part of the African race. -The answer was a clear “Yes,” and he used it on many occasions during the -fifties to impale his opponents. - -The South was peculiarly vulnerable to this argument, for if we look at -its position, not through the terms of legal and religious argument, -often ingeniously worked out, but through its actual treatment of the -negro, that position is seen to be equivocal. To illustrate: in the -Southern case he was not a man as far as the “inalienable rights” go, -and the Dred Scott decision was to class him as a chattel. Yet on the -contrary the negro was very much a man when it came to such matters -as understanding orders, performing work, and, as the presence of the -mulatto testified, helping to procreate the human species. All of the -arguments that the pro-slavery group was able to muster broke against the -stubborn fact, which Lincoln persistently thrust in their way, that the -negro was somehow and in some degree a man. - -For our first examination of this argument, we turn to the justly -celebrated speech at Peoria, October 16, 1854. Lincoln had actually begun -to lose interest in politics when the passage of the highly controversial -Kansas-Nebraska Bill in May, 1854, reawakened him. It was as if his moral -nature had received a fresh shock from the tendencies present in this -bill; and he began in that year the battle which he waged with remarkable -consistency of position until he won the presidency of the Union six -years later. The Speech at Peoria can be regarded as the opening gun of -this campaign. - -The speech itself is a rich study in logic and rhetoric, wherein one -finds the now mature Lincoln showing his gift for discovering the -essentials of a question. After promising the audience to confine himself -to the “naked merits” of the issue and to be “no less than national in -all the positions” he took, he turned at once to the topic of domestic -slavery. Here arguments from the genus “man” follow one after another. -Lincoln uses them to confront the Southern people with their dilemma. - - Equal justice to the South, it is said, requires us to consent - to the extension of slavery to new countries. That is to say, - inasmuch as you do not object to my taking my hog to Nebraska, - therefore I must not object to your taking your slave. Now, I - admit that this is perfectly logical, if there is no difference - between hogs and Negroes. But while you thus require me to deny - the humanity of the Negro, I wish to ask whether you of the - South, yourselves, have ever been willing to do as much?[83] - -If the Southern people regard the Negro only as an animal, how do they -explain their attitude toward the slave dealer? - - You despise him utterly. You do not recognize him as a friend, - or even as an honest man. Your children must not play with his; - they may rollick freely with the little Negroes, but not with - the slave dealer’s children. If you are obliged to deal with - him, you try to get through the job without so much as touching - him. It is common with you to join hands with men you meet, - but with the slave dealer you avoid the ceremony—instinctively - shrinking from the snaky contact. If he grows rich and retires - from business, you still remember him, and still keep up the - ban of non-intercourse upon him and his family. Now why is - this? You do not so treat the man who deals in corn, cotton, or - tobacco?[84] - -Moreover, if the Negro is merely property, and is incapable of any -sort of classification, what category is there to accommodate the free -Negroes? - - And yet again. There are in the United States and Territories, - including the District of Columbia, 433,643 free blacks. At - five hundred dollars per head, they are worth over two hundred - millions of dollars. How comes this vast amount of property - to be running about without owners? We do not see free horses - or free cattle running at large. How is this? All these free - blacks are the descendants of slaves, or have been slaves - themselves; and they would be slaves now but for something - which has operated on their white owners, inducing them at vast - pecuniary sacrifice to liberate them. What is that something? - Is there any mistaking it? In all these cases it is your sense - of justice and human sympathy continually telling you that the - poor Negro has some natural right to himself—that those who - deny it and make mere merchandise of him deserve kickings, - contempt, and death.[85] - -The argument is clinched with a passage which puts the Negro’s case -in the most explicit terms one can well conceive of. “Man” and -“self-government,” Lincoln argues, cannot be defined without respect to -one another. - - The doctrine of self-government is right—absolutely and - eternally right—but it has no just application as here - attempted. Or perhaps I should rather say that whether it has - such application depends upon whether a Negro is not or is a - man. If he is not a man, in that case he who is a man may as a - matter of self-government do just what he pleases with him. - - But if the Negro is a man, is it not to that extent a total - destruction of self-government to say that he too shall not - govern himself? When the white man governs himself, that - is self-government; but when he governs himself and also - governs another man, that is more than self-government—that is - despotism. If the Negro is a man, why then my ancient faith - teaches me that “all men are created equal,” and that there can - be no moral right in connection with one man’s making a slave - of another.[86] - -Lincoln knew the type of argument he had to oppose, and he correctly -gauged its force. It was the argument from circumstance, which he -treated as such argument requires to be treated. “Let us turn slavery -from its claims of ‘moral right’ back upon its existing legal rights and -its argument of ‘necessity.’”[87] He did not deny the “necessity”; he -regarded it as something that could be taken care of in course of time. - -After the formation of the Republican Party, he often utilized his source -in definition to point out the salient difference between Republicans and -Democrats. The Democrats were playing up circumstance (the “necessity” -alluded to in the above quotation) and to consequence (the saving of the -Union through the placating of all sections) while the Republicans stood, -at first a little forlornly, upon principle. As he put it during a speech -at Springfield in 1857: - - The Republicans inculcate, with whatever of ability they can, - that the Negro is a man, that his bondage is cruelly wrong, and - that the field of his oppression ought not to be enlarged. The - Democrats deny his manhood; deny, or dwarf to insignificance, - the wrong of his bondage; so far as possible crush all sympathy - for him, and cultivate and excite hatred and disgust against - him; compliment themselves as Union-savers for doing so; and - call the indefinite outspreading of his bondage “a sacred right - of self-government.”[88] - -In the long contest with Douglas and the party of “popular sovereignty,” -Lincoln’s principal charge was that his opponents, by straddling issues -and through deviousness, were breaking down the essential definition of -man. Repeatedly he referred to “this gradual and steady debauching of -public opinion.” He made this charge because those who advocated local -option in the matter of slavery were working unremittingly to change the -Negro “from the rank of a man to that of a brute.” “They are taking him -down,” he declared, “and placing him, when spoken of, among reptiles and -crocodiles, as Judge Douglas himself expresses it. - -“Is not this change wrought in your minds a very important change? Public -opinion in this country is everything. In a nation like ours this popular -sovereignty and squatter sovereignty have already wrought a change in the -public mind to the extent I have already stated. There is no man in this -crowd who can contradict it. - -“Now, if you are opposed to slavery honestly, I ask you to note that -fact, and the like of which is to follow, to be plastered on, layer after -layer, until very soon you are prepared to deal with the Negro everywhere -as with a brute.”[89] - -We feel that the morality of intellectual integrity lay behind such -resistance to the breaking down of genera. Lincoln realized that the -price of honesty, as well as of success in the long run, is to stay out -of the excluded middle. - -In sum, we see that Lincoln could never be dislodged from his position -that there is one genus of human beings; and early in his career as -lawyer he had learned that it is better to base an argument upon one -incontrovertible point than to try to make an impressive case through a -whole array of points. Through the years he clung tenaciously to this -concept of genus, from which he could draw the proposition that what -is fundamentally true of the family will be true also of the branches -of the family.[90] Therefore since the Declaration of Independence had -interdicted slavery for man, slavery was interdicted for the negro in -principle. Here is a good place to point out that whereas for Burke -circumstance was often a deciding factor, for Lincoln it was never more -than a retarding factor. He marked the right to equality affirmed by -the signers of the Declaration of Independence: “They meant simply to -declare the right, so that enforcement of it might follow as fast as -circumstances would permit.”[91] And he recognized the stubborn fact of -the institution of American slavery. But he did not argue any degree of -rightness from the fact. The strategy of his whole anti-slavery campaign -was that slavery should be restricted to the states in which it then -existed and in this way “put in course of ultimate extinction”—a phrase -which he found expressive enough to use on several occasions. - -There is quite possibly concealed here another argument from definition, -expressible in the proposition that which cannot grow must perish. To -fix limits for an institution with the understanding that it shall never -exceed these is in effect to pass sentence of death. The slavery party -seems to have apprehended early that if slavery could not wax, it would -wane, and hence their support of the Mexican War and the Kansas-Nebraska -Bill. Lincoln’s inflexible defense of the terms of the old Northwest -Ordinance served notice that he represented the true opposition. In this -way his definitive stand drew clear lines for the approaching conflict. - -To gain now a clearer view of Lincoln’s mastery of this rhetoric, it -will be useful to see how he used various arguments from definition -within the scope of a single speech, and for this purpose we may choose -the First Inaugural Address, surely from the standpoint of topical -organization one of the most notable American state papers. The long -political contest, in which he had displayed acumen along with tenacity, -had ended in victory, and this was the juncture at which he had to lay -down his policy for the American Union. For some men it would have been -an occasion for description mainly; but Lincoln seems to have taken -the advice he had given many years before to the Young Men’s Lyceum of -Springfield: “Passion has helped us but can do so no more.... Reason, -cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason—must furnish all the materials -for our future support and defense....”[92] Without being cold, the -speech is severely logical, and much of the tone is contributed by the -type of argument preferred. - -Of the fourteen distinguishable arguments in this address, eight are -arguments from definition or genus. Of the six remaining, two are from -consequences, two from circumstances, one from contraries, and one from -similitude. The proportion tells its own story. Now let us see how the -eight are employed: - -1. _Argument from the nature of all government._ All governments have a -fundamental duty of self-preservation. “Perpetuity is implied, if not -expressed, in the fundamental law of all national governments.”[93] -This means of course that whatever is recognized as a government has -the obligation to defend itself from without and from within, and -whatever menaces the government must be treated as a hostile force. This -argument was offered to meet the contention of the secessionists that the -Constitution nowhere authorized the Federal government to take forcible -measures against the withdrawing states. Here Lincoln fell back upon the -broader genus “all government.” - -2. _Argument from the nature of contract._ Here Lincoln met the argument -that the association of the states is “in the nature of a contract -merely.” His answer was that the rescinding of a contract requires the -assent of all parties to it. When one party alone ceases to observe it, -the contract is merely violated, and violation affects the material -interests of all parties. By this interpretation of the law of contract, -the Southern states could not leave the Union without a general consent. - -3. _Argument from the nature of the American Union._ Here Lincoln -began with the proposition that the American Union is older than -the Constitution. Now since the Constitution was formed “to make a -more perfect union,” it must have had in view the “vital element of -perpetuity,” since the omission of this element would have left a less -perfect union than before. The intent of the Constitution was that “no -State upon its own mere motion can lawfully get out of the Union.” -Therefore the American Union, as an instrument of government, had in its -legal nature protection against this kind of disintegration. - -4. _Argument from the nature of the chief magistrate’s office._ Having -thus defined the Union, Lincoln next looked at the duties which its -nature imposed upon the chief magistrate. He defined it as “simple duty” -on the chief magistrate’s part to see that the laws of this unbroken -union “be faithfully executed in all the states.” Obviously the argument -was to justify active measures in defense of the Union. As Lincoln -conceived the definition, it was not the duty of the chief magistrate -to preside over the disintegration of the Union, but to carry on the -executive office just as if no possibility of disintegration threatened. - -Thus far, it will be observed, the speech is a series of deductions, each -one deriving from the preceding definition. - -5. _Argument from the nature of majority rule._ This argument, with -its fine axiomatic statements, was used by Lincoln to indicate how -the government should proceed in cases not expressly envisaged by the -Constitution. Popular government demands acquiescence by minorities -in all such cases. “If the minority will not acquiesce, the majority -must, or the government will cease. There is no other alternative; for -continuing the government is acquiescence on one side or the other. - -“If a minority in such case will secede rather than acquiesce, they make -a precedent which in turn will divide and ruin them; for a minority -of their own will secede from them whenever a majority refuses to be -controlled by such a minority.”[94] The difficulty of the Confederacy -with states’ rights within its own house was to attest to the soundness -of this argument. - -6. _Argument from the nature of the sovereignty of the people._ Here -Lincoln conceded the right of the whole people to change its government -by constitutional reform or by revolutionary action. But he saw this -right vested in the people as a whole, and he insisted that any change -be carried out by the modes prescribed. The institutions of the country -were finally the creations of the sovereign will of the people. But -until a will on this issue was properly expressed, the government had a -commission to endure as before. - -7. _Second argument from the nature of the office of chief magistrate._ -This argument followed the preceding because Lincoln had to make it clear -that whereas the people, as the source of sovereign power, had the right -to alter or abolish their government, the chief magistrate, as an elected -servant, had no such right. He was chosen to conduct the government -then in existence. “His duty is to administer the present government as -it came into his hands, and to transmit it, unimpaired by him, to his -successor.”[95] - -8. _Second argument from the nature of the sovereignty of the people._ -In this Lincoln reminds his audience that the American government does -not give its officials much power to do mischief, and that it provides a -return of power to the people at short intervals. In effect, the argument -defines the American type of government and a tyranny as incompatible -from the fact that the governors are up for review by the people at -regular periods. - -It can hardly be overlooked that this concentration upon definition -produces a strongly legalistic speech, if we may conceive law as a -process of defining actions. Every important policy of which explanation -is made is referred to some widely accepted American political theory. -It has been said that Lincoln’s advantage over his opponent Jefferson -Davis lay in a flexible-minded pragmatism capable of dealing with issues -on their own terms, unhampered by metaphysical abstractions. There may -be an element of truth in this if reference is made to the more confined -and superficial matters—to procedural and administrative detail. But -one would go far to find a speech more respectful toward the established -principles of American government—to defined and agreed upon things—than -the First Inaugural Address. - -Although no other speech by Lincoln exhibits so high a proportion of -arguments from definition, the First Message to Congress (July 4, 1861) -makes a noteworthy use of this source. The withdrawal of still other -states from the Union, the Confederate capture of Fort Sumter, and -ensuing military events compelled Lincoln to develop more fully his -anti-secessionist doctrine. This he did in a passage remarkable for its -treatment of the age-old problem of freedom and authority. What had to be -made determinate, as he saw it, was the nature of free government. - - And this issue embraces more than the fate of these United - States. It presents to the whole family of man the question of - whether a constitutional republic or democracy—a government - of the people by the same people—can or cannot maintain its - territorial integrity against its own domestic foes. It - presents the question whether discontented individuals, too few - in numbers to control administration according to organic law - in any case, can always, upon the pretenses made in this case, - or on any other pretenses, or arbitrarily without any pretense, - break up their government, and thus practically put an end to - free government upon the earth. It forces us to ask: “Is there, - in all republics, this inherent and fatal weakness?” “Must a - government, of necessity, be too strong for the liberties of - its own people, or too weak to maintain its own existence?”[96] - -Then looking at the doctrine of secession as a question of the whole and -its parts, he went on to say: - - This relative matter of national power and State rights, as a - principle, is no other than the principle of generality and - locality. Whatever concerns the whole should be confined to the - whole—to the General Government; while whatever concerns only - the State should be left exclusively to the State. This is all - there is of original principle about it. Whether the National - Constitution in defining boundaries between the two has applied - the principle with exact accuracy is not to be questioned. We - are all bound by that defining without question.[97] - -One further argument, occurring in a later speech, deserves special -attention because of the clear way in which it reveals Lincoln’s method. -When he delivered his Second Annual Message to Congress on December -1, 1862, he devoted himself primarily to the subject of compensated -emancipation of the slaves. This was a critical moment of the war for -the people of the border states, who were not fully committed either -way, and who were sensitive on the subject of slavery. Lincoln hoped -to gain the great political and military advantage of their adherence. -The way in which he approaches the subject should be of the highest -interest to students of rhetoric, for the opening part of the speech is -virtually a copybook exercise in definition. There he faces the question -of what constitutes a nation. “A nation may be said to consist of its -territory, its people, and its laws.” Here we see in scholarly order -the genus particularized by the differentiae. Next he enters into a -critical discussion of the differentiae. The notion may strike us as -curious, but Lincoln proceeds to cite the territory as the enduring -part. “The territory is the only part which is of a certain durability. -‘One generation passeth away and another cometh, but the earth abideth -forever.’ It is of the first importance to duly consider and estimate -this ever-enduring part.”[98] Now, Lincoln goes on to say, our present -strife arises “not from our permanent part, not from the land we -inhabit, not from our national homestead.” It is rather the case that -“Our strife pertains to ourselves—to the passing generations of men; and -it can without convulsion be hushed forever with the passing of one -generation.”[99] The present generation will soon disappear, and our -laws can be modified by our will. Therefore he offers a plan whereby all -owners will be indemnified and all slaves will be free by the year 1900. - -Seen in another way, what Lincoln here does is define “nation” and then -divide the differentiae into the permanent and the transitory; finally -he accommodates his measure both to the permanent part (a territory to -be wholly free after 1900) and the transitory part (present men and -institutions, which are to be “paid off”). - -It is the utterance of an American political leader; yet it is veritably -Scholastic in its method and in the clearness of its lines of reasoning. -It is, at the same time, a fine illustration of pressing toward the ideal -goal while respecting, but not being deflected by, circumstances. - -It seems pertinent to say after the foregoing that one consequence of -Lincoln’s love of definition was a war-time policy toward slavery which -looked to some like temporizing. We have encountered in an earlier speech -his view that the Negro could not be classified merely as property. Yet -it must be remembered that in the eyes of the law Negro slaves were -property; and Lincoln was, after all, a lawyer. Morally he believed them -not to be property, but legally they were property; and the necessity -of walking a line between the moral imperative and the law will explain -some of his actions which seem not to agree with the popular conception -of the Great Emancipator. The first serious clash came in the late -summer of 1861, when General Fremont, operating in Missouri, issued a -proclamation freeing all slaves there belonging to citizens in rebellion -against the United States. Lincoln first rebuked General Fremont and then -countermanded his order. To O. H. Browning, of Quincy, Illinois, who had -written him in support of Fremont’s action, he responded as follows: - - You speak of it as the only means of saving the government. On - the contrary, it is itself the surrender of the government. Can - it be pretended that it is any longer the Government of the - United States—any government of constitution and laws—wherein a - general or a president may make permanent rules of property by - proclamation?[100] - -This was the doctrine of the legal aspect of slavery which was to be -amplified in the Second Annual Message to Congress: - - Doubtless some of those who are to pay, and not to receive, - will object. Yet the measure is both just and economical. In a - certain sense the liberation of the slaves is the destruction - of property—property acquired by descent or by purchase, the - same as any other property.... If, then, for a common object - this property is to be sacrificed, is it not just that it be - done at a common charge?[101] - -It is a truism that as a war progresses, the basis of the war changes, -and our civil conflict was no exception. It appears to have become -increasingly clear to Lincoln that slavery was not only the fomenting -cause but also the chief factor of support of the secessionist -movement, and finally he came to the conclusion that the “destruction” -of this form of property was an indispensable military proceeding. -Even here though—and contrary to the general knowledge of Americans -today—definitions were carefully made. The final document was not a -proclamation to emancipate slaves, but a proclamation to confiscate the -property of citizens in rebellion “as a fit and necessary measure for -suppressing said rebellion.” Its terms did not emancipate all slaves, and -as a matter of fact slavery was legal in the District of Columbia until -some time after Lincoln’s death. - -In view of Lincoln’s frequent reliance upon the argument from -definition, it becomes a matter of interest to inquire whether he appears -to have realized that many of his problems were problems of definition. -One can of course employ a type of argument without being aware of much -more than its _ad hoc_ success, but we should expect a reflective mind -like Lincoln’s to ponder at times the abstract nature of his method. -Furthermore, the extraordinary accuracy with which he used words is -evidence pointing in the same direction. Sensitivity on the score of -definitions is tantamount to sensitivity on the score of names, and we -find the following in the First Message to Congress: - - It might seem, at first thought, to be of little difference - whether the present movement at the South be called “secession” - or “rebellion.” The movers, however, well understand the - difference. At the beginning they knew they could never raise - their reason to any respectable magnitude by any name which - implies violation of law.[102] - -Lincoln must at times have viewed his whole career as a battle against -the “miners and sappers” of those names which expressed the national -ideals. His chief charge against Douglas and the equivocal upholders -of “squatter sovereignty” was that they were trying to circumvent -definitions, and during the war period he had to meet the same sort of -attempts. Lincoln’s most explicit statement by far on the problem appears -in a short talk made at one of the “Sanitary Fairs” it was his practice -to attend. Speaking this time at Baltimore in the spring of 1864, he gave -one of those timeless little lessons which have made such an impression -on men’s minds. - - The world has never had a good definition of the word liberty, - and the American people, just now, are much in want of one. - We all declare for liberty; but in using the same word we do - not all mean the same thing. With some the word liberty may - mean for each man to do as he pleases, with himself, and with - the product of his labor; while with others the same word may - mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the - product of other men’s labor. Here are two, not only different, - but incompatible things, called by the same name, liberty. - And it follows that each of the things is, by the respective - parties, called by two different and incompatible names—liberty - and tyranny. - - The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep’s throat, for which - the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf - denounces him for the same act, as the destroyer of liberty, - especially as the sheep was a black one. Plainly, the sheep and - the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; - and precisely the same difference prevails today among us - human creatures, even in the North, and all professing to love - liberty.[103] - -So the difficulty appeared in his time, and it should hardly be necessary -to point out that no period of modern history has been more in need of -this little homily on the subject of definition than the first half of -the twentieth century. - -The relationship between words and essences did then occur to Lincoln as -a problem, and we can show how he was influenced in one highly important -particular by his attention to this relationship. - -Fairly early in his struggle against Douglas and others whom he -conceived to be the foes of the Union, Lincoln became convinced that -the perdurability of laws and other institutions is bound up with the -acceptance of the principle of contradiction. Or, if that seems an unduly -abstract way of putting the matter, let us say that he came to repudiate, -as firmly as anyone in practical politics may do, those people who try by -relativistic interpretations and other sophistries to evade the force of -some basic principles. The heart of Lincoln’s statesmanship, indeed, lay -in his perception that on some matters one has to say “Yes” or “No,” that -one has to accept an alternative to the total exclusion of the other, -and that any weakness in being thus bold is a betrayal. Let us examine -some of the stages by which this conviction grew upon him. - -It seems not generally appreciated that this position comprises the -essence of the celebrated “House Divided” speech, delivered before the -Republican State Convention at Springfield, June 16, 1858. There he said: -“‘A house divided against itself cannot stand.’ I believe this government -cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the -Union to be dissolved—I do not expect the house to fall—but I do expect -it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the -other.”[104] How manifest it is that Lincoln’s position was not one of -“tolerance,” as that word is vulgarly understood today. It was a definite -insistence upon right, with no regard for latitude and longitude in moral -questions. For Lincoln such questions could neither be relativistically -decided nor held in abeyance. There was no middle ground. In the light of -American political tradition the stand is curiously absolute, but it is -there—and it is genuinely expressive of Lincoln’s matured view. - -Douglas had made the fatal mistake of looking for a position in the -excluded middle. He had been trying to get slavery admitted into the -territories by feigning that the institution was morally indifferent. His -platform declaration had been that he did not care “whether it is voted -up or voted down” in the territories. That statement made a fine opening -for Lincoln, which he used as follows in his reply at Alton: - - Any man can say that who does not see anything wrong in - slavery, but no man can logically say it who does see a wrong - in it; because no man can logically say he don’t care whether - a wrong is voted up or down. He may say he don’t care whether - an indifferent thing is voted up or down, but he must logically - have a choice between a right thing and a wrong thing. He - contends that whatever community wants slaves has a right to - have them. So they have if it is not a wrong. But if it is a - wrong, he cannot say people have a right to do a wrong.[105] - -In a speech at Cincinnati the following year, he used a figure from the -Bible to express his opposition to compromise. “The good old maxims of -the Bible are applicable, and truly applicable, to human affairs, and in -this, as in other things, we may say here that he who is not for us is -against us; he who gathereth not with us scattereth.”[106] In the Address -at Cooper Union Institute, February 27, 1860, Lincoln took long enough -to describe the methodology of this dodge by Douglas and his supporters. -It was, as we have indicated, an attempt to squeeze into the excluded -middle. “Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances -wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored—contrivances such -as groping for some middle ground between the right and the wrong: vain -as the search for a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead -man; such as a policy of ‘don’t care’ on a question about which all -true men do care....”[107] Finally, and most eloquently of all, there -is the brief passage from his “Meditation on the Divine Will,” composed -sometime in 1862. “The will of God prevails. In great contests each party -claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one -must be, wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same -time.”[108] God too is a rational being and will not be found embracing -both sides of a contradictory. Where mutual negation exists, God must be -found on one side, and Lincoln hopes, though he does not here claim, that -God is in the Union’s corner of this square of opposition. - -The fact that Lincoln’s thought became increasingly logical under the -pressure of events is proof of great depths in the man. - -Now as we take a general view of Lincoln’s habit of defining in its -relation to his political thought, we see that it gave him one quality -in which he is unrivalled by any other American leader—the quality of -perspective. The connection of the two is a necessary one. To define is -to assume perspective; that is the method of definition. Since nothing -can be defined until it is placed in a category and distinguished from -its near relatives, it is obvious that definition involves the taking -of a general view. Definition must see the thing in relation to other -things, as that relation is expressible through substance, magnitude, -kind, cause, effect, and other particularities. It is merely different -expression to say that this is a view which transcends: perspective, -detachment, and capacity to transcend are all requisites of him who would -define, and we know that Lincoln evidenced these qualities quite early -in life,[109] and that he employed them with consummate success when the -future of the nation depended on his judgment. - -Let us remember that Lincoln was a leader in the most bitter partisan -trial in our history; yet within short decades after his death he had -achieved sanctuary. His name is now immune against partisan rancor, and -he has long ceased to be a mere sectional hero. The lesson of these -facts is that greatness is found out and appreciated just as littleness -is found out and scorned, and Lincoln proved his greatness through his -habit of transcending and defining his objects. The American scene of his -time invites the colloquial adjective “messy”—with human slavery dividing -men geographically and spiritually, with a fluid frontier, and with the -problems of labor and capital and of immigration already beginning to -exert their pressures—but Lincoln looked at these things in perspective -and refused to look at them in any other way. - -For an early example of this characteristic vision of his, we may go -back to the speech delivered before the Young Men’s Lyceum in 1838. The -opening is significant. “In the great journal of things happening under -the sun, we the American people, find our account running under date -of the nineteenth century of the Christian era. We find ourselves in -the peaceful possession of the fairest portion of the earth as regards -extent of territory, fertility of soil, and salubrity of climate.”[110] -So Lincoln takes as his point of perspective all time, of which the -Christian era is but a portion; and the entire earth, of which the United -States can be viewed as a specially favored part. This habit of viewing -things from an Olympian height never left him. We might cite also the -opening of the Speech at Peoria, and that of the Speech at the Cooper -Union Institute; but let us pass on twenty-five years and re-read the -first sentence of the Gettysburg Address. “Fourscore and seven years ago -our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in -liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” -Again tremendous perspective, suggesting almost that Lincoln was looking -at the little act from some ultimate point in space and time. “Fourscore -and seven years ago” carries the listener back to the beginning of the -nation. “This continent” again takes the whole world into purview. “Our -fathers” is an auxiliary suggestion of the continuum of time. The phrase -following defines American political philosophy in the most general terms -possible. The entire opening sentence, with its sustained detachment, -sounds like an account of the action to be rendered at Judgment Day. -It is not Abe Lincoln who is speaking the utterance, but the voice of -mankind, as it were, to whom the American Civil War is but the passing -vexation of a generation. And as for the “brave men, living and dead, who -struggled here,” it takes two to make a struggle, and is there anything -to indicate that the men in gray are excluded? There is nothing explicit, -and therefore we may say that Lincoln looked as far ahead as he looked -behind in commemorating the event of Gettysburg. - -This habit of perspective led Lincoln at times to take an extraordinarily -objective view of his own actions—more frequently perhaps as he neared -the end of his career. It was as if he projected a view in which history -was the duration, the world the stage, and himself a transitory actor -upon it. Of all his utterances the Second Inaugural is in this way the -most objective and remote. Its tone even seems that of an actor about -to quit the stage. His self-effacement goes to the extent of impersonal -constructions, so that in places Lincoln appears to be talking about -another person. “At this second appearing to take the oath of the -Presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than -there was at the first.” “At this second appearing”! Is there any way of -gathering, except from our knowledge of the total situation, who is thus -appearing? Then after a generalized review of the military situation, -he declares: “With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard -to it is ventured.” Why “is ventured” rather than “I venture”? Lincoln -had taught himself to view the war as one of God’s processes worked out -through human agents, and the impersonality of tone of this last and most -deeply meditative address may arise from that habit. Only once, in the -modest qualifying phrase “I trust,” does the pronoun “I” appear; and the -final classic paragraph is spoken in the name of “us.” There have been -few men whose processes of mind so well deserve the epithet _sub specie -aeternitatis_ as Lincoln’s. - -It goes without further demonstration that Lincoln transcended the -passions of the war. How easy it is for a leader whose political and -personal prestige are at stake to be carried along with the tide of -hatred of a people at war, we have, unhappily, seen many times. No other -victor in a civil conflict has conducted himself with more humanity, and -this not in some fine gesture after victory was secured—although there -was that too—but during the struggle, while the issue was still in doubt -and maximum strain was placed upon the feelings. Without losing sight of -his ultimate goal, he treated everyone with personal kindness, including -people who went out of their way in attempts to wound him. And probably -it was his habit of looking at things through objective definitions which -kept him from confusing being logically right with being personally -right. In the “Meditation on the Divine Will” he wrote, “In the present -civil war it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different -from the purpose of either party....”