https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR59Veb-JFo
Transcript
Today, today, today. Today we’re going to do things a little differently, and by differently what I mean
is that I’m going to give you a more practical lesson: a hands-on exploration of Rhetoric
– the third component of the Trivium (Grammar, Logic, and Rhetoric) – that is to say, the
art of compelling speech. The art of mind control.
This is a very heady topic with all manner of technical jargon which comes down to us
from antiquity, and this is probably why it is one of the most neglected disciplines in
modern public education. This discussion has far more practical applications than mere intellectual stimulation, and so
you may need to pay extra careful attention to reap the full benefits.
This discussion is about a toolkit for effective communication – for externalizing what it
is that lurks within us all beneath the surface, and for convincing others of the truth as
we understand it – and I encourage you to engage actively, perhaps even jot down notes,
as we delve into the details. If you’ve been following me a long time, then you will recognize that this presentation
is an update on an old lecture I gave as part of the Encyclopedia Hermetica series, which
I’ve decided to rework to present to a wider audience, with the help of some visual aids.
What I want out of this talk is not that you go away with a handful of fancy jargon or
technical labels (though if you can internalize these, you’ll be better off for it) – no,
what I want is to empower you to apply these rhetorical tools critically to the multitude
of voices shaping our world: politicians, news anchors, the management at work, self-help
gurus, religious leaders, academics, conspiracy theorists, activists, or whatever.
This isn't about fostering cynicism, but about nurturing a keen, discerning mind that can
navigate and understand the complex landscape of modern communication, and the tricks of
the trade. My intention here is not to breed cynicism but to cultivate healthy skepticism – a
vital ingredient for free thought in an era where these terms are often mistakenly used
interchangeably. Skepticism, unlike cynicism, isn't about intrinsic distrust but about starting with a clean slate,
or at least, a blank as slate as possible, in order to think clearly and rationally.
Our minds are not isolated entities; they are a mosaic of external influences – a
blend of truths and falsehoods indistinguishably absorbed over time.
It's crucial to analyze and understand these influences with some degree feigned objectivity.
Imagine being a scientist in a laboratory: without the skill to recognize and manage
external contaminants, your results will always be compromised.
The Trivium then, with rhetoric as the last but not least of its components, serves as
a sort of ‘decontamination chamber’ for your mind.
The blanker your slate when approaching the truth about a given thing, or the cleaner your body (to keep the metaphor), the less likely you are to let a few little rapidly-reproducing
foreign microorganisms flood the petri-dish that is your mind.
The better our mental filtration systems, the less susceptible we are to the clutter
that can cloud out our judgment. Rhetoric, like lock-picking, ceremonial magic, or martial arts, is a skill – morally neutral
through and through. Just as we categorize logic, rhetoric can also be broken down into categories (which
is one of the favourite pastimes of the linguistically-infected man).
Here are our four sub-categories of rhetoric: think of each of these as heart strings.
The skilled rhetorician pulls on all of these, and doesn’t put one before the others.
They’re like the four humours of good rhetoric, and a good speaker, like a physician of the
soul, understands them each in due proportion in an attempt to strike up a healthy complexion.
So let’s examine these four essential components: 1. The first of these is Logos, or reason: Logos comprises the use of logical ideas to appeal
to an audience’s own reason. If I am reasonable, and I speak reasonably, and you are reasonable, the exchange of ideas
– and hopefully of truth – becomes a harmonious flow of information.
2. The next component of effective rhetoric is Pathos: the appeal to an audience’s emotions.
This, in large part, is what people call “acting.”
You are coaxing out and stirring up an emotional response from people.
Tone, facial expression, hand gestures, emphasis, dramatic pauses… all these contribute to
the ‘pathos’ of a given speech, and the ‘sympathy’ of a listener.
3. After this, our third component is Ethos.
Ethos is grounded in the credibility and moral character of a speaker.
