using premises to support or defend a thesis is

How To Create Rock Solid Arguments In Your Dissertation, Thesis Or Assignments

The 6 essential ingredients (with examples).

By: Derek Jansen | August 2017

Arguments happen all the time and that’s okay.

Whether we realise it or not, we have arguments every day. We may quarrel with a significant other over dirty dishes, disagree with an acquaintance over a political hot topic, or even argue with ourselves over the fact that we procrastinate too much. On a more serious note, we also face arguments in our professional and academic lives. For example:

• We debate in class or write assignments on how a company should resolve a particular crisis
• We propose and defend our theses, both orally and written
• We give a presentation to our boss(es) on how best to target a specific market segment

The point with arguments is that we try to convince someone (or ourselves) that we are right . So why don’t we always win our arguments? The art of persuasion is not a natural gift to all of us (it definitely isn’t for me). I’ve learned that I can’t stand on my passion and beliefs alone; I need cold hard facts to back me up.

This blog post will not make you an expert (and I do not claim to be an expert) at argument, but it will provide you with a framework and checklist to help you build strong arguments within your assignments, exams and dissertation or thesis. After all, strong, rigorous arguments are a mainstay of mark-earning work.

So, what do you need in an argument?

A strong argument has six essential ingredients:

• A clear, well-communicated objective/conclusion
• Premise(s) backed by relevant evidence
• Sound logic
• Clear qualifications
• Acknowledgement of counter-arguments
• Emotion and energy

Ingredient #1:

A clearly stated objective or conclusion.

First, an argument, just like any other assignment or research project, will go nowhere without an objective or conclusion. If you do not have a clear focus, you risk confusing yourself, your audience, and your marker. Therefore, you need to ensure that you are very clear about the point you are trying to make (your conclusion or objective). Sounds simple, but you’d be amazed just how many students are unclear about what their point is and, consequently, end up going nowhere slowly.

Throughout this post, I’ll use the example of Company X and its Product Z:

• Company X’s Product Z had great success in the UK, with over 100% ROI within the first two quarters.
• Strong demand for a product like Product Z exists in Germany, France, and Spain.
• Market competition Product Z is relatively low in the targeted European countries.
• Therefore, Company X will most likely launch product Z in Germany, France, and Spain.

The objective of my argument is to convince you that Company X will most likely successfully launch product Z in the targeted European countries. With this conclusion in focus, I will be able to identify and weigh my strategic options, and then articulate the best way to achieve the objective.

So, the ultimate goal of the argument is to convince someone to agree with your conclusion… but why? Why are you trying to change someone’s mind? It’s not just to get great marks. You must have reasons for your conclusion – these reasons are called premises .

Ingredient #2:

Well-grounded premises.

Once you have your objective, you need to clearly communicate your premises. Premises are the building blocks that underpin your conclusion (objective); they provide evidence to lead the audience to agree with your conclusion (Side note: I use proof and premise as synonyms so that I remember the importance of including premises in my arguments). While there can only be one conclusion in an argument, there can be one or (ideally) many premises to support the conclusion. For example, in the case of Company X and Product Z: the two premises are that demand exists in these target countries, and market competition is relatively low.

Great premises have (at least) two requirements:

• They must be backed by credible, verifiable data; and
• They must be relevant to the conclusion.

Data trumps gut

Strong arguments are not based on gut instinct. An argument without data-backed premises is, by definition, baseless. Let’s return to the above example: Demand exists in these target countries, and market competition is relatively low. To make these great premises, I need to add credible data points.

For example:

• An independent consulting firm conducted a market research study of 6,000 people in the targeted countries, and results revealed that high demand exists for a product like Product Z.
• The data collected from an independent consulting firm is a verifiable, citable source. Always double check your sources to make sure you understand and defend them.

Remember, data may not always come from an independent source – it may be outsourced/sponsored by a company, or a company may have an internal research arm. Be ready to ensure the credibility of the information if/when you are asked.

• IBISWorld’s latest industry report shows that market competition Product Z is relatively low in the targeted European countries.
• IBISWorld is a well-recognized provider of industry information and may be a source that your marker recommended. Similar to the point above, this data point is credible and can easily be verified.

To gather information, I suggest you prioritize using class- or school-prescribed sources first; use additional sources to complement, not replace, the class recommended sources.

Relevance is essential

While your premises must be data-backed, they must also be relevant to your conclusion. In other words, relevant premises have evidence that is clearly and logically linked to your conclusion. Be wary of following into the “my premise is true so it must be relevant” trap. If a premise is deemed irrelevant, your argument loses weight because you appear to lose focus.

For example: Company X recently built a state-of-the-art manufacturing facility in the United States.

Your marker will ask: how is this a manufacturing facility in the US connected to your conclusion? The answer is, that premise does not connect. Yes, it is true, but it does not seem logical that a manufacturing facility is strategically linked to a product launch in Europe. Use logic to make sure that your premises are relevant.

Need a helping hand?

Ingredient #3:

Ensuring that your arguments are underpinned by firm logic is… logical. You want to convince your audience, so you need to make sense when building and stating your argument. When making your argument, select your line of reasoning: deductive or inductive.

When making your argument, select your line of reasoning: deductive or inductive. Logically (pun intended), sound deductive reasoning means that your conclusion can be deducted from your valid premises; cogent inductive reasoning means that your conclusion can be inferred from your strong premises.

Deductive reasoning

In deductive reasoning, the premises are a series of consequential statements that lead to the conclusion. To form a conclusion through deduction, you use general premises to point to a specific conclusion. Deductive reasoning is typically focused on the past or present: the general premises have been tested and lead to a specific past or present conclusion.

To identify if an argument is sound, you first check whether the argument is valid. Then, assess if the premises are true or false. Here is an example of deductive reasoning:

• Premise : Most tech companies have a Chief Innovation Officer.
• Premise : Company X is a tech company.
• Conclusion : We may conclude that Company X has a Chief Innovation Officer.

In the above example, the premises start general and then get more specific as they get to the conclusion. Deductive arguments are classified as valid or invalid and deemed to be sound or unsound. To check the validity of the argument, ask this question:

Assuming that the premises are true, does it logically follow that this conclusion is also true?

If the answer is yes, like with the example above, then the argument is valid. It is important to note that the premises do not actually have to be true in order for an argument to be valid. For example, Company X could actually be a healthcare company. However, the argument is still valid because it makes sense that if Company X were hypothetically a tech company, it makes sense that it would have a CIO.

To see if the argument is sound, next check to see if the premises are actually true. An argument is not sound if it is based on false premises. Since in our example we have maintained that Company X is a tech company, we know that premise to be true. Based on other information, we also know that most tech companies have a Chief Innovation Officer. We have two true premises, so we have a sound argument. If Company X actually turned out to be a healthcare company, then we would have one false premise. The argument is therefore unsound because it is based on a false premise.

Inductive reasoning

Inductive reasoning is the opposite of deductive reasoning: specific premises infer a general conclusion. Inductive reasoning is typically geared towards conclusions that will happen in the future. In other words, the conclusion is a prediction that will be tested through future observation. The example we have been using throughout this post is an example of inductive reasoning:

• Premise : Company X’s Product Z had great success in the UK, with over 100% ROI within the first two quarters.
• Premise : An independent consulting firm conducted a survey of 6,000 people in Germany, France, and Spain, revealing a strong demand for Product Z.
• Premise : IBISWorld’s latest industry report shows that market competition Product Z is relatively low in the targeted European countries.
• Conclusion : Therefore, Company X will most likely successfully launch product Z in Germany, France, and Spain.

Inductive arguments are classified as strong or weak and deemed to be cogent or uncogent. In terms of the strength of an inductive argument, there is a little more grey area than when gauging the validity of a deductive argument. The validity of a deductive argument is pretty clear-cut: you assess if a conclusion from the past or present is either true or false. However, in an inductive argument, the conclusion is a prediction, so you cannot be 100% sure if it is actually true or false. Therefore, you ask:

Assuming that the premises are true, is there more than a 50% chance that the conclusion will actually happen?

If the answer is yes, like in the example above, then the argument is strong.

Just as with deductive arguments, the next step in assessing an inductive argument is evaluating the truth of its premises. A true premise is backed up with data. For example, in the above argument, the premises contain data. If, after verification that the data is true, then the argument is cogent. If it turns out that the data is false – for example, if market research reveals that there is not much demand for Product Z, then the argument is not cogent.

Pro tip: Look at the argument’s premise and conclusion indicator words to identify if or inductive reasoning was used. Words that refer to the past or present are used in deductive reasoning; words that refer to the future, or form a hypothesis , are used in inductive reasoning.

That was a lot of information to throw at you. Here are the main points to take away:

• In deductive reasoning, validity and soundness are different concepts. Validity refers to the feasibility of the conclusion; soundness refers to the truthfulness of the premises.
• In inductive reasoning, strength and cogency are different concepts. Strength refers to the feasibility of the conclusion; cogency refers to the truthfulness of the premises.

Ingredient #4:

The conclusions you draw in your argument are not universally applicable (surprise!); there will typically be limitations to the generalisability of your argument – in other words, it will not necessarily be a sound argument in all contexts (in fact, very little is every universally true or relevant). For example, it may only be true in a certain country, for certain people, in a specific organisation, at a certain time of year, etc.

Before finalising your assignment or dissertation and concluding that you have solved the world’s problems, consider the situations in which your arguments might not work. In doing so, you identify your argument’s qualifications.

Remember to use qualifying indicator words (such as “in many cases”, “most”, “predictably”) to help explain your conclusion. For example:

• Premise: Company X’s Product Z had great success in the UK, with over 100% ROI within the first two quarters.
• Premise: An independent consulting firm conducted a survey of 6,000 people in Germany, France, and Spain, revealing a strong demand for Product Z.
• Premise: IBISWorld’s latest industry report shows that market competition Product Z is relatively low in the targeted European countries.
• Conclusion: Therefore, Company X will most likely successfully launch product Z in Germany, France, and Spain.
• Qualification: However, Company X must consider cultural and importation barriers that can hinder the success of Product Z’s expansion.

Ingredient #5:

Acknowledgement of the counter-arguments.

Similarly to qualifying your argument, a good argument needs to anticipate the opposition. There will almost always be counter-arguments to any argument – very little is cut and dry. Therefore, analysing and addressing counter-arguments shows the marker that you have put in considerable time and thought to develop the best scenario.

Additionally, if you have a strong defence against an opposing view, you may very well be likely to turn naysayers into advocates. Potential challenges you can anticipate and address are:

• A different conclusion may be drawn using your own premises
• A question of the importance or validity of your premises
• There may be significant drawbacks to your conclusion

You have some options in addressing counter-arguments:

• Point out and prove errors in the counter-argument.
• Acknowledge the strength or validity of the counter-argument, but show why it is not as strong or valid as your original argument, or within your particular context (i.e. a specific industry or country)
• If the counter-argument points a flaw in one aspect of your conclusion, rewrite your conclusion in a more detailed manner.

Here’s an example:

• Counter argument: Product Z will face tremendous cultural and financial barriers if launched across Europe.
• Response to counter-argument: The launch will occur in phases. Company X will first beta test Product Z in order to understand how to tailor the product and better understand how to import and market the product.

Ingredient #6: Emotion and energy

Lastly, arguments need to do demonstrate a level of emotion in order to be convincing. This might seem contradictory to my previous point about arguments needing to be built on data-backed premises, but it’s not. Simply put, your argument needs to be fueled by data and demonstrated and communicated with emotion and energy.

 Imagine standing up in front of your class and just saying, “We need to implement strategy X because we will increase our market share.” without intonation. No matter how great your prepared argument is, you will lose the attention of your audience if you do not exhibit emotion and energy. We’ve all had that one lecturer who drones on and on, and we quickly lose interest in the subject. Don’t be like that lecturer. Be you. I’m not saying to gesticulate wildly and shout at top volume; it is possible to be poised and passionate at the same time.

Remember: emotion can also be felt in writing. Think of your favorite author, journalist, or researcher. How does she write? She must show emotion in her writing in order to keep you engaged. Try to channel that passion/emulate her writing to make sure that your voice can be heard in your writing.

Wrapping up

In this post, I have discussed six elements of a good argument. Build your arguments using these ingredients and you will no doubt improve the quality of your academic work.

Here’s the checklist for quick reference – a good argument should have:

These elements will help you convey to your marker an articulate, sensible argument that was created after the consideration of several scenarios.

Psst... there’s more!

This post was based on one of our popular Research Bootcamps . If you're working on a research project, you'll definitely want to check this out ...

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I’ve never come across a much simpler explanation of the Inductive and Deductive concept. Thanks for this.

I concur. I love it when things are written in understandable language.

I enjoyed this article! Easily understandable.

Glad to hear that, Georgios!

This article is so helpful for me who is ready to write my postgrad dissertation! Thank you!

Great to hear that, Lizzy. Good luck with your dissertation!

Straightforward and to the point! I like that, especially since I don’t have time to beat around the bush.

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Premise Definition and Examples in Arguments

A Proposition Upon Which an Argument Is Based

• An Introduction to Punctuation
• Ph.D., Rhetoric and English, University of Georgia
• M.A., Modern English and American Literature, University of Leicester
• B.A., English, State University of New York

A premise is a  proposition upon which an argument is based or from which a conclusion is drawn. Put another way, a premise includes the reasons and evidence behind a conclusion, says  Study.com .

A premise may be either the major or the minor proposition of a  syllogism —an argument in which two premises are made and a logical conclusion is drawn from them—in a deductive argument. Merriam-Webster gives this example of a major and minor premise (and conclusion):

"All mammals are warmblooded [ major premise ]; whales are mammals [ minor premise ]; therefore, whales are warmblooded [ conclusion ]."

The term premise comes from medieval Latin, meaning "things mentioned before." In philosophy as well as fiction and nonfiction writing, the premise follows largely the same pattern as that defined in Merriam-Webster. The premise—the thing or things that came before—lead (or fail to lead) to a logical resolution in an argument or story.

Premises in Philosophy

To understand what a premise is in philosophy, it helps to understand how the field defines an argument, says  Joshua May , an associate professor of philosophy at the University of Alabama, Birmingham. In philosophy, an argument is not concerned with disputes among people; it is a set of propositions that contain premises offered to support a conclusion, he says, adding:

"A premise is a proposition one offers in support of a conclusion. That is, one offers a premise as evidence for the truth of the conclusion, as justification for or a reason to believe the conclusion."

May offers this example of a major and minor premise, as well as a conclusion, that echoes the example from Merriam-Webster:

• All humans are mortal. [major premise]
• G.W. Bush is a human. [minor premise]
• Therefore, G.W. Bush is mortal. [conclusion]

May notes that the validity of an argument in philosophy (and in general) depends on the accuracy and truth of the premise or premises. For example, May gives this example of a bad (or inaccurate) premise:

• All women are Republican. [major premise: false]
• Hilary Clinton is a woman. [minor premise: true]
• Therefore, Hilary Clinton is a Republican. [conclusion: false]

The  Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy  says that an argument can be valid if it follows logically from its premises, but the conclusion can still be wrong if the premises are incorrect:

"However, if the premises are true, then the conclusion is also true, as a matter of logic."​​

In philosophy, then, the process of creating premises and carrying them through to a conclusion involves logic and deductive reasoning. Other areas provide a similar, but slightly different, take when defining and explaining premises.

Premises in Writing

For nonfiction writing, the term  premise  carries largely the same definition as in philosophy. Purdue OWL notes that a premise or premises are integral parts of constructing an argument. Indeed, says the language website operated by Purdue University, the very definition of an argument is that it is an "assertion of a conclusion based on logical premises."

Nonfiction writing uses the same terminology as in philosophy, such as  syllogism , which Purdue OWL describes as the "simplest sequence of logical premises and conclusions."

Nonfiction writers use a premise or premises as the backbone of a piece such as an editorial, opinion article, or even a letter to the editor of a newspaper. Premises are also useful for developing and writing an outline for a debate. Purdue gives this example:

• Nonrenewable resources do not exist in infinite supply. [premise 1]
• Coal is a nonrenewable resource. [premise 2]
• Coal does not exist in infinite supply. [conclusion]

The only difference in nonfiction writing versus the use of premises in philosophy is that nonfiction writing generally does not distinguish between major and minor premises.

Fiction writing also uses the concept of a premise but in a different way, and not one connected with making an argument. James M. Frey, as quoted on  Writer's Digest , notes:

"The premise is the foundation of your story—that single core statement of what happens to the characters as a result of the actions of a story.”

The writing website gives the example of the story "The Three Little Pigs," noting that the premise is: “Foolishness leads to death, and wisdom leads to happiness.” The well-known story does not seek to create an argument, as is the case in philosophy and nonfiction writing. Instead, the story itself is the argument, showing how and why the premise is accurate, says Writer's Digest:

"If you can establish what your premise is at the beginning of your project, you will have an easier time writing your story. That's because the fundamental concept you create in advance will drive the actions of your characters."

It's the characters—and to some degree, the plot—that prove or disprove the premise of the story.

Other Examples

The use of premises is not limited to philosophy and writing. The concept can also be useful in science, such as in the study of genetics or biology versus environment, which is also known as the nature-versus-nurture debate. In "Logic and Philosophy: A Modern Introduction," Alan Hausman, Howard Kahane, and Paul Tidman give this example:

"Identical twins often have different IQ test scores. Yet such twins inherit the same genes. So environment must play some part in determining IQ."

In this case, the argument consists of three statements:

• Identical twins often have different IQ scores. [premise]
• Identical twins inherit the same genes. [premise]
• The environment must play some part in determining IQ. [conclusion]

The use of the premise even reaches into religion and theological arguments.  Michigan State University  (MSU) gives this example:

• God exists, for the world is an organized system and all organized systems must have a creator. The creator of the world is God.

The statements provide reasons why God exists, says MSU. The argument of the statements can be organized into premises and a conclusion.

• Premise 1: The world is an organized system.
• Premise 2: Every organized system must have a creator.
• Conclusion: The creator of the world is God.

Consider the Conclusion

You can use the concept of the premise in countless areas, so long as each premise is true and relevant to the topic. The key to laying out a premise or premises (in essence, constructing an argument) is to remember that premises are assertions that, when joined together, will lead the reader or listener to a given conclusion, says the San Jose State University Writing Center, adding:

"The most important part of any premise is that your audience will accept it as true. If your audience rejects even one of your premises, they will likely also reject your conclusion, and your entire argument will fall apart.​"

Consider the following assertion: “Because greenhouse gases are causing the atmosphere to warm at a rapid rate...” The San Jose State writing lab notes that whether this is a solid premise depends on your audience:

"If your readers are members of an environmental group, they will accept this premise without qualms. If your readers are oil company executives, they may reject this premise and your conclusions."

When developing one or more premises, consider the rationales and beliefs not just of your audience but also of your opponents, says San Jose State. After all, your whole point in making an argument is not just to preach to a like-minded audience but to convince others of the correctness of your point of view.

