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Most required freshman composition courses focus on argument or persuasive writing, and most composition textbooks rely to some degree on the Toulmin model, developed by British philosopher Stephen Toulmin. The Toulmin model consists of three necessary components and three components that may or may not appear in an argument. The three vital elements are the claim, the ground (evidence, data or support) and the warrant. The first two are fairly easy to explain and understand. The claim is the argument’s thesis, what the author is trying to establish. The support takes up the bulk of most arguments: all the data, information and logical reasoning used to establish the validity of the claim. Warrants are a bit trickier. When I first began teaching, I found warrants rather confusing and therefore had difficulty in explaining them to students. By discussing the matter with other instructors, I found that my confusion was commonplace and that many of us felt that our textbooks’ definitions of warrants were rather inadequate (they’ve improved in the last decade or so). Toulmin himself introduces the warrant by contrasting it with data: warrants are
rules, principles, inference-licenses or what you will, instead of additional items of information. Our task is no longer to strengthen the ground on which our argument is constructed, but is rather to show that, taking these data as a starting point, the step to the original claim or conclusion is an appropriate or legitimate one. At this point, therefore, what are needed are general, hypothetical statements, which can act as bridges, and authorize the sort of step to which our particular argument commits us. (p. 91)
A webpage mapping the Toulmin model on San Diego State University’s website defines the warrant as “the principle, provision or chain of reasoning that connects the grounds/reason to the claim.”
From such definitions, I surmised that warrants were something that in some mysterious way tied the support to the claim, but I couldn’t get much further than that. It didn’t help that warrants, unlike claims and support, are often unstated, so they are invisible “somethings” that in some mysterious way tie the support to the claim.
I gradually became more comfortable with warrants. I began to see them as assumptions underlying authors’ arguments that can either help them establish common ground with their audience or cause them to fail in finding common ground. Even if all the support in an argument is valid and accurate, the argument can still fail utterly if the author makes assumptions that the audience does not accept.
For instance, a student once asked me to read a rough draft of a paper he had written about euthanasia/assisted suicide. The paper gave the general impression, never stated explicitly, that all moral people, particularly Christians, would agree that euthanasia is always immoral. That’s a problem. Who is the audience for such a paper? Moral people don’t need to be convinced because they already agree, and immoral people won’t be convinced because they’re immoral and won’t be swayed by moral arguments. I tried to explain to him that there are good, thoughtful people who genuinely believe that, in certain circumstances, euthanasia is the kindest, most moral option. He might think that they are mistaken—that’s fine—but it’s important to realize that good people, even co-religionists, can have different points of view. The kind of unexplored and unquestioned assumptions he was making were likely to alienate his audience. The final draft he turned in addressed these issues. It was a thoughtful, reasonable argument. He hadn’t changed his claim, and he used the same support, but the paper was a form of communication rather than propaganda or a sermon to the choir.
An article I like to assign to my classes to help them learn to identify warrants is "What's Happened to Disney Films?" by John Evans, originally published in the Dallas/Fort Worth Heritage, a monthly Christian newspaper. His thesis is that Disney is no longer the family-friendly company it was in the 1950s and 60s. His support is a list of “undesirable content” in various Disney films, as well as in such films as Pulp Fiction, which were produced by companies owned by Disney.
I taught for many years at a Jesuit university: a large percentage of the students were Roman Catholic, and a significant minority were evangelical Protestants. Almost universally they found Evans’ argument preposterous. Among the many problems with the article are the assumptions Evans makes. Take, for instance, his description of The Lion King:
New Age and occultic concepts appear to be introduced when it's said that the father lion is living on in the son. Also, a remark is made that dead kings are looking down on the young lion. These can be interpreted literally as the Hindu concept of the universality of the soul. Also, when the young lion talks to his dead father, this violates the biblical admonition against communicating with the spirits of the dead.
Among the warrants: New Age, occultic and Hindu concepts are bad, and Christian children should not be exposed to them. Aside from the fact that he seems to be stretching to identify such non-Christian concepts, he seems terrified that children might convert to Hinduism based on a film that features a singing warthog.
Similarly, in describing Pocahontas, he says that it “favorably depicts Indian animism—the belief that every natural object, such as rocks and trees, have spirits.” Again, he finds any non-Christian content in a family film to be unacceptable. His worldview, evident from these assumptions, is so narrow that his argument will only be acceptable to a very small percentage of Christians. Most readers are less put off by references to Native American religion in a film about Native Americans than they are by his attitude toward anything that doesn’t comport with his worldview.
A careful examination of warrants is vital to critical thinking, critical writing and critical reading. When we read or hear arguments, it is important not only to examine the evidence, but also to analyze the assumptions made. What is the author’s point of view? What is the agenda? What biases does the author have? I don’t necessarily mean “agenda” or “biases” in a negative way—we all have them—but it’s important to examine what is behind an argument. It is equally important to examine our own agenda, biases and assumptions when we make an argument. Will my audience share my assumptions or do I have to provide backing or evidence for my warrants? If my audience is likely to include people who have a significantly different point of view from mine, how can I find common ground with them? What are their assumptions and concerns? How can I address them? When writers fail to examine their own assumptions, their arguments are likely to fail.
References: Evans, John. “What’s Happened to Disney Films?” Dallas/Fort Worth Heritage, Aug. 1995: 12 Rpt. in Perspectives on Argument, 4th ed. by Nancy V. Wood. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Pearson, 2004. 148-49. Toulmin, Stephen E. The Uses of Argument. Updated ed. Cambridge UP, 2003.
Eve Siebert has a Ph.D. in English literature from Saint Louis University. Her primary area of study is Old and Middle English literature, with secondary concentrations in Old Norse and Shakespeare. She taught college composition for many years. She and Bob Blaskiewicz co-edit skepticalhumanities.com are co-writing a book on skepticism and the humanities.