AN ARRAY OF POWER

I’ve written in this blog about power before.  I’ve pointed out that power is the term used to designate one party getting another to do something the second party would not do otherwise.  I have narrowed the type of motivations that a second party has for doing what otherwise he/she is not motivated to do:  anticipation of a reward, anticipation of a punishment, or the feeling that by so doing this thing, he/she is doing the right thing – due to a sense of legitimacy, a sense of allegiance, or what an expert thinks is the right or prudent thing to do.[1]  These broad ideas take different forms in the real world.  Not only is this variation present in regard to specific conditions and specific relations between people, but in relation to historical times.  This latter aspect of power is what I want to address in this posting.

The situation with ISIS in Iraq and Syria hints of what I speak.  Here is a well-organized terrorist group that I have described as scary, vicious, and hell-bent on causing pain and destruction to advance its religious tenants among Islamic people.  I have also commented that its assets are limited in terms of alliances and military equipment.  Yet, with their recent advances, they are now the defunct rulers of a significant area of territory.  We don’t seem to be willing to send sufficient troops to battle ISIS directly, not on the ground anyway.  I don’t pretend to be knowledgeable enough to pass judgement as to what the US should do in this case.  I do feel the American public is ill-disposed to support an extended military response to the ISIS threat.  Its control of a definite geographic area is threatening.  It provides a base to plan and prepare 9/11 type attacks on our homeland.  After all, we justified an invasion of Afghanistan for these very reasons.  The world is complex and guess what?  We can’t rely as heavily on the “big stick” anymore as we have done in the past.

Joseph S. Nye[2] writes of this variation.  He tells us that power today – that is in the global arena – is a multi-reality.  He offers the analogy of a tri-level chess game:  three stacked boards in which we have different forms of power making their importance and effect known.  On the top board, we have the more obvious form:  military power.  This is hard power and one based on coercion – the anticipation of punishment.  At this level, the US is dominant; we can administer untold levels of death and physical destruction.  That is, we have the capabilities to do so.  But the reality of the world is that such power is hamstrung.  Nations have always been so limited, but of late, they are more so.  Our recent history in Iraq demonstrates these limitations.

The second chessboard level represents economic power competition.  Here we are very strong, but not as dominant as on the military board.  Other areas of the world are becoming more powerful when it comes to economics.  Before the financial crisis of 2008, Europe’s economy was larger than that of the US.  China, while far from matching the US on a per capita basis, overall, has an economy that is slated to overcome the US economy later in this century.  That means that those areas of the world are and will become more able to match the US in terms of exercising economic power.  Economic power can either be based on the anticipation of punishment, as in the use of economic sanctions, or anticipation of reward, as when a government issues a grant.  Therefore, economic power can be both hard and soft power.

The last board is soft power; it is all those relations between nations that governments cannot control.  This is a very messy board.  It is inhabited by a slew of actors from terrorists, as mentioned above, to hackers.  They rely heavily on ever cheaper information technology.  Sometimes on this board, power moves involve pandemics or climate change.  “On this bottom board, power is widely diffused, and it makes no sense to speak here of unipolarity, multipolarity, hegemony, or any other such clichés that political leaders and pundits put in their speeches.”[3]

Teaching about power can be a complex matter because power is complex.  As military power loses its dominance – a trend that promises to not only continue, but also to speed up – students need to be able to take in and handle nuanced politics in order to understand international settings in which both their government and organizations will maneuver.  The world is getting smaller, and what happens in far off areas of the world is more apt to influence their day-to-day existence, and their ability to function will demand a better understanding of how power is exercised.  Civics education needs appropriate language by which to instruct students about these power realities.  Hopefully, this posting can help.

---

[1] I previously posted an entry entitled “Power,” but it has been deleted from the archive listing.  You can acquire this posting upon request.  See instructions above.

[2] Nye, J. S.  (2011).  The future of power.  New York, NY:  PublicAffairs.

