Published Tue, Jan 12 2021 11:31 AM EST A Facebook iconA Twitter iconA LinkedIn iconAn email icon Aristotle statue located at Stageira of Greece (birthplace of the philosopher) PanosKarapanagiotis | Getty When we think of public speaking, we generally think of prepared remarks to a group of people — acceptance speeches, wedding toasts, work presentations, group discussions. But 2,400 years ago, Aristotle, the world's greatest authority on the subject, described it a little differently. In public or private, he taught, we speak for one reason: to persuade. That can be challenging, because many of us suffer from speech anxiety. Probably because we've never been trained to think strategically about communication, despite the fact that it's one of the most critical skills in life. According to Aristotle's teaching on persuasion, the art of eloquence is explained in terms that have nothing to do with conquering anxiety or learning to be confident, but rather with learning how people listen to us. Here's what the Greek philosopher believed the most persuasive people do: For most people, speech preparation entails endless hours obsessing over what people will think (e.g. "What if I fail?" "What if people think I'm dumb?"). Aristotle's advice? Cut it out. Focus instead on the people you're addressing. Begin by asking yourself: Who will be listening? How many of them will there be? How old are they? What race and gender? What do they know about you and your topic? Why are they gathering to listen to you? How can you help them? Before you begin writing, think about the purpose of your talk. Are you seeking to entertain, inform or inspire? Next, express it as a specific goal in a single sentence: As a result of my presentation, I want them to know [X], and do [Y] as a result of my talk. By aiming your remarks at the literal, concrete audience members, and by sticking to your purpose, you will eliminate a tremendous degree of free-floating anxiety. In your mind, the subject of your talk is quarterly sales, company policy or your amazing new invention. Your audience, however, is focused on an entirely different topic — their happiness. Aristotle listed a number of things that make people happy: Health, family, wealth, status and so on. Your success as a speaker, regardless of subject, depends on demonstrating to your audience that you're not just prattling away; you're talking to them, for their benefit. Let's say you're pitching a financial product. You know that it's awesome. The numbers prove it. But what's going to make your audience happier? A lengthy diatribe about numbers, or an explanation of how these numbers will make their life better? The point, as always, is that every element of your presentation should demonstrate your awareness of what they care about. Whether you share much or little, your audience's decision to accept your words and ideas depends upon how credible they find you to be. "When speakers behave inappropriately," wrote Aristotle, "their credibility is questioned — even when they speak the truth." It's intuitive that awkward body language or inappropriate clothing will distract people from your message, but instead of worrying about what not to do, train your attention toward the myriad of ways you can frame your presentation in the cognitive universe of your audience. If your audience uses the metric system, don't talk in terms of inches. If you're from rural Illinois, for example, and you're pitching a medical cure for a dire disease to skeptical doctors and academics from Shanghai, talk about victims of the disease who come from Shanghai. Every aspect of your presentation, including timing, humor, word-choices, metaphors and statistics, must mean the same thing to them as they mean to you. John Bowe is a speech trainer, award-winning journalist, and author of "I Have Something to Say: Mastering the Art of Public Speaking in an Age of Disconnection." He has contributed to The New Yorker, The New York Times Magazine, GQ, McSweeney's, This American Life, and many others. Follow him on LinkedIn. Don't miss: Don't miss: The best credit cards for building credit of 2021
rhetoric, the principles of training communicators—those seeking to persuade or inform. In the 20th century it underwent a shift of emphasis from the speaker or writer to the auditor or reader. This article deals with rhetoric in both its traditional and its modern forms. For information on applications of rhetoric, see the articles broadcasting, communication, and propaganda. The traditional rhetoric is limited to the insights and terms developed by rhetors, or rhetoricians, in the Classical period of ancient Greece, about the 5th century bc, to teach the art of public speaking to their fellow citizens in the Greek republics and, later, to the children of the wealthy under the Roman Empire. Public performance was regarded as the highest reach of education proper, and rhetoric was at the centre of the educational process in western Europe for some 2,000 years. Institutio oratoria (before ad 96; “The Training of an Orator”), by the Roman rhetorician Quintilian, perhaps the most influential textbook on education