Determine what "givens” you accept that your opponents do not, as well as where two sides of an argument can find common ground. That point is where you will find effective premises to reach your conclusion, the writing lab notes.

Hausman, Alan. "Logic and Philosophy: A Modern Introduction." Howard Kahane, Paul Tidman, 12th Edition, Cengage Learning, January 1, 2012.

• Definition and Examples of Syllogisms
• Definition and Examples of Conclusions in Arguments
• What Is an Argument?
• Propositions in Debate Definition and Examples
• Reductio Ad Absurdum in Argument
• Definition and Examples of Dialectic in Rhetoric
• Contradictory Premises in an Argument
• Definition and Examples of Valid Arguments
• What Is Deductive Reasoning?
• Undistributed Middle (Fallacy)
• Enthymeme - Definition and Examples
• Circular Reasoning Definition and Examples
• How Logical Fallacy Invalidates Any Argument
• What Is a Critique in Composition?
• Understanding the Appeal to Force Fallacy

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Argument and Argumentation

Argument is a central concept for philosophy. Philosophers rely heavily on arguments to justify claims, and these practices have been motivating reflections on what arguments and argumentation are for millennia. Moreover, argumentative practices are also pervasive elsewhere; they permeate scientific inquiry, legal procedures, education, and political institutions. The study of argumentation is an inter-disciplinary field of inquiry, involving philosophers, language theorists, legal scholars, cognitive scientists, computer scientists, and political scientists, among many others. This entry provides an overview of the literature on argumentation drawing primarily on philosophical sources, but also engaging extensively with relevant sources from other disciplines.

1. Terminological Clarifications

2.1 deduction, 2.2 induction, 2.3 abduction, 2.4 analogy, 2.5 fallacies, 3.1 adversarial and cooperative argumentation, 3.2 argumentation as an epistemic practice, 3.3 consensus-oriented argumentation, 3.4 argumentation and conflict management, 3.5 conclusion, 4.1 argumentation theory, 4.2 artificial intelligence and computer science, 4.3 cognitive science and psychology, 4.4 language and communication, 4.5 argumentation in specific social practices, 5.1 argumentative injustice and virtuous argumentation, 5.2 emotions and argumentation, 5.3 cross-cultural perspectives on argumentation, 5.4 argumentation and the internet, 6. conclusion, references for the main text, references for the historical supplement, other internet resources, related entries.

An argument can be defined as a complex symbolic structure where some parts, known as the premises, offer support to another part, the conclusion. Alternatively, an argument can be viewed as a complex speech act consisting of one or more acts of premising (which assert propositions in favor of the conclusion), an act of concluding, and a stated or implicit marker (“hence”, “therefore”) that indicates that the conclusion follows from the premises (Hitchcock 2007). [ 1 ] The relation of support between premises and conclusion can be cashed out in different ways: the premises may guarantee the truth of the conclusion, or make its truth more probable; the premises may imply the conclusion; the premises may make the conclusion more acceptable (or assertible).

For theoretical purposes, arguments may be considered as freestanding entities, abstracted from their contexts of use in actual human activities. But depending on one’s explanatory goals, there is also much to be gained from considering arguments as they in fact occur in human communicative practices. The term generally used for instances of exchange of arguments is argumentation . In what follows, the convention of using “argument” to refer to structures of premises and conclusion, and “argumentation” to refer to human practices and activities where arguments occur as communicative actions will be adopted.

Argumentation can be defined as the communicative activity of producing and exchanging reasons in order to support claims or defend/challenge positions, especially in situations of doubt or disagreement (Lewiński & Mohammed 2016). It is arguably best conceived as a kind of dialogue , even if one can also “argue” with oneself, in long speeches or in writing (in articles or books) for an intended but silent audience, or in groups rather than in dyads (Lewiński & Aakhus 2014). But argumentation is a special kind of dialogue: indeed, most of the dialogues we engage in are not instances of argumentation, for example when asking someone if they know what time it is, or when someone shares details about their vacation. Argumentation only occurs when, upon making a claim, someone receives a request for further support for the claim in the form of reasons, or estimates herself that further justification is required (Jackson & Jacobs 1980; Jackson, 2019). In such cases, dialogues of “giving and asking for reasons” ensue (Brandom, 1994; Bermejo Luque 2011). Since most of what we know we learn from others, argumentation seems to be an important mechanism to filter the information we receive, instead of accepting what others tell us uncritically (Sperber, Clément, et al. 2010).

The study of arguments and argumentation is also closely connected to the study of reasoning , understood as the process of reaching conclusions on the basis of careful, reflective consideration of the available information, i.e., by an examination of reasons . According to a widespread view, reasoning and argumentation are related (as both concern reasons) but fundamentally different phenomena: reasoning would belong to the mental realm of thinking—an individual inferring new information from the available information by means of careful consideration of reasons—whereas argumentation would belong to the public realm of the exchange of reasons, expressed in language or other symbolic media and intended for an audience. However, a number of authors have argued for a different view, namely that reasoning and argumentation are in fact two sides of the same coin, and that what is known as reasoning is by and large the internalization of practices of argumentation (MacKenzie 1989; Mercier & Sperber 2017; Mercier 2018). For the purposes of this entry, we can assume a close connection between reasoning and argumentation so that relevant research on reasoning can be suitably included in the discussions to come.

2. Types of Arguments

Arguments come in many kinds. In some of them, the truth of the premises is supposed to guarantee the truth of the conclusion, and these are known as deductive arguments. In others, the truth of the premises should make the truth of the conclusion more likely while not ensuring complete certainty; two well-known classes of such arguments are inductive and abductive arguments (a distinction introduced by Peirce, see entry on C.S. Peirce ). Unlike deduction, induction and abduction are thought to be ampliative: the conclusion goes beyond what is (logically) contained in the premises. Moreover, a type of argument that features prominently across different philosophical traditions, and yet does not fit neatly into any of the categories so far discussed, are analogical arguments. In this section, these four kinds of arguments are presented. The section closes with a discussion of fallacious arguments, that is, arguments that seem legitimate and “good”, but in fact are not. [ 2 ]

Valid deductive arguments are those where the truth of the premises necessitates the truth of the conclusion: the conclusion cannot but be true if the premises are true. Arguments having this property are said to be deductively valid . A valid argument whose premises are also true is said to be sound . Examples of valid deductive arguments are the familiar syllogisms, such as:

All humans are living beings. All living beings are mortal. Therefore, all humans are mortal.

In a deductively valid argument, the conclusion will be true in all situations where the premises are true, with no exceptions. A slightly more technical gloss of this idea goes as follows: in all possible worlds where the premises hold, the conclusion will also hold. This means that, if I know the premises of a deductively valid argument to be true of a given situation, then I can conclude with absolute certainty that the conclusion is also true of that situation. An important property typically associated with deductive arguments (but with exceptions, such as in relevant logic), and which differentiates them from inductive and abductive arguments, is the property of monotonicity : if premises A and B deductively imply conclusion C , then the addition of any arbitrary premise D will not invalidate the argument. In other words, if the argument “ A and B ; therefore C ” is deductively valid, then the argument “ A , B and D ; therefore C ” is equally deductively valid.

Deductive arguments are the objects of study of familiar logical systems such as (classical) propositional and predicate logic, as well as of subclassical systems such as intuitionistic and relevant logics (although in relevant logic the property of monotonicity does not hold, as it may lead to violations of criteria of relevance between premises and conclusion—see entry on relevance logic ). In each of these systems, the relation of logical consequence in question satisfies the property of necessary truth-preservation (see entry on logical consequence ). This is not surprising, as these systems were originally designed to capture arguments of a very specific kind, namely mathematical arguments (proofs), in the pioneering work of Frege, Russell, Hilbert, Gentzen, and others. Following a paradigm established in ancient Greek mathematics and famously captured in Euclid’s Elements , argumentative steps in mathematical proofs (in this tradition at least) must have the property of necessary truth preservation (Netz 1999). This paradigm remained influential for millennia, and still codifies what can be described as the “classical” conception of mathematical proof (Dutilh Novaes 2020a), even if practices of proof are ultimately also quite diverse. (In fact, there is much more to argumentation in mathematics than just deductive argumentation [Aberdein & Dove 2013].)

However, a number of philosophers have argued that deductive validity and necessary truth preservation in fact come apart. Some have reached this conclusion motivated by the familiar logical paradoxes such as the Liar or Curry’s paradox (Beall 2009; Field 2008; see entries on the Liar paradox and on Curry’s paradox ). Others have defended the idea that there are such things as contingent logical truths (Kaplan 1989; Nelson & Zalta 2012), which thus challenge the idea of necessary truth preservation. It has also been suggested that what is preserved in the transition from premises to conclusions in deductive arguments is in fact warrant or assertibility rather than truth (Restall 2004). Yet others, such as proponents of preservationist approaches to paraconsistent logic, posit that what is preserved by the deductive consequence relation is the coherence, or incoherence, of a set of premises (Schotch, Brown, & Jennings 2009; see entry on paraconsistent logic ). Nevertheless, it is fair to say that the view that deductive validity is to be understood primarily in terms of necessary truth preservation is still the received view.

Relatedly, there are a number of pressing philosophical issues pertaining to the justification of deduction, such as the exact nature of the necessity involved in deduction (metaphysical, logical, linguistic, epistemic; Shapiro 2005), and the possibility of offering a non-circular foundation for deduction (Dummett 1978). Furthermore, it is often remarked that the fact that a deductive argument is not ampliative may entail that it cannot be informative, which in turn would mean that its usefulness is quite limited; this problem has been described as “the scandal of deduction” (Sequoiah-Grayson 2008).

Be that as it may, deductive arguments have occupied a special place in philosophy and the sciences, ever since Aristotle presented the first fully-fledged theory of deductive argumentation and reasoning in the Prior Analytics (and the corresponding theory of scientific demonstration in the Posterior Analytics ; see Historical Supplement ). The fascination for deductive arguments is understandable, given their allure of certainty and indubitability. The more geometrico (a phrase introduced by Spinoza to describe the argumentative structure of his Ethics as following “a geometrical style”—see entry on Spinoza ) has been influential in many fields other than mathematics. However, the focus on deductive arguments at the expense of other types of arguments has arguably skewed investigations on argument and argumentation too much in one specific direction (see (Bermejo-Luque 2020) for a critique of deductivism in the study of argumentation).

In recent decades, the view that everyday reasoning and argumentation by and large do not follow the canons of deductive argumentation has been gaining traction. In psychology of reasoning, Oaksford and Chater were the first to argue already in the 1980s that human reasoning “in the wild” is essentially probabilistic, following the basic canons of Bayesian probabilities (Oaksford & Chater 2018; Elqayam 2018; see section 5.3 below). Computer scientists and artificial intelligence researchers have also developed a strong interest in non-monotonic reasoning and argumentation (Reiter 1980), recognizing that, outside specific scientific contexts, human reasoning tends to be deeply defeasible (Pollock 1987; see entries on non-monotonic logic and defeasible reasoning ). Thus seen, deductive argumentation might be considered as the exception rather than the rule in human argumentative practices taken as a whole (Dutilh Novaes 2020a). But there are others, especially philosophers, who still maintain that the use of deductive reasoning and argumentation is widespread and extends beyond niches of specialists (Shapiro 2014; Williamson 2018).

Inductive arguments are arguments where observations about past instances and regularities lead to conclusions about future instances and general principles. For example, the observation that the sun has risen in the east every single day until now leads to the conclusion that it will rise in the east tomorrow, and to the general principle “the sun always rises in the east”. Generally speaking, inductive arguments are based on statistical frequencies, which then lead to generalizations beyond the sample of cases initially under consideration: from the observed to the unobserved. In a good, i.e., cogent , inductive argument, the truth of the premises provides some degree of support for the truth of the conclusion. In contrast with a deductively valid argument, in an inductive argument the degree of support will never be maximal, as there is always the possibility of the conclusion being false given the truth of the premises. A gloss in terms of possible worlds might be that, while in a deductively valid argument the conclusion will hold in all possible worlds where the premises hold, in a good inductive argument the conclusion will hold in a significant proportion of the possible worlds where the premises hold. The proportion of such worlds may give a measure of the strength of support of the premises for the conclusion (see entry on inductive logic ).

Inductive arguments have been recognized and used in science and elsewhere for millennia. The concept of induction ( epagoge in Greek) was understood by Aristotle as a progression from particulars to a universal, and figured prominently both in his conception of the scientific method and in dialectical practices (see entry on Aristotle’s logic, section 3.1 ). However, a deductivist conception of the scientific method remained overall more influential in Aristotelian traditions, inspired by the theory of scientific demonstration of the Posterior Analytics . It is only with the so-called “scientific revolution” of the early modern period that experiments and observation of individual cases became one of the pillars of scientific methodology, a transition that is strongly associated with the figure of Francis Bacon (1561–1626; see entry on Francis Bacon ).

Inductive inferences/arguments are ubiquitous both in science and in everyday life, and for the most part quite reliable. The functioning of the world around us seems to display a fair amount of statistical regularity, and this is referred to as the “Uniformity Principle” in the literature on the problem of induction (to be discussed shortly). Moreover, it has been argued that generalizing from previously observed frequencies is the most basic principle of human cognition (Clark 2016).

However, it has long been recognized that inductive inferences/arguments are not unproblematic. Hume famously offered the first influential formulation of what became known as “the problem of induction” in his Treatise of Human Nature (see entries on David Hume and on the problem of induction ; Howson 2000). Hume raises the question of what grounds the correctness of inductive inferences/arguments, and posits that there must be an argument establishing the validity of the Uniformity Principle for inductive inferences to be truly justified. He goes on to argue that this argument cannot be deductive, as it is not inconceivable that the course of nature may change. But it cannot be probable either, as probable arguments already presuppose the validity of the Uniformity Principle; circularity would ensue. Since these are the only two options, he concludes that the Uniformity Principle cannot be established by rational argument, and hence that induction cannot be justified.

A more recent influential critique of inductive arguments is the one offered in (Harman 1965). Harman argues that either enumerative induction is not always warranted, or it is always warranted but constitutes an uninteresting special case of the more general category of inference to the best explanation (see next section). The upshot is that, for Harman, induction should not be considered a warranted form of inference in its own right.

Given the centrality of induction for scientific practice, there have been numerous attempts to respond to the critics of induction, with various degrees of success. Among those, an influential recent response to the problem of induction is Norton’s material theory of induction (Norton 2003). But the problem has not prevented scientists and laypeople alike from continuing to use induction widely. More recently, the use of statistical frequencies for social categories to draw conclusions about specific individuals has become a matter of contention, both at the individual level (see entry on implicit bias ) and at the institutional level (e.g., the use of predictive algorithms for law enforcement [Jorgensen Bolinger 2021]). These debates can be seen as reoccurrences of Hume’s problem of induction, now in the domain of social rather than of natural phenomena.

An abductive argument is one where, from the observation of a few relevant facts, a conclusion is drawn as to what could possibly explain the occurrence of these facts (see entry on abduction ). Abduction is widely thought to be ubiquitous both in science and in everyday life, as well as in other specific domains such as the law, medical diagnosis, and explainable artificial intelligence (Josephson & Josephson 1994). Indeed, a good example of abduction is the closing argument by a prosecutor in a court of law who, after summarizing the available evidence, concludes that the most plausible explanation for it is that the defendant must have committed the crime they are accused of.

Like induction, and unlike deduction, abduction is not necessarily truth-preserving: in the example above, it is still possible that the defendant is not guilty after all, and that some other, unexpected phenomena caused the evidence to emerge. But abduction is significantly different from induction in that it does not only concern the generalization of prior observation for prediction (though it may also involve statistical data): rather, abduction is often backward-looking in that it seeks to explain something that has already happened. The key notion is that of bringing together apparently independent phenomena or events as explanatorily and/or causally connected to each other, something that is absent from a purely inductive argument that only appeals to observed frequencies. Cognitively, abduction taps into the well-known human tendency to seek (causal) explanations for phenomena (Keil 2006).

As noted, deduction and induction have been recognized as important classes of arguments for millennia; the concept of abduction is by comparison a latecomer. It is important to notice though that explanatory arguments as such are not latecomers; indeed, Aristotle’s very conception of scientific demonstration is based on the concept of explaining causes (see entry on Aristotle ). What is recent is the conceptualization of abduction as a special class of arguments, and the term itself. The term was introduced by Peirce as a third class of inferences distinct from deduction and induction: for Peirce, abduction is understood as the process of forming explanatory hypotheses, thus leading to new ideas and concepts (whereas for him deduction and induction could not lead to new ideas or theories; see the entry on Peirce ). Thus seen, abduction pertains to contexts of discovery , in which case it is not clear that it corresponds to instances of arguments, properly speaking. In its modern meaning, however, abduction pertains to contexts of justification , and thus to speak of abductive arguments becomes appropriate. An abductive argument is now typically understood as an inference to the best explanation (Lipton 1971 [2003]), although some authors contend that there are good reasons to distinguish the two concepts (Campos 2011).

While the main ideas behind abduction may seem simple enough, cashing out more precisely how exactly abduction works is a complex matter (see entry on abduction ). Moreover, it is not clear that abductive arguments are always or even generally reliable and cogent. Humans seem to have a tendency to overshoot in their quest for causal explanations, and often look for simplicity where there is none to be found (Lombrozo 2007; but see Sober 2015 on the significance of parsimony in scientific reasoning). There are also a number of philosophical worries pertaining to the justification of abduction, especially in scientific contexts; one influential critique of abduction/inference to the best explanation is the one articulated by van Fraassen (Fraassen 1989). A frequent concern pertains to the connection between explanatory superiority and truth: are we entitled to conclude that the conclusion of an abductive argument is true solely on the basis of it being a good (or even the best) explanation for the phenomena in question? It seems that no amount of philosophical a priori theorizing will provide justification for the leap from explanatory superiority to truth. Instead, defenders of abduction tend to offer empirical arguments showing that abduction tends to be a reliable rule of inference. In this sense, abduction and induction are comparable: they are widely used, grounded in very basic human cognitive tendencies, but they give rise to a number of difficult philosophical problems.

Arguments by analogy are based on the idea that, if two things are similar, what is true of one of them is likely to be true of the other as well (see entry on analogy and analogical reasoning ). Analogical arguments are widely used across different domains of human activity, for example in legal contexts (see entry on precedent and analogy in legal reasoning ). As an example, take an argument for the wrongness of farming non-human animals for food consumption: if an alien species farmed humans for food, that would be wrong; so, by analogy, it is wrong for us humans to farm non-human animals for food. The general idea is captured in the following schema (adapted from the entry on analogy and analogical reasoning ; S is the source domain and T the target domain of the analogy):

• S is similar to T in certain (known) respects.
• S has some further feature Q .
• Therefore, T also has the feature Q , or some feature Q * similar to Q .