[3] Ibid., p. xv.

WHY STRIVE FOR SUCCESS AT SCHOOL?

I am going to deviate from my usual fare in this blog and comment not on civics education, but education in general. Specifically, this posting wants to look at what goal should students harbor when approaching their school work.  Should they hold as their main goal improving their performance so that they and others can view them individually as students performing at a high level of accomplishment or should they simply aim at learning something?  It turns out, this is a basic decision, one that has consequences relative to how successful students will be.

You might point out that there is no logical inconsistency between aiming to improve performance and wanting to learn something.  The potential – and oftentimes actual – conflict is in the motivation the spurs one toward one goal as opposed to the other.  Aiming toward performance success is motivated by the desire to have oneself or others see one as smart or successful.  It seems to have a competitive side to its nature.  You want to say I’m good at this; I’m smart enough.  In itself this is not necessarily a bad thing.  The problem arises when this motivation becomes too dominant or singular in its importance.  A person so motivated might shy away from true challenges.  Why jeopardize one’s view of oneself or undermine what good opinion others might have by taking on something hard and then failing?  In the case when one starts a challenge and then meets with initial failure or unexpected problems, if performance is the goal, one is likely to jump to the conclusion that the perceived obstacle is too hard and beyond one’s ability.  Why not just give up?

But let us say the overarching goal is not performance, but learning.  If learning is the primary goal, problems and initial failures are just temporary and can be overcome.  One can try a different strategy or acquire more or different information or skills.  The aim of becoming educated then is to learn for the sake of learning.  Now, one might have further motivation:  the information to be learned can be useful for some other purpose and, yes, learning something can be a source of self-confidence and a sense of accomplishment.  But if the student can keep such motivations or rewards in a secondary mental status and keep as primary the motivation to learn, one has a greater chance at academic success, so writes Carol. S. Dweck,[1] prominent educational psychologist.

---

[1] Dweck, C. S.  (2000).  Self-theories:  Their role in motivation, personality, and development.  Philadelphia:  Psychology Press.

THE STRUCTURE OF AN ARGUMENT OR TWO

Let me share with you a simple argument.  It is not a particularly good argument, but it will demonstrate the elements of a sound one.  In doing so, the illustration will point out certain skills one should develop if one aspires to construct and express a defensible argument.  It goes as follows:

Since Johnny was born in Italy, he is therefore a Roman Catholic because eighty percent of Italians belong to the Catholic religion according to the latest census and reported on Wikipedia (81.2%), unless Johnny happens to be in the twenty percent of the population that is non Catholic and assuming Johnny is a human being and not, say, a cat or a dog.

Here’s another one:

Jane smokes marijuana; therefore she will end up being addicted to serious drugs such as heroin because the vast majority of addicted people at one time smoked marijuana as numerous surveys of addicted people reveal, unless Jane does not live to “graduate” to harder drugs and supposing that she is not subject to arrest or a drug rehabilitation program.

The first argument is sound, but does not convey anything meaningful.  The second is not sound, but does convey a meaningful message.  The soundness of each has to do with the reasonableness of inclusion within the structure of the argument.  Training in syllogistic reasoning assists one in seeing this inclusion.  So, by stating that 80% of the population of Italy is Catholic and qualifying the argument that Johnny could be part of the 20% that is non Catholic, therefore the entire population of Italy is included.  But in the second argument, when one states that just about all hard drug-takers began his or her use of illicit drugs by consuming marijuana, one is not totally inclusive.  For example, how many hard drug-takers drank milk or soda pop before taking hard drugs?  Probably as many, if not more, than smoked marijuana.  Yet no one would argue that drinking milk or soda leads to a heroin addiction.  But we have all heard this argument – linking marijuana smoking and hard drug use – and without much reflection, we have accepted the conclusion that marijuana smoking will result in acquiring a hard drug addiction.