ever written, was in fact a book about rhetoric. Inevitably, there were minor shifts of emphasis in so long a tradition, and for a long time even letter writing fell within the purview of rhetoric; but it has consistently maintained its emphasis upon creation, upon instructing those wishing to initiate communication with other people. Modern rhetoric has shifted its focus to the auditor or reader. Literary criticism always borrowed from rhetoric—stylistic terms such as antithesis and metaphor were invented by Classical rhetoricians. When language became a subject of sustained scholarly concern, it was inevitable that scholars would turn back to Classical theories of rhetoric for help. But modern rhetoric is far more than a collection of terms. The perspective from which it views a text is different from that of other disciplines. History, philosophy, literary criticism, and the social sciences are apt to view a text as though it were a kind of map of the author’s mind on a particular subject. Rhetoricians, accustomed by their traditional discipline to look at communication from the communicator’s point of view, regard the text as the embodiment of an intention, not as a map. They know that that intention in its formulation is affected by its audience. They know also that the structure of a piece of discourse is a result of its intention. A concern for audience, for intention, and for structure is, then, the mark of modern rhetoric. It is as involved with the process of interpretation, or analysis, as it is with the process of creation, or genesis. Rhetorical analysis is actually an analogue of traditional rhetorical genesis: both view a message through the situation of the auditor or reader as well as the situation of the speaker or writer. Both view the message as compounded of elements of time and place, motivation and response. An emphasis on the context automatically makes a rhetorician of the literary critic or interpreter and distinguishes that approach from the other kinds of verbal analysis. Critics who have insisted upon isolating, or abstracting, the literary text from the mind of its creator and from the milieu of its creation have found themselves unable to abstract it from the situation of its reader. Certain modern critics have joined with rhetoricians in denouncing the folly of all such attempts at abstraction. In interpreting any text—say a speech by Elizabeth I of England at Tilbury, Essex, or a play by the great Hindu poet of the 5th century, Kālidāsa—the rhetorician must imaginatively re-create the original situation of that text as well as endeavour to understand those factors that condition a present understanding. All discourse now falls within the rhetorician’s purview. Modern rhetoricians identify rhetoric more with critical perspective than with artistic product. They justify expanding their concerns into other literary provinces on the basis of a change in thinking about the nature of human reason. Modern philosophers of the Existentialist and Phenomenologist schools have strongly challenged the assumptions whereby such dualities as knowledge and opinion, persuasion and conviction, reason and emotion, rhetoric and poetry, and even rhetoric and philosophy have in the past been distinguished. The old line between the demonstrable and the probable has become blurred. According to these modern philosophers, a person’s basic method of judgment is argumentation, whether in dialogue with others or with a text, and the results are necessarily relative and temporal. Such modern philosophers use legal battles in a courtroom as basic models of the process every person goes through in acquiring knowledge or opinion. For some, philosophy and rhetoric have become conflated, with rhetoric itself being a further conflation of the subject matter Aristotle discusses not only in his Rhetoric but also in his Topics, which he had designed for dialectics, for disputation among experts. According to this view, philosophers engage in a rhetorical transaction that seeks to persuade through a dialogic process first themselves and then, by means of their utterances, others. It is in this “argumentative” light that a rhetorically trained reader or auditor interprets all texts and justifies their inclusion within the province of rhetoric. Rhetoric has come to be understood less as a body of theory or as certain types of artificial techniques and more as an integral component of all human discourse. As a body of discursive theory, rhetoric has traditionally offered rules that are merely articulations of contemporary attitudes toward certain kinds of prose and has tended to be identified with orations in which the specific intent to persuade is most obvious. But modern rhetoric is limited neither to the offering of rules nor to studying topical and transient products of controversy. Rather, having linked its traditional focus upon creation with a focus upon interpretation, modern rhetoric offers a perspective for discovering the suffusion of text and content inhering within any discourse. And for its twin tasks, analysis and genesis, it offers a methodology as well: the uncovering of