The first premise establishes the analogy between two situations, objects, phenomena etc. The second premise states that the source domain has a given property. The conclusion is then that the target domain also has this property, or a suitable counterpart thereof. While informative, this schema does not differentiate between good and bad analogical arguments, and so does not offer much by way of explaining what grounds (good) analogical arguments. Indeed, contentious cases usually pertain to premise 1, and in particular to whether S and T are sufficiently similar in a way that is relevant for having or not having feature Q .

Analogical arguments are widely present in all known philosophical traditions, including three major ancient traditions: Greek, Chinese, and Indian (see Historical Supplement ). Analogies abound in ancient Greek philosophical texts, for example in Plato’s dialogues. In the Gorgias , for instance, the knack of rhetoric is compared to pastry-baking—seductive but ultimately unhealthy—whereas philosophy would correspond to medicine—potentially painful and unpleasant but good for the soul/body (Irani 2017). Aristotle discussed analogy extensively in the Prior Analytics and in the Topics (see section 3.2 of the entry on analogy and analogical reasoning ). In ancient Chinese philosophy, analogy occupies a very prominent position; indeed, it is perhaps the main form of argumentation for Chinese thinkers. Mohist thinkers were particularly interested in analogical arguments (see entries on logic and language in early Chinese philosophy , Mohism and the Mohist canons ). In the Latin medieval tradition too analogy received sustained attention, in particular in the domains of logic, theology and metaphysics (see entry on medieval theories of analogy ).

Analogical arguments continue to occupy a central position in philosophical discussions, and a number of the most prominent philosophical arguments of the last decades are analogical arguments, e.g., Jarvis Thomson’s violinist argument purportedly showing the permissibility of abortion (Thomson 1971), and Searle’s Chinese Room argument purportedly showing that computers cannot display real understanding (see entry on the Chinese Room argument ). (Notice that these two arguments are often described as thought experiments [see entry on thought experiments ], but thought experiments are often based on analogical principles when seeking to make a point that transcends the thought experiment as such.) The Achilles’ heel of analogical arguments can be illustrated by these two examples: both arguments have been criticized on the grounds that the purported similarity between the source and the target domains is not sufficient to extrapolate the property of the source domain (the permissibility of disconnecting from the violinist; the absence of understanding in the Chinese room) to the target domain (abortion; digital computers and artificial intelligence).

In sum, while analogical arguments in general perhaps confer a lesser degree of conviction than the other three kinds of arguments discussed, they are widely used both in professional circles and in everyday life. They have rightly attracted a fair amount of attention from scholars in different disciplines, and remain an important object of study (see entry on analogy and analogical reasoning ).

One of the most extensively studied types of arguments throughout the centuries are, perhaps surprisingly, arguments that appear legitimate but are not, known as fallacious arguments . From early on, the investigation of such arguments occupied a prominent position in Aristotelian logical traditions, inspired in particular by his book Sophistical Refutations (see Historical Supplement ). The thought is that, to argue well, it is not sufficient to be able to produce and recognize good arguments; it is equally (or perhaps even more) important to be able to recognize bad arguments by others, and to avoid producing bad arguments oneself. This is particularly true of the tricky cases, namely arguments that appear legitimate but are not, i.e., fallacies.

Some well-know types of fallacies include (see entry on fallacies for a more extensive discussion):

• The fallacy of equivocation, which occurs when an arguer exploits the ambiguity of a term or phrase which has occurred at least twice in an argument to draw an unwarranted conclusion.
• The fallacy of begging the question, when one of the premises and the conclusion of an argument are the same proposition, but differently formulated.
• The fallacy of appeal to authority, when a claim is supported by reference to an authority instead of offering reasons to support it.
• The ad hominem fallacy, which involves bringing negative aspects of an arguer, or their situation, to argue against the view they are advancing.
• The fallacy of faulty analogy, when an analogy is used as an argument but there is not sufficient relevant similarity between the source domain and the target domain (as discussed above).

Beyond their (presumed?) usefulness in teaching argumentative skills, the literature on fallacies raises a number of important philosophical discussions, such as: What determines when an argument is fallacious or rather a legitimate argument? (See section 4.3 below on Bayesian accounts of fallacies) What causes certain arguments to be fallacious? Is the focus on fallacies a useful approach to arguments at all? (Massey 1981) Despite the occasional criticism, the concept of fallacies remains central in the study of arguments and argumentation.

3. Types of Argumentation

Just as there are different types of arguments, there are different types of argumentative situations, depending on the communicative goals of the persons involved and background conditions. Argumentation may occur when people are trying to reach consensus in a situation of dissent, but it may also occur when scientists discuss their findings with each other (to name but two examples). Specific rules of argumentative engagement may vary depending on these different types of argumentation.

A related point extensively discussed in the recent literature pertains to the function(s) of argumentation. [ 3 ] What’s the point of arguing? While it is often recognized that argumentation may have multiple functions, different authors tend to emphasize specific functions for argumentation at the expense of others. This section offers an overview of discussions on types of argumentation and its functions, demonstrating that argumentation is a multifaceted phenomenon that has different applications in different circumstances.

A question that has received much attention in the literature of the past decades pertains to whether the activity of argumentation is primarily adversarial or primarily cooperative. This question in fact corresponds to two sub-questions: the descriptive question of whether instances of argumentation are on the whole primarily adversarial or cooperative; and the normative question of whether argumentation should be (primarily) adversarial or cooperative. A number of authors have answered “adversarial” to the descriptive question and “cooperative” to the normative question, thus identifying a discrepancy between practices and normative ideals that must be remedied (or so they claim; Cohen 1995).

A case in point: recently, a number of far-right Internet personalities have advocated the idea that argumentation can be used to overpower one’s opponents, as described in the book The Art of the Argument: Western Civilization’s Last Stand (2017) by the white supremacist S. Molyneux. Such aggressive practices reflect a vision of argumentation as a kind of competition or battle, where the goal is to “score points” and “beat the opponent”. Authors who have criticized (overly) adversarial practices of argumentation include (Moulton 1983; Gilbert 1994; Rooney 2012; Hundleby 2013; Bailin & Battersby 2016). Many (but not all) of these authors formulated their criticism specifically from a feminist perspective (see entry on feminist perspectives on argumentation ).

Feminist critiques of adversarial argumentation challenge ideals of argumentation as a form of competition, where masculine-coded values of aggression and violence prevail (Kidd 2020). For these authors, such ideals encourage argumentative performances where excessive use of forcefulness is on display. Instances of aggressive argumentation in turn have a number of problematic consequences: epistemic consequences—the pursuit of truth is not best served by adversarial argumentation—as well as moral/ethical/political consequences—these practices exclude a number of people from participating in argumentative encounters, namely those for whom displays of aggression do not constitute socially acceptable behavior (women and other socially disadvantaged groups in particular). These authors defend alternative conceptions of argumentation as a cooperative, nurturing activity (Gilbert 1994; Bailin & Battersby 2016), which are traditionally feminine-coded values. Crucially, they view adversarial conceptions of argumentation as optional , maintaining that the alternatives are equally legitimate and that cooperative conceptions should be adopted and cultivated.

By contrast, others have argued that adversariality, when suitably understood, can be seen as an integral and in fact desirable component of argumentation (Govier 1999; Aikin 2011; Casey 2020; but notice that these authors each develop different accounts of adversariality in argumentation). Such authors answer “adversarial” both to the descriptive and to the normative questions stated above. One overall theme is the need to draw a distinction between (excessive) aggressiveness and adversariality as such. Govier, for example, distinguishes between ancillary (negative) adversariality and minimal adversariality (Govier 1999). The thought is that, while the feminist critique of excessive aggression in argumentation is well taken, adversariality conceived and practiced in different ways need not have the detrimental consequences of more extreme versions of belligerent argumentation. Moreover, for these authors, adversariality in argumentation is simply not optional: it is an intrinsic feature of argumentative practices, but these practices also require a background of cooperation and agreement regarding, e.g., the accepted rules of inference.

But ultimately, the presumed opposition between adversarial and cooperative conceptions of argumentation may well be merely apparent. It may be argued for example that actual argumentative encounters ought to be adversarial or cooperative to different degrees, as different types of argumentation are required for different situations (Dutilh Novaes forthcoming). Indeed, perhaps we should not look for a one-fits-all model of how argumentation ought to be conducted across different contexts and situation, given the diversity of uses of argumentation.

We speak of argumentation as an epistemic practice when we take its primary purpose to be that of improving our beliefs and increasing knowledge, or of fostering understanding. To engage in argumentation can be a way to acquire more accurate beliefs: by examining critically reasons for and against a given position, we would be able to weed out weaker, poorly justified beliefs (likely to be false) and end up with stronger, suitably justified beliefs (likely to be true). From this perspective, the goal of engaging in argumentation is to learn , i.e., to improve one’s epistemic position (as opposed to argumentation “to win” (Fisher & Keil 2016)). Indeed, argumentation is often said to be truth-conducive (Betz 2013).

The idea that argumentation can be an epistemically beneficial process is as old as philosophy itself. In every major historical philosophical tradition, argumentation is viewed as an essential component of philosophical reflection precisely because it may be used to aim at the truth (indeed this is the core of Plato’s critique of the Sophists and their excessive focus on persuasion at the expense of truth (Irani 2017; see Historical Supplement ). Recent proponents of an epistemological approach to argumentation include (Goldman 2004; Lumer 2005; Biro & Siegel 2006). Alvin Goldman captures this general idea in the following terms:

Norms of good argumentation are substantially dedicated to the promotion of truthful speech and the exposure of falsehood, whether intentional or unintentional. […] Norms of good argumentation are part of a practice to encourage the exchange of truths through sincere, non-negligent, and mutually corrective speech. (Goldman 1994: 30)

Of course, it is at least in theory possible to engage in argumentation with oneself along these lines, solitarily weighing the pros and cons of a position. But a number of philosophers, most notably John Stuart Mill, maintain that interpersonal argumentative situations, involving people who truly disagree with each other, work best to realize the epistemic potential of argumentation to improve our beliefs (a point he developed in On Liberty (1859; see entry on John Stuart Mill ). When our ideas are challenged by engagement with those who disagree with us, we are forced to consider our own beliefs more thoroughly and critically. The result is that the remaining beliefs, those that have survived critical challenge, will be better grounded than those we held before such encounters. Dissenters thus force us to stay epistemically alert instead of becoming too comfortable with existing, entrenched beliefs. On this conception, arguers cooperate with each other precisely by being adversarial, i.e., by adopting a critical stance towards the positions one disagrees with.

The view that argumentation aims at epistemic improvement is in many senses appealing, but it is doubtful that it reflects the actual outcomes of argumentation in many real-life situations. Indeed, it seems that, more often than not, we are not Millians when arguing: we do not tend to engage with dissenting opinions with an open mind. Indeed, there is quite some evidence suggesting that arguments are in fact not a very efficient means to change minds in most real-life situations (Gordon-Smith 2019). People typically do not like to change their minds about firmly entrenched beliefs, and so when confronted with arguments or evidence that contradict these beliefs, they tend to either look away or to discredit the source of the argument as unreliable (Dutilh Novaes 2020c)—a phenomenon also known as “confirmation bias” (Nickerson 1998).

In particular, arguments that threaten our core beliefs and our sense of belonging to a group (e.g., political beliefs) typically trigger all kinds of motivated reasoning (Taber & Lodge 2006; Kahan 2017) whereby one outright rejects those arguments without properly engaging with their content. Relatedly, when choosing among a vast supply of options, people tend to gravitate towards content and sources that confirm their existing opinions, thus giving rise to so-called “echo chambers” and “epistemic bubbles” (Nguyen 2020). Furthermore, some arguments can be deceptively convincing in that they look valid but are not (Tindale 2007; see entry on fallacies ). Because most of us are arguably not very good at spotting fallacious arguments, especially if they are arguments that lend support to the beliefs we already hold, engaging in argumentation may in fact decrease the accuracy of our beliefs by persuading us of false conclusions with incorrect arguments (Fantl 2018).

In sum, despite the optimism of Mill and many others, it seems that engaging in argumentation will not automatically improve our beliefs (even if this may occur in some circumstances). [ 4 ] However, it may still be argued that an epistemological approach to argumentation can serve the purpose of providing a normative ideal for argumentative practices, even if it is not always a descriptively accurate account of these practices in the messy real world. Moreover, at least some concrete instances of argumentation, in particular argumentation in science (see section 4.5 below) seem to offer successful examples of epistemic-oriented argumentative practices.

Another important strand in the literature on argumentation are theories that view consensus as the primary goal of argumentative processes: to eliminate or resolve a difference of (expressed) opinion. The tradition of pragma-dialectics is a prominent recent exponent of this strand (Eemeren & Grootendorst 2004). These consensus-oriented approaches are motivated by the social complexity of human life, and the attribution of a role of social coordination to argumentation. Because humans are social animals who must often cooperate with other humans to successfully accomplish certain tasks, they must have mechanisms to align their beliefs and intentions, and subsequently their actions (Tomasello 2014). The thought is that argumentation would be a particularly suitable mechanism for such alignment, as an exchange of reasons would make it more likely that differences of opinion would decrease (Norman 2016). This may happen precisely because argumentation would be a good way to track truths and avoid falsehoods, as discussed in the previous section; by being involved in the same epistemic process of exchanging reasons, the participants in an argumentative situation would all come to converge towards the truth, and thus the upshot would be that they also come to agree with each other. However, consensus-oriented views need not presuppose that argumentation is truth-conducive: the ultimate goal of such instances of argumentation is that of social coordination, and for this tracking truth is not a requirement (Patterson 2011).

In particular, the very notion of deliberative democracy is viewed as resting crucially on argumentative practices that aim for consensus (Fishkin 2016; see entry on democracy ). (For present purposes, “deliberation” and “argumentation” can be treated as roughly synonymous). In a deliberative democracy, for a decision to be legitimate, it must be preceded by authentic public deliberation—a discussion of the pros and cons of the different options—not merely the aggregation of preferences that occurs in voting. Moreover, in democratic deliberation, when full consensus does not emerge, the parties involved may opt for a compromise solution, e.g., a coalition-based political system.

A prominent theorist of deliberative democracy thus understood is Jürgen Habermas, whose “discourse theory of law and democracy” relies heavily on practices of political justification and argumentation taking place in what he calls “the public sphere” (Habermas 1992 [1996]; 1981 [1984]; see entry on Habermas ). He starts from the idea that politics allows for the collective organization of people’s lives, including the common rules they will live by. Political argumentation is a form of communicative practice, so general assumptions for communicative practices in general apply. However, additional assumptions apply as well (Olson 2011 [2014]). In particular, deliberating participants must accept that anyone can participate in these discursive practices (democratic deliberation should be inclusive), and that anyone can introduce and challenge claims that are made in the public sphere (democratic deliberation should be free). They must also see one another as having equal status, at least for the purposes of deliberation (democratic deliberation should be equal). In turn, critics of Habermas’s account view it as unrealistic, as it presupposes an ideal situation where all citizens are treated equally and engage in public debates in good faith (Mouffe 1999; Geuss 2019).

More generally, it seems that it is only under quite specific conditions that argumentation reliably leads to consensus (as also suggested by formal modeling of argumentative situations (Betz 2013; Olsson 2013; Mäs & Flache 2013)). Consensus-oriented argumentation seems to work well in cooperative contexts, but not so much in situations of conflict (Dutilh Novaes forthcoming). In particular, the discussing parties must already have a significant amount of background agreement—especially agreement on what counts as a legitimate argument or compelling evidence—for argumentation and deliberation to lead to consensus. Especially in situations of deep disagreement (Fogelin 1985), it seems that the potential of argumentation to lead to consensus is quite limited. Instead, in many real-life situations, argumentation often leads to the opposite result; people disagree with each other even more after engaging in argumentation (Sunstein 2002). This is the well-documented phenomenon of group polarization , which occurs when an initial position or tendency of individual members of a group becomes more extreme after group discussion (Isenberg 1986).

In fact, it may be argued that argumentation will often create or exacerbate conflict and adversariality, rather than leading to the resolution of differences of opinions. Furthermore, a focus on consensus may end up reinforcing and perpetuating existing unequal power relations in a society.

In an unjust society, what purports to be a cooperative exchange of reasons really perpetuates patterns of oppression. (Goodwin 2007: 77)

This general point has been made by a number of political thinkers (e.g., Young 2000), who have highlighted the exclusionary implications of consensus-oriented political deliberation. The upshot is that consensus may not only be an unrealistic goal for argumentation; it may not even be a desirable goal for argumentation in a number of situations (e.g., when there is great power imbalance). Despite these concerns, the view that the primary goal of argumentation is to aim for consensus remains influential in the literature.

Finally, a number of authors have attributed to argumentation the potential to manage (pre-existing) conflict. In a sense, the consensus-oriented view of argumentation just discussed is a special case of conflict management argumentation, based on the assumption that the best way to manage conflict and disagreement is to aim for consensus and thus eliminate conflict. But conflict can be managed in different ways, not all of them leading to consensus; indeed, some authors maintain that argumentation may help mitigate conflict even when the explicit aim is not that of reaching consensus. Importantly, authors who identify conflict management (or variations thereof) as a function for argumentation differ in their overall appreciation of the value of argumentation: some take it to be at best futile and at worst destructive, [ 5 ] while others attribute a more positive role to argumentation in conflict management.

To this category also belong the conceptualizations of argumentation-as-war discussed (and criticized) by a number of authors (Cohen 1995; Bailin & Battersby 2016); in such cases, conflict is not so much managed but rather enacted (and possibly exacerbated) by means of argumentation. Thus seen, the function of argumentation would not be fundamentally different from the function of organized competitive activities such as sports or even war (with suitable rules of engagement; Aikin 2011).

When conflict emerges, people have various options: they may choose not to engage and instead prefer to flee; they may go into full-blown fighting mode, which may include physical aggression; or they may opt for approaches somewhere in between the fight-or-flee extremes of the spectrum. Argumentation can be plausibly classified as an intermediary response:

[A]rgument literally is a form of pacifism—we are using words instead of swords to settle our disputes. With argument, we settle our disputes in ways that are most respectful of those who disagree—we do not buy them off, we do not threaten them, and we do not beat them into submission. Instead, we give them reasons that bear on the truth or falsity of their beliefs. However adversarial argument may be, it isn’t bombing. […] argument is a pacifistic replacement for truly violent solutions to disagreements…. (Aikin 2011: 256)

This is not to say that argumentation will always or even typically be the best approach to handle conflict and disagreement; the point is rather that argumentation at least has the potential to do so, provided that the background conditions are suitable and that provisions to mitigate escalation are in place (Aikin 2011). Versions of this view can be found in the work of proponents of agonistic conceptions of democracy and political deliberation (Wenman 2013; see entry on feminist political philosophy ). For agonist thinkers, conflict and strife are inevitable features of human lives, and so cannot be eliminated; but they can be managed. One of them is Chantal Mouffe (Mouffe 2000), for whom democratic practices, including argumentation/deliberation, can serve to contain hostility and transform it into more constructive forms of contest. However, it is far from obvious that argumentation by itself will suffice to manage conflict; typically, other kinds of intervention must be involved (Young 2000), as the risk of argumentation being used to exercise power rather than as a tool to manage conflict always looms large (van Laar & Krabbe 2019).