So, there are skills in building a sound and meaningful argument.  And if one not only wants to convince others of a point of view, but also to assure oneself and others that the point of view is true, one needs to develop certain skills.  What are these skills?  A dissection of a sound argument reveals what those skills are.  Therefore, let’s use the above, albeit meaningless, sound argument to point out those skills.

Stephen Toulmin[1] provides a model for argument structure that is helpful in this endeavor.  The first argument begins with a factual statement:  Johnny was born in Italy.  Toulmin calls this a datum statement.  The skill involved with this first stage is to make sure that the statement is actually true.  Journalists work with factual statements all the time.  These statements are the what, when, where, how, and how many statements.  Before accepting a factual claim, they need to hear it from two separate sources unless the substance of the claim is personally viewed or otherwise perceived by the journalist.  This viewing can be from some recording device that is judged to be free from tampering.  Whether that is sufficient or not is a matter of judgment, but as a requirement, it demonstrates a concern over the truthfulness of any such claims.

Using reason, facts can lead to some conclusions.  For example, Johnny is a Roman Catholic is deduced from the fact that Johnny was born in Italy.  Using syllogistic reasoning, the fact – Italian born – would be a minor premise (such as the standard example:  Socrates is a man).  In Toulmin’s model, the fact leads to a conclusion:  Johnny is Catholic.  But that’s a big jump; one needs some connector statement to make such a conclusion reasonable.  Toulmin calls that sort of statement a warrant statement (in a syllogism it would be a major premise).  In my simple argument, that would be 80% of Italians are Catholic (in the standard example:  All men are mortal).  The reasoning of inclusion from the syllogistic model goes as follows:  All men are mortal (major premise), Socrates is a man (minor premise); therefore, Socrates is mortal (conclusion).  But Toulmin’s model arranges the argument in a different order and adds a few more elements.  To begin with, the warrant statement (or major premise) is supported with backing statements (according to the latest census and reported on Wikipedia).  I should add here that in both syllogistic argument and in using Toulmin’s model, major premises and warrant statements are called for whereas in everyday arguing they are mostly assumed.  This assumption leads to faulty dialogue – see my last posting.  In addition, the conclusion, in Toulmin’s model, is qualified by the use of an “unless” statement (Johnny is part of the 20% that is non Catholic) and a reservation (assuming Johnny is human and not a dog, for example).  All of these elements add richness to the argument and make the argument complete and more apt to be truthful.  But adding all of these elements is the result of someone exerting effort and employing skills:  the skills of finding truthful factual statements, the skill of deducing from the facts a logical and meaningful conclusion, the skill of tying the facts to the conclusion with a powerful enough warrant that justifies the connection between the facts and conclusion, the skill of identifying the backing information that validates the warrant statement, and the skill of including the necessary qualifiers and reservations that prevent an overstatement – unjustified inclusion – beyond the parameters of the conclusion.

If one applies such skills to the issue addressed in the second argument above, perhaps one can more meaningfully derive the conclusions that would help us resolve the drug problems of this nation.  Such argumentation is not easy, especially when one is not merely attempting persuasion, but is attempting to derive the truth.

---

[1] Toulmin, Stephen.  (1969).  The uses of argument.  London:  Cambridge University Press.

DIALOGUE

With this posting, I conclude describing and explaining the five disciplines I deem to be essential in productive argumentation – productive, that is, along federalist values.  To sum up:  I have borrowed from Philip Selznick’s[1] “five pillars of reason” to devise this set of disciplines.  My intent is to encourage educators – and other interested parties – to see argumentation from two perspectives:  one, the typical view of argumentation as a means of convincing others of a point of view; and two, as a process that can be used to seek the truth.  These disciplines, when combined with relevant skills, can be utilized in classroom instruction as a means of having students conduct inquiries over issues, especially if those issues are spurred by concern over federalism.[2]  To date, the disciplines reviewed have been order, principle, experience, and prudence.  This posting will look at dialogue.

