Dirimens Copulatio (di’-ri-mens ko-pu-la’-ti-o): A figure by which one balances one statement with a contrary, qualifying statement (sometimes conveyed by “not only … but also” clauses). A sort of arguing both sides of an issue.
Protagoras (c. 485-410 BC) asserted that “to every logos (speech or argument) another logos is opposed,” a theme continued in the Dissoi Logoiof his time, later codified as the notion of arguments in utrumque partes (on both sides). Aristotle asserted that thinking in opposites is necessary both to arrive at the true state of a matter (opposition as an epistemological heuristic) and to anticipate counterarguments. This latter, practical purpose for investigating opposing arguments has been central to rhetoric ever since sophists like Antiphon (c. 480-410 BC) provided model speeches (his Tetralogies) showing how one might argue for either the prosecution or for the defense on any given issue. As such, [this] names not so much a figure of speech as a general approach to rhetoric, or an overall argumentative strategy. However, it could be manifest within a speech on a local level as well, especially for the purposes of exhibiting fairness (establishing ethos[audience perception of speaker credibility].
This pragmatic embrace of opposing arguments permeates rhetorical invention, arrangement, and rhetorical pedagogy. [In a sense, ‘two-wayed thinking’ constitutes a way of life—it is tolerant of differences and may interpret their resolution as contingent and provisional, as always open to renegotiation, and never as the final word. Truth, at best, offers cold comfort in social settings and often establishes itself as incontestable, by definition, as immune from untrumque partes, which may be considered an act of heresy and may be punishable by death.]
“Not only is that a dog, but it acts like a cat too.” That was our problem. Now I see it. I had found the animal in a ditch by a country road. It was wet, filthy, covered with ticks and smelled like a wet dog—no surprises there! He has a mask on his face like a raccoon and a giant fluffy tail that was as long as he was. He was the size of a manatee, had big pointy ears, and was at least six or seven colors—there was a dispute over his front right leg—whether it was dark brown of black. As we drove home he stood on the back seat wagging his tail, which kept hitting my wife in the back of the head. I kept yelling “sit” but he just looked at me with his tongue hanging out. I gave up.
We named him “Ditch” after where we found him. he was a sort of friendly “dog”—he wasn’t mean. Rather, he was indifferent most of the time. I’d call him—“Here Ditch”—and he wouldn’t even look at me. If he was sleeping, sometimes he lifted up his head when I called him. I considered that a major accomplishment. Then one Saturday, I decided to take Ditch to the pet store to get some food. Once inside the pet store, when we walked past the cat litter boxes, Ditch sat down and pawed them until the entire display fell over. Clearly, he wanted a litter box, but they were too small for him to fit in, but I had an idea! I bought 15 bags of kitty litter and we head to the Dollar Store. I bought a plastic molded kiddie pool to serve as Ditch’s litter box. I put it in the basement and filled it with kitty litter. Ditch loved it. No more poop bombs on the living room carpet!
As time went on, Ditch became more and more like a cat. I had to make him a giant catnip ball—the size of a soccer ball. He would get high and run around the house knocking things over. Then, he started scratching furniture. He took the side of our couch off in a 5-minute session. I couldn’t stop him. He was too fast and too strong. To put a stop to the destruction, I made a scratching post from one of the maple trees I had planted five years ago in the front yard. I put it in the living room. It reached to the ceiling.
One of Ditch’s favorite things to do was to tip over the flat screen TV. I had to glue it to the TV stand. The worst, was his opening the refrigerator and scattering its contents on the floor. I had a hasp installed on the refrigerator door, and we kept it padlocked so Ditch couldn’t open it.
Then one night, I was awakened by a “Meow” that shook the house’s windows and scared our goldfish Lulu out of her bowl. I found her dead on the living room floor. Ditch was crouched over her drooling profusely. It was frightening. I almost immediately Googled “Giant cat-like dog.” I got one hit. It was a missing dog notice for Number 146. The description fit Ditch, and the photo was definitely him. It had been posted by “Mr. Big” and there was a $200,000 reward for his return.
I nearly shit my pants. Given Ditch’s character, I had no trouble deciding to turn him in for the reward. I called Mr. Big and gave him my home address. The next day an unmarked van pulled up in front of my house. A man wearing shorts and a T-shirt saying “Mr. Big” hopped out. He was carrying a briefcase and a huge dog biscuit shaped like a rabbit. When Ditch saw Mr. Big, he started running around in circles, chasing his tail. He was clearly overjoyed to see Mr, Big. I was relieved. Mr. Big handed me the briefcase. I opened it and it was filled with $100 bills. Mr. Big handed the dog biscuit to Ditch and he gobbled it up and then went to sleep. Mr. Big’s assistants carried Ditch on a stretcher out to the waiting van.
I was not the least bit sad. “Good riddance” I thought as I opened the briefcase again and contemplated the neatly arranged $100 bills. I don’t know whether Ditch was a dog or a cat, but one thing I’m sure of: he was a pain in the ass.
The only thing I liked about him was his fondness for sushi.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu
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