Rhetoric, Topoi, and Scientific Revolutions
Kenneth S. Zagacki and William Keith
Rhetorical scholars have become increasingly interested in the persuasive tactics and strategies that arise out of the communication
that occurs in the course of doing science.' Philosophically, two
primary ways of approaching this intrinsic rhetoric of science, and
the practice of science itself, have emerged. One is to look at the
community and practice of science as relatively stable, a progressive vision of scientists gradually making discoveries and weeding
out error, passing along their knowledge and techniques to students.^ But a second approach, made popular by Thomas Kuhn
and his followers, holds that periods of stability are temporary and
fragile and the history of science is less like steady progress than
like a series of revolutions (twists and turns), where old facts, and
the theories that permit them, are simply replaced by new ones,
and students are trained to ignore the old structures or consider
them 'wrong'.'
This latter view has been very controversial since many unpleasant epistemic conclusions are held to follow from it, conclusions
that seem to attack the very foundation of Reason itself. Many
rhetoricians have embraced Kuhn to support their general claim
that revolutionary scientific change is mediated through rhetorical
activities—and in some cases, that scientific knowledge is itself
rhetorically constituted." Yet, while the rhetorical activities of scientists have been explored, the nature of revolutionary rhetorica!
topoi and the situational/historical contingencies that give rise to
them have not been fully delineated. In the following essay, we
argue that stages of scientific revolution are accompanied by particular rhetorical exigencies, which themselves give rise to rhetorical topoi that advance the process of scientific argument and
change. We contend that at least four crucial exigencies demand
fitting rhetorical response during the development of scientific
revolutions: the technical exigence of uncertainty, the problem of
creating appropriate scientificpersonae during revolutions, the exi-
Philosophy and Rhetoric, Vol. 25, No. 1.1992. Copyright © 1992 The Pennsylvania
State University, University Park PA,
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gence of preserving revolutionary ideas, and the problem of transforming revolutionary change into establishment practice.
We believe that a historical understanding of scientific revolutions grounded in topical theory is especially consistent with the
tradition of rheorical criticism, insofar as the rhetorical analyst
studies discourse not for itself hut to discover how discourse reflects its historical, ideational, and political contexts and the ways
in which discourse is adapted to these contexts.^ Such a comprehensive perspective will also help to integrate some of the diverse
threads in the rhetoric of science literature and to extend systematically our understanding of that important rhetorica] domain. We
begin with a discussion of rhetorical topoi in science, and then
illustrate the rhetorical, topical dimensions of various stages of
revolutionary transition.
I. Topical thinking in science
Lawrence Prelli has provided an extensive treatment of the relationship hetween rhetorical topoi and science, although he has not
investigated directly the underlying topoi of scientific revolutions.'
For Prelli, scientists make systematic rhetorical decisions, based
upon knowledge about fitting rhetorical ends and potentially relevant topoi that indicate what can or cannot be said concerning
scientific claims in different situations. While these criteria in themselves are not logically determined in any formal sense, they are
not illogical. Prelli claims that scientific rhetoric "is strategically
created with a view to securing acceptance as reasonable by a
special kind of audience. It is based on a particular kind of topical
logic" (emphasis his).^ Scientists cannot simply discover what they
helieve are important findings and expect other scientists to recognize the implications of these results. A critical purpose of scientific rhetoric is to identify ways in which one's work modifies the
problems that members of the addressed scientific community perceive as pertinent. Thus, Prelli defines topoi as "repeatable and
acceptable themes that deal with shared beliefs, values, and opinions . . . . [that] have to do with situationaily appropriate scientific
thoughts and actions."^ Scientific topoi are requisites of doing science, revealed in the communicative choices and the persuasive
tactics employed by scientists.
Prelli groups the topoi of science into four central headings—
the problem-solving, the valuative, the exemplary, and the ethi-
RHETORIC, TOPOI. AND SCIENCE
61
cal. The practice of science mandates that scientific discourse
solves significant problems. But only discourse that reveals "experimental competence" and "predictive power," or addresses
"significant anomalies," is accepted as a legitimate instance of
scientific problem-solving. Evaluative topoi "suggest lines of argument in which rhetors test the special values of experimental,
theoretical, or methodological claims."' Hence, in order to evaluate one set of claims against another, scientists employ evaluative
topoi—such as "internal consistency," "simplicity," and '"fruitfulness"—that demonstrate that a scientific discourse is a more reasonable and productive explanation of extant problems than current views. Exemplary topoi include such discursive strategies as
examples, analogies, and metaphors, which can be enlisted to
support scientific arguments. Finally, topoi that enhance a scientist's ethos include "universality," "skepticism," "disinterestedness," and "communality." But what specific rhetorical problems
and situations confront practicing scientists during scientific revolutions? What rhetorical strategies and topoi do they use to address them? We consider these questions below.
