speeches meaning greek

Module 16: The Origins of Public Speaking

Ancient greece, the rise of democracy.

“Biblioteca” by queulat00. CC-BY .

In order to understand what contemporary public speaking is, we first must understand the genesis of public speaking. We begin with the Greeks and rhetoric. Rhetoric , as defined by Aristotle, is the “faculty of discovering in the particular case all the available means of persuasion.” [1] For the Greeks, rhetoric, or the art of public speaking, was first and foremost a means to persuade. Greek society relied on oral expression, which also included the ability to inform and give speeches of praise, known then as epideictic (to praise or blame someone) speeches. The ability to practice rhetoric in a public forum was a direct result of generations of change in the governing structures of Attica (a peninsula jutting into the Aegean Sea), with the city of Athens located at its center. The citizens of Athens were known as Athenians, and were among the most prosperous of people in the Mediterranean region.

Speech is the mirror of action. – Solon

It was in the Homeric Period, also known as “The Age of Homer,” between 850 B.C. and 650 B.C., that an evolution in forms of government from monarchy to oligarchy, and tyranny to eventual democracy, began in ancient Greece. Homer was the major figure of ancient Greek literature and the author of the earliest epic poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the year 630 B.C., the last tyrant of Attica, Ceylon, seized the Acropolis, which was the seat of government in Athens, and established himself as the ruler of all Attica. He didn’t rule for long. Ceylon was overthrown within weeks by farmers and heavily armed foot soldiers known as hoplites. Many of Ceylon’s followers were killed, and the few that escaped death fled into the mountains. Thus, Athenian democracy was born.

In 621 B.C., the citizens of Athens commissioned Draco , who was an elder citizen considered to be the wisest of the Greeks, to sort their laws into an organized system known as codification, because until that time, they simply remained an oral form of custom and tradition and weren’t written like the laws of today. Draco was concerned only with criminal offenses, which until this time had been settled through blood feud (an eye-for-an-eye type of revenge between families) or rulings by the King. Draco established courts, complete with juries, to hear cases of homicide, assault, and robbery. By conforming the codes for criminal offenses into standards of practice, Draco began the tradition of law, where cases were decided on clearly enunciated crimes and penalties determined by statute rather than by the whims of the nobility. His laws helped constitute a surge in Athenian democracy.

In 593 B.C. Draco’s laws were reformed by Solon, an Athenian legislator, who introduced the first form of popular democracy into Athens. Solon’s courts became the model for the Romans and centuries later for England and America. Murphy and Katula argued: “It is with Solon’s reforms that we mark the unalterable impulse toward popular government in western civilization.” [2] The Athenian period of democratization included legislative as well as judicial reform.

It was during the reign of Pericles , from 461 B.C. to 429 B.C., that Athens achieved its greatest glory. Some of these accomplishments included the installation of a pure democracy to maintain, a liberalized judicial system to include poor citizens so that they could serve on juries, and the establishment of a popular legislative assembly to review annually all laws. In addition, he established the right for any Athenian citizen to propose or oppose a law during assembly. Pericles’ achievements far exceeded those mentioned. Because of his efforts, Athens became the crossroads of the world—the center of western civilization—and with it came the need for public speaking.

“Discurso Funebre Pericles” by Philipp Foltz. Public domain.

“Persuasion is the civilized substitute for harsh authority and ruthless force,” wrote R.T. Oliver. [3] Oliver said that the recipients of any persuasive discourse must feel free to make a choice. In a free society it is persuasion that decides rules, determines behavior,and acts as the governing agent in human physical and mental activities. In every free society individuals are continuously attempting to change the thoughts and/or actions of others. It is a fundamental concept of a free society. Ian Harvey suggested that the technique of persuasion is the technique of persuading free people to a pattern of life; and persuasion is the only possible means of combining freedom and order. [4] That combination successfully achieved is the solution to the overriding problems of our time. Rhetoric (persuasion), public speaking and democracy are inextricable. As long as there is rhetoric, and public speaking to deliver that message, there will exist democracy; and as long as there is democracy, there will exist rhetoric and public speaking.

I believe that the will of the people is resolved by a strong leadership. Even in a democratic society, events depend on a strong leadership with a strong power of persuasion, and not on the opinion of the masses. – Yitzhak Shamir

The Nature of Rhetoric

“Socrates” by Coyau. Coyau / Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY-SA-3.0 .

Pericles’ democracy established the need for training in public speaking. Greek assemblies debated old and new laws on a yearly basis. The courtrooms that Solon reformed now bristled with litigation. Pericles’ juries numbered between 500 and 2,000 people, so speaking at a public trial was similar to speaking at a public meeting. And to speak at a legislative assembly required serious, highly developed, and refined debate, because at stake generally were issues of peace and war. Murphy and Katula stated that the Athenian citizens realized that their very future often depended on their ability to speak persuasively. [5] Public speaking was an Olympic event where the winner received an olive wreath and was paraded through his town like a hero. Thus, Athens became a city of words, a city dominated by the orator. Athens witnessed the birth of what we know today as rhetoric .

To say that rhetoric played an important role in Greek and Roman life would be an understatement. The significance of rhetoric and oratory was evident in Greek and Roman education. George Kennedy [6] noted that rhetoric played the central role in ancient education. At about the age of fourteen, (only) boys were sent to the school of the rhetorician for theoretical instruction in public speaking, which was an important part of the teaching of the sophists. Public speaking was basic to the educational system of Isocrates (the most famous of the sophists); and it was even taught by Aristotle.” [7]

Dialectics and Logic

It is important to note that rhetoric and oratory are not the same, although we use rhetoric and oratory synonymously; nor are rhetoric and dialectic the same. Zeno of Elea (5th century B.C.), a Greek mathematician and philosopher of the Eleatic school, is considered to be the inventor of dialectical reasoning. However, it is Plato, another Greek philosopher and teacher of Aristotle, and not Socrates, that we attribute the popularity of dialectical reasoning. Dialectic can be defined as a debate intended to resolve a conflict between two contradictory (or polar opposites), or apparently contradictory ideas or elements logically, establishing truths on both sides rather than disproving one argument. Both rhetoric and dialectic are forms of critical analysis.

Among the most significant thinkers of the fifth century B.C. were the traveling lecturers known as sophists . They were primarily teachers of political excellence who dealt with practical and immediate issues of the day, and whose investigations led in many instances to a philosophical relativism . Unlike Socrates and Plato, the sophists believed that absolute truth was unknowable and perhaps nonexistent, especially in the sphere of forensics and political life, where no universal principles could be accepted. Courses of action had to be presented in persuasive fashion. Unlike the sophists, Socrates taught that truth was absolute and knowable and that a clear distinction should be made between dialectic, the question and answer method of obtaining the one correct answer, and rhetoric, which does not seem interested in the universal validity of the answer but only in its persuasiveness for the moment. Plato developed this criticism of rhetoric to such an extent that he is the most famous and most thorough-going of the enemies of rhetoric. Plato preferred the philosophical method of formal inquiry known as dialectic .

In making a speech one must study three points: first, the means of producing persuasion; second, the language; third, the proper arrangement of the various parts of the speech. – Aristotle

The Rhetorical Approach

Plato and Aristotle cropped from The School of Athens

“The School of Athens” by Raphael. Public domain.

Aristotle wrote that rhetoric is the faculty of discovering in the particular case all the available means of persuasion. He cited four uses of rhetoric: (1) by it truth and justice maintain their natural superiority; (2) it is suited to popular audiences, since they cannot follow scientific demonstration; (3) it teaches us to see both sides of an issue, and to refute unfair arguments; and (4) it is a means of self-defense. For Aristotle, rhetoric is the process of developing a persuasive argument, and oratory is the process of delivering that argument. He stated that the “authors of ‘Arts of Speaking’ have built up but a small portion of the art of rhetoric; because this art consists of proofs alone—all else is but accessory. Yet these writers say nothing of enthymemes, the very body and substance of persuasion.” [8]

Aristotle said that rhetoric has no special subject-matter; that is, it isn’t limited to particular topics and nothing else. He claimed that certain forms of persuasion come from outside and do not belong to the art itself. This refers to, for example, witnesses, forced confessions, and contracts that Aristotle said are external to the art of speaking. He considered these to be non-artistic proofs. Aristotle identified what he considered to be artistic proofs which must be supplied by the speaker’s invention (the “faculty of discovering” that Aristotle used in his definition of rhetoric); and these artistic means of persuasion are threefold. They consist in (1) evincing through the speech a personal character that will win the confidence of the listener; (2) engaging the listener’s emotions; and (3) proving a truth, real or apparent, by argument. Aristotle concluded that the mastery of the art, then, called for (1) the power of logical reasoning (logos); a knowledge of character (ethos); and a knowledge of the emotions (pathos).

In summary, Plato had opposed rhetoric to dialectic; Aristotle compared the two: both have to do with things which are within the field of knowledge of all men and are not part of any specialized science. They do not differ in nature, but in subject and form: dialectic is primarily philosophical, rhetoric political; dialectic consists of question and answer, rhetoric of a set speech. Both can be reduced to a system and thus are properly called “art.”

Rhetoric is the art of ruling the minds of men. – Plato

Aristotle became the primary source of all later rhetorical theory. Eventually, the dispute between rhetoric and philosophy in the time of Aristotle had ended in a compromise in which philosophy accepted rhetoric as a means to a goal. The rhetoric of not only Cicero and Quintilian, but of the Middle Ages, of the Renaissance, and of modern times, is basically Aristotelian.

Kennedy, G. (1963). The Art of Persuasion in Greece . Princeton: University Press. p. 19 ↵
Murphy James J. and Katula, R.A. (1995). A Synoptic History of Classical Rhetoric . 2nd ed. Davis: Ca. Hermagoras Press. ↵
Oliver, R.T. (1950). Persuasive Speaking . New York: Longmans, Green and Co. p.1 ↵
Harvey, I. (1951). The Technique of Persuasion. London: The Falcon Press. ↵
Murphy and Katula 1995 ↵
Kennedy, G. (1963). The Art of Persuasion in Greece . Princeton: University Press. ↵
Kennedy 1963, p. 7 ↵
(Book 1, p. 1) ↵
Chapter 2 Ancient Greece. Authored by : Peter A. DeCaro, Ph.D.. Provided by : University of Alaska, Fairbanks, AK. Located at : http://publicspeakingproject.org/psvirtualtext.html . Project : The Public Speaking Project. License : CC BY-NC-ND: Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives
475_efeso_biblioteca_celso. Authored by : queulat00. Located at : https://flic.kr/p/axRstZ . License : CC BY: Attribution
Parc de Versailles, Rond-Point des Philosophes, Isocrate, Pierre Granier MR1870 04. Authored by : Coyau. Located at : http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Parc_de_Versailles,_Rond-Point_des_Philosophes,_Isocrate,_Pierre_Granier_MR1870_04.jpg . License : CC BY-SA: Attribution-ShareAlike
Discurso funebre pericles. Authored by : Philipp Foltz. Located at : http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Discurso_funebre_pericles.PNG . License : Public Domain: No Known Copyright
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2.2: Ancient Greece

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Peter Decaro@University of Alaska-Fairbanks
Millersville University via Public Speaking Project

The Rise of Democracy

In order to understand what contemporary public speaking is, we first must understand the genesis of public speaking. We begin with the Greeks and rhetoric. Rhetoric , as defined by Aristotle, is the “faculty of discovering in the particular case all the available means of persuasion” (Kennedy, 1963, p.19). For the Greeks, rhetoric, or the art of public speaking, was first and foremost a means to persuade. Greek society relied on oral expression, which also included the ability to inform and give speeches of praise, known then as epideictic (to praise or blame someone) speeches. The ability to practice rhetoric in a public forum was a direct result of generations of change in the governing structures of Attica (a peninsula jutting into the Aegean Sea), with the city of Athens located at its center. The citizens of Athens were known as Athenians, and were among the most prosperous of people in the Mediterranean region.

Speech is the mirror of action. ~ Solon

In 621 B.C., the citizens of Athens commissioned Draco , who was an elder citizen considered to be the wisest of the Greeks, to sort their laws into an organized system known as codification, because until that time, they simply remained an oral form of custom and tradition and weren’t written like the laws of today. Draco was concerned only with criminal offenses, which until this time had been settled through blood feud (an eye-foran-eye type of revenge between families) or rulings by the King. Draco established courts, complete with juries, to hear cases of homicide, assault, and robbery. By conforming the codes for criminal offenses into standards of practice, Draco began the tradition of law, where cases were decided on clearly enunciated crimes and penalties determined by statute rather than by the whims of the nobility. His laws helped constitute a surge in Athenian democracy.

In 593 B.C. Draco’s laws were reformed by Solon, an Athenian legislator, who introduced the first form of popular democracy into Athens. Solon’s courts became the model for the Romans and centuries later for England and America. Murphy and Katula (1995) argued: “It is with Solon’s reforms that we mark the unalterable impulse toward popular government in western civilization” (p. 7). The Athenian period of democratization included legislative as well as judicial reform.

It was during the reign of Pericles , from 461 B.C. to 429 B.C., that Athens achieved its greatest glory. Some of these accomplishments included the installation of a pure democracy to maintain, a liberalized judicial system to include poor citizens so that they could serve on juries, and the establishment of a popular legislative assembly to review annually all laws. In addition, he established the right for any Athenian citizen to propose or oppose a law during assembly. Pericles’ achievements far exceeded those mentioned. Because of his efforts, Athens became the crossroads of the world - the center of western civilization - and with it came the need for public speaking .

“Persuasion is the civilized substitute for harsh authority and ruthless force,” wrote R.T. Oliver (1950, p.1). Oliver said that the recipients of any persuasive discourse must feel free to make a choice. In a free society it is persuasion that decides rules, determines behavior, and acts as the governing agent in human physical and mental activities. In every free society individuals are continuously attempting to change the thoughts and/or actions of others. It is a fundamental concept of a free society. Ian Harvey (1951) suggested that the technique of persuasion is the technique of persuading free people to a pattern of life; and persuasion is the only possible means of combining freedom and order. That combination successfully achieved is the solution to the overriding problems of our time. Rhetoric (persuasion), public speaking and democracy are inextricable. As long as there is rhetoric, and public speaking to deliver that message, there will exist democracy; and as long as there is democracy, there will exist rhetoric and public speaking.

I believe that the will of the people is resolved by a strong leadership. Even in a democratic society, events depend on a strong leadership with a strong power of persuasion, and not on the opinion of the masses. ~ Yitzhak Shamir

The Nature of Rhetoric

Pericles’ democracy established the need for training in public speaking. Greek assemblies debated old and new laws on a yearly basis. The courtrooms that Solon reformed now bristled with litigation. Pericles’ juries numbered between 500 and 2,000 people, so speaking at a public trial was similar to speaking at a public meeting. And to speak at a legislative assembly required serious, highly developed, and refined debate, because at stake generally were issues of peace and war. Murphy and Katula (1995) stated that the Athenian citizens realized that their very future often depended on their ability to speak persuasively. Public speaking was an Olympic event where the winner received an olive wreath and was paraded through his town like a hero. Thus, Athens became a city of words, a city dominated by the orator. Athens witnessed the birth of what we know today as rhetoric .

To say that rhetoric played an important role in Greek and Roman life would be an understatement. The significance of rhetoric and oratory was evident in Greek and Roman education. George Kennedy (1963) noted that rhetoric played the central role in ancient education. At about the age of fourteen, (only) boys were sent to the school of the rhetorician for theoretical instruction in public speaking, which was an important part of the teaching of the sophists. Public speaking was basic to the educational system of Isocrates (the most famous of the sophists); and it was even taught by Aristotle” (p.7).

Dialectics and Logic

Among the most significant thinkers of the fifth century B.C. were the traveling lecturers known as sophists. They were primarily teachers of political excellence who dealt with practical and immediate issues of the day, and whose investigations led in many instances to a philosophical relativism . Unlike Socrates and Plato, the sophists believed that absolute truth was unknowable and perhaps nonexistent, especially in the sphere of forensics and political life, where no universal principles could be accepted. Courses of action had to be presented in persuasive fashion. Unlike the sophists, Socrates taught that truth was absolute and knowable and that a clear distinction should be made between dialectic, the question and answer method of obtaining the one correct answer, and rhetoric, which does not seem interested in the universal validity of the answer but only in its persuasiveness for the moment. Plato developed this criticism of rhetoric to such an extent that he is the most famous and most thorough-going of the enemies of rhetoric. Plato preferred the philosophical method of formal inquiry known as dialectic .

In making a speech one must study three points: first, the means of producing persuasion; second, the language; third, the proper arrangement of the various parts of the speech. ~ Aristotle

The Rhetorical Approach

Aristotle wrote that rhetoric is the faculty of discovering in the particular case all the available means of persuasion. He cited four uses of rhetoric: (1) by it truth and justice maintain their natural superiority; (2) it is suited to popular audiences, since they cannot follow scientific demonstration; (3) it teaches us to see both sides of an issue, and to refute unfair arguments; and (4) it is a means of self-defense. For Aristotle, rhetoric is the process of developing a persuasive argument, and oratory is the process of delivering that argument. He stated that the “authors of ‘Arts of Speaking’ have built up but a small portion of the art of rhetoric; because this art consists of proofs alone - all else is but accessory. Yet these writers say nothing of enthymemes, the very body and substance of persuasion” (Book 1, p. 1).

Rhetoric is the art of ruling the minds of men. ~ Plato

The Essential Glossary for Ancient Greek Philosophy

Must know terminology to comprehend ancient greek cultural values, beliefs and philosophy.

Understanding Ancient Greek philosophy, whilst being solely informed by translated texts and derivatives of translated texts, poses a near insurmountable challenge that is rooted in our ignorance of ancient Greek values, customs, beliefs and, more importantly, the language itself.

It does not help matters that, especially in the age of information technology, translations of the original works are often presented as is, as if it were a mere matter of fact, rather than what it is: an interpretation. Words often being ambiguous, and sometimes non-existent in another language, translations necessarily entail an interpretation and, ideally, a clarification to accompany it.

There are tenets of Ancient Greek philosophy – such as philosophy itself, reason and virtue – whose meaning and significance would elude even the most learned scholar, if he did not possess knowledge of the ancient Greek language and a basic understanding of their cultural values and beliefs.