When considering prudence, one point highlighted was the concern over the ends of arguments; that is, when considering a contested point of policy or view, one should be cognizant of the ends the argued means are meant to target.  Oftentimes, ends seem to be assumed; many times, those assumptions differ in that the ends they represent differ.  We can often detect these variances by the language each side uses.  For example, in the debate over abortion, one side will use terminology that speaks of the killing of babies.  The other side does not counter this reference directly; instead it will speak of a woman’s right to control her body.  Neither side directly contradicts the other’s claim because such language gets to the ends of the argument.  The anti-abortion side has as its unstated ends its desire to please a deity.  The other sees this battle as one prong in the war for women’s equality.  Instead of getting into all that, argument tends to avoid such “messy” aspects and just assumes, in its arguments that its ends are above reproach.

But it is here that participants should argue and they should do so through dialogue.  We engage in such dialogue not necessarily to secure agreement.  We engage in this process to seek truth by seeing other perspectives, other trains of logic, and other instances of devout and honest commitment.  It humanizes those with whom we disagree and it does so not by avoiding strenuous debate and passionate exchanges but by engaging in them.  That is part of it:  the passion, the emotions, and the rhetoric.  And yet, we can do all of this with civility.  But civility presupposes a general environment of basic trust that those with whom we disagree are honest, generally moral, and pursuant of the common good.  Therefore, we can’t have dialogue – not of the type described here – with everyone.  As a matter of fact, dialogue, while it can be attempted in usual argumentation, will probably occur infrequently.  Why?  We don’t live in a society in which federalist values are generally seen as ideal.  But this does not preclude us from holding them collectively – or even individually – as an ideal that we can strive toward.  And so, one so disposed, can seek dialogue, attempt it, and engage in it whenever possible.

But even if dialogue were readily experienced, this does not mean such argumentation will lead to agreement.  Some opposing ends have been with us since the beginnings of civilized life, if not before.  It would lead, though, to greater understanding, empathy, and respect among us all.

Although the risks are real, there is a place for the prophetic spirit, for passion and rhetoric, in communicative inquiry.  Without confrontation, unspoken assumptions may never be truly exposed to criticism and debate.  People may not really listen.[3]

And what of the demands of the classroom?  How does this dialogue work there?  The classroom can prove to be a very demanding area.  First, students are a captive audience.  What is presented to them is mostly not of their choosing.  A process that relies to any degree on argumentation, much less the process I am suggesting, needs to be cautiously approached.  Arguments over ends – what is usually treated as assumed contentions – will come to a screeching halt if the appropriate build up is not laid out.  Premature attempts at such arguments can easily devolve into shouting matches.  If that happens, those who will cease to listen will be the students who are sitting before the teacher who is attempting to promote such dialogue.

---

[1] Selznick, P.  (1992).  The moral commonwealth:  Social theory and the promise of community.  Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press.

[2] For those new to this blog, the blog is, in part, dedicated to promoting a mental construct in the guidance of curricular content in the subject matter of civics.  That mental construct I entitle federation theory.  The accompanying remarks introducing the postings of this blog gives the reader an overall description of what federation theory is.

[3] Ibid., p. 62.

PRUDENCE

In the last few postings, I have been developing a view of argumentation that sees it as a process by which to seek the truth.  That is, if one is about formulating a legitimate, moral argument, that process, by its very nature, is one that seeks the truth.  When one starts the process without prejudging the result, has emotions under check, and is about searching the facts through experience, then one is looking for what is real.  This process can be adopted for classroom instructional purposes.  It can also be one in which legitimate efforts at persuasion are attempted.  Therefore, we have a dual purpose process in which one can pursue one or both of these aims.  I have indicated that in these efforts, to be honest and effective, there are disciplines or concerns that the process should effectuate.  In the past several postings, I identified the following disciplines:  order, principle, and experience.  This posting looks at prudence.[1]

One practices prudence in two domains.  One domain has to do with the disposition to distinguish between rules as abstract ideals and the practical application of rules in real situations.  The other has to do with keeping moral aims targeted when pursuing policy.  

