Is pathos less important than the other two categories of appeals in Aristotle’s rhetorical triangle, or it is an appeal that is easier to achieve?
I ask this partly based on that fact that this was a fairly easy chapter to get through. The chapter itself consisted primarily of examples of many speeches, monologues, and scenes that all seemed to demonstrate the same overall point, that it is important to be able to instill in your audience a certain feeling or response as a means to get your message accepted.
Comparatively to the other two chapters, logos and ethos, this chapter contained limited terminology to master; and in my opinion, this concept was generally easier to understand.
But then why? Why devote more defining and clarifying to logos and ethos? Does this make the rhetorical triangle more misshapen? Even Crowley and Hawhee comment on the role of pathos compared to the other, “ancient kinds of rhetorical proofs, [that] appeal to the emotions seems strangest to contemporary rhetors” (247). It then strikes me, reiterated in this passage, that emotions are difficult to deal with; that emotions “are associated with the body and are thought to be superficial and dangerous” (247).
However, I wonder if a play on the word dangerous here could be taken to mean that emotional appeals are dangerous because they are most effective. Simply thinking of my own responses to emotional appeals: the more I feel pity for one side to an argument, the more I will tend to assent to that particular argument. Taking this reaction into effect, the appeal to emotions also is dangerous if the audience adamantly disagrees with the speaker, “it is easier to bring about a change of mind in those who are accepting or hostile than in those who are indifferent” (254). The more emotional response rhetors are able to play on or thrive off of, essentially the easier it will be to engage that audience in an argument or instill them to action.
I feel that the same could not be said for the other two areas of appeals, the more logical an argument presents itself to be would encourage someone to acknowledge the valid points in this argument; it would not, however, encourage them to fully accept the argument and believe in it. Similarly, as demonstrated in last weeks discussion, often times it is essential to separate a speaker’s character from their skill as a rhetor. This is not to say that these two appeals are irrelevant, but simply to illustrate that emotional responses have more power in persuading than often is thought.
Thinking of the abortion debate, there are logical points to each side that can be accurately and intensely portrayed (Crowley/Hawhee, Chapter 3); however, the rhetor would have a tremendous struggle to sway someone who is emotionally invested the values of a particular position. Crowley and Hawhee confirm that “researchers have also discovered that a person’s willingness to changer her mind depends on two things: the emotional intensity with which she clings to an opinion and the degree to which her identity is wrapped up in that opinion” (254), and subsequently, “intense emotional attachment to claims can present serious barriers to rhetors who disagree with such claims” (257).
So, do rhetors even stand a fighting chance then at swaying an audience whose values are so engrained in their character? I never knew how much psychology came into play with the idea of rhetoric. This chapter illuminated how much analysis of an audience and of the emotional responses you wish to elicit from this audience impact your message in terms of content and delivery. I can really see how concepts like enargeia and honorific and pejorative language can serve to aid your purpose. I can also see where the old clichéd advice of never discussing religion or politics at the dinner table gains momentum.
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