Philosophy (φιλοσοφία): the love of wisdom.

The term philosophy comes from two Greek words: philo (φίλο), meaning love or fondness, and sophia (σοφία), meaning knowledge or wisdom. Philosophy, thus, etymologically and literally means “fondness for knowledge” or “love of wisdom” .

The credit for coining the term philosophy is often attributed to the ancient Greek mathematician, philosopher and mystic Pythagoras (c. 570–495 BCE), or his followers. The Pythagorean School was known for their intellectual pursuits, encompassing mathematics, geometry, ethics and the study of the natural world. It is said that Pythagoras used the term “philosopher” to describe himself and his followers, reflecting their commitment to the pursuit of knowledge, understanding and wisdom as a way of life.

Pythagoreanism, as a philosophical and religious movement, affirmed the importance of intellectual and moral development as essential aspects of human life, in the belief that the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom led to a harmonious existence, both individually and collectively.

While Pythagoras may have popularized the term, the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom was a central intellectual endeavor in Ancient Greece. The Pre-Socratic philosophers , including figures like Thales, Anaximander, Heraclitus and Pythagoras, are considered the pioneers of the Western philosophical tradition. They sought to understand the underlying principle , arche , of the natural world and the cosmos. Socrates is known for his method of dialectical questioning, which aimed at fostering critical thinking and self-examination, and his approach contributed to the development of ethics and moral philosophy. Plato and Aristotle, in turn, made significant contributions to various areas of study. Plato’s dialogues explore topics such as justice, the nature of reality and the ideal state, while Aristotle’s works span natural philosophy, metaphysics, logic, ethics and more.

Over time, the meaning of philosophy evolved as the practice delved into various branches, each with its own focus and areas of inquiry. These branches include metaphysics (the study of the fundamental nature of reality), ethics (the study of moral principles and values), epistemology (the study of knowledge), logic (the study of valid reasoning), and more.

Philosophy originates from the Ancient Greek words philo, meaning love, and sophia, meaning wisdom, and signifies the fondness for the attainment of knowledge and the cultivation of wisdom.

The Ancient Greek philosophers, being the perennial lovers of wisdom, through reason and reflection explored fundamental questions about human existence and the universe itself.

Arche (ἀρχή): The Perennial Source

Arche (ἀρχή) is derived from the Greek verb archō (ἄρχω), which has a dual meaning that encompasses both to begin and to govern. The term arche, derived from archo, inherits this dual meaning. This duality is essential to understanding its philosophical significance.

In the context of philosophy, particularly in the Pre-Socratic tradition, the verb archō was extended to give rise to the noun arche. This metaphysical extension shifted the focus from the act of initiation, to the fundamental substance from which everything originates and, in line with the dual meaning of archo, the principle that governs existence.

In Ancient Greek philosophy, arche represents the fundamental principle, or substance, that is both the origin of all things and the governing principle of the universe.

The concept of arche was central to the philosophical inquiries of the Pre-Socratic philosophers, who sought to understand the fundamental nature of reality. These early philosophers, such as Thales, Anaximander and Heraclitus, proposed different archai as the ultimate principle, or elements, that compose the cosmos. Thales proposed that water was the arche, believing that it was the fundamental substance that forms the physical world. Anaximander suggested an infinite and undetermined substance as the arche, which he termed the apeiron . Heraclitus envisioned fire as the arche and emphasized the ever-changing nature of reality in his philosophy. The concept of the arche laid the groundwork for the development of metaphysical philosophy, particularly in the works of Plato and Aristotle. Plato explored the idea of transcendent Forms or Ideas as the true archai of reality, while Aristotle discussed the notion of substance as the arche.

The search for the arche represented an early form of metaphysical investigation, as the Ancient Greek philosophers set themselves to the task of understanding the ultimate nature of reality and the fundamental principle that governs existence.

Knowing and understanding the “arche” was seen as a way to grasp the fundamental structure of the universe.

Logos (λόγος): A Rational Order

The word logos (λόγος) is derived from the Proto-Indo-European root “*leg-” or “*log-“, which is related to words, speech and communication. This Proto-Indo-Europen root is the common ancestor of several words in Indo-European languages that pertain to speaking and expressing thoughts.

In Ancient Greece, logos evolved from this root to have multiple related meanings, including:

Logos can simply mean a word, speech or utterance. In this sense, it represents the basic unit of language and communication.
Logos also came to signify reason, rationality and the capacity for logical though, representing the intellectual aspects of human cognition.
In a philosophical context, logos takes on profound metaphysical and epistemological significance. It represents the underlying rational and organizing principle of the universe, the source of order amidst chaos, and the basis for human understanding.
Logos is also connected to language and rhetoric. In rhetoric, it is one of the modes of persuasion, emphasizing logical reasoning and evidence as a means of convincing an audience.

The word logos underwent a semantic evolution over time, starting from its basic meaning of spoken words and gradually expanding to encompass notions of reason, order and divine intelligence.

In philosophical contexts, logos encapsulates profound and abstract significance, associated with reason, rationality and the intellect. This usage is prominent in the works of Heraclitus, Parmenides and the Stoic philosophers. Heraclitus is famous for his concept of the logos. He proposed that the logos is the underlying principle that governs the universe, representing the rational order and unity amidst the ever-changing flux of the world. According to Heraclitus, understanding the logos leads to wisdom.

Logos can be seen as a symbol of order and harmony, in contrast to chaos, and also represents the human capacity for thought, logic and understanding.

The concept of logos was further developed by later philosophers, including the Stoics. They emphasized the role of reason and rationality in understanding the world and living virtuously, and the notion of logos became central to their ethical and metaphysical philosophy.

In sum, logos is a versatile term that encompasses meanings related to language, reason, rationality and the underlying order of the universe.

Mythos (μῦθος), the Oral Tradition

The term mythos (μῦθος) in Ancient Greek derives from the Indo-European root “*mu-” or “*men-” which is related to the act of speaking, telling or expressing through words. The root “*mu-” or “*men-” is the common origin of words in several Indo-European languages related to communication, speech and storytelling; it refers to the act of conveying ideas, stories or narratives through spoken words.

In Ancient Greek, mythos developed from this root to signify a story, tale or narrative that is recounted orally. Greek myths often had religious and cultural significance, and the oral transmission served as a means of passing down knowledge, beliefs and cultural values from one generation to the next. Myths provided explanations for the natural world, the origins of the cosmos and the behaviors and attributes of deities.

Mythos in Ancient Greek culture are stories that convey not only religious, cultural and moral values, but also explanations about the natural world. While Greek myths initially existed in oral form, they were eventually recorded in written texts, such as the works of Homer and Hesiod, allowing these stories to be preserved and studied for generations to come.

Greek philosophers, including Plato and Aristotle, often explored the symbolic aspects of myths and used them to convey philosophical ideas. Despite their cultural specificity, these myths explore universal themes such as love, betrayal, heroism, fate and even the purpose of human existence.

Throughout antiquity, the oral tradition of m yth ological narratives encapsulated , preserved and transmitted significant cultural, religious, moral and philosophical knowledge.

Physis (φύσις): Natural Law

The term physis is derived from the Ancient Greek verb “phuo” (φύω), which means to grow or to emerge. “Phuo” (φύω) encompasses natural growth, emergence or development, and is often related to plants sprouting or coming into being. The noun physis is formed from the verb “phuo” by adding the suffix “-sis.” This suffix is commonly used in Greek to create nouns denoting actions, processes or states.

The etymology of physis indicates that it is to be understood as the action, process or state of emergence and natural growth, reflecting the term’s association with the natural world and its role in discussions about the nature of reality, the dynamic aspects of the material world, and the principles that govern existence.

In Ancient Greek culture, physis referred to the natural world, encompassing everything from the physical universe to living organisms, representing the totality of the cosmos and the principles that govern it. It played a central role in early Greek philosophy, particularly in the Pre-Socratic tradition, where it prompted inquiries into the nature of reality, change, stability and the relationship between physis (nature) and nomos (convention).

Physis played a pivotal role in the philosophy of the Pre-Socratic philosophers, as they sought to understand the underlying principle (archai) of the natural world, often contrasting physis with nomos (convention or law). Heraclitus, a prominent Pre-Socratic philosopher, emphasized the concept of physis in his doctrine of change and flux. He argued that everything in the natural world is in a constant state of change and that physis embodies this dynamic and ever-changing aspect of reality. Parmenides, another Pre-Socratic philosopher, took a different approach. He argued that true reality is unchanging and eternal, which he saw as contradictory to the notion of physis. This contrast between change and stability became a central philosophical theme.

Aristotle, the famed Greek philosopher, developed a comprehensive system of natural philosophy known as “Physics”. In his work, he explored the principles of physis, including the study of motion, causality and the natural world’s organization. Aristotle’s concept of physis, often translated as nature, encompassed a wide range of topics that we would now categorize as distinct disciplines, including biology, physics and metaphysics. Aristotle is often referred to as a natural philosopher and his approach to physis was holistic, regarding the study of nature as an interconnected whole.

In Ancient Greek culture and philosophy physis refers to the totality of the natural world and the inherent principles that govern existence , comprising aspects of what we would now call biology, chemistry and physics. Physis may be best understood, simply put, as natural law.

Nomos (νόμος): Human Law

The word nomos is derived from the Proto-Indo-European root “*nem-” or “*nom-,” which is related to the concept of division, distribution and allocation of resources, goods and responsibilities within a community or society. Over time, this root evolved in various Indo-European languages to convey the idea of custom, rule or law.

In Ancient Greek, nomos took on the meaning of custom or law, and signified the rules and regulations that governed various aspects of society, including cultural, moral and legal norms. Over time, “nomos” became closely associated with legal systems and codes of conduct within Greek city-states, and encompassed not only written laws but also unwritten traditions and customs that guided behavior. In short, “nomos” represented the structured and ordered conventions of human society.

In philosophy, particularly in the works of Heraclitus and Protagoras, nomos contrasts with physis. Physis refers to the natural order, while nomos represents human-made conventions and laws. This distinction explores the tension between the natural world and human constructed rules and societal conventions. The philosophical distinction between nomos and physis was a central theme in the works of several ancient Greek thinkers.

The “nomos vs. physis” debate has significant and enduring ethical implications, as it questions whether ethical principles are grounded in a universal, objective order (physis) or are contingent upon human conventions and cultural norms (nomos). This dilemma has had a lasting influence on ethical philosophy, particularly in discussions about moral objectivity and relativism.

In ancient Greek philosophy, nomos represents human-made customs, conventions and laws; it is often contrasted with physis , which represents the natural order.

The etymology of nomos underscores its fundamental role in Greek culture, where it encompassed not only laws but also the broader social, ethical and cultural norms that shaped the life of the community.

Arete (ἀρετή): The Realization of Excellence

The word arete (ἀρετή) literally means “that which is good” ; it signified rank, nobility, moral virtue and excellence. Etymologically speaking, it is a word of uncertain origin.

Arete is a fundamental concept in Ancient Greek culture, particularly in Greek philosophy and ethics. It is a term that doesn’t have a direct one-word translation in English but is often understood as virtue, excellence or moral goodness. However, these translations only capture part of its meaning.

Arete encompasses a broader and more complex notion. It represents the idea of striving for one’s highest potential and the fulfillment of one’s function or purpose. In this regard, it applies to various aspects of life, including intellectual excellence, physical prowess, moral virtues and even excellence in craftsmanship or art.

In the ancient Greek worldview, excellence and virtue were highly valued, and arete encompassed a wide range of qualities and attributes that were considered virtuous or excellent. The Greeks believed that cultivating virtues – courage, wisdom, justice, and temperance – would lead to a harmonious and fulfilling life.

Philosophers like Plato and Aristotle explored the concept of Arete in their works. Plato believed that Arete was tied to the idea of justice and harmony within the individual and the state, while Aristotelian virtue ethics affirmed the importance of developing moral and intellectual virtues to achieve eudaimonia, translated as human flourishing or happiness. Aristotle believed that everything in the natural world possesses an essence, its fundamental characteristic and defining quality, and the realization of its essence is the highest ideal to which it may aspire.

The concept of arete was deeply ingrained in Ancient Greek culture and philosophy, signifying the paramount importance of living up to one’s full potential and realizing one’s inherent purpose – in essence, arete represents the pursuit and attainment of excellence .

Final Thoughts

Philosophy, as a method for understanding ourselves and the world around us, originated in Ancient Greece. The western philosophical tradition has it roots in the pioneering work of the first great thinkers who sought to prioritize observation and reason based discourse over mythological narratives.

Plato , the famed student of Socrates , is responsible for the first holistic and comprehensive intellectual paradigm based on reason and logic in recorded history. Aristotle , the famed student of Plato, would go on to systematize the acquisition of knowledge and the methodology of valid inference in such a compelling manner that it informed and guided academia for well over a millennia.

Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, however, are but a few names among the dozens of influential thinkers who, each in their own way, contributed to the emergence of philosophy and the evolution of western thought.

The significance of Ancient Greek philosophy goes well beyond philosophy as we understand it today, for it effectively formed the basis for knowledge, knowledge acquisition and knowledge validation throughout history . It is not without reason that it continues to be studied to this day, being an integral part of human history; if one values knowledge, that is.

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16 Speeches

University of Cyprus

Published: 06 March 2017
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The great number of set speeches in Thucydides’ work reflects the importance of the art of persuasion in his world, but also exhibits an awareness of the limitations of that art. Far from suggesting straightforward explanations, in their multifarious, dynamic relation to their narrative contexts, immediate or remote, Thucydides’ speeches create a dialectical historiography. Their diversity regarding a series of criteria (speakers, audiences, themes, communicative situations, impact, way of introduction, stylistic choices) is sometimes concealed by the uniformity of language and common ideological presuppositions. While indirect discourse allows for more authorial control, direct speeches combine particular points of view with considerations on general matters. The openness and ambiguity of Thucydides’ rhetorically formulated statement on his method of composing his speeches is in alignment with his effort to keep nothing more than is necessary or helpful (for his purposes) from the original speeches.

It was Thucydides who inaugurated the systematic insertion of set speeches in Greek and Roman (but also Byzantine, Medieval, and even later) historiography. 1 After Thucydides, from Xenophon to Voltaire and Schiller, political and military historiography occasionally allowed its main heroes to address large audiences or influential individuals and groups with lengthy and elaborate speeches. However, no historian has been more renowned for such speeches than Thucydides. His speeches have been studied, imitated, paraphrased, or translated more than any other part of his work (and more than any other historian’s speeches)—not as historical sources, but as rhetorical artifacts and examples of intense theoretical reasoning. Only in the twentieth century did the study of Thucydidean speeches for their own sake give way to a literary approach that takes account of the interplay between speeches and narrative. 2

Direct speech entered Greek historiography under the influence of a long-standing narrative tradition. More than two-fifths of the Iliad consists of direct discourse, ranging from brief statements or verbal exchanges to formal speeches delivered in public. In contrast to this flexible use of speech in epic poetry and Herodotus, Thucydides kept other types of direct discourse, such as conversational dialogue, to a minimum, 3 and composed (mainly) public speeches according to the guidelines and practices of the art of rhetoric as practiced in fifth-century Athens. His two preferred types of oratory are deliberative speeches delivered prior to a crucial decision, and battle exhortations, which are usually introduced by forms of the verbs παραινῶ or παρακελεύομαι instead of λέγω. Only one speech pair (by the Plataeans and Thebans, 3.61–67) is usually classified as forensic oratory (although this designation misrepresents its affinities to the political orations; note also that contrary to regular judicial practice, the “defense speech” by the Plataeans comes first), while Pericles’ Funeral Oration (2.35–46) belongs to the epideictic genre. All speeches are thematically related to the work’s central and exclusive theme, the war. 4

In Homeric epic, public speeches and public arguments about important political issues function as a means of exploring and confirming shared ethical and political principles within a community, for example, in a conference of commanders or in the agora . While the decision-making authority belongs to the person highest in the hierarchy, Homeric speeches nevertheless reflect the importance of public communication and consent in the early Greek polis. Later in time, Herodotus explicitly praises “equality in speech” as an important factor for Athens’ political and military progress (ἰσηγορίη as the opposite of tyranny: 5.78); yet he does not reproduce entire assembly speeches in direct speech. (Themistocles’ speech to the Athenians in 8.109 is the unique example of an Athenian leader addressing—and persuading—“the Athenians.”) As in Homer, important decisions are often preceded by intensive discussion in a small circle, where direct speech contributes to the vividness of the scene and to the dramatic tension of the narrative; it also highlights the topic under discussion as important. The speeches held during the consultation about Xerxes’ plan to invade Greece are the most illustrious example (Hdt. 7.5–25). Like all speeches in his work, they lack historicity. However, they reveal the rationale behind the decision to go to war and serve the delineation of character. In any case, they suggest to the reader the interpretation and evaluation of events in a rather unambiguous manner. For instance, a primary function of the implicit focus on Xerxes (as a speaker or audience of other persons’ speeches in this scene) is to expose his failure properly to appraise warnings and flattery. 5

During this same debate, Xerxes’ uncle Artabanus idealistically represents the expression of various people’s opinions as a heuristic tool whereby a better decision could be taken (7.10α1). Nevertheless: in Herodotus, arguments and persuasion represent only surface explanations. Xerxes, he notes, would have become king after Darius, even if he had not had the best arguments against his stepbrother Artobazanes, because his mother “Atossa had all the power” (7.3.4). In Thucydides, too, despite their prominence in the narrative, the impact of speeches on decisions is not guaranteed, and their contribution to the reader’s understanding of the addressees’ decision is rather indirect. The first two speeches (the speeches by the Corcyraeans and the Corinthians in Athens, 1.32–43) are delivered in an Assembly that failed to take a conclusive decision, as is explicitly made clear in the postscript to the antilogy:

When the Athenians had heard both out, two assemblies were held. In the first there was a manifest disposition to listen to the representations of Corinth; in the second, public feeling had changed, and an alliance with Corcyra was decided on, with certain reservations. It was to be a defensive not an offensive, alliance. It did not involve a breach of the treaty with the Peloponnesus: Athens could not be required to join Corcyra in any attack upon Corinth. But each of the contracting parties had a right to the other’s assistance against invasion, whether of his own territory, or that of an ally. For it began now to be felt that the coming of the Peloponnesian War was only a question of time, and no one was willing to see a naval power of such magnitude as Corcyra sacrificed to Corinth; though if they could let them [i.e., the Corcyraeans and Corinthians] weaken each other by mutual conflict, it would be no bad preparation for the struggle which Athens might one day have to wage with Corinth and the other naval powers. At the same time the island seemed to lie conveniently on the coasting passage to Italy and Sicily. Translations of block quotations are by Richard Crawley.

