Rhetoric old and new

In Crowley and Hawhee’s opening chapter of Ancient Rhetoric for Contemporary Students, 4e, the authors begin to outline some central differences between ancient and modern rhetoric. One of the first differences reflects the value placed on facts and testimony. While rhetors of old saw the use of language, examples and reasoning as the forces of argument, modern rhetorical practices tend to emphasize facts and testimony, perhaps because such facts have a way of stymieing further argument. They reduce the likelihood of further debate (thus preventing anyone from taking offense) and, frankly, save time and effort.
Facts, for many, suggest truth. Haven’t we all been privy to the suggestion that the facts speak for themselves or that you can’t argue the facts. Why not? As Crowley and Hawhee tell us, “Facts are statements that somebody has substantiated through experience or proved through research.” But we need only to look at a recent example to see how even the facts are not so absolute. Most of us grew up understanding that our solar system has nine planets, but when new “facts” emerged, suddenly our littlest planet was in question. What of research? Trial after trial may demonstrate that under specific conditions a particular event holds true, but it takes only one occasion where it doesn’t hold true under those conditions for the experiment to deflate.
In many ways, using facts to support a position takes the pressure off of us. And as far as time and effort, well, it’s easier to use someone else’s facts than to do our own experimentation or to spend our own time reasoning through an issue. Modern rhetoric possesses an innate sense of urgency, seeking to present an issue simply and efficiently. Why, one might pose, this need for such economy? We are a society driven by time, moving at breakneck pace. Facts are more time considerate.
A second difference between ancient and modern rhetoric that Crowley and Hawhee note is the value placed on opinion. They posit that ancient rhetors had much more regard for opinion than we do now. While I see where this perspective comes from, I believe perhaps there is more regard for opinion today than we are given credit for. It is often said that we each have a right to our opinions, understanding, I think, that these opinions are formed through our histories, our experiences-- the contexts that we bring to an idea/issue. Isn’t this similar to the ancients’ belief that opinions are community based? As well, can’t new experiences, new histories, new contexts influence our opinions and, indeed, allow them to be changed. We are not so short-sighted in modern society to deny this possibility, are we? For example, growing up in a relatively strict religious family and community, there was a very clear sense of what was right and what was wrong. These beliefs remained intact as long as one remained a member of this community. The distancing of myself from this community when I moved away to college allowed me to be part of a newly formed community, one made up of other individuals who, too, had come from separate communities where opinions on issues were very different from the ones that were part of my experience/history. Exposure to these new opinions, and the reasoning and support for them, allowed me to adjust my own opinions, to develop my own ideologies, and come to my own conclusions.
At the same time, this maxim that entitles one to his opinion (a by-product perhaps of our society’s sense of self-importance), like our reliance on facts, can stop an argument in its tracks. No one wants to step on another ‘s toes or offend, so we just agree to have our own opinions; we agree to disagree, offering little chance for the discussion to persist.
Ancient and modern rhetoric differ too in how they view the rhetorical occasion. The authors imply that modern rhetors tend to view the rhetorical situation as something static, thus following the same approach despite the differences in the issue and the time and place in which it occurs. From my own experiences with various composition texts, this seems an apt observation. Young students of writing are provided a formula into which their ideas can be systematically placed. That formula consists of the introduction that concludes with the thesis, three supporting paragraphs, and a conclusion that restates (often with the same wording as the introduction) the thesis. How many times have I had a student, upon receiving a writing assignment, ask if the assignment should be five paragraphs. After a few moments of skull-cracking thumps with my head against the white board, I am forced to explain, once again, that the topics demand more complex thinking, that there are more than 3 important to points to be made about most subjects and that new ideas connected to this subject exist in the deep recesses of their brains, if only they’ll take the time to dig them out.
Dare I suggest that mandated testing has sustained this approach to writing. Sometimes, I fear, the actual thoughts, the content, the demonstration of critical thought are all overlooked in preference for the ability to fit the given structure. As this pattern becomes habit, it becomes ever more difficult to break a student out of this formulaic mode. And let’s face it, it is both easier to write and easier to read discourse when the formula is adhered to. Again, simple and efficient is the name of the game.
Logic would tell us that while commonalities may exist from situation to situation, topic to topic, even subtle nuances render each unique and deserving of independent consideration and, quite often, worthy of more than a five paragraph essay, a display of “rhetoric” that would likely have the ancients rolling in their graves.
Finally, Crowley and Hawhee set ancient rhetors’ beliefs about the power of language against modern rhetors’ reduction of language to a listing of facts, and the differences between the two come full circle. We are back to the beginning where today’s society recognizes facts as the method for advancing thought, a neat, tidy substitute when the demands of our time prevent us from becoming well versed about the issues important to us.
Whether these differences between ancient and modern rhetoric are as pronounced as has been suggested, what does seem clear is that the practice of rhetoric, particularly from the argumentative stance, is in decline. The authors demonstrate this belief as well, citing Jon Stewart’s attempt to debate the state of argument today. Crowley and Hawhee purport that rhetoric is meant to function as a way to disagree with civility, something becoming rare in modern-day debate situations, especially when aired publicly, as is pointed out via Stewart’s analogy likening debate to the theatrical domain of the WWE. A sensationalist media perpetrates this form of argument as it has become lucrative to do so.
In June 2004, a few months prior to Stewart’s denunciations on Crossfire, John Leo, too, bemoaned the inability of modern rhetors to appreciate both the practice of and need for argument in society in his article “The Beauty of Argument ” found in a June 13, 2004, online posting of US News and World Report (reprinted elsewhere with the title “Let’s Keep Arguing”). Like Stewart, Leo references a shift that has taken place in this century alone in the value of rhetoric. He says, “In the old days, William F. Buckley Jr. would hold public debates with all comers (I recall Arthur Schlesinger Jr. and Steve Allen), then go out to a pleasant dinner with his opponent. Nowadays Buckley or his adversary would probably be required to take umbrage, hurl some insult, then stomp out in a snit.” Leo even admits to once being chastised by a TV producer for not interrupting other speakers more during a televised debate program. Leo also identifies modern society’s fear of offending as a barrier to argument as it was intended to be by our earlier rhetoric champions. When he spoke about “repressive speech codes, stolen newspapers, canceled speakers;…defunded Christian groups; the distortion of the curriculum by powerful diversity bureaucracies...,” at a speech he gave, one former university professor in the audience got up and walked out, but not before “denouncing [Leo’s] comments as ‘the most intellectually dishonest speech [he had] ever heard.’ As Leo suggests, “I think he meant to say he disagreed.” Yet the man did not stay to delve into why he disagreed and, in doing so, missed an opportunity (kairos) to promote greater discussion and perhaps deeper insights into the issue.
In order to advance thoughts and reason through issues to arrive at the best and most acceptable result an open-mindedness and a willingness to share our opinions must be present. It seems the ancient rhetors understood this.
Yes, disagreement can be uncomfortable and perhaps even a little embarrassing when we feel caught without a logical or reasonable response, but disagreement is the key to a better, more productive response to the needs of an ever-changing society.