From these observations on different types of argumentation, a pluralistic picture emerges: argumentation, understood as the exchange of reasons to justify claims, seems to have different applications in different situations. However, it is not clear that some of the goals often attributed to argumentation such as epistemic improvement and reaching consensus can in fact be reliably achieved in many real life situations. Does this mean that argumentation is useless and futile? Not necessarily, but it may mean that engaging in argumentation will not always be the optimal response in a number of contexts.

4. Argumentation Across Fields of Inquiry and Social Practices

Argumentation is practiced and studied in many fields of inquiry; philosophers interested in argumentation have much to benefit from engaging with these bodies of research as well.

To understand the emergence of argumentation theory as a specific field of research in the twentieth century, a brief discussion of preceding events is necessary. In the nineteenth century, a number of textbooks aiming to improve everyday reasoning via public education emphasized logical and rhetorical concerns, such as those by Richard Whately (see entry on fallacies ). As noted in section 3.2 , John Stuart Mill also had a keen interest in argumentation and its role in public discourse (Mill 1859), as well as an interest in logic and reasoning (see entries on Mill and on fallacies ). But with the advent of mathematical logic in the final decades of the nineteenth century, logic and the study of ordinary, everyday argumentation came apart, as logicians such as Frege, Hilbert, Russell etc. were primarily interested in mathematical reasoning and argumentation. As a result, their logical systems are not particularly suitable to study everyday argumentation, as this is simply not what they were designed to do. [ 6 ]

Nevertheless, in the twentieth century a number of authors took inspiration from developments in formal logic and expanded the use of logical tools to the analysis of ordinary argumentation. A pioneer in this tradition is Susan Stebbing, who wrote what can be seen as the first textbook in analytic philosophy, and then went on to write a number of books aimed at a general audience addressing everyday and public discourse from a philosophical/logical perspective (see entry on Susan Stebbing ). Her 1939 book Thinking to Some Purpose , which can be considered as one of the first textbooks in critical thinking, was widely read at the time, but did not become particularly influential for the development of argumentation theory in the decades to follow.

By contrast, Stephen Toulmin’s 1958 book The Uses of Argument has been tremendously influential in a wide range of fields, including critical thinking education, rhetoric, speech communication, and computer science (perhaps even more so than in Toulmin’s own original field, philosophy). Toulmin’s aim was to criticize the assumption (widely held by Anglo-American philosophers at the time) that any significant argument can be formulated in purely formal, deductive terms, using the formal logical systems that had emerged in the preceding decades (see (Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: ch. 4). While this critique was met with much hostility among fellow philosophers, it eventually gave rise to an alternative way of approaching argumentation, which is often described as “informal logic” (see entry on informal logic ). This approach seeks to engage and analyze instances of argumentation in everyday life; it recognizes that, while useful, the tools of deductive logic alone do not suffice to investigate argumentation in all its complexity and pragmatic import. In a similar vein, Charles Hamblin’s 1970 book Fallacies reinvigorated the study of fallacies in the context of argumentation by re-emphasizing (following Aristotle) the importance of a dialectical-dialogical background when reflecting on fallacies in argumentation (see entry on fallacies ).

Around the same time as Toulmin, Chaïm Perelman and Lucie Olbrechts-Tyteca were developing an approach to argumentation that emphasized its persuasive component. To this end, they turned to classical theories of rhetoric, and adapted them to give rise to what they described as the “New Rhetoric”. Their book Traité de l’argumentation: La nouvelle rhétorique was published in 1958 in French, and translated into English in 1969. Its key idea:

since argumentation aims at securing the adherence of those to whom it is addressed, it is, in its entirety, relative to the audience to be influenced. (Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca 1958 [1969: 19])

They introduced the influential distinction between universal and particular audiences: while every argument is directed at a specific individual or group, the concept of a universal audience serves as a normative ideal encapsulating shared standards of agreement on what counts as legitimate argumentation (see Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: ch. 5).

The work of these pioneers provided the foundations for subsequent research in argumentation theory. One approach that became influential in the following decades is the pragma-dialectics tradition developed by Frans van Eemeren and Rob Grootendorst (Eemeren & Grootendorst 1984, 2004). They also founded the journal Argumentation , one of the flagship journals in argumentation theory. Pragma-dialectics was developed to study argumentation as a discourse activity, a complex speech act that occurs as part of interactional linguistic activities with specific communicative goals (“pragma” refers to the functional perspective of goals, and “dialectic” to the interactive component). For these authors, argumentative discourse is primarily directed at the reasonable resolution of a difference of opinion. Pragma-dialectics has a descriptive as well as a normative component, thus offering tools both for the analysis of concrete instances of argumentation and for the evaluation of argumentation correctness and success (see Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: ch. 10).

Another leading author in argumentation theory is Douglas Walton, who pioneered the argument schemes approach to argumentation that borrows tools from formal logic but expands them so as to treat a wider range of arguments than those covered by traditional logical systems (Walton, Reed, & Macagno 2008). Walton also formulated an influential account of argumentation in dialogue in collaboration with Erik Krabbe (Walton & Krabbe 1995). Ralph Johnson and Anthony Blair further helped to consolidate the field of argumentation theory and informal logic by founding the Centre for Research in Reasoning, Argumentation, and Rhetoric in Windsor (Ontario, Canada), and by initiating the journal Informal Logic . Their textbook Logical Self-Defense (Johnson & Blair 1977) has also been particularly influential.

The study of argumentation within computer science and artificial intelligence is a thriving field of research, with dedicated journals such as Argument and Computation and regular conference series such as COMMA (International Conference on Computational Models of Argument; see Rahwan & Simari 2009 and Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: ch. 11 for overviews).

The historical roots of argumentation research in artificial intelligence can be traced back to work on non-monotonic logics (see entry on non-monotonic logics ) and defeasible reasoning (see entry on defeasible reasoning ). Since then, three main different perspectives have emerged (Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: ch. 11): the theoretical systems perspective, where the focus is on theoretical and formal models of argumentation (following the tradition of philosophical and formal logic); the artificial systems perspective, where the aim is to build computer programs that model or support argumentative tasks, for instance, in online dialogue games or in expert systems; the natural systems perspective, which investigates argumentation in its natural form with the help of computational tools (e.g., argumentation mining [Peldszus & Stede 2013; Habernal & Gurevych 2017], where computational methods are used to identify argumentative structures in large corpora of texts).

An influential approach in this research tradition is that of abstract argumentation frameworks , initiated by the pioneering work of Dung (1995). Before that, argumentation in AI was studied mostly under the inspiration of concepts coming from informal logic such as argumentation schemes, context, stages of dialogues and argument moves. By contrast, the key notion in the framework proposed by Dung is that of argument attack , understood as an abstract formal relation roughly intended to capture the idea that it is possible to challenge an argument by means of another argument (assertions are understood as a special case of arguments with zero premises). Arguments can then be represented in networks of attacks and defenses: an argument A can attack an argument B , and B in turn may attack further arguments C and D (the connection with the notion of defeaters is a natural one, which Dung also addresses).

Besides abstract argumentation, three other important lines of research in AI are: the (internal) structure of arguments; argumentation in multi-agent systems; applications to specific tasks and domains (Rahwan & Siwari 2009). The structural approach investigates formally features such as argument strength/force (e.g., a conclusive argument is stronger than a defeasible argument), argument schemes (Bex, Prakken, Reed, & Walton 2003) etc. Argumentation in multi-agent systems is a thriving subfield with its own dedicated conference series (ArgMAS), based on the recognition that argumentation is a particularly suitable vehicle to facilitate interaction in the artificial environments studied by AI researchers working on multi-agent systems (see a special issue of the journal Argument & Computation [Atkinson, Cerutti, et al. 2016]). Finally, computational approaches in argumentation have also thrived with respect to specific domains and applications, such as legal argumentation (Prakken & Sartor 2015). Recently, as a reaction to the machine-learning paradigm, the idea of explainable AI has gotten traction, and the concept of argumentation is thought to play a fundamental role for explainable AI (Sklar & Azhar 2018).

Argumentation is also an important topic of investigation within cognitive science and psychology. Researchers in these fields are predominantly interested in the descriptive question of how people in fact engage in argumentation, rather than in the normative question of how they ought to do it (although some of them have also drawn normative conclusions, e.g., Hahn & Oaksford 2006; Hahn & Hornikx, 2016). Controlled experiments are one of the ways in which the descriptive question can be investigated.

Systematic research specifically on argumentation within cognitive science and psychology has significantly increased over the last 10 years. Before that, there had been extensive research on reasoning conceived as an individual, internal process, much of which had been conducted using task materials such as syllogistic arguments (Dutilh Novaes 2020b). But due to what may be described as an individualist bias in cognitive science and psychology (Mercier 2018), these researchers did not draw explicit connections between their findings and the public acts of “giving and asking for reasons”. It is only somewhat recently that argumentation began to receive sustained attention from these researchers. The investigations of Hugo Mercier and colleagues (Mercier & Sperber 2017; Mercier 2018) and of Ulrike Hahn and colleagues (Hahn & Oaksford 2007; Hornikx & Hahn 2012; Collins & Hahn 2018) have been particularly influential. (See also Paglieri, Bonelli, & Felletti 2016, an edited volume containing a representative overview of research on the psychology of argumentation.) Another interesting line of research has been the study of the development of reasoning and argumentative skills in young children (Köymen, Mammen, & Tomasello 2016; Köymen & Tomasello 2020).

Mercier and Sperber defend an interactionist account of reasoning, according to which the primary function of reasoning is for social interactions, where reasons are exchanged and receivers of reasons decide whether they find them convincing—in other words, for argumentation (Mercier & Sperber 2017). They review a wealth of evidence suggesting that reasoning is rather flawed when it comes to drawing conclusions from premises in order to expand one’s knowledge. From this they conclude, on the basis of evolutionary arguments, that the function of reasoning must be a different one, indeed one that responds to features of human sociality and the need to exercise epistemic vigilance when receiving information from others. This account has inaugurated a rich research program which they have been pursuing with colleagues for over a decade now, and which has delivered some interesting results—for example, that we seem to be better at evaluating the quality of arguments proposed by others than at formulating high-quality arguments ourselves (Mercier 2018).

In the context of the Bayesian (see entry on Bayes’ theorem ) approach to reasoning that was first developed by Mike Oaksford and Nick Chater in the 1980s (Oaksford & Chater 2018), Hahn and colleagues have extended the Bayesian framework to the investigation of argumentation. They claim that Bayesian probabilities offer an accurate descriptive model of how people evaluate the strength of arguments (Hahn & Oaksford 2007) as well as a solid perspective to address normative questions pertaining to argument strength (Hahn & Oaksford 2006; Hahn & Hornikx 2016). The Bayesian approach allows for the formulation of probabilistic measures of argument strength, showing that many so-called “fallacies” may nevertheless be good arguments in the sense that they considerably raise the probability of the conclusion. For example, deductively invalid argument schemes (such as affirming the consequent (AC) and denying the antecedent (DA)) can also provide considerable support for a conclusion, depending on the contents in question. The extent to which this is the case depends primarily on the specific informational context, captured by the prior probability distribution, not on the structure of the argument. This means that some instances of, say, AC, may offer support to a conclusion while others may fail to do so (Eva & Hartmann 2018). Thus seen, Bayesian argumentation represents a significantly different approach to argumentation from those inspired by logic (e.g., argument schemes), but they are not necessarily incompatible; they may well be complementary perspectives (see also [Zenker 2013]).

Argumentation is primarily (though not exclusively) a linguistic phenomenon. Accordingly, argumentation is extensively studied in fields dedicated to the study of language, such as rhetoric, linguistics, discourse analysis, communication, and pragmatics, among others (see Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: chs 8 and 9). Researchers in these areas develop general theoretical models of argumentation and investigate concrete instances of argumentation in specific domains on the basis of linguistic corpora, discourse analysis, and other methods used in the language sciences (see the edited volume Oswald, Herman, & Jacquin [2018] for a sample of the different lines of research). Overall, research on argumentation within the language sciences tends to focus primarily on concrete occurrences of arguments in a variety of domains, adopting a largely descriptive rather than normative perspective (though some of these researchers also tackle normative considerations).

Some of these analyses approach arguments and argumentation primarily as text or self-contained speeches, while others emphasize the interpersonal, communicative nature of “face-to-face” argumentation (see Eemeren, Garssen, et al. 2014: section 8.9). One prominent approach in this tradition is due to communication scholars Sally Jackson and Scott Jacobs. They have drawn on speech act theory and conversation analysis to investigate argumentation as a disagreement-relevant expansion of speech acts that, through mutually recognized reasons, allows us to manage disagreements despite the challenges they pose for communication and coordination of activities (Jackson & Jacobs 1980; Jackson 2019). Moreover, they perceive institutionalized practices of argumentation and concrete “argumentation designs”—such as for example randomized controlled trials in medicine—as interventions aimed at improving methods of disagreement management through argumentation.

Another communication scholar, Dale Hample, has further argued for the importance of approaching argumentation as an essentially interpersonal communicative activity (Hample 2006, 2018). This perspective allows for the consideration of a broader range of factors, not only the arguments themselves but also (and primarily) the people involved in those processes: their motivations, psychological processes, and emotions. It also allows for the formulation of questions pertaining to individual as well as cultural differences in argumentative styles (see section 5.3 below).

Another illuminating perspective views argumentative practices as inherently tied to broader socio-cultural contexts (Amossy 2009). The Journal of Argumentation in Context was founded in 2012 precisely to promote a contextual approach to argumentation. Once argumentation is no longer only considered in abstraction from concrete instances taking place in real-life situations, it becomes imperative to recognize that argumentation does not take place in a vacuum; typically, argumentative practices are embedded in other kinds of practices and institutions, against the background of specific socio-cultural, political structures. The method of discourse analysis is particularly suitable for a broader perspective on argumentation, as shown by the work of Ruth Amossy (2002) and Marianne Doury (2009), among others.

Argumentation is crucial in a number of specific organized social practices, in particular in politics, science, law, and education. The relevant argumentative practices are studied in each of the corresponding knowledge domains; indeed, while some general principles may govern argumentative practices across the board, some may be specific to particular applications and domains.

As already mentioned, argumentation is typically viewed as an essential component of political democratic practices, and as such it is of great interest to political scientists and political theorists (Habermas 1992 [1996]; Young 2000; Landemore 2013; Fishkin 2016; see entry on democracy ). (The term typically used in this context is “deliberation” instead of “argumentation”, but these can be viewed as roughly synonymous for our purposes.) General theories of argumentation such as pragma-dialectic and the Toulmin model can be applied to political argumentation with illuminating results (Wodak 2016; Mohammed 2016). More generally, political discourse seems to have a strong argumentative component, in particular if argumentation is understood more broadly as not only pertaining to rational discourse ( logos ) but as also including what rhetoricians refer to as pathos and ethos (Zarefsky 2014; Amossy 2018). But critics of argumentation and deliberation in political contexts also point out the limitations of the classical deliberative model (Sanders 1997; Talisse 2019).

Moreover, scientific communities seem to offer good examples of (largely) well-functioning argumentative practices. These are disciplined systems of collective epistemic activity, with tacit but widely endorsed norms for argumentative engagement for each domain (which does not mean that there are not disagreements on these very norms). The case of mathematics has already been mentioned above: practices of mathematical proof are quite naturally understood as argumentative practices (Dutilh Novaes 2020a). Furthermore, when a scientist presents a new scientific claim, it must be backed by arguments and evidence that her peers are likely to find convincing, as they follow from the application of widely agreed-upon scientific methods (Longino 1990; Weinstein 1990; Rehg 2008; see entry on the social dimensions of scientific knowledge ). Other scientists will in turn critically examine the evidence and arguments provided, and will voice objections or concerns if they find aspects of the theory to be insufficiently convincing. Thus seen, science may be viewed as a “game of giving and asking for reasons” (Zamora Bonilla 2006). Certain features of scientific argumentation seem to ensure its success: scientists see other scientists as prima facie peers, and so (typically at least) place a fair amount of trust in other scientists by default; science is based on the principle of “organized skepticism” (a term introduced by the pioneer sociologist of science Robert Merton [Merton, 1942]), which means that asking for further reasons should not be perceived as a personal attack. These are arguably aspects that distinguish argumentation in science from argumentation in other domains in virtue of these institutional factors (Mercier & Heintz 2014). But ultimately, scientists are part of society as a whole, and thus the question of how scientific and political argumentation intersect becomes particularly relevant (Kitcher 2001).

Another area where argumentation is essential is the law, which also corresponds to disciplined systems of collective activity with rules and principles for what counts as acceptable arguments and evidence. legal reasoning ).--> In litigation (in particular in adversarial justice systems), there are typically two sides disagreeing on what is lawful or just, and the basic idea is that each side will present its strongest arguments; it is the comparison between the two sets of arguments that should lead to the best judgment (Walton 2002). Legal reasoning and argumentation have been extensively studied within jurisprudence for decades, in particular since Ronald Dworkin’s (1977) and Neil MacCormick’s (1978) responses to HLA Hart’s highly influential The Concept of Law (1961). A number of other views and approaches have been developed, in particular from the perspectives of natural law theory, legal positivism, common law, and rhetoric (see Feteris 2017 for an overview). Overall, legal argumentation is characterized by extensive uses of analogies (Lamond 2014), abduction (Askeland 2020), and defeasible/non-monotonic reasoning (Bex & Verheij 2013). An interesting question is whether argumentation in law is fundamentally different from argumentation in other domains, or whether it follows the same overall canons and norms but applied to legal topics (Raz 2001).

Finally, the development of argumentative skills is arguably a fundamental aspect of (formal) education (Muller Mirza & Perret-Clermont 2009). Ideally, when presented with arguments, a learner should not simply accept what is being said at face value, but should instead reflect on the reasons offered and come to her own conclusions. Argumentation thus fosters independent, critical thinking, which is viewed as an important goal for education (Siegel 1995; see entry on critical thinking ). A number of education theorists and developmental psychologists have empirically investigated the effects of emphasizing argumentative skills in educational settings, with encouraging results (Kuhn & Crowell 2011). There has been in particular much emphasis on argumentation specifically in science education, based on the assumption that argumentation is a key component of scientific practice (as noted above); the thought is that this feature of scientific practice should be reflected in science education (Driver, Newton, & Osborne 2000; Erduran & Jiménez-Aleixandre 2007).