It is about appealing to the guiding tenets that characterize a community or ideology
(whether religious, political, nationalistic, or what have you).
Ethos is about establishing trust through the speaker's integrity and authority, and
through a speaker’s ability to resonate with what a given audience already knows to be right.
4. Lastly, we have Kairos (which is Greek for “the right time” or “timeliness”)
and it’s an appeal to the right-place-and-the-right-time-ness of a poignant argument, a word of wisdom,
or show of rhetorical flare. It is striking the iron when it is hot, or kicking a man when he’s down.
It's the art of seizing the opportune moment, making a message resonate not just in content
but in timing. This one is a bit harder to put a finger on because it’s so circumstantial, but it’s
definitely just as important as any of our other three ‘rhetorical humours’ or ‘heartstrings’.
Alright, so let's delve deeper into some nitty-gritty details to get a coherent idea of how one
might analyze rhetoric. The following list (with some of its examples) was drawn from the Dutch classicist Anton
D. Leeman’s Orationis Ratio, which in turn was based off the Rhetorica ad Herennium,
a rhetorical handbook written in the first century BC. Now, let’s also remember that rhetorical handbooks like these are in the vein of a
much older Greek tradition (from guys like Demosthenes), and that’s the reason all
these technical words are in Greek. In as much as the Latins were concerned with good rhetoric and oratory, they got their
love from the Greeks at quite an early age. Rhetoric flourished as a science in ancient ‘democracies’ and ‘republics,’ because
these systems of governance are all about persuading others for votes in your favour.
Though this science of persuasion is obviously not unique to the Western world, the Greeks
and Romans are definitely responsible for establishing the canons of style we find tasteful
in the Western world today. The principles of what constituted good style then largely remain relevant today.
Our rhetorical DNA, so to speak – what we naturally find convincing, euphonic or pleasing
to the ear – all this comes down to us from these great ancient rhetoricians.
Now, I’m obviously not going to cover all the figures of rhetoric, given that there
are over 200 and it would be extremely tedious for us both to go through the catalogue.
My goal instead is to ignite your interest in a subject often perceived as exclusive
to elite debate circles, political propagandists or ‘public relations’ think tanks, media
outlets, and marketing teams. However, rhetoric's relevance extends far beyond these realms, influencing everyday
communication and public discourse. So without further ado, here’s our meat and potatoes.
As we progress, I encourage you to think of some of your own examples (whether from your
favourite songs, iconic presidential addresses, talking heads from Silicon Valley, sermons,
lectures, Shakespeare monologues, pre-epic-battle speeches from Hollywood movies, or whatever);
this should help you solidify these concepts and anchor them into your everyday understanding.
As I always like to say, the way out is through.
By mastering these rhetorical techniques, you'll develop an intuitive sense for when they're being used around you, or on you.
So if you ever watch a particularly persuasive commercial or political address, before you
run out and buy that product or give your support to that figure, sift through their
rhetoric and see if someone really is giving you an honest picture of the world, or if
they’re simply serving you up a polished turd. In the same way that pearls trampled into mud by swine are still pearls, turds polished
to a shine are still turds.
Fancy words should not obscure the truth, no matter how eloquently presented.
Be vigilant, and don't be misled by rhetorical glitter.
So, first on our list is Anaphora, a staple in both stirring speeches and evocative poetry.
Derived from the Greek 'ana' (up) and 'phero' (to carry), anaphora involves the repetition
of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses.
This repetition creates a rhythm and parallelism that can amplify the impact of the message.
This repetition, consider how it not only aids the memory but also stirs emotions, a
tool often employed by skilled orators to persuade, inspire, and motivate.
Here are some notable examples: Martin Luther King Junior’s “I have a dream” speech
is probably the most famous use of this technique. It uses the line “I HAVE A DREAM” eight times to great effect, making it the textbook
example for good use of anaphora. Shakespeare’s “Mad world! Mad kings!
Mad composition!” is another good example.