Imprudent behavior occurs when one blindly imposes a rule in a way that disregards all the particular conditions a situation presents and applies the rule in a mechanical way.  Such imprudence forgets the reason(s) for the rule in question.

By looking at the purpose of a rule, and its value premises, judges make good their commitments to principled decision; by examining particular circumstances they take account of the inescapable uniqueness of human situations.  This is not a retreat from reason but a distinct mode of deliberation.[2]

For a rule to work, they must take into account the particular issues involved within the situation(s) in which the rule is to be applied.  A problem with ideologues and detached bureaucrats – in many cases – is this lack of prudence that leads to ineffective policy implementation and judicial tyranny.  I am presently reading Ken Follett’s last novel of his historical series of the twentieth century – Edge of Eternity.  He amply describes this imprudence when in his narrative he tells of the actions of the Soviet government in Russia.  Their blind rule-following often wrecked lives unnecessarily and, ironically in hindsight, can go far in explaining why the Soviet government no longer exists.[3]

The other domain follows.  It simply points out that in considering means and ends in the content of an argument, one should coalesce the two.  By that, I mean that both support the other in that both are true to moral standards.  These in turn need to be transparent and defensible by submitting and explaining, when requested, these standards to moral critique.  I suggest the standards, when it comes to public policy, be federalist moral standards.[4]  When so informed, one can judge how effective the advocate of an argument is in exercising the discipline of prudence.

---

[1] Based on the “five pillars of reason” offered by Philip Selznick – see citation below.

[2] Selznick, P.  (1992).  The moral commonwealth:  Social theory and the promise of community.  Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press.  Citation on pp. 60-61.

[3] To be true to Follett’s narrative, often the motivations of some of the characters who act in such a way also include personal ambitions that rationalize their action by citing rules indiscriminately.

[4] I recently supplied my list of federalist values which provide the moral foundation for that construct.  See the posting, Experience, posted May 5, 2015.

THE FUNCTIONS OF EMOTIONS IN ARGUMENTS

Readers of this blog are aware that I am presently reviewing a set of disciplines essential to truth-seeking argumentation.  Engaging in arguments, due to the exacting nature of these disciplines and associated skills, is a form of seeking the truth.  The disciplines, what Philip Selznick[1] calls “the pillars of reason,” are order, principle, experience, prudence, and dialogue.  In my last posting, I described the discipline of experience and that discipline revolved around staving off the allure of emotions in arriving at legitimate conclusions.  This can be difficult.  But to further this demand or discipline by assigning no role to emotions can be detrimental in seeking the truth as well.  There is a legitimate role or function that emotions play.  Let me explain.

To begin with – as I have mentioned a time or two in this blog – all desires or aims, such as truth-seeking, begin with an emotion.  You have to desire the truth before you seek it.  And so one must nurture this emotion because oftentimes the truth can be hurtful or fear provoking; we often tend to shy away or avoid it.  Therefore, building the emotional commitment for the truth is something that takes, for most of us, a conscious effort and diligence.  Once in place and part of one’s makeup, it is hard to see how one abandons such a commitment because in the long run it will probably serve one better than the alternative of deceiving oneself or others.

The second relevant factor in this concern is that, along with all the experiences one must mull over in seeking the truth, the fact that we and those around us experience emotions is something, in itself, with which we must reckon.  It is not only another factor, but one that is central to our social world.  Our ability to empathize with the feelings of others – that is, our ability to see the factual reality of the role emotions play in the lives of all us – is essential in understanding why the social world is as it is.

