Daniel H. Cohen makes a point in his 2004 book Arguments and Metaphors in Philosophy that I had never heard before but really should have: The most common metaphor about arguments is that of violence. Cohen:
… this metaphor [argument-as-war] manages to dominate our discourse about arguments and our argumentation practice. We routinely speak, for example, of strong, or even killer, arguments and powerful counterattacks, of defensible positions and winning strategies, and of weak arguments that are easily shot down while strong ones carry a lot of firepower and are right on target. Since success can be achieved in many ways, ready arguers should have a well stocked arsenal at their disposal, one whose weapons include the brute force of reason, the carefully constructed ambush, the verbal jujitsu of Socratic elenchus, the engaging analogy, the deadly barbs of satire, or perhaps even the bombshell of a surprise revelation!1
Even if the militaristic language of arguments-as-war is avoided, other common descriptions of arguments resort to the language of agon or sporting contest. Of these, boxing metaphors dominate. Knockdown arguments carry lots of punch, while bad arguments are weak. Strong, defensive positions should be able to withstand a barrage of body-blows, but perhaps not cheap shots or, worse, low blows that hit below the belt. And, if we are fortunate enough to be called away from a losing argument, we can indeed be saved by the bell.2
Cohen remarks that this metaphor has been wounded by criticism. I am sympathetic to the criticism. Conceiving of argumentation as violence invites thoughts inimicable to changing one’s opinion. For example, as Cohen points out, it is quite peculiar to say that the party on the receiving end of great arguments is the “loser” when they are the one walking away with new well-justified beliefs. When arguments are metaphorized as attacks, we become defensive, a mental warfighting posture opposed to changing one's mind unless we absolutely have to.
We do however have an alternative metaphor in popular usage: Argument as craft, construction, engineering, manufacturing, and tool use. To copy Cohen, consider: Good arguments are solid, well-made, and the case we build is called our constructive material. If an argument depends on a critical link in the chain of reasoning, we might want the argument to be more polished, refined, or developed. When we argue against a point, we deconstruct it (sometimes we even demolish the argument). For our own arguments, we want multiple supporting reasons so that if one falls apart, the overall argument still stands. As of late, I have started hearing people point out that some words in a sentence or concepts in one’s belief system are load-bearing. Wittegenstein would even say of words: “Think of the tools in a tool-box: there is a hammer, pliers, a screw-driver, a rule, a glue-pot, glue, nails and screws. – The functions of words are as diverse as the functions of these objects.”3
One disadvantage of this construction/manufacturing angle is that it is not as dramatic and affecting as violence. For example, consider how cool it is to be “our most powerful rhetorical artillery piece”. What a scene such a phrase conjures! The ground shakes when you open fire, droves of enemy arguments wiped out with a single strike. Try your best at another moniker - our most masterful argumentative architect, our most sturdy eristic brick-layer, our great engineer of ideas - all are too static, too far from the action.
Recently a new metaphor for arguments came to me that solders more dynamism to the engineering angle - arguments as rocket ships.
I have not infrequently thought about how arguments consume fuel to achieve takeoff. I have often seen arguments under-resourced: Given too little time in a speech and rushed through, or delivered with insufficient emphasis. These arguments lay idle on the launch pad. Sometimes rockets blast off but don’t achieve escape velocity - they breakup in the atmsophere due to a contradiction in the overall case, or an in-apt example that undermines the point being made.
But takeoff is not enough, you must choose a good target. A debater must pick a point in space worth travelling to. Some arguments shoulder a low burden of proof. For example, an argument might merely indicate something is worth more consideration or further research - perhaps not unlike a lunar flyby is a rehearsal for a landing. Some arguments take high burdens, pressing at the frontier - perhaps they aim for Mars, perhaps other stars. But the vast amount of outer space is empty - if one were to fire an argument out at random, you would almost certainly go to nowhere, making a point in the vast territory of matter irrelevant to the discussion. One can burn up in the sun (bad points) or aim for gas giants without places to land (fallacies).
And of course, the rocket itself needs to be well-constructed. The right hull shape, the right cargo, the right crew. Rockets can be more structurally sound in their construction, rocket trajectories can rely the shape of the audience expectations to slingshot around common sense. And like most arguments, most rockets aim low and contribute to the discursive equivalent of space junk.
The scene of spaceships and astronauts and rocket science has dynamism. Perhaps enough to at least partially attenuate the visual immediacy of argument-as-war.
Arguments and Metaphors in Philosophy, p 36, emphasis in original
Arguments and Metaphors in Philosophy, p 52, emphasis in original
Philosophical Investigations, p 6, translated by G. E. M. Anscombe