those strategies whereby the interest, values, or emotions of an audience are engaged by any speaker or writer through his discourse. The perspective has been denoted with the term situation; the methodology, after the manner of certain modern philosophers, may be denoted by the term argumentation. It should be noted at the outset that one may study not only the intent, audience, and structure of a discursive act but also the shaping effects of the medium itself on both the communicator and the communicant. Those rhetorical instruments that potentially work upon an audience in a certain way, it must be assumed, produce somewhat analogous effects within the writer or speaker as well, directing and shaping his discourse. For the tasks imposed by the rhetorical approach some of the most important tools inherited from antiquity are the figures of speech: for example, the metaphor, or comparison between two ostensibly dissimilar phenomena, as in the famous comparison by the 17th-century English poet John Donne of his soul and his mistress’s to the legs on a geometer’s compass in his “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning”; another is the allegory, the extended metaphor, as in John Bunyan’s classic of English prose Pilgrim’s Progress (1678, 1684), wherein man’s method of earning Christian salvation is compared to a road on which he journeys, and the comparison is maintained to such an extent that it becomes the central structural principle of the entire work. Such figures may be said to pertain either to the texture of the discourse, the local colour or details, or to the structure, the shape of the total argument. Ancient rhetoricians made a functional distinction between trope (like metaphor, a textural effect) and scheme (like allegory, a structural principle). To the former category belong such figures as metaphor, simile (a comparison announced by “like” or “as”), personification (attributing human qualities to a nonhuman being or object), irony (a discrepancy between a speaker’s literal statement and his attitude or intent), hyperbole (overstatement or exaggeration) or understatement, and metonymy (substituting one word for another which it suggests or to which it is in some way related—as part to whole, sometimes known as synecdoche). To the latter category belonged such figures as allegory, parallelism (constructing sentences or phrases that resemble one another syntactically), antithesis (combining opposites into one statement—“To be or not to be, that is the question”), congeries (an accumulation of statements or phrases that say essentially the same thing), apostrophe (a turning from one’s immediate audience to address another, who may be present only in the imagination), enthymeme (a loosely syllogistic form of reasoning in which the speaker assumes that any missing premises will be supplied by the audience), interrogatio (the “rhetorical” question, which is posed for argumentative effect and requires no answer), and gradatio (a progressive advance from one statement to another until a climax is achieved). However, a certain slippage in the categories trope and scheme became inevitable, not simply because rhetoricians were inconsistent in their use of terms but because well-constructed discourse reflects a fusion of structure and texture. One is virtually indistinguishable from the other. Donne’s compass comparison, for example, creates a texture that is not isolable from other effects in the poem; rather, it is consonant with a structural principle that makes the comparison both appropriate and coherent. Above all, a modern rhetorician would insist that the figures, like all elements of rhetoric, reflect and determine not only the conceptualizing processes of the speaker’s mind but also an audience’s potential response. For all these reasons figures of speech are crucial means of examining the transactional nature of discourse. In making a rhetorical approach to various discursive acts, one may speak of the rhetoric of a discourse—say, Robert Browning’s poem “My Last Duchess” (1842)—and mean by that the strategies whereby the poet communicated with his contemporaries, in this case the Victorians, or with modern man, his present readers; or one may speak of the rhetoric in a discourse and mean by that the strategies whereby the persona, the Duke of Ferrara who speaks Browning’s poem in dramatic-monologue fashion, communicates with his audience in the poem, in this case an emissary from the father of Ferrara’s next duchess. The two kinds of rhetoric are not necessarily discrete: in oratory or in lyric poetry, for example, the creator and his persona are assumed to be identical. To a degree Aristotle’s distinction between the three voices of discourse still holds. A poet, according to Aristotle, speaks in his own voice in lyric poetry, in his own voice and through the voices of his characters in epic (or narrative), and only through the voices of his characters in drama. Thus, the speaker of oratory or of most nonfictional prose is similar to the lyric speaker, with less freedom than the latter either to universalize or to create imaginatively his own audience. |