And the third relevant factor is that not all argumentation is geared toward seeking the truth; in fact, little of it is.  Most argumentation is initiated for the purposes of convincing others of points of view revolving around all sorts of concerns.  These concerns can be from selling commercial items to soliciting some favor or benefit.  The use of rhetoric comes into play; that is, the art of the manipulation of language and at times illogical phraseology that either hooks onto emotions or to some illogical train of argumentative points that sound logical but are not.  So, for example, a person might say something against an argument by stating that some historical villain believed in that argument; therefore, it must be wrong to believe it. Even the worst villain or noted fool can be right some of the time.  But if your goal is to convince someone of something, then appealing to his/her emotions is something one might have to do but, if done, it should be done in a moral way; it should not be done in a dishonest or conniving way.  To be dishonest in argument can be as offensive as any slight that merits revengeful consequences and can undermine the bonds that tie citizens together.

Emotions play a role in argumentation and one should be aware of that role.  What a teacher of civics should do is train students to be able to detect their uses and even instruct them as to how they can be used, not in truth-seeking – other than in denoting their role in social behavior – but in the use of honest rhetoric for the common good.

---

[1] Selznick, P.  (1992).  The moral commonwealth:  Social theory and the promise of community.  Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press.

EXPERIENCE

For the sake of public discourse in our public institutions, reasoned argument needs to be based on experience.  This is opposed to argument based in whole or in part on inspiration.  Religious argument can be based on inspiration, but in a public setting, religious argument does not suffice.  By public, I mean those settings sanctioned or sponsored by the state, such as our public schools.  It also cannot be based solely on emotions.  One cannot reasonably just say, “Well, I simply feel that way.”  Conclusions have to be based on the experiences one has had or on those experiences others report.  Both inspirations and emotions can inform one as to his/her position on some question, but then that person, in order to be reasonable, must cite experiences.

I mention this because I am presently reviewing a set of disciplines, ala Philip Selznick,[1] that a person needs to adhere to in order to argue reasonably.  To date, I have listed the disciplines of order and principle.  This posting – a short one – addresses experience.  I am reviewing these disciplines because I believe that civics educators, in particular, and educators in general should have students engage in argument.  In the case of civics, the question before students is:  what is appropriate public policy either in the case of formulating new policy or reviewing already implemented policy?  People do not agree on these types of questions because people have varied interests and public problems and issues can be quite complex.  And unlike the physical world, mistakes do not become so readily knowable or apparent.  It is amazing how often certain social conditions need to be experienced and certain reactive policies tried before we humans can detect the errors of past policy attempts.  For example, in the case of economic downturns, should the government engage in austere policies or promote, through public spending and borrowing, stimulus policies?  Even though we continuously seem to go through economic cycles with serious downturns, we still have strenuous debate as to what the appropriate public policy should be.

So with that, I am arguing that good argument should adhere to certain disciplines.  In this posting, the focus is on the discipline of experience.  Experience can be managed in several ways.  Science provides us a way that is much disciplined.  When engaging in science, there are accepted and unaccepted ways of handling and recording experience.  While the actual practice of science need not follow such a rigid protocol, reporting and analyzing the results of those activities does demand a high degree of order and strict implementation of logic.  But there are other forms of experiences that are also valid and often more efficient.  Take the person who has worked at a job or career for a long period of time, say years.  He or she develops a sense of what the job is about and, in the process and almost at a subconscious level, forms intuitive insights.  That person can tell you something is right or wrong about something related without being able to articulate why it is right or wrong.  Such insights usually prove to be spot on.  Related to such abilities are examples of heuristic thinking.  These are “rules of thumb” one develops from not so formal processes, but purely from unreflective observations.  I wrote about these mental processes in the posting entitled, Framework.   They usually prove to be correct.  But no matter how formal one is, arguments based on experiences have the advantage over inspiration or emotions in that they can be tested.  One can replicate experiences or, better still, pre-replicate and experiment as the character in the movie, Castaway, does.

We will see in later postings that when formulating an argument, one specific skill will be to cite factual information.  This will be basically the reporting of experiences – they are the “wherefores” before the “therefores.”

---

[1] Selznick, P.  (1992).  The moral commonwealth:  Social theory and the promise of community.  Berkeley, CA:  University of California Press.