One of my personal favourites is from William Blake’s poem London: “In every cry of
every man, in every infant’s cry of fear, in every voice, in every ban, the mind-forged
manacles I hear.” The opening lines of Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities is also notable for its use
of anaphora: “"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age
of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch
of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the
spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing
before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”
Next is Climax, the rhetorical ladder of ascending ideas.
This is the repetition of words that works like climbing steps (and that’s exactly
what climax means in Greek, “a ladder”). Each word or phrase takes us one step higher, building intensity and focus.
Climax is often used in persuasion (predominantly in advertising) to create false dichotomies
and then to focus attention upon the side which they want you to err. Now, a good constructive use of this figura comes from the letters of St. Paul to the
Corinthians: "There are three things that will endure: faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.” Another climax can be found in American declaration of Independence: "...they are endowed by their
Creator with certain unalienable rights... and among these are life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness." Each step, from life to liberty to happiness, elevates the importance, leading us to the
pinnacle of the argument. Hopefully you can see how the initial inferior options (‘faith and hope,’ or ‘life
and liberty’) make the final terms (‘love’ or ‘the pursuit of happiness’) seem better
by comparison than they might appear in isolation: "X is good, Y is better, Z is best" is a standard
format – hence the “ladder” concept. It’s a figure of rhetoric concerned with slipping in value judgements which (generally)
are arbitrarily those of the speaker. This tactic can also be used in reverse to make the list “go down the ladder”, such
that an initial term seems better by comparison: "A isn't perfect, but B is worse, and C is
worst.” This is called an anticlimax. So keep an eye and ear out for this, because what it’s doing is subconsciously slipping
in a value judgement for you, and that’s something worth being aware of. Next up we have Antithesis, the art of contrast, which serves to paint a vivid picture by juxtaposing
opposing ideas. We just saw an example of this above with Dickens’ intro to a Tale of Two Cities.
In short, it’s a pair of comparisons: “si la jeunesse savait, si la viellesse pouvait”
(if only the youth knew, if only the elderly could). This is done to achieve some contrast – “one small step for [a] man but a giant step for
mankind;” “Speech is silver, but silence is gold”, “Money is the root of all evils:
poverty is the fruit of all goodness” – and so on and so forth. Again, as in climax, we can be led (though not necessarily) to value judgements through
antitheses which we may not share, so watch for this pitfall.
False dichotomies or false dilemmas are one of the most common problems in the use of
antitheses. Consider Richard Nixon’s inaugural address: “We find ourselves rich in goods but ragged
in spirit, reaching with magnificent precision for the moon but falling into raucous discord
on earth. We are caught in war, wanting peace. We're torn by division, wanting unity.”
Moving on to Parison. This figure of rhetoric arises when two clauses in a sentence are structured to mirror each
other, creating a balance that is aesthetically pleasing. A good example is the sentence I just used to illustrate antithesis: “Si la jeunesse
savait/Si la vieillesse pouvait” (if only the youth knew, if only the elderly could),
or Dickens’ “It was the best of times/it was the worst of times.”
Now there’s nothing terribly manipulative here, all a parison does is ensure that a
sentence is balanced and not skewed toward one clause or another.
It applies a kind of Pythagorean proportion and equilibrium to a sentence, making them
memorable and impactful. This technique is particularly effective for creating slogans and headlines that stick
in the mind: “What you see is what you get,” “The bigger they are, the harder they fall”
or “melts in your mouth, not in your hand.” A notable example is JFK’s inaugural address: "Let every nation know, whether it wishes
us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support
any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and the success of liberty."
Another technique famously employed by Kennedy is the Chiasmus, which comes from the Greek
letter Chi (X). This etymology is significant because it reflects the criss-cross pattern characteristic of
chiasmus as a rhetorical device. In chiasmus, the structure of two or more clauses or phrases is mirrored and inverted,
much like the lines of an "X". A memorable example is the famous Kennedy quote, "Ask not what your country can do for
you – ask what you can do for your country."
