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The Ethics of Rhetoric
In The Ethics of Rhetoric, Richard M. Weaver evaluates the ethical and cultural role of rhetoric and its reflection on society. Weaver draws upon classical notions of rhetoric in Plato’s Phaedrus, and he examines the effectiveness and implications of the manipulation of language in the works of Lincoln, Burke, and Milton.In this collection of essays, Weaver examines how different types of rhetoric persuade, their varying levels of effectiveness and credibility, and how one’s manner of argumentation and style of persuasion are indicative of character. Ultimately, Weaver argues that the cultivation of pure language creates pure people.Initially published in 1953, The Ethics of Rhetoric remains timeless in its evaluation of rhetoric’s role in society.
244 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1953
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About the author
Richard M. Weaver
12 books114 followersRichard Malcolm Weaver, Jr was an American scholar who taught English at the University of Chicago. He is primarily known as an intellectual historian, political philosopher, and a mid-20th century conservative and as an authority on modern rhetoric. Weaver was briefly a socialist during his youth, a lapsed leftist intellectual (conservative by the time he was in graduate school), a teacher of composition, a Platonist philosopher, cultural critic, and a theorist of human nature and society.
Described by biographer Fred Young as a "radical and original thinker", Weaver's books Ideas Have Consequences (1948) and The Ethics of Rhetoric (1953) remain influential among conservative theorists and scholars of the American South. Weaver was also associated with a group of scholars who in the 1940s and 1950s promoted traditionalist conservatism.
Described by biographer Fred Young as a "radical and original thinker", Weaver's books Ideas Have Consequences (1948) and The Ethics of Rhetoric (1953) remain influential among conservative theorists and scholars of the American South. Weaver was also associated with a group of scholars who in the 1940s and 1950s promoted traditionalist conservatism.
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June 19, 2019
Weaver, Richard. The Ethics of Rhetoric.
Rhetoric in society reflects the order or disorder of that society’s soul (speaking loosely). For example, the 17 century represented heroic mental energy (seen in Milton’s prose), the 18th century saw counterpoise and balance (seen in the magnificent Dr Johnson). The 20th and 21st centuries, given postmodern and nihilistic chaos, have almost lost the ability to communicate with grace and style.
Phaedrus and the nature of rhetoric
Plato gives us embodiments of three types of discourse: the non-lover, the evil lover, and the good lover (Weaver 6). The non lover uses a purified speech (think mathematics).
Term of policy: a term of motion. Motion is part of the soul’s essence (17). When we educate a soul we begin a process of rightly affecting its motion. “True rhetoric is concerned with the potency of things” and “potentiality is a mode of existence” (20).
Back to the problem: if truth alone is incapable of moving someone, then what else is needed? Plato reminds us that the soul is more than just cognition, but impulse (23). Proper rhetoric, then, reanimates the soul “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” (23).
Edmund Burke and the Argument from Circumstance
Edmund Burke rightly feared and hated the French Revolution, as all godly patriots must. His command of English prose was rivaled only by Johnson and Gibbon. Unfortunately, Gibbon hamstrung his efforts by what Weaver called “the argument from circumstance.” Men as disparate from Plato to Lincoln argued from genus, which is an argument made from the nature of the thing (56). This is why even today Lincoln’s greatest rhetorical moment was only 80 seconds long, but delivered with a rhetorical force that few can match. Burke, unfortunately, argued from “the facts surrounding the case” (57). These facts determined the strongest premise of his argument.
His defense of the English Revolution of 1688 illustrates the problem. By precedent England had a generational defense and practice of property and rights that are upheld by the monarchy. All well and good. In fact, paradoxically, England took up arms to prove they didn’t have the right to overthrow the government. Here is Burke’s problem: “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 precedent? And if one extracts the essence of the precedent, does not one have a speculative idea” (74)?
Abraham Lincoln, by contrast, had a much more powerful form of rhetoric: the argument from genus.
How to Write Well: Aspects of Grammatical Structure
This is the money of the book. Weaver demonstrates why some writers succeed where others fail.
The basic sentence: the mind is taking two or more classes and uniting them to the extent they share a formal unity (117). “The single subject-predicate frame has the broad sense of listing or itemizing” (119). Its brevity makes it a useful sentence to begin or end with.
The complex sentence: distinguishes classes according to hierarchy or cause and effect. Gibbon: “Rome fell because valor declined.” As Weaver notes, “It brings in the notion of dependence to supplement that of simple togetherness” (121).
The compound sentence: its structure conforms to a settled view of the world. It sees the world as an equilibrium of forces. This was the essence of the 18th century. We see the impulse for counterpoise. “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” (125).