This passage not only allows the reader to become aware of the force and the dangers inherent in rhetoric (the Athenians were not able to take a decision immediately; they were oscillating during two meetings), but also emphasizes its limits. Both speeches seem to have been taken seriously by the audience, but neither side was completely successful. The final decision shows that arguments from both speeches were valued as important (Corinthians: “respect the treaties, the customs, our rights over our allies”; Corcyraeans: “don’t let our navy be controlled by your enemies”). Presumably, the postscript echoes opinions expressed in the speeches that were delivered by Athenian speakers in both assembly meetings, but not included by the historian. At the same time, the narrative postscript to the antilogy invites the external audience, Thucydides’ readers, to compare their own responses to the speeches with the Athenians’ final decision. The reference to future operations in Italy and Sicily (a point made by the Corcyraeans and especially emphasized by the narrator, as well) signifies that full appreciation of the speeches requires the knowledge of the whole war and its narrative (and vice versa, the speeches prepare the introduction of later events—which is a Homeric technique). 6

Additional information is therefore sometimes needed to make the decisions of particular addressees fully intelligible. The historical importance of the speeches held at the Congress of the Peloponnesian League in Sparta (1.68–78) is diminished by the narrator’s comment that the Spartans declared war on Athens “not so much because they were persuaded by the arguments of the allies, as because they feared the growth of the power of the Athenians” (1.88). Although Athenian aggressiveness had been explicitly denounced by the Corinthian speakers and is openly exhibited in the Athenians’ speech, the reader needs the Pentecontaetia (1.89–118, a narrative of the events between the end of the Persian Wars and Peloponnesian War) fully to appreciate the Spartans’ fears regarding the escalation of Athenian imperialism. The final decision about going to war is taken in a meeting of the Spartans “by themselves” (1.79.1) after the inclusion of a further pair of contrasting orations by the king Archidamus and the ephor Sthenelaïdas (1.80–86). The impact of these latter speeches is also undermined by a significant piece of information: the ephor, having completed his speech, applied a tactical trick during the vote (1.87).

There are also decisions that seem to ignore the speeches that precede them. The Camarinaeans decided to remain neutral in the conflict between Syracuse and Athens, since they thought that this involved the least risk for them. The speeches by the Syracusan Hermocrates and the Athenian Euphemus (6.82–87) are not necessary for understanding this decision, apart from the fact that they illustrate the Athenians’ difficulty in maintaining the support of Sicilian cities. Are these speeches therefore superfluous? To the reader they provide two contrasting, comprehensive appraisals of Athenian expansionism and the renewal of war.

This example shows how speeches that are unable to convince others to adopt the political or military policies for which they argue nevertheless carry out important functions in the economy of the work. They not only provide essential historical information on various aspects of reality, but also uncover beliefs and attitudes, highlight arguments and emotions, explore possibilities and expectations, and introduce themes and perceptions. Thus, the cluster of four speeches held at Sparta (1. 68–87) introduces the reader to the situation in Greece at the eve of the war: the speeches touch upon the problems and challenges to which the two blocks were exposed, they suggest how these challenges were evaluated by each side, and they indicate the tensions within each League. They also reveal and comment on the divergent mentalities of Athenians and Spartans, just as they reveal the different approaches and schools of thought within Sparta, and much else.

In general, Thucydides’ speeches provide deeper insights into the mechanics of political processes and historical causality. 7 They also demonstrate how rhetoric can influence the course of events, how various people may or may not respond to rhetoric itself or to the challenges of a critical moment, 8 and how a leader can interact with the people. Lastly, they provide tools for an informed response to the narrative and suggest models to make human behavior more intelligible. Speeches in Thucydides have a dynamic quality. Their importance is neither local nor speculative; they broaden the reader’s perspective in a way that potentially influences the reading of the whole narrative (or of any part of it). Thus, they form part of a dialectic process. They do not necessarily contain ultimate truths, but they are necessary for a synthetic perception of reality and for a genuinely critical approach toward the events. Speakers argue, theorize, project their ideas onto the future; the work as a whole probes the validity of their efforts.

Speeches in classical historiography are not the authentic orations that were delivered by historical actors. They rather serve a historian’s historiographical and philosophical aims. In this respect, the principles behind their composition may well be in dissonance with Aristotle’s assessment that historiography deals with the particular (“what Alcibiades”—a Thucydidean protagonist—“did or suffered,” Poetics 9.1451b11; one could add: “and what he said”), whereas tragedy deals with universal matters (καθόλου). The Aristotelian type of objective historiography does not (and cannot) exist in a pure form. But while modern historiography is primarily concerned with what happened in the past, and why it happened (its ideals being to offer comprehensive information and to show the causal relations between events), classical historiography is no less interested in illustrating how things happened—another debt to the narrative tradition of the Greeks. It is not, therefore, surprising that ancient historians frequently yielded to the temptations of artistry to stimulate aesthetic responses or to suggest exemplarity.

In Thucydides, speeches are seemingly the point at which the narrator disappears and the narrative is maximally aligned with its referent, the “story” itself (thus seeming to be historically “accurate,” but also “concrete”—concerned with the particular). Although speeches express particular points of view, they are used by Thucydides in a way that contradicts verisimilitude 9 and challenges the reader to delve into fundamental questions about mankind, society, politics, and history. If set speeches in historiography pretend to be “inserted” texts, spoken by a speaker other than the narrator, this ultimately provides an alibi for the freedom of their composition. 10 The particular becomes a means for raising abstract questions and, in this sense, Thucydides’ speeches invite the reader to take a rather philosophical glance at the world. The speeches are less an effort to serve accuracy and to dramatize historical narrative in a manner that inevitably would be incomplete and distorting (and thus, in Platonic terms, “τρίτον ἀπὸ τῆς ἀληθείας”); without being an idealist before Plato, but rather an intellectualist, Thucydides constantly attempts to link the particular to more general concepts, and he treats individuals, actions, situations, and events in terms of abstract notions and archetypical properties.

Alcibiades, for example, who was prosecuted in Athens and had fled to Sparta, in his speech before the Spartans (6.89–92) reasonably endeavors to defend his earlier policy towards Sparta and also to justify the betrayal of his own city in order to forestall possible reservations about his moral integrity. But he goes one step further when he presents himself as a “lover of the city” (φιλόπολις, three times in 6.92.2–4), arguing that his struggle against his opponents within Athens reflects his patriotic attitude. The exaggerated emphasis on such a sophistic claim could hardly serve the purpose of securing the benevolence of his former enemies. Instead, Alcibiades’ claims should be assessed against the narrative context. From one perspective his claims need to be read against what the reader already knows about Alcibiades and his selfish motives: this language of “loving the city” may ironically foreshadow his future involvement in Athenian politics, especially his role in the overthrow of democracy in 411 and his subsequent recall. Within the work’s largest economy, the adjective also invites the reader to compare Alcibiades to Pericles, who had used the same adjective about himself (2.60.5; it is significant that Pericles did not betray the city in any way, although he was faced with the hostility of the masses). At the same time, however, Thucydides urges the reader to reflect on a general matter, namely, on the relation between the individual and the city, a topic of special interest for orators, tragic and comic poets, and philosophers in classical Athens. 11

The special value of Thucydides’ speeches derives from the fact that they are related to real-life situations (unlike, e.g., tragic agōnes logōn ) and also meet the expectations of a contemporary audience that was familiar with the discussion of puzzling theoretical issues and acute practical dilemmas in speech form. Speeches, however, were not expected to be documents; moreover, accuracy and exhaustiveness would not necessarily be an advantage (or their lack a disadvantage). Thucydides seems to have been fully aware of the paradox: “true but not authentic”—and anticipates his readers’ concerns about the antinomies pertaining to his speeches in the so-called methodological chapter (1.22, where he specifies the general principles he has been following in the course of his research and of the composition of his work). The label “ὅσα λόγῳ εἶπον ἕκαστοι” (“as to the speeches which were made by different men”) seems to refer (in this context) to the set speeches, and signals Thucydides’ commitment to the historicity of the speeches he includes. Speeches are treated as deeds, a practice that reflects the importance of rhetorical communication in Thucydides’ world—and especially in his native city, democratic classical Athens (accordingly, the reader assumes that the speeches are included in the notion of ἔργα in 1.21.2, where ἔργον is coextensive with the subject matter of the entire work). Unsurprisingly, the historian first confirms the difficulty of reporting discourse accurately—not so much because he was expected to have done this, but rather in order to suggest that accuracy would have been his target even in the speeches, if this were feasible (it should be noted that the new practice of publishing speeches by contemporary orators made this idea less strange than in earlier periods): “χαλεπὸν τὴν ἀκρίβειαν αὐτὴν τῶν λεχθέντων διαμνημονεῦσαι ἦν ἐμοί τε ὧν αὐτὸς ἤκουσα καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοθέν ποθεν ἐμοὶ ἀπαγγέλλουσιν” (“some I heard myself, others I got from various quarters; it was in all cases difficult to carry them word for word in one’s memory …”).

Although Thucydides adopts the terminology of forensic rhetoric to describe the establishment of truth 12 (thus implying that he is following the highest possible standards of meticulous investigation), he refers to the possibility of accurate reporting of speeches only to deny it, and to use it as a foil to his alternative practice: “ὡς δ’ ἂν ἐδόκουν μοι ἕκαστοι περὶ τῶν αἰεὶ παρόντων τὰ δέοντα μάλιστ’ εἰπεῖν ἐχομένῳ ὅτι ἐγγύτατα τῆς ξυμπάσης γνώμης τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων, οὕτως εἴρηται” (“… my habit has been to make the speakers say what was in my opinion demanded of them by the various occasions, of course adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what they really said”). Thucydides’ positive statements are full of vagueness and ambiguity (1.22.1). 13 Moreover, ἐδόκουν μοι establishes Thucydides’ subjective perspective. Placed, however, after his authoritative criticism of poets, logographers (1.21.1), and his contemporaries (1.20), and also after the sovereign argumentation in propria persona in the Archaeology, the historian’s announcement of his procedure is not likely to be heard with dissatisfaction; the reader will rather welcome it at this very point.

Expressions like ἕκαστοι and τῶν αἰεὶ παρόντων even here foreground the concrete and the particular, and suggest accuracy: Thucydides’ rhetoric is masterfully calculated. The term δέοντα (“what is required”) alludes to a rhetorical ideal (this is exactly what a speaker would also have claimed to pursue). In consequence of his stated procedure, the author is also able to defend contrasting views—from a historical point of view this practice may be a compromise, but from a rhetorical as well as a philosophical perspective it adds to the value of his work. As deeds, Thucydides’ speeches are historical (they were truly delivered), but at the same time they are free from each speaker’s weaknesses and limitations: they are—Thucydides assures us—expert speeches of exemplary quality. 14

What is, then, left from what was really said? Indeed very little is guaranteed (though Thucydides occasionally can offer more) 15 —a flaunting adjective placed in a conative expression and accompanied by a superlative adeptly fabricates the impression that Thucydides will provide the advertised accuracy: ἐχομένῳ ὅτι ἐγγύτατα τῆς ξυμπάσης γνώμης τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων. ξύμπασα combines abstraction and generality (“overall,” “on the whole”); on the one hand, it points toward the opposite of accuracy and precision; still, it is restrictive enough to exclude whatever detail would contradict each speaker’s ideas. Thus, it signals the author’s commitment to truth and reality (in the way that truth is present in a summary or a conclusion), but not to factual precision. γνώμη is a further vague term; it is what a person has in mind, and it is according to this content that its meaning can be further specified (“view,” “opinion,” and “purport” are legitimate renderings, but it is not the choice among them that matters in the present context); γνώμη (derived from γιγνώσκω) is usually not a property of a speech; the speech is rather the vehicle of a person’s γνώμη—Thucydides’ unconventional construction creates again a sense of vagueness (which contradicts, and is concealed by, the rhetorically drastic claim “as close as possible”). At the same time, the passive expression τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων (as τὰ ἔργα τῶν πραχθέντων in the next paragraph) again suggests objectivity, since it suppresses any subjective focus. Thucydides’ rhetoric is efficient: while he promises so little (in terms of positivist, scientific ideals) he proves to proclaim exactly the opposite. 16 All in all, the blend of subjective and objective elements can vary according to the available information, or according to Thucydides’ desire to highlight certain themes or motives, but not least because not every speaker who happened to be active at a crucial historical moment was equally skilled as a speaker. Ultimately, the degree of authenticity of the speeches is one aspect of an overarching question, namely, how much of what gives life to Thucydides’ principal heroes is “Thucydidean.”

Rhetorical aptitude is a skill for which specific individuals are explicitly praised by Thucydides: above all Pericles, a model in every respect who claims to be “second to no man either in knowledge of the proper policy or in the ability to expound it” (2.60.5; see also 1.138.3 on Themistocles); Brasidas, called “not a bad speaker for a Spartan” (4.84.2)—his speeches, however, are “seductive” (4.88.1); Antiphon, whose admirable apology could not save his life (8.68.1–2). Conversely, Nicias is shown to disregard the καιρός, the right moment to speak, and thus he elicits the result opposite from the one he intended (6.24).

Nevertheless, speakers frequently express their reservation toward the impact of rhetoric. Thucydides occasionally confirms that speeches can be deceitful; military rhetoric employs the topical argument that preparations or qualities such as skill and boldness are more important than the commander’s words of encouragement (6.68.1). It is true that different audiences display different attitudes to rhetoric. Τhe Athenians are prone to succumbing to the “pleasure of logos.” Cleon’s criticism of the citizens who long for aesthetic pleasure instead of judicious reasoning (3.38.7) is exaggerated, but not unjustified: the Athenians are shown in the narrative to be guided by emotion rather than reason, and this is connected to their notorious volatility. Thus, in the Corcyraean debate they take a reasonable decision (under Pericles’ influence?), but this happens only in a second assembly, a day after they have listened to the speeches we read; in the Mytilenaean debate the scene has already moved to the second day of deliberation (3.36), and we watch the Athenians revise a decision that they took the day before in extreme anger. Finally, the Sicilian debate ends with the complete domination of passion. This time, Nicias is unable to initiate a revision, although he is given a second speech in the same debate (a unique case in Thucydides). Pericles can control the Athenian masses: his first speech (1.140–144) is a triumph—Thucydides highlights this by not including any speeches by other Athenians and by not even mentioning Pericles’ opponents while he was alive. Pericles’ last speech (2.60–64), however, has only a temporary impact on his audience, as it simply postpones his condemnation by the agitated masses who blame him for their distress. Cleon, too, progressively loses the game against his fellow citizens: although he is introduced as the “most able to persuade the people” among his contemporary Athenians (3.36.6), his one and only direct speech in the work is a failure. Later, he manages to manipulate the Assembly in his effort to reject the Spartans’ plea for peace (4.22); yet, he is finally trapped by his own slanders and maneuvering in the Assembly and is sent against his will to Pylos (4.27–28).

Equally remarkable is the People’s change of mood regarding Alcibiades as soon as he leaves Athens. What Cleon said in the meetings about the peace and Pylos, but also the discussions that led to Alcibiades’ removal from office and recall to Athens, are reported in indirect discourse, meaning that whole scenes are rendered from the narrator’s point of view. This enables Thucydides to suggest an unambiguous characterization of the persons and to enforce his desired interpretation upon the events. This also happens for example, with Pericles, whose favorable presentation at the beginning of the war (2.12–13) largely relies on the indirect reporting of his considerations and statements. 17 The same narrative strategy prevails throughout Book 8, where no direct speeches are found, perhaps for the same reason: to allow Thucydides to put forward his own evaluation of a turbulent period and of the persons involved in the narrative. 18 Besides, the lack of speeches may reflect the atmosphere of the period—decisions were now taken secretly, and public deliberation was replaced by conspiratorial meetings, open violence, and underhanded agreements. 19

Despite the great number of speeches in Thucydides’ History and the similarities they share, almost every speech is unique and remarkable. There is a high degree of diversity regarding the speakers (their nationality, capacity, personal character, views, interests, intentions and sincerity; their past, their reputation, and their degree of involvement in the narrative), their counterparts (political rivals or enemies), the audience (nationality, size, and function: citizens, magistrates, soldiers, military officers; disposition and receptivity), the balance of power between speakers or between speaker and audience, the concrete circumstances and the issue at stake, the degree of autonomy of the speech occasion within the narrative, the background information provided before the speech, and the concluding remarks about its effects. 20 Envoys speaking away from their city often remain unnamed (this possibly does justice to the fact that more than one person might have defended their city’s views with a speech or during informal talks and negotiations, but it also avoids focusing on individuals: envoys could have had ties to the city they were sent to, and for this very reason they easily came under suspicion, if something went wrong; it is not coincidental that Thucydides named the two representatives of the Plataeans before the Spartan judges: one of them was not only called Lakōn, but was also a proxenos of Sparta). Some military speeches are attributed to more than one person (see n. 16 ); in one instance there is an indication of the iterative character of a speech (Pagondas, 4.91), other generals were moving between the troops while addressing them (hence, we can assume that not everybody was listening to the same speech (Hippocrates, 4.94.2; Nicias, 7.76.). Hippocrates had addressed only half his army when his enemies attacked. Some speeches answer or seem to answer others (as a part of an antilogy, of the same narrative section, or in remote parts of the work), while many speakers guess, know, or claim that they know what is happening on the opposite side.