We also have "When the going gets tough, the tough get going," Shakespeare’s “Fair
is foul, and foul is fair,” and Lord Byron’s “Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a
pleasure.” Now from the few figures of rhetoric we’ve looked at so far, it should already be obvious
that these needn’t be used in isolation from one another, one at a time, but can be
compounded together to great effect. Employing a symphony of rhetorical devices rather than using them as solo instruments
can transform simple communication into an complex art form.
Think of the prayer of St. Francis where anaphora (repetition at the start of sentences) and
antithesis (contrasting ideas) are woven together seamlessly to create a profound effect:
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. That where there is hatred, I may bring love.
Where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness. Where there is discord, I may bring harmony.
Where there is error, I may bring truth. Where there is doubt, I may bring faith.
Where there is despair, I may bring hope. Where there are shadows, I may bring light.
Where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted.
To understand, rather than to be understood. To love, rather than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds. It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.
Here, the repetition emphasizes the contrasts, making the message that much more memorable
and that much more powerful. The combined effect of these devices is greater than the sum of their parts, leaving a lasting
impression that inspires as much as it informs. Next on our list we have the isocolon, which is closely related to parison, in that it
requires that parallel clauses not only mirror each other in structure but also match in
syllable count, creating an even tighter form of balance.
This technique, akin to a rhythmic dance of words, can be exemplified by phrases like
'To err is human, to forgive divine.'
Each part is symmetrical not just in sentiment but in rhythm as well.
Now there are a few examples on my list, like the homoioptoton or homoioteleuton, which
are only relevant to inflected languages like Greek or Latin (that is, language with cases),
where words with similar endings are strung together for effect. An example from Latin, “O fortunatam natam me consule Romam!”
(loosely rendered as “O fortunate date for the Roman State was the date of my great consulate!”),
although challenging to replicate precisely in English, demonstrates the elegance and rhythm such structures can imbue in language.
While English may not inherently lend itself to these specific forms, the underlying principle
of creating rhythmic and structural harmony in speech remains a powerful weapon in the
rhetorician's arsenal. Now let us turn to alliteration, which surprisingly enough wasn’t held in very high regard in
the rhetorical handbooks of the ancients. Among the ancient Greeks, this was actually considered a stylistic blunder - best avoided
- but for one reason or another the Romans loved it, and they passed that love onto us.
It’s for this reason that the word itself, “alliteration” comes from a Latin and
not a Greek word. A classic Latin example of abusive alliteration is “O Tite tute Tati, tibi tanta, tyranne,
tulisti!” (“By yourself, O tyrant Titus Tatius, you took up those terrible troubles!”).
I don’t think I need to explain this terribly much given that every high school student
of English learns about alliteration in their poetry units; it’s a stylistic device in
which a number of words with the same first consonant sound occur close together in a
series. But let me give you a few examples to give you a sense of how powerful alliteration is:
TikTok, Dunkin’ Donuts, PayPal, Best Buy, Coca-Cola, American Apparel, Chuckee Cheese,
Bed Bath & Beyond, Krispy Kreme, Lulu Lemon, Ted Talk, Weight Watchers, Black Berry, Teatly
Now, from this you can see how prevalent and effective this type of word sorcery is across
the landscape of modern capitalism. Quite surprising when we consider that this was considered a cheap rhetorical faux pas
over two millennia ago. Ok – moving on – next we have your dad’s favourite figure of rhetoric: paranomasia
which is a nice and fancy term for wordplay or puns (though not necessarily meant to be
funny). Puns are a form of wordplay that exploit the multiple meanings of a term or similar-sounding
words for an intended humorous or rhetorical effect.
