A Theory of Contemporary Rhetoric (15 page)

We have suggested earlier that rhetoric may have no place in an autocracy where a single voice dictates the actions of individuals in the state and the very nature of the discourses that are allowed. In such cases, rhetoric can be deployed by the autocracy to circumscribe the nature of discourse, as we have seen in fictional terms in
Nineteen Eighty-Four
. Key to such hegemony is the closing down of dialogue and debate, the appropriation of public media to serve the ends of the autocracy and to pump out good news about it, the vilification of opponents to the state, and the relentless promotion of the virtues of the leader and of the state itself.

There is power without rhetoric, but there is no rhetoric without power. The critical literacy and critical discourse analysis programs built in the dimension of “power” into their deliberations about the nature of literacies and the function of the powerful voice in discourse analysis. Their fundamental insight was that there is no communication that is
not lop-sided in some way; in which one party holds greater power than the other.

This notion of inequity in any form of dialogic exchange requires closer examination. It is clear that in hierarchical social situations, the power resides with the “higher” party (as the metaphor has it) and the relative lack of power with the “lower” party. Take the conversation and repartee that ensues when a cleaner arrives to clean an office in which the incumbent is working, or is just arriving or leaving work. It is
usually
the office worker who has the upper hand and who initiates and closes the conversation. He or she
frames
the exchange, setting its length, the topics of conversation, the degree of intimacy, and so on. I emphasize
usually
because there will be occasions when the cleaner might initiate and frame the conversation, especially in work situations that are less hierarchical and “flatter” in management terms.

However, can it be said that a conversation between two parties who are equal, in every possible respect, is lop-sided and has power relations at play? I think it is possible to say in a situation like this—for example, two friends meeting for coffee or for a drink in a bar—that there is either no power play, or that the power that is deployed is balanced and equal. In rhetorical terms, if we wish to propose that there is no rhetoric without power, we could say that the power is finely balanced. It could easily lurch from one side or to the other side, even within a conversation, and it could be the case that what seemed to be an even, balanced conversation develops into a lop-sided one. Let us imagine, for example, that two friends meet and that at the start of the conversation, all aspects of the conversation are equal and balanced. There is a mutual exchange of greetings, of stories, of questions about each other's recent experiences. But soon it appears that one of the parties has a problem he or she wishes to share: say, for example, a relationship problem of some kind with a third party. There are then two kinds of power at play: the power of the proponent who wishes to give a prolonged account of the problem (and who therefore might “hold the stage” for minutes at a time), and the power of the listener, who might, to varying degrees, be skilled at asking the right question at the right time in order to elicit the problem from the other person. This latter kind of counseling ability can be very powerful in its own right, even though the number of utterances may appear to be small in relation to the narrative insistence of the other party. These two kinds of rhetorical power might shift backwards and forwards during the conversation and, in a mutually supportive conversation, might work in complementary fashion to point toward action or a therapeutic outcome. We would—as would the participants—be clearer about the rhetorical contribution if the conversation goes wrong, and if one side asserts more power than the other. Such an outcome would leave the weaker participant with the feeling that the discourse had not gone well, that matters
seem unresolved, and that there was rhetorical inappropriateness at play. The more aggressive participant might not see a problem at all, blinkered as they might be to the effect of their own abuse of rhetorical power.

Rhetoric thus acts with the same aim as economics: to understand the
balance of power
that is the goal of human relations (as opposed to resources).

At a more public level, rhetoric too cannot act without power. A politician giving a speech at a convention or rally will deploy rhetorical devices—even if the speech is in simple, direct, heartfelt terms—to convince the audience of his or her position. This is the field of classical rhetoric: the influence of the orator of his or her audience, including not only the technical dimensions of topic, arrangement, and delivery but also that of the invocation of emotion and the moral character of the speaker. In at least two ways the politician draws on power in his or her speech: first, in terms of the choice of language, and the pace and rhythm of the delivery to persuade the audience. But at the same time, the politician's aim is both to gain power and/or to maintain it.