5. Further Topics

Argumentation is a multi-faceted phenomenon, and the literature on arguments and argumentation is massive and varied. This entry can only scratch the surface of the richness of this material, and many interesting, relevant topics must be left out for reasons of space. In this final section, a selection of topics that are likely to attract considerable interest in future research are discussed.

In recent years, the concept of epistemic injustice has received much attention among philosophers (Fricker 2007; McKinnon 2016). Epistemic injustice occurs when a person is unfairly treated qua knower on the basis of prejudices pertaining to social categories such as gender, race, class, ability etc. (see entry on feminist epistemology and philosophy of science ). One of the main categories of epistemic injustice discussed in the literature pertains to testimony and is known as testimonial injustice : this occurs when a testifier is not given a degree of credibility commensurate to their actual expertise on the relevant topic, as a result of prejudice. (Whether credibility excess is also a form of testimonial injustice is a moot point in the literature [Medina 2011].)

Since argumentation can be viewed as an important mechanism for sharing knowledge and information, i.e., as having significant epistemic import (Goldman 2004), the question arises whether there might be instances of epistemic injustice pertaining specifically to argumentation, which may be described as argumentative injustice , and which would be notably different from other recognized forms of epistemic injustice such as testimonial injustice. Bondy (Bondy 2010) presented a first articulation of the notion of argumentative injustice, modeled after Fricker’s notion of epistemic injustice and relying on a broadly epistemological conception of argumentation. However, Bondy’s analysis does not take into account some of the structural elements that have become central to the analysis of epistemic injustice since Fricker’s influential work, so it seems further discussion of epistemic injustice in argumentation is still needed. For example, in situations of disagreement, epistemic injustice can give rise to further obstacles to rational argumentation, leading to deep disagreement (Lagewaard 2021).

Moreover, as often noted by critics of adversarial approaches, argumentation can also be used as an instrument of domination and oppression used to overpower and denigrate an interlocutor (Nozick 1981), especially an interlocutor of “lower” status in the context in question (Moulton 1983; see entry on feminist approaches to argumentation ). From this perspective, it is clear that argumentation may also be used to reinforce and exacerbate injustice, inequalities and power differentials (Goodwin 2007). Given this possibility, and in response to the perennial risk of excessive aggressiveness in argumentative situations, a normative account of how argumentation ought to be conducted so as to avoid these problematic outcomes seem to be required.

One such approach is virtue argumentation theory . Drawing on virtue ethics and virtue epistemology (see entries on virtue ethics and virtue epistemology ), virtue argumentation theory seeks to theorize how to argue well in terms of the dispositions and character of arguers rather than, for example, in terms of properties of arguments considered in abstraction from arguers (Aberdein & Cohen 2016). Some of the argumentative virtues identified in the literature are: willingness to listen to others (Cohen 2019), willingness to take a novel viewpoint seriously (Kwong 2016), humility (Kidd 2016), and open-mindedness (Tanesini 2020).

By the same token, defective argumentation is conceptualized not (only) in terms of structural properties of arguments (e.g., fallacious argument patterns), but in terms of the vices displayed by arguers such as arrogance and narrow-mindedness, among others (Aberdein 2016). Virtue argumentation theory now constitutes a vibrant research program, as attested by a special issue of Topoi dedicated to the topic (see [Aberdein & Cohen 2016] for its Introduction). It allows for a reconceptualization of classical themes within argumentation theory while also promising to provide concrete recommendations on how to argue better. Whether it can fully counter the risk of epistemic injustice and oppressive uses of argumentation is however debatable, at least as long as broader structural factors related to power dynamics are not sufficiently taken into account (Kukla 2014).

On some idealized construals, argumentation is conceived as a purely rational, emotionless endeavor. But the strong connection between argumentative activities and emotional responses has also long been recognized (in particular in rhetorical analyses of argumentation), and more recently has become the object of extensive research (Walton 1992; Gilbert 2004; Hample 2006: ch. 5). Importantly, the recognition of a role for emotions in argumentation does not entail a complete rejection of the “rationality” of argumentation; rather, it is based on the rejection of a strict dichotomy between reason and emotion (see entry on emotion ), and on a more encompassing conception of argumentation as a multi-layered human activity.

Rather than dispassionate exchanges of reasons, instances of argumentation typically start against the background of existing emotional relations, and give rise to further affective responses—often, though not necessarily, negative responses of aggression and hostility. Indeed, it has been noted that, by itself, argumentation can give rise to conflict and friction where there was none to be found prior to the argumentative engagement (Aikin 2011). This occurs in particular because critical engagement and requests for reasons are at odds with default norms of credulity in most mundane dialogical interactions, thus creating a perception of antagonism. But argumentation may also give rise to positive affective responses if the focus is on coalescence and cooperation rather than on hostility (Gilbert 1997).

The descriptive claim that instances of argumentation are typically emotionally charged is not particularly controversial, though it deserves to be further investigated; the details of affective responses during instances of argumentation and how to deal with them are non-trivial (Krabbe & van Laar 2015). What is potentially more controversial is the normative claim that instances of argumentation may or should be emotionally charged, i.e., that emotions may or ought to be involved in argumentative processes, even if it may be necessary to regulate them in such situations rather than giving them free rein (González, Gómez, & Lemos 2019). The significance of emotions for persuasion has been recognized for millennia (see entry on Aristotle’s rhetoric ), but more recently it has become clear that emotions also have a fundamental role to play for choices of what to focus on and what to care about (Sinhababu 2017). This general point seems to apply to instances of argumentation as well. For example, Howes and Hundleby (Howes & Hundleby 2018) argue that, contrary to what is often thought, anger can in fact make a positive contribution to argumentative encounters. Indeed, anger may have an important epistemological role in such encounters by drawing attention to relevant premises and information that may otherwise go unnoticed. (They recognize that anger may also derail argumentation when the encounter becomes a full-on confrontation.)

In sum, the study of the role of emotions for argumentation, both descriptively and normatively speaking, has attracted the interest of a number of scholars, traditionally in connection with rhetoric and more recently also from the perspective of argumentation as interpersonal communication (Hample 2006). And yet, much work remains to be done on the significance of emotions for argumentation, in particular given that the view that argumentation should be a purely rational, dispassionate endeavor remains widely (even if tacitly) endorsed.

Once we adopt the perspective of argumentation as a communicative practice, the question of the influence of cultural factors on argumentative practices naturally arises. Is there significant variability in how people engage in argumentation depending on their sociocultural backgrounds? Or is argumentation largely the same phenomenon across different cultures? Actually, we may even ask ourselves whether argumentation in fact occurs in all human cultures, or whether it is the product of specific, contingent background conditions, thus not being a human universal. For comparison: it had long been assumed that practices of counting were present in all human cultures, even if with different degrees of complexity. But in recent decades it has been shown that some cultures do not engage systematically in practices of counting and basic arithmetic at all, such as the Pirahã in the Amazon (Gordon 2004; see entry on culture and cognitive science ). By analogy, it seems that the purported universality of argumentative practices should not be taken for granted, but rather be treated as a legitimate empirical question. (Incidentally, there is some anecdotal evidence that the Pirahã themselves engage in argumentative exchanges [Everett 2008], but to date their argumentative skills have not been investigated systematically, as is the case with their numerical skills.)

Of course, how widespread argumentative practices will be also depends on how the concept of “argumentative practices” is defined and operationalized in the first place. If it is narrowly defined as corresponding to regimented practices of reason-giving requiring clear markers and explicit criteria for what counts as premises, conclusions and relations of support between them, then argumentation may well be restricted to cultures and subcultures where such practices have been explicitly codified. By contrast, if argumentation is defined more loosely, then a wider range of communicative practices will be considered as instances of argumentation, and thus presumably more cultures will be found to engage in (what is thus viewed as) argumentation. This means that the spread of argumentative practices across cultures is not only an empirical question; it also requires significant conceptual input to be addressed.

But if (as appears to be the case) argumentation is not a strictly WEIRD phenomenon, restricted to Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic societies (Henrich, Heine, & Norenzayan 2010), then the issue of cross-cultural variability in argumentative practices gives rise to a host of research questions, again both at the descriptive and at the normative level. Indeed, even if at the descriptive level considerable variability in argumentative practices is identified, the normative question of whether there should be universally valid canons for argumentation, or instead specific norms for specific contexts, remains pressing. At the descriptive level, a number of researchers have investigated argumentative practices in different WEIRD as well as non-WEIRD cultures, also addressing questions of cultural variability (Hornikx & Hoeken 2007; Hornikx & de Best 2011).

A foundational work in this context is Edwin Hutchins’ 1980 book Culture and Inference , a study of the Trobriand Islanders’ system of land tenure in Papua New Guinea (Hutchins 1980). While presented as a study of inference and reasoning among the Trobriand Islanders, what Hutchins in fact investigated were instances of legal argumentation in land courts by means of ethnographic observation and interviews with litigants. This led to the formulation of a set of twelve basic propositions codifying knowledge about land tenure, as well as transfer formulas governing how this knowledge can be applied to new disputes. Hutchins’ analysis showed that the Trobriand Islanders had a sophisticated argumentation system to resolve issues pertaining to land tenure, in many senses resembling argumentation and reasoning in so-called WEIRD societies in that it seemed to recognize as valid simple logical structures such as modus ponens and modus tollens .

More recently, Hugo Mercier and colleagues have been conducting studies in countries such as Japan (Mercier, Deguchi, Van der Henst, & Yama 2016) and Guatemala (Castelain, Girotto, Jamet, & Mercier 2016). While recognizing the significance and interest of cultural differences (Mercier 2013), Mercier maintains that argumentation is a human universal, as argumentative capacities and tendencies are a result of natural selection, genetically encoded in human cognition (Mercier 2011; Mercier & Sperber 2017). He takes the results of the cross-cultural studies conducted so far as confirming the universality of argumentation, even considering cultural differences (Mercier 2018).

Another scholar who has been carrying out an extensive research program on cultural differences in argumentation is communication theorist Dale Hample. With different sets of colleagues, he has conducted studies by means of surveys where participants (typically, university undergraduates) self-report on their argumentative practices in countries such as China, Japan, Turkey, Chile, the Netherlands, Portugal, the United States (among others; Hample 2018: ch. 7). His results overall show a number of similarities, which may be partially explained by the specific demographic (university students) from which participants are usually recruited. But interesting differences have also been identified, for example different levels of willingness to engage in argumentative encounters.

In a recent book (Tindale 2021), philosopher Chris Tindale adopts an anthropological perspective to investigate how argumentative practices emerge from the experiences of peoples with diverse backgrounds. He emphasizes the argumentative roles of place, orality, myth, narrative, and audience, also assessing the impacts of colonialism on the study of argumentation. Tindale reviews a wealth of anthropological and ethnographic studies on argumentative practices in different cultures, thus providing what is to date perhaps the most comprehensive study on argumentation from an anthropological perspective.

On the whole, the study of differences and commonalities in argumentative practices across cultures is an established line of research on argumentation, but arguably much work remains to be done to investigate these complex phenomena more thoroughly.

So far we have not yet considered the question of the different media through which argumentation can take place. Naturally, argumentation can unfold orally in face-to-face encounters—discussions in parliament, political debates, in a court of law—as well as in writing—in scientific articles, on the Internet, in newspaper editorials. Moreover, it can happen synchronically, with real-time exchanges of reasons, or asynchronically. While it is reasonable to expect that there will be some commonalities across these different media and environments, it is also plausible that specific features of different environments may significantly influence how argumentation is conducted: different environments present different kinds of affordances for arguers (Halpern & Gibbs 2013; Weger & Aakhus 2003; see entry on embodied cognition for the concept of affordance). Indeed, if the Internet represents a fundamentally novel cognitive ecology (Smart, Heersmink, & Clowes 2017), then it will likely give rise to different forms of argumentative engagement (Lewiński 2010). Whether these new forms will represent progress (according to some suitable metric) is however a moot point.

In the early days of the Internet in the 1990s, there was much hope that online spaces would finally realize the Habermasian ideal of a public sphere for political deliberation (Hindman 2009). The Internet was supposed to act as the great equalizer in the worldwide marketplace of ideas, finally attaining the Millian ideal of free exchange of ideas (Mill 1859). Online, everyone’s voice would have an equal chance of being heard, everyone could contribute to the conversation, and everyone could simultaneously be a journalist, news consumer, engaged citizen, advocate, and activist.

A few decades later, these hopes have not really materialized. It is probably true that most people now argue more —in social media, blogs, chat rooms, discussion boards etc.—but it is much less obvious that they argue better . Indeed, rather than enhancing democratic ideals, some have gone as far as claiming that instead, the Internet is “killing democracy” (Bartlett 2018). There is very little oversight when it comes to the spreading of propaganda and disinformation online (Benkler, Faris, & Roberts 2018), which means that citizens are often being fed faulty information and arguments. Moreover, it seems that online environments may lead to increased polarization when polemic topics are being discussed (Yardi & Boyd 2010), and to “intellectual arrogance” (Lynch 2019). Some have argued that online discussions lead to more overly emotional engagement when compared to other forms of debate (Kramer, Guillory, & Hancock 2014). But not everyone is convinced that the Internet has only made things worse when it comes to argumentation, or in any case that it cannot be suitably redesigned so as to foster rather than destroy democratic ideals and deliberation (Sunstein 2017).

Be that as it may, the Internet is here to stay, and online argumentation is a pervasive phenomenon that argumentation theorists have been studying and will continue to study for years to come. In fact, if anything, online argumentation is now more often investigated empirically than other forms of argumentation, among other reasons thanks to the development of argument mining techniques (see section 4.2 above) which greatly facilitate the study of large corpora of textual material such as those produced by online discussions. Beyond the very numerous specific case studies available in the literature, there have been also attempts to reflect on the phenomenon of online argumentation in general, for example in journal special issues dedicated to argumentation in digital media such as in Argumentation and Advocacy (Volume 47(2), 2010) and Philosophy & Technology (Volume 30(2), 2017). However, a systematic analysis of online argumentation and how it differs from other forms of argumentation remains to be produced.

Argument and argumentation are multifaceted phenomena that have attracted the interest of philosophers as well as scholars in other fields for millennia, and continue to be studied extensively in various domains. This entry presents an overview of the main strands in these discussions, while acknowledging the impossibility of fully doing justice to the enormous literature on the topic. But the literature references below should at least provide a useful starting point for the interested reader.

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abduction | analogy: medieval theories of | analogy and analogical reasoning | Aristotle | Aristotle, General Topics: logic | Aristotle, General Topics: rhetoric | Bacon, Francis | Bayes’ Theorem | bias, implicit | Chinese Philosophy: logic and language in Early Chinese Philosophy | Chinese Philosophy: Mohism | Chinese Philosophy: Mohist Canons | Chinese room argument | cognition: embodied | critical thinking | Curry’s paradox | democracy | emotion | epistemology: virtue | ethics: virtue | fallacies | feminist philosophy, interventions: epistemology and philosophy of science | feminist philosophy, interventions: political philosophy | feminist philosophy, topics: perspectives on argumentation | Habermas, Jürgen | Hume, David | induction: problem of | legal reasoning: precedent and analogy in | liar paradox | logic: inductive | logic: informal | logic: non-monotonic | logic: paraconsistent | logic: relevance | logical consequence | Peirce, Charles Sanders | reasoning: defeasible | scientific knowledge: social dimensions of | Spinoza, Baruch | Stebbing, Susan | thought experiments

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Merel Talbi, Elias Anttila, César dos Santos, Hein Duijf, Silvia Ivani, Caglar Dede, Colin Rittberg, Marcin Lewiński, Andrew Aberdein, Malcolm Keating, Maksymillian Del Mar, and an anonymous referee for suggestions and/or comments on earlier drafts. This research was supported by H2020 European Research Council [771074-SEA].

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While Sandel argues that pursuing perfection through genetic engineering would decrease our sense of humility, he claims that the sense of solidarity we would lose is also important.

This thesis summarizes several points in Sandel’s argument, but it does not make a claim about how we should understand his argument. A reader who read Sandel’s argument would not also need to read an essay based on this descriptive thesis.  

Broad thesis (arguable, but difficult to support with evidence) 

Michael Sandel’s arguments about genetic engineering do not take into consideration all the relevant issues.

This is an arguable claim because it would be possible to argue against it by saying that Michael Sandel’s arguments do take all of the relevant issues into consideration. But the claim is too broad. Because the thesis does not specify which “issues” it is focused on—or why it matters if they are considered—readers won’t know what the rest of the essay will argue, and the writer won’t know what to focus on. If there is a particular issue that Sandel does not address, then a more specific version of the thesis would include that issue—hand an explanation of why it is important.  

Arguable thesis with analytical claim 

While Sandel argues persuasively that our instinct to “remake” (54) ourselves into something ever more perfect is a problem, his belief that we can always draw a line between what is medically necessary and what makes us simply “better than well” (51) is less convincing.

This is an arguable analytical claim. To argue for this claim, the essay writer will need to show how evidence from the article itself points to this interpretation. It’s also a reasonable scope for a thesis because it can be supported with evidence available in the text and is neither too broad nor too narrow.  

Arguable thesis with normative claim 

Given Sandel’s argument against genetic enhancement, we should not allow parents to decide on using Human Growth Hormone for their children.

This thesis tells us what we should do about a particular issue discussed in Sandel’s article, but it does not tell us how we should understand Sandel’s argument.  

Questions to ask about your thesis 

• Is the thesis truly arguable? Does it speak to a genuine dilemma in the source, or would most readers automatically agree with it?  
• Is the thesis too obvious? Again, would most or all readers agree with it without needing to see your argument?  
• Is the thesis complex enough to require a whole essay's worth of argument?  
• Is the thesis supportable with evidence from the text rather than with generalizations or outside research?  
• Would anyone want to read a paper in which this thesis was developed? That is, can you explain what this paper is adding to our understanding of a problem, question, or topic?
• picture_as_pdf Thesis

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Online Guide to Writing and Research

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• Online Guide to Writing

Writing Arguments

Steps to Writing an Argument

Develop your argument.

When you develop your argument, you are confirming your own position, and building your case for the readers. Use empirical evidence—facts and statistics—to support your claims. Appeal to your audience’s rational and logical thinking. Argue your case from the authority of your evidence and research.

Your list of strengths and weaknesses can help you develop your argument. Here is how to do that:

First, prioritize the strengths and weaknesses of each position and then decide on the top three to five strengths and weaknesses. 

Then, using a technique for developing content ideas, begin to expand your understanding of each item on your list (see the section in chapter 2 titled “ Techniques to Get Started ”). 

Evaluate each one in terms of how you can support it—by reasoning, providing details, adding an example, or offering evidence. 

Again, prioritize your list of strengths and weaknesses, this time noting the supporting comments that need more work, call for more evidence, or may be irrelevant to your argument. At this stage, it is better to overlook nothing and keep extensive notes for later reference.

As you develop your ideas, remember that you are presenting them in a fair-minded and rational way, counting on your readers’ intelligence, experience, and insight to evaluate your argument and see your point of view.