[111] That could be written only -by one who has attained the highest level of self-discipline. It -explains too why he should write, in his letter to Cuthbert Bullitt: “I -shall do nothing in malice. What I deal with is too vast for malicious -dealing.”[112] Lastly, there is the extraordinary confession of common -guilt in the Second Inaugural Address, which, if it had been honored by -the government he led, would have constituted a step without precedent in -history in the achievement of reconciliation after war. It is supposable, -Lincoln said, that God has given “to both North and South this terrible -war.” Hardly seventy-five years later we were to see nations falling -into the ancient habit of claiming exclusive right in their quarrels and -even of demanding unconditional surrender. As late as February, 1865, -Lincoln stood ready to negotiate, and his offer, far from requiring -“unconditional surrender,” required but one condition—return of the -seceded states to the Union. - -There is, when we reflect upon the matter, a certain morality in clarity -of thought, and the man who had learned to define with Euclid and who had -kept his opponents in argument out of the excluded middle, could not be -pushed into a settlement which satisfied only passion. The settlement had -to be objectively right. Between his world view and his mode of argument -and his response to great occasions there is a relationship so close that -to speak of any one apart is to leave the exposition incomplete. - -With the full career in view, there seems no reason to differ with -Herndon’s judgment that Lincoln displayed a high order of “conservative -statesmanship.”[113] It is true that Lincoln has been placed in almost -every position, from right to left, on the political arc. Our most -radical parties have put forward programs in his name; and Professor -J. G. Randall has written an unconvincing book on “Lincoln the Liberal -Statesman.” Such variety of estimate underlines the necessity of -looking for some more satisfactory criterion by which to place the man -politically. It will not do to look simply at the specific measures he -has supported. If these were the standard, George Washington would have -to be regarded as a great progressive; Imperial Germany would have to -be regarded as liberal, or even as radical, by the token of its social -reforms. It seems right to assume that a much surer index to a man’s -political philosophy is his characteristic way of thinking, inevitably -expressed in the type of argument he prefers. In reality, the type of -argument a man chooses gives us the profoundest look we get at his -principle of integration. By this method Burke, who was partial to the -argument from circumstance, must be described as a liberal, whose blast -against the French Revolution was, even in his own words, an attack -from center against an extreme. Those who argue from consequence tend -to go all out for action; they are the “radicals.” Those who prefer -the argument from definition, as Lincoln did, are conservatives in the -legitimate sense of the word. It is no accident that Lincoln became the -founder of the greatest American conservative party, even if that party -was debauched soon after his career ended. He did so because his method -was that of the conservative. - -The true conservative is one who sees the universe as a paradigm of -essences, of which the phenomenology of the world is a sort of continuing -approximation. Or, to put this in another way, he sees it as a set -of definitions which are struggling to get themselves defined in the -real world. As Lincoln remarked of the Framers of the Declaration of -Independence: “They meant to set up a standard maxim for free society, -which should be familiar to all, and revered by all; constantly -looked to, constantly labored for, and even though never perfectly -attained, constantly approximated, and thereby constantly spreading -and deepening its influence and augmenting the happiness and value of -life to all people of all colors everywhere.”[114] This paradigm acts -both as an inspiration to action and as a constraint upon over-action, -since there is always a possibility of going beyond the schemata into -an excess. Lincoln opposed both slavery and the Abolitionists (the -Abolitionists constituted a kind of “action” party); yet he was not -a middle-of-the-roader. Indeed, for one who grew up a Whig, he is -astonishingly free from tendency to assume that “the truth lies somewhere -in between.” The truth lay where intellect and logic found it, and he was -not abashed by clearness of outline. - -This type of conservative is sometimes found fighting quite briskly -for change; but if there is one thing by which he is distinguished, -it is a trust in the methods of law. For him law is the embodiment of -abstract justice; it is not “what the courts will decide tomorrow,” or a -calculation of the forces at work in society. A sentence from the First -Inaugural Address will give us the conservative’s view of pragmatic -jurisprudence: “I do suggest that it will be much safer for all, both in -official and private stations, to conform to and abide by all those acts -which stand unrepealed, than to violate any of them, trusting to find -impunity in having them held to be unconstitutional.”[115] The essence of -Lincoln’s doctrine was not the seeking of a middle, but reform according -to law; that is, reform according to definition. True conservatism can be -intellectual in the same way as true classicism. It is one of the polar -positions; and it deserves an able exponent as well as does its vivifying -opposite, true radicalism. - -After Lincoln had left the scene, the Republican Party, as we have -noted, was unable to meet the test of victory. It turned quickly to the -worship of Mammon, and with the exception of the ambiguous Theodore -Roosevelt, it never found another leader. No one understood better than -Lincoln that the party would have to succeed upon principle. He told his -followers during the campaign of 1858: “nobody has ever expected me to -be President. In my poor, lean, lank face nobody has even seen that any -cabbages were sprouting out. These are disadvantages all, taken together, -that the Republicans labor under. We have to fight this battle upon -principle and upon principle alone.”[116] For two generations this party -lived upon the moral capital amassed during the anti-slavery campaign, -but after that had been expended, and terrible issues had to be faced, -it possessed nothing. It was less successful than the British Tories -because it was either ignorant or ashamed of the good things it had to -offer. Today it shows in advanced form that affliction which has overcome -the “good elements” in all modern nations in the face of the bold and -enterprising bad ones. - -Let it be offered as a parting counsel that parties bethink themselves -of how their chieftains speak. This is a world in which one often gets -what one asks for more directly or more literally than one expects. If -a leader asks only consequences, he will find himself involved in naked -competition of forces. If he asks only circumstance, he will find himself -intimidated against all vision. But if he asks for principle, he may -get that, all tied up and complete, and though purchased at a price, -paid for. Therefore it is of first importance whether a leader has the -courage to define. Nowhere does a man’s rhetoric catch up with him more -completely than in the topics he chooses to win other men’s assent. - - - - -Chapter V - -SOME RHETORICAL ASPECTS OF GRAMMATICAL CATEGORIES - - -In an earlier part of this work we defined rhetoric as something which -creates an informed appetition for the good. Such definition must -recognize the rhetorical force of things existing outside the realm of -speech; but since our concern is primarily with spoken rhetoric, which -cannot be disengaged from certain patterns or regularities of language, -we now turn our attention to the pressure of these formal patterns. - -All students of language concede to it a certain public character. -Insofar as it serves in communication, it is a publicly-agreed-upon -thing; and when one passes the outer limits of the agreement, one -abandons comprehensibility. Now rhetoric affects us primarily by setting -forth images which inform and attract. Yet because this setting forth is -accomplished through a public instrumentality, it is not free; it is tied -more or less closely to the formalizations of usage. The more general and -rigid of these formalizations we recognize as grammar, and we shall here -speak of grammar as a system of forms of public speech. In the larger -aspect, discourse is at once bound and free, and we are here interested -to discover how the bound character affects our ability to teach and to -persuade. - -We soon realize that different ways of saying a thing denote different -interests in saying it, or to take this in reverse as we do when we -become conscious users of language, different interests in a matter will -dictate different patterns of expression. Rhetoric in its practice is a -matter of selection and arrangement, but conventional grammar imposes -restraints upon both of these. All this amounts to saying what every -sensitive user of language has sometimes felt; namely, that language -is not a purely passive instrument, but that, owing to this public -acceptance, while you are doing something with it, it is doing something -with you, or with your intention.[117] It does not exactly fight back; -rather it has a set of postures and balances which somehow modify your -thrusts and holds. The sentence form is certainly one of these. You pour -into it your meaning, and it deflects, and molds into certain shapes. -The user of language must know how this counterpressure can be turned -to the advantage of his general purpose. The failure of those who are -careless, or insensitive, to the rhetoric of grammar is that they allow -the counter force to impede their design, whereas a perspicacious use -of it will forward the design. One cannot, for example, employ just any -modifier to stand for a substantive or just any substantive to express a -quality, or change a stabilized pattern of arrangement without a change -in net effect, although some of these changes register but faintly. But -style shows through an accumulation of small particulars, and the artist -in language may ponder a long while, as Conrad is said to have done, over -whether to describe a character as “penniless” or “without a penny.” - -In this approach, then, we are regarding language as a standard objective -reality, analyzable into categories which have inherent potentialities. A -knowledge of these objective potentialities can prevent a loss of force -through friction. The friction we refer to occurs whenever a given unit -of the system of grammar is tending to say one thing while the semantic -meaning and the general organization are tending to say another. A -language has certain abilities or even inclinations which the wise user -can draw into the service of his own rhetorical effort. Using a language -may be compared to riding a horse; much of one’s success depends upon an -understanding of what it _can_ and _will_ do. Or to employ a different -figure in illustration, there is a kind of use of language which goes -against the grain as that grain is constituted by the categories, and -there is a kind which facilitates the speaker’s projection by going with -it. Our task is an exploration of the congruence between well understood -rhetorical objectives and the inherent character of major elements in -modern English. - -The problem of which category to begin with raises some questions. It -is arguable that the rhetoric of any piece is dependent upon its total -intention, and that consequently no single sentence can be appraised -apart from the tendency of the whole discourse. Our position does not -deny that, since we are assuming merely that within the greater effect -there are lesser effects, cooperating well or ill. Having accepted that -limitation, it seems permissible for us to begin with the largest unit of -grammar, which is the sentence. We shall take up first the sentence as -such and then discriminate between formal types of sentences. - -Because a sentence form exists in most if not all languages, there -is some ground to suppose that it reflects a necessary operation of -the mind, and this means not simply of the mind as psychologically -constituted but also as logically constrained. - -It is evident that when the mind frames a sentence, it performs the -basic intellectual operation of analysis and re-synthesis. In this -complete operation the mind is taking two or more classes and uniting -them at least to the extent at which they share in a formal unity. The -unity itself, built up through many such associations, comes to have an -existence all its own, as we shall see. It is the repeated congruence -in experience or in the imagination of such classes as “sun-heat,” -“snow-cold,” which establishes the pattern, but our point is that the -pattern once established can become disciplinary in itself and compel us -to look for meaning within the formal unity it imposes. So it is natural -for us to perceive through a primitive analysis the compresence of sun -and hot weather, and to combine these into the unity “the sun is hot”; -but the articulation represented by this joining now becomes a thing in -itself, which can be grasped before the meaning of its component parts -is evident. Accordingly, although sentences are supposed to grow out of -meanings, we can have sentences before meanings are apparent, and this -is indeed the central point of our rhetoric of grammar. When we thus -grasp the scope of the pattern before we interpret the meaning of the -components, we are being affected by grammatical system. - -I should like to put this principle to a supreme sort of test by using a -few lines of highly modern verse. In Allen Tate’s poem “The Subway” we -find the following: - - I am become geometries, and glut - Expansions like a blind astronomer - Dazed, while the wordless heavens bulge and reel - In the cold reverie of an idiot. - -I do not propose to interpret this further than to say that the features -present of word classification and word position cause us to look for -meaning along certain lines. It seems highly probable that we shall have -to exercise much imagination to fit our classes together with meaning -as they are fitted by formal classification and sentence order (“I am -become geometries”); yet it remains true that we take in the first line -as a formal predication; and I do not think that this formal character -could ever be separated entirely from the substance in an interpretation. -Once we gain admission of that point with regard to a sentence, some -rhetorical status for grammar has been definitely secured. - -In total rhetorical effect the sentence seems to be peculiarly “the thing -said,” whereas all other elements are “the things named.” And accordingly -the right to utter a sentence is one of the very greatest liberties; and -we are entitled to little wonder that freedom of utterance should be, in -every society, one of the most contentious and ill-defined rights. The -liberty to impose this formal unity is a liberty to handle the world, to -remake it, if only a little, and to hand it to others in a shape which -may influence their actions. It is interesting to speculate whether the -Greeks did not, for this very reason, describe the man clever at speech -as δεινός, an epithet meaning, in addition to “clever,” “fearful” and -“terrible.” The sentence through its office of assertion is a force -adding itself to the forces of the world, and therefore the man clever -with his sentences—which is to say with his combinations—was regarded -with that uneasiness which we feel in the presence of power. The changes -wrought by sentences are changes in the world rather than in the physical -earth, but it is to be remembered that changes in the world bring about -changes in the earth. Thus this practice of yoking together classes of -the world, of saying “Charles is King” or “My country is God’s country” -is a unique rhetorical fact which we have to take into account, although -it stands somewhat prior to our main discussion. - -As we turn now to the different formal types of sentences, we shall -follow the traditional grammatical classification and discuss the -rhetorical inclination of each in turn. - -Through its form, the simple sentence tends to emphasize the discreteness -of phenomena within the structural unity. To be more specific, its -pattern of subject-verb-object or complement, without major competing -elements, leaves our attention fixed upon the classes involved: “Charles -is King.” The effect remains when the simple sentence compounds its -subject and predicate: “Peaches and cantaloupes grew in abundance”; “Men -and boys hunted and fished.” The single subject-predicate frame has -the broad sense of listing or itemizing, and the list becomes what the -sentence is about semantically. - -Sentences of this kind are often the unconscious style of one who sees -the world as a conglomerate of things, like the child; sometimes they -are the conscious style of one who seeks to present certain things as -eminent against a background of matter uniform or flat. One can imagine, -for example, the simple sentence “He never worked” coming after a long -and tedious recital which it is supposed to highlight. Or one can imagine -the sentence “The world is round” leaping out of a context with which it -contrasts in meaning, in brevity, or in sententiousness. - -There is some descriptive value in saying that the simple sentence is -the most “logical” type of sentence because, like the simple categorical -proposition, it has this function of relating two classes. This fact, -combined with its usual brevity and its structural simplicity, makes it a -useful sentence for beginnings and endings (of important meaning-groups, -not so much of formal introductions and conclusions). It is a sentence -of unclouded perspective, so to speak. Nothing could be more beautifully -anticipatory than Burke’s “The proposition is peace.” - -At the very minimum, we can affirm that the simple sentence tends to -throw subject and predicate classes into relief by the structure it -presents them in; that the two-part categorical form of its copulation -indicates a positive mood on the part of the user, and that its brevity -often induces a generality of approach, which is an aid to perspicuous -style. These opportunities are found out by the speaker or writer who -senses the need for some synoptic or dramatic spot in his discourse. Thus -when he selects the simple sentence, he is going “with the grain”; he is -putting the objective form to work for him. - -The complex sentence has a different potentiality. Whereas the simple -sentence emphasizes through its form the co-existence of classes (and it -must be already apparent that we regard “things existing or occurring” -as a class where the predicate consists only of a verb), the complex -sentence emphasizes a more complex relationship; that is to say, it -reflects another kind of discriminating activity, which does not -stop with seeing discrete classes as co-existing, but distinguishes -them according to rank or value, or places them in an order of cause -and effect. “Rome fell because valor declined” is the utterance of a -reflective mind because the conjunction of parts depends on something -ascertainable by the intellect but not by simple perception. This is -evidence that the complex sentence does not appear until experience has -undergone some refinement by the mind. Then, because it goes beyond -simple observation and begins to perceive things like causal principle, -or begins to grade things according to a standard of interest, it brings -in the notion of dependence to supplement that of simple togetherness. -And consequently the complex sentence will be found nearly always to -express some sort of hierarchy, whether spatial, moral, or causal, with -its subordinate members describing the lower orders. In simple-sentence -style we would write: “Tragedy began in Greece. It is the highest form -of literary art.” There is no disputing that these sentences, in this -sequence, could have a place in mature expression. But they do not have -the same effect as “Tragedy, which is the highest form of literary art, -began in Greece” or “Tragedy, which began in Greece, is the highest -form of literary art.” What has occurred is the critical process of -subordination. The two ideas have been transferred from a conglomerate to -an articulated unity, and the very fact of subordination makes inevitable -the emergence of a focus of interest. Is our passage about the highest -form of literary art or about the cultural history of Greece? The form of -the complex sentence makes it unnecessary to waste any words in explicit -assertion of that. Here it is plain that grammatical form is capital upon -which we can draw, provided that other necessities have been taken care -of. - -To see how a writer of consummate sensibility toward expression-forms -proceeded, let us take a fairly typical sentence from Henry James: - - Merton Densher, who passed the best hours of each night at the - office of his newspaper, had at times, during the day, a sense, - or at least an appearance, of leisure, in accordance with - which he was not infrequently to be met, in different parts of - the town, at moments when men of business were hidden from the - public eye.[118] - -Leaving aside the phrases, which are employed by James in extension and -refinement of the same effect, we see here three dependent clauses used -to explain the contingencies of “Merton Densher had an appearance of -leisure.” These clauses have the function of surrounding the central -statement in such a fashion that we have an intricate design of thought -characterized by involution, or the emergence of one detail out of -another. James’ famous practice of using the dependent clause not only -for qualification, but for the qualification of qualification, and in -some cases for the qualification of qualification of qualification, -indicates a persistent sorting out of experience expressive of the -highly civilized mind. Perhaps the leading quality of the civilized -mind is that it is sophisticated as to causes and effects (also as to -other contiguities); and the complex sentence, required to give these a -scrupulous ordering, is its natural vehicle. - -At the same time the spatial form of ordering to which the complex -sentence lends itself makes it a useful tool in scientific analysis, and -one can find brilliant examples of it in the work of scientists who have -been skillful in communication. When T. H. Huxley, for instance, explains -a piece of anatomy, the complex sentence is the frame of explanation. In -almost every sentence it will be observed that he is focussing interest -upon one part while keeping its relationship—spatial or causal—clear with -reference to surrounding parts. In Huxley’s expository prose, therefore, -one finds the dominant sentence type to consist of a main clause at the -beginning followed by a series of dependent clauses which fill in these -facts of relationship. We may follow the pattern of the sentences in his -account of the protoplasm of the common nettle: - - Each stinging-needle tapers from a broad base to a slender - summit, which, though rounded at the end, is of such - microscopic fineness that it readily penetrates, and breaks off - in, the skin. The whole hair consists of a very delicate outer - case of wood, closely applied to the inner surface of which - is a layer of semi-fluid matter full of innumerable granules - of extreme minuteness. This semi-fluid lining is protoplasm, - which thus constitutes a kind of bag, full of limpid liquid, - and roughly corresponding in form with the interior of the hair - which it fills.[119] - -This is, of course, the “loose” sentence of traditional rhetorical -analysis, and it has no dramatic force; yet it is for this very reason -adapted to the scientist’s purpose.[120] The rhetorical adaptation shows -in the accommodation of a little hierarchy of details. - -This appears to be the sentence of a developed mentality also, because it -is created through a patient, disciplined observation, and not through -impression, as the simple sentence can be. To the infant’s mind, as -William James observed in a now famous passage, the world is a “buzzing, -blooming confusion,” and to the immature mind much older it often appears -something done in broad, uniform strokes. But to the mind of a trained -scientist it has to appear a cosmos—else, no science. So in Huxley the -objective world is presented as a series of details, each of which has -its own cluster of satellites in the form of minor clauses. This is the -way the world has to be reported when our objective is maximum perception -and minimum desire to obtrude or influence. - -Henry James was explaining with a somewhat comparable interest a -different kind of world, in which all sorts of human and non-material -forces are at work, and he tried with extreme conscientiousness to -measure them. In that process of quantification and qualification the -complex sentence was often brought by him to an extraordinary height of -ramification. - -In summation, then, the complex sentence is the branching sentence, or -the sentence with parts growing off other parts. Those who have used -it most properly have performed a second act of analysis, in which the -objects of perception, after being seen discretely, are put into a ranked -structure. This type of sentence imposes the greatest demand upon the -reader because it carries him farthest into the reality existing outside -self. This point will take on importance as we turn to the compound -sentence. - -The structure of the compound sentence often reflects a simple -artlessness—the uncritical pouring together of simple sentences, as in -the speech of Huckleberry Finn. The child who is relating an adventure -is likely to make it a flat recital of conjoined simple predications, -because to him the important fact is that the things were, not that -they can be read to signify this or that. His even juxtapositions -are therefore sometimes amusing, for now and then he will produce a -coordination that unintentionally illuminates. This would, of course, be -a result of lack of control over the rhetoric of grammar. - -On the other hand, the compound sentence can be a very “mature” sentence -when its structure conforms with a settled view of the world. The latter -possibility will be seen as we think of the balance it presents. When -a sentence consists of two main clauses we have two predications of -similar structure bidding for our attention. Our first supposal is that -this produces a sentence of unusual tension, with two equal parts (and -of course sometimes more than two equal parts) in a sort of competition. -Yet it appears on fuller acquaintance that this tension is a tension of -stasis, and that the compound sentence has, in practice, been markedly -favored by periods of repose like that of the Eighteenth century. There -is congeniality between its internal balance and a concept of the -world as an equilibrium of forces. As a general rule, it appears that -whereas the complex sentence favors the presentation of the world as -a system of facts or as a dynamism, the compound sentence favors the -presentation of it in a more or less philosophical picture. This world as -a philosophical cosmos will have to be a sort of compensatory system. We -know from other evidences that the Eighteenth century loved to see things -in balance; in fact, it required the idea of balance as a foundation -for its institutions. Quite naturally then, since motives of this kind -reach into expression-forms, this was the age of masters of the balanced -sentence—Dryden, Johnson, Gibbon, and others, the _genre_ of whose style -derives largely from this practice of compounding. Often the balance -which they achieved was more intricate than simple conjunction of main -clauses because they balanced lesser elements too, but the informing -impulse was the same. That impulse was the desire for counterpoise, which -was one of the powerful motives of their culture. - -In this pattern of balance, various elements are used in the offsettings. -Thus when one attends closely to the meanings of the balanced parts, -one finds these compounds recurring: an abstract statement is balanced -(in a second independent clause) by a more concrete expression of the -same thing; a fact is balanced by its causal explanation; a statement of -positive mode is balanced by one of negative mode; a clause of praise -is balanced by a clause of qualified censure; a description of one part -is balanced by a description of a contrasting part, and so on through -a good many conventional pairings. Now in these collocations cause and -effect and other relationships are presented, yet the attempt seems not -so much to explore reality as to clothe it in decent form. Culture is a -delicate reconciliation of opposites, and consequently a man who sees -the world through the eyes of a culture makes effort in this direction. -We know that the world of Eighteenth century culture was a rationalist -world, and in a rationalist world everything must be “accounted for.” -The virtue of the compound sentence is that its second part gives “the -other half,” so to speak. As the pattern works out, every fact has its -cause; every virtue is compensated for by a vice; every excursion into -generality must be made up for by attention to concrete circumstances -and vice versa. The perfection of this art form is found in Johnson and -Gibbon, where such pairings occur with a frequency which has given rise -to the phrase “the balanced style.” When Gibbon, for example, writes of -religion in the Age of the Antonines: “The superstition of the people was -not embittered by any mixture of theological rancour; nor was it confined -by the chains of any speculative system,”[121] we have almost the feeling -that the case of religion has been settled by this neat artifice of -expression. This is a “just” view of affairs, which sees both sides and -leaves a kind of balanced account. It looks somewhat subjective, or -at least humanized; it gives us the gross world a little tidied up by -thought. Often, moreover, this balance of structure together with the -act of saying a thing equivocally—in the narrower etymological sense of -that word—suggests the finality of art. This will be found true of many -of the poetical passages of the King James Bible, although these come -from an earlier date. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the -firmament sheweth his handiwork”; “Man cometh forth as a flower and is -cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow and continueth not.” By thus stating -the matter in two ways, through balanced clauses, the sentence achieves a -degree of formal completeness missing in sentences where the interest is -in mere assertion. Generally speaking the balanced compound sentence, by -the very contrivedness of its structure, suggests something formed above -the welter of experience, and this form, as we have by now substantially -said, transfers something of itself to the meaning. In declaring that -the compound sentence may seem subjective, we are not saying that it is -arbitrary, its correspondence being with the philosophical interpretation -rather than with the factual reality. Thus if the complex sentence is -about the world, the compound sentence is about our idea about the world, -into which some notion of compensation forces itself. One notices that -even Huxley, when he draws away from his simple expositions of fact and -seeks play for his great powers of persuasion, begins to compound his -sentences. On the whole, the compound sentence conveys that completeness -and symmetry which the world _ought_ to have, and which we manage to -get, in some measure, into our most satisfactory explanations of it. -It is most agreeable to those ages and those individuals who feel that -they have come to terms with the world, and are masters in a domain. But -understandably enough, in a world which has come to be centrifugal and -infinite, as ours has become since the great revolutions, it tends to -seem artificial and mechanical in its containment. - -Since the difference between sentence and clause is negligible as far as -the issues of this subject are concerned, we shall next look at the word, -and conclude with a few remarks on some lesser combinations. This brings -up at once the convention of parts of speech. Here again I shall follow -the traditional classification, on the supposition that categories to -which usage is referred for correction have accumulated some rhetorical -force, whatever may be said for the merits of some other and more -scientific classification. - - -_The Noun_ - -It is difficult not to feel that both usage and speculation agree on the -rhetorical quality of nouns. The noun derives its special dignity from -being a _name_ word, and names persist, in spite of all the cautions of -modern semanticists, in being thought of as words for substances. We -apprehend the significance of that when we realize that in the ancient -philosophical regimen to which the West is heir, and which influences -our thought far more than we are aware at any one moment, substances -are assigned a higher degree of being than actions or qualities. -Substance is that which primordially _is_, and one may doubt whether -recent attempts to revolutionize both ontology and grammar have made any -impression at all against this feeling. For that reason a substantive -comes to us as something that is peculiarly fulfilled;[122] or it is like -a piece in a game which has superior powers of movement and capture. The -fact that a substantive is the word in a sentence which the other words -are “about” in various relationships gives it a superior status.[123] - -Nouns then express things whose being is completed, not whose being -is in process, or whose being depends upon some other being. And that -no doubt accounts for the feeling that when one is using nouns, one -is manipulating the symbols of a self-subsistent reality.[124] There -seems little doubt that an ancient metaphysical system, grown to be an -_habitus_ of the mind through long acceptance, gives the substantive word -a prime status, and this fact has importance when we come to compare the -noun with the adjective in power to convince by making real. Suffice it -to say here that the noun, whether it be a pointer to things that one -can touch and see, as _apple_, _bird_, _sky_, or to the more or less -hypothetical substances such as _fairness_, _spook_, _nothingness_, by -rule stands at the head of things and is ministered to by the other parts -of speech and by combinations. - - -_The Adjective_ - -The adjective is, by the principle of determination just reviewed, a word -of secondary status and force. Its burden is an attribute, or something -added. In the order of being to which reference has been made, the noun -can exist without the adjective, but not the adjective without the noun. -Thus we can have “men” without having “excellent men”; but we cannot have -“excellent” without having something (if only something understood) to -receive the attribution. There are very practical rhetorical lessons to -be drawn from this truth. Since adjectives express attributes which are -conceptually dispensable to the substances wherein they are present, the -adjective tends to be a supernumerary. Long before we are aware of this -fact through analysis, we sense it through our resentment of any attempt -to gain maximum effect through the adjective. Our intuition of speech -seems to tell us that the adjective is question-begging; that is to -say, if the thing to be expressed is real, it will be expressed through -a substantive; if it is expressed mainly through adjectives, there is -something defective in its reality, since it has gone for secondary -support.[125] If someone should say to us, “Have some white milk,” we -must suppose either that the situation is curious, other kinds of milk -being available, or that the speaker is trying to impose upon us by a -piece of persiflage. Again, a mountain is a mountain without being called -“huge”; if we have to call it huge, there is some defect in the original -image which is being made up. Of course there are speech situations in -which such modifiers do make a useful contribution, but as a general -rule, to be applied with discretion, a style is stronger when it depends -mainly upon substantives sharp enough to convey their own attributes. - -Furthermore, because the class of the adjective contains so many -terms of dialectical import, such as _good_, _evil_, _noble_, _base_, -_useful_, _useless_, there is bound to exist an initial suspicion of -all adjectives. (Even when they are the positive kind, as is true with -most limiting adjectives, there lurk the questions “Who made up the -statistics?” and “How were they gathered?”) The dialectical adjective -is too often a “fighting word” to be used casually. Because in its very -origin it is the product of disputation, one is far from being certain in -advance of assent to it. How would you wish to characterize the world? -If you wish to characterize it as “round,” you will win a very general -assent, although not a universal one. But if you wish, with the poet, to -characterize it as “sorry,” you take a position in respect to which there -are all sorts of contrary positions. In strictest thought one might say -that every noun contains its own analysis, but an adjective applied to -a noun is apparatus brought in from the outside; and the result is the -object slightly “fictionized.” Since adjectives thus initiate changes in -the more widely received substantive words, one has to have permission -of his audience to talk in adjectives. Karl Shapiro seems to have had -something like this in mind in the following passage from his _Essay on -Rime_: - - for the tyrannical epithet - Relies upon the adjective to produce - The image; and no serious construction - In rime can build upon the modifier.