The topics addressed in the speeches also vary significantly; most speeches are directly concerned with war: if it is to be avoided (or not), how and why; which side to take and according to which criteria; how to succeed in it; how to treat enemies or revolting allies; how to justify present and past aggressiveness, enmity, neutrality, treason. Hermocrates and Athenagoras even discuss whether reports about Athens’ expedition to Sicily are to be trusted: this exceptional case requires an exceptional postscript (6.41): Thucydides adds that an unnamed general concludes the assembly by chastizing Athenagoras’ abusive speech and asking the city to focus on the actual situation, as Hermocrates had advised. (On the Athenian side, Nicias had vainly appealed to the prytanis to use his authority in the same manner and become the “healer” of a city that was suffering from its overdose of democracy, where speaking made everything possible, 6.14).

In contrast to Herodotus’ praise of isēgoria , for Thucydides freedom of speech does not promise success. In the same vein, speeches are neither the best nor the most straightforward way to explain decisions, to justify victory or defeat; in Thucydides’ universe it is not sufficient to speak well, to be persuasive, to tell the truth. Thucydides’ speeches are not to be assessed according to their practical success with their primary audience. Some speeches are entirely futile, such as the Plataeans’ apology before the Spartans after their surrender. The representatives of the captives deliver a speech whose length (second only to the Funeral Oration) is disproportional to the size of their primary audience (five Spartan judges) and their prospects of success (the speakers acknowledge that they are confronted with a preconceived verdict). Apart from the tragic potential of their situation, which appeals to the human feelings of the reader, the Plataeans locate their case within a broad historical perspective. They warn the Spartans that a massacre will permanently stain their future reputation (3.58.2: βραχὺ γὰρ τὸ τὰ ἡμέτερα σώματα διαφθεῖραι, ἐπίπονον δὲ τὴν δύσκλειαν αὐτοῦ ἀφανίσαι; “our lives may be quickly taken, but it will be a heavy task to wipe away the infamy of the deed”), and they also stress that they deserve to be treated in accordance with their past: they played an active role in the salvation of Greece during the Persian Wars, unlike their Theban prosecutors (whom they oblige to justify their dishonorable medism in their reply). In the Plataeans’ view, history is instrumental not only for the making of their identity but also for the ways in which others are expected to treat them. The debate recapitulates—against the background of Herodotus—a significant past, and explores on equal terms the possible significance of the present. Rhetoric engages both in the rewriting of the past and in the identification of the present:

οὐ πρὸς τῆς ὑμετέρας δόξης, ὦ Λακεδαιμόνιοι, τάδε, οὔτε ἐς τὰ κοινὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων νόμιμα καὶ ἐς τοὺς προγόνους ἁμαρτάνειν οὔτε ἡμᾶς τοὺς εὐεργέτας ἀλλοτρίας ἕνεκα ἔχθρας μὴ αὐτοὺς ἀδικηθέντας διαφθεῖραι, φείσασθαι δὲ καὶ ἐπικλασθῆναι τῇ γνώμῃ οἴκτῳ σώφρονι λαβόντας, μὴ ὧν πεισόμεθα μόνον δεινότητα κατανοοῦντας, ἀλλ’ οἷοί τε ἂν ὄντες πάθοιμεν καὶ ὡς ἀστάθμητον τὸ τῆς ξυμφορᾶς ᾧτινί ποτ’ ἂν καὶ ἀναξίῳ ξυμπέσοι (3.59.1) it were not to your glory, Spartans, either to offend in this way against the common law of the Hellenes and against your own ancestors, or to kill us, your benefactors, to gratify another’s hatred without having been wronged yourselves: it would be more to your glory to spare us and to yield to the impressions of a reasonable compassion; reflecting not merely on the awful fate in store for us, but also on the character of the sufferers, and on the impossibility of predicting how soon misfortune may fall even upon those who deserve it not.

Thucydides’ rhetorical speeches not only mediate between past, present, and future, but also mediate between possibility and reality, between the human intellect and the swiftly changing circumstances. They are part of a process in which “the course of things is as arbitrary as the plans of man” (ἐνδέχεται γὰρ τὰς ξυμφορὰς τῶν πραγμάτων οὐχ ἧσσον ἀμαθῶς χωρῆσαι ἢ καὶ τὰς διανοίας τοῦ ἀνθρώπου; Pericles in his first speech, 1.140.1).

Despite the diverging opinions, arguments, and interests expressed in Thucydides’ speeches, all speakers more or less share or are seriously confronted with political realism as a dominant ideological assumption; Nicias’ attempt to encourage his men before the final disaster by introducing a “Herodotean” theory according to which the gods put limits to excessive success and unendurable suffering, so that therefore optimism is required, only underlines his desperate situation and reveals his helplessness (7.77). The Plataeans’ appeal for a balance between reason and emotion (οἴκτῳ σώφρονι) ultimately exposes the Spartans’ pragmatism, as they will slaughter the captives in order to please the Thebans, whom they believe they need more. However, the Plataeans’ proposal is an essential contribution to the quest for a balance between realism and humanism, between necessity and morality, which is a trademark of Thucydides’ endeavor. Most of his speakers, however, are extreme pragmatists; for many particular reasons humanist sympathies are rarely detected among their particular points of view.

Although the language of all speakers is unmistakably “Thucydidean” (only the inserted documents of treaties violate the rule of stylistic uniformity), slight variations of linguistic preference reveal the author’s desire for stylistic differentiation according to the speaker, the audience, the topic, and the communicative aim of each speech. 21 Thus, the high frequency of coherence particles such as γὰρ and οὖν to be found in Pericles’ speeches may reflect the constructive character of his rhetoric. On the contrary, Cleon (characterized as the most violent but also most persuasive Athenian politician of his days, 3.36.6, and a demagogue, 4.21.3) and Athenagoras (also a “most persuasive leader of the demos,” 6.35.2) try to impress their audiences through the emphatic force of particles that are otherwise rare in Thucydides (τοι, οὔκουν, δὲ δή, δῆτα, τοιγάρτοι, ἦ πού γε δὴ). Speeches addressed to a Spartan audience have a lower average of words per period: Archidamus (18.7 words per period), Sthenelaïdas (19.1), Mytilenaeans (20.3), Corinthians (20.7), Alcibiades (21.3); the average number in the total corpus of speeches is about 24. Alcibiades’ Spartan speech is carefully structured, with audience-friendly indications of its parts, heading, summaries, and transitions. Its three parts are equal in length, and the central part is subdivided into two equal sections. Alcibiades’ cooperative stance unveils the medium of rhetoric to appease the well-known mistrust of his Spartan audience toward rhetoric. In contrast, Brasidas’ speech to the Acanthians (4.89–92) seeks to achieve the opposite aim: to overwhelm the audience and make them surrender (this speech is full of contrastive focus: “don’t do A, but B”; “my aim is not X but Y”). 22

If Thucydides’ antilogies (and, by implication, all speeches) substantiate the Protagorean principle that “for every issue there are two contradictory discourses” (DL 9.51 = 80 B 6a DK), Brasidas’ style reflects an attempt to use the power of logos according to Gorgias’ maxim (82 B 11.13 DK) that logos is able to replace one opinion (δόξα) by another (at will). Nonetheless, as everything within this sophistic approach, logos inevitably relativizes itself, too. The overwhelming presence of speech in Thucydides (both through the practice of including speeches and in theoretical expositions within them) is capped by an awareness of its limitations. Thucydides’ narrative is about what happened; the speeches demonstrate human efforts to influence or rework what happened. Their significance points beyond the situation: the evaluation of a decision or action, the characterization of a leader or community, the understanding of historical causality. They can be read and interpreted as studies (or parts of a study) on the possibilities of action and communication, on the power of reason, on the manifestation and concealment of particular interests and points of view. As Colin MacLeod put it, “… his characters cannot be simply models of wisdom … the rhetoric which they employ… is for the historian a way of discovering to his readers the limits, or the failures, as well as the powers, of reasoning; and in this exposure of human weakness Thucydides’ work is both rationalistic and tragic, an analysis of human error, be it corrigible or otherwise.” 23

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Zali, V. 2014 . The Shape of Herodotean Rhetoric: A Study of the Speeches in Herodotus’ Histories with Special Attention to Books 5–9 . Leiden: Brill.

I express my thanks to Edith Foster and Katerina Mikellidou for their helpful comments.

On Thucydides after the Renaissance, see Pade (2006) ; Iglesias-Zoido (2015) . R. Zahn (1934) was the first to study in detail a Thucydidean speech as a part of the work’s design. For the military exhortations, cf. Luschnat (1942) , which treated them as an organic component of the work and highlighted the connections between them and the narrative.

These are mainly debates or statements that emphasize the failure of communication before war establishes itself: the Melian Dialogue (5.85–111) between the Athenians and Melians is a battle of concise, astute statements, whose organization as a sophistic combat prefigures its inconclusiveness; five passages in direct discourse, distributed in three episodes with escalating tension (the middle passage consisting of a report of the Athenians’ reply to the Plataeans), dramatize in an almost Herodotean ampleness the diplomatic dialogue between Archidamus and the Plataeans at the beginning of the Spartan campaign in Boeotia (2.71–74; on such clusters of speeches in Herodotus cf. Lang 1984 , 132–41); a memorable mot by a Spartan envoy who had not been received by the Athenians seals the collapse of any effort toward an understanding and the outbreak of hostilities: “this day will be the beginning of great misfortunes for the Hellenes” (2.12.3; cf. Hdt. 5.30.1; 5.97.3). Finally, in 3.113 an Ambracian herald becomes aware of a disaster, in the course of a dialogue with a stranger that is very akin to a tragic stichomythia; cf. Stahl (1966 , 134–35). The climax of the scene is the abandonment of the shocked herald’s initial intention to ask for the corpses of the deceased.

Cf. 1.21.1: the speeches of the work were delivered “either before they entered the war, or during it.” The peculiar character of the Funeral Oration is discussed by Orwin (1994 , 15–29), who emphasizes the salience of the theme of empire in this speech. Speeches are absent in both Book 5 and Book 8. In his penetrating discussion of Book 5, Rood (1998) remarks that “… the lack of speech tellingly points to a pattern of repeated failure: talk was plentiful and unproductive; expansion would tell us little. Proposals are not even reported indirectly: they were predictable and futile. When many interrelated issues were at stake in each conference, we should not be surprised that Thucydides does not select one for paradigmatic treatment” (p. 91).

On “political” speeches in Homer see Hölkeskamp (2000) ; on speeches in Herodotus (and Thucydides) Scardino (2007) ; Zali (2014) , which points out that debate mostly fails on both the Persian and the Greek sides—but for different reasons (166–168). On indirect report in both historians: Scardino (2012) . On Herodotus’ association of isēgoria with Athens’ achievements, see Tamiolaki (2010 , 226–28).

On Homeric techniques in Herodotus and Thucydides, see Rutherford (2012) . For an analysis of the Athenians’ response to the speeches by the Corcyraeans and Corinthians, cf. Foster (2010 , 55–64).

Although the experience of the past is critically discussed in Thucydides’ speeches, they do not serve as retrospective narratives of past events (unlike Homeric speeches and some speeches in later historiography—see e.g., Polydamas’ speech in Xenophon’s Hell . 6.1.4–16).

Cf. Schmitz (2010) .

They are shorter than real speeches, more uniform in language, very complex in style, sophisticated in thought. Further indications used by various scholars as arguments against the historicity of Thucydides’ speeches are discussed by Hornblower (1987 , 55–66), which cautiously concludes that these indications cannot be regarded as proofs.

Cf. Laird (1999 , 150–52), on the impossibility of preserving “objective reality” in historiography: reality consists of events and utterances; historiography reports about constructed facts and reproduces speech. “In that no live utterance can ever be reproduced in a narrative, historiography must be regarded, if not as invention, then at least as a kind of improvisation” (152). Cf. also Hansen (1998 , 46) on military exhortations: “the battle exhortation is essentially a historiographic fiction and not a rhetorical fact.”

The same question was treated, e.g., by Plato in the Crito . It is probable that, like Platonic dialogues, Thucydides’ work was intended to be studied in schools of rhetoric and philosophy or in gatherings of an educated elite audience that included prospective politicians. The speeches were probably among the parts that served as starting points for the discussion of wide-ranging topics, historical, political, and moral. Thucydides’ work could be also used as a basis for rhetorical exercises. The above mentioned conflict between Corcyra and Corinth and the debate at Athens suggested an ideal pedagogical opportunity for students composing contrasting speeches, as they could have been delivered by Athenians in the assembly meetings. On Thucydides’ audiences, cf. Morrison (2007) .

Cf. Tsakmakis (1998) .

Cf. Pelling (2000 , 115–18); Porciani (2007) , which is the most recent comprehensive discussion of the problems of the passage.

The exemplary character of Thucydides’ speeches has sometimes been overemphasized; see e.g., Leimbach (1985) on the exhortations. Leimbach believes that every speech corresponds to a different model type, appropriate for a specific situation.

See e.g., Marincola (2001 , 79–81) on Thucydides’ flexibility in composing his speeches.

The indefiniteness of ξύμπασα γνώμη τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων may also have been favored by the fact that some speeches are attributed to more than one speaker (2.87: Cnemus, Brasidas, Peloponnesian generals—7.66–68: Peloponnesian generals and Gylippus); other speeches may incorporate positions defended by several different speakers, since Thucydides includes no more than one speech for each side. Finally, Thucydides was elected general in the year 424, and he might have addressed the ecclesia either this year or before. Is it not reasonable to assume that some thoughts expressed by Pericles (whose policy he admittedly endorsed) or even Diodotus in their speeches echo Thucydides’ own speeches?

Cf. also Foster (2010 , 173–74).

Cf. also Debnar (2013 , 284): “Indirect discourse, with its ability to blur boundaries—not only between thought and speech, but also between discourse and narrative, as well as between Thucydides’ own judgments and those of historical agents—seems especially well suited to this phase of the war.” Scardino (2012) has shown that indirect speeches can display exactly the same rhetorical properties as direct speeches.

See Connor (1984 , 210–30), against the once dominant analytic view, according to which Book 8 is incomplete and speeches might have been planned for its final revision. Dionysius of Halicarnassus criticized the historian because the first book contains numerous speeches but is poor in deeds (“πράξεις”), while the opposite happens in Book 8 ( Thuc. 15–16). In fact, Thucydides never claims that he cites the most important speeches, or speeches by the best speakers, nor does he in any way reveal the criteria for his selections.

Morrison (2006) ; Pavlou (2013) .

Unlike the letter of Nicias from Sicily (7.8), which was read by the secretary to the Athenian ecclesia, and is regularly compared to the speeches, but is free from rhetorical adornments, speeches make regular use of figures, especially antithesis. Sound effects also seem to be important in the speeches, especially in the Funeral Oration (2.37.1 begins with a hexameter; cf. also the juxtaposition of four double vowels in 2.36.1 τὴν γὰρ χώραν οἱ αὐτοὶ αἰεὶ οἰκοῦντες …, where the hiatuses evoke the idea of temporal length and other qualities).

Tompkins (1972) was the first to study the divergence of stylistic preferences in Thucydidean speeches. On Cleon see Tsakmakis-Kostopoulos (2011) .

Macleod (1983 , 64).

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Chapter 1: The Speech Communication Process

Greek Rhetoric

You might be surprised to learn that public speaking has been considered a critical skill for thousands of years. Much of our current theory on oral communication derives from early Greek and Roman scholars, such as Aristotle and Cicero, who felt effective public speaking, or rhetoric, was one of the most valuable skills they could demonstrate within their society. Rhetoric topped the list of required areas of study for young Greek students.

A famous quote attributed to Isocrates, the founder of the first school of rhetoric in Athens, says,

“But I do hold that people can become better and worthier if they conceive an ambition to speak well…. “

To the Greeks, the ability to communicate effectively orally was the mark of a well-educated citizen (Isocrates); it was one of the requirements for participation within the democracy. Citizens often gathered in the marketplace simply to participate in the process of argument and debate. In fact, the word forum, used today to indicate an online place for discussion, was originally known as an open area within Greek and Roman cities often utilized for public speaking.

Photo credit: Adam. (Date unknown). Forum Romanum [Photograph]. Pixabay. https://pixabay.com/photos/forum-romanum-rome-ancient-italy-4583598/

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Aristotle’s Rhetoric

Aristotle’s Rhetoric has had an unparalleled influence on the development of the art of rhetoric. In addition to Aristotle’s disciples and followers, the so-called Peripatetic philosophers (see Fortenbaugh/Mirhady 1994), famous Roman teachers of rhetoric, such as Cicero and Quintilian, frequently used elements stemming from Aristotle’s rhetorical theory. These latter authors, however, were not primarily interested in a meticulous interpretation of Aristotle’s writings, but were rather looking for a conceptual framework for their own manuals of rhetoric. This is one of the reasons why for two millennia the interpretation of Aristotelian rhetoric has been pursued by those concerned primarily with the history of rhetoric rather than philosophy. This association with the rhetorical rather than with the philosophical tradition is also mirrored in the fact that in the most influential manuscripts and editions, the text of Aristotle’s Rhetoric (for its transmission see Kassel 1971) was surrounded by rhetorical works and speeches written by other Greek and Latin authors, and was thus seldom interpreted in the context of Aristotle’s philosophical works. It was not until the last few decades that the philosophically salient features of the Aristotelian rhetoric have been acknowledged (e.g. in the collections Furley/Nehamas 1994 and Rorty 1996; for a more general survey of scholarship in the 20th century see Natali 1994). Most notably, scholars became aware of the fact that Aristotle’s rhetorical analysis of persuasion draws on many concepts and ideas that are also treated in his logical, ethical, political and psychological writings, so that the Rhetoric became increasingly perceived as well-integrated part of the Aristotelian oeuvre. For example, Aristotle’s Rhetoric is inextricably connected with the history of ancient logic (see Allen 2008 and, more generally, ancient logic ) and is often taken as an important inspiration for modern argumentation theory (see van Eemeren 2013 and, more generally, dialogical logic ). Some authors have stressed the Rhetoric ’s affinity to Aristotle’s ethical theory (see e.g. Woerner 1990), while others were attracted by Aristotle’s rhetorical account of metaphor (see e.g. Ricoeur 1996 and, more generally, metaphor ). Most significantly, philosophers and scholars began to turn their attention to the Rhetoric ’s account of the passions or emotions, which is not only richer than in any other Aristotelian treatise, but was also seen as manifesting an early example of cognitive, judgement-based accounts of emotions (see e.g. Nussbaum 1996, Konstan 2006 and, more generally, §5 of emotion ).