II. The topoi of scientific revolutions
A. The problem of uncertainty
Philosopher and historian of science I. Bernard Cohen divides
the progress of a revolution in science into four stages: the intellectual revolution, the revolution of commitment, the revolution on
paper, and the revolution in science.'" The "intellectual revolution" is the primal creative activity in which the individual scientist
and/or his immediate working colleagues create, discover, or intuit
a relatively complete (revolutionary) idea. While this idea arises
out of current theories and paradigms, it transforms or alters them
in some significant way." The process of rhetorical, topical thinking begins in Cohen's second stage, the "revolution of commitment." This stage consists ofthe personal or group recording ofthe
revolutionary idea, in the form of "an entry in a diary or notebook,
a letter, a set of notes, a report, or the draft of a full account which
might eventually be published as an article or book."*^ The group
or the individual scientist may be considered committed because
they have taken the trouble to put their thoughts in a relatively
permanent form.
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In the "revolution of commitment." rhetorical questions regarding the validity of the discovery and ways of determining its validity
permeate the scientist's every decision. Indeed, the basic rhetorical
problem of the "revolution of commitment" is coping with various
kinds of uncertainty, by grappling with the significance of the new
insight. The creative thinker of Stage One has had an idea that
seems right, a provisional bit of certainty. As a rhetorical exigence,
uncertainty invites a way of thinking and discoursing about the new
insight, even if such talk is confined to one's intra-group dehberations. The exigence of uncertainty directs that before the scientist
proceeds to Stage Three, he or she must assume that a certain
ambiguity exists concerning the new finding, and then search for
reasons that might reduce the ambiguity in a way that the scientific
community deems reasonable. In fact, the exigence of uncertainty
may initiate the process of rational deliberation over the precise
nature of the insight. Therefore, the exigence of uncertainty creates many technical problems concerning the factual nature of the
discovery: "What are the facts?" "How can I find out?" "What do
they mean?" These questions can be explored through problemsolving topoi (e.g., experimental procedures that will confirm and
replicate the existence ofthe phenemenon), which themselves warrant judgments about the facts, the meaning of the facts, and the
best way of investigating the facts.
Still in Stage Two, the scientist must evaluate, however provisionally, the historical relevance of the insight, which itself remains
cloaked in uncertainty. Thus, the scientist may enlist salient evaluative topoi for interpreting the meaning of the facts in terms of the
received view. Various strategies suggest themselves: The researcher may discount the idea or result, or try to reconcile it within
existing theory. These two responses take their author out of the
process of making a revolution, though it is perfectly possible that
revolutionary significance will be assigned to their idea or result by
someone else. A third response to the insight might be "It's revolutionary!" This possibility and the self-conscious notion of winning
academic glory through "revolutionary" insights is probably a recent, post-Einsteinian phenomenon. In fact, it is possible now that
"revolutionariness" enters at Stages One and Two: an idea conceived just to be revolutionary. The "giants" in the history of science
are generally successful revolutionaries, so those who aspire to gianthood might do well to cast themselves as revolutionaries."
If scientists are willing to recognize their ideas as revolutionary.
RHETORIC. TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
63
they again face the technical exigence of uncertainty: "What are
the facts?" "What do they mean?" and "How can they be reconciled within (or from without) the context of existing theory and
research?" Many problem-solving, evaluative, and ethical topoi are
available to help resolve these questions. These topoi concern the
nature of experimentation, the formal features of potential theoretical explanations, and the long-term (personal and scientific)
impact of these explanations. Possible analyses include: satisfying
one's own, or some external, epistemic or experimental standards;
fortifying against coming trials and the effects to the researcher's
reputation if the new theory is found wanting; and anticipating
attacks on the theory, the motives behind them, and the experimental and theoretical evidence that must be marshalled in support of the theory.
In general, then, the ways in which scientists during Stage Two
cope with the technical exigency of uncertainty through topical
mechanisms arise from their perceptions of the prevailing views of
scientists; this exigency functions like Perelman and OlbrechtsTyteca's "universal audience" in that it prompts further inquiries
about what people will say about or think of this new insight as the
revolution unfolds. In other words, the "universal audience" provides the revolutionary scientist with the initial stance of reasonable doubt and the consequent topoi for determining the factual
significance of the insight.i"* Before they commit their insights to
public scrutiny, working scientists are in a very important sense
acting rhetorically, as they discuss findings with colleagues or outline notes and reports that will appear more formally in Stage
Three. Little is certain at Stage Two, and scientists are far from the
coherence they will someday be assigned in textbook accounts of
their activities. So their rhetorical behavior must adapt to this stage
by summoning particular topoi which assure or deny the importance of the discovery.
B. The problem of creating a revolutionary persona
The third stage of the scientific revolution, the "revolution on
paper," occurs when the ideas that the scientist has committed to
paper are circulated in the scientific community and become accessible (and critique-able) as part ofthe public, scientific domain. Of
course, a revolution at this stage is not complete simply because of
presentation to the "outside world": frequently "the intellectual
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revolution is not complete until the scientist fully works out his
[sic] ideas on paper. "^^ The central rhetorical problem of Stage
Three concerns creating an appropriate scientific persona.^'' We
suggest three personae scientists may adopt to present their claims
publicly—the revolutionary, the conciliator, and the conservative.
We begin with the revolutionary.
I. The revolutionary persona
In order to overcome uncertainty, the scientists have had to
display enough methodological precision or sophistication to overcome doubt. But simply displaying the results of experimental investigation to substantiate the (at least temporary) certainty of new
findings do not situate scientists in relation to their discoveries; nor
does it clarify the significance of the insights for the received view.