Techniques for Appealing to Your Readers

The success of your argument depends on your skill in convincing your readers—through sound reasoning, persuasion, and evidence—of the strength of your point of view. But how can you do that in the most effective way? There are three fundamental types of appeal in presenting an argument: reason, ethics, and emotion. As a writer, use all three of these techniques in your writing. 

But let’s learn more about these types of appeal:

Clear thinking requires that you state your claim and support it with concrete, specific facts. This approach appeals to our common sense and rational thinking. 

Formal reasoning involves following certain established logical methods to arrive at certain pieces of information or conclusions. Generally, these logical methods are known as inductive reasoning and deductive reasoning.

What is inductive reasoning? Inductive thinking is when our logical thinking states specific facts (called premises) and then draws a conclusion, or generalization. Inductive reasoning lets us examine the specific details, considering how well they add up to the generalization. When we think inductively, we are asking whether the evidence clearly supports the conclusions.

Example of Inductive Reasoning

Premise: Swans nest near this pond every summer.

Hypothesis: This summer, swans will probably nest near this pond.

What is deductive reasoning? In deductive reasoning, you take two premises to create a conclusion based on reasoning and evidence. When we think logically, we start with the generalization. As we apply our generalization to a specific situation, we examine the individual premises that make that generalization reasonable or unreasonable. When our logical thinking starts with the generalization, or conclusion, we may then apply the generalization to a particular situation to see if that generalization follows from the premises. Our deductive thinking can be expressed as a  syllogism  or an  enthymeme —a shortened form of the syllogism.

Syllogisms can be written like this:

All A are B.

All C are A.

Therefore, all C are B.

Example of Deductive Reasoning Using a Syllogism:

Major premise: All birds have feathers.

Minor premise: A parrot is a bird.

Conclusion: A parrot has feathers.

Enthymemes can be written like this:

If A=B and B=C, then A=C. 

But with enthymemes, B=C is implied.

Example of Deductive Reasoning Using an Enthymeme:

Conclusion: A parrot is a bird.

(We assume that a parrot has feathers)

Think of ethics as the force of a speaker’s character as it is represented in writing. If you misrepresent the evidence of one of your sources, your readers will question your ethics. 

In any situation in which you must rely on your readers’ goodwill and common sense, you will lose their open-minded stance toward your argument if you support it by using unethical methods. This can happen intentionally, by misrepresenting evidence and experts and by seeking to hurt individuals or groups. It can also happen unintentionally—you may undermine your argument by inadvertently misunderstanding the evidence and the implications of your position. This can occur if you don’t research the evidence responsibly, preferring instead to express your own and others’ unfounded opinions.

Using emotions as a support for argument can be tricky. Attempts to play on your readers’ emotions can seem manipulative and are often mistrusted. To use emotional appeal successfully, you must apply discretion and restraint. Choose examples that represent and illustrate your ideas fairly, and then present your arguments as objectively as possible. The writer must carefully draw the connections between the ideas and illustrations, choosing diction in such a way that readers don’t question motives as manipulative. Strong evidence accumulated by careful research often addresses this potential problem well.

Example of an Appeal to Emotion

Rather than continuing these tax-and-spend policies, we plan to return your hard-earned tax money to you.

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Table of Contents: Online Guide to Writing

Chapter 1: College Writing

How Does College Writing Differ from Workplace Writing?

What Is College Writing?

Why So Much Emphasis on Writing?

Chapter 2: The Writing Process

Doing Exploratory Research

Getting from Notes to Your Draft

Introduction

Prewriting - Techniques to Get Started - Mining Your Intuition

Prewriting: Targeting Your Audience

Prewriting: Techniques to Get Started

Prewriting: Understanding Your Assignment

Rewriting: Being Your Own Critic

Rewriting: Creating a Revision Strategy

Rewriting: Getting Feedback

Rewriting: The Final Draft

Techniques to Get Started - Outlining

Techniques to Get Started - Using Systematic Techniques

Thesis Statement and Controlling Idea

Writing: Getting from Notes to Your Draft - Freewriting

Writing: Getting from Notes to Your Draft - Summarizing Your Ideas

Writing: Outlining What You Will Write

Chapter 3: Thinking Strategies

A Word About Style, Voice, and Tone

A Word About Style, Voice, and Tone: Style Through Vocabulary and Diction

Critical Strategies and Writing

Critical Strategies and Writing: Analysis

Critical Strategies and Writing: Evaluation

Critical Strategies and Writing: Persuasion

Critical Strategies and Writing: Synthesis

Developing a Paper Using Strategies

Kinds of Assignments You Will Write

Patterns for Presenting Information

Patterns for Presenting Information: Critiques

Patterns for Presenting Information: Discussing Raw Data

Patterns for Presenting Information: General-to-Specific Pattern

Patterns for Presenting Information: Problem-Cause-Solution Pattern

Patterns for Presenting Information: Specific-to-General Pattern

Patterns for Presenting Information: Summaries and Abstracts

Supporting with Research and Examples

Writing Essay Examinations

Writing Essay Examinations: Make Your Answer Relevant and Complete

Writing Essay Examinations: Organize Thinking Before Writing

Writing Essay Examinations: Read and Understand the Question

Chapter 4: The Research Process

Planning and Writing a Research Paper

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Ask a Research Question

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Cite Sources

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Collect Evidence

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Decide Your Point of View, or Role, for Your Research

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Draw Conclusions

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Find a Topic and Get an Overview

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Manage Your Resources

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Outline

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Survey the Literature

Planning and Writing a Research Paper: Work Your Sources into Your Research Writing

Research Resources: Where Are Research Resources Found? - Human Resources

Research Resources: What Are Research Resources?

Research Resources: Where Are Research Resources Found?

Research Resources: Where Are Research Resources Found? - Electronic Resources

Research Resources: Where Are Research Resources Found? - Print Resources

Structuring the Research Paper: Formal Research Structure

Structuring the Research Paper: Informal Research Structure

The Nature of Research

The Research Assignment: How Should Research Sources Be Evaluated?

The Research Assignment: When Is Research Needed?

The Research Assignment: Why Perform Research?

Chapter 5: Academic Integrity

Academic Integrity

Giving Credit to Sources

Giving Credit to Sources: Copyright Laws

Giving Credit to Sources: Documentation

Giving Credit to Sources: Style Guides

Integrating Sources

Practicing Academic Integrity

Practicing Academic Integrity: Keeping Accurate Records

Practicing Academic Integrity: Managing Source Material

Practicing Academic Integrity: Managing Source Material - Paraphrasing Your Source

Practicing Academic Integrity: Managing Source Material - Quoting Your Source

Practicing Academic Integrity: Managing Source Material - Summarizing Your Sources

Types of Documentation

Types of Documentation: Bibliographies and Source Lists

Types of Documentation: Citing World Wide Web Sources

Types of Documentation: In-Text or Parenthetical Citations

Types of Documentation: In-Text or Parenthetical Citations - APA Style

Types of Documentation: In-Text or Parenthetical Citations - CSE/CBE Style

Types of Documentation: In-Text or Parenthetical Citations - Chicago Style

Types of Documentation: In-Text or Parenthetical Citations - MLA Style

Types of Documentation: Note Citations

Chapter 6: Using Library Resources

Finding Library Resources

Chapter 7: Assessing Your Writing

How Is Writing Graded?

How Is Writing Graded?: A General Assessment Tool

The Draft Stage

The Draft Stage: The First Draft

The Draft Stage: The Revision Process and the Final Draft

The Draft Stage: Using Feedback

The Research Stage

Using Assessment to Improve Your Writing

Chapter 8: Other Frequently Assigned Papers

Reviews and Reaction Papers: Article and Book Reviews

Reviews and Reaction Papers: Reaction Papers

Writing Arguments: Adapting the Argument Structure

Writing Arguments: Purposes of Argument

Writing Arguments: References to Consult for Writing Arguments

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - Anticipate Active Opposition

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - Determine Your Organization

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - Develop Your Argument

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - Introduce Your Argument

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - State Your Thesis or Proposition

Writing Arguments: Steps to Writing an Argument - Write Your Conclusion

Writing Arguments: Types of Argument

Appendix A: Books to Help Improve Your Writing

Dictionaries

General Style Manuals

Researching on the Internet

Special Style Manuals

Writing Handbooks

Appendix B: Collaborative Writing and Peer Reviewing

Collaborative Writing: Assignments to Accompany the Group Project

Collaborative Writing: Informal Progress Report

Collaborative Writing: Issues to Resolve

Collaborative Writing: Methodology

Collaborative Writing: Peer Evaluation

Collaborative Writing: Tasks of Collaborative Writing Group Members

Collaborative Writing: Writing Plan

General Introduction

Peer Reviewing

Appendix C: Developing an Improvement Plan

Working with Your Instructor’s Comments and Grades

Appendix D: Writing Plan and Project Schedule

Devising a Writing Project Plan and Schedule

Reviewing Your Plan with Others

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Supporting a Thesis: Using Rhetorical Appeals

The purpose of a position argument is to persuade readers to adopt a viewpoint. Writers of position arguments focus on a thesis that takes a stance on a debatable issue and supports that thesis with reasoning and evidence. When writing persuasively, consider your audience and use the kinds of reasoning strategies and evidentiary appeals you believe will be convincing. In addition, use language with which your audience is most comfortable. In academic environments, academic language is generally most acceptable, although you may choose to challenge this notion for rhetorical purposes. Outside academic environments, tailor your language to connect best with your audience.

Reasoning is most effective when it is built on evidence that readers recognize as logical and practical. Suppose you want to persuade your audience that because of the insurrection at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, additional police should be hired to protect the building and the people who work there. You could include information about the number of police on duty that day, the number of people injured, and the amount of damage done. You then could explain how the number of police on duty was insufficient to protect the people and the Capitol.

Additionally, you identify and refute the counterclaims . An example of a counterclaim against hiring additional police officers might be that the cost is too high. Your response, then, might be that the cost could easily be shifted from another nationally funded source.

Characteristics of Position Arguments

Ethos (ethical appeal).

You establish credibility by showing readers that your approach to the issue is fair and that you can be trusted. One way to demonstrate fairness and trustworthiness is to use neutral language that avoids name-calling. For instance, in your paper about hiring additional police to defend the Capitol, you would avoid taking political sides and would use neutral language when describing police, workers in the Capitol, and demonstrators.

To show trustworthiness, always follow these guidelines:

• Use only respected, reliable sources as evidence. Avoid sources that lean heavily to the political right or left or that are otherwise questionable as to accuracy. Reliable sources include scholarly, peer-reviewed articles and books, professional articles and books, and articles from magazines, newspapers, websites, and blogs. For more information about credible sources, see the chapter in Part 5 on evaluating sources.
• Present evidence from sources in the same context in which it was originally presented. Do not change the original author’s meaning or tone. Be especially careful of such changes when paraphrasing or summarizing.
• Cite evidence from the proper sources. Use the citation style required by your instructor, usually MLA Documentation and Format or APA Documentation and Format Proper citations direct readers to more information about your sources and show you are not plagiarizing.
• Incorporate common ground between readers who support your position and those who do not. To do this, many authors use evidence pulled from patriotic or religious documents to create ethical appeal. For instance, regarding the activity that took place at the Capitol, both sides might find common ground in the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, which outlines the rights of the people. The protestors might cite the section of the amendment that deals with freedom of assembly; those on the other side might point out that the amendment guarantees “the right of the people peaceably to assemble” and make the case that the assembly was not peaceable.

Logos (Logical Appeal)

You appeal to your audience’s intelligence by showing that you understand the value of sound reasoning. To do this, state your position clearly and support it with rational arguments, critical thinking, and credible evidence. Also, avoid exaggerating or making claims you cannot support with reliable evidence. Many authors use facts and statistics to create logical appeal.

To appeal to logic, follow these guidelines:

• State your position clearly with easy-to-understand language. For example, to appeal to readers’ intelligence in your paper about hiring additional police to defend the Capitol, avoid using vocabulary that would feel unnatural. Instead of writing, “The verbiage from the campaigners importuned the dispossession of their statesmen,” write, “The protestors demanded the resignations of their congressional representatives.”
• Support your position with sound reasoning that is neither incomplete nor faulty. Sound reasoning is that which all can agree makes sense. For example, you would not contend that the Capitol police force must be doubled from 2,000 to 4,000 to be ready for future protests because you cannot know the number needed at any time. However, you could argue that the Capitol police force and government leaders should study the January 6, 2021, riot to determine how many additional police are needed, should such an occasion arise again.
• Present your critical thinking through a well-constructed argument. By ordering your position argument in a manner that moves logically from one point to the next, you help guide readers through your thought process, which is reflected in the smooth flow of ideas that work together to support your thesis.
• Incorporate credible evidence from trusted and reliable academic, government, media, and professional sources. Using these sources shows readers that you recognize biased material and have excluded it from your paper.

Pathos (Emotional Appeal)

You appeal to your audience’s feelings—such as sympathy, anger, fear, insecurity, guilt, and conscience—to support your position.

For example, to appeal to your audience’s emotions in your paper about the need for more Capitol police, you might do the following:

• Help your readers understand feelings of fear. One way to appeal to this emotion is to quote from interviews with government workers and bystanders who were hiding behind locked doors and had no police protection.
• Use vivid description and concrete language to recreate images that showed lone officers overwhelmed by crowds of people and beaten.
• Use nonaggressive language to address the positions of readers who do not support your stance. For example, some readers may believe that the federal government spends too much money already and should not allocate more. By using language that is not inflammatory, you can show your empathy for others, and this may help you convince them to support your position.

Kairos (Timeliness)

The sense of timing—presenting your position at the right time—is critical in a position argument. For readers to feel a sense of urgency, the issue must be worthy of attention at the time it is presented.

For example, in an argumentative paper about the significance of the  Black Lives Matter  (BLM) movement, you could do the following:

• Point out the history of the BLM movement, which began in 2013 after the acquittal of the man accused of killing Trayvon  Martin  (1995–2012) in 2012.
• Note that today, most of the speeches delivered in BLM rallies held across the country reference the May 2020 murder of George  Floyd  (1973–2020).
• Emphasize that Floyd’s killing remains front and center in the minds of rally participants. In other words, the topic of Floyd’s death is timely, and related circumstances indicate a favorable time for action.
• Allusion :  direct or implied reference to a person, place, work of literature, idea, event, or anything a writer expects readers to know about. Allusion is a frequently used literary device.
• Citation :  reference to the source of information used in a writer’s research.
• Critical thinking : the ability to identify and solve problems by gathering information about a topic and then analyzing and evaluating evidence to form a judgment.
• Counterclaim (dissenting opinion) :  statement of what the other side might say in opposition to the stance the writer takes about an issue.
• Ethos : appeals to readers’ ethical sense, establishing authority and credibility.
• Evidence :  facts and other information that prove or disprove the validity of something written or stated.
• Introduction :  first part of a paper. In position arguments, the writer alerts readers to the issue or problem discussed and often presents the thesis at the end of the introduction.
• Kairos : appeal to the timeliness of the subject matter.
• Logos :  appeal to readers’ sense of logic or reason.
• Pathos : appeals to readers’ emotions.
• Purpose :  author’s reason for writing the paper. In a position argument, the purpose is to persuade readers to agree with the writer’s stance.
• Reasoning :  logical and sensible explanation of a concept.
• Recursive :  movement back and forth from one part of the writing process to another.
• Rhetorical appeals :  methods of persuasion (ethos, logos, pathos, and kairos).
• Rhetorical question :  questions intended to make a point rather than to get an answer. Rhetorical questions, which often have no answers or no obvious answers, appear frequently in argument writing as a way of capturing audience attention.
• Topic : subject of a paper.
• Thesis : a declarative sentence (sometimes two) that states a writer’s position about the paper’s debatable issue or topic.
• Transitional words or phrases : words and phrases that help readers connect ideas from one sentence to another or from one paragraph to another. Transitions establish relationships among ideas.

LICENSE AND ATTRIBUTE

Adapted from Michelle Bachelor Robinson and Maria Jerskey’s “ 10.3 Glance at Genre: Thesis, Reasoning, and Evidence” of Writing Guide with Handbook ,   2021, used according to  CC by 4.0 . Access for free at https://openstax.org/books/writing-guide/pages/10-3-glance-at-genre-thesis-reasoning-and-evidence

UNM Core Writing OER Collection Copyright © 2023 by University of New Mexico is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License , except where otherwise noted.

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Philosophical Arguments (WritePhilosophy Guide)

The first step to writing a good philosophy paper is to understand what a philosophy paper is. Fortunately, unlike most philosophical problems, we have a simple answer to that question. Quite simply:

A philosophy paper is an argument for a thesis.

We’ll say more about what an argument and a thesis are below. But the next step is to understand what makes a philosophy paper good . There are many things that affect how a reader will judge your paper. Some are unique to the psychology of that reader. But a philosophical reader, attuned to the norms and standards of philosophy, judges a paper primarily by one standard: how good is the argument for the thesis? In other words, they’re asking how well your paper does the job of being a philosophy paper.

The most important thing in writing a philosophy paper, then, is to make the strongest, most convincing argument for your thesis that you can. Everything else is window-dressing.

An argument for a thesis

Now that we know what a philosophy paper is, we can explore that definition in more detail to figure out what makes a philosophy paper good. The first thing to note is that the definition is given in the singular form . It’s an argument for a thesis. Not some arguments for a thesis, or even some arguments for some theses. The archetypal philosophy paper advances a single claim, its thesis, and devotes the entirety of the paper to convincing the reader of the truth of that claim.

To be sure, some of the best philosophical papers don’t do exactly this. They demonstrate multiple theses and offer a host of arguments in different directions. But these are papers written by remarkable philosophers whose skills have been finely honed and who can break this golden rule without scuppering their argumentative power, like a virtuoso musician who plays in ways no one else can, or a chess grandmaster who knows just when to do the unexpected to turn a match on its head. To put it another way, those papers are good despite the fact that they don’t offer a single argument for a single thesis, not because of it. Unless you are Wittgenstein, don’t try to write like Wittgenstein…

Your philosophy paper should articulate a single thesis, and use a single line of argument to persuade your reader of it. Because you have only one thesis in your paper, you might hope that it’s a good one! What exactly is your thesis?

Your thesis is a single sentence which you will defend throughout the paper. It must be a declarative sentence . It is not a question. Rather, it is probably an answer to some question. If the prompt for your paper is a question such as “Is active euthanasia morally permissible?”, then your thesis might be a direct response to that question, like: “Active euthanasia is morally permissible.” It also should not be an order or instruction. Imperative sentences such as orders are not defended by arguments. For instance, rather than “Do not perform active euthanasia”, your thesis would be something like: “Doctors should not perform active euthanasia”. Your thesis is a proposition, not a question or instruction.