1. Aristotle’s Works on Rhetoric

2. the structure of the rhetoric, 3. rhetoric as a counterpart to dialectic, 4.1 the definition of rhetoric, 4.2 what rhetoric is useful for, 4.3 can aristotle’s rhetoric be misused, 4.4 is aristotle’s conception of rhetoric normative, 5.1 persuasion through the character of the speaker, 5.2 persuasion through the emotions of the hearer, 5.3 persuasion through the argument itself, 5.4 is there an inconsistency in aristotle’s rhetorical theory, 6.1 the concept of enthymeme, 6.2 formal requirements, 6.3 enthymemes as dialectical arguments, 6.4 the brevity of the enthymeme, 6.5 different types of enthymemes, 7.1 the (lacking) definition of ‘ topos ’, 7.2 the word ‘ topos ’ and the technique of places, 7.3 the ingredients and the function of topoi, 7.4 rhetorical topoi, 8.1 the virtue of style, 8.2 aristotelian metaphors, glossary of selected terms, translations, editions and commentaries, collections, monographs and articles, other internet resources, related entries.

Judgemental and Non-Judgemental Accounts of Aristotelian Emotions
The Thesis that Enthymemes are Relaxed Inferences
The Brevity of the Enthymeme
The Variety of Topoi in the Rhetoric

The work that has come down to us as Aristotle’s Rhetoric or Art of Rhetoric consists of three books, while the ancient catalogue of the Aristotelian works, reported e.g. by Diogenes Laertius, mentions only two books on rhetoric (probably our Rhetoric I & II), plus two further books on style (perhaps our Rhetoric III?). Whereas most modern authors agree that at least the core of Rhetoric I & II presents a coherent rhetorical theory, the two themes of Rhetoric III (style/diction and the partition of speeches) are not mentioned in the original agenda of Rhetoric I & II. The conceptual link between Rhetoric I & II and Rhetoric III is not given until the very last sentence of the second book, so the authenticity of this seeming ad hoc connection is slightly suspicious; we cannot rule out the possibility that these two parts of the Rhetoric were not put together until the first complete edition of Aristotle’s works was accomplished by Andronicus of Rhodes in the first century. In Aristotle’s Poetics (1456a33) we find a cross-reference to a work called ‘ Rhetoric ’ which obviously refers only to Rhetoric I & II, but does not seem to include the agenda of Rhetoric III, suggesting that Aristotle at this time regards Rhetoric I & II as the complete work. Regardless of such doubts, the systematic idea that links the two heterogeneous parts of the Rhetoric — Rhetoric I & II on the one hand and Rhetoric III on the other— does make good sense: it is not enough, or so the linking passage says, to have a supply of things to say (the so-called ‘thought’); one should also know how to express or formulate those things (the so-called ‘style’), so that the project of Rhetoric I & II concerning what we say (or the ‘thought’) needs to be complemented by the peculiar project of Rhetoric III (i.e. a treatise on ‘style’).

The chronological fixing of the Rhetoric has turned out to be a delicate and controversial matter. At least the core of Rhetoric I & II seems to be an early work (see e.g. Düring 1966, 118–125, Rist 1989, 85–86, Rapp 2002 I, 178–184), written during Aristotle’s first stay in Athens (it is unclear, however, which chapters belong to that core; regularly mentioned are the chapters I.4–15 and II.1–17). It is true that the Rhetoric also refers to historical events that fall in the time of Aristotle’s exile and his second stay in Athens (see § 1 of Aristotle ), but most of them can be found in just two chapters, namely chapters II.23–24, and moreover such examples could have been updated, which is especially plausible if we assume that the Rhetoric formed the basis of a lecture course held several times. However, what is most striking are its affinities to the early work Topics (for the idea that the Topics is early see e.g. Solmsen 1929, 191–195; for a discussion of Solmsen’s theses in English see Stocks 1933); if, as is widely agreed nowadays, the Topics represents a pre-syllogistic stage of Aristotelian logic, the same is likely to be true of the Rhetoric , as we actually find only few or even no hints to syllogistic inventory in it. (Indeed, the Rhetoric includes two short passages that explicitly refer to the Analytics , which presents Aristotle’s syllogistic theory: I.2, 1357a22–1358a2, II.25, 1402b13–1403a16. Some authors — e.g. Solmsen 1929, 13–31, Burnyeat 1994, 31, Allen 2001, 20–40 — take this as evidence that at least in these two passages the Rhetoric makes use of the syllogistic theory, while others — e.g. Rapp 2002, II 202–204 — object to this inference.)

It seems that Aristotle was the author not only of the Rhetoric as we know it today, but of several treatises dealing with rhetoric. According to ancient testimonies, Aristotle wrote an early dialogue on rhetoric entitled ‘ Grullos ’, in which he put forward arguments for why rhetoric cannot be an art ( technê ); and since this is precisely the position of Plato’s Gorgias (see §4 of Plato: rhetoric and poetry ), the lost dialogue Grullos has traditionally been regarded as a sign of Aristotle’s (alleged) early Platonism (see Solmsen 1929, 196–208). But the evidence for the position defended in this dialogue is too tenuous to support such strong conclusions: it also could have been a ‘dialectical’ dialogue, simply listing the pros and cons of the thesis that rhetoric is an art (see Lossau 1974). We are in a similar situation concerning another lost work on rhetoric, the so-called ‘ Technê Sunagogê ’, a collection of previous theories of rhetoric that is also ascribed to Aristotle. Cicero seems to use this collection, or at least a secondary source relying on it, as his main historical source when he gives a short survey of the history of pre-Aristotelian rhetoric in his Brutus 46–48. Finally, Aristotle once mentions a work called ‘ Theodecteia ’ which has also been supposed to be Aristotelian; but more probably he refers to the rhetorical handbook of his follower Theodectes, who was also a former pupil of Isocrates. From these lost works on rhetoric we only have a meagre collection of scattered fragments (frg. 68–69 R 3 , 114 R 3 , 125–141 R 3 : see Rose 1886).

The structure of Rhetoric I & II is determined by two tripartite divisions. The first division consists in the distinction between the three pisteis , i.e. ‘persuaders’ or ‘means of persuasion’, that are technical in the sense that they are based on the rhetorical method and are provided by the speech alone. And speech can produce persuasion either through the character ( êthos ) of the speaker, the emotional state ( pathos ) of the listener, or the argument ( logos ) itself (see below § 5 ). The second tripartite division concerns the three species or genres of public speech (see de Brauw 2008 and Pepe 2013). A speech that takes place in the assembly is defined as a deliberative speech . In this rhetorical genre, the speaker either advises the audience to do something or warns against doing something. Accordingly, the audience has to judge things that are going to happen in the future, and they have to decide whether these future events are good or bad for the city or city-state ( polis ), whether they will cause advantage or harm. A speech that takes place before a court is defined as a judicial speech . The speaker either accuses somebody or defends herself or someone else. Naturally, this kind of speech treats things that happened in the past. The audience, or rather the jury, has to judge whether a past event actually happened or not and whether it was just or unjust, i.e., whether it was in accordance with the law or contrary to the law. While the deliberative and judicial genres have their context in controversial situations in which the listener has to decide in favour of one of two opposing parties, the third genre does not aim at such a decision: an epideictic speech (e.g. funeral speeches, celebratory speeches) praises or blames somebody, and tries to describe the affairs or deeds of its subject as honourable or shameful.

The first book of the Rhetoric treats these three genres in succession. Rhetoric I.4–8 deals with the deliberative, I.9 with the epideictic, I.10–14 with the judicial genre. These chapters are understood as contributing to the argumentative mode of persuasion ( logos ) or — more precisely — to that part of argumentative persuasion that is specific to the respective genre of speech. The second part of the treatment of argumentative persuasion ( logos ) that is common to all three genres of rhetorical speech is treated in chapters II.19–26. The second means of persuasion, the one that works by evoking the emotions of the audience ( pathos ), is described in chapters II.2–11. Although the following chapters II.12–17 treat different types of character ( êthos ), these chapters do not, as one might infer, develop the first means of persuasion, i.e. the one that depends on the character of the speaker. The underlying theory of this means of persuasion is rather unfolded in a few lines of chapter II.1. The aforementioned chapters II.12–17 rather account for different types of character and their disposition to emotional response, which can be useful for speakers who want to arouse the emotions of the audience. Why the chapters on the specific (in the first book) and the common (in the second book) argumentative means of persuasion ( logos ) are separated by the treatment of emotions and character (in II.2–17) remains a riddle, especially since the chapter II.18 tries to give a link between the specific and the common aspects of argumentative persuasion — as though this chapter follows directly upon the end of Rhetoric I. Rhetoric III.1–12 discusses several questions of style (see below § 8.1 ) while Rhetoric III.13–19 is dedicated to the various parts of a speech and their arrangement.

Owing to ambiguities like these, the structuring of the Rhetoric has always been somewhat controversial, since different attempts to structure the work manifest different interpretative decisions. By and large, though, the following structure seems to capture its main topics and divisions:

Ch. 1: Rhetoric as a counterpart to dialectic — dialectically conceived rhetoric is centred on proofs — rhetorical proofs are ‘enthymemes’ — this is neglected by previous manuals of rhetoric that focus instead on emotions, slandering and on other techniques for speaking outside the subject — “speaking outside the subject” is forbidden in states with good legislation — the benefits of rhetoric.
Through the speaker: credibility of the speaker ( êthos )
Through the hearer: the emotional state of the audience ( pathos )
Through the argument: proving or seemingly proving what is true ( logos )
Judicial (or forensic) speech deals with accusation and defence about past events — aiming at the just/unjust.
Deliberative (or political) speech deals with exhortation and dissuasion about future events — aiming at the advantageous/harmful.
Epideictic speech deals with praise and blame primarily with regard to the present time — aiming at the honourable/shameful.
Ch. 4–8: Premises or topoi specific to the deliberative speech: Types of advantageous/harmful things the speaker should be familiar with (Ch. 4) — Happiness ( eudaimonia ) (Ch. 5) — what is good/advantageous (Ch. 6) — what is better/more advantageous (Ch. 7) — the various constitutions (Ch. 8).
Ch. 9: Premises or topoi specific to the epideictic speech: virtue and vice — the honourable and the blameworthy.
Ch. 10–14: Premises or topoi specific to the judicial speech: wrong-doing and motives for wrong-doing (Ch. 10) — pleasure (Ch. 11) — the state of mind of the wrong-doers and characteristics of their victims (Ch. 12) — kinds of just and unjust deeds, unwritten laws (Ch. 13) — degrees of wrong-doing (Ch. 14).
Ch. 15: Artless means of persuasion (i.e. means that cannot be invented by the art, but are just given — such as contracts, laws, witnesses, oaths, torture — and need to be used in one way or the other), mostly connected with judicial speech.

Rhetoric II

Ch. 1: Why persuasion through logos is insufficient — how persuasion through êthos and pathos is supposed to work.
Ch. 2–11: Particular types of emotions ( pathê ) and their counterparts: anger (Ch. 2) — mildness (Ch. 3) — loving/friendly affection ( philia ) and hating (Ch. 4) — fear and confidence (Ch. 5) — shame and lack of shame (Ch. 6) — gratefulness and lack of gratefulness (Ch. 7) — pity (Ch. 8) — indignation plus two nameless emotions (Ch. 9) — envy (Ch. 10) — emulation or ambition (Ch.11).
Ch. 12–17: Different types of character ( êthos ): the character of young people (Ch. 12), of elderly people (Ch. 13), of people in the prime of their life (Ch. 14), of people of noble birth (Ch. 15), of wealthy people (Ch. 16) and of powerful people (Ch. 18).
Ch. 18: Transition to generally applicable aspects of persuasion through logos :
Ch. 19–25: Generally applicable aspects of persuasion through logos : topoi about the possible/impossible, past and future facts, significance and insignificance (Ch. 19) — examples: factual (report) and fictitious (the parable and the fable) (Ch. 20) — maxims (Ch. 21) — the enthymeme (Ch. 22) — topoi for the construction of enthymemes (Ch. 23) — topoi for the construction of merely apparent (i.e. fallacious) enthymemes (Ch. 24) — refutation (Ch. 25).
Ch. 26: Amplification — transition to Rhetoric III.

Rhetoric III , Ch. 1–12: Style ( lexis ):

Ch. 1: Delivery of a speech and why style/diction should be considered.
Ch. 2–3: The virtue and the vices of prose style: the excellent prose style is neither too banal nor above the due dignity, but appropriate — the choice of words — the role of metaphors (Ch. 2) — Four deterrent factors (or vices) of style (Ch. 3).
Ch. 4–11: Particular ingredients of prose style: the simile (Ch. 4) — linguistic correctness (Ch. 5) — stylistic voluminousness and its contrary (Ch. 6) — appropriateness in style (Ch. 7) — periodic style (Ch. 8) — rhythm (Ch. 9) — urbanity, bringing before the eyes, metaphors (Ch. 10–11).
Ch. 12: Written and oral style.

Rhetoric III , Ch. 13–19: Arrangement ( taxis ):

Ch. 13: Only two parts of the speech are necessary, namely the statement and the proof of the main claim — contemporary authors of rhetorical manuals make futile subdivisions of the parts of speech — introduction of a quadripartite scheme of the speech: (1) proem, (2) statement of the main claim, (3) proof of the stated claim ( pistis ), (4) epilogue.
Ch. 14–19: Particular parts of the speech: the proem in the three genres of speech (Ch. 14) — topoi for slandering (Ch. 15) — narration (Ch. 16) — proof ( pistis ) (Ch. 17) — interrogation (Ch. 18) — epilogue/conclusion (Ch. 19).

Aristotle stresses right from the beginning of his Rhetoric that rhetoric is closely related to dialectic. He offers several formulations to describe the affinity between these two disciplines: in the first line of the book Rhetoric rhetoric is said to be a ‘counterpart’ ( antistrophos ) to dialectic ( Rhet. I.1, 1354a1); in the second chapter of the first book it is also called an ‘outgrowth’ or ‘offshoot’ ( paraphues ti ) of dialectic and the study of character ( Rhet. I.2, 1356a25f.); finally, Aristotle says that rhetoric is part of dialectic and resembles it ( Rhet. I.2, 1356a30f.).

In saying that rhetoric is a counterpart to dialectic, Aristotle obviously wants to allude to Plato’s Gorgias (464bff.), where rhetoric is ironically defined as a counterpart to cookery in the soul. Since, in this passage, Plato uses the word ‘ antistrophos ’ to indicate an analogy, it is likely that Aristotle wants to express a kind of analogy too: what dialectic is for the (private or academic) practice of attacking and maintaining an argument, rhetoric is for the (public) practice of defending oneself or accusing an opponent.

The notion of ‘dialectic’ is prominent in the work of Aristotle’s teacher, Plato; Plato often labels his philosophical method, or certain parts of it, as dialectic. In his dialogue Gorgias (see §4 of Plato: rhetoric and poetry ), dialectic seems to be strictly opposed to rhetoric, the former aiming at the disclosure of truth, the latter allegedly aiming at ‘persuasion without knowledge’. In his Phaedrus Plato pictures the relation between dialectic and rhetoric in a different way (see §5.1 of Plato: rhetoric and poetry ); here he entertains the idea of a new philosophical rhetoric, quite different from the then contemporary style of speech writing, which rests upon dialectic, the genuine philosophical method, for acquiring genuine knowledge both of the subject matter of a speech and of the soul of the audience. When Aristotle speaks of dialectic, he certainly has his book Topics in mind, where he develops at some length an argumentative method for attacking and defending theses of any content (see §8 of Aristotle: logic ). Clearly, Aristotle’s dialectical method was inspired by Plato and by the debates in Plato’s Academy; however, while Plato often presents dialectic as a method for discovering and conveying truth, Aristotelian dialectic is strictly confined to examining particular claims or testing the consistency of a set of propositions (which in his view is different from establishing or proving the truth of a proposition). This is, in a nutshell, the context that must be kept in mind, when Aristotle presents — quite allusively — a new art of rhetoric by stressing its affinity to dialectic; obviously he plays upon his readers’ expectations concerning the meaning of dialectic and the relation between dialectic and rhetoric, as described by Plato. Those students of Plato’s Academy who were still suspicious about any engagement with rhetoric and public speech possibly received the opening of Aristotle’s Rhetoric with its postulated affinity between rhetoric and dialectic either as a provoction or as some sort of joke.

This purported analogy between rhetoric and dialectic (as conceived by Aristotle) can be substantiated by several common features of both disciplines:

Both rhetoric and dialectic are concerned with things that do not belong to a definite genus or are not the object of a specific science.
Both rhetoric and dialectic are not dependent on the established principles of specific sciences.
Both rhetoric and dialectic have the function of providing arguments.
Both rhetorical and dialectical arguments rely on assumptions or premises that are not established as true, but are only reputable or accepted by one group or the other ( endoxa ).
Both rhetoric and dialectic are concerned with both sides of an opposition, dialectic by constructing arguments for and against any thesis, rhetoric by considering what is possibly persuasive in any given case.

This analogy to dialectic has extremely significant ramifications for the status of Aristotle’s supposedly new art of rhetoric. Plato argued in his Gorgias that rhetoric could not be an art ( technê ), since it is not related to a definite subject, while real arts are defined by their specific subjects, as e.g. medicine or shoemaking are defined by their products (health and shoes). By claiming that rhetoric and dialectic are similar or analogous, Aristotle suggests a quite different picture. The analogy is even meant to flesh out the thought that neither rhetoric nor dialectic are like ordinary arts ( technai ) or sciences with a limited, well-defined subject matter. However, this should not be seen as a drawback, or so the analogy suggests, since the alleged shortcoming, i.e. that they do not have such a definite subject matter, can be turned into a virtue, by entrusting to dialectic and rhetoric the practices that are common to all fields of rationality, namely the various practices of argumentation. For even though dialectic has no definite subject, it is easy to see that it nevertheless employs a consistent method (both in Plato’s and Aristotle’s understanding of dialectic), because dialectic has to grasp the ultimate reason why some arguments are valid and others are not. Now, if rhetoric is nothing but the counterpart to dialectic within the domain of public speech, it must be similarly grounded in an investigation of what is persuasive and what is not, and this, in turn, qualifies rhetoric as an art or, after all, as a discipline that is methodologically not inferior to dialectic.