Scientists make revolutionary claims, thereby announcing the overall significance of their work. These claims—and the revolutionary
persona within which they are framed—can be manipulated in two
ways: One may be compelled to he revolutionary or one may he
seeking revolution. A scientist who claims to be compelled to be
revolutionary might employ the evaluative topos of the significant
anomaly to fashion her- or himself as an ordinary scientist, doing
routine scientific work (i.e., Kuhn's "normal" science), when
along came this extraordinary anomaly that simply could not be
dismissed. After attempting to reconcile this anomaly with existing
views, the scientist may admit that it could not he reconciled, and
therefore challenged existing orthodoxy. This researcher could
also draw upon the evaluative topos of fruitfulness, along with
what we would call the evaluative topos of scientific creativity;
these topoi show how his or her results and explanations are carefully construed within present scientific practice, how these findings might be productive of further insights, and how they can be
creatively pursued within the bounds of legitimate science. The
scientist would therefore argue that "I'm not being revolutionary
because I want to be, but because the facts and the practice of
science compel it; and I'll follow the facts and the procedures of
science wherever they take me, no matter how difficult, just as the
creative practice of science dictates."
We can see this more moderate approach to framing a revolutionary persona in the comments of chaos researcher Ralph Abraham.
Abraham, like many chaos scientists, encountered stiff resistance to
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
65
his revolutionary ideas. Yet he describes himself and fellow physicist Robert Shaw as researchers compelled to be revolutionary, and
emboldens this persona by linking it to the evaluative topoi of fruitfulness and scientific creativity:
All you have to do is put your hands on these knobs, and suddenly
you are exploring in this other world where you are one of the first
travelers and you don't want to come up for air . . . . [Robert Shaw]
had the spontaneous experience where a little exploration reveals
all the secrets . . . . All the important concepts . . . would just naturally occur to you. You would see it and start exploring."
Abraham wouid have us beiieve he stumbied upon his revoiutionary
findings. Cleariy, he was not looking to be revolutionary. But so
provocative were his initial observations—and because the topoi of
science required him to pursue such provocative findings—neither
he nor any other reputable scientist couid possibiy ignore them; in
fact, so important were thesefindingsthat they quite "naturaiiy" ied
to new insights. Once he became engrossed in observation, Abraham had no desire "to come up for air," to escape from the intoxicating lure of scientific (revolutionary) discovery. What scientist wouid
not be persuaded, after venturing on Abraham's exciting inteiiectua] journey, to announce revolutionary results? Perhaps more important for Abraham's rhetorical purpose, after hearing Abraham's
drama, what scientist would not be willing to consider his or her
findings for the dramatic insights they might entail?
The scientist seeking revolution might characterize him- or herself in a more radical fashion. This researcher could draw on the
evaluative topos of scientific creativity, on what we call the problemsolving topos of methodological relevance, on Prelli's significant
anomaly or his ethical topos of disinterestedness. These topoi can
portray the received view as absurdly inadequate, while demonstrating how dogged aliegiance to the received view is "anti-scientific"
since it stifles fresh thinking and leaves difficult problems unsoived.
This researcher may emphasize the need to discover dramaticaily
different explanations, or highlight the problems associated with
holding dogmatically to traditional methods and concepts. Radical
proposals, it could be maintained, not only address significant
anomalies but force one to re-examine one's fundamental assumptions or to question the very methods of inquiry themselves—
assumptions and methods that may be preventing scientists from
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seeing the phenomenon in innovative and perhaps more realistic
ways. This researcher's radical persona might thus advocate revolutionary views which share little with the status quo and enlist the
above-mentioned topoi to justify her or his departure. Additionally,
this scientist might entertain any number oiexemplary topoi, such as
metaphors, analogies, or what we would identify as rhetorical contrast, to highlight the differences between the new theory and received views. Yet she or he might also try to preserve credibility (as
reasonable and scientific) by including certain other evaluative and
problem-solving topoi—such as simplicity, experimental competence, or predictive power—that demonstrate commitment to the
norms of the scientific enterprise.
This more radical revolutionary persona is exemplified in the
work of paleontologists Niles Eldridge and Stephen J. Gould.
These scientists, as John Lyne and Henry Howe remind us, aggressively assaulted Darwinism's dependence on induction and other
of its scientific tenets in a 1972 paper introducing the theory of
punctuated equilibria. The overall strategy of Eldridge and Gould
seemed grounded in the exemplary topos of rhetorical contrast. As
Lyne and Howe explain, new scientific theories excite our attention partly because of the contrast they pose to existing theories.
"The theory of punctuated equilibria drew criticism for posing that
contrast too sharply, and yet this was also a source of its rhetorical
potency . . . . it made itself attention-worthy by positioning itself
in dialectical opposition to accepted views."'* In a later paper,
Gould alone was adamant about the problems with Darwinism's
inductive procedures. He developed a "revolutionary manifesto,"
based in the problem-solving topos of methodological relevance
and the ethical topos of disinterestedness. He noted how Darwinists resorted to restrictive, perhaps inappropriate, inductive methods to solve conceptual problems, and were not disinterested at all;
rather, when confronted with new explanations, Darwinists dogmatically invoked traditional (inductive) explanations and methods that served to perpetuate their power and official standing in
the scientific community, but most important, prevented them
from seeing how evolution actually worked."