If rhetoric becomes divorced from the substance of the speech, or from the possibilities of real action in the world, then the pejorative connotations of the arts of discourse come into play. Words are separated from acts. Promises seem unfulfilled. Language—or whatever combinations of modes of communication is used—becomes empty and even devoid of meaning and thus of significance. The rhetoric becomes “mere” rhetoric.

But because rhetoric is fundamental to human discourse, the broader, more generous and comprehensive sense of rhetoric is seen to be deployed everywhere and, wherever it is deployed, stands in relation to the balance or imbalances of power in human social and political relations. In contemporary terms, and as distinct from the narrow political deployment in classical rhetoric, rhetoric is seen to pervade even the most intimate personal conversations and also thought processes, if we accept that (post-Vygotsky) thought derives from inner speech and inner dialogue. Part of the function of power in rhetoric is to argue out and restore equilibrium in human relations. That is why rhetoric is so important to the conduct of personal, social, and political discourse.

6

Rhetoric is the theoretical basis for the practice and study of argumentation. The “court of appeal” in a democratic society is, as Habermas (1984) puts it, argumentation: “The rationality proper to the communicative practice of everyday life points to the practice of argumentation as a court of appeal that makes it possible to continue communicative action with other means when disagreement can no longer be headed off by everyday routines and yet is not to be settled by the direct or strategic use of force” (17–18). Everyday life in a democracy is a matter of negotiation. Although some practices will be habitual and thus seemingly “unthinking,” these habits will be the result of a process of decision making informed by thought and argumentation. To take a mundane example from a fairly arcane practice in England: I decide to put out the empty and washed milk bottles for the milkman/woman to collect as he/she delivers new milk. I have previously decided when the best time to do so is, both for the deliverer's convenience and for my own and my family's. At the precise moment when I put out the empty bottles, I could well have been doing something else; but, no, I decide this is the moment to do it. All my actions are informed by weighing up the pros and cons of my timing in the balance of my day and in “the grand scheme of things.” If things go wrong—someone knocks over the bottles, or I miss the milkman/woman's round—then “argumentation can act as a court of appeal,” and I can work out, rationally and in collaboration, how best to do things in future.

This almost absurd instance from everyday life demonstrates that minute-to-minute decisions about what to do, and also the more engaging issue of the economics of attention, are determined by choice. Take more substantial examples: the decision to proceed with a certain intervention in the medical treatment of a patient; the advice given to a student in school who is struggling with her/his writing in the very act of composition; larger moral issues about life chances (should that banker receive a large bonus?); and large-scale national and international issues (Should we bail out a country whose economy is collapsing? Should we go to war or not?)—al1 these are informed by the same principles of argumentation.
It is no surprise, then, that academic life—often involving the discussion of such issues in abstract mode—should also be informed by the same principles.

For the classical theorists, rhetoric and argumentation were almost synonymous. Argument was focused on the public forum and the debates about how to live well, what action to take in a state on behalf of the individual, or which moral path to take. It was principally, we assume, oral in nature and application. Even more narrowly for Aristotle, it was a case that rhetoric was the “art of persuasion”—an epithet often used to define argument and argumentation. As is made clear elsewhere in the present book, neither rhetoric nor argumentation are seen today as merely to do with persuasion; that is just one of many functions of argument, which also clarifies, defends, amuses, and resolves, yet also fulfils other functions.

We also need to separate rhetoric from argumentation for the purposes of the present book. Argumentation is one field of rhetoric. Rhetoric also covers other meta-genres of communication, such as narrative, description, lyric poetry, everyday (non-argumentational and non-argumentative) discussion and exchange, and the distinction between fiction and non-fiction. Our definition, in opposition to that of Aristotle, is of rhetoric as “the arts of discourse” and argumentation as “a meta-genre of communication where a person takes a position and gives logical (or quasi-logical) reasons and/or evidence for his/her views.” In other words, the emphasis in these definitions is on the communication and how it is informed by purpose, context, politics, motivation, and so on; not merely on the function of persuasion or any other specific function.