As already indicated, it is crucial for both disciplines, dialectic and rhetoric, that they deal with arguments from accepted premises ( endoxa ). Dialecticians do not argue on the basis of established, scientific principles, but on the basis of only reputable assumptions, i.e. of what is accepted either by all or the many or the few experts. In a similar vein, rhetoricians or orators try to hit assumptions that are already accepted by their audience, because they want to persuade the addressees on the basis of their own convictions. Of course, owing to the different fields of application — philosophical–academic debates in the case of dialectic, mostly public speeches in the case of rhetoric — the situation is not quite the same. While e.g. the dialectician tries to test the consistency of a set of propositions, the rhetorician tries to achieve the persuasion of a given audience, and while dialectic proceeds by questioning and answering, rhetoric for the most part proceeds in continuous–monologic form. Still, and in spite of these differences, the method of both dialectic and rhetoric share the same core idea that they have to hit certain, accepted assumptions of their addressees — the dialectical disputant in order to get the explicit assent of the dialectical opponent, the rhetorician in order to base the rhetorical proofs on views the audience already finds convincing. Furthermore, just as the dialectician is interested in deductions and inductions for refuting the opponent’s claims, the rhetorician is interested in deductions and inductions that logically connect (or seem to connect) the audience’s existing convictions with certain other views that the rhetorician wishes to establish (see below § 6 ). For, indeed, Aristotle seems to think that arguments or proofs are central to any process of persuasion, for people are most or most easily persuaded, he says ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a3f.), when they suppose something to have been proven.

Hence the rhetorician who is willing to give a central place to arguments or (rhetorical) proofs — and this seems to be the peculiar approach to rhetoric that Aristotle suggests at the beginning of his Rhetoric — can base his or her method of persuasion to a significant extent on the method of dialectical argumentation, as expounded in Aristotle’s Topics (see Rapp 2016 and 2018). And since the notion of ‘dialectic’ is inextricably linked with a genuinely philosophical method, the implied message of this dialectical turn of rhetoric seems to be that philosophers, properly understood, have access to a method that is superior not only for internal academic discussions between philosophers, but also for the so-called ‘encounter with the many’ ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a29, Topics I.2, 101a35), i.e. for the purpose of addressing a mass audience with little or no education. As already indicated, Aristotle does not seem to have been the first to come up with the idea that ‘true’ rhetoric should become dialectical; however, while in Plato’s Phaedrus the dialectical turn of rhetoric remains a mere sketch, Aristotle’s Rhetoric does not hesitate to set this idea into operation, most notably by adapting most of the dialectical equipment developed elsewhere, especially in his Topics . In many particular instances he just imports technical vocabulary from his dialectic (e.g. protasis , sullogismos , topos , endoxon ); in many other instances he redefines traditional rhetorical notions by his dialectical inventory, e.g. the enthymeme is redefined as a deduction, the example is redefined as an induction, etc. Above all, the Rhetoric introduces the use of the so-called topoi (see below § 7 ) that is typical for the dialectical method and is otherwise only treated in Aristotle’s works on dialectic, i.e. in Topics and Sophistical Refutations .

4. The Nature and Purpose of Rhetoric

There are widely divergent views on the purpose of Aristotle’s Rhetoric . Ultimately, it is certainly meant to support those who are going to address a public audience in court, at assemblies of the people, or at certain festive events and who, to that end, have to compose speeches. But does this in itself render the Rhetoric a mere ‘manual’ or ‘handbook’ aiming at the persuasion of a given audience? Or does it rather aim at a specifically qualified type of persuasion (bringing about, e.g., conviction based on the best available grounds and without misunderstanding)? Influenced by the debate in the 20th century about ‘old and new rhetoric’ and by the work of authors such as I.A. Richards, Kenneth Burke and Wayne C. Booth on the one hand and Hans-Georg Gadamer and Paul Ricoeur on the other, Aristotle scholars began to wonder whether his Rhetoric is an instruction manual offering guidance about how to change other people’s minds or has, rather, a philosophically more ambitious scope, such as e.g. human communication and discourse in general. This second approach is reflected in the statements of those contending that the “object of Aristotle’s treatise on rhetoric is ultimately an analysis of the nature of human discourse in all areas of knowledge.” (Grimaldi 1972, 1) or of those suggesting that it can be read as “a piece of philosophic inquiry, and judged by philosophic standards” (Garver 1994, 3). Others have diagnosed a most notable ambivalence in the Rhetoric (see Oates 1963, 335), as between its role as a practical handbook on the one hand and Aristotle’s attempt to connect it to his logic, ethics and politics on the other. Likewise, interpreters are divided on the questions of whether Aristotle’s Rhetoric is meant to be used for good and bad purposes alike or whether it is specifically tailored to implementing the good and virtuous goals delineated in Aristotle’s ethical and political writings; and whether, to that latter end, the speaker is entitled to deploy the whole range of persuasive devices, even manipulative and deceptive ones. In many instances, the text of Aristotle’s Rhetoric is open to several interpretations; however, it seems possible to restrict the range of plausible readings, e.g. by considering Aristotle’s definition of rhetoric and what he says about the internal and external ends of rhetoric.

Assuming that Aristotle’s Poetics gives instructions for how to compose good tragedies, shouldn’t we expect, then, that Aristotle’s Rhetoric is similarly meant to give instructions for how to compose good speeches? And does this, by the same token, render the art of rhetoric a sort of productive knowledge aiming at the fabrication of a speech (similar to the way the art of shoemaking aims at the fabrication of shoes)? This sounds plausible, as far as it goes (for a discussion of this issue see Leff 1993), and in a few passages (especially in Rhet. III: e.g. 1415b35, 1417a2, 1417a34f. and 36, 1418a10 and 12 and 39, 1420b1) Aristotle actually seems to directly address and instruct a speechwriter in the second person. However, these are rather exceptions to a broader tendency and it is striking that Aristotle never defines the art of rhetoric through the supposed product, the speech, nor the full command of the art of rhetoric through the perfection of the product, i.e. the excellent speech. Instead, Aristotle defines the rhetorician as someone who is always able to see what is persuasive ( Topics VI.12, 149b25); correspondingly, rhetoric is defined as the ability to see what is possibly persuasive in every given case ( Rhet. I.2, 1355b26f.). Indeed there are passages ( Rhet. I.1, 1355b15–17) in which the persuasive plays the same role in rhetoric as the conclusive plays in dialectic or logic. This is not to say that it is the defining function ( ergon ) of rhetoric to persuade, for the rhetoricians (the ones who possess the art of rhetoric) will not be able to convince people under all circumstances ( Rhet. I.1, 1355b10–14). Rather they are in a situation similar to that of physicians: the latter have a complete grasp of their art if and only if they neglect nothing that might heal their patients, although they are not expected to heal each and every patient. Similarly, rhetoricians have a complete grasp of their method, if and only if they are capable of seeing the available means of persuasion, although they are certainly not able to convince each and every audience — owing to factors that the art of rhetoric cannot alter (e.g. biases, partisanship, stubbornness or corruption of the audience). In light of this definition, it seems that the art ( technê ) of rhetoric is primarily concerned with the nature and the ingredients of persuasiveness and that the book Rhetoric is primarily concerned with elaborating the various ingredients of this art. It goes without saying that possessing such an art is useful for the composition of speeches, but might also be useful for other purposes, e.g. for assessing other people’s speeches, for analysing the persuasive potential of competing cases, etc.

For Aristotle, who defines rhetoric in terms of considering what is persuasive (see above § 4.1 ) and sees it as a branch of dialectic (see above § 3 ), rhetoric is clearly not a matter of finding or conveying knowledge. For Plato (see §4 of Plato: rhetoric and poetry ), by contrast, this would have been reason enough to become suspicious about the intentions of those who use rhetorical techniques. Isn’t any technique of persuasion that is negligent of knowledge useful only for those who want to outwit their audience and conceal their real aims? For, after all, someone who just wants to communicate the naked truth could be straightforward and would not need to employ rhetorical gimmicks. This, however, is not Aristotle’s point of view: Even those who are simply trying to establish what is just and true need the help of rhetoric when they are faced with a public audience. Aristotle points out that it is impossible to teach such an audience, even if the speaker has the most exact knowledge of the subject ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a24–29). Perhaps he is thinking of ordinary people attending a public speech who are not able to follow the kind of argument that, according to Aristotle’s theory of knowledge (see §6 of Aristotle: logic ), is apt to establish genuine knowledge. Moreover, he seems to doubt that the controversial, sometimes partisan and hostile, setting of political or judicial speeches is suitable for teaching and learning at all, since whoever wishes to learn has to presuppose that he or she won’t be cheated or deceived by the teacher. But why should one trust the intentions of the opposing party? This is why rhetorical arguments addressing public audiences should be taken from premises that are likely to be accepted by the given audience, from assumptions the audience is already convinced of, and not from the kind of principles (accepted mostly or only by the experts) through which one conveys and establishes knowledge.

More than that, one might wonder whether the typical subject of public speeches really allows of genuine knowledge. In court for example, the judges have to form a reasoned view about whether the accused person is guilty or not and whether the crime committed is minor or major; in political speeches the parties might contend about whether it is advantageous or not to invade the neighbour’s territory or to build a border wall (Aristotle’s examples), but none of these questions allow of precise knowledge. Aristotle says that in some questions treated in public speeches there is only amphidoxein , i.e. room for doubt and only divided opinions ( Rhet. I.2, 1356a8). From this perspective, rhetoric seems useful especially for controversies about contingent matters that cannot be fixed by appealing to what we unmistakably know, but only by appealing to widely shared convictions, to what happens (not necessarily, but) only for the most part and to what is likely to be the case (but not necessarily so). For all those reasons, affecting the decisions of juries and assemblies is a matter of persuasiveness, not of knowledge. It is true that some people manage to be persuasive either at random or by habit, but it is rhetoric that gives us a method to systematically disclose all available means of persuasion on any topic whatsoever.

When Aristotle speaks about the benefits of the art of rhetoric he also mentions that it is not only disgraceful when one is unable to defend oneself physically, but also when one is unable to defend oneself through rational speech, for rationality and speech are more peculiar to human beings than physical strength ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a38–b2). A certain familiarity with rhetoric is therefore required for sheer self-defence — in general and, perhaps, especially under the conditions of the extreme Athenian form of democracy with its huge courts of lay assessors (one of which sentenced Socrates to death) and with demagogues who would abuse the democratic rules for a coup d’état. Perhaps Aristotle is addressing fellow philosophers who find it beneath their dignity to engage with rhetoric: it is not sublime but naive and embarrassing if they do not gear up for political and legal battles. For those who are defeated in court when they try to defend what is true and just (due to the failure to speak persuasively) are to be blamed ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a20–24).

Possessing the art of rhetoric is useful then even for those whose sole intent is to defend what they take to be true and just. Still, can’t the same art of rhetoric be misused, e.g. when practised by people with malicious intentions? The short answer is: Yes, of course. Rhetoric in general and even Aristotle’s dialectic-based rhetoric can be misused depending on what people use it for what purposes. (And Aristotle himself is actually aware of the fact that demagogues of his time use a certain style of rhetoric for overthrowing the democratic order: Politics V.5, 1304b21–1305a15). The more elaborate answer that he gives is this. The art of rhetoric (if based on dialectic: see above § 3 ) is useful partly because it facilitates persuasive argument for the opposites, i.e. on either side of a question. This is first of all seen as an advantage in competence, for people who have full command of this art won’t miss any persuasive aspect of a given question, and this is also seen as a practical advantage, for it helps to detect what goes wrong in the opponent’s arguments (1355a29–38), especially if those opponents use it for objectionable purposes. That this peculiar feature of dialectic-based rhetoric opens the door for misuse is true, but this cannot be held against the art of rhetoric, since the same ambivalence (that something can be used for the better or for the worse) applies to most goods (e.g. wealth, beauty — the only non-ambivalent good is, on Aristotle’s view, virtue). Also, Aristotle downplays the risk of misuse by stressing that it is easier to convince someone of the just and good than of their opposites (especially when using the Aristotelian style of rhetoric).

Still, for many interpreters of Aristotle, from the times of the great Roman rhetoricians on, it is hard to embrace the thought that Aristotle — the famous author of the Nicomachean Ethics and the Politics — who in his ethical work praises the life in accordance with human virtue, could ever endorse a rhetorical project that is not meant to promote virtue and happiness in the city-state ( polis ). Is it, in other words, possible or likely that Aristotle, whose name in the history of moral philosophy stands for an ethics based on the sustainable development of moral virtues, endorses a technique of rhetoric that does not serve the purpose of promoting virtuous goals? This is a legitimate worry. It can be addressed by distinguishing internal from external ends of rhetoric (which is, to be sure, not Aristotle’s distinction; however, he uses a similar distinction between a thing’s proper function, corresponding to the internal end, and the question what something is useful for, corresponding to the external end). The internal end, i.e. the function that defines the art of rhetoric, is to consider what is persuasive (see above § 4.1 ), and since there might be persuasive aspects on both sides of a question, the art of rhetoric as such — i.e. according to its internal end — is neutral with regard to true and false, just and unjust, noble and wicked points of view. It can be equally used for promoting good or bad positions (even though, as Aristotle says, it is easier to promote the good ones). All this follows from the dialectical character of Aristotle’s art of rhetoric (see above § 3 ). If we are interested, by contrast, in the external ends of rhetoric, i.e. the question of what it is useful for (see above § 4.2 ) or the question of how Aristotle himself wants this art to be used, then it is easy to contrive a plausible story either based on Aristotle’s ethico-political writings or on hints given in the Rhetoric itself (see e.g. Dow 2015, 64–75, for such an attempt) about the morally desirable uses of a style of rhetoric that is based on arguments (sanctioning convicted offenders, defending innocent culprits, averting political decisions that are likely to do harm to the city-state, voicing the point of view of the decent citizens, defending the rule of law, standing up to insurrectionists and demagogues, etc.).

Obviously, Aristotle’s rhetoric is not thought to be normative in the moral sense that it would only provide the means for persuading people of what is true, just and noble (but not of their opposites; see section § 4.3 above). There is however the widespread intuition that Aristotle’s rhetoric crucially differs from manuals of rhetoric that recommend doing whatever it takes to win a case. This becomes clear already in the beginning of Rhet. I.1, where Aristotle criticizes his predecessors among other things for presenting techniques that are not derived from any art ( technê ), such as slander and the arousal of pity and anger. He accuses them of dwelling on methods that instruct how to speak “outside the subject” and to distract the attention of the hearers from the subject, while good legislation, he says, requires not speaking outside the subject at all (indeed, “speaking outside the subject” was a legal term in Athenian law of Aristotle’s time). This immediately suggests two senses in which Aristotle’s rhetoric is normative and does not advocate an ‘anything goes’-approach to persuasion: first, the rhetorical devices are required to flow from the art or method of rhetoric and, second, they must not be “outside the subject”. As for the first criterion, Aristotle requires that art-based means of persuasion must be provided by the speech alone and must rely on the systematic analysis of what is persuasive in a given case (see the definition of rhetoric in § 4.1 above). As for the second criterion, it is striking that Aristotle refers to judges or jurors who just “surrender to one of the litigants without really judging” ( Rhet. I.1, 1354b34–1355a1), which might be taken to mean that those people cast their votes in favour of the party they side with, but that their votes are not based on a judgement that really considers the case at hand. This formulates a minimally normative criterion for what the rhetorical art aims at, namely the formation of a judgement in the audience that deserves to be called a ‘judgement’, i.e. that it judges something , namely what the judges or jurors are asked to judge. And it seems that in rhetorical persuasion the use of rhetorical devices that are based on the art and are related to the case at hand are more apt to bring about judgements in this genuine sense of the word.

By all appearances, it seems then that Aristotle’s rhetoric is not indifferent with regard to the persuasive means deployed. The effect that speakers using the Aristotelian style of rhetoric can bring about in the audience is thus qualified by the limited range of techniques (based on the art of rhetoric) they use, which means that they do not try to bring the audience over to their side at any cost, but only on the basis of an argumentation that actually addresses the point at issue. In this sense one might say that Aristotle’s rhetorical method aims at something like ‘persuasion based on arguments’, ‘reasonable persuasion’ or a ‘reasoned judgment’ on the audience’s part.

Even if this much is agreed upon, there remains a lot of room for scholarly disagreement on what exactly this normative approach to rhetoric is meant to imply. Is this normativity grounded in the requirements of the art ( technê ) alone, e.g. what can and what cannot be achieved in a methodical way, or does it hinge on an envisaged effect, e.g. the best possible judgement on the hearer’s part? And which methods are approved by this normative approach and which definitely excluded? Does Aristotle’s art of rhetoric require, above all, that persuasion be centred on arguments and proofs (that are related to the thing at issue and are, thus, pertinent), while other art-based means of persuasion (see below § 5 ) are mostly thought to offer support to get one’s arguments through (see e.g. Rapp 2012)? Or does the art aim at enhancing only “well-founded” judgements or judgements that are “formed on the basis of good grounds for conviction”, requiring that each particular means of persuasion provide such a good ground for conviction (see Dow 2014 and Dow 2015)?

5. The Three Means of Persuasion

The methodical core of Aristotle’s Rhetoric is the theorem that there are three ‘technical’ pisteis , i.e. ‘persuaders’ or ‘means of persuasion’. Persuasion comes about either through the character ( êthos ) of the speaker, the emotional state ( pathos ) of the hearer, or the argument ( logos ) itself. The structure of Rhetoric I & II & is determined by this tripartition (see § 2 above). The attribute ‘technical’ seems to imply several things: (i) Technical persuasion must rest on a method or art ( technê ), and this, in turn, is to say that we must know the reason why some things are persuasive and some are not. (ii) Further, technical persuasion must rest on a complete analysis of what is possibly persuasive (see above § 4.1 ), and not on the random use of scattered persuasive factors. (iii) Technical means of persuasion must be provided by the speakers themselves and through the speech, whereas pre-existing facts, such as oaths, witnesses, testimonies, etc. are non-technical, since they cannot be brought about by the speaker. (iv) Given that Aristotle criticizes his predecessors, because they deal with non-technical persuasive devices instructing how to speak “outside the subject” (see section § 4.4 above), one might speculate whether the technical means of persuasion are required, vice versa, to actually address the things at issue .