2. The conciliatory persona
Sometimes, as Cohen explains, there is a long delay between the
revolution on paper in Stage Three and a truly large-scale revolu-
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
67
tioti in science; often, the revolution in science never comes about.
Delays occur for various reasons: new theories are met with great
skepticism and even downright hostility; a lag between the introduction of theoretical predictions and accepted experimental procedures to test them; a scientist lacks orthodox credentials; and theories are debated and reformulated for many years until finally
accepted.2° These delays have important rhetorical consequences.
Harsh reactions to revolutionary ideas, for instance, often cause
scientists to shift from a radical into a more conciliatory persona.
Rather than advocating a dramatic overthrow of existing dogma,
the conciliator argues that her or his findings, while extraordinary,
can still be explained within extant theory and research. Certainly,
the theory promoted by the conciliator may in retrospect be considered revolutionary; but at the moment of use the concihatory persona is meant to ameliorate the harsh reception of one's ideas by
playing down their radical nature.
As Alan Gross has shown, after encountering severe resistance
to his initial revolutionary portrayal of optics theory, Newton constructed a more conciliatory persona in his Opticks by locating his
discoveries firmly within the preceding optics tradition. Newton
directed several exemplary topoi toward this goal, including the
use of particular organizational patterns, experimentai references,
and stylistic devices. As Gross explains, Newton's conciliatory response "employed a Euclidean arrangement to create an impression of historical continuity and logical inevitability . . . . [and] by
piling experiment on experiment, and, in each experiment, detail
on detail, he created in this work an overwhelming presence for his
experimental method. Finally . . . he initiated a cascade of rhetorical questions, whose cumulative effect was both to sanction his
science and license his speculations."2'
3. The conservative persona
That skepticism and hostility frequently confront new ideas also
reveals that while scientists are rewarded for being "revolutionary," there is significant weight afforded those "guardians" of the
old view. Scientists, in this sense, adopt a third revolutionary persona, the conservative defender of the scientific status quo. As
Cohen observes, "New and revolutionary systems of science tend
to be resisted . . . because every successful scientist has a vested
intellectual, social, and even financial interest in maintaining the
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Status quo. If every revolutionary new idea were welcomed . . .
utter chaos would be the result. "^^ The conservative persona may
be congenial, though it is typically harsh.
The opposition mounted against Velikovsky's radical cosmological physics is a good example of both a harsh and courteous
reaction. In 1973, at a meeting of the American Association for
the Advancement of Science, a fierce debate was held and five
scientists attacked Velikovsky's system, with only Velikovsky
holding on in defense. Six years later, astrophysicist Robert
Jastrow remarked ruefully that only three of ten Velikovsky predictions had been corroborated—the rest were directly contradicted. Jastrow lamented this state of affairs since "nothing could
be more exciting than to witness a revolution in scientific thought
in our own lifetime." "Unfortunately," he concluded, "the evidence does not support this possibility."^^ Jastrow both praises
and blames Velikovsky. And his comments reflect the use of
certain ethical and evaluative topoi to fashion a conservative persona: He recognizes the value of, even admires the attempt at
being revolutionary, and thus evokes what we refer to as the
ethical topos of revolutionary consent, where science and "revolutionariness" are seen as part and parcel of one another; yet he
also realizes that, when evaluating new revolutionary theories,
these theories must be experimentally rigorous, meet particular
evidentiary guidelines, and unfold within the parameters of scientific practice as presently conceived. In short, he reaffirms the
value of change and the credibility associated with those bold
enough to seek it, while maintaining the rigorous evaluative standards that sanction change in the first place.
C. The problem of "preserving" revolutionary ideas
Other sources of delay during Stage Three, such as the lag between the time a scientist achieves enough credibility to assert himor herself and between the period radical predictions or findings
can be assimilated to accepted technological and experimental procedures, reveal another exigence particularly characteristic of this
stage—the need for scientific rhetoric to be "preservative." Preservative rhetoric "insure[s] that epistemic judgments are maintained
in the marketplace of ideas where they may be subjected to the
scrutiny of others . . . . [rhetoric] keeps alive ideas whose time has
not yet come," for technical or other reasons.2*
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
69
Rhetorical scholars have described several exemplary topoi for
preserving scientific ideas during Stage Three. Lyne and Howe iliustrate the preservative power of lively images and "picturing strategies" in the rhetoric of Gould and Eldridge, whose early revolutionary account of fossil gaps represented "a coherent idea, resplendent
in its newness and apparent power"—an idea that allowed for a
"rhetoric of punctuationai inquiry" to be "forged, "^s Gould's subsequent revoiutionary manifesto reveaied the use of "appeaiing new
imagery of organic, non-deterministic processes," that aiso helped
to express and preserve his revolutionary insights.2* Darwin clearly
hoped his lively presentation of evolutionism wouid yieid subsequent debate about and eventuaiiy the acceptance of his theory. Yet
he aiso recognized the need to expioit the exemplary topoi of preestabiished Baconian science and naturai theoiogy {i.e., their formal, stylistic features)—a rhetoricai move that, as John Angus
Campbeii teils us, demonstrated "the inteliigibiiity of [an evoiutionary] woridview everyone thought" these pre-existing categories exciuded.^'' This strategy, Campbeii argues, preserved for Darwin a
serious reading by an otherwise skepticai audience.