[126] - -One of the common mistakes of the inexperienced writer, in prose as -well as poetry, is to suppose that the adjective can set the key of a -discourse. Later he learns what Shapiro indicates, that nearly always -the adjective has to have the way prepared for it. Otherwise, the -adjective introduced before its noun collapses for want of support. -There is a perceptible difference between “the irresponsible conduct of -the opposition with regard to the Smith bill” and “the conduct of the -opposition with regard to the Smith bill has been irresponsible,” which -is accounted for in part by the fact that the adjective comes after the -substantive has made its firm impression. In like manner we are prepared -to receive Henley’s - - Out of the night that covers me, - Black as the Pit from pole to pole - -because “night” has preceded “black.” I submit that if the poem had begun -“Black as ...” it would have lost a great deal of its rhetorical force -because of the inherent character of the opening word. The adjective -would have been felt presumptuous, as it were, and probably no amount of -supplementation could have overcome this unfortunate effect. - -I shall offer one more example to show that costly mistakes in emphasis -may result from supposing that the adjective can compete with the -noun. This one came under my observation, and has remained with me as -a classical instance of rhetorical ineptitude. On a certain university -campus “Peace Week” was being observed, and a prominent part of the -program was a series of talks. The object of these talks was to draw -attention to those forces which seemed to be leading mankind toward a -third world war. One of the speakers undertook to point out the extent -to which the Western nations, and especially the United States, were -at fault. He declared that a chief source of the bellicose tendency of -the United States was its “proud rectitude,” and it is this expression -which I wish to examine critically. The fault of the phrase is that it -makes “rectitude” the villain of the piece, whereas sense calls for -making “pride.” If we are correct in assigning the substantive a greater -intrinsic weight, then it follows that “rectitude” exerts the greater -force here. But rectitude is not an inciter of wars; it is rather that -rectitude which is made rigid or unreasonable by pride which may be a -factor in the starting of wars, and pride is really the provoking agent. -For the most fortunate effect, then, the grammatical relationship should -be reversed, and we should have “rectitude” modifying “pride.” But since -the accident of linguistic development has not provided it with an -adjective form of equivalent meaning, let us try “pride of rectitude.” -This is not the best expression imaginable, but it is somewhat better -since it turns “proud” into a substantive and demotes “rectitude” to -a place in a prepositional phrase. The weightings are now more in -accordance with meaning: what grammar had anomalously made the chief word -is now properly tributary, and we have a closer delineation of reality. -As it was, the audience went away confused and uninspired, and I have -thought of this ever since as a situation in which a little awareness -of the rhetoric of grammar—there were other instances of imperceptive -usage—could have turned a merely well-intentioned speech into an -effective one. - -Having laid down this relationship between adjective and substantive -as a principle, we must not ignore the real or seeming exceptions. For -the alert reader will likely ask, what about such combinations as “new -potatoes,” “drunk men,” “a warlike nation”? Are we prepared to say that -in each of these the substantive gets the major attention, that we are -more interested in “potatoes” than in their being “new,” in “men” than -their being “drunk,” and so forth? Is that not too complacent a rule -about the priority of the substantive over the adjective? - -We have to admit that there are certain examples in which the adjective -may eclipse the substantive. This may occur (1) when one’s intonation (or -italics) directs attention to the modifier: “_white_ horses”; “_five_ -dollars, not four.” (2) when there is a striking clash of meaning between -the adjective and the substantive, such that one gives a second thought -to the modifier: “a murderous smile”; “a gentleman gambler.” (3) when the -adjective is naturally of such exciting associations that it has become a -sort of traditional introduction to matter of moment: “a warlike nation”; -“a desperate deed”; etc. Having admitted these possibilities of departure -from the rule, we still feel right in saying that the rule has some -force. It will be found useful in cases which are doubtful, which are the -cases where no strong semantic or phonetic considerations override the -grammatical pattern. In brief, when the immediate act of our mind does -not tell us whether an expression should be in this form or the other, -the principle of the relationship of adjective and substantive may settle -the matter with an insight which the particular instance has not called -forth. - - -_The Adverb_ - -The adverb is distinguished from the other parts of speech by its -superior mobility; roughly speaking, it can locate itself anywhere in -the sentence, and this affords a clue to its character. “Certainly the -day is warm”; “The day certainly is warm”; “The day is certainly warm”; -“The day is warm certainly” are all “normal” utterances. This superior -mobility, amounting to a kind of detachment, makes the adverb peculiarly -a word of judgment. Here the distinction between the adverb and the -adjective seems to be that the latter depends more upon public agreement -and less upon private intention in its applications. It is a matter of -common observation that the adverb is used frequently to express an -attitude which is the speaker’s projection of himself. “Surely the war -will end soon” is not, for example, a piece of objective reporting but -an expression of subjective feeling. We of course recognize degrees of -difference in the personal or subjective element. Thomas Carlyle is -much given to the use of the adverb, and when we study his adverbs in -context, we discover that they are often little more than explosions of -feeling. They are employed to make more positive, abrupt, sensational, -or intense whatever his sentence is otherwise saying. Indeed, take from -Carlyle his adverbs and one robs him of that great hortatory sweep which -makes him one of the great preachers in English literature. On the other -hand Henry James, although given to this use to comparable extent, gets -a different effect from his adverbs. With him they are the exponents -of scrupulous or meticulous feeling; they are often in fact words of -definite measure. When James says “fully” or “quickly” or “bravely” he -is usually expressing a definite perception, and sometimes the adverb -will have its own phrasal modifier to give it the proper direction or -limitation of sense. Therefore James’ adverbs, instead of having a merely -expletive force, as do many of Carlyle’s, tend to integrate themselves -with his more objective description. All this amounts to saying that -adverbial “judgments” can be differently based; and the use of the adverb -will affect a style accordingly. - -The caution against presumptuous use of the adjective can be repeated -with somewhat greater force for the adverb. It is the most tempting -of all the parts of speech to question-beg with. It costs little, for -instance, to say “certainly,” “surely,” or even “terribly,” “awfully,” -“undoubtedly”; but it often costs a great deal to create the picture -upon which these words are a justifiable verdict. Asking the reader -to accept them upon the strength of simple assertion is obviously a -form of taking without earning. We realize that a significant part of -every speech situation is the character of the speaker; and there are -characters who can risk an unproved “certainly” or “undoubtedly.” They -bring to the speech situation a kind of ethical proof which accentuates -their language. Carlyle’s reflective life was so intense, as we know from -_Sartor Resartus_ and other sources, that it wins for him a certain right -to this asseverative style. As a general rule, though, it will be found -that those who are most entitled to this credit use it least, which is to -say, they prefer to make their demonstrations. We point out in summary -that the adverb is frequently dependent upon the character of its user, -and that, since it is often the qualifier of a qualifier, it may stand -at one more remove from what we have defined as the primary symbol. This -is why beginners should use it least—should use it only after they have -demonstrated that they can get their results by other means. - - -_The Verb_ - -The verb is regularly ranked with the noun in force, and it seems -that these two parts of speech express the two aspects under which we -habitually see phenomena, that of determinate things and that of actions -or states of being. Between them the two divide up the world at a pretty -fundamental depth; and it is a commonplace of rhetorical instruction -that a style made up predominantly of nouns and verbs will be a vigorous -style. These are the symbols of the prime entities, words of stasis and -words of movement (even when the verb is said to express a “state of -being,” we accept that as a kind of modal action, a process of going on, -or having existential quality), which set forth the broad circumstances -of any subject of discussion. This truth is supported by the facts that -the substantive is the heart of a grammatical subject and the verb of a -grammatical predicate. - -When we pass beyond the matter of broad categorization to look at the -verb’s possibilities, we find the greatest need of instruction to lie -in the verb epithet. It may be needless to impress any literate person -with the verb’s relative importance, but it is necessary to point out, -even to some practiced writers, that the verb itself can modify the -action it asserts, or, so to put it, can carry its own epithet. Looking -at the copious supply of verbs in English, we often find it possible to -choose one so selective in meaning that no adverb is needed to accompany -it. If we wish to assert that “the man moves _quickly_,” we can say, -depending on the tone of our passage and the general signification, -that he hastens, _rushes_, _flies_, _scrambles_, _speeds_, _tears_, -_races_, _bolts_, to name only a few. If we wish to assert that a man -is not telling the truth, we have the choice of _lies_, _prevaricates_, -_falsifies_, _distorts_, _exaggerates_, and some others. As this may seem -to treat the matter at too didactic a level, let us generalize by saying -that there is such a thing as the characterizing verb, and that there is -no telling how many words could have been saved, how many passages could -have dispensed with a lumbering and perhaps inaccurate adverb, if this -simple truth about the verb were better appreciated. The best writers -of description and narration know it. Mark Twain’s most vivid passages -are created largely through a frequent and perceptive use of the verb -epithet. Turn to almost any page of _Life on the Mississippi_: - - Ship channels are buoyed and lighted, and therefore it is - a comparatively easy undertaking to learn to run them; - clear-water rivers, with gravel bottoms, change their channels - very gradually, and therefore one needs to learn them but once; - but piloting becomes another matter when you apply it to vast - streams like the Mississippi and the Missouri, whose alluvial - banks cave and change constantly, whose snags are always - hunting up new quarters, whose sand-bars are never at rest, - whose channels are forever dodging and shirking, and whose - obstructions must be confronted in all nights and all weathers - without the aid of a single lighthouse or a single buoy, for - there is neither light nor buoy to be found anywhere in all - this three or four thousand miles of villainous river.[127] - -Here there occurs not just action, but expressive action, to which -something is contributed by Twain’s subtle appreciation of modal -variations in the verb. - -There is a rough parallelism between the use of the complex sentence, -with its detail put away in subordinate constructions, and the use of -the verb epithet. In both instances the user has learned to dispense -with a second member of equal or nearly equal weight in order to get an -effect. As the adverbial qualification is fused with the verb, so in -lesser degree, of course, is the detail of the complex sentence fused -with its principal assertion. These devices of economy and compression, -although they may be carried to a point at which the style seems forced -and unnatural, are among the most important means of rhetoric. - - -_The Conjunction_ - -The conjunction, in its simple role as joiner, seems not to have much -character, yet its use expresses of relatedness of things, which is bound -to have signification. As either coordinator or subordinator of entities, -it puts the world into a condition of mutual relationship through which -a large variety of ideas may be suggested. From the different ways in -which this relationship is expressed, the reader will consciously and -even unconsciously infer different things. Sometimes the simple “and -... and” coordination is the expression of childlike mentality, as we -saw in our discussion of the compound sentence. On the other hand, in -a different speech situation it can produce a quite different effect: -readers of the King James version of the Bible are aware of how the “and” -which joins long sequences of verses sets up a kind of expectancy which -is peculiarly in keeping with sacred text. One gets the feeling from the -reiteration of “and” that the story is confirmed and inevitable; there -are no contingencies, and everything happens with the double assurance of -something foretold. When this pattern is dropped, as it is in a recent -“American” version of the Bible, the text collapses into a kind of news -story. - -The frequent use of “but” to join the parts of a compound sentence seems -to indicate a habit of mind. It is found congenial by those who take a -“balanced view,” or who are uneasy over an assertion until it has been -qualified or until some recognition has been made of its negative. Its -influence is in the direction of the cautious or pedantic style because -it makes this sort of disjunction, whereas “and” generously joins -everything up. - -Since conjunctions are usually interpreted as giving the plot of one’s -thought, it is essential to realize that they have implicit meanings. -They usually come at points where a pause is natural, and there is a -temptation, if one may judge by indulgence in the habit, to lean upon -the first one that comes to mind without reflecting critically upon its -significance, so that although the conjunction may formally connect at -this point, its semantic meaning does not aid in making the connection -precise. A common instance of this fault is the casual interchange of -“therefore” and “thus.” “Therefore” means “in consequence of,” but “thus” -means “in this manner” and so indicates that some manner has already -been described. “Hence” may take the place of “therefore” but “thus” may -not. “Also” is a connective used with unimaginative regularity by poor -speakers and writers, for whom it seems to signalize the next thought -coming. Yet in precise meaning “also” signifies only a mechanical sort of -addition such as we have in listing one item after another. To signalize -the extension of an idea, “moreover” is usually more appropriate than -“also.” Although “while” is often used in place of “whereas” to mean “on -the other hand,” it has its other duty of signifying “at the same time.” -“Whereas,” despite its pedantic or legalistic overtone, will be preferred -in passages where precise relationship is the governing consideration. -On the whole it would seem that the average writer suffers, in the -department, from nothing more than poverty of vocabulary. What he does -(what every writer does to some extent) is to keep on hand a small set -of conjunctions and to use them in a sort of rotation without giving -attention to how their distinctive meanings could further his purpose. - - -_The Preposition_ - -The preposition too is a word expressing relationships, but this -definition gives only a faint idea of its great resources. When the false -rules about the preposition have been set aside, it is seen that this -is a tremendously inventive word. Like the adverb, it is a free rover, -standing almost anywhere; it is constantly entering into combinations -with verbs and nouns, in which it may direct, qualify, intensify, or even -add something quite new to the meaning; at other times it combines with -some other preposition to produce an indispensable idiom. It has given us -“get out,” “put over,” “come across,” “eat up,” “butt in,” “off of,” “in -between,” and many other expressions without which English, especially -on the vital colloquial level, would be poorer indeed. Thornton Wilder -maintains that it is in this extremely free use of the preposition that -modern American English shows its superiority over British English. -Such bold use of prepositional combinations gives to American English -a certain flavor of the grand style, which British English has not had -since the seventeenth century. Melville, an author working peculiarly -on his own, is characterized in style by this imaginative use of the -preposition. - -Considered with reference to principle, the preposition seems to do -what the adverb does, but to do it with a kind of substantive force. -“Groundward,” for example, seems weak beside “toward the ground,” -“lengthwise” beside “along the length of,” or “centrally” beside “in -the center of.” The explanation may well lie in the preposition’s -characteristic position; as a regular orderer of nouns and of verbs, it -takes upon itself something of their solidity of meaning. “What is that -for?” and “Where did you send it to?” lose none of their force through -being terminated by these brief words of relationship. - - -_The Phrase_ - -It will not be necessary to say much about the phrase because its -possibilities have been fairly well covered by our discussion of the noun -and adjective. One qualifying remark about the force of the prepositional -phrase, however, deserves making. The strength normally found in the -preposition can be greatly diminished by connection with an abstract -noun. That is to say, when the terminus of the preposition is lacking in -vigor or concreteness, the whole expression may succumb to vagueness, -in which cases the single adjective or adverb will be stronger by -comparison. Thus the idea conveyed by “lazy” is largely frustrated by “of -a lazy disposition”; that of “mercenary” by “of a mercenary character”; -that of “deep” by “of depth,” and so on. - -After the prepositional phrase, the most important phrasal combination -to examine, from the standpoint of rhetorical usages, is the participial -phrase. We could infer this truth from the fact alone that the Greeks -made a very extensive use of the participle, as every student of that -marvellous language knows. Greek will frequently use a participle where -English employs a dependent clause or even a full sentence, so that the -English expression “the man who is carrying a spear” would be in Greek -“the spear carrying man”; “the one who spoke” would be “the one having -spoken” and further accordingly, with even more economy of language -than these examples indicate. I am disposed to think that the Greeks -developed this habit because they were very quick to see opportunities of -subordination. The clarity and subtlety of the Greek language derives in -no small part from this highly “organized” character, in which auxiliary -thoughts are compactly placed in auxiliary structures, where they permit -the central thought to emerge more readily. In English the auxiliary -status of the participle (recognized formally through its classification -as an adjective) is not always used to like advantage. - -One consequence of this is that although English intonation and normal -word order tend to make the last part of a sentence the most emphatic, -unskillful writers sometimes lose this emphasis by concluding a sentence -with a participial phrase. We may take as examples “He returned home -in September, having been gone for a year”; and “Having been gone for -a year, he returned home in September.” The second of these puts the -weightier construction in the emphatic position. Of course the matter -of their relative merit cannot be separated from their purpose; there -are sentences whose total meanings are best served by a _retardo_ or -_diminuendo_ effect at the end, and for such closes the participial -phrase is well suited for reasons already given. But in the majority of -utterances it contributes best by modifying at some internal position, -or by expressing some detail or some condition at the beginning of the -sentence. The latter use may be quite effective in climactic orderings, -and it will be found that journalists have virtually stereotyped this -opening for their “lead” sentences: “Threatened with an exhausted food -supply by the strike, hospitals today made special arrangements for the -delivery of essentials”; “Reaching a new high for seven weeks, the stock -market yesterday pushed into new territory.” This form is a successful if -often crude result of effort toward compact and dramatic presentation. - -But to summarize our observations on the participial phrase in English: -It is formally a weak member of the grammatical family; but it is useful -for economy, for shaded effects, and sometimes the phrase will contain -words whose semantic force makes us forget that they are in a secondary -construction. Perhaps it is enough to say that the mature writer has -learned more things that can be done with the participle, but has also -learned to respect its limitations. - - -_In Conclusion_ - -I can imagine being told that this chapter is nothing more than an -exposition of prejudices, and that every principle discussed here can -be defied. I would not be surprised if that were proved through single -examples, or small sets of examples. But I would still hazard that if -these show certain tendencies, my examples show stronger ones, and -we have to remember that there is such a thing as a vector of forces -in language too. Even though an effect may sometimes be obtained by -crowding or even breaking a rule, the lines of force are still there, -to be used by the skillful writer scientifically, and grammar is a kind -of scientific nomenclature. Beyond this, of course, he will use them -according to art, where he will be guided by his artistic intuition, and -by the residual cautions of his experience. - -In the long view a due respect for the canons of grammar seems a part -of one’s citizenship? One does not remain uncritical; but one does “go -along.” It has proved impossible to show that grammar is determined -by the “best people,” or by the pedants, or by any other presumptive -authority, and this is more reason for saying that it incorporates the -people as a whole. Therefore the attitude of unthinking adoption and -the attitude of personal defiance are both dubious, because they look -away from the point where issues, whenever they appear, will be decided. -That point seems to be some communal sense about the fitness of a word -or a construction for what has communal importance, and this indicates -at least some suprapersonal basis. Much evidence could be offered to -show that language is something which is born psychological but is ever -striving to become logical. At this task of making it more logical -everybody works more or less. Like the political citizenship defined by -Aristotle, language citizenship makes one a potential magistrate, or one -empowered to decide. The work is best carried on, however, by those who -are aware that language must have some connection with the intelligential -world, and that is why one must think about the rhetorical nature even of -grammatical categories. - - - - -Chapter VI - -MILTON’S HEROIC PROSE - - -There are many who have wished that Milton were living at this hour, -but not all have taken into account the fact that his great polemical -writings demand an heroic kind of attention which modern education does -not discipline the majority of our citizens to give. Even in the last -century W. E. Channing was moved to lament “the fastidiousness and -effeminacy of modern readers” when faced with Milton’s prose writings. -He went on to say, in a passage which may serve to introduce our topic, -“To be universally intelligible is not the highest merit. A great mind -cannot, without injurious constraint, shrink itself to the grasp of -common passive readers.” It is wrong therefore to expect it to sacrifice -great qualities “that the multitude may keep pace with it.”[128] - -The situation which gave rise to Channing’s complaint has grown -measurably worse by our day, when the common passive reader determines -the level of most publications. The mere pursuance of Milton’s meaning -requires an enforcement of attention, and the perception of his judgments -requires an active sensibility incompatible with a state of relaxation. -There is nothing in Milton for the reader who must be put at ease and -treated only to the quickly apprehensible. But along with this turning -away from the difficult, there is another cause at work, a feeling, -quite truly grounded, that Milton’s very arduousness of spirit calls for -elevation on the part of the reader. Milton assumes an heroic stance, and -he demands a similar stance of those who would meet him. An age which -has come to suspect this as evidence of aristocratic tendency will then -avoid Milton also for a moral reason, preferring, even when it agrees -with him, to have the case stated in more plebeian fashion. Therefore -the reading of Milton is more than a problem in communication; it is a -problem also of gaining insight, or even of developing sympathy with the -aristocratic intellectualism which breathes through all he wrote. - -It can be shown that all of the features which make up Milton’s arduous -style proceed from three or four sources. The first of these is the -primacy of the concept. What this primacy signifies is that in his prose -Milton wrote primarily as a thinker and not as an artificer. That is -to say, his units of composition are built upon concepts and not upon -conventionalized expository patterns. For him the linguistic sentence was -a means, to be expanded and shaped as the driving force of the thought -required. Or perhaps it would be more meaningful to say that for him the -sentence was an accommodation-form. He will put into it as much or as -little as he needs, and often, as we shall see presently, he needed a -great deal. This use of the sentence as an accommodation-form produces -what is perhaps the most obvious feature of his style, the long period. -What length must a sentence have to be called “long”? Of course our usual -standard is the sentence we are accustomed to, and in present-day writing -that sentence will run 20-30 words, to cite an average range for serious -writing. Milton’s sentences very frequently run 60-80 words, and many -will exceed 100, the length of an average paragraph today.[129] - -To examine Milton’s method with the lengthy period, we may well begin -with the second sentence of _Of Reformation in England_, an outstanding -specimen of 373 words. - - Sad it is to think how that doctrine of the gospel, planted by - teachers divinely inspired, and by them winnowed and sifted - from the chaff of overdated ceremonies, and refined to such a - spiritual height and temper of purity, and knowledge of the - Creator, that the body, with all the circumstances of time - and place, were purified by the affections of the regenerate - soul, and nothing left impure but sin; faith needing not the - weak and fallible office of the senses, to be either the - ushers or interpreters of heavenly mysteries, save where our - Lord himself in his sacraments ordained; that such a doctrine - should, through the grossness and blindness of her professors, - and the fraud of deceivable traditions, drag so downwards, as - to backslide into the Jewish beggary of old cast rudiments, - and stumble forward another way into the new-vomited paganism - of sensual idolatry, attributing purity or impurity to things - indifferent, that they might bring the inward acts of the - spirit to the outward and customary eye-service of the body, - as if they could make God earthly and fleshly, because they - could not make themselves heavenly and spiritual; they began to - draw down all the divine intercourse between God and the soul, - yea, the very shape of God himself, into an exterior and bodily - form, urgently pretending a necessity and obligement of joining - the body in a formal reverence, and worship circumscribed; they - hallowed it, they fumed it, they sprinkled it, they bedecked - it, not in robes of pure innocency, but of pure linen, with - other deformed and fantastic dresses, in palls and mitres, - gold and gewgaws fetched from Aaron’s old wardrobe, or the - flamins vestry: then was the priest set to con his motions and - his postures, his liturgies and his lurries, till the soul by - this means of overbodying herself, given up justly to fleshly - delights, bated her wing apace downward: and finding the ease - she had from her visible and sensuous colleague the body, in - performance of religious duties, her pinions now broken, and - flagging, shifted off from herself the labor of high soaring - any more, forgot her heavenly flight, and left the dull and - droiling carcase to plod in the old road, and drudging trade of - outward conformity.[130] - -With reference to accommodation, let us attend to the scope of this -sentence. It contains nothing less than a history of Christianity -from the Protestant reformer’s point of view. Four stages are given -in this history: the early revelation of true Christianity; its later -misinterpretation through the “grossness and blindness” of its followers; -the growth of institutionalism; and finally the atrophy of true religion -produced by undue attention to outward circumstance. It is, as we see, -a complete narration, dressed out with many illuminating details. We -shall discover that Milton habitually prolongs a sentence thus until it -has covered the unit of its subject. He feels no compulsion to close the -period out of regard for some established norm, since he has his eye on -a different criterion of completeness. In line with the same practice, -some of his sentences are so fitted that they contain complete arguments, -or even an argument preceded by its expository narration. As an example -of the sentence containing a unit of argument, we may note the following -from _The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce_. - -_And yet there follows upon this a worse temptation: for if he be such -as hath spent his youth unblameably, and laid up his chiefest earthly -comforts in the enjoyments of a contented marriage, nor did neglect that -furtherance which was to be obtained therein by constant prayers; when he -shall find himself bound fast to an uncomplying discord of nature, or, as -it often happens, to an image of earth and phlegm, with whom he looked -to be the copartner of a sweet and gladsome society, and sees withal -that his bondage is now inevitable; though he be almost the strongest -Christian, he will be ready to despair in virtue, and mutiny against -Divine Providence; and this doubtless is the reason of those lapses, and -that melancholy despair, which we see in many wedded persons, though -they understand it not, or pretend other causes, because they know no -remedy; and is of extreme danger: therefore when human frailty surcharged -is at such a loss, charity ought to venture much, lest an overtossed -faith endanger to shipwreck.[131]_ This sentence contains a complete -hypothetical syllogism, which can be abstracted as follows: - - If the rigidity of the marriage relationship is not relaxed by - charity, Christians will despair of finding their solace in - that relationship. - - The rigidity of the marriage relationship is not at present - relaxed by charity. - - Christians do despair of finding solace within that - relationship (as shown by “those lapses and that melancholy - despair, which we see in many wedded persons”). - -Thus the argument prescribes the content of the sentence and marshals it. - -Let us look next at a specimen from the _Areopagitica_ embodying not only -the full syllogism but also a preparatory exposition. - - When a man writes to the world, he summons up all his reason - and deliberation to assist him; he searches, meditates, is - industrious, and likely consults and confers with his judicious - friends; after all which done, he takes himself to be informed - in what he writes, as well as any that writ before him; if - in this most consummate act of his fidelity and ripeness, no - years, no industry, no former proof of his abilities can bring - him to that state of maturity, as not to be still mistrusted - and suspected, unless he carry all his considerate diligence, - all his midnight watchings, and expense of Palladian oil, to - the hasty view of an unleisured licenser, perhaps much his - younger, perhaps far his inferior in judgment, perhaps one who - never knew the labor of bookwriting; and if he be not repulsed, - or slighted, must appear in print like a puny with his - guardian, and his censor’s hand on the back of his title to be - his bail and surety, that he is no idiot or seducer; it cannot - be but a dishonor and derogation the author, to the book, to - the privilege and dignity of learning.[132] - -In this utterance of 197 words, every detail pertains to the one concept -of the responsibility and dignity of learning; yet closer inspection -reveals that a two-part structure is accommodated. First there is the -“narration,” a regular part of the classical oration, here setting forth -the industry and conscientiousness of authors. This is followed by a -hypothetical argument saying, in effect, that if all these guarantees -of sober and honest performance are not enough to entitle authors to -liberty, there can be no respect for learning or learned men in the -commonwealth. Thus the sentence is prolonged, one might say, until -the speech is made, and the speech is not a series of loosely related -assertions but a structure defined by standard principles of logic and -rhetoric. - -Apart from mere length, which as Whatley and other writers on style -observe, imposes a burden upon the memory too great to be expected of -everyone, there is in the longer Miltonic sentence the additional tax of -complexity. Of course Milton was somewhat influenced by Latin grammar, -but here we are less interested in measuring literary influences than in -analyzing the reading problem which he presents in our day. That problem -is created largely by his intricate elaboration within the long period. -For an especially apt illustration of this I should like to return to _Of -Reformation in England_ and follow the sentence which introduces that -work. - - Amidst those deep and retired thoughts, which, with every man - Christianly instructed, ought to be most frequent, of God and - of his miraculous ways and works among men, and of our religion - and works, to be performed to him; after the story of our - Saviour Christ, suffering to the lowest bent of weakness in the - flesh, and presently triumphing to the highest pitch of glory - in the spirit, which drew up his body also; till we in both be - united to him in the revelation of his kingdom, I do not know - of anything more worthy to take up the whole passion of pity - on the one side, and joy on the other, than to consider first - the foul and sudden corruption, and then, after many a tedious - age, the long deferred, but much more wonderful and happy - reformation of the church in these latter days.[133] - -It will be agreed, I feel, that the following features require a more -than ordinary effort of attention and memory: (1) The rhetorical -interruptions, whereby _which_ is separated from its verb _ought to be_, -and _thoughts_ is separated from its prepositional modifier _of God -and of his miraculous works and ways among men_.—(2) The progressive -particularization of _our Saviour Christ_, wherein the substantive is -modified by two participial constructions, _suffering to the lowest -bent of weakness in the flesh_ and _triumphing to the highest pitch -of glory in the spirit_; wherein again the substantive _spirit_ takes -a modifier in the clause _which drew up his body also_, and the verb -_drew up_ of the clause is qualified by the adverbial clause _till we in -both be united to him in the revelation of his kingdom_. This is a type -of elaboration in which, as the account unfolds, each detail seems to -require a gloss, which is offered in a construction of some weight or -length.—(3) The extensive parallelism of the last part, beginning with -_the whole passion of pity on the one side_.—(4) The suspended structure -which withholds the topic phrase of the tract, _happy reformation of the -church_, until almost the end of the sentence. - -All of these qualities of length, scope, and complexity made the Miltonic -sentence a formidable construction, and we are curious to know why he -was able to use it with public success. The first circumstance we must -take into account is that he lived in a tough-minded period of Western -culture. It was a time when the foundations of the state were being -searched out; when the relationship between religion and political -authority was being re-defined, to the disregard of old customs; and -when sermons were powerful arguments, beginning with first principles -and moving down through a long chain of deductions. It was a time in -which every thinking man virtually had to be either a revolutionary or -a counter-revolutionary; and there is something in such intellectual -climate which scorns prettification and mincing measure. The public -therefore met Milton’s impassioned interest with an equal passion. But by -public we do not mean here the half-educated masses of today; Milton’s -public was rather a sternly educated minority, which had been taught to -recognize an argument when it saw one, and even to analyze its source. - -Further evidence of the absorbing interest in the argumentative burden -of prose expression may be seen in the way he employs the extended -metaphor. Milton grew up in the age of the metaphysical conceit. We -now understand that for Elizabethans and Jacobeans a metaphor went far -beyond mere ornamentation to enter into the very heart of a predication. -Rosemund Tuve in particular has shown that for the poets of the period an -image was an argument, so understood and so used.