What is the writer’s claim or thesis? Ask yourself:
What claim is asserted?
What evidence is imagined?
What assumptions are being made — and are they acceptable?
Are important terms satisfactorily defined?
What support (evidence) is offered on behalf of the claim? Ask yourself:
Are the examples relevant and convincing?
Are the statistics (if any) relevant, accurate, and complete? Do they allow only the interpretation that is offered in the argument?
If authorities are cited, are they indeed authorities on this topic, and can they be considered impartial?
Is the logic — deductive and inductive — valid?
If there is an appeal to emotion (e.g., if satire is used to ridicule the opposing view), is this appeal acceptable?
110
Does the writer seem to be fair? Ask yourself:
Are counterarguments adequately considered?
Is there any evidence of dishonesty or of a discreditable attempt to manipulate the reader?
How does the writer establish the image of himself or herself that readers sense in the essay? What is the writer’s tone, and is it appropriate?
Our answer to the question above is no — however, most writing probably does contain an argument of sorts. The writer wants to persuade the reader to see things the way the writer sees them — at least until the end of the essay. After all, even a recipe for a cherry pie in a food magazine — a piece of writing that’s primarily expository (how to do it) rather than argumentative (how a reasonable person ought to think about this topic) — probably starts out with a hint of an argument, such as “Because [a sign that a reason will be offered] this pie can be made quickly and with ingredients (canned cherries) that are always available, give it a try. It will surely become one of your favorites.” Clearly, such a statement cannot stand as a formal argument — a discussion that addresses counterarguments, relies chiefly on logic and little if any emotional appeal, and draws a conclusion that seems irrefutable.
109
Still, the statement is an argument on behalf of making a pie with canned cherries. In this case, we can identify a claim (the pie will become a favorite) and two reasons in support of the claim:
It can be made quickly.
The chief ingredient — because it is canned — can always be at hand.
There are two underlying assumptions:
Readers don’t have a great deal of time to waste in the kitchen.
Canned cherries are just as tasty as fresh cherries — and even if they aren’t, no one who eats the pie will know the difference.
When we read a lead-in to a recipe, then, we won’t find a formal argument, but we’ll probably see a few words that seek to persuade us to keep reading. And most writing does contain such material — sentences that engage our interest and give us a reason to keep reading. If the recipe is difficult and time consuming, the lead-in may say:
Although this recipe for a cherry pie, using fresh cherries that you will have to pit, is a bit more time consuming than the usual recipes that call for canned cherries, once you have tasted it you will never go back to canned cherries.
Again, although the logic is scarcely compelling, the persuasive element is evident. The assumption is that readers have a discriminating palate; once they’ve tasted a pie made with fresh cherries, they’ll never again enjoy the canned stuff. The writer isn’t making a formal argument with abundant evidence and detailed refutation of counterarguments, but we know where he stands and how he wishes us to respond.
In short, almost all writers are trying to persuade readers to see things their way.