Some "preservative" decisions stem from the individuai scientist's desire to claim personal responsibility for a discovery, which
presumably would ensure a glorious place in the history of science.
Maurice Finocchario has shown how the French chemist Lavoisier,
feeling he had made a revolutionary advancement in combustion
research but not knowing precisely what that advancement was,
wished to preserve credit for discovering something. Lavoisier thus
employed what we would cali the exemplary topos of ambiguity in
a sealed note he submitted to the Academy of Sciences in Paris.
Later, when the note was opened, Lavoisier hoped his message to
be ambiguous enough to claim credit for any number of explanations proffered during the interim between the submission and the
opening of the note.^^ Preservative rhetoric designed, in part, to
guarantee credit for new discoveries has been identified by Gross
in the work of DNA scientists. These researchers resorted to metaphors and analogies not so much to establish truth claims about
DNA coding (as more tightly argued, less analogical presentations
would do), but to emphasize "the heuristic, as distinct from the
probative value of analogy in the sciences."2' Gross's analysis iiiustrates the preservative power of exemplary and evaluative topoi:
Exemplary topoi like metaphorical and analogicai expianation convey the meaning of basic scientific breakthroughs; evaluative topoi
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like fruitfulness and heuristics stake claims about what scientists
suspect to be true about a potentially productive line of research
and guarantee the prospects of further scientific inquiry—the essential insights of which may at some point be attributed to them.
D. The problem of transforming revolutions into
establishment practice
Scientific revolutions overall are never really consummated until
the fourth stage, which Cohen calls "revolution in science." At this
point the formerly revolutionary ideas become part of the theoretical status quo. As Cohen observes, the ideas become entrenched
and defended by members of the status quo, indicating that the
revolution was successful: "Even after pubhcation, no revolution
in science will occur until a sufficient number of other scientists
become convinced of the theories or findings and begin to do their
science in the revolutionary new way."'° The "revolution in science" is really the stage of success. Revolutions that make it
through this stage are transformed and go from being revolutions
to being part of the scientific establishment—they become textbook science. As Latour notes, science-in-use becomes "readymade" or "Black Box" science, pre-packaged and no longer in
doubt.31 The uncertainty and persuasive struggles that characterize
the previous three stages are gone; the rhetoric of the Fourth Stage
concerns this essential problem, common to all revolutions: keeping the substance of the revolution intact while transforming the
rhetoric of the revolution into the rhetoric of the establishment.
Three rhetorical strategies can be used to accomplish this end:
characterizing the old view, assigning an appropriate history to the
new view, and making the new view accessible. We begin by examining characterizations of the old view.
The theory overthrown by the successful scientific revolution
remains a thorn in the new view: "Are we really sure about this
change?—we thought we were right before." In a certain sense,
scientists must collectively admit they were wrong. Thus, while the
old view must be characterized in such a way that it no longer
appears to be a significant competitor with the new theory, the
dignity of science must also be preserved. Several topical mechanisms permit this, including what we call the ethical topoi of progress and truth in science and fallibilism. If science makes progress
toward discovering truer versions of reality, then there is bound to
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
71
be change, and if there is bound to be change, then scientists will
turn out to be wrong part of the time. Therefore, this line of
reasoning concludes that there is scientific virtue in being wrong or
being "fallible." In fact, this willingness to be wrong is sometimes
said to be the hallmark of the scientific enterprise, since doing so
diminishes personal biases while opening the possibility for the
advancement toward truth.
But despite protestations, nobody, apparently, likes to have
been wrong, even collectively. Therefore rhetoric about the overthrown theory may also try to explain why it was wrong. One way
to accomplish this is to employ what we label the evaluative topos
of experimental correspondence. Here, revolutionaries point out
that the old theory's empirical assumptions no longer corresponded to experimental data, and therefore required a new set of
assumptions or theoretical concepts. It can also be argued that the
old view's philosophical suppositions regarding the nature of reality worked well, given access to whatever level of reality the view
described. However, exploration into more sophisticated dimensions of the world requires more complicated theoretical suppositions. Still another version of this topical response is to attribute
the problems with the old view to technological limitations. Scientists, the argument goes, were doing the best they could under the
circumstances, as in "Newton's theory worked well enough, given
the measurements he was able to make, but now we have much
more precise measurements, and consequently see the inadequacy
of his view." Newton escapes censure as unscientific, even though
his system has been eliminated from competition with current
ones.