Examples abound, from Shakespeare’s “a little more than kin, and less than kind”
to modern sayings like “Atheism is a non-prophet institution” or dad jokes like “this breakfast
is egg-celent” and so forth. I’m sure you can think of all sorts of cringeworthy puns off the top of your head, and if you
can’t, go ask your dad. But puns are not just a play on words; they have deep historical roots in the evolution
of language since even ancient writing systems like Sumerian cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphs
made extensive use of puns. They’ve have an integral role in the development of written language and, by extension, civilization.
Understanding a pun requires a certain level of cognitive flexibility and cultural or linguistic
knowledge. The listener or reader must be able to hold two different meanings in their mind simultaneously.
Not only can this mental juggling act be stimulating and enjoyable, but it can also serve as a
barometer for language proficiency and cultural integration, as understanding and appreciating
puns in a non-native language or culture can be quite challenging.
Paranomasia, then, can serve as a means of creating social bonds by invoking a form of
social play, testing the boundaries of language and shared understanding.
Historically, puns have been used by authors, poets, and playwrights to add layers of meaning
to their works since they can not only provide comic relief, but highlight a character’s
intelligence or wit, and introduce double entendres.
In Homer's Odyssey, a great pun arises during the encounter between Odysseus and the Cyclops,
Polyphemus. When asked for his name, Odysseus cleverly tells Polyphemus that his name is Οὖτις
(Outis), which in Greek means "nobody" or "no one" (though clearly also resembles the
name ‘Odysseus’). When Polyphemus cries out in pain after being blinded, he shouts that Οὖτις (Outis,
or Nobody) is hurting him. This play on words causes confusion among other Cyclopes, who believe that no one (literally
"nobody") is attacking Polyphemus. The phrase "Οὖτις is attacking me," then, is a great example of paranomasia.
Now, there’s also a sort of special pun called the Figura Etymologica and it’s really
my favourite type of paranomasia. This is a pun based on etymology which makes it extremely subtle, and usually only appreciated
by those with a keen interest in language as it requires understanding the etymological
roots of words across different languages. For example, consider Romans 1:25 - "Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped
and served the creature more than the Creator." Here, the words ‘creature’ and ‘creator’ share a common etymological root, adding a
layer of depth to the sentence. Similarly, Tennyson’s line “There hath he lain for ages, and will lie” plays on
the shared root of ‘lain’ and ‘lie.’ In the Hermetic Book of Six Principles of things, the line “Nature is a certain universal
and special vigour, born of cause and reason, first born in heaven” artfully hides a subtle
figura etymologica in so far as the words ‘natura’ (nature) and ‘nascens’/‘nascitur’
(‘being born’/‘is born’) share an etymological root, though this connection
is somewhat lost in translation. The next figure on my list is polyptoton, which might best be rendered as “a variety
of choices,” and involves repeating a word in different forms or cases.
This again is more relevant to inflected languages than it is to English, since it’s a play
on case use. For instance, in Latin, the phrase “vim vi repellere licet” (it is permitted to
repel force [vim] with force [vi]) illustrates this beautifully.
An English example of a polyptoton is something like “a man’s man” (using man twice,
once in the nominative, once in the genitive). Another example would be “in the morning when the morning bird sings,” where ‘morning’
is used both as an adjective and a noun. It isn’t really a very strong device in English, but it’s certainly one to keep
an ear out for. Why? Because again, just because something sounds catchy or jingly doesn’t mean it’s true,
and as humans naturally dazzled by beautiful things, we often let their guards down in
the presence of rhetorical fireworks and catchy slogans, and this is exactly what I’m trying
to get everyone to approach with caution. In the words of Marsilio Ficino, “the truth does not require the adornment of words.”
Next up we’ve got the zeugma.
Zeugma is a Greek word for yoke, as in the thing you put on a pair of oxen (and it might
interest you to know that this word is etymologically related with the Sanskrit word Yoga and the
Latin verb iungo, meaning to join). Zeugma is a strategy for being pithy and concise, and involves using one verb for many different
ideas in a sentence. A classic example from Tennyson’s 'Ulysses' illustrates this: “He works his work, I
mine.” The verb 'work' applies to both subjects, though its grammatical form varies – a subtle
defiance of conventional grammar that adds to the poetic effect. Zeugma's variant, syllepsis, introduces an element of irony or humor by using a word
in two different contexts within the same sentence. For example, 'Would the maiden stain her honour, or her dress?'
