Yo, Earth!

Quote:  “When?  I mean, when is the predicted cataclysm?”  Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia on global warming.

Figure of Speech:  Straw Man fallacy, the sneaky issue-switch.

Twelve states, three cities and 13 environmental groups are suing the Environmental Protection Agency, arguing that the 1970 Clean Air Act compels the feds to regulate greenhouse-gas emissions.  The biggest environmental lawsuit in decades — maybe ever — will come down to a legal technicality:  whether the plaintiffs have standing, or the right to sue.

“I thought that standing requires imminent harm,” Justice Scalia asked, rhetorically, during oral arguments.  “Is this harm imminent?”

“It is, your honor,” replied the plaintiffs’ attorney, who noted that greenhouse gases are already causing sea levels to rise.

That’s when Scalia interrupted with a Straw Man, a rhetorical trick that replaces the real issue with one that’s easier for the trickster to argue.  Scalia replaced “harm” with “cataclysm,” which, though increasingly likely, is arguably harder to pinpoint.

Oh, yeah? Well, global warming has already hit Figaro’s neck of the woods.   His maples are dying, ticks have shown up for the first time in recorded history, and, worst of all, the skiing is terrible.  We call that a cataclysm.

Snappy Answer:  “The moment the rising ocean floods your basement.”

Spoonfeeding the Decider.

Quote:  “I don’t want to put too much in his mouth now, but there was not one bit of argument.”  Lawrence Eagleburger, secretary of state under the first President Bush, quoted in the New York Times.

Figure of Speech:  apophasis (a-PA-pha-sis), the deny- you’re- saying- it figure.  From the Greek, meaning “denial.”

The Iraq Study Group presented its findings to President Bush in what amounts to one big helping of crow.  The question is whether Bush will eat it.  Grizzled diplomat Larry Eagleburger expresses hope in the form of an apophasis, an ironic figure of thought in which the speaker stresses a point through the very act of denying he’s making it.  I don’t want to speak for the president, Eagleburger says, speaking for the president.

Okay, so Eagleburger doesn’t actually put words in Bush’s mouth.  But when you hear a politico begin a statement with an apophasis, put your rhetoric sensors on full alert.  While affecting a disinterested attitude, the former secretary of state is actually pressing the president.

Not to speak of Figaro’s childhood, but whenever his mother asked if his father had given permission for something, Figaro would reply, “He didn’t say no.”

Snappy Answer:  “A genial reception does not imply agreement.”

We Suppose "Cut and Swagger" Is Out of the Question.

Quote:  “We’re arguing about ‘cut and run’ versus ‘cut and jog.’”  Retired Army Colonel Jeffrey D. McCausland, in the Washington Post.

Figure of Speech:  dilemma (di-LEM-ma), the impossible choice.  From the Greek, meaning “double proposition.”

The Iraq Study Group will turn in its report tomorrow.  It will get major coverage but won’t break much news; most of the report has already been leaked.  The old Washington hands will call for region-wide negotiations — holding our noses with Iran and Syria — while setting up conditions for drawing down forces.

In other words, no deadlines, just guidelines.  Either way, at some point we’re outta there.  Col. McCausland sums up the debate in great Tweedle Dee — Tweedle Dum fashion, using a figure of thought called the dilemma.

The Greek Sophists loved dilemmas, inventing all sorts of impossible choices to madden their opponents.  (The dilemma did much to create the tricky rhetoric called “sophistry.”)  Richard Lanham cites one such dilemma, the crocodilinae, described by Quintilian:

A crocodile, having seized a woman’s son, said that he would restore him if she would tell him the truth.  She replied, “You will not restore him.”  Was it the crocodile’s duty to give him up?

We’re not sure how, but that seems Iraqically symbolic.

Snappy Answer:  “Who gets to say ‘cut’?”

Which Makes “Cats” the “Macbeth” of Its Time.

Quote:  “Mr. Lloyd Webber is often referred to as the Shakespeare of his time…” The New York Times.

Figure of Speech:  antonomasia (an-to-no-MAY-sia), the namer.  From the Greek, meaning “other name.”

Andrew Lloyd Webber, the literary giant who produced Phantom of the Opera and Jesus Christ Superstar, was recognized for his lifetime contribution to “the arts” at the annual Kennedy Center Honors.  Steven Spielberg, Dolly Parton, Zubin Mehta and Smokey Robinson also received their propers.

The Times gushes about Mr. Webber in a hyperbolic antonomasia, a figure that swaps a proper name for a description, or vice versa.  You can tell an antonomasia by the article (“a,” “the,”) in front of the name.  Webber isn’t Shakespeare, but he’s a Shakespeare.

Really?  The struggling old newspaper increasingly uses the passive voice instead of actual people for authoritative opinion.  Just who “often refers to” Webber as a Shakespeare?

Snappy Answer:  “More like a Bulwer-Lytton, we’d say.”

Kicking His Evil Axis

Quote:  “Hitting Kim Jong Il Right in the Cognac” — Washington Post headline.

Figure of Speech:  metonymy (meh-TON-ih-mee), the symbol swap.  From the Greek, meaning “name change.”

America is starting to get personal with the bad-haired dictator of North Korea.  The punishment for that nation’s nuclear-weapons test is a band on luxury goods like yachts, motorcycles, and the brandy Kim likes to down after dinner.

The Washington Post puts the best headline on the story with the help of a metonymy, a figure of speech that makes a word stand for the qualities of something more general.  (“Crown,” for example, is a metonymy that represents royalty.)  In this case, “cognac” stands for the Dear Leader’s opulence in the midst of crushing poverty.

Figaro finds the word easy to swallow.

Snappy Answer:  “They should include a ban on big ugly glasses.”

We Could Use a Civil Giblet.

Quote:  “A plump bird stuffed with Stephanie and served with giblet civil, accompanied by marshmallow-topped sweet Londons, a bowl of performs with pearl unions and a serving of steamed microscopes.  And, for dessert, city a la mode, followed by a confession.”  The New York Times.

Figure of Speech:  lexical-gustatory synaesthesia, a medical condition in which the senses are joined.

It’s the rarest of rare medical phenomena: a kind of miswiring that allows some people to taste words.  A study published in Nature accounts for only 10 of these people in the U.S. and Europe.  One subject in the study reported that road signs offer an unpleasant mix of flavors such as pistachio ice cream and ear wax.

Figaro has yet to meet one of these sensory-overloaded individuals.  But a number of subscribers seem to have lexical-olfactory synaesthesia.  They claim his writing stinks.

Snappy Answer:  “What does a tasis taste like?”