Stasis Theory
Every good debate starts with an agreement
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I love a good argument.
I’ll argue about anything—books, movies, philosophy. It doesn’t matter. For me, a friendly debate is one of the best ways to move beyond “surface level” conversation and really get to know someone. It’s fun to spar with people who think differently, as long as they’re enjoying the discussion as much as you are.
But I’ve also experienced the other kind of argument — the exhausting back-and-forth with someone who refuses to acknowledge anyone else’s perspective.
The former leaves me feeling energized. The latter leaves me feeling drained. In last week’s post, I argued the difference has to do with the amount of clash happening in the debate. “Clash” is the dynamic exchange of claims and evidence. It’s a feature that is specific (but probably not unique) to long-form argumentation. Clash is what makes arguments interesting and educational.
In last week’s post, I argued that clash occurs when folks on both sides of an issue take on the burden of proof and the burden of rejoinder. But even when both parties are committed to good faith disagreement, they have to agree on a point of stasis. There has to be some kind of “common ground” where clash can occur.
Today, I want to talk about stasis theory, a tool for mapping the common ground between two opposing parties. If you’re committed to thinking strategically about argumentation, it’s absolutely invaluable.
Stasis Theory
Stasis theory was originally developed by Hermagoras of Temnos, a Greek rhetorician who lived in the 1st century BC. In the classical rhetorical tradition, there are four levels of potential stasis. From lowest to highest, they are:
Questions of fact: do the disputing parties agree on the facts at hand? Do they subscribe to the same version of events? Do they agree on the origin or cause of a situation?
Questions of definition: are the parties using key terms and concepts in the same way? Are they using the same categories and classifications?
Questions of quality: what are characteristics of the situation being described? Is it good or bad? Urgent or irrelevant?
Questions of action: what should we do? How can we make things better?
When two parties can’t identify a shared level of stasis, they end up talking past one another. There’s no clash happening: you just have two ships passing in the night.
The crucial takeaway here is that both parties have to identify a shared value, assumption, or level of meaning before they can enter into a good faith disagreement.
Generally, the higher the level of stasis, the more assumptions you share, which means more opportunities for cooperation emerge. These debates can still get heated or hostile, if they’re not approached respectfully. But the area of contention is smaller and more focused. It’s the difference between two competing policies and two competing worldviews.
Stasis as Strategy
If you’re looking to work with someone—to convince them—you’re always trying to move from the lowest to the highest level of stasis. The final step is always to get them to agree to a specific course of action.
Alternatively, if you’re arguing against someone for the benefit of a third party, it can be strategic to identify the level of stasis where you want the disagreement to occur. If you can shift the debate to your preferred level of stasis, you’ll have a lot of influence over what your audience considers relevant to the discussion.
According to Sharon Crowley and Debra Hawhee, there are other pragmatic benefits to stasis theory.
It clarifies your thinking by identifying areas of overlap and disagreement between disputing parties.
It reveals hidden assumptions beneath arguments, identifying the cultural logic “enveloping a claim.” These assumptions often determine whether an audience accepts or rejects an argument as true.
It identifies potential areas of collaboration, consensus and future research.
It helps you decide what kind of evidence will be most persuasive to members of a different discourse community. It might even offer insight on how you can arrange that evidence most effectively.
Stasis theory also pairs well with Elbow’s Believing Game. Together, they can help us become better writers by encouraging us to “lean in” to different perspectives and practice a different kind of listening.
Strategic Concessions
I don’t think stasis theory gets the love it deserves, especially in conversations about argumentative strategy. And one of the great, underappreciated things about stasis theory is that it introduces the possibility of strategic concession.
A strategic concession is when you agree with some small part of what your opponent is saying, so you can drive home your strongest point. These kinds of concessions can be useful. They collapse the discussion and allow you to shift the debate to the level of stasis where you’re making your strongest arguments. Strategic concessions are like a sponge that soaks up the best parts of someone else’s argument, leaving them with less to say.
For example, you could concede a situation is serious (even when you don’t think it is) to shift the debate from questions of quality to questions of action. This leaves you free to focus on the specific reasons the other party’s proposal would make the situation worse.
Remember: if you’re winning the action they’re defending contributes to the problem they’re trying to address, there’s no reason to waste time debating the severity of problem. It’s irrelevant, because you’re controlling the level of stasis where the disagreement occurs.
Agreement and disagreement are interdependent. You can’t have one without the other. The line between the two is always blurring and shifting, but you can’t have a productive debate unless certain implicit, often unacknowledged agreements are already in place.
Good luck with your writing!