Here, 'stain' applies both literally to the dress and metaphorically to honor.
Another sylleptic phrase from Commander Riker is, 'You are free to execute your laws and
your citizens as you see fit.' So, obviously, executing laws and executing people are two totally different kinds of
execution, but this kind of ambiguity makes for great rhetoric.
Zeugmas and syllepses demonstrate the power of brevity in rhetoric: Perfection isn’t
achieved when there’s nothing left to add, but when there’s nothing left to take away.
Now, let’s turn to anadiplosis, the art of repeating a word twice, especially to evoke
a feeling of grief or seriousness, like: “Lies, lies!
I can’t believe a word you say!” or Dyland Thomas’ “Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”
Although similar to anaphora, anadiplosis creates a chain of thought, linking ideas
in a continuous flow. This is a favourite of public speakers who want to pull on your heartstrings.
I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about anadiplosis that is very convincing,
and really, all you have to do is repeat a word twice. Another example of an anadiplosis is when a clause ends with a word, and the following
clause picks up with that same word, like in Yoda’s famous line: “Fear leads to
anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering” or St. Paul’s verse in Romans 5:3-5: "We rejoice in suffering,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us." This rhetorical device is a real favourite of fire-and-brimstone preachers: “NO REDEMPTION!
NO REDEMPTION EXCEPT THROUGH THE BLOOD OF CHEESES – NOW PLANT THAT SEED AND PUT A
DOLLAR IN THE BASKET…” That sort of thing. Next let us move on to synonymia (from the Greek ‘syn,’ together, and ‘onoma,’
name) which is a sort of stylized tautology. It’s the repetition of one idea with different words which adds emotional force or intellectual
clarity. A notable instance occurs in Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar,' where the plebs are reproached
with a cascade of insults: "You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!"
Each term echoes the same sentiment of worthlessness but with varying degrees of intensity.
Similarly, the phrase “That’s worthless, useless, and of no value” uses three different
terms to reinforce the idea of something lacking worth. Synonymia, in essence, is a powerful tool for emphasizing a point, adding both emotional
weight and intellectual depth to a message. Moving on, we encounter antimetabole, a personal favourite of mine, where a phrase is repeated
in reverse order, offering a mirror-like reflection of ideas like “Everything is in your head,
your head is in everything” or the Emerald Tablet’s “That which is above is just
as that which is below, and that which is below is just as that which is above.”
These examples show how turning a phrase on its head can reveal a deeper truth or perspective.
Another classic example is the Latin proverb: “Esse oportet ut vivas, non vivere ut edas!”
– “You should eat to live, not live to eat!”
Each instance of antimetabole provides a compact, yet profound insight into the power of shifting
perspectives. Next, we have tmesis, derived from the Greek for 'to cut.'
This device involves splitting a word and inserting another word or phrase in the middle
for emphasis. A common vulgar example is the exclamation 'Un-f*ing-believable,' where an interjection
intensifies the sentiment. Similarly, “a whole nother” demonstrates tmesis by cutting up 'another' for the sake
of emphasis. Tmesis often adds a dramatic flair to language, making it more vivid and forceful.
Next we have praeteritio, a technique which politicians are notorious for using in debates.
Praeteritio is the act of emphasizing a point by conspicuously choosing not to mention it.
This is when you say something like “I’m not going to say anything about Mr. Ford’s crack problem, but his public policy is downright mad,” or “Far be it from me to tell you
how much of a fool you were being yesterday.” People use this in casual conversations all the time: “I’m not one for gossip, but
did you see that ----ty dress Amber was wearing to the wedding?” Each instance ostensibly avoids a subject while actually drawing attention to it.