Why is argumentation important in—indeed, essential to—a democratic society? In a tyranny, argument is closed down and not tolerated. There is an orthodoxy and a way of conducting oneself and one's actions. Life is monolithic. Argument—for example, the questioning of the hegemonic authority—can lead to imprisonment and/or death. It can also induce in the population a fear of expression, of taking opposition to ideas, or of debate. In a (truly) democratic society, on the other hand, the understanding and, if possible, resolution of difference is essential. Such resolution has to be reached, often by difficult argumentation, in order to reach consensus and thus to be able to act. Such a process applies to individual lives and relationships, to local issues (such a planning permissions and objections), and to national and international government. Such a process does not exclude one possible outcome of argumentation, which is to “agree to differ.” But such an outcome does not usually lead to action because consensus is not reached. Rather, it leads to impasse.

Why has argumentation risen to public consciousness again, after a period in which is seems to have receded?

Part of the answer is in reaction to a period in which narrative modes of communication—storytelling, life histories, narrative methodologies in social science research, media predilections for “a storyline”—have dominated. Narrative, in a sense, allows no response other than another narrative. It is not subject to testing (other than to “real life”), and you cannot argue with it. Only if the narrative is proposed as a theory or as part of an ideological position—as in the narrative of a particular period of history, for example—can it be seen as a quasi-argument and thus questioned and opposed. The notion of narrative as a primary act of mind or a human paradigm is understandable but only tells part of the story. Lyricism (the celebration of a moment), description (the depiction of a state or place or person), and argument (a logical, rather than chronological mode), as well as other modes of communication, all need to be taken into account in theories of mind or paradigms for human action and consciousness.

Another reason for the rise in argumentation is a return to a rationalist, re-enlightenment moment in history. Clifford and Leslie Siskin of New York University are leading a Re:Enlightenment project: one that brings together academics and public figures from a range of social science, humanities, and arts disciplines in a Re:Englightenment Collaboratory. Key to the conception is the notion of enacting re:enlightenment through public engagement and through a re-evaluation of institutions, epistemologies, genres and social practices, new technologies, and their inter-relationship.

Another part of the answer is that there has been an international rise of interest in democratic representation, both in societies where previously democracy has been a distant, “other” notion and in digital social networking. Often the two are related. First, one should say about the rise of interest in democratic action that there is skepticism about the promotion of democratic values and systems by the “West.” In a declining American and European economic context, it is somewhat ironic that these countries should be promoting and advocating “democracy” to countries that are doing better economically and that have different political systems. The drive to democracy, from this more skeptical perspective, is intimately tied in with materialism and—not surprisingly, but no less inappropriately—with the interests of big business corporations and the selling of their wares to non-democratic countries. At worst, this advocacy looks like a last-ditch attempt to shore up failing economies. Nevertheless, in some countries the prospect of democracy is intimately related to personal freedoms, to the free exchange of ideas, and, indeed, to economic growth. Here, as in the “Arab spring” of the first part of this decade, the desire for the democratic turn is accompanied by argument and the need for more argumentation, sometime spilling over into violence where it meets the uncompromising force of the state. In cases such
as the “emancipation” of Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, and Syria in the period 2010–13, the argument takes on physical forms of resistance and aggression, resulting in internal political strife, conflict, injury, injustice, and death. These results are not what Habermas (1984) meant by argumentation as a court of appeal where disagreement was “not to be settled by the direct or strategic use of force” (18). These are cases where argumentation has either not been allowed to take place, or has been suppressed, thus resulting in recourse to force and, sometimes, violence. Or, indeed, where the argument has reached such a degree of pitch and non-resolution that words can no longer contain the need for change.