[134] We would hardly -expect it to be any less so in prose. When Milton brings in a metaphor, -he makes full use of its probative value, and this involved, along with -confidence in the architectonic power of the image, a belief that it -affirmed something about the case in point. Thus the metaphor was not -idle or decorative merely, and it dominated the passage to the eclipse of -sentence units. This will explain why, when Milton begins a metaphor, he -will scarcely abandon it until the last appropriate application has been -made and the similitude established beyond reasonable question. - -The _Areopagitica_ teems with brilliant extended figures, of which two -will be cited. Here is an image of truth, carried through three sentences. - - Truth indeed came once into the world with her divine master, - and was a perfect shape most glorious to look on: but when he - had ascended, and his apostles after him were laid asleep, - then straight arose a wicked race of deceivers, who, as that - story goes of the Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators, how - they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed - her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to - the four winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends - of Truth, such as durst appear, imitating the careful search - that Isis made after the body of Osiris, went up and down - gathering limb by limb still as they could find them. We have - not found them all, lords and commons, nor ever shall do, till - her master’s second coming; he shall bring together every - joint and member, and shall mold them into an immortal feature - of loveliness and perfection. Suffer not these licensing - prohibitions to stand at every place of opportunity forbidding - and disturbing them that continue seeking, that continue to do - our obsequies to the torn body of our martyred saint.[135] - -And here is Milton’s defense of the intellectually free community, -rendered in a military metaphor. - - First, when a city shall be as it were besieged and blocked - about, her navigable river infested, inroads and incursions - round, defiance and battle oft rumored to be marching up, - even to her walls and suburb trenches; that then the people, - or the greater part, more than at other times, wholly taken - up with the study of highest and most important matters to be - reformed, should be disputing, reasoning, reading, inventing, - discoursing, even to a rarity and admiration, things not before - discoursed or written of, argues first a singular good will, - contentedness, and confidence in your prudent foresight, and - safe government, lords and commons; and from thence derives - itself to a gallant bravery and well grounded contempt of - their enemies, as if there were no small number of as great - spirits among us, as was his who, when Rome was nigh besieged - by Hannibal, being in the city, bought that piece of ground - at no cheap rate, whereupon Hannibal himself encamped his own - regiment.[136] - -Milton’s concept of church government according to Scripture is thus -presented in _The Reason of Church Government Urged Against Prelaty_: - - Did God take such delight in measuring out the pillars, - arches, and doors of a material temple? Was he so punctual and - circumspect in lavers, altars and sacrifices soon after to be - abrogated, lest any of these should have been made contrary to - his mind? Is not a far more perfect work, more agreeable to his - perfections, in the most perfect state of the church militant, - the new alliance to God to man? Should not he rather now by his - own prescribed discipline have cast his line and level upon the - soul of man, which is his rational temple, and, by the divine - square and compass thereof, form and regenerate in us the - lovely shapes of virtues and graces, the sooner to edify and - accomplish that immortal stature of Christ’s body, which is his - church, in all her glorious lineaments and proportions?[137] - -What we are especially called upon to note in these examples is the -boldness of figuration, by which the concept survives the pressure of -many, and sometimes rather concrete, tests of correspondence, as the -analogy enlarges. The author’s faith in the figure as an organizing -principle is likely evidence that he sees the world as form, the more -of which can be drawn out the better. To a later day, any figure -carried beyond modest length runs the danger of turning into an ironic -commentary upon its analogue, but to Milton, as to the seventeenth -century generally, it was a window to look through. Now quite literally -the conceit is a concept, and we have found it to be another organizing -medium of this intellectual prose, and a second proof that some texture -of thought precedes the mere linguistic expression, and holds itself -superior to it. - -While the primacy of the concept is responsible for these formal features -of style, we must look elsewhere for the source of its vigor. Certainly -another reason that Milton is a taxing author to read is the restless -energy that permeates his substance. He never allows the reader to -remain inert, and this is because there were few things toward which -Milton himself was indifferent. One revelation of the active mind is -the zeal and completeness with which it sorts things according to some -scale of values; and judged by that standard Milton’s mind is active -in the extreme. To approach this a little more systematically, what -one discovers with one’s first reading of the prose is that Milton -is constantly attentive to the degrees of things, and his range of -valuations, extending from those things which can be described only -through his elegant curses to those which require the language of -religious or poetic eulogy, is very great. Indeed, “things indifferent,” -to employ a phrase used by Milton himself, play a very small part in his -writing, which rather tends to be juridical in the highest measure. And -the vitality contributed by this awareness of difference he increased -by widening the gulf between the bad and the good. These contrarieties -are managed in various ways: sometimes they are made up of single nouns -of opposed meaning; sometimes of other parts of speech or of phrases; -but always it would take a dull reader to miss the opposed valuations. -A sentence from The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce will afford some -good examples. - - Hence it is, that error supports custom, custom countenances - error: and these two between them would persecute and chase - away all truth and solid wisdom out of human life, were it not - that God, rather than man, once in many ages calls together - the prudent and religious counsels of men, deputed to repress - the encroachments, and to work off the inveterate blots and - obscurities wrought upon our minds by the subtle insinuating - of error and custom; who, with the numerous and vulgar train - of their followers, make it their chief design to envy and cry - down the industry of free reasoning, under the terms of humor - and innovation; as if the womb of teeming truth were to be - closed up, if she presume to bring forth aught that sorts not - with their unchewed notions and suppositions.[138] - -The vigor of this passage arises from a continuing series of contrasts, -comprising the following: _error and custom_ with _truth and solid -wisdom; God_ with _man_; _prudent and religious counsels_ with -_encroachments_ and also with _inveterate blots and obscurities; subtle -insinuating of error and custom_ with _industry of free reasoning_; and -_womb of teeming truth_ with _unchewed notions and suppositions_. - -Here is another passage, from _Of Reformation in England_. - - So that in this manner the prelates, both then and ever since, - coming from a mean and plebeian life on a sudden to be lords of - stately palaces, rich furniture, delicious fare, and princely - attendance, thought the plain and homespun verity of Christ’s - gospel unfit any longer to hold their lordships’ acquaintance, - unless the poor threadbare matron were put into better clothes; - her chaste and modest vail, surrounded with celestial beams, - they overlaid with wanton tresses, and in a staring tire - bespeckled her with all the gaudy allurements of a whore.[139] - -In this the clash is between _plebeian life_ and _stately palaces_, -_rich furniture_, etc.; _homespun verity_ and _lordship’s acquaintance_; -_threadbare matron_ and _better clothes_; _chaste and modest vail_ and -_wanton tresses_, _staring tire_, and _gaudy allurements of a whore_. -Lastly I should like to take a sentence from the same work, which has -been admired by Aldous Huxley for its energy. - - Thus then did the spirit of unity and meekness inspire and - animate every joint and sinew of the mystical body; but now - the gravest and worthiest minister, a true bishop of his - fold, shall be reviled and ruffled by an insulting and only - canon-wise prelate, as if he were some slight paltry companion: - and the people of God, redeemed and washed with Christ’s blood, - and dignified with so many glorious titles of saints and sons - in the gospel, are now no better reputed than impure ethnics - and lay dogs; stones, pillars, and crucifixes, have now the - honour and the alms due to Christ’s living members; the table - of communion, now become a table of separation, stands like - an exalted platform on the brow of the quire, fortified with - bulwark and barricado, to keep off the profane touch of the - laics, whilst the obscene and surfeited priest scruples not - to paw and mammock the sacramental bread as familiarly as his - tavern biscuit.[140] - -In this typical specimen of Milton’s vehemence, _gravest and worthiest -minister, a true bishop_ contrasts with _insulting and only canon-wise -prelate_ and with _slight paltry companion_; _the people of God, redeemed -and washed with Christ’s blood, and dignified with so many glorious -titles of saints and sons in the gospel_ with _impure ethnics_ and _lay -dogs_; _stones, pillars, and crucifixes_ with _Christ’s living members_; -_communion_ with _separation_; _fortified with bulwark and barricado_ -with the earlier _unity and meekness_; _obscene_, _surfeited_, _paw_, and -_mammock_ with _priest_; and _sacramental bread_ with _tavern biscuit_. - -The effect of such sustained contrast is to produce a high degree of -tonicity, and here in a word is why Milton’s prose seems never relaxed. -His pervading consciousness of the combat of good and evil caused him to -engage in constant projections of that combat. In a manner of speaking, -Milton always writes from a “prejudice,” which proves to be on inspection -his conviction as a Christian and as a political and moral preacher, -that, as the good has been judged, the duty of a publicist is to show -it separated with the utmost clearness of distinction from the bad. -Accordingly Milton’s expositions, if one follows them intently, cause one -to accept one thing and reprobate another unceasingly. - -In consequence there appears in many passages a quality of style which -I shall call the superlative mode. His very reaching out toward the two -extremes of a gauge of value drives him to couch expression in terms -raised to their highest degree. Often we see this in the superlative -form of the adjective. But we see it also in his employment of words -which even in their grammatically positive forms have acquired a kind -of superlative sense. Finally we see it on occasion in a pattern -of incremental repetition which he uses to impress us with his most -impassioned thoughts. The wonderful closing prayer from _Of Reformation -in England_ contains examples of all of these superlatives. Here are the -closing paragraphs. - - And now we know, O thou our most certain hope and defence, - that thine enemies have been consulting all the sorceries of - the great whore, and have joined their plots with that sad - intelligencing tyrant that mischiefs the world with his mines - of Ophir, and lies thirsting to revenge his naval ruins that - have larded our seas: but let them all take counsel together, - and let it come to nought; let them decree, and do thou cancel - it; let them gather themselves, and be scattered; let them - embattle themselves, and be broken, for thou art with us. - - Then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of saints, some one - may perhaps be heard offering at high strains in new and - lofty measures, to sing and celebrate thy divine mercies and - marvellous judgments in this land throughout all ages; whereby - this great and warlike nation, instructed and inured to the - fervent and continual practice of truth and righteousness, - and casting far from her the rags of her old vices, may - press on hard to that high and happy emulation to be found - the soberest, wisest, and most Christian people at that day, - when thou, the eternal and shortly-expected King, shalt open - the clouds to judge the several kingdoms of the world, and - distributing national honours and rewards to religious and - just commonwealths, shalt put an end to all earthly tyrannies, - proclaiming thy universal and mild monarchy through heaven and - earth; where they undoubtedly, that by their labors, counsels - and prayers, have been earnest for the common good of religion - and their country, shall receive above the inferior orders of - the blessed, the regal addition of principalities, legions, - and thrones into their glorious titles, and in supereminence - of beatific vision, progressing the dateless and irrevoluble - circle of eternity, shall clasp inseparable hands with joy and - bliss, in overmeasure, for ever. - - But they contrary, that by the impairing and diminution of the - true faith, the distresses and servitude of their country, - aspire to high dignity, rule, and promotion here, after a - shameful end in this life (which God grant them), shall be - thrown down eternally into the darkest and deepest gulf of - hell, where under the despiteful control, the trample and spurn - of all the other damned, that in the anguish of their torture, - shall have no other ease than to exercise a raving and bestial - tyranny over them as their slaves and negroes, they shall - remain in that plight for ever, the basest, the lowermost, - the most dejected, most underfoot, and downtrodden vassals of - perdition.[141] - -Let us mark the bristling superlatives. Of adjectives in superlative -form we find _most certain_, _soberest_, _wisest_, _most Christian_, -_darkest_, _deepest_, _basest_, _lowermost_, _most dejected_, _most -underfoot_, and _[most] downtrodden_. Of those words which have a -superlative force or meaning, I would list—allowing that this must be a -matter of judgment—_naught_, _cancel_, _broken_, _marvellous_, _fervent_, -_eternal_, _universal_, _undoubtedly_, _supereminence_, _beatific_, -_dateless_, _irrevoluble_, _eternity_, _inseparable_, _overmeasure_, _for -ever_, and _eternally_. But the most interesting form of the superlative -mode is the pattern of repetition by which Milton, through a progressive -accumulation of substantives and adjectives, builds up a crescendo. -First there will be one or more groups of two, then perhaps a group of -three, and finally, for the supreme effect, a breathtaking collocation of -five. Such a pattern appears in the concluding sentence of the prayer: -_impairing_ and _diminution_; _distresses_ and _servitude_; _dignity_, -_rule_, and _promotion_; _darkest_ and _deepest_; _control_, _trample_, -and _spurn_; _raving_ and _bestial_; _slaves_ and _negroes_; _basest_, -_lowermost_, _most dejected_, _most underfoot and downtrodden_. Here, it -will be noticed, the sequence is 2-2-3-2-3-2-2-5. The pattern in itself -is revealing. First there are two pairs which ready us for attaining the -group of three; then another pair to rest upon before we attain the group -of three again; then two more pairs for a longer respite while we ready -ourselves for the supreme effort of the group of five. - -The prayer is not, of course, an ordinary passage; yet what is seen here -is discoverable in some measure in all of Milton’s prose. He wrote in -this superlative vein because his principal aim was the divorcement of -good and evil. To show these wide apart, he had to talk in terms of best -and worst, and being a rhetorician of vast resources, he found ways of -making the superlative even more eminent than our regular grammatical -forms make it, which naturally marks him as a great creative user of the -language. - -The topic of grouping appropriately introduces another aspect of Milton’s -style which I shall refer to more specifically as systematic collocation. -No one can read him with the object of forming some descriptive image of -his prose without being impressed by his frequent use of pairs of words -similar in meaning to express a single object or idea. These pairs will -be comprised, in a roughly equal number of instances, of nouns and of -adjectives, though fairly often two verbs will make up the collocation -and occasionally two adverbs. It seems probable that these pairs, more -than any other single feature of the style, give the impression of -thickness, which is in turn the source of the impression of strength. Or -to present this in another way, what the pairs create is the effect of -dimension. It needs no proving at this stage that Milton had too well -stored a mind and too genuine a passion to coast along on mere fluency. -If he used two words where another author would use one, that fact -affords presumption that his second word had its margin of meaningful -addition to contribute. And so we find it: these pairs of substantives -give his prose a dimensional quality, because this one will show one -aspect of the thing named and that one another. It would require a rather -long list to include the variety of aspects which Milton will bring out -by his practice of double naming; sometimes it is in form and substance, -or the conceptual and the material nature of the thing; sometimes it is -appearance and meaning; sometimes process and tendency; sometimes one -modifier will express the active and another the passive nature of the -thing described. Always the practice causes his subject matter to convey -this sensation of depth and realness, which is a principal factor in the -vitality of his style. - -We shall look at some examples of this highly interesting method. The -first is from the _Areopagitica_. I have italicized the pairs. - - Methinks I see in my mind a _noble_ and _puissant_ nation - rousing herself like a strong man after a sleep, and shaking - her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle mewing - her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full - midday beam, _purging_ and _unscaling_ her long abused sight at - the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise - of _timorous_ and _flocking_ birds, with those also that love - the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in - their envious gabble, would prognosticate a year of _sects_ and - _schisms_.[142] - -_Noble_ and _puissant_ direct attention to ethical and to physical -attributes; _purging_ and _scaling_ do not form so complementary a -pair but perhaps denote two distinct phases of a process; _timorous_ -and _flocking_ is an excellent pair to show inward nature and outward -behavior, and must be accounted one of the most successful uses of -the method; _sects_ and _schisms_ would seem to refer to social or -ecclesiastical and to theological aspects of division. - -In a sentence from _Of Reformation in England_, he says: “But what do I -stand reckoning upon _advantages_ and _gains_ lost by the _misrule_ and -_turbulency_ of the prelates?”[143] _Advantages_ and _gains_ stand for -two sorts of progress made prior to the _misrule_ and _turbulency_ of the -prelates, which in turn signify the formal outward policies and the inner -spirit of ambition and presumption. From the _Doctrine and Discipline of -Divorce_: “The _ignorance_ and _mistake_ of this high point hath heaped -up one huge half of all the misery that hath been since Adam.”[144] Here -_ignorance_ would seem to describe a passive lack of awareness, whereas -_mistake_ describes active misapprehension or misapplication. Finally -here are examples from _Animadversions upon the Remonstrant’s Defence -Against Smectymnuus_. - - We all know that in _private_ or _personal_ injuries, yea, - in public sufferings for the cause of Christ, his _rule_ and - _example_ teaches us to be so far from a readiness to speak - evil, as not to answer the reviler in his language, though - never so much provoked: yet in the _detecting_ and _convincing_ - of any notorious enemy to _truth_ and his _country’s peace_, - especially that is conceited to have a _voluble_ and _smart_ - fluence of tongue, and in the vain confidence of that, and out - of a more tenacious cling to worldly respects, stands up for - all the rest to justify a _long usurpation_ and _convicted - pseudepiscopy_ of prelates, with all their ceremonies, - liturgies and tyrannies, which _God_ and _man_ are now ready to - _explode_ and _hiss out of the land_: I suppose, and more than - suppose, it will be nothing disagreeing from Christian meekness - to handle such a one in a rougher accent, and to send home his - haughtiness well bespurted with his own holy water.[145] - -Here _private_ and _personal_ may be taken as giving us two aspects of -the individual; _rule_ and _example_ differ as abstract and concrete; -_detecting_ and _convincing_ (the latter apparently in the older sense of -“overcoming”) denote two stages of a process; _truth_ and _his country’s -peace_ may be taken to express the metaphysical and the embodied forms -of the same thing; _voluble_ and _smart_ seem to refer to what is -perceivable by the senses and by the intellect respectively; _long -usurpation_ and _convicted pseudepiscopy_ differ as simple action and -action which has been judged: _God_ and _man_ bring together the divine -and the human; _explode_ and _hiss out of the land_ again express two -stages of a process. - -In the manner here indicated, these collocations serve to give the style -a wonderful richness of thought. The reader feels that he is being shown -both the _esse_ and the _potesse_ of the object named. At least, he gets -a look at its manifold nature. The way in which Milton fills out the -subject for his reader is at once lavish and perspicuous. Just as his -figures were seen to have a prolonged correspondence, beyond what the -casual or unthinking writer would bring to view, so his substantives and -predicates are assembled upon a principle of penetration or depth of -description. - -Our general impression of Milton—an impression we get in some degree -of all the great writers of his period and of the Elizabethan period -before it—is that his thought dominates the medium. While the distinction -between what is said and the form of saying it can never be drawn -absolutely, it is yet to be remarked that some writers seem to compose -with an awareness of how their matter will look upon the page, or how -it will sound in the parlor; others seem to keep their main attention -upon currently preferred terms and idioms. Again, some writers seem to -accept the risk of suspension, transposition, and involution out of -conscious elegance; Milton seems rather to require them out of strength -of purpose. He was not a writer of writing, but consistently a writer of -substance, and the language was his instrumentality, which he used with -the familiar boldness of a master. One would go far to find a better -illustration of the saying of John Peale Bishop that the English language -is like a woman; it is most likely to yield after one has shown it a -little violence. All of the great prose writers of the Elizabethan age -and the Seventeenth century were perfectly capable of showing it that -violence, and I believe this is the true reason that a lover of eloquence -today reacts their works with irrepressible admiration. The tremendous -suspensions and ramifications they were willing to create; their -readiness to make function the test of grammar and to coin according -to need, through all of which a rational, though not always a formal -or codified syntax survives—these things bespeak a sort of magisterial -attitude toward language which has been lost in the intervening centuries. - -It is quite possible that long years of accumulated usage tend to act -as a deterrent to a free and imaginative use of language. So many -stereotypes have had time to form themselves, and so many manuals -of usage have been issued that the choice would seem to lie between -simple compliance and open rebellion. Either one uses the language as -the leaders of one’s social and business world use it, or one makes a -decisive break and uses it in open defiance of the conventionalized -patterns. We may remember in this connection that when the new movement -in modern literature got underway in the second decade of this century, -its leaders proved themselves the most defiant and brash kind of rebels -as they embarked upon the work of resuscitation and refurbishment, and -it was to the Elizabethans especially that they looked for sanction and -guidance. But the rebel with this program faces a dilemma: he cannot -infuse life into the old forms that he knows are depriving expression of -all vitality, and he exhausts himself in the campaign to smash and get -rid of them. - -That is partly an historical observation, and our interest is in laying -bare the movement of a great eloquence. Yet if we had to answer whether -some heroic style like that of Milton cannot be formed for our own day, -when millions might rejoice to hear a sonorous voice speaking out of a -deep learning in our traditions, our answer would surely be, yes. And if -asked how, we would begin our counsel by telling the writer to heed the -advice in Emerson’s _American Scholar_—better indeed than Emerson heeded -it himself—to look upon himself not as a writer but as a man writing, and -to try to live in that character. As long as one does that, it is most -likely that the concept will dominate the medium, and that one will use, -with inventive freedom, such conventionality as is necessary to language. -A timid correctness, like perfect lucidity, sometimes shows that more -attention has been devoted to the form than to the thought, and this may -give the writing a kind of hard surface which impedes sympathy between -writer and reader. Finally, one should remember that people like to feel -they are hearing of the solid fact and substance of the world, and those -epithets which give us glimpses of its concreteness and contingency -are the best guarantors of that. The regular balancing of abstract and -concrete modifiers, which we meet regularly in Shakespeare, mirrors, -indeed, the situation all of us face in daily living, where general -principles are clear in theory but are conditioned in their application -to the concrete world. The man of eloquence must be a lover of “the -world’s body” to the extent of being able to give it a fond description. - -With these conditions practically realized, we might again have orators -of the heroic mold. But the change would have to include the public also, -for, on a second thought suggested by Whitman, to have great orators -there must be great audiences too. - - - - -Chapter VII - -THE SPACIOUSNESS OF OLD RHETORIC - - -Few species of composition seem so antiquated, so little available for -any practical purpose today, as the oratory in which the generation -of our grandparents delighted. The type of discourse which they would -ride miles in wagons to hear, or would regard as the special treat of -some festive occasion, fills most people today with an acute sense of -discomfort. Somehow, it makes them embarrassed. They become conscious -of themselves, conscious of pretensions in it, and they think it well -consigned to the museum. But its very ability to inspire antipathy, as -distinguished from indifference, suggests the presence of something -interesting. - -The student of rhetoric should accordingly sense here the chance for a -discovery, and as he begins to listen for its revealing quality, the -first thing he becomes aware of is a “spaciousness.” This is, of course, -a broad impression, which requires its own analysis. As we listen more -carefully, then, it seems that between the speech itself and the things -it is meant to signify, something stands—perhaps it is only an empty -space—but something is there to prevent immediate realizations and -references. For an experience of the sensation, let us for a moment go -back to 1850 and attune our ears to an address by Representative Andrew -Ewing, on the subject of the sale of the public lands. - - We have afforded a refuge to the down-trodden nations of the - Old World, and organized system of internal improvement and - public education, which have no parallel in the history of - mankind. Why should we not continue and enlarge the system - which has so much contributed to these results? If our Pacific - Coast should be lined with its hundred cities, extending from - the northern boundary of Oregon down to San Diego; if the vast - interior hills and valleys could be filled with lowing herds - and fruitful fields of a thriving and industrious people; and - if the busy hum of ten thousand workshops could be daily heard - over the placid waters of the Pacific, would our government be - poorer or our country less able to meet her obligations than at - present?[146] - -Despite the allusions to geographical localities, does not the -speaker seem to be speaking _in vacuo_? His words do not impinge -upon a circumambient reality; his concepts seem not to have definite -correspondences, but to be general, and as it were, mobile. -“Spread-eagle” and “high-flown” are two modifiers with which people have -sought to catch the quality of such speech. - -In this work we are interested both in causes and the moral quality -of causes, and when an orator appears to speak of subjects without an -immediate apperception of them, we become curious about the kind of world -he is living in. Was this type of orator sick, as some have inferred? -Was he suffering from some kind of auto-intoxication which produces -insulation from reality? Charles Egbert Craddock in her novel _Where -the Battle Was Fought_ has left a satirical picture of the type. Its -personification is General Vayne, who holds everything up to a “moral -magnifying glass.” “Through this unique lens life loomed up as a rather -large affair. In the rickety courthouse in the village of Chattalla, -five miles out there to the south, General Vayne beheld a temple of -justice. He translated an office-holder as the sworn servant of the -people. The State was this great commonwealth, and its seal a proud -escutcheon. A fall in cotton struck him as a blow to the commerce of -the world. From an adverse political fortune he augured the swift ruin -of the country.”[147] There is the possibility that this type was sick -with a kind of vanity and egocentricity, and that has frequently been -offered as a diagnosis. But on the other hand, there is the possibility -that such men were larger than we, with our petty and contentious style, -and because larger more exposed in those limitations which they had. The -heroes in tragedies also talk bigger than life. Perhaps the source of our -discomfort is that this kind of speech comes to us as an admonition that -there were giants in the earth before us, mighty men, men of renown. But -before we are ready for any conclusion, we must isolate the cause of our -intimation. - -As we scan the old oratory for the chief offender against modern -sensibility, we are certain to rank in high position, if not first, -_the uncontested term_. By this we mean the term which seems to invite -a contest, but which apparently is not so regarded in its own context. -Most of these are terms which scandalize the modern reader with their -generality, so that he wonders how the speaker ever took the risk of -using them. No experienced speaker interlards his discourse with terms -which are themselves controversial. He may build his case on one or two -such terms, after giving them _ad hoc_ definitions, but to multiply them -is to create a force of resistance which almost no speech can overcome. -Yet in this period we have speeches which seem made up almost from -beginning to end of phrases loose in scope and but weakly defensible. -Yet the old orator who employed these terms of sweeping generality knew -something of his audience’s state of mind and was confident of his -effect. And the public generally responded by putting him in the genus -“great man.” This brings us to the rhetorical situation, which must be -described in some detail. - -We have said that this orator of the old-fashioned mold, who is using -the uncontested term, passes on his collection of generalities in full -expectation that they will be received as legal tender. He is taking a -very advanced position, which could be undermined easily, were the will -to do so present. But the will was not present, and this is the most -significant fact in our explanation. The orator had, in any typical -audience, not only a previously indoctrinated group, but a group of quite -similar indoctrination. Of course, we are using such phrases for purposes -of comparison with today. It is now a truism that the homogeneity of -belief which obtained three generations ago has largely disappeared. Such -belief was, in a manner of conceiving it, the old orator’s capital. And -it was, if we may trust the figure further, an initial asset which made -further operations possible. - -If we knew how this capital is accumulated, we would possess one of -the secrets of civilization. All we know is that whatever spells the -essential unity of a people in belief and attachment contains the -answer. The best we can do at this stage is look into the mechanism of -relationship between this level of generality and the effectiveness of a -speech. - -We must keep in mind that “general” is itself a relative modifier, and -that the degree of generality with which one may express one’s thoughts -is very wide. One may refer, for example, to a certain event as a -_murder_, a _crime_, an _act_, or an _occurrence_. We assume that none -of these terms is inherently falsifying, because none of them is in any -prior sense required. Levels of generality do not contradict one another; -they supplement one another by bringing out different foci of interest. -Every level of generality has its uses: the Bible can tell the story of -creation in a few hundred words, and it is doubtless well that it should -be told there in that way. Let us therefore take a guarded position here -and claim only that one’s level of generality tells something of one’s -approach to a subject. We shall find certain refinements of application -possible as we go on. - -With this as a starting point, we should be prepared for a more intensive -look at the diction of the old school. For purposes of this analysis -I shall choose something that is historically obscure. Great occasions -sometimes deflect our judgment by their special circumstances. The -passage below is from a speech made by the Honorable Charles J. Faulkner -at an agricultural fair in Virginia in 1858. Both speaker and event have -passed into relative oblivion, and we can therefore view this as a fairly -stock specimen of the oratory in vogue a hundred years ago to grace local -celebrations. Let us attend to it carefully for its references. - - If we look to the past or to the present we shall find that the - permanent power of any nation has always been in proportion to - its cultivation of the soil—those republics which during the - earlier and middle ages, were indebted for their growth mainly - to commerce, did for a moment, indeed, cast a dazzling splendor - across the pathway of time; but they soon passed from among - the powers of the earth, leaving behind them not a memorial of - their proud and ephemeral destiny whilst other nations, which - looked to the products of the soil for the elements of their - strength, found in each successive year the unfailing sources - of national aggrandizement and power. Of all the nations - of antiquity, the Romans were most persistently devoted to - agriculture, and many of the maxims taught by their experience, - and transmitted to us by their distinguished writers, are not - unworthy, even at this time, of the notice of the intelligent - farmers of this valley. It was in their schools of country - life—a _vita rustica_—as their own great orator informs us, - that they imbibed those noble sentiments which rendered the - Roman name more illustrious than all their famous victories, - and there, that they acquired those habits of labor, frugality, - justice and that high standard of moral virtue which made them - the easy masters of their race.