Invention II

In my previous post I explained some of the many logical argument forms available to you that you probably aren’t learning in your college comp classes. These come from the classical development of rhetoric, and are categorized as topics or loci, the Latin and Greek terms for “place.”

The idea was that you the orator or writer would “find” or “invent” your arguments, which you would locate in common “places.” Eventually, the argument forms, what I call “frames,” became known as commonplaces. The terminology is derived from two notions: that the forms existed outside of the specific content of any argument; and that, since most public arguments were argued orally and needed to be memorized.

 A mnemonic device we call a “memory palace” was conceived which imagined a many-roomed palace containing groups of related argments in each room. This placing of abstractions into imaginary rooms was where the orator would invent, or “come upon” (from L. “invenire”) argument frames he could use in his speech.

 In turn he could develop another memory palace, this one assigning specific argument forms and content to specific “rooms,” with a floor plan that arranged the arguments according to the conventions of the time. Then, with practice, he could deliver a speech of several hours length in front of the Assembly or, in Rome, in front of the Senate or the law courts, from memory.

 The argument frames, as I wrote in my last post, were gathered in two categories, deductive (logical) and inductive (example) by Aristotle. I’ve covered the deductive; now for the inductive.

Inductive arguments are often called arguments of experience, rendered by the word “empiricism.” We see them particularly in examples, which can come in different forms: illustrations and narratives, which in turn can be fables (fictional) or anecdotes (personal accounts).

 Frequently you will find it useful to offer an illustrative example to make clear what you mean by a term or claim. In poetic meter in English verse, lines form patterns of accented and unaccented syllables. The poet John Ciardi (pronounced Char-dee) explains a type of poetic “foot,” similar to measures in a line of written music:

The pyrrhic is a foot consisting of two unstressed syllables. It is possible to construct a theory of metrics in which the pyrrhic does not exist. In conventional metrics, however, it is impossible to scan certain lines without resort to the pyrrhic. A famous example occurs in Shakespeare’s much quoted line: 

 To mor/row and / to mor/row and / to mor ow

 The accented syllables are boldfaced. Two feet, the second and fourth, have no accented syllable, and are illustrative examples of pyrrhic feet.

When you were writing five-paragraph essays in high school, though, examples served as evidence. Unfortunately, three examples is almost as inadequate for evidence as one. Consequently, when my students used examples as evidence for a claim, they had to provide a plethora of examples.

 A simple illustration comes from Frederick Douglass in a speech he titled, “What, to the Slave, is the Fourth of July?”:

…Is it not astonishing that, while we are plowing, planting and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold; that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants and secretaries, having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators and teachers; that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, acting, thinking, planning; living in families as husbands, wives and children, and above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian’s God and looking hopefully for life and immortality beyond the grave, we are called upon to prove that we are men! 

Martin Luther King, in “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” offers a similarly overpowering catalog of examples of why “We can’t wait!” for equality, as though it were a gift from white America and not a right. The two works, the first a speech, the other a written rebuttal to his critics, are separated by 111 years but make the same demand for dignity using a plethora of examples in their defense.

You are attempting with a plethora to forestall any temptation by your reader to oppose that mountain of examples with a counter-example. Against the ant-hill of three examples, the counter-thrust would be sufficient, but not against the mountain. We argue, remember, not for certainty or for absolutely, we argue for probably and for-the-most-part.

A similar problem plagues the anecdote. It is, after all, only one example, regardless of how powerful it is to you. It is better, in my view, to use anecdotes to personalize your argument and encourage a positive emotional response in your reader rather than consider it sufficient reason for a claim.

I recently received a research paper draft from a student who argued that waitresses and waiters didn’t need the income protection with a higher minimum wage, but instead would earn what their energy and attention and personality deserved through tips. She cited an ark full of facts, but the paper was listless. I suggested to her that she instead refer to the situation her employer, the owner of the restaurant where she worked, and write summary stories of what she faced day after day to keep the business profitable. The student excelled beyond my hopes, making for an enjoyable read that lost none of its data-driven arguments in the process.

While a Roger-level anecdote—one that tells of a single incident in a specific time and place—evokes a stronger reader response, there will be times when you will want to summarize repeated incidents. Such a summary argues that similar behaviors meet with similar outcomes, and moves toward communicating the plethora you need to be convincing.

Stories—and descriptions, another inductive frame—require some sort of explanation of their significance to your argument, what is traditionally called “exposition.” Brent Staples does all three in the first paragraphs from his essay “Just Walk on By”. Find a PDF of the essay here.

 Arguing from example can be a powerful way to defend a claim if done with gusto. Just don’t forget that a lone example, used to clarify or illustrate what you are writing about, is a useful tool as well.