Rhetoric Examples

Pretty good…

http://www.businessweek.com/magazine/content/08_26/b4090055452749.htm

“The Dirty Truth about Clean Coal” uses the aspects of rhetoric to reveal clean coal for what it is. It firstly explains what the idea of clean coal is all about so that a uniformed reader can have a clear understanding of the issue. Including quotes from various sources, it demonstrates that it’s trying to get at the truth. By addressing issues from cost to safety, both things that are incredibly important to the American public, pathos is utilized. Yet the argument is not one sided and presents information about the technology in such a way that the facts for and against it can be judged by the reader. By giving statistics, timelines, figures, and facts, the reader is left with information of what clean coal is, and if it’s even clean. Quotes from government officials, including the former leader of the U.S. Energy Department’s carbon sequestration group, prove authenticity and credibility as well. Overall it’s an informative and effective article.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKR-6Szlv0g

This video uses dramatic, almost scary music, and dark, cloudy pictures to appeal to the viewers’ emotions. By using a background of a smokestack it evokes the dirty feeling that factory emissions provokes, and demonstrates that coal is not a clean thing. It uses images of the relationship that the American Coal Council has to CNN as well as to the presidential debates, showing the bias in the media toward clean coal. Also, by quoting the New York Times and pointing to documents and transactions between ACC and CNN, the video establishes credibility with the viewer.

Not so great…

http://cleantechnica.com/2008/10/09/5-dirty-aspects-of-clean-coal/

This article titled “5 Dirty Aspects of ‘Clean Coal’” includes some aspects of rhetoric, but doesn’t use them as effectively as it could or should. While it is clearly readable, and the reader doesn’t need to devote a significant amount of time or commitment to reading it, it doesn’t really draw the reader’s attention in any sort of way. The argument lacks appeals to pathos simply stating facts and information. The various points use mostly logos to appeal to the reader as the author discusses a variety of arguments against “clean coal.” It gains some credibility by quoting studies as well as addressing the government’s actions, but does not provide citations for the rest of the information presented. The article is certainly not all bad and includes quite a bit of good information, it just is not as convincing as it could be and does not use the elements of rhetoric to the extent that it could.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8Gy-kgL8yA

This video I would deem to be an ineffective use of rhetoric. Trying to make a catchy statement about the abundance of coal that helps the U.S. economy, it does little more than to say that the coal is becoming cleaner without supporting those statements with any reasoning. It does not give any evidence that the statements are credible, does not provide any further information or proof (logos) and does a poor (at best) job of appealing to pathos.

Cradle to Cradle

Not only did McDonough and Braungart write the book Cradle to Cradle, but they created the term. Their company MBDC, founded in 1995, prides itself on its “cradle to cradle design” that “maximizes ecological and social benefit” (according to their website). But in their book they are not trying to sell their own products or have us simply buy into their ideology; they purpose themselves to gives us new eyes with which we can see the world, its natural processes, and what we can learn from it.

Not many appeals to ethos are needed, seeing as the authors essentially established the idea. The main question they need to answer is if their idea really works. They establish credibility by again and again pointing to real life examples of each system they discuss (the beginnings of a polymer based book, an ecologically and people friendly building, the garden roof). They point to their involvement with tiny phrases including “when Michael tested it” (p. 72) alluding to his scientific literacy, and “Bill’s firm led the team that designed it” (p. 75). Interspersing practical solutions with information about nature’s way of working and current inefficient (or they would say in-effective) products based on our way of working allow them to demonstrate their knowledge of a myriad of topics.

The major literary strategy used is contrast, which allows the reader to emotionally see the logic behind these new, innovative developments. From the beginning, the duo attempts to paint a picture of the practical, typical, well-loved hardcover book, revealing its effects to the environment with words like “some of the most dangerous cancer-causing material ever created by humans.” Then the eco-friendly book is presented as a positive, sustainable alternative, with a happy, hippy vibe, but alas it too is toxic, unappealing and almost unreadable. McDonough and Braungart’s fresh idea of a waterproof, perfectly recyclable, easy to read, attractive book with “sheer tactical pleasure” stands in stark contrast to the other pictures they painted and then smudged with truth. But the ink on the polymer pages “won’t rub off on the reader’s fingers.” By using words like “sensuous smoothness” they apply their ideas to the reader’s emotions (pathos) while pointing to the sheer practicality of what they’re saying (“this book is durable enough to last for many generations”).