Your thesis must be a declarative sentence because only declarative sentences can be the conclusion of a logical argument . You can think about your thesis as the conclusion of the argument which you are making. This can be challenging: after all, how do you know what argument you are making unless you know what conclusion you are trying to demonstrate? Many writers start with a thesis they want to prove, then construct the argument working backwards from there. But, as we’ll see, it might turn out that what you wanted to prove and what you are able to prove with your argument are different. In that case, your thesis must be what you actually argue for, not what you wanted to argue for . There is no shame in defending a less ambitious, more specific thesis, or in defending a thesis which you originally did not believe to be true. A hallmark of philosophy is going where the arguments take us, without attachment to principles or ideas which have not been rigorously demonstrated by logical argument.

Your thesis must be what you actually argue for, not what you wanted to argue for .

For most philosophy papers, if you cannot state your thesis as a single sentence, your paper is too complex or you simply have not yet chosen a specific thesis. It’s fine if you need a few more sentences to explain your thesis (perhaps by defining terms or contextualising it), as long as it can be stated in one. A thesis statement is always a single sentence, but it can be quite a complicated sentence. Consider, for example the following thesis:

“If Abrams’ objection to James Rachels’ argument is invalid, then active euthanasia is morally permissible if and only if the patient is able to actively and autonomously consent to the procedure and the patients’ life is irreversibly not worth living as judged by the patient themselves.”

“Either scientific realism is true or the success of scientific theories in allowing us to predict novel facts about our universe cannot be explained.”

The first thesis here is in the conditional form – an ‘if … then …’ statement (see below for more detail). The second is in disjunctive form – an ‘either … or … ‘ statement. This is perfectly permissible, as long as this is precisely the claim for which you are arguing. Indeed, you will often find that it is almost impossible to argue convincingly for broad, general claims like “Scientific realism is true” or “Active euthanasia is morally permissible”. Good philosophers will find themselves narrowing their thesis by adding qualifiers (e.g. ‘if and only if the patient is able to actively and autonomously consent to the procedure’). Again, this is not weakness, it is a strength of your paper: precision about what you are and are not defending is the only way to ensure that you will convince your reader.

The scope of your thesis usually matches the length of your paper. In a short paper, you won’t be able to defend a broad, general claim. Rather, you will make a small inroad towards a defence of that larger claim. If you are interested in whether active euthanasia is morally permissible, but are writing only a 1,500 word paper, your thesis might relate to a specific objection to an argument for the permissibility of euthanasia. For example: “ Abrams’ objection to Rachels’ bathtub case fails to undermine the validity of his argument that the distinction between killing and letting die is not morally relevant. ” If you were writing a 70,000-word book, on the other hand, your thesis’s scope might be much larger.

When writing a philosophy paper for a course, in response to a prompt or question, you will need to show the relevance of your thesis to that question . If the question was “Is active euthanasia morally permissible?” and your thesis relates only to Abrams’ objection to Rachels’ argument that the distinction between killing and letting die is morally irrelevant, then you need to do some work to explain why that matters to the question. Why is the distinction between killing and letting die pertinent to the moral permissibility of euthanasia? Why is Rachels’ argument relevant to that distinction? How does Abrams’ objection relate to Rachels’ argument? It may be that a significant portion of your paper is devoted to explaining why and how your thesis relates to the question at hand. Generally speaking, this is fine and expected. Do not let the generality of the question trick you into thinking you must defend a very general thesis! This is luring you down the path of writing a weak paper, in which you are unable to fully convince your reader of your thesis because you don’t have the space to demonstrate such a sweeping claim. Think of your defence of your thesis as a contribution towards the wider philosophical literature which, taken together, might allow us to answer the question.

Most of the time, your thesis will evolve over the writing process. When you first start out on your paper, you might only have a broad sense of what you want to argue. You might know that you think Rachels’ argument that the killing/letting die distinction is morally irrelevant seems very important to the permissibility of euthanasia, and be convinced by his argument. So your initial draft thesis might be something like: “Rachels’ argument that the killing/letting die distinction is morally irrelevant proves that active euthanasia can be morally permissible.” How would you prove that claim? You’d need to show that Rachels’ argument works. But to do that, it seems you’d need to dispense with all of the possible objections people could have to Rachels’ argument. That seems like too much to achieve in 1,500 words (and it is!) Perhaps, as you do more reading and writing, you find that it’s Abrams’ objection to Rachels’ argument which is giving you the most trouble in defending that claim. But you think you have a convincing response to Abrams that dispenses with her objection while leaving Rachels’ original argument intact. The only problem is that to explain Rachels’ argument, Abrams’ objection, and your response, is going to take the entire paper! No problem. Modify your thesis to focus only on showing that Abrams’ objection fails. Again, do not fear this refinement process: it is a good sign.

A more vexing question that we’ll have to bracket is what makes a thesis philosophical . A thesis could be purely factual, empirical, such as: “The average weight of a mute swan is 10kg.” This is not going to be the thesis of a philosophy paper – but might be the thesis of a particularly niche piece of ornithology. Generally, the thesis of a philosophy paper won’t be a scientific claim about the world, like that one. We might postpone the question by saying that a philosophical thesis is a claim which is relevant in answering some philosophical question. A premise in a philosophical argument for some philosophically-important claim. We’ll talk more about the range of philosophical questions in the Areas of Philosophy guide.

Your philosophy paper stands or falls primarily on whether you successfully persuade your reader of the truth of your thesis. Your argument is your tool to achieve this. Formally, an argument is a series of premises and a conclusion . Each premise and the conclusion must be declarative sentences. There can be many premises, or just one. When we present an argument, we make the claim that the conclusion follows (in some sense – much more on that to come ) from the premises. Arguments come in many shapes and sizes but they all share that same basic structure:

Premises Therefore, Conclusion

The word “Therefore” signifies the transition from premises to conclusion, and embeds our claim that the conclusion follows from the premises. In day-to-day writing, we could also use ‘thus’, ‘ergo’, ‘so’, etc. – but for simplicity, always stick to the philosophical convention and use ‘therefore’.

Here’s an example of an argument:

If God is all-powerful, then he could prevent evil. If God is all-loving, then he would want to prevent evil. So, God has the means and the desire to prevent evil. But evil exists. Therefore, there is no all-powerful and all-loving God.

We can break this down into the premises and the conclusion. The conclusion comes after the ‘Therefore’: it’s “There is no all-powerful and all-loving God”. The premises could be:

• Evil exists
• If God is all-powerful, then he could prevent evil.
• If God is all-loving, then he would want to prevent evil.
• An all-powerful, all-loving God has the means and the desire to prevent evil.

Four premises. If we look closely, we see that premise 4 as presented here is written as: “So, God has the means and the desire to prevent evil.” We know that ‘so’ is one of our synonyms for ‘therefore’. And indeed, what is happening here is an argument-within-an-argument. From premises 2 and 3, we can infer the truth of premise 4. So the broader argument has a mini-argument within it, namely:

1. If God is all-powerful, then he could prevent evil. 2. If God is all-loving, then he would want to prevent evil. Therefore, an all-powerful, all-loving God has the means and the desire to prevent evil.

We also had to clarify that conclusion – in the original argument as laid out in plain text, it was left implicit that ‘God’ is all-loving and all-powerful. But there might be other kinds of God – so we state that explicitly in our logical formulation.

Technically, we don’t need to state premise 4 in our formulation of the argument, because the conclusion follows from premises 1, 2 and 3. We like to remove any redundant premises because they could be a source of criticism, while not being necessary to the argument. But spelling out the intermediate step, the mini-argument within the broader argument, can be helpful in bringing the reader along with you, though. We could state our full argument as:

1. If God is all-powerful, then he could prevent evil. 2. If God is all-loving, then he would want to prevent evil. 3. Evil exists. Therefore, there is no all-powerful, all-loving God.

But there are a few holes in the reasoning. For instance, we might ask whether it follows from God having the means and desire to prevent evil that he would have gone ahead and done it. After all, there are plenty of things that we have the means and desire to do which we don’t do! To avoid that trap, we might add a new revised version of the old premise 4:

4. If God has the means to prevent evil and wants to prevent evil, then God would prevent evil.

Now, that fourth premise is no longer redundant – it is adding something new that we didn’t get from the first three premises, namely the requirement that for God, means and motive to prevent evil are sufficient for him to act.

This simple argumentative jiu-jitsu isn’t enough to avoid the problem, it merely makes it explicit. Anyone who might disagree can now clearly see that there is an avenue for objection: to show reasons why God might not prevent evil even though he could do it and wants to do it. If this was the argument we were making in a philosophy paper, we’d probably have to focus a lot of attention on defending that fourth premise.

A persuasive argument for a thesis

Our philosophy paper is an argument for a thesis. So, our philosophy paper, in a very real sense, is a series of premises and a conclusion. But it won’t be enough to simply state the premises and conclusion. We want the reader to be persuaded by our argument into believing that our thesis (the conclusion) is true. This gives us a golden rule for writing philosophy papers:

In order to persuade a reader of your thesis, they need to accept two things: 1. That the conclusion follows from the premises. 2. That the premises are all true.

Every good philosophy paper achieves these two things. This is about crafting an argument in which the conclusion follows from the premises, and about defending your premises to the point that the reader is persuaded to accept them. If your argument is deductive, this is the same as saying that your argument is sound .

Sometimes we need to demonstrate that the argument works by showing that the conclusion does indeed follow from the premises. In the next article in this guide, on validity and soundness , we’ll talk about one approach to doing this. If your reader looks at your premises and conclusion and can see a reason to doubt that the conclusion actually follows, then they are unlikely to be persuaded, and the battle is lost. That was what happened with the first version of the Problem of Evil argument above – there was a way to accept all of the premises while still denying the conclusion (namely, to say that God might have the means and the motive to prevent evil, but not do so for another reason). Usually, you want your argument to be watertight, so that the conclusion follows indisputably from the premises. But that’s not always the case – we’ll talk about some interesting forms of argument where the conclusion does not indisputably follow from the premises in the article on inductive arguments .

We also need to demonstrate the truth of each of the premises! After all, your reader is hardly going to be convinced by your argument if they think one or more of the premises is false. That would give them a very easy reason to disregard the entire paper.

How do you defend a premise? By showing that it is true. Some premises are uncontroversial, accepted by everyone involved in the debate. But in philosophy, this is quite rare. Some philosophers might take the claim that a premise is ‘obvious’ or ‘clearly true’ as a challenge! But if a premise really is uncontroversial, you won’t need a defence of it. Sometimes, your paper will be almost entirely about one premise, to the point that your thesis might, in all honesty, be that premise itself. This should only happen where the other premises are generally accepted. All your work defending premise 1 is for naught if the reader disagrees with premise 2! Remember: a reader is only persuaded if they are convinced of the truth of every premise. If you find that your paper focuses almost entirely on one premise, despite other premises being controversial, that’s absolutely fine: but you need to alter your thesis. Make that premise your thesis, and explain the importance of it to the broader argument (which you now won’t be defending).

Sometimes, there are empirical claims amongst your premises. “Evil exists” might be one example. For simple existential claims like ‘there is evil in the world’ or ‘there is a black swan’, a single example usually suffices. But be careful of your definitions here. Unless you have a robust definition of ‘evil’, a reader might disagree that the example(s) you cite qualify! If your empirical claim is more complex or disputable – e.g. ‘Destruction of the cerebral cortex inhibits conscious experience’ – then your best option is usually to cite scientific or social scientific papers which demonstrate the phenomenon of interest. Your philosophy paper is about the philosophical implications of some fact(s) about the world, not about establishing those facts.

Otherwise, establishing the truth of a premise will require its own mini- argument ! This is why philosophy papers which present a single argument for a single thesis may nonetheless contain multiple strands of argumentation. In the original version of the Problem of Evil argument, above, the argument might have looked like this:

1. God has the means and motive to prevent evil. 2. If God has the means and motive to prevent evil, then evil would not exist. 3. Evil exists. Therefore, God does not exist.

This simpler version of the argumentative schema presented above has a couple of difficult premises. Premise 1 immediately stands out. How do we know that God can and wants to prevent evil? This is where my original version of the argument presented a mini-argument for that premise, drawing on the properties of God as all-powerful and all-loving to try to prove his capability and desire to prevent evil.

Of course, if you are now assembling a new argument to demonstrate the truth of one of your premises, you will need to show the truth of the premises of that new sub-argument too! Uh oh. If we need arguments for the premises in the argument for the premises of our argument (and so on!) where do we end? We’re tumbling down a philosophical rabbit hole.

We only have so much space to defend our argument, so at some point we are going to have to assume that the reader agrees with some claims. Hopefully these are relatively uncontroversial. But there is another way to avoid having to assume the reader’s agreement with a premise: conditionalising our thesis.

Defending a conditional thesis

A conditional thesis has the form ‘If … , then … ‘. We call the first part of the sentence (after ‘if’) the antecedent of the conditional, and the part after ‘then’ the consequent : “If antecedent , then consequent .” To form a conditional thesis, we take one of our premises and assume it. To do this, we make the premise our antecedent and the original thesis becomes the consequent.

For example, suppose I am worried that a reader might not agree with me that ‘God’ means a being which is all-powerful and all-loving. I don’t want to defend the claim ‘God is all-powerful and all-loving’ (perhaps I lack the space or haven’t got a good argument for that claim, or I’m aware there are other conceptions of God but don’t want to discuss them). Instead, I defend the following conditional thesis:

If God is defined as all-loving and all-powerful, then God does not exist.

My original thesis was that there is no God. But now, my thesis is a conditional: assuming ‘God’ would be an all-loving and all-powerful being, there is no God. In the example above, I had actually already embedded the assumption that God is all-powerful and all-loving into the conclusion. Sometimes, we can rewrite a conditional sentence in a simpler way. Previously, I wrote “There is no all-loving, all-powerful God”. This is equivalent to: “If God is defined as all-loving and all-powerful, then there is no God.”

Suppose instead that I was concerned that my reader would not agree that evil exists, or that I don’t want to have to defend that empirical claim in my paper. I could conditionalise my thesis again, and deliver the argument:

1. If God is all-powerful, then he could prevent evil. 2. If God is all-loving, then he would want to prevent evil. 3. If God has the means and the desire to prevent evil, then evil would not exist. Therefore, if evil exists, then there is no all-powerful, all-loving God.

The more of my premises I bring into my thesis, the less I need to defend in my paper. But, my thesis has become narrower in scope. The claim “If evil exists, then there is no all-powerful, all-loving God” is less powerful than the claim “There is no God”. But as we said before, this would not usually be seen as a problem for a philosophy paper. We don’t expect to prove vast sweeping generalisations in a short paper. If you really did demonstrate that “If evil exists, then there is no all-powerful, all-loving God”, that would be a big enough deal!

There is another approach to integrating a undefended premise into your thesis. Because a conditional sentence can be rewritten as a disjunctive sentence (i.e. ‘Either … , or … ‘), you can include a premise by negating the premise and creating a disjunctive thesis.

For example, instead of “If evil exists, then there is no all-powerful, all-loving God”, I could have written: “Either evil does not exist, or there is no all-powerful, all-loving God”. This works out just the same (for reasons that will have to wait for our discussion of logical equivalences). If your reader might be reluctant to accept either alternative here, this could have the logical form of a dilemma . It is a matter of personal taste (and writing style) whether you choose to render your thesis as a conditional, a disjunction, or through some more elegant phrasing which serves the same purpose.

A persuasive argument for a precise thesis

A philosophy paper is an argument for a thesis. A good philosophy paper gives a persuasive argument for a precise, clearly stated thesis. Leaving aside the psychology of persuasion and assuming a level of rationality in our reader (which we should not do!), an argument is persuasive insofar as the reader is convinced that the conclusion follows from the premises, and that the premises are true. The job of a philosophy paper, then, is to convince the reader of exactly this. To convince them of this, they need to understand the premises and the conclusion, and the words involved. This is the business of defining terms, explaining the debate, recounting the arguments of others, and citing your sources. All of these elements are important because the reader cannot be convinced unless they understand. But the real work of a philosophy paper is in defending your premises and crafting an argument in which the conclusion really does follow from those premises. It’s that art to which we’ll now turn .

Latest edit: 01/03/2021 by CJ Blunt

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If you're about to complete, or have ever completed a graduate degree, you have most likely come across the term "thesis defense." In many countries, to finish a graduate degree, you have to write a thesis .

A thesis is a large paper, or multi-chapter work, based on a topic relating to your field of study.

Once you hand in your thesis, you will be assigned a date to defend your work. Your thesis defense meeting usually consists of you and a committee of two or more professors working in your program. It may also include other people, like professionals from other colleges or those who are working in your field.

During your thesis defense, you will be asked questions about your work. The main purpose of your thesis defense is for the committee to make sure that you actually understand your field and focus area.

The questions are usually open-ended and require the student to think critically about their work. By the time of your thesis defense, your paper has already been evaluated. The questions asked are not designed so that you actually have to aggressively "defend" your work; often, your thesis defense is more of a formality required so that you can get your degree.

• Check with your department about requirements and timing.
• Re-read your thesis.
• Anticipate questions and prepare for them.
• Create a back-up plan to deal with technology hiccups.
• Plan de-stressing activities both before, and after, your defense.

How long your oral thesis defense is depends largely on the institution and requirements of your degree. It is best to consult your department or institution about this. In general, a thesis defense may take only 20 minutes, but it may also take two hours or more. The length also depends on how much time is allocated to the presentation and questioning part.

Tip: Check with your department or institution as soon as possible to determine the approved length for a thesis defense.

First of all, be aware that a thesis defense varies from country to country. This is just a general overview, but a thesis defense can take many different formats. Some are closed, others are public defenses. Some take place with two committee members, some with more examiners.

The same goes for the length of your thesis defense, as mentioned above. The most important first step for you is to clarify with your department what the structure of your thesis defense will look like. In general, your thesis defense will include:

• your presentation of around 20-30 minutes
• questions from the committee
• questions from the audience (if the defense is public and the department allows it)

You might have to give a presentation, often with Powerpoint, Google slides, or Keynote slides. Make sure to prepare an appropriate amount of slides. A general rule is to use about 10 slides for a 20-minute presentation.

But that also depends on your specific topic and the way you present. The good news is that there will be plenty of time ahead of your thesis defense to prepare your slides and practice your presentation alone and in front of friends or family.

Tip: Practice delivering your thesis presentation in front of family, friends, or colleagues.

You can prepare your slides by using information from your thesis' first chapter (the overview of your thesis) as a framework or outline. Substantive information in your thesis should correspond with your slides.

Make sure your slides are of good quality— both in terms of the integrity of the information and the appearance. If you need more help with how to prepare your presentation slides, both the ASQ Higher Education Brief and James Hayton have good guidelines on the topic.

The committee will ask questions about your work after you finish your presentation. The questions will most likely be about the core content of your thesis, such as what you learned from the study you conducted. They may also ask you to summarize certain findings and to discuss how your work will contribute to the existing body of knowledge.