The noun: nouns connote substances (127). The noun/substance thus has a relationship in the sentence in which other words are “about” it.
The adjective: Weaver notes: “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 discourse….nearly always the adjective has to have the way prepared for it. Otherwise, the adjective introduced before the noun collapses for want of support” (130). Of course, there are exceptions. There is nothing wrong with saying “The hot day.”
Take Henley’s poem:
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole.
In this case the noun (night) has preceded the adjective (black). Had Henley said something like Black is the night or something like that, he would have lost his rhetorical force. “The adjective would have been presumptuous” (131).
In other words, the danger is that we are tempted to make the adjective bear more weight than the substantive.
Conjunctives: be careful here. Therefore doesn’t mean the same as thus. Therefore means “in consequence of” whereas thus means “in this manner,” and so indicates that some manner has already been described” (138).
“Also” simply denotes some mechanical sort of addition. “While” means at the same time. Whereas suggests some precise relationship.
Phrase: “the strength normally found in the preposition can be greatly diminished by connection with an abstract noun” (139).
Participial phrase: the participial phrase allows for sharp, succinct language and “the opportunities of subordination” (140). The “man who is carrying a spear” becomes “the spear-carrying man.” These auxiliary structures in the sentence allows for the central though to emerge more readily. Weaver notes that because English intonation places emphasis on the last word in the sentence, participial phrases should not be at the end of the sentence (140).
Lagniappe
The rhetorical syllogism is the enthymeme. The audience supplies the missing proposition.
Rhetoric in society reflects the order or disorder of that society’s soul (speaking loosely). For example, the 17 century represented heroic mental energy (seen in Milton’s prose), the 18th century saw counterpoise and balance (seen in the magnificent Dr Johnson). The 20th and 21st centuries, given postmodern and nihilistic chaos, have almost lost the ability to communicate with grace and style.
Phaedrus and the nature of rhetoric
Plato gives us embodiments of three types of discourse: the non-lover, the evil lover, and the good lover (Weaver 6). The non lover uses a purified speech (think mathematics).
Term of policy: a term of motion. Motion is part of the soul’s essence (17). When we educate a soul we begin a process of rightly affecting its motion. “True rhetoric is concerned with the potency of things” and “potentiality is a mode of existence” (20).
Back to the problem: if truth alone is incapable of moving someone, then what else is needed? Plato reminds us that the soul is more than just cognition, but impulse (23). Proper rhetoric, then, reanimates the soul “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” (23).
Edmund Burke and the Argument from Circumstance
Edmund Burke rightly feared and hated the French Revolution, as all godly patriots must. His command of English prose was rivaled only by Johnson and Gibbon. Unfortunately, Gibbon hamstrung his efforts by what Weaver called “the argument from circumstance.” Men as disparate from Plato to Lincoln argued from genus, which is an argument made from the nature of the thing (56). This is why even today Lincoln’s greatest rhetorical moment was only 80 seconds long, but delivered with a rhetorical force that few can match. Burke, unfortunately, argued from “the facts surrounding the case” (57). These facts determined the strongest premise of his argument.
His defense of the English Revolution of 1688 illustrates the problem. By precedent England had a generational defense and practice of property and rights that are upheld by the monarchy. All well and good. In fact, paradoxically, England took up arms to prove they didn’t have the right to overthrow the government. Here is Burke’s problem: “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 precedent? And if one extracts the essence of the precedent, does not one have a speculative idea” (74)?
Abraham Lincoln, by contrast, had a much more powerful form of rhetoric: the argument from genus.
How to Write Well: Aspects of Grammatical Structure
This is the money of the book. Weaver demonstrates why some writers succeed where others fail.
The basic sentence: the mind is taking two or more classes and uniting them to the extent they share a formal unity (117). “The single subject-predicate frame has the broad sense of listing or itemizing” (119). Its brevity makes it a useful sentence to begin or end with.
The complex sentence: distinguishes classes according to hierarchy or cause and effect. Gibbon: “Rome fell because valor declined.” As Weaver notes, “It brings in the notion of dependence to supplement that of simple togetherness” (121).
The compound sentence: its structure conforms to a settled view of the world. It sees the world as an equilibrium of forces. This was the essence of the 18th century. We see the impulse for counterpoise. “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” (125).
The noun: nouns connote substances (127). The noun/substance thus has a relationship in the sentence in which other words are “about” it.
The adjective: Weaver notes: “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 discourse….nearly always the adjective has to have the way prepared for it. Otherwise, the adjective introduced before the noun collapses for want of support” (130). Of course, there are exceptions. There is nothing wrong with saying “The hot day.”