This method, while effective for subtly introducing a topic or opinion, can often backfire since
most people see through it as being rather weaselly, insincere, or manipulative.
Cicero, the famed Roman orator, often used praeteritio (also known as paralipsis) in
his speeches. A famous example is found in his speech "Pro Caelio," where he ostensibly refrains from
mentioning certain allegations against his client, Caelius, while actually drawing attention
to them. This technique was a clever way to bring up points without seeming to make them a focus
of his argument. In this speech, Cicero says something like "I will not mention the fact that our accuser
has been accused of..." and then proceeds to outline the very accusations he claims
he won't mention. Through this, he cleverly insinuates his opponent’s alleged misconduct without directly stating
it, influencing his audience's perception while maintaining a veneer of restraint.
Praeteritio can be a masterful way to manipulate information subtly, making the unspoken allegations
as significant as those spoken about directly. It can serve to influence an audience while technically sticking to the rules of decorum,
but it can also backfire if ineptly deployed.
Next we have Metaphor, allegory, and irony, which you’re all surely familiar with so
I won’t mention them (see what I did there?).
After these, we have Onomatopoeia. This is not just words you find in a comic book that imitate sounds like “boom” “kablam”
and “pow” – it’s just any made up word, like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
The use of such inventive language can be powerful, but it’s important to remain critical.
When novel words are used in public discourse, ask yourself: Why couldn’t that person use
a word that already exists? Are they too stupid to know those words? Or are they masking what they actually mean with ambiguity because they don’t actually
know what they’re talking about? Such scrutiny is essential, especially in an age where language can be both a tool for
clarity and a veil for confusion. Always question the intent behind linguistic creativity – is it to enlighten or to obfuscate?
Before concluding, Let’s briefly touch upon a few more rhetorical figures.
Metonymy is calling a thing by a word associated with that thing (“my ride” in place of
“my car”); synecdoche is a type of metonymy, where a part is used to stand in for the whole,
as in “my wheels” for “my car,” or calling a girl “toots” or “sugar lips”
– not recommended – that sort of thing. Antonomasia is calling a person by a phrase that says something about them, like calling
Homer “The Blind Bard”, Odysseus the “Man of Many Turns” (Polytropos), Aristotle “The
Philosopher,” or Hitler “Der Fuhrer”, and so on). These labels convey more than just a name; they encapsulate a key aspect of that person’s
identity or reputation. Lastly, we have hyperbole – deliberate exaggeration for effect.
The Greek root means something like “throwing above and beyond”, capturing its essence
as an overstatement. While often used for emphasis or humor, hyperbole can be misleading, especially in serious contexts
like news or political discourse. The danger lies in how hyperbole can distort reality, leading us to base decisions on exaggerated
or minimized information. The key is to recognize hyperbole and discern the actual truth beneath the embellished surface.
One of the greatest challenges we’re faced with as linguistic animals is that often the words we use don’t reflect the reality around us.
We get lost in maps and lose sight of the territory, then base our lives on grossly
over-exaggerated (or grossly under-exaggerated, or “litotical”) information.
Not good, to say the least. As we conclude our exploration of figures of speech, remember that these are just a
few examples from a vast and rich field.
While some aspects of rhetoric may seem abstract or esoteric, their practical application in
understanding and crafting communication is invaluable.
So… I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve decided to go through all this with you, and I suppose
you’ve also realized it isn’t to improve your poetry or business presentations.
Now the reason is this: recently, politics and media have become increasingly inseparable
from one another over the past few decades. Now, politics have always been rhetorically oriented – this is what made the sophists
so popular in ancient Athens, where truth didn’t matter all that much, since all that
mattered was convincing people to act according to one’s own will. This is the issue which prompted Plato’s anti-relativist philosophical campaign against
teachers of rhetoric like Protagoras and Gorgias. Slick rhetoric has always and always will be a sine qua non of politics, but today thanks
to the internet there’s far more trickery afoot than there ever has been.
