The breadth of Goodnight's rationale suggests what may be simultaneously the blessing and curse of the field, i.e., that to study argumentation as social processes is, given world enough and time, to study everything. To its credit, this rationale encourages expansive consideration of the roles of art, religion, philosophy, science, politics, and popular culture in piecing together the mini-puzzles and meta-puzzles alluded to. The Habermasian flavor of this salvo--its emphasis on communicative reasoning, social legitimation, dialectically mediated historical tensions, and a narrative about the modernist project--should comport with the tastes of many in the argumentation and advocacy community. The broad and avowedly nonprescriptive approach suggests some of the motifs that could inform our engagement of science and technology controversies (STCs) as evolving social processes that, whether mutative or progressive, can, as the expression goes, take on a life of their own. There is a hint of optimism that, when all the progressive lunges and regressive setbacks are taken into account, science controversies are generally healthy expressions of the quest for communicative rationality. But nothing rules out a Foucault-inflected clinicism. One could, for instance, think of STCs epidemiologically, and follow their routes of transmission. I suspect there is also something on the table here for optimists and pessimists alike, especially at the point where the matter of institutional discipline is broached, where one so inclined could insinuate Foucauldian tropes and strategies in order to press the themes of power/knowledge and epistemic regulation. Because it is a rationale, not a set of marching orders, Goodnight's statement will move its readers each according to their own nature, or toward their own favored niche. Should there be any lingering question about it, let it be said that science and technology controversies are not just about science and technology. They are also about our culture, our comfort, and our metaphysics. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the ongoing response to Darwin, which is after a century and a half perhaps still in its early history. The publicity about that has exploded on the scene recently is one more chapter (or, epidemiologically speaking, outbreak) of that response. The intensity of the controversy is all the more interesting because there does not seem to be any technological consequence in the offing should one side or the other prevail. This is not like the controversy over building nuclear power plants, where very practical matters of public safety and funding hang in the balance. No deals have been cut by Big Science for the sake of research, and there are no benefits to consumers. It is, rather, a debate about origins and mythic grounding, and about the very limits of science, fought out in the space of meanings and beliefs. The unfolding of the controversy, on some construals, might seem to exemplify a (slowly) progressive, modernist narrative, or a contredanse between modernist and prudential reasoning. But whatever its place in the flow of history, it is undoubtedly a showcase for the rhetoric of science. To treat it as such is to invite questions about rhetorical idioms and creativity, and about the persuasive impact of rhetorical strategies. The contest over evolution has been marked by rhetorical creativity on both sides. The attraction of the Intelligent Design argument for students of argumentation and persuasion is palpable, and not just because some of our own best scholars have stirred up the pot on this topic. At present, the subject garners more interest and energy on leading list-servs for communication scholars than perhaps any other topic. Academics generally have tried to defeat the Intelligent Design position, challenging it with everything from reasoned arguments and credibility challenges to satire and ridicule. And yet it absorbs these punches like a tar baby and garners ever-higher levels of popular acceptance. …