[148] - -A modern mind trained in the habit of analysis will be horrified by the -number of large and unexamined phrases passing by in even this brief -excerpt. “Permanent power of any nation”; “earlier and middle ages”; -“cast a dazzling splendor across the pathway of time”; “proud and -ephemeral destiny”; “noble sentiments which rendered the Roman name more -illustrious”; and “high standards of moral virtue” are but a selection. -Comparatively speaking, the tone of this oration is fairly subdued, but -it is in the grand style, and these phrases are the medium. With this -passage before us for reference, I wish to discuss one matter of effect, -and one of cause or enabling condition. - -It will be quickly perceived that the phrases in question have -resonances, both historical and literary, and that this resonance is what -we have been calling spaciousness. Instead of the single note (prized for -purposes of analysis) they are widths of sound and meaning; they tend -to echo over broad areas and to call up generalized associations. This -resonance is the interstice between what is said and the thing signified. -In this way then the generality of the phrase may be definitely linked -with an effect. - -But the second question is our principal interest: how was the orator -able to use them with full public consent when he cannot do so today? - -I am going to suggest that the orator then enjoyed a privilege which -can be compared to the lawyer’s “right of assumption.” This is the -right to assume that precedents are valid, that forms will persist, and -that in general one may build today on what was created yesterday. What -mankind has sanctified with usage has a presumption in its favor. Such -presumption, it was felt, instead of being an obstacle to progress, -furnishes the ground for progress. More simply, yesterday’s achievements -are also contributions to progress. It is he who insists upon beginning -every day _de novo_ who denies the reality of progress. Accordingly, -consider the American orator in the intellectual climate of this time. He -was comfortably circumstanced with reference to things he could “know” -and presume everyone else to know in the same way. Freedom and morality -were constants; the Constitution was the codification of all that was -politically feasible; Christianity of all that was morally authorized. -Rome stood as an exemplum of what may happen to nations; the American -and French Revolutions had taught rulers their necessary limitations. -Civilization has thought over its thousands of years of history and has -made some generalizations which are the premises of other arguments but -which are not issues themselves. When one asserts that the Romans had -a “high standard of moral virtue which made them the easy masters of -their race,” one is affirming a doctrine of causality in a sweeping way. -If one had to stop and “prove” that moral virtue makes one master, one -obviously would have to start farther down the ladder of assumption. -But these things were not in the area of argument because progress was -positive and that meant that some things have to be assimilated as -truths. Men were not condemned to repeat history, because they remembered -its lessons. To the extent that the mind had made its summations, it was -free to go forward, and forward meant in the direction of more inclusive -conceptions. The orator who pauses along the way to argue a point which -no one challenges only demeans the occasion. Therefore the orator of the -period we have defined did not feel that he had to argue the significance -of everything to which he attached significance. Some things were fixed -by universal enlightened consensus; and they could be used as steps for -getting at matters which were less settled and hence were proper subjects -for deliberation. Deliberation is good only because it decreases the -number of things it is necessary to deliberate about. - -Consequently when we wonder how he could use such expressions without -trace of compunction, we forget that the expressions did not need -apology. The speaker of the present who used like terms would, on the -contrary, meet a contest at every step of the way. His audience would not -swallow such clusters of related meanings. But at that time a number of -unities, including the unity of past and present, the unity of moral sets -and of causal sets, furnished the ground for discourse in “uncontested -terms.” Only such substratum of agreement makes possible the panoramic -treatment. - -We can infer important conclusions about a civilization when we know that -its debates and controversies occur at outpost positions rather than -within the citadel itself. If these occur at a very elementary level, we -suspect that the culture has not defined itself, or that it is decayed -and threatened with dissolution. Where the chief subject of debate -is the relative validity of Homoiousianism and Homoousianism, or the -conventions of courtly love, we feel confident that a great deal has been -cached away in the form of settled conclusions, and that such shaking -as proceeds from controversies of this kind, although they may agitate -the superstructure, will hardly be felt as far down as the foundations. -I would say the same is suggested by the great American debate over -whether the Constitution was a “constitution” or a “compact,” despite its -unfortunate sequel. - -At this stage of cultural development the commonplaces of opinion and -conduct form a sort of _textus receptus_, and the emendations are -confined to minor matters. Conversely, when the disagreement is over -extremely elementary matters, survival itself may be at stake. It seems -to me that modern debates over the validity of the law of contradiction -may be a disagreement of this kind. The soundness of a culture may -well be measured by this ability to recognize what is extraneous. One -knows what to do with the extraneous, even if one decides upon a policy -of temporary accommodation. It is when the line dividing us from the -extraneous begins to fade that we are assailed with destructive doubts. -Disagreements over the most fundamental subjects leave us puzzled as to -“where we are” if not as to “what we are.” The speaker whom we have been -characterizing felt sure of the demarcation. That gave him his freedom, -and was the source of his simplicity. - -When we reflect further that the old oratory had a certain judicial -flavor about it, we are prompted to ask whether thinking as then -conceived did not have a different status from today’s thinking. One is -led to make this query by the suggestion that when the most fundamental -propositions of a culture are under attack, then it becomes a duty to -“think for one’s self.” Not that it is a bad thing to think; yet when the -whole emphasis is upon “thinking for one’s self,” it is hard to avoid a -feeling that certain postulates have broken down, and the most courage -we can muster is to ask people, not to “think in a certain direction,” -but to “think for themselves.” Where the primary directive of thinking is -known, the object of thinking will not be mere cerebral motion (as some -exponents of the policy of thinking for one’s self leave us to infer), -but rather the object of such thinking, or knowledge. This is a very -rudimentary proposition, but it deserves attention because the modern -tendency has reversed a previous order. From the position that only -propositions are interesting because they alone make judgments, we are -passing to a position in which only evidence is interesting because it -alone is uncontaminated by propositions. In brief, interest has shifted -from inference to reportage, and this has had a demonstrable effect -upon the tone of oratory. The large resonant phrase is itself a kind of -condensed proposition; as propositions begin to sink with the general -sagging of the substructure, the phrases must do the same. Obviously we -are pointing here to a profound cultural change, and the same shifts can -be seen in literature; the poet or novelist may feel that the content -of his consciousness is more valid (and this will be true even of those -who have not formulated the belief) than the formal arrangement which -would be produced by selection, abstraction, and arrangement. Or viewed -in another respect, experiential order has taken precedence over logical -order. - -The object of an oration made on the conditions obtained a hundred years -ago was not so much to “make people think” as to remind them of what they -already thought (and again we are speaking comparatively). The oratorical -rostrum, like the church, was less of a place for fresh instruction -than for steady inculcation. And the orator, like the minister, was -one who spoke from an eminent degree of conviction. Paradoxically, the -speaker of this vanished period had more freedom to maneuver than has his -emancipated successor. Man is free in proportion as his surroundings have -a determinate nature, and he can plan his course with perfect reliance -upon that determinateness. It is an admitted axiom that we have rules in -one place so that we can have liberty in another; we put certain things -in charge of habit so as to be free in areas where we prize freedom. -Manifestly one is not “free” when one has to battle for one’s position at -every moment of time. This interrelationship of freedom and organization -is one of the permanent conditions of existence, so that it has been said -even that perfect freedom is perfect compliance (“one commands nature by -obeying her”). - -In the province we are considering, man is free to the extent that he -knows that nature is, what God expects, what he himself is capable of. -Freedom moves on a set of presuppositions just as a machine moves on a -set of ball bearings which themselves preserve definite locus. It is -when these presuppositions are tampered with that men begin to grow -concerned about their freedom. One can well imagine that the tremendous -self-consciousness about freedom today, which we note in almost every -utterance of public men, is evidence that this crucial general belief -is threatened. It is no mere paradox to say that when they cry liberty, -they mean belief—the belief that sets one free from prior concerns. A -corroborating evidence is that fact that nearly all large pleas for -liberty heard today conclude with more or less direct appeals for unity. - -We may now return to our more direct concern with rhetoric. Since -according to this demonstration oratory speaks from an eminence and -has a freedom of purview, its syllogism is the “rhetorical syllogism” -mentioned by Demetrius—the enthymeme.[149] It may not hurt to state that -this is the syllogism with one of the three propositions missing. Such a -syllogism can be used only when the audience is willing to supply the -missing proposition. The missing proposition will be “in their hearts,” -as it were; it will be their agreement upon some fundamental aspect of -the issue being discussed. If it is there, the orator does not have to -supply it; if it is not there, he may not be able to get it in any way—at -least not as orator. Therefore the use of the rhetorical syllogism is -good concrete evidence that the old orator relied upon the existence of -uncontested terms or fixations of belief in the minds of his hearers. -The orator was logical, but he could dispense with being a pure logician -because that third proposition had been established for him. - -These two related considerations, the accepted term and the conception -of oratory as a body of judicious conclusions upon common evidence, go -far toward explaining the quality of spaciousness. Indeed, to say that -oratory has “spaciousness” is to risk redundancy once the nature of -oratory is understood. Oratory is “spacious” in the same way that liberal -education is liberal; and a correlation can be shown between the decline -of liberal education (the education of a freeman) and the decline of -oratory. It was one of Cicero’s observations that the orator performs at -“the focal point at which all human activity is ultimately reviewed”; and -Cicero is, for connected reasons, a chief source of our theory of liberal -education.[150] - -Thus far we have rested our explanation on the utility of the generalized -style, but this is probably much too narrow an account. There is also an -aesthetic of the generalization, which we must now proceed to explore. -Let us pause here momentarily to re-define our impression upon hearing -the old orator. The feature which we have been describing as spaciousness -may be translated, with perhaps a slight shift of viewpoint, as opacity. -The passages we have inspected, to recur to our examples, are opaque -in that we cannot see through them with any sharpness. And it was no -doubt the intention of the orator that we should not see through them -in this way. The “moral magnifying glass” of Craddock’s General Vayne -made objects larger, but it did not make them clearer. It rather had the -effect of blurring lines and obscuring details. - -We are now in position to suggest that another factor in the choice of -the generalized phrase was aesthetic distance. There is an aesthetic, as -well as a moral, limit to how close one may approach an object; and the -forensic artists of the epoch we describe seem to have been guided by -this principle of artistic decorum. Aesthetic distance is, of course, an -essential of aesthetic treatment. If one sees an object from too close, -one sees only its irregularities and protuberances. To see an object -rightly or to see it as a whole, one has to have a proportioned distance -from it. Then the parts fall into a meaningful pattern, the dominant -effect emerges, and one sees it “as it really is.” A prurient interest in -closeness and a great remoteness will both spoil the view. To recall a -famous example in literature, neither Lilliputian nor Brobdingnagian is -man as we think we know him. - -Thus it can be a sign not only of philosophical ignorance but also -of artistic bad taste to treat an object familiarly or from a near -proximity. At the risk of appearing fanciful we shall say that objects -have not only their natures but their rights, which the orator is bound -to respect, since he is in large measure the ethical teacher of society. -By maintaining this distance with regard to objects, art manages to -“idealize” them in a very special sense. One does not mean by this that -it necessarily elevates them or transfigures them, but it certainly does -keep out a kind of officious detail which would only lower the general -effect. What the artistic procedure tends to do, then, is to give us -a “generic” picture, and much the same can be said about oratory. The -true orator has little concern with singularity—or, to recall again a -famous instance, with the wart on Cromwell’s face—because the singular -is the impertinent. Only the generic belongs, and by obvious connection -the language of the generic is a general language. In the old style, -presentation kept distances which had, as one of their purposes, the -obscuring of details. It would then have appeared the extreme of bad -taste to particularize in the manner which has since, especially in -certain areas of journalism, become a literary vogue. It would have been -beyond the pale to refer, in anything intended for the public view, to -a certain cabinet minister’s false teeth or a certain congressman’s -shiny dome. Aesthetically, this was not the angle of vision from which -one takes in the man, and there is even the question of epistemological -truthfulness. Portrait painters know that still, and journalists knew it -a hundred years ago. - -It will be best to illustrate the effect of aesthetic distance. I have -chosen a passage from the address delivered by John C. Breckinridge, -Vice-President of the United States, on the occasion of the removal of -the Senate from the Old to the New Chamber, January 4, 1859. The moment -was regarded as solemn, and the speaker expressed himself as follows: - - And now the strifes and uncertainties of the past are finished. - We see around us on every side the proofs of stability and - improvement. This Capitol is worthy of the Republic. Noble - public buildings meet the view on every hand. Treasures of - science and the arts begin to accumulate. As this flourishing - city enlarges, it testifies to the wisdom and forecast that - dictated the plan of it. Future generations will not be - disturbed with questions concerning the center of population - or of territory, since the steamboat, the railroad and the - telegraph have made communication almost instantaneous. The - spot is sacred by a thousand memories, which are so many - pledges that the city of Washington, founded by him and - bearing his revered name, with its beautiful site, bounded - by picturesque eminences, and the broad Potomac, and lying - within view of his home and his tomb, shall remain forever the - political capital of the United States. - -At the close of the address, he said: - - And now, Senators, we leave this memorable chamber, bearing - with us, unimpaired, the Constitution received from our - forefathers. Let us cherish it with grateful acknowledgments - of the Divine Power who controls the destinies of empires - and whose goodness we adore. The structures reared by man - yield to the corroding tooth of time. These marble walls - must molder into ruin; but the principles of constitutional - liberty, guarded by wisdom and virtue, unlike material - elements, do not decay. Let us devoutly trust that another - Senate in another age shall bear to a new and larger Chamber, - the Constitution vigorous and inviolate, and that the last - generations of posterity shall witness the deliberations of the - Representatives of American States still united, prosperous, - and free.[151] - -We shall hardly help noting the prominence of “opaque” phrases. “Proofs -of stability and improvement”; “noble public buildings”; “treasures of -science and the arts”; “this flourishing city”; “a thousand memories”; -“this beautiful site”; and “structures reared by man” seem outstanding -examples. These all express objects which can be seen only at a distance -of time or space. In three instances, it is true, the speaker mentions -things of which his hearers might have been immediately and physically -conscious, but they receive an appropriately generalized reference. The -passage admits not a single intrusive detail, nor is anything there -supposed to have a superior validity or probativeness because it is -present visibly or tangibly. The speech is addressed to the mind, and -correspondingly to the memory.[152] The fact that the inclusiveness -was temporal as well as spatial has perhaps special significance for -us. This “continuity of the past with the present” gave a dimension -which our world seems largely to have lost; and this dimension made -possible a different pattern of selection. It is not experiential data -which creates a sense of the oneness of experience. It is rather an -act of mind; and the practice of periodically bringing the past into a -meditative relationship with the present betokens an attitude toward -history. In the chapter on Lincoln we have shown that an even greater -degree of remoteness is discernible in the First and Second Inaugural -Addresses, delivered at a time when war was an ugly present reality. And -furthermore, at Gettysburg, Lincoln spoke in terms so “generic” that it -is almost impossible to show that the speech is not a eulogy of the men -in gray as well as the men in blue, inasmuch as both made up “those who -struggled here.” Lincoln’s faculty of transcending an occasion is in fact -only this ability to view it from the right distance, or to be wisely -generic about it. - -We are talking here about things capable of extremes, and there is a -degree of abstraction which results in imperception; but barring those -cases which everyone recognizes as beyond bounds, we should reconsider -the idea that such generalization is a sign of impotence. The distinction -does not lie between those who are near life and those who are remote -from it, but between pertinence and impertinence. The intrusive detail so -prized by modern realists does not belong in a picture which is a picture -of something. One of the senses of “seeing” is metaphorical, and if one -gets too close to the object, one can no longer in this sense “see.” It -is the _theoria_ of the mind as well as the work of the senses which -creates the final picture. - -One can show this through an instructive contrast with modern journalism, -particularly that of the _Time_ magazine variety. A considerable part of -its material, and nearly all of its captions, are made up of what we have -defined as “impertinences.” What our forensic artist of a century ago -would have regarded as lacking significance is in these media presented -as the pertinent because it is very near the physical manifestation of -the event. And the reversal has been complete, because what for this -artist would have been pertinent is there treated as impertinent since -it involves matter which the average man does not care to reflect upon, -especially under the conditions of newspaper reading. Thus even the -epistemology which made the old oratory possible is being relegated. - -We must take notice in this connection that the lavish use of detail is -sometimes defended on the ground that it is illustration. The argument -runs that illustration is a visual aid to education, and therefore -an increased use of illustration contributes to that informing of -the public which journals acknowledge as their duty. But a little -reflection about the nature of illustration will show where this idea is -treacherous. Illustration, as already indicated, implies that something -is being illustrated, so that in the true illustration we will have a -conjunction of mind and pictorial manifestation. But now, with brilliant -technological means, the tendency is for manifestation to outrun the -idea, so that the illustrations are vivid rather than meaningful or -communicative. Thus, whereas today the illustration is looking for an -idea to express, formerly the idea was the original; and it was looking, -often rather fastidiously, for some palpable means of representation. -The idea condescended, one might say, from an empyrean, to suffer -illustrative embodiment. - -To make this difference more real, let us study an example of the older -method of illustration. The passage below examined is from an address -by Rufus Choate on “The Position and Function of the American Bar as an -Element of Conservatism in the State,” delivered before the Law School -in Cambridge, July 3, 1845. - - But with us the age of this mode and degree of reform is over; - its work is done. The passage of the sea; the occupation and - culture of a new world, the conquest of independence—these were - our eras, these our agency of reform. In our jurisprudence of - liberty, which guards our person from violence and our goods - from plunder, and which forbids the whole power of the state - itself to take the ewe lamb, or to trample on a blade of grass - of the humblest citizen without adequate remuneration: which - makes every dwelling large enough to shelter a human life - its owner’s castle which winds and rain may enter, but which - the government cannot,—in our written constitution, whereby - the people, exercising an act of sublime self-restraint, - have intended to put it out of their power forever to be - passionate, tumultuous, unwise, unjust, whereby they have - intended, by means of a system of representation, by means of - the distribution of government into departments independent, - coordinate for checks and balances; by a double chamber - of legislation, by the establishment of a fundamental and - permanent organic law; by the organization of a judiciary whose - function, whose loftiest function it is to test the legislation - of the day by the standard of all time,—constitutions, whereby - all these means they have intended to secure a government of - laws, not of men, of reason, not of will; of justice, not of - fraud,—in that grand dogma of equality,—equality of right, of - burthens, of duty, of privileges, and of chances, which is the - very mystery of our social being—to the Jews a stumbling block; - to the Greeks foolishness,—our strength, our glory,—in that - liberty which we value not solely because it is a natural right - of man; not solely because it is a principle of individual - energy and a guaranty of national renown; not at all because it - attracts a procession and lights a bonfire, but because, when - blended with order, attended by law, tempered by virtue, graced - by culture, it is a great practical good; because in her right - hand are riches and honor and peace, because she has come down - from her golden and purple cloud to walk in brightness by the - weary ploughman’s side, and whisper in his ear as he casts his - seed with tears, that the harvest which frost and mildew and - cankerworm shall spare, the government shall spare also; in - our distribution into separate and kindred states, not wholly - independent, not quite identical, in “the wide arch of ranged - empire” above—these are they in which the fruits of our age and - our agency of reform are embodied; and these are they by which, - if we are wise,—if we understand the things that belong to our - peace—they may be perpetuated.[153] - -We note in passing the now familiar panorama. One must view matters -from a height to speak without pause of such things as “occupation and -culture of a new world,” “conquest of independence,” and “fundamental and -permanent organic law.” Then we note that when the orator feels that he -must illustrate, the illustration is not through the impertinent concrete -case, but through the poeticized figment. At the close of the passage, -where the personification of liberty is encountered, we see in clearest -form the conventionalized image which is the traditional illustration. -Liberty, sitting up in her golden and purple cloud, descends “to walk in -brightness by the weary ploughman’s side.” In this flatulent utterance -there is something so typical of method (as well as indicative of the -philosophy of the method) that one can scarcely avoid recalling that -this is how the gods of classical mythology came down to hold discourse -with mortals; it is how the god of the Christian religion came into -the world for the redemption of mankind; it is how the _logos_ is made -incarnate. In other words, this kind of manifestation from above is, in -our Western tradition, an archetypal process, which the orators of that -tradition are likely to follow implicitly. The idea is supernal; it may -be brought down for representation; but casual, fortuitous, individual -representations are an affront to it. Consequently the representations -are conventionalized images, and work with general efficacy. - -This thought carries us back to our original point, which is that -standards of pertinence and impertinence have very deep foundations, -and that one may reveal one’s whole system of philosophy by the stand -one takes on what is pertinent. We have observed that a powerful trend -today is toward the unique detail and the illustration of photographic -realism, and this tendency claims to be more knowledgeable about reality. -In the older tradition which we set out to examine, the abstracted truth -and the illustration which is essentially a construct held a like favor. -It was not said, because there was no contrary style to make the saying -necessary, but it was certainly felt that these came as near the truth -as one gets, if one admits the existence of non-factual kinds of truth. -The two sides do not speak to one another very well across the gulf, but -it is certainly possible to find, and it would seem to be incumbent upon -scholars to find, a conception broad enough to define the difference. - -One further clue we have as to how the orator thought and how he -saw himself. There will be observed in most speeches of this era a -stylization of utterance. It is this stylization which largely produces -their declamatory quality. At the same time, as we begin to infer causes, -we discover the source of its propriety; the orator felt that he was -speaking for corporate humanity. He had a sense of stewardship which -would today appear one of the presumptions earlier referred to. The -individual orator was not, except perhaps in certain postures, offering -an individual testimonial. He was the mouthpiece for a collective brand -of wisdom which was not to be delivered in individual accents. We may -suppose that the people did not resent the stylizations of the orator any -more than now they resent the stylizations of the Bible. “That is the -way God talks.” The deity should be above mere novelties of expression, -transparent devices of rhetoric, or importunate appeals for attention. It -is enough for him to be earnest and truthful; we will rise to whatever -patterns of expression it has pleased him to use. Stylization indicates -an attitude which will not concede too much, or certainly will not -concede weakly or complacently. As in point of historical sequence -the language of political discourse succeeded that of the sermon, some -of the latter’s dignity and self-confidence persisted in the way of -formalization. Thus when the orator made gestures toward the occasion, -they were likely to be ceremonious rather than personal or spontaneous, -the oration itself being an occasion of “style.” The modern listener is -very quick to detect a pattern of locution, but he is prone to ascribe it -to situations of weakness rather than of strength. - -Of course oratory of the broadly ruminative kind is acceptable only when -we accredit someone with the ability to review our conduct, our destiny, -and the causes of things in general. If we reach a condition in which no -man is believed to have this power, we will accordingly be impatient with -that kind of discourse. It should not be overlooked that although the -masses in any society are comparatively ill-trained and ignorant, they -are very quick to sense attitudes, through their native capacity as human -beings. When attitudes change at the top of society, they are able to -see that change long before they are able to describe it in any language -of their own, and in fact they can see it without ever doing that. The -masses thus follow intellectual styles, and more quickly than is often -supposed, so that, in this particular case, when a general skepticism of -predication sets in among the leaders of thought, the lower ranks are -soon infected with the same thing (though one must make allowance here -for certain barriers to cultural transmission constituted by geography -and language). This principle will explain why there is no more appetite -for the broadly reflective discourse among the general public of today -than among the _élite_. The stewardship of man has been hurt rather than -helped by the attacks upon natural right, and at present nobody knows -who the custodians (in the old sense of “watchers”) are. Consequently -it is not easy for a man to assume the ground requisite for such a -discourse. Speeches today either are made for entertainment, or they -are political speeches for political ends. And the chief characteristic -of the speech for political ends is that it is made for immediate -effect, with the smallest regard for what is politically true. Whereas -formerly its burden was what the people believed or had experienced, the -burden now tends to be what they wish to hear. The increased reliance -upon slogans and catchwords, and the increased use of the argument from -contraries (_e.g._, “the thing my opponent is doing will be welcomed by -the Russians”) are prominent evidences of the trend.[154] - -Lastly, the old style may be called, in comparison with what has -succeeded, a polite style. Its very diffuseness conceals a respect for -the powers and limitations of the audience. Bishop Whatley has observed -that highly concentrated expression may be ill suited to persuasion -because the majority of the people are not capable of assimilating -concentrated thought. The principle can be shown through an analogy -with nutrition. It is known that diet must contain a certain amount -of roughage. This roughage is not food in the sense of nutriment; its -function is to dilute or distend the real food in such a way that it -can be most readily assimilated. A concentrate of food is, therefore, -not enough, for there has to be a certain amount of inert matter to -furnish bulk. Something of a very similar nature operates in discourse. -When a piece of oratory intended for a public occasion impresses us as -distended, which is to say, filled up with repetition, periphrasis, -long grammatical forms, and other impediments to directness, we should -recall that the diffuseness all this produces may have a purpose. The -orator may have made a close calculation of the receptive powers of his -audience and have ordered his style to meet that, while continuing to -“sound good” at every point. This represents a form of consideration for -the audience. There exists quite commonly today, at the opposite pole, -a syncopated style. This style, with its suppression of beats and its -consequent effect of hurrying over things, does not show that type of -consideration. It does not give the listener the roughage of verbiage -to chew on while meditating the progress of the thought. Here again -“spaciousness” has a quite rational function in enforcing a measure, so -that the mind and the sentiments too can keep up with the orator in his -course. - -Perhaps this is as far as we can go in explaining the one age to another. -We are now in position to realize that the archaic formalism of the old -orator was a structure imparted to his speech by a logic, an aesthetic, -and an epistemology. As a logician he believed in the deduced term, or -the term whose empirical support is not at the moment visible. As an -aesthetician he believed in distance, and that not merely to soften -outline but also to evoke the true picture, which could be obscured by -an injudicious and prying nearness. As an epistemologist he believed, in -addition to the foregoing, that true knowledge somehow had its source -in the mind of minds, for which we are on occasion permitted to speak a -part. All this gave him a peculiar sense of stature. He always talked -like a big man. Our resentment comes from a feeling that with all his -air of confidence he could not have known half as much as we know. But -everything depends on what we mean by knowing; and the age or the man who -has the true conception of that will have, as the terms of the case make -apparent, the key to every other question. - - - - -Chapter VIII - -THE RHETORIC OF SOCIAL SCIENCE - - -One of the serious problems of our age is the question of how -scientific information, which is largely the product of special tools -of investigation, shall be communicated to the non-specialist world. -A few sciences operate in fields of theory so abstract that they can -create their own symbology, and most of what they transmit to the public -will be in the form of highly generalized translation. But there are -other sciences whose very success depends upon some public understanding -of what they are trying to solve, and these are faced with peculiar -problems of communication. None are in so difficult a position as social -science. The social sciences have been, since their institution, jealous -of their status as science, and that is perhaps understandable. But -their data is the everyday life of man in society, and naturally if -there is an area of scientific discovery upon which the general public -should be posted, it is just this one of the laws of social phenomena. -Caught between this desire to remain scientific and the necessity of -public expression, most social scientists are in a dilemma. They have -not devised (and possibly they cannot devise) their own symbology to -rival that of the mathematician and physicist. On the other hand, they -have not set themselves to learn the principles of sound rhetorical -exposition. The result is that the publications of social scientists -contain a large amount of conspicuously poor writing, which is now under -growing attack.[155] Some of these attacks have been perceptive as well -as witty; but I feel that no one has yet made the point which most needs -making, which is that the social scientists will never write much better -until they make terms with some of the traditional rules of rhetoric. - -I propose in the study which follows to ignore the isolated small faults -and instead to analyze the sources of pervasive vices. I shall put the -inquiry in the form of a series of questions, which lead to cardinal -principles of conception and of choice. - - -I - -_Does the writing of social scientists suffer from a primary -equivocation?