Take Henley’s poem:
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole.
In this case the noun (night) has preceded the adjective (black). Had Henley said something like Black is the night or something like that, he would have lost his rhetorical force. “The adjective would have been presumptuous” (131).
In other words, the danger is that we are tempted to make the adjective bear more weight than the substantive.
Conjunctives: be careful here. Therefore doesn’t mean the same as thus. Therefore means “in consequence of” whereas thus means “in this manner,” and so indicates that some manner has already been described” (138).
“Also” simply denotes some mechanical sort of addition. “While” means at the same time. Whereas suggests some precise relationship.
Phrase: “the strength normally found in the preposition can be greatly diminished by connection with an abstract noun” (139).
Participial phrase: the participial phrase allows for sharp, succinct language and “the opportunities of subordination” (140). The “man who is carrying a spear” becomes “the spear-carrying man.” These auxiliary structures in the sentence allows for the central though to emerge more readily. Weaver notes that because English intonation places emphasis on the last word in the sentence, participial phrases should not be at the end of the sentence (140).
Lagniappe
The rhetorical syllogism is the enthymeme. The audience supplies the missing proposition.
September 11, 2012
Weaver opens his book by arguing for the structural and thematic unity of Plato’s Phaedrus, and his Platonism persists undiluted throughout the book. Weaver’s interpretation of the Phaedrus is that the lovers represented by each of the dialogue’s three opening speeches are allegories for different types of language. The “non-lover” of Lysias’ speech represents the cold logic of “neutral,” scientific language--a ideal “semantically purified speech” Weaver doesn’t think could be realized (7). Socrates’ first speech represents “evil” rhetoric--the deceitful, manipulative use of language--and his second speech represents “good” rhetoric. The latter, for Weaver as for Plato, must be predicated on rigorous dialectic. Good rhetoric is what gets “added on” to “truth” when the latter is “not sufficient to persuade men,” while dialectic is “a method of investigation whose object is the establishment of truth about doubtful propositions” (15). For Weaver, “[W]hen the disputed terms have been established, we are at the limit of dialectic,” and rhetoric can safely take over (17). In the opening chapter, then, Weaver seems to shift the classical stasis points of conjecture and definition (especially definition) to dialectic, leaving rhetoric with policy and some aspects of value.
In fact, stasis theory guides--though usually not explicitly--much of Weaver’s text. In his case study of the Scopes Monkey Trial, he is largely concerned with illustrating that the prosecution and the defense were arguing different stasis points (the former focused on an issue of lawfulness, the latter on an issue of scientific truth). Chapters on Edmund Burke and Abraham Lincoln focus on the stasis points from which the two men tended to argue. Lincoln, who Weaver claims argued from definition, is the better of the pair: “Lincoln came early to the conclusion that human nature is a fixed and knowable thing” (87), and “proved his greatness through his habit of transcending and defining his objects” (108). He thus “came to repudiate … those people who try by relativistic interpretations and other sophistries to evade the force of some basic principles” (106). Lincoln was a Hegelian, not a Nietzschean, and thus an exemplar of good conservatism for Weaver. That is, Lincoln was a “true” conservative with “a trust in the methods of law [as] … the embodiment of abstract justice” (113), not the sort of modern conservative who “worship[s] … Mammon” (114).
Convinced of the existence of transcendent, essential, dialectically obtainable categories, Weaver goes on to parse the rhetorical significance of various grammatical categories (complex sentences, simple sentences, nouns, adverbs, etc.). Nouns, for instance, are more real than most other sorts of words, coming to us “peculiarly fulfilled” (128). Throughout his chapter on the rhetoric of grammar, Weaver gestures with distress toward the potential tyranny of language: “[O]wing to its public acceptance, while you are doing something with it, it is doing something with you, or with your intention.” All in all, however, Weaver’s elucidation of the rhetoric of grammar seems to precede from the conviction that rigorous enough attention/intention can turn the tables on language, putting the rhetor back in charge: “language is something which is born psychological but is ever striving to become logical.... that is why one must think about the rhetorical nature even of grammatical categories” (142).