They repeat this tactic in the discussion of the “energy-efficient” building as they point to the drab, dreary, dark, musky feeling of a traditionally energy-efficient office and replace it with sun-roofs, natural airflows, grassy roofs, lots of light, and the ability to control the “flow of fresh air and the temperature of their personal breathing zones.” This option is obviously (in part to an emotional response and in part to a logical response) the superior of the two. Yet again it is the practical option as well, seeing as the workers are more likely to stay. Plus, it was build for “only 10 percent” more than a standard building would have cost. McDonough and Braungart, you are quite convincing!

Another contrast they draw on is the difference between eco-efficiency and eco-effectiveness. Defining these terms they demonstrate the difference between “making the wrong things less bad” versus actually working on the right things to begin with. This is logical (“Once you are doing the right things, then doing them ‘right’… makes perfect sense.”) and makes the reader want to be logical and not to simply continue floundering in the uselessness of working with the wrong model to begin with. This innovation and creativity is an appealing proposal. By comparing our humanly ideas of efficiency, with nature’s plan for effectiveness (illustrated through the cherry tree), McDonough and Braungart cater to the beauty (even if it’s messy) and practicality of nature’s way. Then, again, they contrast this to what the natural world would look like if it were to use “the human model of efficiency”, starting out with things like fewer cherry blossoms, which would lead to fewer songbirds. Then they hit the clincher by saying that this would bring about “less diversity, less creativity and delight.” By pointing to some of the things that humans cherish as ‘inefficient’ they hold the reader’s attention and help us to begin to break out of this mold which we have created, and which seems so undesirable.

In the discussion of growth they contrast the growth of nature (described as “beautiful and healthy”) to the growth of industrial cities, which they say is often referred to as “cancer.” Cancer, as something not completely understood, something scary, and something bad, is a strong comparison to make, really hitting home in the pathos department.

Throughout the article, they point out the logical solution, which is not necessarily a solution, but rather an inspiration, by making it obvious and making it desirable. The theme of this chapter very well might be that of hope, a theme that touches the heart. Even in an “airless, fluorescent-lit gray cubicle” (p.76) there is hope. Even when the environment is being degraded, there is hope for a continued future on earth, and that future is painted as far more desirable to that of life of Mars or the moon. Summing up the selection they again make a comparison, but this time with a challenge. “Instead of fine-tuning the existing destructive framework, why don’t people and industries set out to create…” which is followed by a list. But the last bullet is so broad, so general, so full of hope, that it seems like the list could never be all-inclusive.

Monbiot

George Monbiot, of a journalism background, does not attack the issue of climate change from a lyrical, poetic standpoint. He is, in fact, quite direct and attempts to cater to and counter the possible arguments of the variety of people and viewpoints for which the book is written. In the beginning of his introduction to Heat, he openly admits that he had not thought of what such a drastic (80%) carbon reduction would actually look like played out in real life. This is a hugely practical question that anyone pondering solutions to climate change would most likely stumble upon. Pointing to our freedoms, our comfort, and the luxuries, like taking a shower, which we often embrace as expected and normal, he recognizes that these things are possible at least in part because of the use of fossil fuels. Most readers, when confronted with such a radically high goal of reducing greenhouse gases by 80% (and later 90%), will respond emotionally, with blubbering “buts,” protesting for the continued way of life with which they have become so content. Monbiot takes care of these anticipated responses as he presents reason, planning to explain how this is ‘feasible’, in the sense that it’s “[compatible] with industrial civilization.” By calming the reader’s initial qualms, he helps his audience to begin to hear him out on his arguments. Again, he points to logos as he claims to present “methods that are cheapest, that have already been shown to work and that are most compatible with the lives we lead already.”

Compelling people to action is a difficult task, and Monbiot foresees the attitude that 'one person cannot fix the problem' and that 'those who spend their time advocating for the environment need to practice what they preach'. Yet he openly admits to his and others’ hypocrisy, relating himself to the reader and not trying to falsely set himself on a pedestal. This creats an element of ethos based on a sense of honesty as he gives hope that as individuals we can unite to “persuade the government to force us to change the way we live.” Monbiot, while an activist, is not a scientist. He never claims to be, although he seems to allude to the promise that he has done his homework on the subject and will search, with determination, for an answer to any question that arises. This is shown by example when he opposes the advertisement for the BedZed zero-carbon development and when he notes the difference between that which is merely aesthetically please and that which is factual. Hence, his appeal to ethos is primarily made through his honest intentions and his search for truth in a myriad of scientific knowledge and data.