_ The charge against social science writing which would be -most widely granted is that it fails to convince us that it deals clearly -with realities. This impression may lead to the question of whether the -social scientist knows what he is talking about. Now this is a serious, -not a frivolous, question, involving matters of logic and epistemology; -it is a question, furthermore, that one finds the social scientists -constantly putting to themselves and answering in a variety of ways. Any -field of study is liable to a similar interrogation; in this instance it -merely asks whether those who interpret social behavior in scientific -terms are aware of the kind of data they are handling. Are they dealing -with facts, or concepts, or evaluations, or all three? The answer given -to this question will have a definite bearing upon their problem of -expression, and let us see how this can happen in a concrete instance. - -We have had much to say in preceding chapters about the distinction -between positive and dialectical terms; and nowhere has the ignoring -of this distinction had worse results than in the literature of social -science. We have seen, to review briefly, that the positive term -designates something existing simply in the objective world: the chair, -the tree, the farm. Arguments over positive terms are not arguments in -the true sense, since the point at issue is capable of immediate and -public settlement, just as one might settle an “argument” over the width -of a room by bringing in a publicly-agreed-upon yardstick. Consequently -a rhetoric of positive terms is a rhetoric of simple description, which -requires only powers of accurate observation and reporting. - -It is otherwise with dialectical terms. These are terms standing for -concepts, which are defined by their negatives or their privations. -“Justice” is a dialectical term which is defined by “injustice”; “social -improvement” is made meaningful by the use of “privation of social -improvement.” To say that a family has an income of $800.00 a year is -positive; to say that the same family is underprivileged is dialectical. -It can be underprivileged only with reference to families which have -more privileges. So it goes with the whole range of terms which reflect -judgments of value; “unjust,” “poor,” “underpaid,” “undesirable” are all -terms which depend on something more than the external world for their -significance. - -Now here is where the social scientist crosses a divide that he seldom -acknowledges and often seems unaware of. One cannot use the dialectical -term in the same manner as one uses the positive term because the -dialectical term always leaves one committed to something. It is a -truth easily seen that all dialectical terms make presumptions from the -plain fact that they are “positional” terms. A writer no sooner employs -one than he is engaged in an argument. To say that the universe is -purposeless is to join in argument with all who say it is purposeful. -To say that a certain social condition is inequitable is to ally -oneself with the reformers and against the standpatters. In all such -cases the presumption has to do with the scope of the term and with its -relationship to its opposite, and these can be worked out only through -the dialectical method we have analyzed in other chapters. When the -reader of social science comes to such terms, he is baffled because he -has not been warned of the presumptions on which they rest. Or, to be -more exact, he has not been prepared for presumptions at all. He finds -himself reading at a level where the facts have been subsumed, and where -the exposition is a process of adjusting categories. The writer has -passed with indifference from what is objectively true to what is morally -or imaginatively true. The reader’s uneasiness comes from a feeling that -the categories themselves are the things which should have been examined. -Just here, however, may lie the crux of the difficulty. - -It begins to look as though the social scientist working with his regular -habits is actually a dialectician without a dialectical basis. His -dilemma is that he can neither use his terms with the simple directness -of the natural scientist pointing to physical factors, nor with the -assurance of a philosopher who has some source for their meaning in the -system from which he begins his deduction. Or, the social scientist -is trying to characterize the world positively in terms which can be -made good only dialectically. He can never make them good dialectically -as long as he is by theory entirely committed to empiricism. This -explains why to the ordinary beholder there seem to be so many smuggled -assumptions in the literature of social science. It will explain, -moreover, why so much of its expression is characterized by diffuseness -and by that verbosity which is certain to afflict a dialectic without a -metaphysic or an ontology. This uncertainty of the social scientist about -the nature of his datum often leads him to treat empirical situations as -if they carried moral sanction, and then to turn around and treat some -point of contemporary mores—which is by definition a “moral” question—as -if it had only empirical aspects. In direct consequence, when the -social scientist should be writing “positively,” like a crack newspaper -reporter, one finds him writing like Hegel, and, when the stage of his -exposition might warrant his writing more or less like Hegel, one finds -him employing dialectical terms as if they had positive designations. - -Paradoxically, his very reverence for facts may tend to make him sound -like Hegel or some other master of categorical thinking. Anyone sampling -the literature of social science cannot fail to be impressed with the -proportion of space given to definition. Indeed, one of the most -convincing claims of the science is that our present-day knowledge of -man is defective because our definitions are simplistic. His behavior is -much more varied than the unscientific suppose; and therefore a central -objective of social study is definition, which will take this variety -into account and supplant our present “prejudiced” definitions. With this -in mind, the social scientist toils in library or office to prepare the -best definitions he can of human nature, of society, and of psychosocial -environment. - -The danger for him in this laudable endeavor seems twofold. First, one -must remark that the language of definition is inevitably the language -of generality because only the generalizable is definable. Singulars and -individuals can be described but not defined; _e.g._, one can define -man, but one can only describe Abraham Lincoln. The greater, then, his -solicitude for the factual and the concrete, the more irresistibly is he -borne in the direction of abstract language, which alone will encompass -his collected facts. His dissertations on human society begin with -obeisance to facts, but the logic of his being a scientist condemns -him to abstraction. He is forced toward the position of the proverbial -revolutionary, who loves mankind but has little charity for those -particular specimens of it with whom he must associate. - -In the second place and more importantly, the definition of non-empirical -terms is itself a dialectical process. All such definition takes the form -of an argument which must prove that the _definiendum_ is one thing and -not another thing. The limits of the definition are thus the boundary -between the things and the not-thing. Someone might inquire at this stage -of our account whether the natural scientists, who must also define, are -not equally liable under this point of the argument. The distinction -is that definitions in natural science have a different ontological -basis. The properties about which they generalize exist not in logical -connection but in empirical conjunction, as when “mammal,” “vertebrate,” -and “quadruped” are used to distinguish the genus _Felis_. The doctrine -of “natural kinds” thus remains an empirical classification, as does -the traditional classification of elements.[156] Consequently the genus -_Felis_ has a reality in the form of compresent positive attributes -which “slum” cannot have. The establishment of the genus is not a -matter of negating or depriving other classes, but of naming what is -there. On the other hand one could never arrive positivistically at a -definition of “slum” because its meaning is contingent upon judgment (and -theoretically our standard of living might move up to where Westchester, -Grosse Point, and Winnetka are regarded as slums). Thus “slum” no more -exists objectively than does “bad weather.” There are collections of -sticks and stones which the dialectician may call “slums,” just as there -are processions of the elements which he may call “bad.” But these are -positive things only in a reductionist equation. Of course, the natural -scientist works always with reductionist equations; but the social -scientist, unless he is an extreme materialist, must work with the full -equation. - -It is a grave imputation, but at the heart of the social scientist’s -unsatisfactory expression lies this equivocation. Remedy here can come -only with a clearer defining of province and of responsibility. - - -II - -_Is social science writing marred by “pedantic empiricism”?_ The natural -desire of everyone to carry away something from his reading encounters -in this literature curious obstacles. Its authors often seem unduly -coy about their conclusions. After the reader has been escorted on an -extensive tour of facts and definitions, he is likely to be told that -little can be affirmed at this stage of the inquiry. So it is that, -however much we read, we are made to feel that what we are reading is -preliminary. We come almost to look for a formula at the close of a -social science monograph which takes an excessively modest view of its -achievement while expressing the hope that someone else may come along -and do something with the data there offered. Burgess and Cottrell’s -_Predicting Success or Failure in Marriage_ provides an illustration. -After presenting their case, the authors say: “In this study, as in many -others, the most significant contribution is not to be found in any -one finding but in the degree to which the study opens up a new field -to further research.”[157] Again, from an article appearing in _Social -Forces_: “The findings here mentioned are merely suggestive; and they are -offered in no sense as proof of our hypothesis of folk-urban personality -differences. The implementation of the analysis given here would demand -a field project incorporating the type of methodological consciousness -advocated above. Thus we need to utilize standard projective devices, -but must be prepared to develop, in terms of situational demands, -additional analytic instruments.”[158] And Herman C. Beyle in a chapter -on the data and method of political science, which constitute the -underpinning of his whole study, can only say that “the foregoing -comments on the data and technology of political science have been -offered as most tentative statements intended to provide a background -for the testing and application of the technique here proposed, that -of attribute-cluster-bloc identification and analysis.”[159] “Most -tentative” becomes a sort of leitmotiv. Everything sounds like a -prolegomenon to the real thing. Exclamations that social scientists are -taking in one another’s washing or are only trying to make work for -themselves are inspired by this kind of performance. - -But, even after one has made allowance for the fact that social science -is not one of the exact sciences and that its disciples work in a field -where induction is far from complete, their fear of commitment still -seems obsessive. They could at least have the courage of the facts which -they have accumulated. Virtually everyone who is seeking scientific -enlightenment on this level knows that conclusions are given in the -light of evidence available, and that hypothesis always extends some -distance beyond what is directly observable. Indeed, everyone makes use -of the method of scientific investigation, as T. H. Huxley liked to -assure his audiences, but not everyone finds necessary such an armor of -qualifications as is likely to appear here: “On the basis of available -evidence, it is not unreasonable to suppose”; “It may not be improbable -in view of these findings”; “The present survey would seem to indicate.” -All these rhetorical contortions are forms of needless hedging. - -It would be a different matter if such formulas of reservation made the -conclusion more precise. But in the majority of cases it could be shown -that the conclusion is obvious enough in terms of the discussion itself, -and they serve only to make it sound timid. These scholars move to a -tune of “induction never ends,” and their scholarship often turns into a -pedantic empiricism. They seem to be waiting for the fact that will bring -with it the revelation. But that fact will never arrive; experience does -not tell us what we are experiencing, and at some point they are going -to have to give names to their findings—even at the expense of becoming -dialecticians. - -If the needlessly hedged statement is one result of pedantic empiricism, -another occurs in what might be called “pedantic analysis.” This is -analysis for analysis’ sake, with no real thought of relevance or -application or, indeed, of a resynthesis which might redeem the whole -undertaking. Just as it is assumed that an endless collection of data -will necessarily yield fruits, so it is assumed that a remorseless -partitioning will illuminate. But analysis can be carried so far that it -seems to lose all bearing upon points at issue. The writer shows himself -a sort of _virtuoso_ at analysis, and one feels that his real interest -lies in demonstrating how thoroughly a method can be followed. Let us -look, for example, at a passage from an article entitled “Courtship as a -Social Institution in the United States, 1930-1945.” The author has said -that activities of courtship show different patterns and that sometimes -the patterns need to be harmonized: - - To be compatible, patterns should be adapted to the following - components: (1) the _hominid component_, which is the - biological human being; (2) the _social component_, which - includes the potentialities for social relations as they are - affected by “the number of human beings in the situation, their - distribution in space, their ages, their sex, their native - ability to interstimulate and interact, the interference of - environmental hindrances or helps, and the presence and amount - of certain types of social equipment”; (3) the _environmental - component_, or all the “natural” features of the situation - except the hominid, the social, the psychological and - artifactual components; it includes topography, physiography, - flora, fauna, weather, geology, soil, etc.; (4) the - _psychological component_, defined as the principles involving - the acquisition and performance of human customs not adequately - explained on purely biological principles; (5) the _artifactual - component_, which consists collectively of the material results - and adjuncts of human customary activities.[160] - -It is not always safe for the layman to generalize about the value of -specific sociological findings, but I am inclined to think that this is -verbiage, resulting from analysis pushed beyond any useful purpose. There -is a real if obscure relationship between the vitality of what one is -saying and the palatability of one’s rhetoric. No rhythm, no _tournure_ -of phrase, no architecture of the sentences could make this a good piece -of writing, for its content lies on the outer fringe of significance. It -is the nature of such pedantry to habit itself in a harsh and crabbed -style. - -The primary step in literary composition is _invention_, or the -discovering of something to talk about. No writer is finally able to -make good the claim that his subject matter is one thing and his style -of expression another; the subject matter enters into the expression -inevitably and extensively, although sometimes in ways too subtle for -elucidation. What of the invention of this passage? If we take the word -in its etymological sense of “finding,” are not these distinctions -“findings” for findings’ sake? Analysis carried to such a humorless -extreme reflects discredit upon the very principle of division which was -employed. - -It may appear contradictory to call the social scientist a “tendentious -dialectician” and a “pedantic empiricist” at the same time. But the -contradiction is inherent in his situation and merely expresses the -equivocation found earlier. In all likelihood the empiricism is an -attempt to compensate for the dialectic. If a writer feels guilty about -his dialectic exercises (his definitions), he may seek to counterweight -them with long empirical inquiries. The object of the empirical analysis -is primarily to give the work a scientific aspect and only secondarily to -prove something. In fact, this is almost the pattern of inferior social -science literature. - - -III - -_Does social science writing suffer from a melioristic bias?_ This -question directs our attention to the matter of vocabulary. There is -danger in criticising any writer’s vocabulary through application of -simple principles, because demands vary widely. For some purposes a small -vocabulary of denotative terms will be satisfactory. Other purposes -cannot be adequately met without a large and learned vocabulary which -may, incidentally, sound pretentious. Our question then becomes whether -the ends of social science are being well served by the means employed. -For example, social scientists are often charged with addiction to -polysyllabic vocabulary. Other men of learning show the same addiction, -but there are special reasons for weighing critically the polysyllabic -diction of social scientists. - -Of course, when one faces the issue concretely, one discovers that there -is no single standard by which a word is classified “big.” Some words -are called “big” because they actually have four or five syllables and -hence are measurably so; other words of one or two syllables are called -“big” because, coming out of technical or scientific vocabularies, they -are unfamiliar to the average man;[161] others, actually no longer, are -called “big” because of the company they keep; that is to say, they are -words of learned or dignified association. Sometimes a word seems big -when it is simply too pretentious for the kind of thing it is describing. -Readers of H. L. Mencken will recall that he obtained many of his best -satirical effects by describing what was essentially picayune or tawdry -in a vocabulary of grandiloquence. - -A cursory inspection will show that social scientists are given to words -which are “big” in yet another respect: they have a Latin origin. Even -in analysis of simple phenomenon the reader comes to expect a parade of -terms which seem to go by on stilts, as if it were important to keep from -touching the ground. Without raising questions of semantic theory, one -inclines to wonder about their relationship to their referents. In course -of time one may come to suspect that the words employed are not dictated -by the subject matter, but by some active principle out of sociological -theory. To see whether that suspicion has a foundation, let us try a test -on a specimen of this language. - -The passage which will be used is fairly representative of the ordinary -social science prose to be encountered in articles and reports. The -subject is expressed in the title “Social Nearness among Welfare -Institutions”: - - It was noticed in the preceding sections that the social - welfare organizational milieu presents an interdependence, - a formal solidarity, a coerced feeling of unity. However - divergent the specific objectives of each organization, - theoretically they all have a common purpose, the care of the - so-called underprivileged. Whether they execute what they - profess or not is a different question and one which does not - fall within the confines of these pages.[162] - -There occur in this short excerpt about a dozen words of Latin origin -for which equivalents of Anglo-Saxon (or old English, if the name is -preferred) origin are available, and this without giving up presumably -operational terms like “organizational” and “milieu.”[163] In place of -“noticed,” why not “seen”? In place of “divergent,” why not “unlike”? -In place of “objective,” why not “goal”? Instead of “execute what they -profess,” why not “do what they say”? Did these terms not suggest -themselves to the writer, or were they deliberately passed by? - -It might be arbitrary to insist that any one of these substitutes is -better than the original, but the piling-up of such terms causes language -to take on a special aspect. There are, of course, margins within which -preference in terminology means little, but a preference for Latinate -terms as marked as this must be, to employ one of their customary -expressions, “significant.” - -That significance lies in the kind of attitude that social scientists -must have in order to practice social science. It seems beyond dispute -that all social science rests upon the assumption that man and society -are improvable. That is its origin and its guiding impulse. The man -who does not feel that social behavior and social institutions can be -bettered through the application of scientific laws, or through some -philosophy finding its basic support in them, is surely out of place in -sociology. There would really be nothing for him to do. He could only sit -on the sidelines and speculate dourly, like Nietzsche, or ironically, -like Santayana. The very profession which the true social scientist -adopts compels him to be a kind of a priori optimist. This is why a large -part of social science writing displays a _melioristic bias_. It is under -compulsion, often unconsciously felt, I am sure, to picture things a -little better than they are. Such expression provides a kind of proof -that its theories are “working.” - -An indubitable connection exists between the melioristic bias and a -Latinate vocabulary. Even a moderate sensitivity to the overtones of -language will tell one that diction of Latin derivation tends to be -euphemistic. For this there seem to be both extrinsic and intrinsic -causes. It is a commonplace of historical knowledge that after the Norman -Conquest the Anglo-Saxons were forced into a servile role. They were sent -into the fields to do chores for the Norman overlords, and Anglo-Saxon -names have clung to the things with which they worked. Thus to the -Anglo-Saxon in the field the animal was “cow”; to the Norman, when the -same animal was served at his table, it was “beef” (L. _bos_, _bovis_). -So “calf” is translated “veal”; “thegn” becomes “servant”; “folk” becomes -“people,” and so on. This distinction of common and elegant terms -persists in an area of our vocabulary today. Another circumstance was -that Latin for centuries constituted the language of learning and of the -professions throughout Europe, and from the fourteenth century onward, -there occurred a large amount of “learned borrowing.”[164] This reflects -the fact that those cultures which carried civility and _politesse_ to -highest perfection drew from a Latin source. Finally, I would suggest -that the greater number of syllables in many Latinate terms is a factor -in the effect. Whatever the complete explanation, the truth remains that -to give a thing a Latinate name is to couple it with social prestige and -with the world of ideas, whereas to give it a name out of Anglo-Saxon -is to forgo such dignifying associations. Thus “combat” sounds more -dignified than “fight”; “labor” has resonances which “work” does not -have; “impecunious” seems to indicate a more hopeful condition than -“needy” or “penniless”; “involuntary separation” sounds less painful than -“getting fired.” The list could be extended indefinitely. With exceptions -too few to make a difference, the Anglo-Saxon word is plain and workaday, -whereas the word of Latin derivation seems to invest whatever it -describes with a certain upward tendency. Of course, the Anglo-Saxon word -has its potencies, but they are not those of the other. It seems to cling -to the brute empirical fact, while its Latinate counterpart seems at once -to become ideological, with perhaps a slight aura of hortation about it. -Whenever one hears the average man condemning a piece of discourse as -“flowery,” it is most likely that he is pointing, with the only term at -his command, to an excess of Latinate diction. - -In the same connection, let us remember that the last few years have -seen much newspaper wit at the expense of the language of government -bureaucracy, which is even more responsive to the melioristic bias. The -bureaucrat lives in a world where nothing is incorrigible; the solution -to every contemporary difficulty waits only for the devising of some -appropriate administrative machinery. Compared with him, the social -scientist is a realist, for social science at least begins by admitting -that many situations leave something to be desired. The bureaucrat’s -world is prim and proper and aseptic, and his language reflects it -(perhaps one could say that the discourse of the bureaucrat is social -science “politicalized”). At any rate, here we might profitably look -at a specimen of bureaucratic parlance from Masterson and Phillips’ -_Federal Prose_, a recently published burlesque of official language. -The authors posed for themselves as one exercise the problem of how a -bureaucrat would express the ancient adage “Too many cooks spoil the -broth.” Their translation is a caricature, but, like caricature, it -brings out the dominant features of the subject: “Undue multiplicity -of personnel assigned either concurrently or consecutively to a single -function involves deterioration of quality in the resultant product -as compared with the product of the labor of an exact sufficiency of -personnel.”[165] One notices, first of all, the leap into polysyllabic -diction, along with the total disappearance of those homely entities -“cooks” and “broth.” “Personnel,” for example, is an abstract dignifier, -and “resultant product” is safe, since it does not leave the writer on -record as affirming that the concoction in question actually is broth. -He is further protected by the expunging of “spoil,” with its positive -assertion, and he can hide behind the relativity of “deterioration of -quality ... as compared with....” - -Such language, when used to express the phenomenology of social and -political behavior, gives a curious impression of being foreign to -its subject matter. The impression of foreignness may be explained as -follows. In all writing which has come to be regarded as wisdom about the -human being, there is an undertone of the sardonic. Man at his best is a -sort of caricature of himself, and even when we are eulogizing him for -his finer attributes, there has to be a minor theme of depreciation, much -as a vein of comedy weaves in and out of a great tragedy. The “great” -actions of history appear either sublime or ridiculous, depending on -one’s standpoint, and it may be the part of sagacity to regard them as -both at the same time. This note of the sardonic is found in biblical -wisdom, in Plato’s realism of situations, and even in Aristotle’s -dry categorizing. It appears in the _Federalist_ papers,[166] as the -authors, while debating political theory in high terms, kept a cagey eye -upon economic man. Man is neither an angel nor any kind of disembodied -spirit, and the attempt to treat him as such only arouses our sense of -the ridiculous. The comic animal must be there before we can grant that -the representation is “true.” The typical social science report, even -when it discusses situations in which baseness and irrationality figure -prominently, does not get in this ingredient. Every social fact may be -serious, but not every social action is serious because action is not -fully explainable without motive. It is this abstract man which causes -some of us to wonder about the predications of an unhumanistic social -science. - -The remedy might be to employ, except where the necessity of -conceptualizing makes it difficult, something nearer the language of -the biblical parable (one shudders to think how our bureaucrat would -render “A sower went forth to sow”), or the language of the best British -journalism. I have often felt that writers on social science might learn -a valuable lesson from the limpid prose of the _Manchester Guardian_. -There one usually finds statement without eulogistic or dyslogistic -tendency, adequacy without turgidity. It is perhaps the nearest thing -we have in practice to that supposititious reality, objective language. -There is some truth in the observation of John Peale Bishop that, whereas -American English is more vigorous, English English is far more accurate. -A good reportorial medium will be, to a considerable extent, an English -English, and it will reflect something of the English genius for fact. - -To sum up, the melioristic bias is a deflection toward language which -glosses over reality without necessarily giving us a philosophic -vocabulary. One could go so far as to say that such language is -comparatively lacking in responsibility. It is the language that one -expects from those who have become insulated or daintified. It carries -a slight suggestion of denial of evil, which in lay circles, as in -some ecclesiastical ones, is among the greatest heresies. Perhaps the -sociologist would inspire more confidence as a social physician if his -language had more of the candor described above, and almost certainly he -would get a better understanding of his diagnosis. - - -IV - -_Do the social scientists lose more than they gain by a distrust of -metaphor?_ Dr. Johnson once remarked of Swift, “The rogue never hazards -a metaphor,” and that may well be the reaction of anyone who has plowed -through the drab pages of a contemporary sociologist. It has long -been suspected that sociologists and poets have little confidence in -one another, and here their respective procedures come into complete -contrast. The poet works mainly with metaphor, and the sociologist will -have none of it. Which is right? Or, if each is doing instinctively the -thing that is right for him, must we affirm that the works they produce -are of very unequal importance? - -One can readily see how the social scientist might be guided by the -simple impression that, since metaphor characterizes the language of -poetry, it has, for that very reason, no place in the language of -science. Or, if he should become more analytical, he might conclude -that metaphor, through its very operation of analogy or transference, -implies the existence of a realm which positivistic study denies. To use -metaphor, then, would be to pass over to the enemy. But he would be a -very limited kind of sociologist, a sort of doctrinaire mechanist, not -fully posted on all the resources open to scientific inquiry. - -There are two more or less familiar theories of the nature of metaphor. -One holds that metaphor is mere decoration. It is like the colored lights -and gewgaws one hangs on a Christmas tree; the tree is an integral tree -without them, but they do add sparkle and novelty and so are good things -for such occasions. So the metaphors used in language are pleasurable -accessories, which give it a certain charm and lift but which are -supererogatory when one comes down to the business of understanding what -is said. This theory has been fully discredited not only by those who -have analyzed the language of poetry, but also by those who have gone -furthest into the psychology of language itself and have explored the -“meaning of meaning.” - -A second theory holds that metaphor is a useful concession to our feeble -imagination. We are all children of Adam to the extent that we crave -material embodiments. Even the most highly trained of us are wearied by -long continuance of abstract communication; we want the thing brought -down to earth so that we can see it. For the same reason that principles -have to be put into fables for children, the abstract conceptions of -modern science require figures for their popular expression. Thus the -universe of Einstein is represented as “like” the surface of an orange; -or the theory of entropy is illustrated by the figure of a desert -on which Arabs are riding their camels hither and thither. From the -standpoint of rhetoric, this theory has some validity. Visualization is -an aid to seeing relationships, and there are rhetorical situations which -demand some kind of picturization. Many skilled expositors will follow -an abstract proposition with some easy figure which lets us down to -earth or enables us to get a bearing. There is some value, then, in the -“incarnation” of concepts. On this ground alone one could defend the use -of metaphors in communication.[167] - -There is yet another theory, now receiving serious attention, that -metaphor is itself a means of discovery. Of course, metaphor is intended -here in the broadest sense, requiring only some form of parallelism.[168] -But when its essential nature is understood, it is hard to resist the -thought that metaphor is one of the most important heuristic devices, -leading us from a known to an unknown, but subsequently verifiable, -fact of principle. Thus George de Santillana, writing on “Aspects of -Scientific Rationalism in the Nineteenth Century,” can declare, “There -is never a ‘strict induction’ but contains a considerable amount of -deduction, starting from points chosen analogically.”[169] In other -words, analogy formulates and to some extent directs the inquiry. Any -investigation must start from certain minimal likenesses, and that may -conceal the truth that some analogy lies at the heart of all assertion. -Even Bertrand Russell is compelled to accept analogy as one of the -postulates required to validate the scientific method because it provides -the antecedent probability necessary to justify an induction.[170] - -We might go so far as to admit the point of George Lundberg, who has -given attention to the underlying theory of social science, that -artists and philosophers make only “allegations” about the world, which -scientists must put to the test.[171] For the inquiry may go from -allegation to allegation, through a series of metaphorical constructs. -This in no wise diminishes the role of metaphor but rather recognizes the -role it has always had. If we should speak, for example, of the “dance of -life,” we would be using a metaphor of considerable illuminating power, -in that it rests upon a number of resemblances, some of which are hidden -or profound. If we push it vigorously, we may be surprised at some of -the insights which will turn up. Our naïve question, “What is it like?” -which we ask of anything we are confronting for the first time, is the -intellect’s cry for help. Unless it is like something in some measure, we -shall never get to understand it. - -The usual student of literature is prone to feel that there is more -social psychology in _Hamlet_ than in a dozen volumes on the theory of -the subject. Hamlet is a category, a kind of concrete universal; why -would he yield less as a factor in an analysis than some operational -definition? At least one social psychologist has felt no hesitation about -employing this kind of factor, the only difference being that his is -Babbitt, of more recent creation. Ellsworth Faris, in developing a thesis -that every person has several selves, presents his meaning as follows: - - Moreover, whatever the list of personalities or roles may be, - there is always room for one more, and indeed for many more. - When war comes, Babbitt will probably be a member of the - committee for public defense. He may become a member of a law - enforcement league yet to be formed. He may divorce his wife - or elope with his stenographer or misuse the mails and become - a Federal prisoner in Leavenworth. Each experience will mean - a new role with new personal attitudes and a new axiological - conception of himself.[172] - -This is none the less illuminating because Babbitt is not the product of -a controlled scientific induction. He is a sort of “alleged” symbol which -works very well in a psychological equation. Surely, it is enlightening -to know that some men are like Babbitt and others like Hamlet, or -that we all have our Babbitt and Hamlet phases. But here we should be -primarily interested in the fact that the Lynds’ _Middletown_ (1929) -followed rather than preceded Lewis’s _Main Street_ (1920). In the best -of literary and sociological worlds, _Main Street_ directs attention to -Middletown, and _Middletown_ reduces Main Street to an operable entity. - -The task of taking language away from poetry is a larger operation than -appears at first, and in the eyes of some students an impossible one, -even if it were desirable. We are all like Emerson’s scholar in that the -ordinary affairs of life come to us business and go from us poetry—at -least as soon as we start expressing them in speech. Many words which -we think of as prosaic literalisms can be shown to have their origin in -long-forgotten comparisons. The word “depend” analogizes the action -of hanging from; “contact” analogizes a relationship. “Discoverer” and -“detect” stand for the literal operation of taking off a covering, -hence exposing to view. A “profound study” apparently goes back to our -perception of physical depth. In this way the meaning which we attach -to these words is transferred from their analogues; and, of course, -the process is more obvious in language that is more consciously -metaphorical. It thus becomes plain that somewhere one has to come to -terms with metaphor anyhow, and there is a way to turn the necessity into -a victory. - - -V - -_Is the expression of social science affected by a caste spirit?_ The -fact that social scientists are, in general, dedicated to the removal of -caste, or at least to a refutation of caste presumptions, unfortunately -does not prevent their becoming a caste. Circumstances exist all the -while to make them an _élite_. For one thing, the scientific method of -procedure sets them off pretty severely from the average man, with his -common-sense approach to social problems. Not only is he likely to be -nonplussed by techniques and terminologies; he is also likely to be -repelled by what scientists consider one of their greatest virtues—their -detachment. Finally, it has to be admitted that social scientists’ -extensive patronage by universities, foundations, and governments serves -to give them a protected status while they work. Every other group -so situated has tended to create a jargon, and thus far the social -scientists have not been an exception. Their jargon is a product partly -of imitation and partly of defense-mindedness. - -Naturally one of the first steps in entering a profession is to master -the professional language. A display of familiarity with the language is -popularly taken as a sign of orthodoxy and acceptance; and thus there -arises a temptation to use the special nomenclature freely even when one -has doubts about its aptness. This condition affects especially the young -ones who are seeking recognition and establishment—the graduate students -and the instructors—in general, the probationers in the field. Departure -from orthodoxy can be interpreted as a sign of ignorance or as a sign of -independence, and, in the case of those who have not passed probation, -we usually interpret it as the former. Accordingly, there is a degree -of risk involved in changing the pattern of speech laid down by one’s -colleagues. So the problem of what one has to do to show that one belongs -can be a problem of style. It is entirely possible that many young social -scientists do not write so well as they could because of this inhibition. -They are in the position of having to satisfy teachers and critics, and -they produce what is expected or what they think is expected. In this -way a natural gift for the direct phrase and the lucid arrangement can -be swallowed up in tortuosities. The pattern can be broken only by some -gifted revolutionary or by someone invested with all the honors of the -guild. - -It is, moreover, true, as Harold Laski has pointed out, that every -profession builds up a distrust of innovation, and especially of -innovation from the outside.[173] It requires an unusual degree of -humility to see that the solution to our problem may have to come -from someone outside our number, perhaps from some naïve person -whose advantage is that he can see the matter only in broad outline. -Professions and bureaucracies are on guard against this sort of person, -and one of the barriers they unconsciously set up is just this one of -jargon. If certain government policies were announced in the language of -the barbershop, their absurdity might become overwhelmingly apparent. -If certain projects in social science research (or in language and -literature research, for that matter) were explained in the language -of the daily news report, their futility might become embarrassingly -clear. One can only surmise how an experienced political reporter -would phrase the findings in Beyle’s _Identification and Analysis of -Attribute-Cluster-Blocs_, but one has a notion that his account would -sound very little like the original. Would it be unfair? The reply that -such language would destroy essential meanings in the original would -have to be weighed along with the alternative possibility that the -language was used in the first place because it was euphemistic, in -the sense we have outlined, or protective. A user of such language may -feel safe because the definition of terms is, in a way, his possession. -And so technical language, as sometimes employed, may be Pickwickian, -inasmuch as it serves not just scientifically but also pragmatically. The -average citizen, faced with sociological explanations and bureaucratic -communiques, may feel as poor culprits used to feel when confronted with -law Latin. - - -VI - -The rhetorical obligation of the scientists has been aptly expressed by -T. Swann Harding in a discussion of the general character of scientific -writing. “Scientists,” he says, “gain nothing by showing off, and the -simpler they can make their reports the better. Even their technical -reports can be made very much simpler without loss of accuracy or -precision. Nor is there really any valid substitute for a good working -knowledge of English composition and rhetoric.”