In any case, transition to a new theory seems in accordance with
the logic (the topoi) of doing science, insofar as one's theoretical
preferences are guided by the rational criteria of what passes as
scientific decision-making and experimentation. One cannot be a
scientist, the argument goes, and work in any other way. Werner
Heisenberg's description of the quantum revolution exemplifies
this topical reasoning. For him, quantum theory represented a
radical "change in the concept of reality." And so, this conceptual
change required "a real break in the structure of modern science"
from Newton.32 Heisenberg explains further that:
. . . the hopes which had accompanied the work of the scientists
since Newton [to work under one grand, Newtonian paradigm] had
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to be changed. Apparently, progress in science could not always be
achieved by using the known laws of nature for explaining new
phenomena. In some cases new phenomena that had been observed
could only be understood by new concepts which were adapted to
the new phenomena in the same way as Newton's concepts were to
the mechanical events.^^
In this characterization of scientific revolution, the sacred status in
the history of science for Newton and other scientists is preserved,
while the new theory is seen to fit nicely into this tradition. Indeed,
as if to legitimate further the Quantum revolution, Newton is pictured to have followed the same topical logic as contemporary
scientists, even though he was exploring a wholly different level of
reality. For quantum researchers "adapted" their concepts to quantum phenomena just as Newton's concepts were scientifically
"adapted to the mechanical events." Newton, Heisenberg suggests, dealt appropriately with the level of reality to which he had
direct and only access. On Heisenberg's account, had Newton
been privy to quantum results (or to modern technology), he, too,
would have made a splendid and very willing quantum scientist.
Another means of characterizing previous views as erroneous is
to include what we call the evaluative topos of external influence. In
this scenario, the failure of the old view is blamed on external
problems, such as political institutions, human gullibility or superstition, or lacking knowledge of scientific method. This topical
approach refiects what Steve Fuller calls the distinction between
the intemal dimension of science (scientific research and reporting) and its external dimension (everything else). Scientists, argues
Fuller, claim that the more free science is from any external influence, the more likely it is to arrive at truth. For scientists, error in
science is attributed to external factors; quality science concentrates on internal problems.^ But the very recognition of external
constraints supplies scientists in Stage Four with a means of rejecting preceding theories. The popular fiction that "the Catholic
Church enforced the heliocentric view for religious reasons until
Copernicus bravely dared look at the sky" is one such rhetorical
characterization, as is the common explanation of why educated
and sensible people believed in witches until relatively recently—
they were mired in superstition.
Once the old view has been featured, the new view must also be
put in its proper place. Positioning the new view into perspective
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
73
primariiy entaiis replacing the messy, disorganized process by which
the new theory was discovered and justified, with a more elegant
narrative. The stylistic technique of narrative itself can supply an
exemplary topos from which both the rightness and the inevitability
of the new view might be stressed. The story of the discovery and its
acceptance can thus be told in a way compatible with the aims and
goals of science, as currently practiced. Perhaps the numerous rhetorical tactics discussed by Latour for the building of "black boxes"
in science (e.g., stratification, captation) also act as exemplary
topoi, directing attention away from the sometimes turbid activities
of scientific discovery and toward the tacit assumption that this
discovery proceeded according to accepted scientific principles and
methods.35 Additionally, various evaluative and problem-solving
topoi can be employed to underline the role of pure science (not
externai factors) on revoiutionary change. Thus, whiie eighteenth
century scientists were likely to attribute the success of a revolution
to their more penetrating understanding of God's domain, the rhetoric of modern scientists is more likely to relegate revolutionary
success by deploying evaluative and problem-solving topoi (e.g.,
scientific creativity and appeals to scientific method), a sort of "back
to basics" in science.
Finally, consolidating a revolution requires, as Cohen argues,
that adherents to the revolutionary view take over the organs of
power in science, by gaining controi "of the scientific press, the
educational system, and the seats of power—in scientific academies and laboratories or on major scientific committees which
make policy and apportion resources."^^ One way to accomplish
this is to find means of communicating the new insight in standard
forms, usable by all those working in a field, and usable by outside
interest groups, even by the educated public. As Latour suggests,
complex scientific research must be "translated" to "networks"
(e.g., corporations, research foundations, governmental organizations), who can help financialiy to sustain research under the new
paradigm."
Possibly the most important rhetoricai tactic for communicating
a set of findings and for gaining adherents, scientific or otherwise,
is one cited by Kuhn in his discussion of paradigms: the need for
centrai exampies and metaphors that anchor an entire perspective,
what Preiii has called exemplary topoi. Most lay people understand
atomic/molecular theory through bail and stick modeis; recent
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breakthroughs in astrophysics rely upon "string" metaphors to convey ideas about physical forces; more recent developments in
"chaos" theory focus on everyday occurrences like dripping faucets, weather patterns, and heartbeats; and as both PreJIi, and S.
Michael Halloran and Annette Norris Bradford have shown, DNA
researchers have used "coding" metaphors for comprehending and
teaching sophisticated genetics.^^ Despite their inadequacy with
respect to certain highly abstract or mathematically based notions,
these exemplary topoi provide a potent way of communicating
essential insights about atomic structure, physical force, probability and chaos, DNA and heredity. And they are nearly as important in the scientific community as outside of it, since until the new
view has been in place long enough to be taught in graduate
schools, working scientists will have to teach it to themselves, or
get brief instruction at conferences.
III. Implications and conclusions
By no means does the present analysis exhaust the number of
rhetorical exigencies, strategies, or topoi extant in scientific revolutions. But a topical scheme allows us to move beyond the mere
categorizing of scientific topoi and to understand the essential
historical/situational exigencies and other rhetorical problems accompanying scientific change; it also integrates the diverse rhetoric of science literature into a coherent, theoretical framework.