Within the first chapter, he begins with the story of Faustus, drawing on the readers’ emotions as he draws parallels between Faustus selling his soul to the devil and our current use of fossil fuels. Throughout the selection, he uses imagery of extinction, danger, and immediacy, while mentioning specific beloved organisms like the coral reef and the polar bear, famous places like the Amazon, and staple foods like maize, rice and soybeans to evoke a pathos-centered response. These references are littered with facts, statistics, references, and quotations, not only appealing to logic (logos), but also attempting to support his authority on the topic. He uses this first chapter to draw on the necessity for change, and seems to have some success as I find myself appealing to his emotionally charged logic and sensing an urgency to prevent the devastating changes that through countless examples he claims will occur, unless we do something soon. Even the call to action presents itself in the form of a hurried, pressing feeling imposed on the heart. And as long as he’s telling the truth and his facts are sound, he reveals that drastic measures are indeed necessary.

Speak (Final Draft)

Nature is necessary. It’s necessarily natural. It’s expressive. Shouting thunder, crying clouds. Wind that whispers, waves that lull, trees that cradle. Beams of bliss, caws of laughter, blades of sensitivity, shades of vibrancy. It’s like us, in a way.

We are physical, we feel, and sometimes our surroundings help. They’re tangible and dependable, and therefore reasonable, authenticating our existence. Our relationships with the world around us begin at the roots, from where we come. I know I did not start it all. My words are small. Our humanly subsistence, and first of all existence, is not of our own. The pulse and the pulsating muscles and the mind and the heart with a mind of its own and the tingling sensational flesh—I did not make it. I was made. “God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them… God saw all that He had made and behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31a).

In the beginning, God spoke. Whether sound or statement, an expression went forth, expanding and stretching the heavens into existence. “The heavens are telling of the glory of God; and their expanse is declaring the work of His hands” (Psalm 19:1). It’s a declaration of dependence, of need for truth and true love. Nature is necessarily expressive, a poignant point to an ethereal finger. The substance of creation is substantial. It subsists, as do we, because of a Sustainer.

In the beginning, all was perfect and the sound was harmonious; creature, creation, and Creator in harmony. It was good, very good.

When I crinkle up the paper like a crunchy fallen leaf, I do not feel very good. When I glimpse at a deer, dead, lanced by a humming car, I cringe. When I infect the water with my waste and debris and a gummy surface reflects itself along the bank, I realize that I’m sick. It was my choice, my indifference, my independence, my rebellion. An apple, fallen from its tree, of its own accord. And worms infested the world, digging us holes deeper and deeper into the rot that we wreak, away from the sunlight.

But again, God spoke. “And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). And the Son shone and “in Him was the life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4-5). At the edge of the lake, fiery fall colors reflected, and the Light caught my eye. Just off the path, sitting beneath a tree, its long sinewy arms wrapping around me, I glanced across to the other side and saw the green underbrush rising up from the shoreline, tall trees tilting over them, and a path, worn with love by those who had traveled it before me. A slightly rusted slide rested in the middle of the lake and I could imagine the chattering children sliding and then splashing, trilling the air with giggles, making the lake grin. No doubt the scenery had changed over time, but in this case man had not devastated the landscape, rather preserving its essence for the plants and beings that it would house in the future. I saw a glimpse of hope for harmony between creature, creation, and Creator once again. The Word saved me, and salvaged my view of the world. And as I trusted, I asked, and the tree lifted my dirt-covered apple and reconnected it to the branch, restoring it, redeeming it. And the lake reflected the world, and I saw His glory.

I felt small, like you do when you lie on the ground, pitch black surrounding you, and you gaze at the glimmering stars. How could someone count them all? Give it a try. “Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these stars, the One who leads forth their host by number, He calls them all by name; because of the greatness of His might and the strength of His power, not one of them is missing” (Isaiah 40:26). The darkness did not overcome the light.

Let there be light! What a gift, the heavens and the earth. Not just a souvenir but an endowment. Dominance and submission equalize. The world came first, but people are principal. Yet He cares and so we must tenderly care for His garden. In Maryland, my dad became a gardener. He planted seeds in March, and watched the buds blossom and fruit ripen in the summer months. First minute emerging sprouts and then flourishing flora dappled with red, yellow, green, orange. God produced the fruit but Dad nurtured it, helping it to actually take root. He could have killed the plants if he wanted, but what good would that do? And so we picked the peppers and zucchini and cantaloupe and tomatoes and mint. And in the following spring, He planted more, restoring the exposed ground, making it decent again.