You would think that with all the information available to people they should be able to make clear headed and impartial decisions, but unfortunately, it’s not the case because
were also drowning in mis- and disinformation. This deluge of data, often confined within the 'echo chambers' of the internet, complicates
our ability to make clear, unbiased decisions. Rhetoric, now more than ever, should not merely be a tool for politicians and orators; it’s
a critical skill for navigating and understanding the intricate web of modern communication."
Politics have become a sort of all out multi-media assault, replete with memes, music, film,
art, and so forth – there’s heartstrings being pulled at every corner, it’s inescapable.
For the undiscerning eye, it’s business as usual, but that’s hardly the case.
The problem is that so many are so desensitized to human subtlety and critical thought from
having most of their lives manufactured for them and beamed in through a telescreen.
There’s a yawning gap between those broadcasting information and those receiving it, and it
widens and widens every year, with the result that the general population are getting more
and more gullible. Propaganda is everywhere you look, not just on the radio and in the newspapers (sources
which, back in the day, were easily avoided), and PR or marketing groups are getting better
and better at getting in your face. Propaganda is no longer confined to traditional media; it’s pervasive, exploiting our fears
and insecurities to herd us into polarized thinking.
This manipulation of discourse restricts our freedom and mental flexibility.
In confronting this reality, we’re left with two choices: either retreat from this
information overload, or sharpen our critical thinking skills.
A true critical thinker shouldn’t be swayed by repeated falsehoods; they discern lies
from truths, regardless of how often they’re repeated, and how beautifully they’re adorned.
Now, in order to be a so-called “critical thinker”, you need to have some categories
with which to criticize, this is why I say the way out is through.
Understanding the nuances of effective rhetoric is key; without this, one might easily fall
prey to the allure of glittering generalities and misleading buzzwords.
Recognizing the substance in a well-argued paper or political campaign as opposed to
a word salad jumble of jargon requires a firm grasp of rhetorical principles.
This recognition is contingent on education, not in endless quantities of facts and trivia,
but in what medieval schoolmen called a ‘liberal education’ rooted in the Trivium – in
grammar, logic, and rhetoric. This triad of disciplines is crucial in discerning truth from both malicious deception and downright
stupidity. You have to know what it is people are saying – what the words they are using actually
mean (that’s grammar); you have to know if what they mean is actually internally consistent
and makes sense (that’s logic); then lastly, you have to make sure you’re not just being
dazzled by old euphonic formulas which have fooled people into forfeiting their very souls
for centuries (that’s rhetoric).
Knowing the tactics of persuasion is the best defense against manipulation, empowering us
to engage critically with the information that shapes our worldviews. There’s no better way to detect a conman than to know the con.
No better way to win a fight than knowing how to fight.
To fight propaganda, we must make propaganda.
To fight bad art, we must make good art and when it comes to aesthetics, we need to recognize
that there are rules, or at the very least there is conventional wisdom.
Achieving architectural marvels like the Pantheon or composing music to rival Bach’s fugues
requires an understanding of foundational rules. You could, of course, go off and play your own games, but you’ll always run the risk
of falling into extreme individualism, and ultimately solipsism.
Creative freedom is invaluable, but without a grounding in time-honoured forms and principles,
your efforts may lead you into irrelevance and deracination.
You could give a talk in pure glossolalia, but don’t expect to effect any change in
the world with it – don’t expect it to be magical.
If you want to st on a canvas and call it art, that’s fine, but don’t be surprised
when nobody wants to keep it around. The journey to mastering any form of human-to-human communication begins with learning the wisdom
of other humans – wisdom which has been accumulating over centuries – and then,
with knowledge and understanding, artfully weaving them together. I’m not saying you can’t break rules, but if you don’t know the rules before you
break them, you’ve already lost your way. The way out is through.
So please, in as much as you think it’s important to learn grammar and logic, learn
your figures of rhetoric.