Tip: Read your entire thesis in preparation of the questions, so you have a refreshed perspective on your work.

While you are preparing, you can create a list of possible questions and try to answer them. You can foresee many of the questions you will get by simply spending some time rereading your thesis.

Here are a few tips on how to prepare for your thesis defense:

You can absolutely prepare for most of the questions you will be asked. Read through your thesis and while you're reading it, create a list of possible questions. In addition, since you will know who will be on the committee, look at the academic expertise of the committee members. In what areas would they most likely be focused?

If possible, sit at other thesis defenses with these committee members to get a feel for how they ask and what they ask. As a graduate student, you should generally be adept at anticipating test questions, so use this advantage to gather as much information as possible before your thesis defense meeting.

Your thesis defense is a formal event, often the entire department or university is invited to participate. It signals a critical rite of passage for graduate students and faculty who have supported them throughout a long and challenging process.

While most universities don't have specific rules on how to dress for that event, do regard it with dignity and respect. This one might be a no-brainer, but know that you should dress as if you were on a job interview or delivering a paper at a conference.

It might help you deal with your stress before your thesis defense to entrust someone with the smaller but important responsibilities of your defense well ahead of schedule. This trusted person could be responsible for:

• preparing the room of the day of defense
• setting up equipment for the presentation
• preparing and distributing handouts

Technology is unpredictable. Life is too. There are no guarantees that your Powerpoint presentation will work at all or look the way it is supposed to on the big screen. We've all been there. Make sure to have a plan B for these situations. Handouts can help when technology fails, and an additional clean shirt can save the day if you have a spill.

One of the scariest aspects of the defense is the possibility of being asked a question you can't answer. While you can prepare for some questions, you can never know exactly what the committee will ask.

There will always be gaps in your knowledge. But your thesis defense is not about being perfect and knowing everything, it's about how you deal with challenging situations. You are not expected to know everything.

James Hayton writes on his blog that examiners will sometimes even ask questions they don't know the answer to, out of curiosity, or because they want to see how you think. While it is ok sometimes to just say "I don't know", he advises to try something like "I don't know, but I would think [...] because of x and y, but you would need to do [...] in order to find out.” This shows that you have the ability to think as an academic.

You will be nervous. But your examiners will expect you to be nervous. Being well prepared can help minimize your stress, but do know that your examiners have seen this many times before and are willing to help, by repeating questions, for example. Dora Farkas at finishyourthesis.com notes that it’s a myth that thesis committees are out to get you.

Two common symptoms of being nervous are talking really fast and nervous laughs. Try to slow yourself down and take a deep breath. Remember what feels like hours to you are just a few seconds in real life.

• Try meditational breathing right before your defense.
• Get plenty of exercise and sleep in the weeks prior to your defense.
• Have your clothes or other items you need ready to go the night before.
• During your defense, allow yourself to process each question before answering.
• Go to dinner with friends and family, or to a fun activity like mini-golf, after your defense.

Allow yourself to process each question, respond to it, and stop talking once you have responded. While a smile can often help dissolve a difficult situation, remember that nervous laughs can be irritating for your audience.

We all make mistakes and your thesis defense will not be perfect. However, careful preparation, mindfulness, and confidence can help you feel less stressful both before, and during, your defense.

Finally, consider planning something fun that you can look forward to after your defense.

It is completely normal to be nervous. Being well prepared can help minimize your stress, but do know that your examiners have seen this many times before and are willing to help, by repeating questions for example if needed. Slow yourself down, and take a deep breath.

Your thesis defense is not about being perfect and knowing everything, it's about how you deal with challenging situations. James Hayton writes on his blog that it is ok sometimes to just say "I don't know", but he advises to try something like "I don't know, but I would think [...] because of x and y, you would need to do [...] in order to find out".

Your Powerpoint presentation can get stuck or not look the way it is supposed to do on the big screen. It can happen and your supervisors know it. In general, handouts can always save the day when technology fails.

• Dress for success.
• Ask for help setting up.
• Have a backup plan (in case technology fails you).
• Deal with your nerves.

Pasco-Hernando State College

• Proving the Thesis - Logical Fallacies and Appeals
• The Writing Process
• Paragraphs and Essays
• Unity and Coherence in Essays
• Proving the Thesis - General Principles
• Proving the Thesis - Logic
• Proving the Thesis - Rhetorical Mode
• Appropriate Language

Related Pages

Logical fallacies (flawed logic) .

A logical fallacy is a fallacy in logic.  It is flawed logic.  In order to be convincing, using logic is important. Also, identifying the flaws in what someone is saying or writing is necessary for a critical analysis.

There are several logical fallacies:

• sweeping generalization  – hasty generalization resulting in conclusion that is not necessarily accurate;  inductive reasoning (going from a particular point to a universal rule) which is not thought through carefully.  There is one rotting apple in the bag; therefore, all the apples in the bag are rotting.
• argument to the person (ad hominem)  – a statement raising questions about a person’s honesty or integrity who is taking a stand on an issue instead of making an argument on the issue itself.  The candidate opposing the widening of the road is being investigated for tax evasion instead of arguing that the widening of the road is needed to alleviate traffic on another road.
• non sequitur  – an line of argument that really does follow logically.  The road should not be widened because the city park is nearby.  What does the park have to do with widening of the road? This often happens when the argument is just not clearly expressed.  The road should not be widened because it will increase traffic on a street that many children cross to go to the city park.
• either/or fallacy  – where only two choices are presented instead of giving all the options.  The county commissioners asked residents if they preferred a slight increase in taxes or charging a parking fee for on all county parks.
• begging the question  – using the argument that something is true or accurate because it is true or accurate.
• bandwagon argument  – Everyone else is doing it; therefore, you should
• appeals  – use of language to sway the reader by appealing to emotions, logic, or ethics.
• strawman fallacy  – where the opponent’s position is unfairly shown to be extreme or illogical in order to minimize its strength.
• false comparison fallacy  – where a position is compared to something which has some similarities but which is not comparable in a significant way resulting in a false negative comparison
• faulty causality fallacy  – where an occurrence or event is represented to cause another occurrence or event because they happen at the same time or close in time
• slippery slope fallacy  – where an action is represented to result in an adverse consequence even though that consequence is very remote.
• red herring fallacy  – where an irrelevant issue or situation is raised to distract the argument from the point; changing the subject

Appeals are the use of language designed to create a particular type of response in the audience.  There are three types of appeals.

• emotional appeals  – presenting information designed to result in emotion.  Commercials typically have emotional appeals to make the audience feel in a certain way.  Perfume commercials showing couples; diaper commercials showing happy babies.  There are many speeches that used emotional appeals to show the audience the validity of the point being made.
• logical appeals  – presenting information designed to result in the audience thinking that what is being promoted is logical.  Examples include a commercial to refinance focuses on how money can be saved or an evaluation as to the beneficial effects of a specific course of action such as more community participation or a source of revenue for a business.
• ethical appeals  – presenting information designed to result in the audience thinking that what is being promoted is the right thing such as contributing to organizations that help victims of natural disasters.

Some use of appeals are thought to be unfair such as images of abused pets or hungry children.  People tend to react emotionally instead of evaluating whether the particular organization will make good use of donations.

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7: Identifying Thesis Statements, Claims, and Evidence

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Learning Objectives

This chapter teaches you how to identify the elements of argumentative writing: a thesis statement, claims, and evidence.

Thesis Statements, Claims, and Evidence

Introduction.

The three important parts of an argumentative essay are:

• A thesis statement is a sentence, usually in the first paragraph of an article, that expresses the article’s main point. It is not a fact; it’s a statement that you could disagree with. Therefore, the author has to convince you that the statement is correct.
• Claims are statements that support the thesis statement, but like the thesis statement, are not facts. Because a claim is not a fact, it requires supporting evidence.
• Evidence is factual information that shows a claim is true. Usually, writers have to conduct their own research to find evidence that supports their ideas. The evidence may include statistical (numerical) information, the opinions of experts, studies, personal experience, scholarly articles, or reports.

Each paragraph in the article is numbered at the beginning of the first sentence.

Paragraphs 1-7

Identifying the Thesis Statement. Paragraph 2 ends with this thesis statement: “People’s prior convictions should not be held against them in their pursuit of higher learning.” It is a thesis statement for three reasons:

• It is the article’s main argument.
• It is not a fact. Someone could think that peoples’ prior convictions should affect their access to higher education.
• It requires evidence to show that it is true.

Finding Claims. A claim is statement that supports a thesis statement. Like a thesis, it is not a fact so it needs to be supported by evidence.

You have already identified the article’s thesis statement: “People’s prior convictions should not be held against them in their pursuit of higher learning.”

Like the thesis, a claim be an idea that the author believes to be true, but others may not agree. For this reason, a claim needs support.

• Question 1. Can you find a claim in paragraph 3? Look for a statement that might be true, but needs to be supported by evidence.

Finding Evidence.

Paragraphs 5-7 offer one type of evidence to support the claim you identified in the last question. Reread paragraphs 5-7.

• Question 2. Which word best describes the kind of evidence included in those paragraphs: A report, a study, personal experience of the author, statistics, or the opinion of an expert?

Paragraphs 8-10

Finding Claims

Paragraph 8 makes two claims:

• “The United States needs to have more of this transformative power of education.”
• “The country [the United States] incarcerates more people and at a higher rate than any other nation in the world.”

Finding Evidence

Paragraphs 8 and 9 include these statistics as evidence:

• “The U.S. accounts for less than 5 percent of the world population but nearly 25 percent of the incarcerated population around the globe.”
• “Roughly 2.2 million people in the United States are essentially locked away in cages. About 1 in 5 of those people are locked up for drug offenses.”

Question 3. Does this evidence support claim 1 from paragraph 8 (about the transformative power of education) or claim 2 (about the U.S.’s high incarceration rate)?

Question 4. Which word best describes this kind of evidence: A report, a study, personal experience of the author, statistics, or the opinion of an expert?

Paragraphs 11-13

Remember that in paragraph 2, Andrisse writes that:

• “People’s prior convictions should not be held against them in their pursuit of higher learning.” (Thesis statement)
• “More must be done to remove the various barriers that exist between formerly incarcerated individuals such as myself and higher education.” (Claim)

Now, review paragraphs 11-13 (Early life of crime). In these paragraphs, Andrisse shares more of his personal story.

Question 5. Do you think his personal story is evidence for statement 1 above, statement 2, both, or neither one?

Question 6. Is yes, which one(s)?

Question 7. Do you think his personal story is good evidence? Does it persuade you to agree with him?

Paragraphs 14-16

Listed below are some claims that Andrisse makes in paragraph 14. Below each claim, please write the supporting evidence from paragraphs 15 and 16. If you can’t find any evidence, write “none.”

Claim: The more education a person has, the higher their income.

Claim: Similarly, the more education a person has, the less likely they are to return to prison.

Paragraphs 17-19

Evaluating Evidence

In these paragraphs, Andrisse returns to his personal story. He explains how his father’s illness inspired him to become a doctor and shares that he was accepted to only one of six biomedical graduate programs.

Do you think that this part of Andrisse’s story serves as evidence (support) for any claims that you’ve identified so far? Or does it support his general thesis that “people’s prior convictions should not be held against them in pursuit of higher learning?” Please explain your answer.

Paragraphs 20-23

Andrisse uses his personal experience to repeat a claim he makes in paragraph 3, that “more must be done to remove the various barriers that exist between formerly incarcerated individuals such as myself and higher education.”

To support this statement, he has to show that barriers exist. One barrier he identifies is the cost of college. He then explains the advantages of offering Pell grants to incarcerated people.

What evidence in paragraphs 21-23 support his claim about the success of Pell grants?

Paragraphs 24-28 (Remove questions about drug crimes from federal aid forms)

In this section, Andrisse argues that federal aid forms should not ask students about prior drug convictions. To support that claim, he includes a statistic about students who had to answer a similar question on their college application.

What statistic does he include?

In paragraph 25, he assumes that if a question about drug convictions discourages students from applying to college, it will probably also discourage them from applying for federal aid.

What do you think about this assumption? Do you think it’s reasonable or do you think Andrisse needs stronger evidence to show that federal aid forms should not ask students about prior drug convictions?

Making and Supporting Claims

A central claim, expressed through an implicit or explicit thesis statement, defines what an author wants readers to do, think, or believe by the time they finish reading the text.  an author’s argument is only as valuable as its central claim. if the text’s central claim is irrelevant to anything readers care about, few will want to read the argument supporting it. if the claim seems obvious, readers will wonder why someone bothered to argue for it. if the claim cannot be settled by appealing to evidence, some readers may be interested in that opinion, but few will have reason to engage the argument..

Effective central claims have three qualities:

• They address important, relevant problems. That is, readers will think that the claim might help them address a problem they care about.
• They are debatable. That is, readers can disagree about them.
• They are evidence-based. That is, readers will think that the claim can be proved or disproved with evidence.

Minor claims or subclaims reinforce the central claim and structure the argument throughout the text. These subclaims, developed through one or several paragraphs, are supported by evidence and address specific facets of the central claim.

• Located at : https://www.lumenlearning.com/courses?course=208 . License : CC BY: Attribution

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How Iran’s attack on Israel was stopped

Massive drone and missile attack was defeated by Israeli military with orchestrated help of US, UK and Jordan

• Middle East crisis – live updates

Iran’s widely anticipated missile and drone attack was defeated with the orchestrated help of the US, UK and Jordan who, alongside the Israeli military, ensured that all but a handful of ballistic missiles were neutralised overnight.

The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said on Sunday that about 360 missiles and drones were fired from Iran and that “99% of the threats” had been intercepted in a successful defence mission that may have cost Israel £800m – but will have saved many lives and dented Iran’s military credibility.

Iran’s plan appears to have been to try to overwhelm Israel’s system of air defences with a complex attack of the type employed by Russia against Ukraine, but on a much vaster scale. It comprised relatively slow-moving drones, faster cruise missiles and high-speed ballistic missiles capable of travelling several times quicker than the speed of sound.

Though the attack was well telegraphed, with Iran’s foreign minister, Hossein Amir-Abdollahian, saying on Sunday it had given neighbouring countries 72 hours notice, its size was notable. Roughly three times a large-scale Russian assault in Ukraine and comprising over 100 ballistic missiles, the assault was a serious threat to any air defence system.

Iran’s chief of general staff, Gen Mohammad Bagheri, said on Sunday that the operation was considered a success and further attacks on its part were not necessary – but while Tehran will have learned about Israel’s air defences, the apparently low impact rate, particularly from the missiles, is likely to be a disappointment.

By comparison, the surprise drone and missile attack on two Saudi oil installations at Abqaiq and Khurais in September 2019, orchestrated by Iran, temporarily knocked out 5% of the world’s oil supply. Estimates vary, but two or three dozen drones and missiles were used at the time.

“Look at the size and scale of this latest attack – this was not a salutary move. It was designed to inflict real damage, but the fact that it didn’t is damaging to Iran’s credibility,” said Sidharth Kaushal of the Royal United Services Institute thinktank.

Overnight, international help was critical in eliminating the slower-moving drones: the US said it had knocked out about 70 drones and three missiles. The UK prime minister, Rishi Sunak , added that the RAF had intercepted an unspecified number. Other reports indicated Jordan, a longstanding US ally, had shot down dozens more drones over its airspace.

Working together to eliminate drones and cruise and ballistic missiles would have required careful planning, Kaushal added. “This is complex in every way. The defenders were a multinational force, having to operate in a deconflicted way, facing a mixture of weapons with different flight characteristics, from slower-moving drones to high-altitude ballistic missiles.”

Israel’s military said all 170 drones launched from Iran, likely to be from its Shahed family , were shot down before they reached Israeli airspace. In themselves, the drones are not much threat, able only to carry a modest bomb of up to 50kg, but their intention is to tie up defenders.

Videos of the craft, circulated on social media hours before being shot down, gave those responding plenty of time to react. The noisy engines suggested they were the slow-flying Shahed-136 , which would take six hours to fly from Iran to Israel, although some Israeli media reported Iran had launched the faster jet-engined Shahed 238, which travel three times more quickly and whose flight time matched the events overnight.

Though the participation of countries other than the US may have been a surprise overnight, there was plenty of time to plan. It is 10 days since the US first warned about a response from Tehran, and the US and UK had been moving military assets into the Middle East to prepare since then.

On Friday the US said it had shifted assets to the region, but declined to give further details, while the UK enhanced the RAF presence at the Akrotiri airbase in Cyprus. Planning was in place at the end of the week, with the prime minister, Rishi Sunak, saying on Sunday he had signed off Britain’s involvement at a Cobra emergency meeting two days earlier.

Israel said Iran also launched 30 cruise missiles towards its territory, with IDF jets intercepting 25 “outside the country’s borders”, according to military spokesperson Daniel Hagari. The missiles are most probably the newly designed Paveh-351, designed to be manoeuvrable in flight but still taking two hours from Iran.

The most serious threat came from high-speed ballistic missiles, capable of flying several times the speed of sound and making the journey from Iran to Israel (about 600 miles at the closest points) in less than 15 minutes. More than 120 were launched at Israel, Hagari said, and he acknowledged that “a few” crossed into Israel’s airspace, some striking at the Nevatim airbase.

Tackling these was largely the task of Israel’s air defence system, which relies on rockets to hit incoming missiles. Knocking out the ballistic missiles was primarily the task of the Arrow 2 and Arrow 3 systems, manufactured in an Israeli-US collaboration but never used until the start of the Israel-Hamas war, supported by David’s Sling , a medium-range interceptor.

Brig Gen Reem Aminoach, a former financial adviser to the IDF chief of staff, told Israel’s Ynet News that an Arrow missile typically costs $3.5m (£2.8m) a time, and David’s Sling interceptors $1m (£800,000). Adding up the cost of eliminating 100 ballistic missiles, plus the costs of the whole air defence campaign, is “an order of magnitude of 4 to 5 billion shekels (£850m to £1.1bn)”, he estimated.

However, the attack was also expensive for Iran, with ballistic missiles generally costing upwards of £80,000. The US estimates Tehran had about 3,000, the largest arsenal in the Middle East.

• Middle East and north Africa
• Rishi Sunak

More on this story

Middle East crisis: Israel will ‘make its own decision’ on Iran after UK and Germany call for restraint – as it happened

US to impose new sanctions against Iran after its air attack on Israel

Netanyahu aims to trap west into war across Middle East, says Iranian diplomat

Middle East conflict risks sharp rise in oil prices, says IMF

IDF chief of staff says Israel will respond to Iran missile attack

Backlash as USC cancels valedictorian’s speech over support for Palestine

Jordan faces difficult balancing act amid row over role in downing Iranian drones

Britain has no business intervening in the war in Gaza. So why did it defend Israel against Iran?

Iran attack shows Israeli deterrence policy ‘shattered’, Netanyahu critics say

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