Why just these three? And why only these three? Aristotle does not give an elaborate defence of this tripartition. However, he says in a different context that a speech consists of three things: the speaker, the subject that is treated in the speech, and the listener to whom the speech is addressed ( Rhet. I.3, 1358a37ff.). Probably, he thinks that each of these three ingredients of a speech contributes to persuasion in a specific way, in that persuasion either flows from the person of speaker, namely that he or she comes across as credible, or from the condition of the hearer, i.e. whether they are in an emotional state and which emotional state they are in or from the subject that is treated in the speech, i.e. from the arguments or proofs that are meant to support a suggested point of view. Summarizing the account of the three pisteis in a later section of the book, Aristotle actually insists that there can be no other technical means of persuasion:

It has already been spoken about the means of persuasion ( pisteis ), from how many things they are, namely that they are from three things, and what kind of things these are, and why there are only these three; for all people who are casting judgements are persuaded either because they themselves are affected, or because they assume that the speakers are a certain kind of person or because something has been proven. ( Rhet. III.1, 1403b10–13)

With regard to the speaker, persuasion is accomplished whenever the speech is held in such a way as to render the speaker worthy of credence. How is it exactly that the credibility of the speaker contributes to persuasion? Aristotle is not overly explicit on this issue. However, he says that people follow the trustworthy speaker more easily and more quickly on almost all subjects and completely so in affairs in which there are not exact criteria (to decide the case), but only wavering opinions ( Rhet. I.2, 1356a6–8). This might be taken to mean that in the absence of other criteria to decide a case, the audience will form the second-order judgment that suggestions put forward by a credible speaker are themselves received as trustworthy and acceptable. Also, according to this remark, the impact of what seems to be the speaker’s character comes in degrees; it is most important, if the point of issue is such that it leaves room for doubt and cannot be decided by conclusive proofs.

But how does the speaker manage to appear a credible person? Even though Aristotle says that the speaker’s character can have the greatest impact on the hearers’ judgement (especially in deliberative speeches that are about future states of affairs), he dedicates only fifteen lines to this question. ( Rhet. II.1, 1378a6–20). Speakers, he says, must display (i) practical intelligence, prudence or competence ( phronêsis ), (ii) a virtuous character, and (iii) good will; for, if they displayed none of them, the audience would doubt that they are able to give good advice at all. Again, if they displayed (i) without (ii) and (iii), the audience could doubt whether their aims or intentions are good. Finally, if he displayed (i) and (ii) without (iii), the audience could still doubt whether they are giving the best suggestion or whether they keep the best available suggestion for themselves due to their lack of benevolence. However, if they display all of them, Aristotle concludes, it cannot rationally be doubted that their suggestions are trustworthy. It should be stressed that the speakers must accomplish these effects by what they say in the speech; it is not necessary that they are actually virtuous persons: on the contrary, a pre-existing good character cannot be part of the technical means of persuasion. Also, even a person with outstandingly virtuous character would have to present herself as virtuous by what she says in the speech.

With regard to the hearer, persuasion comes about whenever the hearers are led by the speech to feel a certain emotion or passion that, in turn, has an impact on the judgement they are going to make. The underlying assumption of this persuasive technique is that people’s emotional states broadly conceived — i.e. whether they actually undergo an episode of emotion or not and what kind of emotion they feel — makes a difference for the formation of the judgement they are about to pass. Indeed, Aristotle even introduces the emotions or passions ( pathê ) in an important passage ( Rhet. II.1, 1378a20–30) by saying that they are “those things due to which people, by undergoing a change, differ in their judgements ...”. He illustrates this general assumption by pointing out that we do not judge in the same way when we grieve and rejoice or when we are friendly and hostile. It therefore seems that the speaker has to arouse emotions exactly because emotions have the power to modify our judgments: e.g. to a juror or judge who is in a friendly mood, the person about whom he or she is going to judge seems not to do wrong or only in a small way; but to the juror or judge who is in an angry mood, the same person will seem to do the opposite (see Rhet. II.1, 1378a1ff.). Since rhetoric aims at steering the hearers’ judgement and since emotions, thus, have a significant impact on the formation of judgements (on the various ways how emotions, according to Aristotle, can alter our judgements see Leighton 1982), the rhetorical method requires to address the emotional states of the hearers, if only in order to calm down adverse feelings or emotions that are likely to prevent the jurors or judges from forming their judgement in accordance with the presented evidence and arguments.

Some scholars writing on the rhetorical use of emotions take it to be significant that emotions also play a crucial role in Aristotle’s moral philosophy, for Aristotle defines the virtuous person not only by performing the right actions, but also by having and by being motivated through the appropriate sort of emotions. Applying this to the rhetorical situation, one might wonder whether in Aristotle’s art of rhetoric the speaker tries to arouse emotions, in order (i) to motivate the audience (e.g. motivate them to act in accordance with the judgement they pass) or (ii) to turn them into better persons (e.g. by providing and making them familiar with the appropriate emotions that are definitory of the virtuous persons). However, both options are not backed by the evidence given in the text of the Rhetoric . With regard to (i), it seems crucial to note that the aim of rhetorical persuasion is a certain judgement ( krisis ), not an action or practical decision ( prohairesis ), which would intrinsically involve a specific sort of desire and motivation (see e.g. Kontos 2021, 20–31). While the practical decision that Aristotle discusses in his ethical writings is always about things the agents themselves are able to do, the judgements of the hearers of a public speech are often about things to be done by other agents or about actions that took place in the past. With regard to (ii), one might be reluctant to accept that moral education might be the direct purpose of the kind of public speeches Aristotle has in mind. At least, no such moral purpose is mentioned when Aristotle addresses the purpose and use of rhetoric (see above § 4 ). It is also significant that the appropriateness of the aroused emotions (in accordance with Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean) is nowhere discussed in the Rhetoric . More than that, Aristotle seems to think that moral education requires individual habituation and habituation is a matter of gradually adjusting a person’s attitudes and hedonic responses, while the uneducated ones are not really responsive to disciplinary allocutions. For all these reasons, he is not too optimistic with regard to the pedagogical effect of public speeches: “Now if speeches were in themselves enough to make men good, they would justly, as Theognis says, have won very great rewards, and such rewards should have been provided; but as things are … they are not able to encourage the many to nobility and goodness” ( EN X.9, 1179b4–10).

But how is it possible for the orator, in the first place, to lead the audience to feel a certain emotion? After all, the technical means of persuasion are restricted to what the speakers say in a speech. It is remarkable that Aristotle’s treatment of several types of emotions in Chapters 2–11 of Rhet. II is based on the definition of each type of emotion. Even though Aristotle mostly leaves it to the reader to infer how these definitions are useful for arousing a particular type of emotion, it seems safe to conclude that these definitions are meant to offer the key to the methodical arousal of emotions in the audience. Let, for example, anger be defined as “desire, accompanied with pain, for conspicuous revenge for a conspicuous slight that was directed against oneself or those near to one, when such a slight is undeserved.” ( Rhet . II.2 1378a31–33). According to such a definition, someone who takes it to be the case that he or she has suffered a slight from a person who is not entitled to do so, etc., will, all other things being equal, become angry. Obviously, this presupposes an account of emotions according to which emotions are closely related to what people think or take to be the case. Unfortunately and owing to the overall nature of Aristotle’s Rhetoric , this underlying account of emotion is nowhere explicitly unfolded and defended. What we can infer though is that Aristotle assumes at least a covariance between someone’s thought or opinion that she has been slighted undeservedly and her feeling of anger. If that much is granted and if the speakers have access to such definitions of each type of emotions, it is possible to deduce conditions under which a person is likely to feel this particular type of emotion. And if the speakers manage to make the hearers think — by what they say — that these conditions are given, it is likely, as far as this method goes, that the hearers will feel the corresponding emotion. Aristotle himself suggests the following example. If we take the above-mentioned definition of anger for granted, it is possible to deduce circumstances in which a person will become angry; most notably, we can deduce (i) in what state of mind people are angry and (ii) against whom they are angry and (iii) for what sorts of reason. If we want to make an audience angry, we have to address all three factors, making the hearers think (ii) that there are people who deserve their anger, (iii) that there is a reason for being angry (a slight, an insult, a belittlement, etc.) and (i) by bringing them into a state of mind in which they are prone to anger. Aristotle himself shows how to deduce these three factors for each particular type of emotion throughout chapters II.2–11. With this equipment, the speaker will be able, for example, to highlight such characteristics of a case as are likely to provoke anger in the audience. In comparison with the tricks of former rhetoricians (which, Aristotle thinks, are bound to speak “outside the subject”), this method of arousing emotions has a striking advantage: The speaker who wants to arouse emotions need not even speak “outside the subject” or distract from the thing at issue; it is sufficient to detect aspects of a given subject that are connected with the intended emotion and to make the addressee think that certain emotion-provoking aspects, in accordance with the three factors mentioned above, are given.

Supplement on Judgemental and Non-Judgemental Accounts of Aristotelian Emotions

With regard to the subject the speech is about, persuasion comes about through arguments, i.e. by proving (or seemingly proving) that something is the case. Most probably, this is meant to take up the idea mentioned above, i.e. that people are most or most easily persuaded, when they suppose something to have been proven ( Rhet. I.1, 1355a3f.). This third means of persuasion ( pistis ) is distinguished from the other two means of persuasion through being the only probative ( apodeiktikos ) device of persuasion; due to its argument-like structure, involving premises and a conclusion, it can directly argue for the point of view that the speaker wishes to establish. It does so by inferentially connecting the suggested conclusion with facts that are evident or with convictions already held by the audience. Probative persuasion is essential, since, at the end of the day, each speech necessarily involves a claim (i.e. the point of view the speaker suggests) plus the proofs that are given in support of this claim ( Rhet. III.13, 1414a30–36). For Aristotle, there are two species of arguments: inductions and deductions ( Posterior Analytics I.1, 71a5ff.). Induction ( epagôgê ) is defined as the proceeding from particulars up to a universal ( Topics I.12, 105a13ff.). A deduction ( sullogismos ) is an argument in which, certain things having been supposed, something different from the suppositions results of necessity through them ( Topics I.1, 100a25ff.) or because of their being true ( Prior Analytics I.2, 24b18–20). The inductive argument in rhetoric is the example ( paradeigma ); unlike other inductive arguments, it does not proceed from many particular cases to one universal case, but from one particular to a similar particular if both particulars fall under the same genus ( Rhet. I.2, 1357b25ff.). The deductive argument in rhetoric is the enthymeme (see below § 6 ). Indeed, most of Rhet. I & II is dedicated to the treatment of this third probative means of persuasion: After the second part of the long chapter Rhet. I.2 has introduced basic distinctions within the probative mode of persuasion, chapters Rhet. I.4–15 unfold argumentative devices that are specific to the three genres of speech, while chapters Rhet. II.4–26 discuss generally applicable aspects of proofs or arguments (see above § 2 ).

Aristotle repeatedly says that these rhetorical arguments persuade people either by proving or by (merely) seeming to prove ( Rhet. I.2, 1356a3–4 and I.2, 1356a19–20); accordingly, he lists topoi for real ( Rhet. II.23) and merely apparent enthymemes ( Rhet. II.24) (see below § 7 ). Obviously, Aristotle refers here to fallacious or deceptive arguments, for these arguments have a similar persuasive effect, if the fallacy or deception goes unnoticed by the audience (for people will think , i.e. take it to be the case, that something has been proven). One might wonder whether the inclusion of only seemingly probative arguments is compatible with Aristotle’s general tendency to base rhetorical persuasion on (real) proofs. However, the treatment of fallacious rhetorical arguments is strictly parallel to what happens in the case of dialectic. For dialectic too, includes a part dealing with sound or valid arguments (namely in Topics II–VII) and a part that analyses fallacious arguments (namely in the Sophistical Refutations ). It is part of the rhetorician’s competence also to know about fallacious arguments, if only in order to detect them, when they are used by opponents.

One of the most notorious debates about Aristotle’s Rhetoric concerns the second means of persuasion ( pistis ) that is said to proceed through the emotions of the hearer (see above § 5.2 ), for it seems to involve a major inconsistency in Aristotle’s approach to rhetorical persuasion: While in Rhetoric I.2 Aristotle is happy to accept emotions or the arousal of emotions as one of the three ‘technical’ pisteis , it seems that he has a much more reserved or even repudiating attitude to the rhetorical use of emotions in Rhetoric I.1. There, in the very first chapter of the book, Aristotle claims that the previous authors of rhetorical manuals have only covered a small part of the art of persuasion, for while only the proofs or means of persuasion ( pisteis ), such as the enthymeme, are a matter of technê , those authors mostly dealt with rhetorical devices that are merely supplementary and involve “speaking outside the subject”. Aristotle exemplifies this alleged tendency of his predecessors by adding that “slander, pity, anger and suchlike passions of the soul” are not about the things at issue, but are directed at the person of the juror or judge (1354a11–18). Briefly afterwards he adds that one “should not distort the juror or judge by arousing anger, fear or pity in him”, which, he says, would be like making the standard or yardstick crooked before using it (1354a24–26). Apart from the fact that Rhetoric I.2 endorses the rhetorical use of emotions, while Rhetoric I.1 seems to dismiss them, the remarks in Rhetoric I.1 seems to imply that the arousal of emotions is not or cannot be ‘technical’, while Rhetoric I.2 unequivocally introduces persuasion through the emotions of the hearer as one of three ‘technical’ means of persuasion.

Various strategies have been contrived to deal with this seeming inconsistency. In the early 20th century there was the tendency to think that the two chapters are simply incompatible and that either one of these two chapters was written by a different author (Marx 1900) or that the two chapters were put together by an inept editor (Kantelhardt 1911; in a similar vein, Barnes (1995, 262) argues that the two chapters are doublets, one of them originally written to supplant the other) or that the two chapters represent different stages in Aristotle’s philosophical development (Solmsen 1929). Even though Solmen’s developmental account has gone out of fashion, there are more recent authors who emphasize the alleged ‘Platonic’ character of Rhetoric I.1 (see e.g. Fortenbaugh 1986, 248 and Schuetrumpf 1994, 106f.), thus implying that Aristotle, when writing this chapter, was still under the influence of Plato, from which he gradually emancipated himself. However, one might wonder whether some of the strategies mentioned tend to exaggerate the alleged inconsistency of the two chapters, since, after all, it is obvious that the two chapters have different agendas (see above § 2 ) and that some of the differences might be due to these different agendas. Also, in the later chapter Aristotle is happy to refer back to the treatment of emotions in the previous chapter (1356a16–17), which indicates (provided that this back-reference is authentic) that he himself was not aware of any inconsistency. It has hence been suggested e.g. that the seeming inconsistency can be fixed just by identifying different meanings of the word pistis for the two chapters (Grimaldi 1957), which would solve the problem that in one chapter emotions are said to be a pistis in the ‘technical’ sense, while in the other chapter they are opposed to ‘technical’ pisteis . Sprute 1994 and, similarly, Schuetrumpf 1994 argue that the chapters are not inconsistent, but envisage different settings, in that Rhetoric I.1 considers the kind of rhetoric that is apt for a well-ordered city, while Rhetoric I.2 moves on to the style of rhetoric that is required and practiced under less ideal political circumstances. Rapp 2002 (I 364, II 32f., 109, 112) proposes that what Aristotle primarily criticizes in Rhetoric I.1 is not that those predecessors deal with emotions at all, but that they mostly deal with emotions and the like, which are merely supplementary, instead of dealing with the main point, i.e. the enthymeme, and that they use pre-fabricated formulae for the arousal of emotions, by which they are bound to speak outside the things at issue. Dow 2007 uses a similar idea of set-piece rhetorical devices, going however beyond the previous suggestion by saying that the critique of Rhetoric I.1 does not, as it may seem, refer to emotions strictly speaking, but only to such set-piece rhetorical devices aimed at manipulating emotions. On these accounts it is possible, at least, to reconcile the claims that there is a ‘technical’ and innocent (or, perhaps, even beneficial) use of emotions within the art-based process of persuasion, as maintained in Rhetoric I.2, and that there are non-‘technical’ uses of emotions in rhetoric with the potential to distort the judgement, as emphasized in Rhetoric I.1.

6. The Enthymeme

For Aristotle, an enthymeme is what has the function of a proof or demonstration in the domain of public speech. Since a demonstration is a kind of sullogismos , the enthymeme is said to be a sullogismos too (on the enthymeme and its relation to syllogistic theory see also Raphael 1974). The word ‘ enthymeme ’ (from ‘ enthumeisthai —to consider’) had already been coined by Aristotle’s predecessors and originally designated clever sayings, bon mots, and short arguments involving a paradox or contradiction. The concepts ‘proof’ ( apodeixis ) and ‘ sullogismos ’ play a crucial role in Aristotle’s logical-dialectical theory. In applying them to a term of conventional rhetoric, Aristotle appeals to a well-known rhetorical technique, but, at the same time, codifies and redefines the original meaning of ‘enthymeme’: properly understood, what people call ‘enthymeme’ should have the form of a sullogismos , i.e., a deductive argument.

A major scholarly debate concerns the question of whether the enthymeme is actually meant to be a genuine sullogismos , i.e. a deductive argument, or whether it is only a ‘ sullogismos of a kind’, i.e. a sullogismos in an attenuated sense, which would amount to saying that Aristotelian enthymemes, even though they are introduced as sullogismoi , are or include ‘relaxed inferences’, i.e. inferences that are not logically valid (see Burnyeat 1994, 1996). This suggestion has been widely accepted, presumably because it helps to solve the alleged paradox that, although Aristotle defines the enthymeme as a sullogismos , the logical form of the enthymemes that are actually given as examples in the Rhetoric does not seem to conform to that of the categorical syllogisms that we know from his Prior Analytics (a problem that, by the way, might also be addressed by assuming that the enthymeme corresponds to the form of deductive arguments we find in the Topics , not to the ones familiar from the Prior Analytics ). Others accepted this suggestion primarily in order to accommodate the non-necessary sign arguments from Rhetoric I.2 (see § 6.5 ), which are treated as a type of enthymeme (without being flagged as merely ‘seeming enthymeme’), but are said not to yield a sullogismos (see e.g. Allen 2001).