Hearkening back to his confidence in Lincoln’s and Plato’s unimpeachable natures, Weaver turns to lamenting (though without expressing much explicit support for) the loss of “spaciousness” in rhetoric. That is, he notes that “the homogeneity of belief which obtained three generations ago has largely disappeared. Such belief was … the old orator’s capital” (167). This “capital” allowed the orator to take a lot for granted, throwing around abstract dialectical terms and without carefully defining each one. The speeches of these orators “have resonances, both historical and literary, and … this resonance is what [Weaver calls] … spaciousness” (169). In contemporary debates, however, “disagreement is over extremely elementary matters, survival itself may be at stake” (171). Weaver offers “modern debates over the validity of the law of contradiction” as an example. Like Lincoln, he’s no Nietzschean. And yet Weaver also seems to regret the following development: “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” (172). Though not strictly Nietzschean, Weaver’s apparent nostalgia here seems connected to post-Nietzschean critiques of the truth-claims of science and calls for a return to the rhetorical methodologies of the ancient sophists. Of course, for Weaver, careful dialectical work must precede rhetoric in order to avoid dangerous sophistry. And Weaver is back in Platonic form when he claims, “The true orator has little concern with singularity … because the singular is the impertinent” (176). The second half of that claim seems a key point at which poststructuralist rhetorical theory has really diverged from Weaver.
So Weaver wraps up by critiquing the scientific pretensions of 1950s social science, claiming it’s a dialectical rather than scientific undertaking which needs to reconcile its nature as such. Social “scientists’” scientific, anti-poetic pretensions are undercut [1] by recent theories of metaphor, “now receiving serious attention [which claim] that metaphor is itself a means of discovery.... one of the most important heuristic devices” (203, with an allusion to “the meaning of meaning” hinting that Weaver has the work of I. A. Richards in mind?), and [2] by social scientists’ optimism:
Weaver piggybacks an additional clarification of rhetoric’s definition on the chapter’s end: “a process of coordination and subordination which is very close to the essential thought process” (210).
Taking a page for Kenneth Burke (whom he cites directly), Weaver ends by looking at “Ultimate Terms in Contemporary Rhetoric.” He argues that “progress,” and secondarily “fact,” “science,” “American,” “modern,” and “efficient” are the predominant “god terms” of his day. “History” is on the wane as a god term, while “un-American,” “prejudice,” and especially “Communist” are the reigning “devil terms.” Meanwhile, “charismatic terms” like “freedom,” “democracy,” and “the war effort” float unmoored from any clear referent so that “‘[w]ar effort’ became for a period of years the supreme term.... 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’” (231). Meanwhile, traditional value hierarchies, like the “exterme altruism” of Christianity (226), are being upended by the violence heaped on young GIs--who turn to the vocabularies of sex, war, and shit in order to cope--and in the arenas of competitive sports. Though Weaver relies on some dubious propositions along the way (“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” [223-4].), he does note some noteworthy contradictions in dominant American ideologies (“the acquisitive, hard-driving local capitalist is made the chief lay official of a Christian church” [227]), as well as some persistent, if not transcendent, political concerns. Concerned the language will get the best of us in the end, Weaver ends by writing,
So dialectic is the key to ethics, but rhetoric still has some potentially noble role to play.
In fact, stasis theory guides--though usually not explicitly--much of Weaver’s text. In his case study of the Scopes Monkey Trial, he is largely concerned with illustrating that the prosecution and the defense were arguing different stasis points (the former focused on an issue of lawfulness, the latter on an issue of scientific truth). Chapters on Edmund Burke and Abraham Lincoln focus on the stasis points from which the two men tended to argue. Lincoln, who Weaver claims argued from definition, is the better of the pair: “Lincoln came early to the conclusion that human nature is a fixed and knowable thing” (87), and “proved his greatness through his habit of transcending and defining his objects” (108). He thus “came to repudiate … those people who try by relativistic interpretations and other sophistries to evade the force of some basic principles” (106). Lincoln was a Hegelian, not a Nietzschean, and thus an exemplar of good conservatism for Weaver. That is, Lincoln was a “true” conservative with “a trust in the methods of law [as] … the embodiment of abstract justice” (113), not the sort of modern conservative who “worship[s] … Mammon” (114).
Convinced of the existence of transcendent, essential, dialectically obtainable categories, Weaver goes on to parse the rhetorical significance of various grammatical categories (complex sentences, simple sentences, nouns, adverbs, etc.). Nouns, for instance, are more real than most other sorts of words, coming to us “peculiarly fulfilled” (128). Throughout his chapter on the rhetoric of grammar, Weaver gestures with distress toward the potential tyranny of language: “[O]wing to its public acceptance, while you are doing something with it, it is doing something with you, or with your intention.” All in all, however, Weaver’s elucidation of the rhetoric of grammar seems to precede from the conviction that rigorous enough attention/intention can turn the tables on language, putting the rhetor back in charge: “language is something which is born psychological but is ever striving to become logical.... that is why one must think about the rhetorical nature even of grammatical categories” (142).
