Let’s talk about a part of a novel, a speech that you’re probably familiar with: Atticus Finch’s closing argument to the all white, all male jury in the trial of Tom Robinson in To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. You will likely recall that Atticus, father of Scout, the novel’s narrator, is a lawyer in Maycomb County, Alabama, in the 1930s. He has been assigned by the court to defend Tom Robinson, a black man accused of raping Mayella Ewell, a white woman. We see all of the action through Scout’s eyes and she has come into court in the middle of her father’s closing statement. She watches horrified as Atticus “unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie and took off his coat.” She and her brother were shocked at this unprecedented informality. She recounts that he was “talking to the jury as if they were folks on the post office corner.”

Atticus begins his closing by reminding the jury that they must be sure “beyond all reasonable doubt as to the guilt of the defendant.” He adds that the case should never have come to trial, noting that the case is “as simple as black and white.” According to Atticus, the state has not provided any evidence that the crime took place. He questions the credibility of the state’s witnesses, whose testimony has been contradicted by Tom Robinson, the defendant. He goes so far as to say that someone—not Tom Robinson—in the court is guilty.

Atticus remarks that he pities the chief witness for the state, Mayella Ewell. He pities her for her poverty and ignorance and offers a psychological explanation for her behavior: she has made the accusation against Tom “in an effort to get rid of her own guilt”—the guilt Atticus believes she feels about her attraction to a black man. Atticus restates his own conviction that Mayella’s father witnessed Mayella’s attempt to seduce Tom Robinson, and suggests, based on circumstantial evidence, that it was Bob Ewell himself who beat Mayella. He says, “Mayella Ewell was beaten savagely by someone who led almost exclusively with his left” and then reminds the jury that Tom Robinson took his oath with his only good hand: his right.

Atticus summarizes the case and addresses “the evil assumption” he says is shared by both the state’s witnesses and the jury: “that all Negroes lie, that all Negroes are basically immoral beings, that all Negro men are not to be trusted around our women, an assumption that one associates with minds of their caliber.” He qualifies this “truth” by reminding the jury, “some Negroes lie, some Negroes are immoral, some Negro men are not to be trusted around women—black or white. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to no particular race of men. There is not a person in this courtroom who has never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and there is no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire.”

Atticus finishes this way:

Atticus builds his argument deliberately, using the organization of a classical oration. His opening remarks from the introduction (exordium), in which Atticus reminds the jurors of what they’re there for—to decide whether Tom Robinson is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. He ends his introduction with a claim of fact that will set the tone for the rest of the speech: this trial is about race, “as simple as black and white.” Atticus then reviews the major facts in his narration (narratio) revealing that there is not “one iota of medical evidence to the effect that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place” and that the state has depended on “the testimony of two witnesses whose evidence has not only been called into serious question on cross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by the defendant.”

Atticus transitions to his confirmation with a claim of fact: “The defendant is not guilty, but somebody in this courtroom is.” In the confirmation, Atticus presents the main points and evidence in his argument as he tries to convince the jury that Mayella’s guilt about her attraction to Tom Robinson prompted the rape accusation. Atticus then builds his case, not against Mayella Ewell, but against the social pressures that compelled her to press charges. He begins with an appeal to pathos. Rather than trying to demonize Mayella Ewell, he says he has “nothing but pity in [his] heart” for her and calls her a “victim of cruel poverty and ignorance.” He then takes the jury through the mental steps Mayella took to assuage the guilt she felt about her attraction to Tom Robinson. Atticus appeals to logos with the factual evidence of the right-handedness of Tom Robinson versus the left-handedness of Mayella’s father, who in all likelihood had beaten and maybe even raped her.

Atticus addresses the counterargument in his refutation (refutatio), which is introduced with “the evil assumption—that all Negroes lie.” Without using the term, he is identifying the counterargument as a slippery slope fallacy. He makes a claim of value about Tom Robinson, reminding the jury that the odds are against him—a black man’s word against the words of two white people. Nevertheless, he asks the jury to recall the cynical assumptions made by all the state’s witnesses (except the sheriff) that Tom is guilty for the mere reason that he is black. He refutes those assumptions in the following paragraph, noting that there is “not a person in this courtroom who has never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and there is no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire.” He even concedes to the jury that he doesn’t really believe that all men are created equal—except in one notable way.

In the last part of his closing statement (the conclusion, or peroratio), Atticus develops the claims of value and policy that are his—and Harper Lee’s—thesis. He makes the claim of value that “our courts have their faults, as does any human institution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers, and in our courts all men are created equal.” He exhorts the jury to let the court do its job, and he expresses his confidence in the men of the jury sitting before him. His claim of policy is implicit: let the court do its job. Atticus ends with an appeal to pathos, pleading with the jury to send Tom Robinson home to his family.

A courtroom speech in a novel is a very direct application of argument, but some arguments are more subtle. Let’s take a look at the poem “Success is counted sweetest,” by Emily Dickinson.

Success is counted sweetest

Emily Dickinson

Read the first two lines of the poem carefully and you will see that the statement of the poem’s theme happens to be a claim of fact and value. It is a paradoxical statement: we would expect that winners would appreciate success more than losers do. Lines 3 and 4 contain an analogy that serves as logical evidence to back up the initial claim: we most appreciate the sweetness of nectar when we need it the most.

The next two stanzas provide the occasion, as well as a specific example used as evidence to support the speaker’s claim. We usually assume that Emily Dickinson is the speaker in her poetry; here she is talking about war: the “purple Host / Who took the Flag today” are the victors in a battle. The first part of her evidence is that not one of that purple (a color associated with royalty) host (a word that means a large group) can understand the sweetness of victory. Then she narrows on an example, the single warrior in the last stanza, “defeated—dying,” who understands it all too well. He is the evidence for Dickinson’s assertion. He lies dying—his ear “forbidden” the joyful sounds of victory; nevertheless, he hears the “distant strains of triumph / Burst agonized and clear.” In Dickinson’s wonderfully compact way, she makes a clear argument, while at the same time, especially in that last stanza, she appeals to pathos and re-creates for the reader the tragedy of dying in battle with the tantalizing sweetness, the “distant strains,” of success held just out of reach.