[174] The last statement -is true with certain qualifications, which ought to be made explicit. -In a final estimate of the problem it has to be recognized that social -science writing cannot be judged altogether by literary standards. It -is expression with a definite assignment of duty; and those who have -made a comparative study of methods and styles know that every formula -of expression incurs its penalty. It is a rule in the realm of writing -that one pays for the choice one makes. The payment is exacted when the -form of expression becomes too exclusively what it is. In course of use -a defined style becomes its own enemy. If one’s writing is abstract, -it will accommodate ideas, but it will fatigue the reader. If it is -concrete, it will divert and relieve; but it may become cloying, and it -will have difficulty in encompassing ideas. If it is spare, it will come -to seem abrupt; if it practices a degree of circumlocution, it will first -seem elegant but will come to seem inflated. The lucid style is suspected -of oversimplifying. And so the dilemma goes. - -Now the social scientist has to write about a kind of thing, and, -notwithstanding his uncertain allocation of facts and concepts, he may -as well accept his penalty at the beginning. He can never make it a -primary goal to be “pleasing,” and for this reason the purely literary -performance is not for him. Dramatistic presentation, a leading source -of interest in all literary production, is largely, if not entirely, -out of his reach. The only kind of writing that gets people emotionally -involved contains some form of dramatic conflict, which requires a -dichotomy of opposites. Yet the only dichotomy that social science (as a -science) contemplates is that of the norm and the deviate, and these two -are supposed to exist in an empirical rather than in a moral context, -and the injunction is implicit that all we shall do is observe. The -work, then, is going to be either purely descriptive, or critical with -reference to the norm-deviate opposition. Not many people are going to -develop a sense of poignant concern over such presentations. To a certain -extent _Middletown_ did catch the popular imagination, but the contrast -developed here was between what the American observably was through the -eyes of detached social scientists and his picture of himself, with its -compound of self-esteem, aspiration, and social mythology. The community -empirically found was put on the stage to challenge the community -sentimentally and otherwise conceived. The same will hardly hold for the -typical case of scientific norm and empirically discovered deviate, for -no such ideas are involved in the contrast. _Recent Social Trends in the -United States_,[175] for example, the monumental report of President -Hoover’s Research Committee on Social Trends, could not look to this -kind of interest for its appeal. Unless, therefore, we regard metaphor as -a means of dramatistic presentation, this resource is not ordinarily open -to social science. - -Yet within the purpose which the social scientist sets himself there -is a considerable range of rhetorical possibility, which he ignores -at needless expense. Rhetoric is, among other things, a process of -coordination and subordination which is very close to the essential -thought process. That is to say, in any coherent piece of discourse there -occur promotion and demotion of thoughts, and this is accomplished not -solely through logical outlining and subsumation. It involves matters -of sequence, of quantity, and some understanding of the rhetorical -aspects of grammatical categories. These are means to clear and effective -expression, and the failure to see and use them as means can produce -a condition in which means and ends seem not discriminated, or even a -subversion in which means seem to manipulate ends. That condition is -one which social science, along with every other instrumentality of -education, should be combating in the interest of a reasonable world. - - - - -Chapter IX - -ULTIMATE TERMS IN CONTEMPORARY RHETORIC - - -We have shown that rhetorical force must be conceived as a power -transmitted through the links of a chain that extends upward toward -some ultimate source. The higher links of that chain must always be of -unique interest to the student of rhetoric, pointing, as they do, to some -prime mover of human impulse. Here I propose to turn away from general -considerations and to make an empirical study of the terms on these -higher levels of force which are seen to be operating in our age. - -We shall define term simply here as a name capable of entering into a -proposition. In our treatment of rhetorical sources, we have regarded the -full predication consisting of a proposition as the true validator. But -a single term is an incipient proposition, awaiting only the necessary -coupling with another term; and it cannot be denied that single names -set up expectancies of propositional embodiment. This causes everyone -to realize the critical nature of the process of naming. Given the name -“patriot,” for example, we might expect to see coupled with it “Brutus,” -or “Washington,” or “Parnell”; given the term “hot,” we might expect to -see “sun,” “stove,” and so on. In sum, single terms have their potencies, -this being part of the phenomenon of names, and we shall here present -a few of the most noteworthy in our time, with some remarks upon their -etiology. - -Naturally this survey will include the “bad” terms as well as the “good” -terms, since we are interested to record historically those expressions -to which the populace, in its actual usage and response, appears to -attribute the greatest sanction. A prescriptive rhetoric may specify -those terms which, in all seasons, ought to carry the greatest potency, -but since the affections of one age are frequently a source of wonder to -another, the most we can do under the caption “contemporary rhetoric” is -to give a descriptive account and withhold the moral until the end. For -despite the variations of fashion, an age which is not simply distraught -manages to achieve some system of relationship among the attractive and -among the repulsive terms, so that we can work out an order of weight -and precedence in the prevailing rhetoric once we have discerned the -“rhetorical absolutes”—the terms to which the very highest respect is -paid. - -It is best to begin boldly by asking ourselves, what is the “god term” of -the present age? By “god term” we mean that expression about which all -other expressions are ranked as subordinate and serving dominations and -powers. Its force imparts to the others their lesser degree of force, -and fixes the scale by which degrees of comparison are understood. In -the absence of a strong and evenly diffused religion, there may be -several terms competing for this primacy, so that the question is not -always capable of definite answer. Yet if one has to select the one term -which in our day carries the greatest blessing, and—to apply a useful -test—whose antonym carries the greatest rebuke, one will not go far -wrong in naming “progress.” This seems to be the ultimate generator of -force flowing down through many links of ancillary terms. If one can -“make it stick,” it will validate almost anything. It would be difficult -to think of any type of person or of any institution which could not -be recommended to the public through the enhancing power of this word. -A politician is urged upon the voters as a “progressive leader”; a -community is proud to style itself “progressive”; technologies and -methodologies claim to the “progressive”; a peculiar kind of emphasis in -modern education calls itself “progressive,” and so on without limit. -There is no word whose power to move is more implicitly trusted than -“progressive.” But unlike some other words we shall examine in the course -of this chapter, its rise to supreme position is not obscure, and it -possesses some intelligible referents. - -Before going into the story of its elevation, we must prepare ground by -noting that it is the nature of the conscious life of man to revolve -around some concept of value. So true is this that when the concept is -withdrawn, or when it is forced into competition with another concept, -the human being suffers an almost intolerable sense of being lost. He has -to know where he is in the ideological cosmos in order to coordinate his -activities. Probably the greatest cruelty which can be inflicted upon -the psychic man is this deprivation of a sense of tendency. Accordingly -every age, including those of rudest cultivation, sets up some kind of -sign post. In highly cultivated ages, with individuals of exceptional -intellectual strength, this may take the form of a metaphysic. But with -the ordinary man, even in such advanced ages, it is likely to be some -idea abstracted from religion or historical speculation, and made to -inhere in a few sensible and immediate examples. - -Since the sixteenth century we have tended to accept as inevitable an -historical development that takes the form of a changing relationship -between ourselves and nature, in which we pass increasingly into the -role of master of nature. When I say that this seems inevitable to us, -I mean that it seems something so close to what our more religious -forebears considered the working of providence that we regard as impiety -any disposition to challenge or even suspect it. By a transposition -of terms, “progress” becomes the salvation man is placed on earth to -work out; and just as there can be no achievement more important than -salvation, so there can be no activity more justified in enlisting our -sympathy and support than “progress.” As our historical sketch would -imply, the term began to be used in the sixteenth century in the sense -of continuous development or improvement; it reached an apogee in -the nineteenth century, amid noisy demonstrations of man’s mastery of -nature, and now in the twentieth century it keeps its place as one of the -least assailable of the “uncontested terms,” despite critical doubts in -certain philosophic quarters. It is probably the only term which gives -to the average American or West European of today a concept of something -bigger than himself, which he is socially impelled to accept and even to -sacrifice for. This capacity to demand sacrifice is probably the surest -indicator of the “god term,” for when a term is so sacrosanct that the -material goods of this life must be mysteriously rendered up for it, then -we feel justified in saying that it is in some sense ultimate. Today -no one is startled to hear of a man’s sacrificing health or wealth for -the “progress” of the community, whereas such sacrifices for other ends -may be regarded as self-indulgent or even treasonable. And this is just -because “progress” is the coordinator of all socially respectable effort. - -Perhaps these observations will help the speaker who would speak against -the stream of “progress,” or who, on the other hand, would parry some -blow aimed at him through the potency of the word, to realize what a -momentum he is opposing. - -Another word of great rhetorical force which owes its origin to the -same historical transformation is “fact.” Today’s speaker says “It is -a fact” with all the gravity and air of finality with which his less -secular-minded ancestor would have said “It is the truth.”[176] “These -are facts”; “Facts tend to show”; and “He knows the facts” will be -recognized as common locutions drawing upon the rhetorical resource -of this word. The word “fact” went into the ascendent when our system -of verification changed during the Renaissance. Prior to that time, -the type of conclusion that men felt obligated to accept came either -through divine revelation, or through dialectic, which obeys logical -law. But these were displaced by the system of verification through -correspondence with physical reality. Since then things have been -true only when measurably true, or when susceptible to some kind of -quantification. Quite simply, “fact” came to be the touchstone after the -truth of speculative inquiry had been replaced by the truth of empirical -investigation. Today when the average citizen says “It is a fact” or says -that he “knows the facts in the case,” he means that he has the kind of -knowledge to which all other knowledges must defer. Possibly it should -be pointed out that his “facts” are frequently not facts at all in the -etymological sense; often they will be deductions several steps removed -from simply factual data. Yet the “facts” of his case carry with them -this aura of scientific irrefragability, and he will likely regard any -questioning of them as sophistry. In his vocabulary a fact is a fact, and -all evidence so denominated has the prestige of science. - -These last remarks will remind us at once of the strongly rhetorical -character of the word “science” itself. If there is good reason for -placing “progress” rather than “science” at the top of our series, it is -only that the former has more scope, “science” being the methodological -tool of “progress.” It seems clear, moreover, that “science” owes its -present status to an hypostatization. The hypostatized term is one -which treats as a substance or a concrete reality that which has only -conceptual existence; and every reader will be able to supply numberless -illustrations of how “science” is used without any specific referent. -Any utterance beginning “Science says” provides one: “Science says there -is no difference in brain capacity between the races”; “Science now -knows the cause of encephalitis”; “Science says that smoking does not -harm the throat.” Science is not, as here it would seem to be, a single -concrete entity speaking with one authoritative voice. Behind these large -abstractions (and this is not an argument against abstractions as such) -there are many scientists holding many different theories and employing -many different methods of investigation. The whole force of the word -nevertheless depends upon a bland assumption that all scientists meet -periodically in synod and there decide and publish what science believes. -Yet anyone with the slightest scientific training knows that this is very -far from a possibility. Let us consider therefore the changed quality -of the utterance when it is amended to read “A majority of scientists -say”; or “Many scientists believe”; or “Some scientific experiments have -indicated.” The change will not do. There has to be a creature called -“science”; and its creation has as a matter of practice been easy, -because modern man has been conditioned to believe that the powers and -processes which have transformed his material world represent a very -sure form of knowledge, and that there must be a way of identifying that -knowledge. Obviously the rhetorical aggrandizement of “science” here -parallels that of “fact,” the one representing generally and the other -specifically the whole subject matter of trustworthy perception. - -Furthermore, the term “science” like “progress” seems to satisfy a primal -need. Man feels lost without a touchstone of knowledge just as he feels -lost without the direction-finder provided by progress. It is curious -to note that actually the word is only another name for knowledge (L. -_scientia_), so that if we should go by strict etymology, we should -insist that the expression “science knows” (_i.e._, “knowledge knows”) -is pure tautology. But our rhetoric seems to get around this by implying -that science is _the_ knowledge. Other knowledges may contain elements of -quackery, and may reflect the selfish aims of the knower; but “science,” -once we have given the word its incorporation, is the undiluted essence -of knowledge. The word as it comes to us then is a little pathetic in its -appeal, inasmuch as it reflects the deeply human feeling that somewhere -somehow there must be people who know things “as they are.” Once God or -his ministry was the depository of such knowledge, but now, with the -general decay of religious faith, it is the scientists who must speak _ex -cathedra_, whether they wish to or not. - -The term “modern” shares in the rhetorical forces of the others thus far -discussed, and stands not far below the top. Its place in the general -ordering is intelligible through the same history. Where progress is -real, there is a natural presumption that the latest will be the best. -Hence it is generally thought that to describe anything as “modern” is -to credit it with all the improvements which have been made up to now. -Then by a transference the term is applied to realms where valuation is, -or ought to be, of a different source. In consequence, we have “modern -living” urged upon us as an ideal; “the modern mind” is mentioned as -something superior to previous minds; sometimes the modifier stands alone -as an epithet of approval: “to become modern” or “to sound modern” are -expressions that carry valuation. It is of course idle not to expect an -age to feel that some of its ways and habits of mind are the best; but -the extensive transformations of the past hundred years seem to have -given “modern” a much more decisive meaning. It is as if a difference of -degree had changed into a difference of kind. But the very fact that a -word is not used very analytically may increase its rhetorical potency, -as we shall see later in connection with a special group of terms. - -Another word definitely high up in the hierarchy we have outlined is -“efficient.” It seems to have acquired its force through a kind of -no-nonsense connotation. If a thing is efficient, it is a good adaptation -of means to ends, with small loss through friction. Thus as a word -expressing a good understanding and management of cause and effect, it -may have a fairly definite referent; but when it is lifted above this -and made to serve as a term of general endorsement, we have to be on our -guard against the stratagems of evil rhetoric. When we find, to cite a -familiar example, the phrase “efficiency apartments” used to give an -attractive aspect to inadequate dwellings, we may suspect the motive -behind such juxtaposition. In many similar cases, “efficient,” which is -a term above reproach in engineering and physics, is made to hold our -attention where ethical and aesthetic considerations are entitled to -priority. Certain notorious forms of government and certain brutal forms -of warfare are undeniably efficient; but here the featuring of efficiency -unfairly narrows the question. - -Another term which might seem to have a different provenance but which -participates in the impulse we have been studying is “American.” One must -first recognize the element of national egotism which makes this a word -of approval with us, but there are reasons for saying that the force of -“American” is much more broadly based than this. “This is the American -way” or “It is the American thing to do” are expressions whose intent -will not seem at all curious to the average American. Now the peculiar -effect that is intended here comes from the circumstance that “American” -and “progressive” have an area of synonymity. The Western World has long -stood as a symbol for the future; and accordingly there has been a very -wide tendency in this country, and also I believe among many people in -Europe, to identify that which is American with that which is destined -to be. And this is much the same as identifying it with the achievements -of “progress.” The typical American is quite fatuous in this regard: to -him America is the goal toward which all creation moves; and he judges -a country’s civilization by its resemblance to the American model. The -matter of changing nationalities brings out this point very well. For a -citizen of a European country to become a citizen of the United States -is considered natural and right, and I have known those so transferring -their nationality to be congratulated upon their good sense and their -anticipated good fortune. On the contrary, when an American takes out -British citizenship (French or German would be worse), this transference -is felt to be a little scandalous. It is regarded as somehow perverse, -or as going against the stream of things. Even some of our intellectuals -grow uneasy over the action of Henry James and T. S. Eliot, and the -masses cannot comprehend it at all. Their adoption of British citizenship -is not mere defection from a country; it is treason to history. If -Americans wish to become Europeans, what has happened to the hope of -the world? is, I imagine, the question at the back of their minds. The -tremendous spread of American fashions in behavior and entertainment must -add something to the impetus, but I believe the original source to be -this prior idea that America, typifying “progress,” is what the remainder -of the world is trying to be like. - -It follows naturally that in the popular consciousness of this country, -“un-American” is the ultimate in negation. An anecdote will serve to -illustrate this. Several years ago a leading cigarette manufacturer -in this country had reason to believe that very damaging reports were -being circulated about his product. The reports were such that had -they not been stopped, the sale of this brand of cigarettes might -have been reduced. The company thereupon inaugurated an extensive -advertising campaign, the object of which was to halt these rumors in -the most effective way possible. The concocters of the advertising copy -evidently concluded after due deliberation that the strongest term of -condemnation which could be conceived was “un-American,” for this was -the term employed in the campaign. Soon the newspapers were filled with -advertising rebuking this “un-American” type of depreciation which -had injured their sales. From examples such as this we may infer that -“American” stands not only for what is forward in history, but also for -what is ethically superior, or at least for a standard of fairness not -matched by other nations. - -And as long as the popular mind carries this impression, it will be -futile to protest against such titles as “The Committee on un-American -activities.” While “American” and “un-American” continue to stand for -these polar distinctions, the average citizen is not going to find much -wrong with a group set up to investigate what is “un-American” and -therefore reprehensible. At the same time, however, it would strike him -as most droll if the British were to set up a “Committee on un-British -Activities” or the French a “Committee on un-French Activities.” The -American, like other nationals, is not apt to be much better than he has -been taught, and he has been taught systematically that his country is -a special creation. That is why some of his ultimate terms seem to the -general view provincial, and why he may be moved to polarities which -represent only local poles. - -If we look within the area covered by “American,” however, we find -significant changes in the position of terms which are reflections -of cultural and ideological changes. Among the once powerful but now -waning terms are those expressive of the pioneer ideal of ruggedness and -self-sufficiency. In the space of fifty years or less we have seen the -phrase “two-fisted American” pass from the category of highly effective -images to that of comic anachronisms. Generally, whoever talks the older -language of strenuosity is regarded as a reactionary, it being assumed -by social democrats that a socially organized world is one in which -cooperation removes the necessity for struggle. Even the rhetorical trump -cards of the 1920’s, which Sinclair Lewis treated with such satire, are -comparatively impotent today, as the new social consciousness causes -terms of centrally planned living to move toward the head of the series. - -Other terms not necessarily connected with the American story have -passed a zenith of influence and are in decline; of these perhaps -the once effective “history” is the most interesting example. It is -still to be met in such expressions as “History proves” and “History -teaches”; yet one feels that it has lost the force it possessed in the -previous century. Then it was easy for Byron—“the orator in poetry”—to -write, “History with all her volumes vast has but one page”; or for the -commemorative speaker to deduce profound lessons from history. But people -today seem not to find history so eloquent. A likely explanation is that -history, taken as whole, is conceptual rather than factual, and therefore -a skepticism has developed as to what it teaches. Moreover, since the -teachings of history are principally moral, ethical, or religious, they -must encounter today that threshold resentment of anything which savors -of the prescriptive. Since “history” is inseparable from judgment of -historical fact, there has to be a considerable community of mind -before history can be allowed to have a voice. Did the overthrow of -Napoleon represent “progress” in history or the reverse? I should say -that the most common rhetorical uses of “history” at the present are by -intellectuals, whose personal philosophy can provide it with some kind of -definition, and by journalists, who seem to use it unreflectively. For -the contemporary masses it is substantially true that “history is bunk.” - -An instructive example of how a coveted term can be monopolized may be -seen in “allies.” Three times within the memory of those still young, -“allies” (often capitalized) has been used to distinguish those fighting -on our side from the enemy. During the First World War it was a supreme -term; during the Second World War it was again used with effect; and -at the time of the present writing it is being used to designate that -nondescript combination fighting in the name of the United Nations in -Korea. The curious fact about the use of this term is that in each case -the enemy also has been constituted of “allies.” In the First World -War Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Turkey were “allies”; in the Second, -Germany and Italy; and in the present conflict the North Koreans and the -Chinese and perhaps the Russians are “allies.” But in the rhetorical -situation it is not possible to refer to them as “allies,” since we -reserve that term for the alliance representing our side. The reason -for such restriction is that when men or nations are “allied,” it is -implied that they are united on some sound principle or for some good -cause. Lying at the source of this feeling is the principle discussed -by Plato, that friendship can exist only among the good, since good -is an integrating force and evil a disintegrating one. We do not, for -example, refer to a band of thieves as “the allies” because that term -would impute laudable motives. By confining the term to our side we make -an evaluation in our favor. We thus style ourselves the group joined for -purposes of good. If we should allow it to be felt for a moment that the -opposed combination is also made up of allies, we should concede that -they are united by a principle, which in war is never done. So as the -usage goes, we are always allies in war and the enemy is just the enemy, -regardless of how many nations he has been able to confederate. Here is -clearly another instance of how tendencies may exist in even the most -innocent-seeming language. - -Now let us turn to the terms of repulsion. Some terms of repulsion are -also ultimate in the sense of standing at the end of the series, and -no survey of the vocabulary can ignore these prime repellants. The -counterpart of the “god term” is the “devil term,” and it has already -been suggested that with us “un-American” comes nearest to filling that -role. Sometimes, however, currents of politics and popular feeling cause -something more specific to be placed in that position. There seems indeed -to be some obscure psychic law which compels every nation to have in -its national imagination an enemy. Perhaps this is but a version of the -tribal need for a scapegoat, or for something which will personify “the -adversary.” If a nation did not have an enemy, an enemy would have to be -invented to take care of those expressions of scorn and hatred to which -peoples must give vent. When another political state is not available -to receive the discharge of such emotions, then a class will be chosen, -or a race, or a type, or a political faction, and this will be held up -to a practically standardized form of repudiation. Perhaps the truth -is that we need the enemy in order to define ourselves, but I will not -here venture further into psychological complexities. In this type of -study it will be enough to recall that during the first half century -of our nation’s existence, “Tory” was such a devil term. In the period -following our Civil War, “rebel” took its place in the Northern section -and “Yankee” in the Southern, although in the previous epoch both of -these had been terms of esteem. Most readers will remember that during -the First World War “pro-German” was a term of destructive force. During -the Second World War “Nazi” and “Fascist” carried about equal power -to condemn, and then, following the breach with Russia, “Communist” -displaced them both. Now “Communist” is beyond any rival the devil term, -and as such it is employed even by the American president when he feels -the need of a strong rhetorical point. - -A singular truth about these terms is that, unlike several which were -examined in our favorable list, they defy any real analysis. That is -to say, one cannot explain how they generate their peculiar force of -repudiation. One only recognizes them as publicly-agreed-upon devil -terms. It is the same with all. “Tory” persists in use, though it has -long lost any connection with redcoats and British domination. Analysis -of “rebel” and “Yankee” only turns up embarrassing contradictions of -position. Similarly we have all seen “Nazi” and “Fascist” used without -rational perception; and we see this now, in even greater degree, -with “Communist.” However one might like to reject such usage as mere -ignorance, to do so would only evade a very important problem. Most -likely these are instances of the “charismatic term,” which will be -discussed in detail presently. - -No student of contemporary usage can be unmindful of the curious -reprobative force which has been acquired by the term “prejudice.” -Etymologically it signifies nothing more than a prejudgment, or a -judgment before all the facts are in; and since all of us have to -proceed to a great extent on judgments of that kind, the word should -not be any more exciting than “hypothesis.” But in its rhetorical -applications “prejudice” presumes far beyond that. It is used, as a -matter of fact, to characterize unfavorably any value judgment whatever. -If “blue” is said to be a better color than “red,” that is prejudice. -If people of outstanding cultural achievement are praised through -contrast with another people, that is prejudice. If one mode of life is -presented as superior to another, that is prejudice. And behind all is -the implication, if not the declaration, that it is un-American to be -prejudiced. - -I suspect that what the users of this term are attempting, whether -consciously or not, is to sneak “prejudiced” forward as an uncontested -term, and in this way to disarm the opposition by making all positional -judgments reprehensible. It must be observed in passing that no people -are so prejudiced in the sense of being committed to valuations as those -who are engaged in castigating others for prejudice. What they expect -is that they can nullify the prejudices of those who oppose them, and -then get their own installed in the guise of the _sensus communis_. Mark -Twain’s statement, “I know that I am prejudiced in this matter, but I -would be ashamed of myself if I weren’t” is a therapeutic insight into -the process; but it will take more than a witticism to make headway -against the repulsive force gathered behind “prejudice.” - -If the rhetorical use of the term has any rational content, this probably -comes through a chain of deductions from the nature of democracy; and -we know that in controversies centered about the meaning of democracy, -the air is usually filled with cries of “prejudice.” If democracy is -taken crudely to mean equality, as it very frequently is, it is then -a contradiction of democracy to assign inferiority and superiority on -whatever grounds. But since the whole process of evaluation is a process -of such assignment, the various inequalities which are left when it -has done its work are contradictions of this root notion and hence are -“prejudice”—the assumption of course being that when all the facts are -in, these inequalities will be found illusory. The man who dislikes a -certain class or race or style has merely not taken pains to learn that -it is just as good as any other. If all inequality is deception, then -superiorities must be accounted the products of immature judgment. This -affords plausible ground, as we have suggested, for the coupling of -“prejudice” and “ignorance.” - -Before leaving the subject of the ordered series of good and bad terms, -one feels obliged to say something about the way in which hierarchies can -be inverted. Under the impulse of strong frustration there is a natural -tendency to institute a pretense that the best is the worst and the worst -is the best—an inversion sometimes encountered in literature and in -social deportment. The best illustration for purpose of study here comes -from a department of speech which I shall call “GI rhetoric.” The average -American youth, put into uniform, translated to a new and usually barren -environment, and imbued from many sources with a mission of killing, has -undergone a pretty severe dislocation. All of this runs counter to the -benevolent platitudes on which he was brought up, and there is little -ground for wonder if he adopts the inverted pose. This is made doubly -likely by the facts that he is at a passionate age and that he is thrust -into an atmosphere of superinduced excitement. It would be unnatural -for him not to acquire a rhetoric of strong impulse and of contumacious -tendency. - -What he does is to make an almost complete inversion. In this special -world of his he recoils from those terms used by politicians and other -civilians and by the “top brass” when they are enunciating public -sentiments. Dropping the conventional terms of attraction, this uprooted -and specially focussed young man puts in their place terms of repulsion. -To be more specific, where the others use terms reflecting love, hope, -and charity, he uses almost exclusively terms connected with the -excretory and reproductive functions. Such terms comprise what Kenneth -Burke has ingeniously called “the imagery of killing.” By an apparently -universal psychological law, faeces and the act of defecation are linked -with the idea of killing, of destruction, of total repudiation—perhaps -the word “elimination” would comprise the whole body of notions. The -reproductive act is associated especially with the idea of aggressive -exploitation. Consequently when the GI feels that he must give his speech -a proper show of spirit, he places the symbols for these things in places -which would normally be filled by prestige terms from the “regular” list. -For specimens of such language presented in literature, the reader is -referred to the fiction of Ernest Hemingway and Norman Mailer. - -Anyone who has been compelled to listen to such rhetoric will recall -the monotony of the vocabulary and the vehemence of the delivery. From -these two characteristics we may infer a great need and a narrow means -of satisfaction, together with the tension which must result from -maintaining so arduous an inversion. Whereas previously the aim had been -to love (in the broad sense) it is now to kill; whereas it had been -freedom and individuality, it is now restriction and brutalization. In -taking revenge for a change which so contradicts his upbringing he is -quite capable, as the evidence has already proved, of defiantly placing -the lower level above the higher. Sometimes a clever GI will invent -combinations and will effect metaphorical departures, but the ordinary -ones are limited to a reiteration of the stock terms—to a reiteration, -with emphasis of intonation, upon “the imagery of killing.”