Several implications stem from a topical reading of revolutionary
science. The first concerns the observation that scientists work
from a sort of master topos, what we would call the topos of
continuity in science, in order to manipulate the reception of their
work. Certainly, scientists may use continuity as a marker of
scientific progress over competing theories. Yet by playing down
the contrast between a new theory and its established competitor,
the topos of continuity may provide scientists with a way to argue
for the tightness of their views and the relative correctness of the
views they wish to supercede, without upsetting the stability of
the addressed scientific community. But scientists may also appeal to a more abstract notion of continuity—what we have called
the topos of progress and truth in science—even while arguing for
the discontinuous nature of their work. In these cases, theories
may be made to look discontinuous with the immediate received
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
75
view but continuous with the overaii tradition of scientific progress. In other words, scientists find it necessary, advantageous
even, to claim revoiutionary, discontinuous stature for their theories, and various rhetoricai strategies aiiow them to do so. But
even here scientists are competed to conform to a higher principie of continuity—the continuity of a scientific tradition deepiy
steeped in beiiefs about their ability to achieve progress and truer
approximations of reality.
Our topical investigation, then, suggests that scientists tell each
other the same old stories, based on progress and truth, about why
and how science changes, and about what they do with change
once it occurs. Scientists argue for the rightness of their theories, in
a fundamental sense; they also argue about the value of being
wrong when either they or the theories they have overturned turn
out to be incorrect. This state of affairs may seem curious, in light
of the transformation Kuhn and post-Kuhnian phiiosophy of science is supposed to have worked. Nevertheiess, inspection of scientific revoiutionary rhetoric suggests that continuity, and progress
and truth have become key rhetoricai topoi for delineating the
presence of legitimate scientific revolutions and for revealing that
these revolutions came about through orderly means, fully consistent with the institution of science itself. Perhaps this is the real
source of the resistance to Kuhn and similar philosophers of science: By dismantling the concept of scientific progress, they have
taken away some of the most important rhetorical topoi for legitimating scientific change.
A second implication is that the inspection of revolutionary
topoi should prompt the revision of ideas about the range of responses available to scientific revolutionaries and the reactions to
revolutionary work. Revolutionaries in science confront various
rhetorical exigencies and have many different topoi for doing so.
Even responses to failed revolutionary rhetoric, though usualiy
conservative, contain leeway for rebuttal. Failed revolutions present opportunities to assail the vanquished while reaffirming the
principles of the victors. Perhaps Thomas Lessl's thesis that attempts to challenge existing scientific "orthodoxy" are described as
"heresies" should be amended: challenges to scientific orthodoxy
are only heresies when they are unsuccessful, because there is an
abundance of rhetoric and rhetorical topoi designed to accommodate the successful revolution. One does not become a heretic for
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disagreeing but for failing to integrate this disagreement into relevant topical replies. Those, like Velikovsky, who are not sufficiently insiders to take advantage of the scientific rhetoric that
enables revolution, will receive a moral as well as an intellectual
rejection.'' This is because, in science, it is acceptable to be
wrong—even zealously wrong—as long as certain institutional
frameworks have not been challenged. When these challenges are
perceived by members of a scientific community, then perhaps the
rhetoric of heresy or orthodoxy is engaged. Successful revolutionaries may be in fact those who select topoi that both strongly advance
their argument yet do not appear to challenge the scientific establishment in unacceptable ways. Thus there is a sense in which the
scientist qua scientist has a moral commitment to truth.'"' Those
whose views—or practices—seem to challenge this commitment
may appropriately receive censure within the scientific community. Censure of this type (or the corresponding praise that goes
with Nobel prizes, etc.) is a rhetorical manifestation of the value
commitments of the scientific community, and points to our final
implication, the epideictic function in scientific rhetoric.
As illustrated, at moments of revolutionary change, scientists
have a rhetorical requirement to maintain community and their
own place in it—to speak about replaced theories but not necessarily to speak ill of them. Scientific rhetoric about external influences
on research reveals similar epideictic traits. Thus, given the commitments of scientists, it is unlikely that for any audience they
would be willing to claim that theories have changed due to fashion, economics, or politics. Even if these things do play a role in
scientific revolution, the nature of the entire project would be
undermined should scientists claim there is nothing more to it. This
is not to ignore the fact that scientists mention important external
factors upon their work. However, while external factors are included in discussions of scientific revolutions, the primary reasons
given for undertaking scientific projects and for the occurrence of
subsequent revolutionary breakthroughs are, in the rhetoric of
scientists, scientific. We are not trying to be skeptical, as if to say
"Why don't scientists just admit it's all politics." We are contending that regardless of one's philosophical views on Truth or the
ontological reality of sub-atomic particles, scientists require an
epideictic rhetoric to preserve the piety of science—so members of
an overthrown paradigm might get along with members from an-
RHETORIC, TOPOI, AND SCIENCE
77
Other, and so that their work can be seen as the grand, progressive
enterprise scientists and the larger culture take it to be.