I saw this restoration of relationship with the land in a tiny town on the coast of Ecuador. They named it after the river, Río Muchacho, which isolated the community from the rest of the world, it seemed. An impoverished area yet overflowing with fertility. Children danced and sang songs in the school where they learned the delight of reading and the ecstasy of cultivating both their minds and the ground on which they stood. The parents shared what they had, working together in the fields, unafraid of the nonexistent toxins. They used the materials around them, shunning plastic and embracing shells of the nuts, sheaths of the fruit, and stems of the trees, which would later decay and regenerate, cycling forever. The sun was their comrade, shining in their lives and on the work of their hands, giving them energy. This sight enlivened me and sparked vision in my heart. The soil proved to be rich, and so became their lives; they were richly blessed.

I too am so blessed. I have hiked in the Andes Mountains, seen the sunrise over the Sierras, bathed in the moonlight lapping against the shore of the Gulf of Mexico, skied the Continental Divide, swum with fish in their Pacific coral habitat, flown a kite through the meadow that lies across from my home in the Rocky Mountains, a meadow in the mountains, set aside to simply be. There should be more places like that, where nature’s law reigns and humans obey.

Our response to the blessings around us should not be a curse, but adoration to the One who blesses. Our nurturing of nature is our act of worship. The ethics of the environment are God-centric, and so mine are too. Nature is so necessary. We need it. Us and our world, we’re the same, in a way. Created for the same purpose, just different roles. We try to prove ourselves to others, but it’s God who proves Himself through us. It’s for His glory. So we rest on the design of the Designer, and the Sustainer uses us to sustain our environment. We need sustainability, I cry. Just say the word, and maybe we’ll try.

getting ready to "Speak"

Nature is necessary. It’s necessarily natural. It’s expressive. Shouting thunder, crying clouds. Wind that whispers, waves that lull, trees that cradle. Beams of bliss, caws of laughter, blades of sensitivity, shades of vibrancy. It’s like us, in a way.

We are physical, we feel, and sometimes our surroundings help. They’re tangible and dependable, and therefore reasonable, authenticating our existence. But who are we to begin with? Or rather, with whom are we to begin? I know I did not start it all. My words are small. Our relationships with the world around us begin at the roots, from where we come. Our humanly subsistence, and first of all existence, is not of our own. The pulse and the pulsating muscles and the mind and the heart with a mind of its own and the tingling sensational flesh—I did not make it. I was made. “God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them… God saw all that He had made and behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31a).

In the beginning, God spoke. Whether sound or statement, an expression went forth, expanding and stretching the heavens to become. “The heavens are telling of the glory of God; and their expanse is declaring the work of His hands” (Psalm 19:1). It’s a declaration of dependence, of need for truth and true love. Nature is necessarily expressive, a poignant point to an ethereal finger. The substance of creation is substantial. It subsists, as do we, because of a Sustainer.

In the beginning, all was perfect and the sound was harmonious; creature, created, and Creator in harmony. It was good, very good.

When I crinkle up the paper like a crunchy fallen leaf, I do not feel very good. When I glance at a deer, dead, lanced by a humming car, I cringe. When I sneeze on the water and a gummy surface reflects itself along the bank, I realize that I’m sick. It was my choice, my indifference, my independence, my rebellion. An apple, fallen from its tree, of its own accord. And worms infested the world, digging us holes deeper and deeper into the rot that we wreak, away from the sunlight.

But again, God spoke. “And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). And the Son shone and “in Him was the life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4-5). At the edge of the lake, fiery fall colors reflected, and the light caught my eye. And as I trusted, I asked, and the tree lifted my dirt-covered apple and reconnected it to the branch, restoring it, redeeming it. And the lake reflected the world, and I saw His glory.

I felt small, like you do when you lie on the ground, pitch black surrounding you, and you gaze at the stars. How could someone count them all? Give it a try. “Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these stars, the One who leads forth their host by number, He calls them all by name; because of the greatness of His might and the strength of His power, not one of them is missing” (Isaiah 40:26). The darkness did not overcome the light.