Hearkening back to his confidence in Lincoln’s and Plato’s unimpeachable natures, Weaver turns to lamenting (though without expressing much explicit support for) the loss of “spaciousness” in rhetoric. That is, he notes that “the homogeneity of belief which obtained three generations ago has largely disappeared. Such belief was … the old orator’s capital” (167). This “capital” allowed the orator to take a lot for granted, throwing around abstract dialectical terms and without carefully defining each one. The speeches of these orators “have resonances, both historical and literary, and … this resonance is what [Weaver calls] … spaciousness” (169). In contemporary debates, however, “disagreement is over extremely elementary matters, survival itself may be at stake” (171). Weaver offers “modern debates over the validity of the law of contradiction” as an example. Like Lincoln, he’s no Nietzschean. And yet Weaver also seems to regret the following development: “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” (172). Though not strictly Nietzschean, Weaver’s apparent nostalgia here seems connected to post-Nietzschean critiques of the truth-claims of science and calls for a return to the rhetorical methodologies of the ancient sophists. Of course, for Weaver, careful dialectical work must precede rhetoric in order to avoid dangerous sophistry. And Weaver is back in Platonic form when he claims, “The true orator has little concern with singularity … because the singular is the impertinent” (176). The second half of that claim seems a key point at which poststructuralist rhetorical theory has really diverged from Weaver.
So Weaver wraps up by critiquing the scientific pretensions of 1950s social science, claiming it’s a dialectical rather than scientific undertaking which needs to reconcile its nature as such. Social “scientists’” scientific, anti-poetic pretensions are undercut [1] by recent theories of metaphor, “now receiving serious attention [which claim] that metaphor is itself a means of discovery.... one of the most important heuristic devices” (203, with an allusion to “the meaning of meaning” hinting that Weaver has the work of I. A. Richards in mind?), and [2] by social scientists’ optimism:
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.... 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. (200-1)
Weaver piggybacks an additional clarification of rhetoric’s definition on the chapter’s end: “a process of coordination and subordination which is very close to the essential thought process” (210).
Taking a page for Kenneth Burke (whom he cites directly), Weaver ends by looking at “Ultimate Terms in Contemporary Rhetoric.” He argues that “progress,” and secondarily “fact,” “science,” “American,” “modern,” and “efficient” are the predominant “god terms” of his day. “History” is on the wane as a god term, while “un-American,” “prejudice,” and especially “Communist” are the reigning “devil terms.” Meanwhile, “charismatic terms” like “freedom,” “democracy,” and “the war effort” float unmoored from any clear referent so that “‘[w]ar effort’ became for a period of years the supreme term.... 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’” (231). Meanwhile, traditional value hierarchies, like the “exterme altruism” of Christianity (226), are being upended by the violence heaped on young GIs--who turn to the vocabularies of sex, war, and shit in order to cope--and in the arenas of competitive sports. Though Weaver relies on some dubious propositions along the way (“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” [223-4].), he does note some noteworthy contradictions in dominant American ideologies (“the acquisitive, hard-driving local capitalist is made the chief lay official of a Christian church” [227]), as well as some persistent, if not transcendent, political concerns. Concerned the language will get the best of us in the end, Weaver ends by writing,
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.... 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. (232)
So dialectic is the key to ethics, but rhetoric still has some potentially noble role to play.
March 29, 2019
I sometimes get the uneasy feeling when reading Richard Weaver that I'm only picking up half of what he's saying. If 50 percent is the baseline, I fear my understanding of The Ethics of Rhetoric is below average. In many ways, this is Weaver's least accessible book, owing not to Weaver's writing and analysis, which are typically excellent, but because the primary subject of the book and the topics he explores are of less general interest than the content of his other books.
The general thesis of the book is that the way that people argue is indicative of their personal ethics. Weaver introduces this idea in the first chapter by analyzing Plato's Phaedrus, in which he makes his case that dialectic (the logical process of determining what is true) and rhetoric (the process of persuading) are essential to each other (rhetoric not being truly rhetoric without dialectic, and dialectic being nothing but neutered theory without rhetoric). He centers his case on analogizing rhetoric with the Phaedrus, which contains three speeches on love. The initial speech, extolling the virtues of the non-lover, Weaver analogizes to pure dialectic. The second speech, extolling the depravity and selfishness of the ignoble lover, being pure rhetoric, and the proper combination of dialectic and rhetoric being found in the case of the unselfish, noble lover. Overall, this is a very similar case that Weaver would later make in Visions of Order: The Cultural Crisis of Our Time, although in the latter book Weaver's analysis is much clearer for the layman.
Weaver then explores variations on this theme throughout the rest of the book. For instance, in the second chapter Weaver notes how rhetoric and dialectic affected the Scopes Trial in Dayton, Tennessee, noting that the defense relied on rhetoric and the prosecution on dialectic, a strategy that was weighted heavily in the prosecution's favor, at least in terms of the courtroom battle. In surveying these different legal strategies, Weaver is able to point out how the defense's rhetoric could have been used against itself, so while the prosecution was intent on winning the case, it lost the larger battle of public opinion.
The most interesting two chapters, in terms of the implications of Weaver's theory, explore the argumentation of Edmund Burke and Abraham Lincoln. While Burke is considered, and rightly so, the conservative par excellence, Weaver makes the case that his method of argumentation (what Weaver calls "the argument from circumstance") was decidedly unconservative, relying as it did on specific circumstances rather than on principles. By comparison, Weaver notes that Lincoln consistently argued from "definition," or an identified principle, which is more appropriate for a conservative. A lot of commentators have taken from this that Weaver was saying that Burke was not a conservative, but I don't know that that is accurate. What Weaver seems to be saying is that, regardless of what Burke's principles were, he didn't argue like a conservative. And since the point of Weaver's book is that the way we argue reveals our principles, he claims that Burke is not appropriately considered the model for conservatives.
Also interesting is the final chapter, in which Weaver explores "god terms" and "devil terms," words that are used in contemporary language to either lend their subject automatic virtue or to bring them automatic derision. Among the "god terms" Weaver identified, "progress" and "science" are two of the most interesting, as he notes that both words are used to denote authority or virtue when used in combination with a person or an idea. Weaver doesn't condemn either progress or science, but he rather questions the validity of automatically assuming that something called "progressive" actually indicates progress, and he questions the collectivizing of "science" into a sentient being - as if all scientists have gotten together and determined what an entity called science believes - rather than using the term as a signifier of a multiplicity of scientists pursuing research in multiple ways with sometimes divergent conclusions. Weaver's "devil terms" include the word "un-American," which sparks an interesting discussion, though the negative implications of that term have obviously waned since the book was published in 1953. One thing that hasn't changed is that Weaver notes that terms like "Nazi," "fascist," and "Communist" are used as pejoratives to condemn people or ideas, but are frequently used incorrectly by people who seek to demonize other people, and who often do not know the definitions of the terms they use to do so. This situation has obviously not improved since Weaver's time.
These chapters of more general interest are sandwiched around chapters of more specific interest ("Milton's Heroic Prose," "The Spaciousness of the Old Rhetoric") or chapters of a more technical nature ("Aspects of Grammatical Categories," "The Rhetoric of the Social Science.") This gives the book an overall feel of being for a rhetorical specialist, which in some ways it is (Weaver's concept of "god terms" and "devil terms" has been influential in rhetorical circles ever since). While anyone can benefit by reading this book, the reader who is knowledgeable about rhetoric and read in ancient philosophy (certainly more than I am on either count) will get the most out of this book.
The general thesis of the book is that the way that people argue is indicative of their personal ethics. Weaver introduces this idea in the first chapter by analyzing Plato's Phaedrus, in which he makes his case that dialectic (the logical process of determining what is true) and rhetoric (the process of persuading) are essential to each other (rhetoric not being truly rhetoric without dialectic, and dialectic being nothing but neutered theory without rhetoric). He centers his case on analogizing rhetoric with the Phaedrus, which contains three speeches on love. The initial speech, extolling the virtues of the non-lover, Weaver analogizes to pure dialectic. The second speech, extolling the depravity and selfishness of the ignoble lover, being pure rhetoric, and the proper combination of dialectic and rhetoric being found in the case of the unselfish, noble lover. Overall, this is a very similar case that Weaver would later make in Visions of Order: The Cultural Crisis of Our Time, although in the latter book Weaver's analysis is much clearer for the layman.
Weaver then explores variations on this theme throughout the rest of the book. For instance, in the second chapter Weaver notes how rhetoric and dialectic affected the Scopes Trial in Dayton, Tennessee, noting that the defense relied on rhetoric and the prosecution on dialectic, a strategy that was weighted heavily in the prosecution's favor, at least in terms of the courtroom battle. In surveying these different legal strategies, Weaver is able to point out how the defense's rhetoric could have been used against itself, so while the prosecution was intent on winning the case, it lost the larger battle of public opinion.
The most interesting two chapters, in terms of the implications of Weaver's theory, explore the argumentation of Edmund Burke and Abraham Lincoln. While Burke is considered, and rightly so, the conservative par excellence, Weaver makes the case that his method of argumentation (what Weaver calls "the argument from circumstance") was decidedly unconservative, relying as it did on specific circumstances rather than on principles. By comparison, Weaver notes that Lincoln consistently argued from "definition," or an identified principle, which is more appropriate for a conservative. A lot of commentators have taken from this that Weaver was saying that Burke was not a conservative, but I don't know that that is accurate. What Weaver seems to be saying is that, regardless of what Burke's principles were, he didn't argue like a conservative. And since the point of Weaver's book is that the way we argue reveals our principles, he claims that Burke is not appropriately considered the model for conservatives.
Also interesting is the final chapter, in which Weaver explores "god terms" and "devil terms," words that are used in contemporary language to either lend their subject automatic virtue or to bring them automatic derision. Among the "god terms" Weaver identified, "progress" and "science" are two of the most interesting, as he notes that both words are used to denote authority or virtue when used in combination with a person or an idea. Weaver doesn't condemn either progress or science, but he rather questions the validity of automatically assuming that something called "progressive" actually indicates progress, and he questions the collectivizing of "science" into a sentient being - as if all scientists have gotten together and determined what an entity called science believes - rather than using the term as a signifier of a multiplicity of scientists pursuing research in multiple ways with sometimes divergent conclusions. Weaver's "devil terms" include the word "un-American," which sparks an interesting discussion, though the negative implications of that term have obviously waned since the book was published in 1953. One thing that hasn't changed is that Weaver notes that terms like "Nazi," "fascist," and "Communist" are used as pejoratives to condemn people or ideas, but are frequently used incorrectly by people who seek to demonize other people, and who often do not know the definitions of the terms they use to do so. This situation has obviously not improved since Weaver's time.
These chapters of more general interest are sandwiched around chapters of more specific interest ("Milton's Heroic Prose," "The Spaciousness of the Old Rhetoric") or chapters of a more technical nature ("Aspects of Grammatical Categories," "The Rhetoric of the Social Science.") This gives the book an overall feel of being for a rhetorical specialist, which in some ways it is (Weaver's concept of "god terms" and "devil terms" has been influential in rhetorical circles ever since). While anyone can benefit by reading this book, the reader who is knowledgeable about rhetoric and read in ancient philosophy (certainly more than I am on either count) will get the most out of this book.
September 7, 2024
The prevailing thought on rhetoric is that it is either: (1) only a matter of style or form, or, worse, (2) an attempt at coercion, which is always something frowned upon. Richard Weaver's Ethics of Rhetoric helpfully cuts through the confusion and highlights the central role of rhetoric in society. His main contention is that, while rhetoric can be, and often is, abused, rhetoric seen in its true light is not simply a matter of technique or style, but that it has its own ethic. In other words, Weaver argues that HOW we argue--just as equally as WHAT we argue for--is a moral, value-based act which moves towards some particular end. All rhetoric, he argues, will have one of three consequences: (1) "[i]t can move us toward what is good," (2) "it can move us toward what is evil," or (3) "it can, in hypothetical third place, fail to move us at all."
Every chapter develops different aspects of this full view of rhetoric, including analyses of Edmund Burke's and Abraham's Lincoln's rhetorical tendencies (and the impact those tendencies have), an examination of the arguments advances in the Scopes trial, the rhetorical use of grammar, Milton's "prejudices," the appeal to ultimate terms, and others.
As an aside: in light of the current state of politics, and of the current-day Republcian party, Weaver's comments on political rhetoric in the early 20th-century are enlightening. He argues that the conservatives of his day were going the way of the American Whig party. He traces this back to (surprisingly) Edmund Burke and his reliance on the "argument from circumstance." Here is what Weaver had to say on the topic: The American Whig type poitlical philosophy "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. . . 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." Going on, he concludes: "'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.' . . . [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. . . Let it be offered as a parting counsel that parties bethink themselves of how their chieftains speak."
Memorable quotes:
"There is, then, no true rhetoric without dialetic, for the dialectic provides that basis of 'high speculation about nature' without which rhetoric in the narrower sense has nothing to work upon."
"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."
"Without rhetoric there seems no possibility of tragedy, and in turn, without the sense of tragedy is to keep the human lot from being rendered as history. The cultivation of tragedy and a deep interest in the value-confronting power of language always occur together. The Phaedrus, the Gorgias, and the Cratylus, not to mention the works of many teachers of retheoric, appear at the close of the 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."
"the duty of rhetoric is to bring together action and understanding into a whole that is greater than scientific perception."
"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."
"In a manner of speaking, Milton always writes from a 'prejudice,' which proves to be on inspection his conviction that 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."
"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 chapter develops different aspects of this full view of rhetoric, including analyses of Edmund Burke's and Abraham's Lincoln's rhetorical tendencies (and the impact those tendencies have), an examination of the arguments advances in the Scopes trial, the rhetorical use of grammar, Milton's "prejudices," the appeal to ultimate terms, and others.
As an aside: in light of the current state of politics, and of the current-day Republcian party, Weaver's comments on political rhetoric in the early 20th-century are enlightening. He argues that the conservatives of his day were going the way of the American Whig party. He traces this back to (surprisingly) Edmund Burke and his reliance on the "argument from circumstance." Here is what Weaver had to say on the topic: The American Whig type poitlical philosophy "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. . . 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." Going on, he concludes: "'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.' . . . [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. . . Let it be offered as a parting counsel that parties bethink themselves of how their chieftains speak."
Memorable quotes:
"There is, then, no true rhetoric without dialetic, for the dialectic provides that basis of 'high speculation about nature' without which rhetoric in the narrower sense has nothing to work upon."
"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."
"Without rhetoric there seems no possibility of tragedy, and in turn, without the sense of tragedy is to keep the human lot from being rendered as history. The cultivation of tragedy and a deep interest in the value-confronting power of language always occur together. The Phaedrus, the Gorgias, and the Cratylus, not to mention the works of many teachers of retheoric, appear at the close of the 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."
"the duty of rhetoric is to bring together action and understanding into a whole that is greater than scientific perception."
"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."
"In a manner of speaking, Milton always writes from a 'prejudice,' which proves to be on inspection his conviction that 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."
"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."
October 13, 2018
I don't imagine most people would find this book exciting, but I did. My studies of English have not ended with attaining a bachelor's degree in the subject. I continue to read broadly in my field. The reason I was so excited to read this book is that this is the most enlightening book on the subject that I have ever read. His nuanced readings of various speeches and writings, as well as his broader perspectives on word use in our culture were intriguing. This is the third book that I've read by Weaver. I've read Ideas Have Consequences and his Southern Essays. Both books were very well written, and full of insight. I knew from his writings that he had a keen understanding of rhetoric, and that he might have something to teach me. He certainly did, and I will be reading more of his books.
March 29, 2021
A wonderfully challenging book. I have thoroughly grown in my understanding of language. It was a difficult journey of understanding, but a path I am glad that I took. Highly recommend if you’re looking for some classical rhetorical education.
June 23, 2018
Weaver's book is not just foundational for the field of rhetorical studies - it's actually still quite good, with lots of practical advice and uncanny observations about the way we talk, communicate, and live. There is very little fat to be trimmed in these analyses of a broad range of topics, from Plato's Phaedrus to Lincoln's arguments from definition to the various ways in which science (both social and technical) gets communicated to lay audiences. There are times when Weaver veers into what eventually seem like personal observations or takes on various political topics or situations, and these are really the main area of complaint with the book, but this, to me, feels very minor overall. In the broader scope, Weaver's book is not only a comprehensive discussion of the art of rhetorical criticism, but it is a thoughtful demonstration of this art in action, thus making this book a complete take on the act, just as he notes the Phaedrus is in the opening chapter.
October 7, 2024
There are several good manuals on the art of rhetoric. Aristotle's and the Ad Herrenium are, of course, two of the best you'll ever read. But when it comes supplemental discussions on the meaning, purpose, and even ethics of rhetoric, the list of good books are fewer. Weaver's book is a brilliant must-read even if you're not into rhetoric at all. Whether he's discussing the interrelationship of dialectic and rhetoric or how an undue reliance on adjectives is a defect, his essays will help you at least be a better thinker, if not a better speaker regardless of whether you wanted to be one or not. One of his best insights in the whole book is that the way a person argues reveals their philosophical worldview.
Currently reading
May 10, 2024
September 21, 2011
Enjoyed reading this quite a bit. It does seem old-fashioned, though, in its neo-Platonism and its form, but, my, it seems so enjoyable and applicable. I love the connotation/denotation bit quite a lot, and naturally, I’m inclined towards the power of poetic language. It’s sad that this has fallen out of favor because things like chivalry and the power of rhetoric to improve someone’s life are things that I so desperately want to believe in.
Want to read
June 1, 2009The Ethics of Rhetoric by Richard M. Weaver (1995)
Want to read
February 7, 2014Flannery O'Connor recommends.
February 7, 2016
An excellent book. The way that we speak & use language shapes the way we think about reality; it is good to be aware of the ethical & moral implications of this.
March 31, 2009
Very good.
Want to read
March 27, 2018Has a chapter on "Milton's Heroic Prose."
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