Kenneth S. Zagacki
Department of Speech Communication
Louisiana State University
William Keith
Department of Communication
University of Louisville
Notes
1. For an overview of the rhetoric of seience literature, see R. Michael Bokeno.
"The Rhetorical Understanding of Science. an Explication and Critical Commentary," Southern Speech Communication Journal 52 (Spring 1987): 300-21; Bruno
Latour. Science in Action (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1987).
2. See, for example. George Sarton. The Study ofthe History of Science (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1936); see also Karl Poppper. Conjectures
and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge (New York; Harper & Row.
1963).
3. Thomas S. Kuhn. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press. 1970).
4. See Walter R. Carleton, "What is Rhetorical Knowledge? A Response to
Farrel!—and More—atid More." Quarterly Journal of Speech 64 (Oct. 1978): 31328; and "Social Knowledge II," 329-34.
5. See Roderick P. Hart, "Contemporary Scholarship in Public Address," Western Journal of Speech Communication 50 (Summer 1986); 283-95.
6. Lawrence J. Prelli, A Rhetoric of Science: Inventing Scientific Discourse
(Columbia SC; University of South Carolina Press. 1989). For a related topical
analysis of scientific rhetoric, see Alan G. Gross, "Discourse on Method; The
Rhetorical Analysis of Scientific Texts," Pre/text 9 (1988); 169-85.
7. Prelli, 119.
8. Prelli, 258.
9. Prelli, 199.
10. Bernard Cohen, Revolution in Science (Cambridge MA; Harvard University
Press. 1985).
11. Cohen, 28-29.
12. Cohen, 29.
13. Cohen takes into account the values engaged by the process of discovery
making. Being revolutionary, he contends, does not always have the stigma it does
in politics and religion and often results in many significant social and economic
rewards.
14. See Chaim Perelman and L. Olbrechts-Tyteca. The New Rhetoric: A Treatise
on Argumentation, John Wilkenson and Purcell Weaver, trans. (Notre Dame IN:
University of Notre Dame Press, 1971).
15. Cohen, 31.
16. For an examination of the scientific persona, see Paul Newell Campbell, "The
Persona of Scientific Discourse," Quarterly Journal of Speech 61 (Dec. 1975);
391-405.
17. Quoted in James Gleick, Chaos: The Making of a New Science (New York;
Viking, 1987), 247.
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ZAGACKI AND KEITH
18. John Lyne anci Henry Howe. " 'Punctuated Equilibria': Rhetorical Dynamics
of a Scientific Controversy," Quarterly Journal of Speech 72 (May 1986): 144.
19. Lyne and Howe, 138.
20. Cohen, 31-39.
21. See Alan Gross, "On the Shoulders of Giants: Seventeenth-Century Optics as
an Argument Field," Quarterly Journal of Speech 74 (Feb 1988): 10.
22. Cohen, 35.
23. Ouoted in Cohen, 33.
23. See Richard A. Cherwitz and James Hikins, Knowledge and Communication
(Columbia SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1986), 98.
25. Lyne and Howe, 136.
26. Lyne and Howe, 138.
27. John Angus Campbell, "Scientific Revolutions and the Grammar of Cultures:
The Case of Darwin's Origins," Quarterly Journal of Speech 11 (Nov. 1986): 352.
28. See Maurice Finocchario, "Logic and Rhetoric in Lavoisier's Sealed Note:
Toward a Rhetoric of Science," Philosophy and Rhetoric 10 (Spring 1977): 111-22.
29. See Alan Gross, "Analogy and Intersubjectivity: Political Oratory, Scholarly
Argument and Scientific Reports," Quarterly Journal of Speech 69 (Feb. 1983): 43.
30. Cohen, 31.
31. See Latour, Science in Action. Ready-tnade science is the science of textbooks, where everything is known, coherent and non-fuzzy. Latour also calls this
"black-box science," since one does not need to inquire about how it was discovered, how many mistakes were made on the way to it, the alternatives it replaced,
etc,
32. See Werner Heisenberg's Physics and Philosophy: The Revolution in Modern
Science (New York: Harper & Row, 1958).
33. Heisenberg, 97.
.34. See Steve Fuller, Social Epistemology (Bloomington IN: Indiana University
Press, 1989).
35. See Latour, 21-62. Kuhn points out that the choice between Copernican and
Ptolemaic systems was not at all the simple matter of simplicity and truth that it was
later made out to be. In fact, the two theories were nearly equal in both simplicity
and explanatory strength. See The Copernican Revolution (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1957).
36. Cohen, 11.
37. See Latour, 103-78.
38. See Prelli, 205-17; see also S. Michael Halloran and Annette Norris Bradford, "Figures of Speech in the Rhetoric of Science and Technology," in Robert J.
Connors, Lisa S. Ede, and Andrea A. Lunsford, eds. Essays on Classical Rhetoric
and Modern Discourse (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1984):
181-92.
39. See Thomas Lessl, "Heresy, Orthodoxy, and the Politics of Science," Quarterly Journal of Speech 74 (Feb. 1988): 18-34.
40. For a clear statement of this value-orientation in science, see Willard 'Van
Orman Ouine and J. Ullian, The Web of Belief (Sev/ York: Random House, 1978),
chapter 1.