Let there be light! What a gift, the heavens and the earth. Not just a souvenir but an endowment. Dominance and submission equalize. The world came first, but people are principal. Yet He cares and so we must tenderly care for His garden. In Maryland, my dad became a gardener. He planted seeds in March, and watched the buds blossom and fruit ripen in the summer months. God produced the fruit but Dad nurtured it, helping it to actually take root. He could have killed the plants if he wanted, but what good would that do? And so we picked the peppers and zucchini and cantaloupe and tomatoes and mint. And in the following spring, He planted more, restoring the exposed ground, making it decent again.

The ethics of the environment are God-centric, and so mine are too. Nature is so necessary. We need it. Us and our world, we’re the same, in a way. Created for the same purpose, just different roles. We try to prove ourselves to others, but it’s God who proves Himself through us. It’s for His glory. He spoke the earth into motion. “Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night reveals knowledge” (Psalm 19:2). And so the Sustainer uses us to sustain our environment. We need sustainability, I cry. Just say the word, and maybe we’ll try.

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, my rock and my Redeemer” (Psalm 19:14).

An Unspoken Hunger

I found Yellowstone: The Erotics of Place quite intriguing, digging deep into our basic necessity for the natural environment around us. Instead of pointing to all the reasons that we need environment for survival, Williams points to its intrinsic value in the world and in our lives, and says that “it is a primal affair.” Our relationship, which we are “redefining”, us and the land, is something basic and emotional, rather than purely intellectual. The description of an “erotics of place,” a phrase used several times, is what truly points to the passionate, sensual, almost lustful tone created through words like “primal”, “intimacy”, “beauty, raw and sensual”, “sensitivity”, “embracing.” Not only are we drawn in by this personified, desirable environment we call nature, we see that there is a response, an echo. Williams uses repetition, short phrases, repeated sounds, and parallel structure to verbally represent an echo. And then Echo comes alive too: “When was the last time you played with Echo?” From the beginning Williams says that “we call its name—and the land calls back.” The piece ends with the exact same description as the beginning, except for two sentences. “Wolves howling into the Yellowstone,” and you can almost hear Echo howling back.

Winter Solstice, although written as a sort of reflection based on an experience and different in content, has a similar feel to that of Yellowstone. Yet the tone is one of faith and hope. In the beginning Williams is there at the Moab Slough “as an act of faith, believing that the sun has completed the southern end of its journey and is now contemplating its return toward life.” This belief seems based on that faith, or almost a wish. This faith compares to the faith of the Hopi, bringing their páhos and prayers, and points to our relationship with nature as a spiritual one. The idea that all things deep inside, desire love is brought to the surface and adds to the spiritual, hopeful tone and theme, and again, as in Yellowstone , Williams compares our relationship with nature to a physical intimacy that crave. A reference to two herons to little Buddhas further speaks of spiritual desire for wholeness and love. Those herons point to acting, not in fear or on wavering faith, but instead speak of true belief that the sun will rise again. And at the end Williams uses that same opening phrase (“as an act of faith, believing…”) but this time with a faith not just of wishes, but of hope. For me my god is not nature itself, but there is so much hope within it and I believe that this spiritual desire deep within us can only be fulfilled by the true God who created it all, and points to Himself in the trees and birds and marshes and sun and even in ourselves and our desire for wholeness.

Love Land

Cold, crisp wind smacks your cheeks as you begin to make your way down, slowly turning and then sharply stopping to gaze past the glimmer. Thankfully your cheeks are about the only things showing beneath the layers and layers of down and thermal wear. Someone plops down on the snow packed path nearby and begins to fasten his board to his boots. A glance in his direction and then off to the right reveals the sprinkling of tiny evergreen trees and streams of white snow paths gliding down the mountain. The glance becomes a stare as you turn your head to the left where the giant hills jet up and down, seemingly for miles, as a white sparkle forms in your eye from all of that glittering snow. Straight ahead microscopic cars disappear into a tunnel beneath it all. But instead of feeling big, you feel tiny, insignificant, yet of value. You spin about to face the sun, dangling its rays over the jagged peaks above. The effect is white upon white with a bright light of brilliance beckoning clouds to bridge the gap between snow and sky. There are people around, but with eyes set on the crux of the tip of the snow topped peak, you can’t even see them, and the wailing wind deafens their noise. If a blizzard were to start it wouldn’t blind you, but would allow you to see, granting insight to how it’s all formed and you’d fathom its entirety. Twelve thousand feet above where, twelve hundred miles away, the sea meets the sand, you are surrounded by rocky mountains. Man named the slopes “Loveland” and it makes sense. Loved ones venture to the top uniting, often unbeknownst, with an expression of love, given from the heavens, and God gets the glory.