[177] Taken as -a whole, this rhetoric is a clear if limited example of how the machine -may be put in reverse—of how, consequently, a sort of devil worship may -get into language. - -A similar inversion of hierarchy is to be seen in the world of -competitive sports, although to a lesser extent. The great majority of -us in the Western world have been brought up under the influence, direct -or indirect, of Christianity, which is a religion of extreme altruism. -Its terms of value all derive from a law of self-effacement and of -consideration for others, and these terms tend to appear whenever we try -to rationalize or vindicate our conduct. But in the world of competitive -sports, the direction is opposite: there one is applauded for egotistic -display and for success at the expense of others—should one mention in -particular American professional baseball? Thus the terms with which an -athlete is commended will generally point away from the direction of -Christian passivity, although when an athlete’s character is described -for the benefit of the general public, some way is usually found to place -him in the other ethos, as by calling attention to his natural kindness, -his interest in children, or his readiness to share his money. - -Certainly many of the contradictions of our conduct may be explained -through the presence of these small inverted hierarchies. When, to -cite one further familiar example, the acquisitive, hard-driving local -capitalist is made the chief lay official of a Christian church, one -knows that in a definite area there has been a transvaluation of values. - -Earlier in the chapter we referred to terms of considerable potency whose -referents it is virtually impossible to discover or to construct through -imagination. I shall approach this group by calling them “charismatic -terms.” It is the nature of the charismatic term to have a power which is -not derived, but which is in some mysterious way given. By this I mean -to say that we cannot explain their compulsiveness through referents -of objectively known character and tendency. We normally “understand” -a rhetorical term’s appeal through its connection with something we -apprehend, even when we object morally to the source of the impulse. -Now “progress” is an understandable term in this sense, since it rests -upon certain observable if not always commendable aspects of our world. -Likewise the referential support of “fact” needs no demonstrating. -These derive their force from a reading of palpable circumstance. But -in charismatic terms we are confronted with a different creation: these -terms seem to have broken loose somehow and to operate independently -of referential connections (although in some instances an earlier -history of referential connection may be made out). Their meaning seems -inexplicable unless we accept the hypothesis that their content proceeds -out of a popular will that they _shall_ mean something. In effect, they -are rhetorical by common consent, or by “charisma.” As is the case with -charismatic authority, where the populace gives the leader a power which -can by no means be explained through his personal attributes, and -permits him to use it effectively and even arrogantly, the charismatic -term is given its load of impulsion without reference, and it functions -by convention. The number of such terms is small in any one period, but -they are perhaps the most efficacious terms of all. - -Such rhetorical sensibility as I have leads me to believe that one of -the principal charismatic terms of our age is “freedom.” The greatest -sacrifices that contemporary man is called upon to make are demanded in -the name of “freedom”; yet the referent which the average man attaches -to this word is most obscure. Burke’s dictum that “freedom inheres -in something sensible” has not prevented its breaking loose from all -anchorages. And the evident truth that the average man, given a choice -between exemption from responsibility and responsibility, will choose -the latter, makes no impression against its power. The fact, moreover, -that the most extensive use of the term is made by modern politicians -and statesmen in an effort to get men to assume more responsibility (in -the form of military service, increased taxes, abridgement of rights, -etc.) seems to carry no weight either.[178] The fact that what the -American pioneer considered freedom has become wholly impossible to -the modern apartment-dwelling metropolitan seems not to have damaged -its potency. Unless we accept some philosophical interpretation, such -as the proposition that freedom consists only in the discharge of -responsibility, there seems no possibility of a correlation between the -use of the word and circumstantial reality. Yet “freedom” remains an -ultimate term, for which people are asked to yield up their first-born. - -There is plenty of evidence that “democracy” is becoming the same kind of -term. The variety of things it is used to symbolize is too weird and too -contradictory for one to find even a core meaning in present-day usages. -More important than this for us is the fact, noted by George Orwell, -that people resist any attempt to define democracy, as if to connect it -with a clear and fixed referent were to vitiate it. It may well be that -such resistance to definition of democracy arises from a subconscious -fear that a term defined in the usual manner has its charisma taken away. -The situation then is that “democracy” means “be democratic,” and that -means exhibit a certain attitude which you can learn by imitating your -fellows. - -If rationality is measured by correlations and by analyzable content, -then these terms are irrational; and there is one further modern -development in the creation of such terms which is strongly suggestive -of irrational impulse. This is the increasing tendency to employ in the -place of the term itself an abbreviated or telescoped form—which form is -nearly always used with even more reckless assumption of authority. I -seldom read the abbreviation “U S” in the newspapers without wincing at -the complete arrogance of its rhetorical tone. Daily we see “U S Cracks -Down on Communists”; “U S Gives OK to Atomic Weapons”; “U S Shocked by -Death of Official.” Who or what is this “U S”? It is clear that “U S” -does not suggest a union of forty-eight states having republican forms -of government and held together by a constitution of expressly delimited -authority. It suggests rather an abstract force out of a new world of -forces, whose will is law and whom the individual citizen has no way to -placate. Consider the individual citizen confronted by “U S” or “FBI.” As -long as terms stand for identifiable organs of government, the citizen -feels that he knows the world he moves around in, but when the forces of -government are referred to by these bloodless abstractions, he cannot -avoid feeling that they are one thing and he another. Let us note while -dealing with this subject the enormous proliferation of such forms -during the past twenty years or so. If “U S” is the most powerful and -prepossessing of the group, it drags behind it in train the previously -mentioned “FBI,” and “NPA,” “ERP,” “FDIC,” “WPA,” “HOLC,” and “OSS,” to -take a few at random. It is a fact of ominous significance that this use -of foreshortened forms is preferred by totalitarians, both the professed -and the disguised. Americans were hearing the terms “OGPU,” “AMTORG” and -“NEP” before their own government turned to large-scale state planning. -Since then we have spawned them ourselves, and, it is to be feared, out -of similar impulse. George Orwell, one of the truest humanists of our -age, has described the phenomenon thus: “Even in the early decades of -the twentieth century, telescoped words and phrases had been one of the -characteristic features of political language; and it had been noticed -that the tendency to use abbreviations of this kind was most marked in -totalitarian countries and totalitarian organizations. Examples were such -words as Nazi, Gestapo, Comintern, Inprecor, Agitprop.”[179] - -I venture to suggest that what this whole trend indicates is an -attempt by the government, as distinguished from the people, to confer -charismatic authority. In the earlier specimens of charismatic terms we -were examining, we beheld something like the creation of a spontaneous -general will. But these later ones of truncated form are handed down from -above, and their potency is by fiat of whatever group is administering -in the name of democracy. Actually the process is no more anomalous than -the issuing of pamphlets to soldiers telling them whom they shall hate -and whom they shall like (or try to like), but the whole business of -switching impulse on and off from a central headquarters has very much -the meaning of _Gleichschaltung_ as that word has been interpreted for -me by a native German. Yet it is a disturbing fact that such process -should increase in times of peace, because the persistent use of such -abbreviations can only mean a serious divorce between rhetorical impulse -and rational thought. When the ultimate terms become a series of bare -abstractions, the understanding of power is supplanted by a worship of -power, and in our condition this can mean only state worship. - -It is easy to see, however, that a group determined upon control will -have as one of its first objectives the appropriation of sources of -charismatic authority. Probably the surest way to detect the fabricated -charismatic term is to identify those terms ordinarily of limited power -which are being moved up to the front line. That is to say, we may -suspect the act of fabrication when terms of secondary or even tertiary -rhetorical rank are pushed forward by unnatural pressure into ultimate -positions. This process can nearly always be observed in times of -crisis. During the last war, for example, “defense” and “war effort” -were certainly regarded as culminative terms. We may say this because -almost no one thinks of these terms as the natural sanctions of his -mode of life. He may think thus of “progress” or “happiness” or even -“freedom”; but “defense” and “war effort” are ultimate sanctions only -when measured against an emergency situation. When the United States was -preparing for entry into that conflict, every departure from our normal -way of life could be justified as a “defense” measure. Plants making -bombs to be dropped on other continents were called “defense” plants. -Correspondingly, once the conflict had been entered, everything that -was done in military or civilian areas was judged by its contribution -to the “war effort.” This last became for a period of years the supreme -term: not God or Heaven or happiness, but successful effort in the war. -It was a term to end all other terms or a rhetoric to silence all other -rhetoric. No one was able to make his claim heard against “the war -effort.” - -It is most important to realize, therefore, that under the stress of -feeling or preoccupation, quite secondary terms can be moved up to the -position of ultimate terms, where they will remain until reflection -is allowed to resume sway. There are many signs to show that the term -“aggressor” is now undergoing such manipulation. Despite the fact that -almost no term is more difficult to correlate with objective phenomena, -it is being rapidly promoted to ultimate “bad” term. The likelihood is -that “aggressor” will soon become a depository for all the resentments -and fears which naturally arise in a people. As such, it will function as -did “infidel” in the mediaeval period and as “reactionary” has functioned -in the recent past. Manifestly it is of great advantage to a nation -bent upon organizing its power to be able to stigmatize some neighbor as -“aggressor,” so that the term’s capacity for irrational assumption is a -great temptation for those who are not moral in their use of rhetoric. -This passage from natural or popular to state-engendered charisma -produces one of the most dangerous lesions of modern society. - -An ethics of rhetoric requires that ultimate terms be ultimate in some -rational sense. The only way to achieve that objective is through -an ordering of our own minds and our own passions. Every one of -psychological sophistication knows that there is a pleasure in willed -perversity, and the setting up of perverse shibboleths is a fairly common -source of that pleasure. War cries, school slogans, coterie passwords, -and all similar expressions are examples of such creation. There may -be areas of play in which these are nothing more than a diversion; but -there are other areas in which such expressions lure us down the roads -of hatred and tragedy. That is the tendency of all words of false or -“engineered” charisma. They often sound like the very gospel of one’s -society, but in fact they betray us; they get us to do what the adversary -of the human being wants us to do. It is worth considering whether the -real civil disobedience must not begin with our language. - -Lastly, the student of rhetoric must realize that in the contemporary -world he is confronted not only by evil practitioners, but also, and -probably to an unprecedented degree, by men who are conditioned by the -evil created by others. The machinery of propagation and inculcation is -today so immense that no one avoids entirely the assimilation and use -of some terms which have a downward tendency. It is especially easy to -pick up a tone without realizing its trend. Perhaps the best that any -of us can do is to hold a dialectic with himself to see what the wider -circumferences of his terms of persuasion are. This process will not -only improve the consistency of one’s thinking but it will also, if the -foregoing analysis is sound, prevent his becoming a creature of evil -public forces and a victim of his own thoughtless rhetoric. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] Cf. A. E. Taylor, _Plato: the Man and his Work_ (New York, 1936), p. -300. - -[2] Cf. P. Albert Duhamel, “The Concept of Rhetoric as Effective -Expression,” _Journal of the History of Ideas_, X, No. 3 (June, 1949), -344-56 _passim_. - -[3] James Blish, “Rituals on Ezra Pound,” _Sewanee Review_, LVIII -(Spring, 1950), 223. - -[4] The various aesthetic approaches to language offer refinements of -perception, but all of them can be finally subsumed under the first head -above. - -[5] _The Tyranny of Words_ (New York, 1938), p. 80. T. H. Huxley in Lay -Sermons (New York, 1883), p. 112, outlined a noticeably similar ideal -of scientific communication: “Therefore, the great business of the -scientific teacher is, to imprint the fundamental, irrefragable facts of -his science, not only by words upon the mind, but by sensible impressions -upon the eye, and ear, and touch of the student in so complete a manner, -that every term used, or law enunciated should afterwards call up vivid -images of the particular structural, or other, facts which furnished the -demonstration of the law, or illustration of the term.” - -[6] That is, by mentioning only parts of the total situation. - -[7] It is worth recalling that in the Christian New Testament, with its -heavy Platonic influence, God is identified both with _logos_, “word, -speech” (_John_ 1:1); and with _agape_, “love” (2 _John_ 4:8). - -[8] The users of metaphor and metonymy who are in the hire of businessmen -of course constitute a special case. - -[9] Cf. 277 b: “A man must know the truth about all the particular things -of which he speaks or writes, and must be able to define everything -separately; then when he has defined them, he must know how to divide -them by classes until further division is impossible; and in the same way -he must understand the nature of the soul, must find out the class of -speech adapted to each nature, and must arrange and adorn his discourse -accordingly, offering to the complex soul elaborate and harmonious -discourses, and simple talks to the simple soul.” - -[10] 104 b. - -[11] 263 a. - -[12] 260 b. - -[13] 265 a. - -[14] In the passage extending from 246 a to 256 d. - -[15] Cf. 263 d ff. - -[16] Indeed, in this particular rhetorical duel we see the two types of -lovers opposed as clearly as illustration could desire. More than this, -we see the third type, the non-lover, committing his ignominious failure. -Britain and France had come to prefer as leaders the rhetoricless -businessman type. And while they had thus emasculated themselves, there -appeared an evil lover to whom Europe all but succumbed before the -mistake was seen and rectified. For while the world must move, evil -rhetoric is of more force than no rhetoric at all; and Herr Hitler, -employing images which rested on no true dialectic, had persuaded -multitudes that his order was the “new order,” _i.e._, the true -potentiality. Britain was losing and could only lose until, reaching -back in her traditional past, she found a voice which could match his -accents with a truer grasp of the potentiality of things. Thus two men -conspicuous for passion fought a contest for souls, which the nobler won. -But the contest could have been lost by default. - -[17] “Action: the Perfection of Human Life,” _Sewanee Review_, LVI -(Winter, 1948), 3. - -[18] _A Grammar of Motives_ (New York, 1945), p. 90. - -[19] Without rhetoric there seems no possibility of tragedy, and in -turn, without the sense of tragedy, no possibility of taking an elevated -view of life. The role of tragedy is to keep the human lot from being -rendered as history. The cultivation of tragedy and a deep interest -in the value-conferring power of language always occur together. The -_Phaedrus_, the _Gorgias_, and the _Cratylus_, not to mention the works -of many teachers of rhetoric, appear at the close of the great age of -Greek tragedy. The Elizabethan age teemed with treatises on the use of -language. The essentially tragic Christian view of life begins the long -tradition of homiletics. Tragedy and the practice of rhetoric seem to -find common sustenance in preoccupation with value, and then rhetoric -follows as an analyzed art. - -[20] Cf. Maritain, _op. cit._, pp. 3-4: “The truth of practical intellect -is understood not as conformity to an extramental being but as conformity -to a right desire; the end is no longer to know what is, but to bring -into existence that which is not yet; further, the act of moral choice -is so individualized, both by the singularity of the person from which -it proceeds and the context of the contingent circumstances in which it -takes place, that the practical judgment in which it is expressed and by -which I declare to myself: this is what I must do, can be right only if, -_hic et nunc_, the dynamism of my will is right, and tends towards the -true goods of human life. - -That is why practical wisdom, _prudentia_, is a virtue indivisibly moral -and intellectual at the same time, and why, like the judgment of the -conscience itself, it cannot be replaced by any sort of theoretical -knowledge or science.” - -[21] Socrates’ criticism of the speech of Lysias (263 d ff.) is that the -latter defended a position without having submitted it to the discipline -of dialectic. - -[22] Mortimer J. Adler, _Dialectic_ (New York, 1927), p. 75. - -[23] Cf. Adler, _op. cit._, pp. 243-44: Dialectic “is a kind of thinking -which satisfies these two values: in the essential inconclusiveness of -its process, it avoids ever resting in belief, or in the assertion of -truth; through its utter restriction to the universe of discourse and its -disregard for whatever reference discourse may have toward actuality, it -is barren of any practical issue. It can make no difference in the way of -conduct.” - -[24] Adler, _op. cit._, p. 224. - -[25] All quotations are given verbatim from _The World’s Most Famous -Court Trial_ (National Book Company, Cincinnati, 1925), a complete -transcript. - -[26] Hosea 12:10 “I have also spoken unto the prophets, and have -multiplied visions, and by the ministry of the prophets I have used -similitudes.” - -[27] _Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke_ (London, 1855-64), VI, -18-19. Hereafter referred to as _Works_. - -[28] _Loc. cit._ - -[29] _Works_, II, 155. - -[30] _Works_, III, 315. - -[31] _Works_, III, 317. - -[32] _Works_, VI, 52. - -[33] _Loc. cit._ - -[34] _Works_, VI, 57. - -[35] _Works_, VI, 88. - -[36] _Works_, I, 476. - -[37] It is interesting to compare this with his statement in _An Appeal -from the New to the Old Whigs_ (_Works_, III, 77): “The number engaged -in crimes, instead of turning them into laudable acts, only augments the -quantity and intensity of the guilt.” - -[38] _Works_, I, 479. - -[39] _Works_, I, 509. - -[40] _Works_, I, 462. - -[41] _Works_, I, 469. - -[42] _Works_, I, 480. - -[43] _Works_, II, 335. - -[44] _Works_, II, 179-80. - -[45] _Works_, II, 180. - -[46] _Works_, VII, 23. - -[47] _Works_, VII, 99-100. - -[48] John Morley, _Burke_ (New York, 1879), p. 127. - -[49] _Ibid._, p. 129. - -[50] If further evidence of Burke’s respect for circumstance were needed, -one could not do better than cite his sentence from the _Reflections_ -depicting the “circumstance” of Bourbon France (_Works_, II, 402). -“Indeed, when I consider the face of the kingdom of France; the multitude -and opulence of her cities; the useful magnificence of her spacious -high roads and bridges; the opportunity of her artificial canals and -navigations opening the conveniences of maritime communication through a -continent of so immense an extent; when I turn my eyes to the stupendous -works of her ports and harbours, and to her whole naval apparatus, -whether for war or trade; when I bring before my view the number of -her fortifications, constructed with so bold and masterly skill, and -made and maintained at so prodigious a charge, presenting an armed -front and impenetrable barrier to her enemies upon every side; when I -recollect how very small a part of that extensive region is without -cultivation, and to what complete perfection the culture of many of the -best productions of the earth have been brought in France; when I reflect -on the excellence of her manufactures and fabrics, second to none but -ours, and in some particulars not second; when I contemplate the grand -foundations of charity, public and private; when I survey the state of -all the arts that beautify and polish life; when I reckon the men she has -bred for extending her fame in war, her able statesmen, the multitude -of her profound lawyers and theologians, her philosophers, her critics, -her historians and antiquaries, her poets and her orators, sacred and -profane: I behold in all this something which awes and commands the -imagination, which checks the mind on the brink of precipitate and -undiscriminate censure, and which demands that we should very seriously -examine, what and how great are the latent vices that could authorize us -at once to level so spacious a fabric with the ground.” - -[51] _Works_, II, 282. - -[52] _Works_, II, 551. - -[53] _Works_, II, 348-49. - -[54] _Works_, I, 432. - -[55] _Works_, II, 335. - -[56] _Works_, III, 317-18. - -[57] _Works_, III, 16. - -[58] _Works_, II, 334. - -[59] _Works_, VII, 60. - -[60] _Works_, VI, 34. - -[61] _A Life of Edmund Burke_ (London, 1891), p. 523. - -[62] _Democracy in America_ (Cambridge [Mass.], 1873), I, 226. - -[63] _Works_, III, 109. - -[64] _Loc. cit._ - -[65] _Works_, III, 36. - -[66] Quoted in Marquis James, _Life of Andrew Jackson_ (Indianapolis, -1937), p. 740. - -[67] _Origins of the Whig Party_ (Durham, N. C., 1925), p. 227. - -[68] _The Whig Party in Georgia_, 1825-1853 (Chapel Hill, 1948), p. 192. - -[69] _Ibid._ - -[70] _Op. cit._, p. 206. - -[71] Most of Lincoln’s associates in Illinois—including David Davis, -Orville H. Browning, John M. Palmer, Lyman Trumbull, Leonard Swett, and -Ward Hill Lamon—who had been ardent Republicans before the war, left the -party in the years following. See David Donald, _Lincoln’s Herndon_ (New -York, 1948), p. 263. - -[72] _Op. cit._, p. 203. - -[73] _Abraham Lincoln_ (Boston and New York, 1928), II, 549. - -[74] John G. Nicolay and John Hay, _Abraham Lincoln: A History_ (New -York, 1904), II, 46. - -[75] _Herndon’s Lincoln_ (Springfield, Ill., 1921), III, 594. - -[76] _Ibid._, p. 595. - -[77] _The Life and Writings of Abraham Lincoln_, ed. Philip van Doren -Stern (New York, 1940), p. 239. This source, hereafter referred to as -_Writings_, is the most complete one-volume edition of Lincoln’s works. - -[78] _Loc. cit._ - -[79] _Life and Works of Abraham Lincoln_, ed. Marion Mills Miller (New -York, 1907), II, 41. This speech is not included in Stern’s _Writings_. - -[80] This may impress some as an unduly cynical reading of human nature, -but it will be found much closer to Lincoln’s settled belief than many -representations made with the object of eulogy. Herndon, for example, -reports that he and Lincoln sometimes discussed the question of whether -there are any unselfish human actions, and that Lincoln always maintained -the negative. Cf. Herndon, _op. cit._, III, 597. - -[81] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 263-64. - -[82] _Ibid._, p. 330. - -[83] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 359-60. - -[84] _Ibid._, pp. 360-61. - -[85] Stern, _Writings_, p. 361. - -[86] _Ibid._, p. 362. - -[87] Stern, _Writings_, p. 375. - -[88] _Ibid._, p. 427. - -[89] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 549-50. - -[90] Cf. the remark in “Notes for Speeches” (_Ibid._, pp. 497-98): -“Suppose it is true that the Negro is inferior to the white in the gifts -of nature; is it not the exact reverse of justice that the white should -for that reason take from the Negro any of the little which he has had -given to him?” - -[91] Stern, _Writings_, p. 422. - -[92] Stern, _Writings_, p. 241. - -[93] _Ibid._, p. 649. - -[94] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 652-53. - -[95] Stern, _Writings_, p. 656. - -[96] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 667-68. - -[97] Stern, _Writings_, p. 671. - -[98] _Ibid._, p. 736. - -[99] Stern, _Writings_, p. 737. - -[100] Stern, _Writings_, p. 682. - -[101] _Ibid._, p. 740. - -[102] Stern, _Writings_, p. 669. - -[103] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 810-11. - -[104] Stern, _Writings_, p. 429. - -[105] Stern, _Writings_, pp. 529-30. - -[106] _Ibid._, p. 558. - -[107] _Ibid._, p. 591. - -[108] _Ibid._, p. 728. - -[109] The homeric fits of abstraction, which almost every contemporary -reports, are highly suggestive of the mind which dwells with essences. - -[110] Stern, _Writings_, p. 231. - -[111] Stern, _Writings_, p. 728. - -[112] _Ibid._, p. 710. - -[113] _Op. cit._, III, 610. - -[114] Stern, _Writings_, p. 423. - -[115] _Ibid._, p. 649. - -[116] Stern, _Writings_, p. 452. - -[117] To mention a simple example, the sarcasm uttered as a pleasantry -sometimes leaves a wound because its formal signification is not entirely -removed by the intonation of the user or by the speech situation. - -[118] _The Wings of the Dove_ (Modern Library ed., New York, 1937), p. 53. - -[119] “On the Physical Basis of Life,” _Lay Sermons, Addresses and -Reviews_ (New York, 1883), pp. 123-24. - -[120] On this point it is pertinent to cite Huxley’s remark in another -lay sermon, “On the Study of Zoology” (_ibid._, p. 110): “I have a strong -impression that the better a discourse is, as an oration, the worse it is -as a lecture.” - -[121] _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ (Bury’s ed., London, 1900), -I, 28. - -[122] Cf. Kenneth Burke, _Attitudes Toward History_ (New York, 1937), I, -82-83: “Looking over the titles of books written by Huysmans, who went -_from_ naturalism, _through_ Satanism, _to_ Catholicism, we find that -his titles of the naturalistic period are with one exception nouns, all -those of the transitional period are prepositions actually or in quality -(“A-Vau-l’Eau,” “En Rade,” “A Rebours,” “La Bas,” “En Route”) and all in -his period of Catholic realism are nouns.” - -[123] In German all nouns are regularly capitalized, and the German word -for noun substantive is _Hauptwort_ or “head word.” In this grammatical -vision the noun becomes a sort of “captain” in the sentence. - -[124] Cf. Aristotle, _Rhetoric_, 1410 b: “And let this be our fundamental -principle: for the receiving of information with ease, is naturally -pleasing to all; and nouns are significant of something; so that all -those nouns whatsoever which produce knowledge in the mind, are most -pleasing.” - -[125] Compare the following passage by Carl Sandburg in “Trying to -Write,” _Atlantic Monthly_, Vol. 186, No. 3 (September, 1950), p. 33: “I -am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am -more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.” - -[126] _Essay on Rime_ (New York, 1945), p. 43, ll. 1224-1227. - -[127] _Life on the Mississippi_ (New York, 1903), p. 73. - -[128] “Remarks on the Character and Writings of John Milton,” _The Works -of William E. Channing, D.D._ (Boston, 1894), p. 503. - -[129] Some correlation appears to exist between the mentality of an era -and the average length of sentence in use. The seventeenth century, the -most introspective, philosophical, and “revolutionary” era of English -history, wrote the longest sentence in English literature. The next era, -broadly recognized as the eighteenth century, swung in the opposite -direction, with a shorter and much more modelled or contrived sentence. -The nineteenth century, again turned a little solemn and introspective, -wrote a somewhat long and loose one. Now comes the twentieth century, -with its journalism and its syncopated tempo, to write the shortest -sentence of all. - -[130] _The Prose Works of John Milton_, ed. J. A. St. John (London, -1909-14), II, 364-65. Hereafter referred to as _Works_. - -[131] _Works_, III, 194. - -[132] _Works_, II, 78-79. - -[133] _Works_, II, 364. - -[134] See her _Elizabethan and Metaphysical Imagery_ (Chicago, 1947), pp. -284-99. - -[135] _Works_, II, 89. - -[136] _Works_, II, 93-94. - -[137] _Works_, II, 446. - -[138] _Works_, III, 172. - -[139] _Works_, II, 382. - -[140] _Works_, II, 377-78. - -[141] _Works_, II, 418-19. - -[142] _Works_, II, 94. - -[143] _Works_, II, 401. - -[144] _Works_, III, 175. - -[145] _Works_, III, 42-43. - -[146] _The Congressional Globe_, Thirty-first Congress, First Session -(June 21, 1850), p. 1250. - -[147] _Where the Battle Was Fought_ (Boston and New York, 1900), p. 4. - -[148] _Address Delivered by Hon. Charles J. Faulkner before the Valley -Agricultural Society of Virginia, at their Fair Grounds near Winchester, -October 21, 1858_ (Washington, 1858), pp. 3-4. - -[149] _On Style_ (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1946), p. 321. - -[150] See Norman J. DeWitt, “The Humanist Should Look to the Law,” -_Journal of General Education_, IV (January, 1950), 149. Although it -is not our concern here, it probably could be shown that the essential -requirements of oratory themselves depend upon a certain organization -of society, such as an aristocratic republicanism. When Burke declares -that a true natural aristocracy “is formed out of a class of legitimate -presumptions, which, taken as generalities, must be admitted for actual -truths” (_Works_ [London, 1853-64], III, 85-86) my impression is that he -has in mind something resembling our “uncontested term.” The “legitimate -presumptions” are the settled things which afford the plane of maneuver. - -[151] _Address Preceding the Removal of the Senate from the Old to the -New Chamber: Delivered in the Senate of the United States, January 4, -1859_ (Washington, 1859), (Printed at the Office of the Congressional -Globe), pp. 5, 7. - -[152] There is commentary in the fact that the long commemorative -address, with its assembled memories, was a distinctive institution of -nineteenth-century America. Generalizations and “distance” were on such -occasions the main resources. - -[153] _The Position and Function of the American Bar, as an Element of -Conservatism in the State: An Address Delivered before the Law School in -Cambridge_, July 3, 1845. From _Addresses and Orations of Rufus Choate_ -(Boston: Little, Brown, 1891), pp. 141-43. - -[154] A distinction must be made between “uncontested terms” and slogans. -The former are parts of the general mosaic of belief; the latter are -uncritical aspirations, or at the worst, shibboleths. - -[155] _E.g._, Samuel T. Williamson, “How to Write Like a Social -Scientist,” _Saturday Review of Literature_, XXX, No. 40 (October 4, -1947), 17. - -[156] See Bertrand Russell, “The Postulate of Natural Kinds or of Limited -Variety,” _Human Knowledge: Its Scope and Limits_ (New York: Simon & -Schuster, 1948), pp. 438-44. - -[157] (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1939), p. 349. - -[158] Melvin Seeman, “An Evaluation of Current Approaches to Personality -Differences in Folk and Urban Societies,” _Social Forces_, XXV (December, -1946), 165. - -[159] _Identification and Analysis of Attribute-Cluster-Blocs_ (Chicago: -University of Chicago Press, 1931), p. 214. - -[160] Donald L. Taylor, “Courtship as a Social Institution in the United -States, 1930-1945,” _Social Forces_, XXV (October, 1946), 68. - -[161] For example: “id,” “ion,” “alga.” - -[162] Samuel H. Jameson, “Social Nearness among Welfare Institutions,” -_Sociology and Social Research_, XV (March-April, 1931), 322. - -[163] The natural scientists, too, use many Latinate terms, but these are -chiefly “name” words, for which there are no real substitutes. - -[164] See J. B. Greenough and G. L. Kittredge, _Words and Their Ways in -English Speech_ (New York, 1931), pp. 94-99. - -[165] James R. Masterson and Wendell Brooks Phillips, _Federal Prose: -How to Write in and/or for Washington_ (Chapel Hill: University of North -Carolina Press, 1948), p. 10. - -[166] Cf., for example, Madison in No. 10. - -[167] It is possible that there exists also a concrete understanding, -which differs qualitatively from abstract or scientific understanding and -is needed to supplement it, particularly when we are dealing with moral -phenomena (see Andrew Bongiorno, “Poetry as an Educational Instrument,” -_Bulletin of the American Association of University Professors_, XXXIII -[Autumn, 1947], 508-9). - -[168] Cf. Aristotle, ‘_Rhetoric_, 1410 b: “... for when the poet calls -old age ‘stubble,’ he produces in us a knowledge and information by means -of a common genus; for both are past their prime.” - -[169] _International Encyclopedia of Unified Science_ (Chicago: -University of Chicago Press, 1941), II, No. 8, 7. - -[170] _Op. cit._, p. 487. - -[171] _Foundations of Sociology_ (New York: Macmillan, 1939), p. 383. - -[172] “The Nature of Human Nature,” _American Journal of Sociology_, -XXXII (July, 1926), 17. - -[173] “The Limitations of the Expert,” _Harper’s_, CLXII (December, -1930), 102-3. - -[174] “The Sad Estate of Scientific Publication,” _American Journal of -Sociology_, XLVII (January, 1942), 600. - -[175] (2 vols.; New York, 1933.) - -[176] It is surely worth observing that nowhere in the King James Version -of the Bible does the word “fact” occur. - -[177] Compare Sherwood Anderson’s analysis of the same phenomenon in -_A Story Teller’s Story_ (New York, 1928), p. 198: “There was in the -factories where I worked and where the efficient Ford type of man was -just beginning his dull reign this strange and futile outpouring of men’s -lives in vileness through their lips. Ennui was at work. The talk of the -men about me was not Rabelaisian. In old Rabelais there was the salt of -infinite wit and I have no doubt that the Rabelaisian flashes that came -from our own Lincoln, Washington, and others had point and a flare to -them. - -But in the factories and in army camps!” - -[178] One is inevitably reminded of the slogan of Oceania in Orwell’s -_Nineteen Eighty-four_: “Freedom is Slavery.” - -[179] “Principles of Newspeak,” _Nineteen Eighty-four_ (New York, 1949), -p. 310. - - - - -Index - - - Abbreviated names, 229-30 - - _Address Preceding the Removal of the Senate from the Old to the New - Chamber_, 176-77 - - Adler, Mortimer J., 27, 30-31 - - Aesthetic distance, 175-79 - - “aggressor,” 231-32 - - “allies,” 221-22 - - “American,” 218-20 - - Anderson, Sherwood, 226 - - _Animadversions upon the Remonstrant’s Defence against Smectymnuus_, - 160 - - _Areopagitica_, 147, 150, 159 - - Aristotle - definition of dialectical problem, 15-16 - cited, 128, 203 - - - Beveridge, Albert, 85 - - Beyle, Herman C., 192 - - _Bible_, 14, 214 - - Bishop, John Peale, 161, 201 - - Blish, James, 5 - - Bongiorno, Andrew, 203 - - Breckinridge, John C., 176 - - Bryan, William Jennings, 36-39, 41 - - Bryan, William Jennings, Jr., 35 - - Burke, Edmund - on the Catholic question, 58-62 - policy toward American colonies, 62-65 - policy toward India, 65-68 - policy toward the French Revolution, 68-72 - on metaphysics, 72-73 - - Burke, Kenneth, 22, 128, 225 - - - Carlyle, Thomas, 133 - - Carroll, E. Malcolm, 79 - - Caste spirit, 206-8 - - Channing, W. E., 143 - - Charismatic terms, 227-32 - - Chase, Stuart, 8 - - Choate, Rufus, 179 - - Churchill, Winston, 20 - - Cicero, 174 - - Circumstance, argument from, defined, 57 - - “Communist,” 222-23 - - Craddock, Charles Egbert, 165 - - - Darrow, Clarence, 32, 34-35, 41 - - Demetrius, _On Style_, 173 - - “democracy,” 228-29 - - _Democracy in America_, Tocqueville’s, 76 - - DeWitt, Norman J., 174 - - Dialectical terms, 48, 52-53, 187-88; - Plato on, 16 - - _Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce_, 146, 153 - - Duhamel, P. Albert, 3 - - - “efficient,” 217-18 - - Eisenhower, Dwight D., 81 - - Epistemology, in relation to oratory, 178-82 - - Ewing, Representative Andrew, 164-65 - - - “fact,” 214-15 - - Faris, Ellsworth, 205 - - Faulkner, Charles J., 168 - - _Federal Prose_, 199-200 - - “freedom,” 228 - - - Genus, argument from, defined, 56 - - GI rhetoric, 225-26 - - Greek language, 140 - - - Harding, T. Swann, 208 - - Hay, John, 85 - - Hays, Arthur Garfield, 35-36 - - Henley, W. E., 131 - - Herndon, W. H., 85, 89, 111-12 - - “history,” 220-21 - - Huxley, T. H., 8, 122-23 - - - Inverted hierarchies, 224-27 - - - Jackson, Andrew, 78 - - James, Henry, 121-22, 123, 133-34 - - Jameson, Samuel H., 197 - - - Laski, Harold, 207 - - Latinate terms, 196-201 - - Lincoln, Abraham - argument from genus “man,” 87-95 - _First Inaugural Address_, 96-100 - on definition, 104-5 - and the excluded middle, 105-7 - his perspective, 108-11 - - Lundberg, George, 204 - - Lysias, speech of, 5-7 - - - Malone, Dudley Field, 35, 39, 47-48 - - Maritain, Jacques, 21, 24 - - Mather, Kirtley F., 42-43, 51 - - Melioristic bias, 195-201 - - Metaphor, attitude of social scientists toward, 202-6 - - Metcalf, Maynard, 49 - - Milton, John - primacy of the concept, 144-52 - extended metaphor, use of, 150-52 - antithetical expressions, use of, 152-55 - superlative mode, 155-58 - systematic collocation, use of, 158-61 - - “modern,” 217 - - Morley, John, 67 - - Murray, Paul, 79, 80, 81 - - - Nicolay, John G., 85 - - - _Of Reformation in England_, 145, 148, 154, 156 - - Orwell, George, 228, 229, 230 - - - Parts of speech - noun, 127-28 - adjective, 129-33 - adverb, 133-34 - verb, 135-36 - conjunction, 137-38 - preposition, 138-39 - - Pedantic empiricism, 191-95 - - Phrases, 139-41 - - Plato - method of transcendence, 4-5, 18-19 - on madness as a form of inspiration, 13 - definition of positive and dialectical terms, 16 - on the nature of the soul, 17 - - _Position and Function of the American Bar, as an Element of - Conservatism in the State, The_, 179-81 - - “prejudice,” 223-24 - - Primary equivocation, 187-91 - - Prior, James, 75-76 - - “progress,” 212-14 - - - _Reason of Church Government Urged Against Prelaty_, 151 - - Rhetorical syllogism, 173 - - Right of assumption, 169 - - Russell, Bertrand, 191, 204 - - - Sandburg, Carl, 129 - - Santillana, George de, 203-4 - - “science,” 215-16 - - Seeman, Melvin, 192 - - “semantically purified” speech, 7-10 - - Sentence - defined, 117-18 - grammatical types of, 119-27 - - Shapiro, Karl, 130 - - Similitude, argument from, defined, 56-57 - - Spinoza, B., 25 - - Stewart, Attorney-general of Tennessee, 32, 33, 39, 41, 46-47 - - Stylization, 182-83 - - - Tate, Allen, 118 - - Taylor, A. E., 3 - - Taylor, Donald J., 194 - - Tennessee anti-evolution law, 29-30 - - Tocqueville, Alexis de, 76 - - Tuve, Rosemund, 150 - - Twain, Mark, 136, 224 - - - Uncontested terms, 166-71, 184 - - - _Where the Battle Was Fought_, 165 - - Whig political philosophy, 76-80 - - Williamson, Samuel T., 186 - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ETHICS OF RHETORIC *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |