A Presidential Speech: Worthy of Marble?

Demosthenes.

Rhetoric is among the oldest and most venerated of Western traditions. The ability to express yourself well and persuade your audience has been the mark of a great man since Achilles railed against Agamemnon. Training in the rhetorical arts has formed the center of all education for just as long. History is decorated with the speeches of great orators and literature with their speeches. Some of these men were great and laudable, others great and terrible. All wielded considerable political power. Beyond a doubt Demosthenes and Cicero dominate the field of orators and their speeches all rhetorical works.  Likewise Aristotle's On Rhetoric and Quintilian's Institutio Oratoria hold prime place amongst treatises on the craft.  Against these men and works all other speakers and speeches are judged.

Now it would be legitimate to compare any speech to one from Cicero and Demosthenes and to see how it measures up to Aristotle's or Quintilian's standards but it would also be more than a little obtuse and less than a perfect indication of the speaker's success. We must, then, have two criteria: the quality of the speech and the success of the speaker. A perfect speech does not exist in a vacuum rather it must be tailored both to the intended audience and the speaker as a line of dialogue in a film is suited both to the character who speaks it and the audience to whom it is meant to affect. The actor Satyrus educated Demosthenes himself on this point by having the aspiring orator recite a poem and then reciting it himself, attuned to the context of the character and situation. Plutarch relates a story in which Demosthenes, when asked about the most important aspects of oratory, replied, "Delivery, delivery, and delivery."

A speech then is appropriate to the speaker, the audience, and the occasion. We ought to pause and reflect on the audience for a moment. Assuming as we do that the author of the speech (and we must separate the speaker from the speechwriter since some great writers like Lysias wrote for others) is a great writer and the speaker a great speaker we must assume that what they offer is what they think will persuade the audience. Should a speech be elevated or plain, original or traditional, complex or simple, we must assume the speaker thinks such will please the audience. A speech, then, distinctly reveals the speaker's opinion of his audience.

Cicero denouncing Catiline

Today's speechwriter carries a heavy burden, then, but it is in fact heavier still since he must consider not only the Classical speeches and treatises, the speaker, the occasion, and the audience, but all famous speeches throughout literature, from Homer to Shakespeare.  Too he must consider modern political speeches from Washington to Churchill.

Thus when a modern speech is referred to as "worthy of marble"[1] we might grow curious: the speech in question, the 2009 Inaugural Address, must be extraordinary. Such praise inspired me to be especially critical since such a statement starts to step on the toes of dear Demosthenes and Cicero. At times we may appear to be too critical, but some speeches can stand up to such criticism thus I don't think it unreasonable to subject a highly-regarded modern speech to the same standards.

I would note that I won't be commenting on the truth of statements though we may reflect on interesting turns of logic as means of persuasion. I decided to look at this  speech only because of the praise lavished upon the President as an orator and on this speech in particular. As such, this analysis is not meant to be a commentary on the President in any way other than as an orator. In fact it is as much if not more a reflection on the speechwriter.

Let us take a look, then, line by line.

You can read and listen to the speech here at American Rhetoric.

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Thank you, thank you.

My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you've bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

A fairly standard "thank you."

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential Oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the Oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forbearers, and true to our founding documents.

He establishes the continuity of government and society with, "forty-four Americans" and "forbearers" and "founding documents." Some of this seems a little clunky and repetitive: "have now taken," "have been spoken," "has carried," and "have remained faithful."  The phrase "Have now taken" has set him on an awkward path to maintain consistency. The tidal and storm comparisons are simple and cliché. He appeals to the people as being one of them, distancing himself from the fact that he occupies a "high office."

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

"So it has been. So it must be" is much more formal and nearly striking but diminished because the segue is awkward and the segue is awkward because of the tense. The phrases "have been" et cetera keeps us rooted in the present looking at the past. This of course distances us instead. "So it has been" is then parallel. "So it must be" is meant to break the parallelism because the picture of the past is not clearly drawn. Most of the description, in fact, is taken up with weak verbs like "have been" and clichés. Nothing specific has been mentioned. 

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred.

Another inelegant tense use and phrasing: "that we are in is. . ." and " is now well. . ." Finally the present tense follows. Two features appear again which will dominate the landscape of the speech: a preponderance of commas/pauses and a lack of specifics. The war is "against a network" not against anyone in particular. The distance from the people at war is increased by the fact that he doesn't even use any word for them at all, but merely refers to what they do, "violence" and "hate." Interestingly he uses "far-reaching" which emphasizes their reach but not their strength.

Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

More inelegance with "is badly weakened." More vagueness follows: some people did something bad and everyone failed to do something else. What does "prepare the nation for a new age" in fact mean? How does it relate to the previous or succeeding thought? The first actual rhetorical devices follow in the form of asyndeton (lack of expected conjunctions): "Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered." He follows with another, hyperbole: "each day brings further evidence." The phrase "that the ways we use" is again inelegant. A very pessimistic paragraph.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable, but no less profound, is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, that the next generation must lower its sights.

The next sentence treats the last paragraph as an argument: he has established we are in a crisis. "Subject to data and statistics" is a peculiar addition. What does it precisely mean? It sort of implies that the data might suggest a threshold for a crisis, but it is unclear. They function to make what precedes appear quantifiable and practice and what follows to be somehow spiritual. What follows is quite clever. Sapping is visceral and effective here, though the gerundial treatment is too lengthy to achieve a strong, concerted impact. Then we get "decline," really out of nowhere. It is wholly unprepared and we go from "crisis" to "decline." How can the fear be nagging if the fear is new? The fear can only be nagging if the decline is in the past and has been perceived and the crisis is present, yet he seems to be suggesting that the crisis is what would precede the decline (if we don't do what is necessary to avoid it.) It would not make sense to suggest that one has a nagging fear that the country is going to decline at some point in the future at some particular threshold, which would require present indicators of decline which would constitute said decline.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.

The direct address is meant to bring him closer to the listener again, to come back to him after all of the frightful talk of crisis and decline.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

This is all quite vague but reveals a few interesting things. First, it is merely an expanded way of saying "you voted for me and my ideas." Second, "On this day we gather" ignores that there were people gathered who did not support him. Here, then, he is only addressing his supporters. He also sets up some strange dichotomies: hope will lead to success and not fear, that having different purposes leads to conflict. These are of course not well-accepted or even intuitive contrasting pairs and he does not argue for them but rather asserts them. None of the "petty grievances" et cetera are named.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to "set aside childish things." The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

"We remain a young nation" is slightly out of place here since he is about to talk about founding documents and of course though the nation is old that it is governed by these same documents and has been for hundreds of years makes it in fact considerably older than many in this respect.

What childish things is he talking about? We went from "faithful to the ideals of our forbearers, and true to our founding documents" to "put aside childish things." He never names the bad ideas, but goes on to mention the three fundamental freedoms of America slightly modified. Instead of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" we have "all are equal," "freedom," and "full measure of happiness." This is a simple but effective passage, despite the vague "reaffirm."

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.

Again there are no specifics. We don't know how we're going to "reaffirm" anything. He uses no specific examples of events, people, places, or professions. There is no distinct picture. It is meant to praise hardworking, non-famous Americans but is vague to the point of being un-affecting. It desperately needs examples, which follow. Yet the fact that they follow makes this paragraph float adrift. We begin to feel the speech lacks a large-scale structure to relate ideas and create a fluidity which carries us through.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

These sentences are carefully constructed to suggest 1) all Americans are immigrants, 2) to praise both urban and farm workers, 3) praise both farmers and slaves, and 4) a praise all military service. It also sets up a causal relationship of service: they did what they did for us. As we see in many other places, this needs something to persuade us. Perhaps he could have addressed them or utilized an abrupt pause? Might not that have been affecting here?

Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

Again, we feel like we are being told facts when we should feel like we are being drawn into a narrative. The two parts of the second sentence are not logically connected: they worked hard because they didn't believe in "the differences of birth or wealth or faction?" If delivered in a rapid, excited, or emotional manner it could function an anacolutha, i.e. a breaking off in the structure for dramatic purpose, in this case to enhance the fact that the "differences of birth or wealth or faction" are meaningless and older generations were great and America is great for not considering them. It is also a light polysyndeton (the use of excessive conjunctions.) If delivered straightforward it merely seems a mistake.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions - that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

What journey was that? Carrying forward the "noble idea" and working for the next generation. What follows is an assertion of power and an assertion that America's problem is one of will and not any tangible force. As before, the ill forces are ill-defined.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of our economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age.

All this we can do.

All this we will do.

The opening phrase is effective, the two halves "everywhere we look" and "there is work to be done" of equal syllables. The parallel uses of "we will" emphasizes action with more specifics than before in the speech. The couplet makes concrete the assertions.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

This is an interesting bit of logic. He gathers his critics into one group and says their criticism amounts to being short-sighted and ignorant of American's greatness. This clever turn of logic would have been made much more powerful had he followed with any example. Too it is of interest to note that he cites what the country has done as an example that great things can be done and ascribes the success of those things to imagination and unity but not the actual skill it took to do them (whatever it was.) This is the essential logic of the speech. We will see it play out again later: communism and fascism were defeated not with tanks but alliances. Nuclear dangers will be avoided "with allies."

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

More interesting logic here. He again bypasses any negative ideas or criticisms: "they no longer apply" and "the question we ask to day is not. . ." This paragraph is somewhat awkward insofar as it alternates between extremely brief phrases like "programs will end" and a very casual style, "jobs at a decent wage," "care they can afford," ". . . that is dignified," "reform bad habits." These are very familial virtues. The paragraph concludes with an interesting bit of logic: accountability will restore trust. Not virtue or success but accountability.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control. The nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our Gross Domestic Product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on the ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

This paragraph is unremarkable in terms of style but it contains another interesting bit of logic: it equates spinning out of control with crisis and crisis with favoring only certain people. It too is vague, though, insofar as it doesn't mention the manner in or mechanisms by which anything occurs or has occurred.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers -- Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils that we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience'[s] sake. And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity. And we are ready to lead once more.

He rejects the dichotomy between safety and ideals, but does not say why. He asserts "We will not give them up for expedience'[s] sake." Who suggested to do so? What exactly is he talking about here? There needs to be something here to persuade. He moves right into the Founding Fathers building off of "ideals." That transition is very smooth but he says "we can scarcely imagine" which is ineffective because he is trying to draw a comparison. We need to imagine, he needs to draw a picture. (See concluding paragraph.) Interestingly he again avoids mention of specific founders or the titles of the documents, "Constitution" and "Declaration on Independence," but refers simply to a charter (with emphasis via a little anaphora.)

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with the sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We see still more pairs of ideas: fascism and communism, missiles and tanks, alliances and convictions. Again too is the "neither. . . nor. . . but rather. . ." construction. It is also interesting to argue that security, security in particular, emanates from righteousness. Does it? Being righteous may make you many things, but secure? Too, why does "prudent use" increase your power? Prudent use might do many things, why this in particular?

The syntax and sense with the clause beginning "instead" is clumsy. We have three sentences, beginning:

• Earlier generations faced down x and y not with a and b but c and d
• They understood neither e nor f was true. . .
• Instead they knew g, h, i, and j.

First, he throws too much out here which makes the paragraph border on being simply a list of assertions. Instead of building the third statement off of the second the sentences should have been kept parallel. The third clause begins "instead" despite the fact that the sense is the same as the preceding sentence, i.e. that earlier generations knew something. It should simply begin, "they knew." Obviously this is not a mistake but rather a deliberate, albeit sloppy, attempt to create a climax. This passage has the material ("earlier generations," "convictions") for a climax (lit. "ladder") and it would have been effective here more strongly to link the ideas. A climax here would have increased tension by provided a clear (and convincing) path from earlier generations to today and suggested the timelessness of the convictions. It should have concluded with "enduring convictions" which would have flowed nicely into the next paragraph.

Instead we have the typical situation of short and thinly connected sentences concluding with the awkward and unseemly, "restraint" (which at least should have been replaced by a steelier word, one more dignified and associated with virtue like "forbearance," "moderation," "reserve," "discipline," et cetera.)

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken. You cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you!

This introduction is effective despite the poor preceding climax. "Once more " implies the principles were dropped. This whole paragraph is a much more effective building of tension and climax with smooth transition from sentence to sentence and thought to thought. It is very simple though somewhat heavy on adjectives and adverbs. Interestingly, though, we have gone from, "nor does it entitle us to do as we please" to "We will not apologize for our way of life." Instead of using the word "terrorists" he says, "Those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror." That is a striking circumlocution to avoid the word.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

"For we know" implies a connection to the preceding paragraph which in fact is absent. The strength from being of "patchwork heritage" is a strength, but cannot be the only strength by which the enemy will be defeated. The disconnect is more clear if you remove the pause: we will defeat you because (for) we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength. The "we know" makes the syntax and sense more awkward since it ought to read we will defeat you because (for) our patchwork heritage is a strength. We couldn't defeat them if it were a weakness? Obviously he is trying to say that diversity is a virtue but has struggled to work it in.

He identifies not our present differences but past differences as a strength. Where he once drew distinctions between earlier generations and present, now he uses "we" to describe both: earlier generations faced down fascism and communism but we all tasted the bitter swill of civil war. "Bitter swill" and "shall" are clunky usages designed to make the paragraph feel more grand and formal.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West -- know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those -- To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

He now addresses other groups but does not say much. He offers no judgments of any kind, simply saying they are on the "wrong side" of history. The "fist" image is terribly cliche.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are the guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

More standard images: an unfolding road, far-off deserts, distant mountains. "That" figures so strongly in all of these constructions it now seems a sort of crutch. Why does he use "And yet. . .?" What contrast is implied? Again a simple sentence without some preparatory phrase would have been more effective: This spirit must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Some much needed specific examples if somewhat crudely written. "Willingness to nurture a child" is an odd turn of phrase designed to make the parent's sacrifice seem honorable when in fact it makes it seem optional.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- honesty and hard work, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the simplest, clearest, most specific, and best passage in the speech (aside from the use of the word "instruments.") It is still somewhat rough, though, as the change of structure from "those values. . ." to "these things" is somewhat cheesy. "What is demanded" is awkward and not vivid enough. This was the prime spot for a striking, defining, image of the "moment that will define a generation."

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred Oath.

This is again a little vague. How can what he just said "mean" liberty? What creed? The first "this is the price" refers to the preceding paragraph. The second refers to the "knowledge that God calls. . ." What does this one refer to? 

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The Capitol was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

Let it be told to the future world...that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it].

America: In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Again, this simple passage is among the best. The images are very traditional, the sentences are very short. It paints a picture which would have been much more effective at the beginning to build on and draw comparisons to rather than to lead up to. It also would have provided a vivid image which would have hovered over the whole speech.

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Brief Comments

What may we say in general about this speech? 1) it is quite light on figurative language or elaborate syntactical constructions. 2) The periodic length is very short and thus the ideas are easy to follow.  3) There are very few details, examples, or specifics. 3) He does not address critics. 4) There are a lot of weak verbs like "are" and "is" which are lost opportunities to be more specific and more vivid. 5) clauses are heavily dependent on the word "that" for clarity. 6) the vocabulary is limited, simple, common, and bland. 7) There is an overabundance of adjectives.

In particular, the "weak verbs" are problematic since they rob the speech of intensity and variety. Consider the phrase, "they have something to tell us" which is completely indistinct. Perhaps it could have read, "the soldier's sacrifice inspires the civilian. . ." Too "we are ready" might read "we stand ready." "They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history" would be stronger if stated as a truism (the rhetorical term is dilation, i.e. broadening the theme to include universal ideas) and 1) more tersely, 2) in grander fashion, or 3) with an image or example.

1) These private virtues make men–and nations.
2) The world moves not only through grand leaps captured by newspapers and recorded in books but also, more I think, through the silent virtues of decent men.
3) The triumph of today's hero might move the world for an hour, but the unprofitable, unseen, and unknown virtues of Americans move us day by day.

These are a but a few phrases which are bland and difficult to breathe life into.Let us compare this speech to one from the Founding Fathers President Obama mentioned.

George Washington's First Inaugural Address

AMONG the vicissitudes incident to life no event could have filled me with greater anxieties than that of which the notification was transmitted by your order, and received on the 14th day of the present month. On the one hand, I was summoned by my country, whose voice I can never hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat which I had chosen with the fondest predilection, and, in my flattering hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of my declining years—a retreat which was rendered every day more necessary as well as more dear to me by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent interruptions in my health to the gradual waste committed on it by time. On the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust to which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to awaken in the wisest and most experienced of her citizens a distrustful scrutiny into his qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despondence one who (inheriting inferior endowments from nature and unpracticed in the duties of civil administration) ought to be peculiarly conscious of his own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions all I dare aver is that it has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a just appreciation of every circumstance by which it might be affected. All I dare hope is that if, in executing this task, I have been too much swayed by a grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an affectionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the confidence of my fellow-citizens, and have thence too little consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination for the weighty and untried cares before me, my error will be palliated by the motives which mislead me, and its consequences be judged by my country with some share of the partiality in which they originated.

Comparison

1) Varied, [More] Complex, and Vivid Vocabulary: vicissitudes, predilection, immutable, despondence, transcendent, disinclination.
2) Longer Periods: The whole paragraph is only five sentences and is one thought.
3) Specific, Eloquent, and Memorable Turns of Phrase: vicissitudes incident to life, fondest predilection, flattering hopes, immutable decision, asylum of my declining years, the addition of habit to inclination, distrustful scrutiny, overwhelm with despondence, faithful study, grateful remembrance.

The first sentence is a brilliant introduction beginning with a vast concept, "the vicissitudes incident to life" and then inserting himself among them. The following sentence is a poetic and beautiful way of describing the call to service, "I was summoned by my country, whose voice I can never hear but with veneration and love. . ." It is also reminiscent of Demosthenes' First Olynthiac, "The present crisis, Athenians, calls on you, almost with an audible voice" [2]  a passage which President Obama could have quoted nearly verbatim. Washington's opening also is a clear exordium, or introduction, in which he clearly sets out his point with another Demosthenic device, the phrase "on the one hand. . . on the other." He also, a la Demosthenes, nests other clauses within the "one the one hand. . . on the other" structure. Among other virtues, this construction creates a large scale structure which alleviates you from have to make and link many smaller sentences with kludges like "Yet" "every so often," "at these moments" "for. . ." "that we are" which are wasteful insofar as they add nothing, grow wearisome to the ear, and break flow. 

Consider the following passage from Washington's Address:

. . .there is no truth more thoroughly established than that there exists in the economy and course of nature an indissoluble union between virtue and happiness; between duty and advantage; between the genuine maxims of an honest and magnanimous policy and the solid rewards of public prosperity and felicity; since we ought to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of Heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which Heaven itself has ordained; and since the preservation of the sacred fire of liberty and the destiny of the republican model of government are justly considered, perhaps, as deeply, as finally, staked on the experiment entrusted to the hands of the American people.

It is not so different from President Obama's in several respects, is it?

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- honesty and hard work, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

Washington's passage is one sentence of smoothly rising tension to a climax, building from an asserted universal truth that duty and advantage go together and ending with the ultimate arbiter of success: the American people. His vocabulary is firm: thoroughly established, indissoluble union; bright:magnanimous, prosperity, felicity; and grand: liberty, destiny. He also invokes the sacred with subtlety and elegance not by quoting it but by adopting its vocabulary: Heaven itself, ordained, and sacred fire. The images are also visual: smiles of heaven, fire of liberty. He does not say values as if values may differ, but instead he says truths and thus doesn't have to double back and waste words to add, "these things are true" as President Obama does. What President Obama says obliquely with "What is required," Washington unabashedly ascribes to the divine, "Heaven itself has ordained." For Washington the "destiny of the republican model" is in the people's hands and for Obama the people have "a difficult task."

This passage from President Obama's speech is not at all bad, but its vocabulary is dull and its lack of structure imposes awkward phrases and transitions. Clearly the speech attempts to mimic Washington's in several respects and the last sentence in the selection is not so far from succeeding.

Evaluating the Speech

It seems prudent first to consider what this occasion calls for in a speech. The Presidential Inaugural Address is, to use Aristotle's categories, part political and part epideictic. That is, it is partly concerned with urging a particular course of action and partly concerned with esteeming something. (See Rhetoric I.iii, 1358a.) The speech fails as a political speech on account of its vagueness. It conveys no course of action on which one can deliberate and it does not attempt to persuade. It can be an effective course not to present the ideas of your opponents, as this speech does, but the course you do suggest must be all the more clear. As Aristotle says, (Rhetoric I.ii, 1357a) the duty of rhetoric is to deal with matters for which we have no arts or system so guide us and which seem to present us with alternate possibilities. The job of the speaker is to make clear and appealing a particular course of action. Too, it would rhetorically have been effective to concede a point, perhaps to re-frame it or to use its truth to his advantage, or simply to appear magnanimous.

As a ceremonial speech it is more successful because it praises the American way of life, though as we saw in contrast to Washington's speech it is vague and bland. It is more successful as an epideictic speech when it simply extols the virtues of "loyalty and patriotism" than when it attempts to be grand, e.g. "Guided by these principles once more" "hatreds shall someday pass."

In addition to the fundamental nature of the Inaugural Address we ought to consider the circumstances of January 2009 when it was delivered. Most notable among the circumstances was the economic crisis. Part of any speech delivered that day would be to assure the people that they chose the right president and give them a way forward.

We ought to dwell a bit longer on Aristotle who noted (Rhetoric I.ii) that three modes of persuasion exist: 1) of the personal character of the speaker, 2) putting the audience in a particular frame of mind, 3) proof or apparent proof of the words themselves. We pass over evaluating the first aspect since such would be an overtly and exclusively political analysis. We have also observed that the speech does not address specific points of policy, thus it does not attempt to prove anything (mode 3.) The only mode remaining is that of putting the audience in a frame of mind. The speech certainly seems to be of this nature as it attempts to paint a situation of a new beginning and a fresh start. In this respect the speech's lack of argumentation is not a weakness and it somewhat succeeds in getting the audience to put things out of their minds. For a speech of this nature, though, the lack of attractiveness of the prose and the lack of structure (which would amplify the euphoric feeling it attempts to generate) are severe detriments. It needed to paint two vivid pictures: one of the past and one of the present. The speech did not do this. With such strengths and flaws I cannot see how someone who was not already in favor of President Obama could have been persuaded by the speech. (Consider for yourself "Mode 1" mentioned above.) It simply does not seem designed to win over critics. The plans it presents are not specific enough even to acknowledge as plans, the praise is not specific enough to endear, it is not grand enough to impress, it is not beautiful enough to captivate, and there is no attempt to persuade by argument. Too it does not succeed in developing a clear, plain style, a grand style, or a moderate one.

Aristotle at the opening of the Rhetoric identified the craft as that which utilizes the best of the available means of persuasion. The author of this speech would not seem to have availed himself of the potential means.

It is easier to say whether or not a speech is a good piece of literature than it is to say whether it accomplished its aim. As a piece of literature I think it is clear this speech is competently written but unremarkable, certainly not "worthy of marble." It pales in all respects before the great Classical speeches. It is seen to be rather limited in expression. It clearly expects less of its audience, and offers less, than Washington's.

Before we conclude, though, Demosthenes and Cicero have another lesson to teach us. It concerns evaluating the success of a speech. Both men rather infamously failed in their ultimate political quests, Demosthenes to rally the Greeks to successful opposition against Philip of Macedon and Cicero to prevent the republic from slipping under totalitarian control. The two men were also executed by the political parties which eventually gained power. Thus while their speeches define the form we would be hard pressed to say they were successful. (They did, of course, deliver many successful speeches throughout their careers.)

Was President Obama's Inaugural Speech successful as a political speech? I'll leave that for others to argue. Personally, one might consider the following: What do you remember about it? What did it persuade you of? What did it cause you to do or not do?

Permit me my personal reflection. I read President Obama's inaugural speech, in its entirety, closely and several times in writing this essay. I cannot presently recall the opening paragraph. I can, however, recall with great clarity and accuracy the opening of Demosthenes' 2nd Olynthiac, which begins with a theme not so dissimilar from President Obama's, but which I have not looked at in several years. Demosthenes' speech begins (translated):

On many occasions, men of Athens, one may, I think, recognize the manifest favor of heaven towards our city, and not least at the present crisis.

You may wish to read the speech here at the Perseus Project, which has both the original Greek and an English translation. This opening is a marvel of compression and clarity. The Greek is pleasing to the ear but not distractingly beautiful or poetic. It is perfectly balanced in tone, neither pedestrian nor highfalutin. It moves clearly from the past to the future, not only moving from past fortune to present crisis but also subtly intertwining the ideas. It makes you want to hear the argument to come. That's the power of but one sentence of Demosthenes and that's the standard for being "worthy of marble."

–

[1] http://www.tnr.com/article/politics/striking-new-chord
[2] Olynthiac 1.2 at the Perseus Project

Brief Notes on Rhetoric and Argument

If you read enough Classical literature you may, as I have, become a bit of stickler when it comes to argument and rhetoric. Read any Classical literature, let alone Demosthenes and Aristotle, and you are bound to notice how prominently public speaking and "making your case" figures. Making your case and making it well was an integral part of the Greek world, from Homer through the Athenian democracy, and the Roman world from republic through empire. From the great argument between Agamemnon and Achilles which opens the Iliad, through the orations and debates put down by Thucydides from the Peloponnesian War and Demosthenes' denunciations of Philip of Macedon, to Cicero's great corpus of speeches, rhetoric was an integral part of the Classical world.

For once, and perhaps only once, I will spare you readers some details. Today we will not go on a journey through time and trace the 3,000 history of rhetoric. We won't talk about Tisias and Corax and the birth of rhetoric, rhetoric vs dialectic, sophistry, Demosthenic use of articular infinitives, Ciceronian prose cadences, or the Aristotelian enthymeme. Maybe we will discuss these things one day, sooner if by popular demand (ahem!) but not today. In fact it is no enlightenment or inspiration which brought  me to discuss rhetoric at precisely this time.

As I said, knowledge or familiarity with the aforementioned makes one rather conscious of actually proving ones points when one attempts to make them. (It also tends to embolden the perpetually quarrelsome.) Such also tends to make one cognizant of deficiencies of argumentation where one finds them, which is in quite many places. One typically finds such errors in political articles, but sloppy arguments really do pop up everywhere. Many have been popping up of late and I thought it would be instructive and a little fun to re-post it here and go through it in my customary way. Unfortunately I cannot reprint any here in sufficient length to make my method useful and I don't think the author or publication would consent to re-print it here for such a purpose.

Instead, then, I thought I would share some of what I do with and to my own writing and essays I am analyzing. The following is not comprehensive, rather it is just a quick run through of my default steps in analyzing an essay. Some of these procedures are obviously not needed for needed for every essay.

–

If it is not my own writing I copy and paste it into a word processor witch which I can highlight text. I think most any will do this.

1) Re-read the article, not skipping anything.

2) Attempt to find the point of the essay. This is sometimes impossible but this is just a preliminary look. If you cannot find it, attempt to synthesize it and formulate it into as succinct a statement as possible. (Because x, therefore y.) In a complex essay, find the point of each paragraph.

3) Strike through (example) everything not related to the author's point or those which are clearly irrelevant.

4) Consider definitions, i. e. what words actually mean. If an author's definition of a word is unclear his entire enterprise is on shaky ground. Highlight key words in red and ask yourself how the definitions of these words affect the argument.

5) Highlight in one color all of the assertions, i.e. "X is blue." Aside from the extremely obvious, (The sky is blue) remember that the author has to prove everything in this color. If you find very many assertions the essay was probably written for someone who already agrees with the author on a number of fundamental points.

Yet it is not possible in every essay to lay out one's first principles and build them up from there. Nonetheless every article has such principles and the author ought to admit them. As such, then, it is often what is unwritten which dictates the direction and/or conclusion of the article. Because of this it is desirable one should know the first principles of the author as well as possible.

One also ought to consider the nature of the argument. For example, take the two main types of arguments:

1. Didactic arguments reason from the principles appropriate to each subject matter.
2. Dialectic arguments reason from premises generally accepted to the contradictory of a given thesis.

–

Now such should pare down the essay to the actual argument, but not all arguments are created equal. I find the following short list on spurious arguments and quasi-arguments from Book II of Aristotle's Rhetoric quite handy. I have skipped a few since they are included above.

1. assert of the whole what is true of the parts, and vice versa
2. painting a colorful picture of the situation without proving facts
3. using single instances as proof
4. representing the accidental/incidental as essential.
5. representing as causes things which are not causes but simply happened along with or before the event in question
6. leaving out mention of time and relevant circumstances.
7. confusing absolutes with particulars (e.g. since improbable things do happen, it is probable improbable things will happen, thus what is improbable is probable.)

Of course not all arguments are born bad, some go bad and some are not appropriate for the given  situation. For example:

1. Deference to authority or precedent relies on the truthfulness of the authority or precedent.
2. Arguments based on probability, like proof a fortiori (if a quantity does not exist where it is more likely to exist it does not exist where it is less likely), rely a great deal on the relative risks of the situation.
3. It is important to define your terms, yet one can dishonestly (or conspicuously) do so, for example excluding all of the negative aspects of a word from your particular use of it and ascribing them to an opposing idea. As Aristotle said, "a definition is a thesis." [Post. An. I.ii. 72a], i.e. the laying down of something, not an affirmation of its existence.
4. Sometimes actions may have both good and bad consequences.
5. If two results are the same, their antecedents are the same. (Maybe, but not necessarily.)

One must also consider supporting data and its representations such as charts, graphs, et cetera. Polls and other statistics are notoriously malleable, but also consider presentation: is the presentation of the data unnecessarily complex or conspicuously simple? Is the data up to date? Does it have the necessary context? What were the methodologies for collecting it? What conclusions, mainly yours but also contrary ones, can reasonably be drawn from it? Indeed it is difficult and often impossible to verify such data, but if you don't. . . Of course there is a degree of trust between author and reader, and we assume when we see quotations, for example, they were not taken out of context.

Lastly, one ought to consider the counter-arguments the author addresses. Does he address any? Does he only address ones which are obviously foolish or fallacious? Does he attack the person who made the argument instead of the argument itself? Ideally the author should address all of the best arguments to be made against his case. In making ones case one invariably comes up against potential contrary positions, but if the author hasn't seriously and rigorously attempted to make his case, then he probably won't foresee any objections to it either.

–

Happy arguing!

Manners, Duties, and Society

"Manners are of more importance than laws. . . Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in." [1]

These words from Edmund Burke no doubt sound stodgy and exaggerated to us today. Important as they may be, how can manners not only be so very important, but more important than actual laws? According to Burke manners are important in at least two ways: somehow in themselves and insofar as they are not laws, i.e. have no threat of force behind them. Burke in fact adds a third, that they are pre-rational. Let us examine these claims and find out if manners are as important as Burke says.

First let us look at the claim that manners are in themselves important. While we may deduce their importance from Burke's own statement, we in fact see his point much earlier in Giovanni della Casa's Renaissance treatise on manners, Galateo. The importance of manners lies in the frequency of their use:

. . . everyone must deal with other men and speak to them every day; thus, good manners must also be practiced many times daily, whereas justice, fortitude and he other greater and nobler virtues are called into service much more seldom. [2]

Indeed, manners are with us all of the time, applying everywhere. Not all social intercourse is of great importance and calls upon us to make critical and life-changing decisions. Nonetheless these little interactions can be pleasant or unpleasant. It is truly remarkable how much rudeness, inattentiveness, and surliness can offend and wrack the nerves.  The essence of manners, according to Della Casa, is taking into consideration other people's pleasures. Extravagant or improper dress, over-fastidiousness, inattention, and coarse language are all subtle disdains for others. Yet extreme sensitivity is improper too, since living with such a person is tantamount to servitude, like living amongst many fine glasses, afraid to make a move. Breaches of manners, then, are instances of saying "I'm more important than you" but they are more. These breaches are more, and more frustrating and unpleasant, because they appear arbitrary and not calculated. For example, the person blasting music from his car stereo is not saying, "Listen to this great music; I have such great taste you should listen to my music!" He is saying, "I'm listening to my music how and where I want and you don't figure into my world at all." Understood as such, lack of manners is incompatible with, and detrimental to, anything to be called society. It is surprisingly easy to ignore someone with bad ideas, quite hard to ignore someone who lets a door slam in your face. Manners are thus omnipresent and practical.


Let us now consider Burke's point that manners have a unique function insofar as they are pre-rational, that is we do not really think about them or are taught how or why to be respectful of them. This is likely true insofar as we observe them before we fully comprehend them, but in the end is it so? Not if they are indeed a segue into learning duties, for learning manners is a step toward assuming duties. We would seem to need finer definitions of the fuzzy terms "manners" and "duties." This task is somewhat complicated by the common usages of these words and by the fact the concepts behind them are inextricably linked, and in some cases seemingly overlapping. Manners can either be simply a way of doing things, i.e. a manner in which something gets done, or a particular way of doing things, i.e. a way known to be good. Thus "manners" usually means "particular manners" or "good manners."

How should we consider manners then? First and following Aristotle we should note that we ought not to expect more precision in our discussion than the material permits, as such we should be content with some necessary generalities and exceptions. Second, it would be pedantic and impossible to attempt to redefine the word "manners" for analysis, thus we should use the common usage in our discussion.

Let us say then manners have two aspects, the practical and the dutiful. The first sense is unique to manners themselves. Their ability to smooth relations and make life pleasant is practical. Yet why are they so and why do we praise people with them? Only because they are themselves manifestations of duties. For example, we consider it good manners to act a certain way toward one's parents, yet such is only so because it is thought to be a duty to be pious towards them. Piety being a broader concept which encompasses manners towards one's parents. Without concepts of duties, manners are simply empty gestures. As such without a concept of duties it would be indeed unsurprising for manners to endure since anyone can see they have no purpose any longer. (Besides their practical aspect, of course, which I do not expect as many people would notice.)


To learn manners, then, is to begin relationships with others, relationships of particular natures. We learn how to behave toward parents, toward grandparents, siblings, friends, neighbors, fellow citizens, each relationship being somehow unique. We may observe that since we learn manners as children incapable of actually performing duties, manners come first as affectations and precursors. As such then we may see each manner as connected to some duty.

We assume the responsibilities of duties by being born to a particular people, most centrally to a family, and learning how, i.e. the manner in which, to relate to them. Assuming duties toward them is something necessary, quite obviously, for the continuance of society. In a simply practical way, the assumption of familial duties is practical: no one can take care of himself as a child and as an old man, times when your parents and children ought to take care of you. Of course such is not always possible, and in such cases extended family and friends and neighbors help you. The authority to carry out these essential tasks is thus quite diffused, in unpredictable and imperceptible ways, amongst family and neighbors, forming a complex web of obligations, with the individual assuming various duties towards different people: friend to friend, son to parents, neighbor to neighbor, and so on. These complex webs give communities, both families and towns, unique characters.

Thus manners and associations, for example those familial ones which exist by nature, are inextricable. Manners are the immediate facilitators of duties.

None of this is of course codified anywhere and there is no legislation to turn to. It is simply customary, or custom. The best analogy here is that of the mores maiorum of the Romans. The customs of the Romans' ancestors were preserved not primarily through law and enforcement but by the impetus of the feeling that they had to be preserved, that such was simply the way a Roman ought to do things. How else would you do it, how else would a certain thing get done? The Roman way, this way.

It would be foolish and impossible to consider transplanting Roman virtues to the present day as is, though inquiry would be instructive as many of Rome's problems then are ours now. To that end let us briefly look to Cicero, who wrote de Officiis (On Duties) in the last year of Cicero's life in 44BC. We ought first to note that the Latin "officiis" and English "duties" do not quite carry the senses of consistency, propriety, and rightness of the Greek καθηκόντως (kathekontos.) Looking at Cicero's whole program is beyond our scope here, but there is one argument quite relevant to our Burkean concept of rights, in which Cicero contrasts the notion of a voluntary protector and personal domain and the ruler, or the notions of patrocinium (defense patronage), dominium, and imperium (rule.) C. N. Cochrane aptly summarizes the implications of Cicero's outlook:

From this standpoint there can be no question as to the ultimate residence of sovereignty; it is and must remain with the populus or organized community whose primacy is, thus, theoretically secure and final. This community is the generative source both of imperium and dominium, the former the principle of public order, the latter that of private right. But, in contradistinction from dominium, imperium is non-hereditary and, so far from conferring any title to ownership, it exists in order to protect owners in their titles. Accordingly, to transform it into an instrument of possession is to deny the fundamental idea of the commonwealth and to confuse it with those forms of barbaric kingship for which no such distinction exists. On this fact depend the scope and character of magisterial power. The magistrate is charged with the maintenance of public order and, for that reason, armed with coercive authority. But that authority is limited by the terms of commission; to abuse it is to create a right of resistance on the part of the sovereign people whose 'majesty' is thus infringed (laesa maiestas populi Romani). A situation like this is, however, pathological; it develops only when terrorism (vis et terror) has replaced the true basis of political cohesion, viz. consent (voluntas.) [3]

Aside from the republican, legal-political, natural rights, and what someone today would unavoidably characterize as Jeffersonian nature of these ideas, Cicero here acknowledges spheres of influence. Namely, that the domain of the family is not that of the state. The former, natural and hereditary, is the domain of our obligations to one another, and the latter positive, of legal maintenance, i.e. custodianship. The mixing of these spheres is destructive of families and obligations. Such a mixing could have a variety of causes, most obviously a broad failure of some highly necessary obligation which then gets taken up by the state or an outright usurpation by the state. In his essay on Burke, Ian Crow nicely summarized this transformation:

Of course, as our natural sympathies and associations are swept away there is one relationship that remains inviolable–that between the liberated individual, and the source of his liberation, the central government. If this is a contract, it is hardly one between equal parties! Nevertheless, the trappings of this liberation are likely to be present in force: written constitutions, paper rights, and all the other guarantees that lead us to equate legitimate authority with rationalism on parchment and, by a trompe l’oeil, the omnipresent government as the only legitimate source of that authority.

While the fight for influence, when it happens, turns upon this central power, the collapse of our true sources of liberty proceeds almost unnoticed. Burke saw a resistance to that centralism as built into our natures, but it is also a resistance rooted in our local affections: “The strong struggle in every individual found to belong to him and to distinguish him, is one of the securities against injustice and despotism implanted in our nature.” [4]

Indeed exchanging one's unwritten laws, customs, traditions, and manners for some theoretical guarantee from the government is a most unwise trade. First, it is depersonalizing. Instead of an individual personally carrying out duties of, say charity, toward his neighbors, the government "liberates" him from this duty. Now with the government "taking care of" charity, what is the relationship amongst neighbors? Between them and the state? The government is a sort of proxy in between relationships, usurping power of money and of loyalty. And as we said above, without duties, why should we expect manners to endure? Indeed having some unwritten code of living together, i.e. a society, is preferable to having everything legislated and administered.

In Rhetoric I.xiii Aristotle categorized these unwritten laws into two types, one essentially of honor ("springing from goodness or badness") and one of a practical nature, supplementing the written law. The latter, what he calls equity, is a similar smoothing of relations, asking us to distinguish between criminal acts and instances of misfortune and poor judgment." Equity bids us be merciful to the weakness of human nature; to think less about the laws than the man who framed them, and less about what he said than what he meant." Equity relies on similar conceptions of life, i.e. literally common sense, and good will. That it does not legally bind and has no threat of physical force behind it is significant,  and abiding by such ad hoc judgments reflects a desire for harmony and not simply requital. It requires, though, one to acknowledge bonds with others.

A hyper-litigious society in part is one whose people have forgotten how to relate to one another. A society with a massive welfare state is one whose people have either defaulted on their social obligations or had them usurped, in both cases to the detriment of liberty and community. Without duties, the end reason for manners, manners are mere pleasantries and people will sense their superfluousness and not bother with them. The result in both cases is a people who can only relate to each other through the state, or not at all.

A solution, or at least a step in the right direction, would be to suppress the urge that "there ought to be a law for. . ." and simply in one's personal life carry out one's duties. The difference on man can make not only by doing good but by being known to be good is quite remarkable.

–

[1] Burke, Edmund. The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke: A New Edition, v. VIII. London: F. C. and J. Rivington, 1815. p.172

[2] Eisenbichler, Konrad and Bartlett, Kenneth R. (trans.) Galateo: A Renaissance Treatise on Manners by Giovanni Della Casa. Center for Reformation and Renaissance Studies. 1994.

[3] Cochrane, Charles Norris. Christianity and Classical Culture. Oxford University Press. London. 1968. p. 57

[4] Crowe, Ian. Edmund Burke on Manners. Modern Age, Volume 39, Number 34. Fall 1997. [PDF] [Journal]

Recommended Reading
Free (PDF) via Google Books

Burke by John Morley.  [Link]

Reflections on the Revolution in France by Edmund Burke [Link]

Freedom and Natural Law

A few weeks ago in an interview with Reason TV, libertarian Judge Andrew Napolitano made the following statements about the Constitution of the United States in the context of natural law:

The constitution protects persons, it's not limited to Americans. And persons is not even limited to good persons. It protects Americans, it protects aliens, it protects those legally here, it protects those illegally here, it protects those who wish us well and those who have caused us harm. It makes no distinction whatsoever. This is absolutely consistent, the constitutional protection of persons, with the Lockean, and Jeffersonian, and Augustinian, view, and Thomistic view, that our rights come from God and are gifts into our humanity, and are as much a part of us as the fingers on the ends of our hand.

That would apply to me, to you, to George W. Bush, to Barack Obama, to Khalid Sheik Mohammad, to Richard Speck, to Al Capone, to anybody that the government wants to restrain for any reason.

The boldness and openness, even brashness, of these statements undoubtedly take even proponents of natural rights off guard. Yet somehow the tone is familiar. Quite a long time ago someone else boldly made the case for natural law:

True law is in keeping with the dictates of both reason and of nature. It applies universally to everyone. It is unchanging and eternal. Its commands are summons to duty, and its prohibitions declare that nothing wrongful must be done. As far as good men are concerned, both its commands and its prohibitions are effective; though neither have any effect on men who are bad. To attempt to invalidate this law is sinful. Nor is it possible to repeal any part of it, much less to abolish it altogether. From its obligations neither Senate nor people can release us. And to explain or interpret it we need no one outside our own selves.

There will not be one law at Rome, and another at Athens. There will not be different laws now and in the future. Instead there will be one, single, everlasting, immutable law, which applies to all nations and all times. The maker, and umpire, and proposer of this law will be God, the single master and ruler of us all. If a man fails to obey God, then he will be in flight from his own self, repudiating his own human nature. As a consequence, even if he escapes the normal punishment for wrongdoing, he will suffer the penalties of the gravest possible sort. [Translation by Michael Grant.]

This is the famous passage on natural rights from Book III of Cicero's "On the State" and it seems safe to say Cicero exceeds Judge Napolitano in eloquence. Even with Cicero, though, there is something daring about discussing the natural law, something audacious about declaring one rule for all everywhere. It's exhilarating too.

HBO's miniseries John Adams properly suggests the initial impact of such a statement. Adams, upon reviewing Jefferson's draft of the Declaration:

Well this is something altogether unexpected. . . not only a declaration of our independence but of the rights of all men.

Indeed, and the draft bears even more striking resemblance to Cicero than the final version, speaking of how the king "waged cruel war against human nature itself." [1] Nonetheless the final draft rings clear also:

. . . to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them. . .

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator  with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. . .

Individual rights are an individual's by nature. Period. The statement is boldly laid down as an axiom, not open to negotiation. This is not a dissertation on independence, but a declaration of it. These rights do not come down from kings or oligarchs or up from the majority, but reside in each individual.

Indeed, and Napolitano also makes a key point: that the American Constitution only mentions individuals, not groups. It does not create distinctions and does not have different sets of rules for dealing with different "types" or "groups" of people. It can only deal with people in one way, as individuals.

What a risk, not just to personal life, but of failure in establishing law and government of such a nature. For a mob to behead its tormentors is one thing and it is similar for a small oligarchy to change its puppet. History has many such examples and historians and philosophers have noted the tendency of governments to rotate amongst democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, and monarchy. The forming of a constitutional democratic-republic formed by delegates elected from the people in order to replace a tyranny is not quite as common.

Many factors, some of chance and some created, must come to be for success in such an undertaking. Aristotle noted one, "In the generations of men as in the fruits of the earth, there is a varying yield; now and then, where the stock is good, exceptional men are produced for a while, and then decadence sets in." (Rhetoric II, xv.) Notions of "stock" aside, the Founding Fathers were a remarkable generation. (Using "generation" loosely as their ages were actually rather varied.) It is common to praise, even glorify, these men, but panegyric unfortunate and unnecessary. While it would be foolish and inappropriate to praise as a group their individual virtues, a broad reading of their lives reveals at least one virtue: the intellectual. Aside from the difficulties of the philosophical and liberal arts works that constituted the core of their education, the study of the law was particularly difficult. This owed to a lack of what we know as "text books," difficulties in obtaining texts, and the "dreary ramble" (in Adams' words) of studying the law with the standard text of the time, the "bewildering mass" of the work of Sir Edward Coke. [2]

While we of course benefit from their great sacrifices and challenges, we too continue to gain from what were at the time minute things: staying home to study and wading through Aristotle, Thucydides, and Edward Coke.

In what is actually a paraphrase and amalgamation of correspondence between John and Abigail Adams, HBO's miniseries about America's 2nd president ended with this statement:

No, posterity, you will never know how much it cost us to preserve your freedom. I hope that you will make a good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it.

–

 At the site where John Adams as buried, United First Parish Church, Quincy, MA.

(click to enlarge)

Pilgrim,
From Lives thus spent thy earthly Duties learn;
Form Fancy's Dreams to active Virtue turn:
Let Freedom, Friendship, Faith, thy Soul engage,
And serve like them, they Country and thy Age.

–

[1] http://www.ushistory.org/declaration/document/rough.htm
[2] Malone, Dumas. Jefferson the Virginian. Little, Brown and Company. Boston. 1948.

Common Knowledge

The Young Cicero Reading. Vincenzo Foppa. Fresco, 1464.

 A selection from David McCullough's John Adams:

"You are now at a university where many of the greatest men have received their education," Adams reminded him. He must attend all the lectures possible, in law, medicine, chemistry, and philosophy. . . [Adams] sent a gift of several volumes of Pope, and a fine edition of a favorite Roman author, Terence, in both Latin and French. "Terence is remarkable, for good morals, good taste, and good Latin," Adams advised. "His language has simplicity and an elegance that make him proper to be accurately studied as a model." On hearing that John Quincy's course studies did not include Cicero and Demosthenes, Adams could hardly contain his indignation. John Quincy must begin upon them at once, he declared, "I absolutely insist upon it."

Latin and Greek were not all that mattered. John Quincy must neither forget nor fail to enjoy the great works of his own "mother tongue," and especially those of the poets. It was his happiness, too, that mattered.

"Read somewhat in the English poets every day. You will find them elegant, entertaining, and constructive companions through your whole life. In all the disquisitions you have heard concerning the happiness of life, has it ever been recommended to you to read poetry?"

". . .You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket. You will never have an idle hour."

"You will ever remember that all the end of study is to make you a good man and a useful citizen." [1]

–

What might Mr. Adams make then of the college student today, not only unable to quote Shakespeare, but unable to recognize him? Of one who reads neither the Greek nor Roman languages and cannot recall the histories of either? What of a woman, B.A. in hand, who would not know what to make of being called a Porphyria, a Portia, or a Penelope? What should we make of a graduate who knows not a whit of Keats or a phrase of Mozart?

We might say that when such a person reads, he has nothing to compare it to. When he writes, he has no model for elegance. When he hears music, he cannot say whether it is more harmonious or rhythmic than anything else. When he sees an item in the newspaper, he cannot say whether, one time ago, a similar event happened with a similar cause. What one might most generally say is that this individual lacks the ability to make an analogy, perhaps by lack of intellect but at least by lack of information. We might say that lacking any knowledge of what has happened, exists, or is possible, this individual cannot assess the significance of what he perceives. Is is rare, commonplace, ugly, beautiful, dangerous?

One of Adams' points developed above is the need for a model against which to compare both one's work and the work of others. Usually works thought to exemplify a particular idea or ideal are held up as models, ones studied, imitated, and perhaps surpassed after one's education. There exist models of every archetype, the hero, villain, genius, fool, gentleman, rake, statesman, tyrant, et cetera. What of these, though, constitutes an education? As often is the case we come now to a definitional issue: what is an education? Let us take a simple definition and see what it suggests:

1. the act or process of imparting or acquiring general knowledge, developing the powers of reasoning and judgment, and generally of preparing oneself or others intellectually for mature life.
2. the act or process of imparting or acquiring particular knowledge or skills, as for a profession. [2]
   

We immediately see a bifurcation between general knowledge (1) and specialized, vocational knowledge (2). The former is what presently concerns us, though I would preface by noting vocational education should succeed that which is defined in part one, i.e. reason and judgment should precede all other study, be it of the law, medicine, farming, et cetera.

For part one (1) of our definition I first draw your attention to the concept of "developing the powers of reasoning and judgment." One recalls the tired teachers' platitude that they, "do not teach you x, y, or z, but rather teach you to think." Do they, in fact? Are students taught principles of "thinking," about concepts, precepts, first principles, causality, epistemology, dialectic, or logic? Even in philosophy courses these issues take a back seat to the more appealing ones. Who wants to grind through formal logic and Aristotle's Physics when you can read Socrates being clever in The Republic. And when one reads The Republic, what is easier to focus on: whether the state should ban bad books, or whether dialectic is itself a valuable epistemological tool?  Issues of morality and ethics are more fun to debate because everyone has an opinion of them, though to be taken seriously they must stand on epistemological and metaphysical foundations. Understanding of such principles requires time and patience. The worksis inglorious, and the rewards may seem always far off, though "it is wonderful how might may be done if we are always doing." [2] How many people can claim to have been taught these principles?

The are usually only two systematized approaches to thinking offered students, broadly referred to as "the scientific method" and the "geometric proof." Sadly, both are explained without a philosophical context and only applied within their respective realms. It is as if to say to the student, "in these two fields, (or even more specifically, "in these two classes") we have strict methodologies about making, testing and substantiating claims about the world. Outside of these fields, good luck!"

Of course the positive significance of teaching these two rational methods must not be overlooked. Consider the great technological achievements achieved in spite of a lack of overt training in "thinking". Yet one need only listen to a scientist, even a fine and successful one, even perhaps the greatest of his era, express his views on something outside his field to learn that philosophical poverty (and its dangers) may be the concomitants of this selectively-applied, strictly "scientific" reason.

To quote economist Thomas Sowell, "The problem isn't that Johnny can't think, it's that Johnny doesn't know what thinking is." Indeed. Students are not taught any systematized way of making sense of the world thus they do not in fact know what it means to "think" about something.

–

Before continuing we must make a few concessions regarding our statements and their implications:

1. We must be wary in judging a culture by its art. True, art can be considered a barometer for values, yet we must consider whether art that is famous or, even art that is excellent, whether or not it necessarily reflects the values of the people of the society that produced it.
2. We must consider a culture's best and brightest independently from the hoi polloi, not necessarily because their values differ but because the latter group lacks the resources (leisure or intellect) to appreciate some art.

Such is why I have confined this discussion to college-educated people and thus is why when we speak of "a society" we are in fact only speaking of a certain group within that society. Yet those we speak of we expect to be the best and brightest, those most capable of receiving and carrying on the best of the culture into which they were born. I also consider that which is passed on to be significant:

A liberal humanist education is underpinned by the assumption that children are rightful heirs to the legacy of the past. It takes responsibility for ensuring this inheritance is handed over to the young. It is because education gives meaning to human experience that it needs to be valued in its own right. One of the key characteristics of education is its lack of interest in an ulterior purpose. That does not mean it is uninterested in developments affecting children and society; it means that it regards the transmission of cultural and intellectual achievements of humanity to children as its defining mission. [5]

–

Continuing, part two (2) of our definition concerns "general knowledge." What a society considers "general knowledge" defines its ethos and character, i.e. its heroes, villains, its stories, music, literature; even sayings, euphemisms, superstitions, myths, et cetera. With our earlier observations in mind, what can we say is "common knowledge" for "educated," i.e. college-educated, people? One might say, that which is taught to everyone in college, i.e. the baseline college education; in other words, that which today constitutes a Bachelor of Arts degree or a liberal education. As far as I can tell, the meaning of the BA is indiscernible, suggesting neither a particular body nor degree of knowledge.

Charles Murray describes the ridiculousness of the current "BA System":

Imagine that America had no system of post-secondary education, and you were a member of a task force assigned to create one from scratch. One of your colleagues submits this proposal:

First, we will set up a single goal to represent educational success, which will take four years to achieve no matter what is being taught. We will attach an economic reward to it that seldom has anything to do with what has been learned. We will urge large numbers of people who do not possess adequate ability to try to achieve the goal, wait until they have spent a lot of time and money, and then deny it to them. We will stigmatize everyone who doesn't meet the goal. We will call the goal a "BA."

You would conclude that your colleague was cruel, not to say insane. But that's the system we have in place. [4]

We have a curriculum watered down in the hopes of making it within reach of people who cannot otherwise understand it. First, this curriculum naturally hurts those capable or seeking a full liberal arts education and second, when those the curriculum was watered down for fail, it benefits no one. (No one, except perhaps high schools who get to boast that their students went on to college, testing services, and the colleges' coffers.)

Culturally, though, what is the impact? A culture where you cannot discuss Shakespeare or Mozart with a college graduate. One where a single chord that should wring the heart and would have set a scholar from generations ago to exclaim, "Beethoven!" goes unrecognized. Perhaps most conspicuously absent, so conspicuously on account of its long history and esteem, is Classical knowledge. Stories, myths to some cultures and simply examples to others, that have bound and permeated Western Civilization for the last 2,500 years and more are now not part of the common cultural ethos. Who would be touched to be called a Pylades or a Hypermnestra? Does invoking the name "Hecate" conjure up the thoughts for people today as it did for past readers? Even in the 18th and 19th centuries, amidst the burgeoning of science and the enlightenment, Greek and Roman stories flourished in art. One could fill pages listing merely the operas based on Classical themes and characters. The people of those eras had no pretense such stories told happened, i.e. the stories were not myths to these people, but they retold them because those stories said something important, about the world, about man, his nature, strengths, weaknesses and so on. I would theorize also because these stories were theirs as Westerners. It was their inherited tradition, the Western way of understanding the world and how they thought man should live in it, and it was their gift to enjoy, their challenge to increase, and their duty to pass on. 

Without the same body of stories, historical or mythical, how to understand Mozart recalling Shakespeare, Shakespeare evoking the name of a Roman king, or Gluck quoting Tasso quoting Homer? More practically, who would know the difference if you called the president a Honorius or a Cincinnatus, called a battle a Cannae or a Zama?

I am reminded of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation in which Captain Picard has to communicate with an alien who communicates strictly by metaphor, for example instead of saying "he is alone" he would say he is "on the ocean" and to express a great struggle, he would mention the names of two famous people who struggled. The alien, dying, asks Picard to tell him one of his Earth stories and Picard tells him the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu:

The difficulty of course was that the characters had different stories and different traditions, but what if Picard had none? The episode concludes with Picard reading the Homeric hymns and familiarizing himself with "our stories." What story would you, could you, tell? Of Ceyx and Alcymone, Achilles versus Hector, of the labors of Hercules or the crimes of Heliogabulus?

What is the alternative to investing some portion of society with its historic culture? For the West, perhaps it is a hopelessly literal society that forgoes artistic, metaphorical expression and chooses to express an emotion clinically or with vulgarity instead of with beauty. Perhaps it is an arrogant one writing heedless of Cicero or Demosthenes, or a cowardly one that prefers to medicalize parts the human condition instead of embracing or at least pondering them. (On that note, consider Adams' suggesting to his son that a poet be a companion and poetry a source of happiness.) It is generally, though, an ungrateful one that treats tradition as a burden instead of as an inheritance.

In his essay The New Learning That Failed Victor Davis Hanson accurately describes the decline of the Classical core of liberal education. I have been concerned more with the effect, which I see most of all to be a decline of communication, a decline: of capacity to  communicate at all (lack of intellect and reason), of desire to communicate with grace, sophistication, and depth (lack of models), and ability to draw on universal, significant, elements (lack of stories); all components of a Classical education. Yet Hanson points out what is perhaps modernity's worst crime against its Western heritage:

The West, alone of world cultures, was self-critical and introspective, curious about other civilizations, ready to turn its own empirical standards on itself, always attempting to match its idealism with actual fact—Socrates teaching about the vanities of the wealthy, Antigone the bias of the male chauvinist, Aristophanes the contradiction of democratic egalitarianism, or Tacitus and Sallust the use of Western military power for nefarious purposes. Indeed, professors and students are now denouncing perceived Western pathologies only through a tradition of Western empiricism and free expression of thought, unavailable elsewhere. [6]

The turning of Western tradition's virtue of self-criticism into self-immolation and self-repudiation is the heart of the loss of our stories. I believe Dr. Hanson has answered the why of it in his essay, so now we may ask: what have we in their stead?

–

Other Online Reading:

- The Yale Report of 1828 · Part I: Liberal Education and Collegiate Life

- The Yale Report of 1828 · Part II: Liberal Education and the Classical Curriculum

- List of Liberal Arts colleges in the United States.

–

[1] McCullough, David. John Adams. Simon and Schuster Paperbacks. New York. 2001. (pp. 259-260)
[2] Education. Dictionary.com
[3] Malone, Dumas. Jefferson the Virginian. Little, Brown and Company. Boston. 1948. (pp. 57)
[4] Murray, Charles. For Most People, College is a Waste of Time.WSJ.August 13, 2008.
[5] Furedi, Frank. Let's give children the 'store of human knowledge.' Spiked Online. November 18, 2009.
[6] Hanson, Victor Davis. The New Learning That Failed. The New Criterion. May 2008.