Supplement on the Thesis that Enthymemes are Relaxed Inferences

In general, Aristotle regards deductive arguments as a set of propositions in which some sentences are premises and one is the conclusion, and the inference from the premises to the conclusion is guaranteed by the premises alone. Since enthymemes in the proper sense are expected to be deductive arguments, the minimal requirement for the formulation of enthymemes is that they have to display the premise-conclusion structure of deductive arguments. This is why enthymemes have to include a statement as well as a kind of reason for the given statement. Typically this reason is given in a conditional ‘if’-clause or a causal ‘since’- or ‘for’-clause. Examples of the former, conditional type are: “If not even the gods know everything, human beings can hardly do so.” “If the war is the cause of present evils, things should be set right by making peace.” Examples of the latter, causal type are: “One should not be educated, for one ought not be envied (and educated people are usually envied).” “She has given birth, for she has milk.” Aristotle stresses that the proposition “There is no man among us who is free” taken by itself is a maxim, but becomes an enthymeme as soon as it is used together with a reason such as “for all are slaves of money or of chance (and no slave of money or chance is free).” Sometimes the required reason may even be implicit, as e.g. in the proposition “As a mortal, do not cherish immortal anger” the reason why one should not cherish mortal anger is implicitly given in the term “immortal,” which alludes to the rule that it is not appropriate for mortal beings to have such an attitude.

Aristotle calls the enthymeme the “body of persuasion”, implying that everything else is only an addition or accident to the core of the persuasive process. The reason why the enthymeme, as the rhetorical kind of proof or demonstration, should be regarded as central to the rhetorical process of persuasion is that we are most easily persuaded when we think that something has been demonstrated. Hence, the basic idea of a rhetorical demonstration seems to be this: In order to make a target group believe that q , the orator must first select a proposition p or some propositions p 1 … p n that are already accepted by the target group; secondly he has to show that q can be derived from p or p 1 … p n , using p or p 1 … p n as premises. Given that the target persons form their beliefs in accordance with rational standards, they will accept q as soon as they understand that q can be demonstrated on the basis of their own opinions.

Consequently, the construction of enthymemes is primarily a matter of deducing from accepted opinions ( endoxa ). Of course, it is also possible to use premises that are not commonly accepted by themselves, but can be derived from commonly accepted opinions; other premises are only accepted since the speaker is held to be credible; still other enthymemes are built from signs: see § 6.5 . That a deduction is made from accepted opinions—as opposed to deductions from first and true sentences or principles—is the defining feature of dialectical argumentation in the Aristotelian sense. Thus, the formulation of enthymemes is a matter of dialectic, and the dialectician has the competence that is needed for the construction of enthymemes. If enthymemes are a subclass of dialectical arguments, then it is natural to expect a specific difference by which one can tell enthymemes apart from all other kinds of dialectical arguments (traditionally, commentators regarded logical incompleteness as such a difference; for some objections against the traditional view, see § 6.4 ). Nevertheless, this expectation is somehow misguided: The enthymeme is different from other kinds of dialectical arguments insofar as it is used in the rhetorical context of public speech (and rhetorical arguments are called ‘enthymemes’); thus, no further formal or qualitative differences are needed.

However, in the rhetorical context there are two factors that the dialectician has to keep in mind if she wants to become a rhetorician too, and if the dialectical argument is to become a successful enthymeme. First, the typical subjects of public speech do not—like the subjects of dialectic and theoretical philosophy—belong to the things that are necessarily the case, but are among those things that are the goal of practical deliberation and can also be otherwise. Second, as opposed to well-trained dialecticians, the audience of a public speech is characterized by an intellectual insufficiency; above all, the members of a jury or assembly are not accustomed to following a longer chain of inferences. Therefore, enthymemes must not be as precise as a scientific demonstration and should be shorter than ordinary dialectical arguments. This, however, is not to say that the enthymeme is defined by incompleteness and brevity. Rather, it is a sign of a well-executed enthymeme that the content and the number of its premises are adjusted to the intellectual capacities of the public audience; but even an enthymeme that failed to incorporate these qualities would still be an enthymeme.

In a well-known passage ( Rhet. I.2, 1357a7–18; similar: Rhet. II.22, 1395b24–26), Aristotle says that the enthymeme often has few or even fewer premises than some other deductions ( sullogismoi) . Since most interpreters refer the word ‘ sullogismos ’ to the syllogistic theory (see the entry on Aristotle: logic ), according to which a proper deduction has exactly two premises, those lines have led to the widespread understanding that Aristotle defines the enthymeme as a sullogismos in which one of two premises has been suppressed, i.e., as an abbreviated, incomplete syllogism. But certainly the passages mentioned do not attempt to give a definition of the enthymeme, nor does the word ‘ sullogismos ’ necessarily refer to deductions with exactly two premises. Properly understood, both passages are about the selection of appropriate premises, not about logical incompleteness. The remark that enthymemes often have few or fewer premises concludes the discussion of two possible mistakes the orator could make ( Rhet . I.2, 1357a7–10): One can draw conclusions from things that have previously been deduced or from things that have not been deduced yet. The latter method is unpersuasive, for the premises are not accepted, nor have they been introduced. The former method is problematic, too: if the orator has to introduce the needed premises by another deduction, and the premises of this pre-deduction too, etc., one will end up with a long chain of deductions. Arguments with several deductive steps are common in dialectical practice, but one cannot expect the audience of a public speech to follow such long arguments. This is why Aristotle says that the enthymeme is and should be from fewer premises.

Supplement on The Brevity of the Enthymeme

Just as there is a difference between real and apparent or fallacious deductions in dialectic, we have to distinguish between real and apparent or fallacious enthymemes in rhetoric. The topoi for real enthymemes are given in chapter II.23, for fallacious enthymemes in chapter II.24. The fallacious enthymeme pretends to include a valid deduction, while it actually rests on a fallacious inference.

Further, Aristotle distinguishes between enthymemes taken from probable ( eikos ) premises and enthymemes taken from signs ( sêmeia ). ( Rhet . I.2, 1357a32–33). In a different context, he says that enthymemes are based on probabilities, examples, tekmêria (i.e., proofs, evidences), and signs ( Rhet . II.25, 1402b12–14). Since the so-called tekmêria are a subclass of signs and the examples are used to establish general premises, this is only an extension of the former classification. (Note that neither classification interferes with the idea that premises have to be accepted opinions: with respect to the signs, the audience must believe that they exist and accept that they indicate the existence of something else, and with respect to the probabilities, people must accept that something is likely to happen.) However, it is not clear whether this is meant to be an exhaustive typology. That most of the rhetorical arguments are taken from probable premises (“For the most part it is true that …” “It is likely that …”) is due to the typical subjects of public speech, which are rarely necessary. When using a sign-argument or sign-enthymeme we do not try to explain a given fact; we just indicate that something exists or is the case: “… anything such that when it is another thing is, or when it has come into being, the other has come into being before or after, is a sign of the other’s being or having come into being.” ( Prior Analytics II.27, 70a7ff.). But there are several types of sign-arguments too; Aristotle offers the following examples:

Sign-arguments of type (i) and (iii) can always be refuted, even if the premises are true; that is to say that they do not include a valid deduction ( sullogismos ); Aristotle calls them asullogistos (non-deductive). Sign-arguments of type (ii) can never be refuted if the premise is true, since, for example, it is not possible that someone has fever without being ill, or that someone has milk without having given birth, etc. This latter type of sign-enthymemes is necessary and is also called tekmêrion (proof, evidence). Now, if some sign-enthymemes are valid deductions and some are not, it is tempting to ask whether Aristotle regarded the non-necessary sign-enthymemes as apparent or fallacious arguments. However, there seems to be a more attractive reading: We accept a fallacious argument only if we are deceived about its logical form. But we could regard, for example, the inference “She is pregnant, since she is pale” as a good and informative argument, even if we know that it does not include a logically necessary inference. So it seems as if Aristotle didn’t regard all non-necessary sign-arguments as fallacious or deceptive; but even if this is true, it is difficult for Aristotle to determine the sense in which non-necessary sign-enthymemes are valid arguments, since he is bound to the alternatives of deduction and induction, and neither class seems appropriate for non-necessary sign-arguments.

7. The Topoi

Generally speaking, an Aristotelian topos (‘place’, ‘location’) is an argumentative scheme that enables a dialectician or rhetorician to construe an argument for a given conclusion. The first comprehensive and systematic collection of topoi is given in Aristotle’s treatise Topics . Still, the use of so-called topoi or ‘ loci communes ’ can be traced back to early rhetoricians such as Protagoras, Gorgias (cp. Cicero, Brutus , 46–48) and Isocrates. But while in earlier rhetoric a topos was mostly understood as a complete, pre-fabricated pattern or formula that can be mentioned at a certain stage of the speech to produce a certain effect, most of the Aristotelian topoi , in particular most of the dialectical topoi of the Topics , are general instructions saying that a conclusion of a certain form can be derived from premises of a certain form; and because of this ‘formal’, ‘semi-formal’ or, at least topic-neutral character of Aristotle’s dialectical topoi , one topos can be used to construe several different arguments or arguments about different contents. Aristotle’s treatise Topics lists some hundred topoi for the construction of dialectical arguments. These lists of topoi form the core of the method by which the dialectician should be able to formulate deductions on any problem that could be proposed. Most of the instructions that the Rhetoric gives for the composition of enthymemes are also organized as lists of topoi ; especially the first book of the Rhetoric essentially consists of topoi concerning the subjects of the three genres of public speech (See Rhet. I.5–14), while chapters 23–24 of the second book of the Rhetoric provide lists of generally applicable topoi .

It is striking that the work that is almost exclusively dedicated to the collection of topoi , the book Topics , does not even make an attempt to define the concept of topos . At any rate the Rhetoric gives a sort of defining characterization: “I call the same thing element and topos ; for an element or a topos is a heading under which many enthymemes fall” ( Rhet. 1403a18–19). By ‘element’ Aristotle does not mean a proper part of the enthymeme, but rather a general scheme under which many concrete enthymemes of the same type can be subsumed. According to this definition, the topos is a general argumentative scheme or pattern, and the concrete arguments are instantiations of the general topos . That the topos is a general instruction from which several arguments can be derived is crucial for Aristotle’s understanding of an artful method of argumentation; for a teacher of rhetoric who makes his pupils learn ready samples of arguments would not be imparting the art itself to them, but only the products of this art, just as if someone pretending to teach the art of shoe-making only gave samples of already made shoes to his pupils (see Sophistical Refutations 183b36ff.).

The word ‘ topos ’ (place, location) most probably is derived from an ancient method of memorizing a great number of items on a list by associating them with successive places one is acquainted with, say the houses along a street. By recalling the houses along the street we can also remember the associated items (on this mnemonic technique see Sorabji 2004, 22–34). Full descriptions of this technique from antiquity can be found in Cicero, De Oratore II 86–88, 351–360, Auctor ad Herennium III 16–24, 29–40 and in Quintilian, Institutio XI 2, 11–33. In Topics 163b28–32, Aristotle seems to allude to this technique: “For just as in the art of remembering, the mere mention of the places instantly makes us recall the things, so these will make us more apt at deductions through looking to these defined premises in order of enumeration.” Aristotle also alludes to this technique in On the soul 427b18–20, On Memory 452a12–16, and On Dreams 458b20–22.

But although the name ‘ topos ’ may be derived from this mnemotechnical context, Aristotle’s use of topoi does not rely on the technique of places. At least within the system of the book Topics , every given problem must be analyzed in terms of certain linguistic, semantic or logical criteria: Does the predicate of the sentence in question ascribe a genus or a definition or peculiar or accidental properties to the subject? Does the sentence express a sort of opposition, either contradiction or contrariety, etc.? Does the sentence express that something is more or less the case? Does it maintain identity or diversity? Are the words used linguistically derived from words that are part of an accepted premise? Depending on such criteria of the analyzed sentence one has to refer to a fitting topos . For this reason, the succession of topoi in the book Topics is organized in accordance with their salient linguistic, semantic or logical criteria; above all topoi presented in Books II–VII of this treatise are structured in accordance with the four so-called ‘predicables’, i.e. whether a predicate signifies the genus, an accident, a proprium (peculiar attribute) or the definition of the subject. This structure suggests that no additional mnemotechnique is essentially involved. Besides all this, there is at least one passage in which the use of the word ‘ topos ’ can be explained without referring to the previously mentioned mnemotechnique: In Topics VIII.1, 155b4–5 Aristotle says: “we must find the location ( topos ) from which to attack”, where the word ‘ topos ’ is obviously used to mean a starting point for attacking the theses of the opponents.

More or less the same might apply to the Rhetoric —except that most of its lists of topoi are structured by certain contents and not by linguistic, semantic or logical criteria; moreover, the system of the four ‘predicables’ that structured the topoi in the Topics is absent from the Rhetoric (see below § 7.4 ).

A typical topos in Aristotle’s dialectic runs as follows: “Again, if the accident of a thing has a contrary, see whether it belongs to the subject to which the accident in question has been declared to belong: for if the latter belongs, the former could not belong; for it is impossible that contrary predicates should belong at the same time to the same thing” ( Topics 113a20–24). Like most topoi , it includes (i) a sort of general instruction (“see, whether …”); further it mentions (ii) an argumentative scheme—in the given example, the scheme ‘if the accidental predicate p belongs to the subject s , then the opposed P * cannot belong to s too’. Finally, the topos refers to (iii) a general rule or principle (“for it is impossible, …”) which justifies the given scheme. Other topoi often include the discussion of (iv) examples; still other topoi suggest (v) how to apply the given schemes.—Though these are elements that regularly occur in Aristotelian topoi , there is nothing like a standard form with which all topoi conform. Often Aristotle is very brief and leaves it to the reader to add the missing elements.

In a nutshell, the function of a topos can be explained as follows. First of all, one has to select an apt topos for a given conclusion. The conclusion is either a thesis of the opponent that someone wishes to refute, or it is the assertion someone wishes to establish or defend. Accordingly, there are two uses of topoi : they can either prove or disprove a given sentence; some can be used for both purposes, others for only one of them. In Aristotle’s dialectic, most topoi are topic-neutral and need hence be selected by certain linguistic, semantic or logical features of the given conclusion; if, for example, the conclusion maintains a definition, one has to select a topos from a list of topoi pertaining to definitions, etc. Once the dialectician or rhetorician has selected a topos that is appropriate for a given conclusion, the topos can be used to construe a premise from which the given conclusion can be derived. If for example the argumentative scheme is ‘If a predicate is generally true of a genus, then the predicate is also true of any species of that genus’, we can derive the conclusion ‘the capacity of nutrition belongs to plants’ using the premise ‘the capacity of nutrition belongs to all living things’, since ‘living thing’ is the genus of the species ‘plants’. If the construed premise is accepted, either by the opponent in a dialectical debate or by the audience of a public speech, we can draw the intended conclusion. In the Rhetoric though the situation is slightly different (see below § 7.4 ), because here the topic-neutral type of topoi that was prevalent in the Topics seems to play a secondary role. Many topoi of the Rhetoric seem to be rather ‘material’ in the sense that they are only useful for establishing conclusions of a certain content; this is why the appropriate topos here cannot be selected by formal criteria, but must be chosen in accordance with the content of the envisaged conclusion—whether, for example, something is said to be useful or honourable or just, etc.

It has been disputed whether the topos (or, more precisely, the ‘if …, then …’ scheme that is included in a topos ) that we use to construe an argument must itself be regarded as a further premise of the argument. It could be either, as some say, the premise of a propositional scheme such as the modus ponens, or, as others assume, as the conditional premise of a hypothetical syllogism. Aristotle himself does not favour one of these interpretations explicitly. But even if he regarded the topoi as additional premises in a dialectical or rhetorical argument, it is beyond any doubt that he did not use them as premises that must be explicitly mentioned or even approved by the opponent or audience.

Even though there are good reasons for thinking that the nature and use of topoi in Aristotle’s Rhetoric are based on his elaborate account of dialectical topoi in the Topics (see above § 7.2 and § 7.3 ), commentators are faced with the difficulty that the use of the word ‘ topos ’ in Aristotle’s Rhetoric is much more heterogeneous than in the Topics . Beside topoi which do perfectly comply with the description given in the Topics , there is an important group of topoi in the Rhetoric that are not topic-neutral and hence do not contain instructions for arguments of a certain logical form, but rather with a certain predicate (for example, that something is good, or honourable, or just, or contributes to happiness, etc.). While those latter ‘material’ topoi so to speak are, after all, used to construe arguments, there are also mentions of so-called ‘ topoi ’ in the context of the non-argumentative means of persuasion, which might be taken as procedural instructions, but no longer seem to be concerned with the construction of arguments, which was the one and only function of dialectical topoi .

Supplement on the Variety of Topoi in the Rhetoric

In addition to the more heterogenous use of the word ‘ topos ’ in the Rhetoric (which might originate from Aristotle’s attempt to combine his own dialectical use of the term with more traditional rhetorical uses), there is the problem of the controversial distinction in Rhet. I.2, 1358a2–35 between topoi (which are understood to be general/common) on the one hand and certain specific devices ( idia ) on the other. While Aristotle seems inclined to call the general or common topoi simply ‘ topoi ’, he uses several names for the opposing, specific items (e.g. idiai protaseis , idia , eidê ). This distinction has a major impact on the structure of the Rhetoric as a whole (see above § 2 ), in that it is responsible for the occurence of ‘specific’ instructions, premises, ‘ topoi ’ or whatever in the bulk of the first book and the occurence of ‘common’ topoi in the second part of the second book. Traditionally, this distinction has been understood as a division between general/common topoi on the one hand and specific topoi on the other (the traditional view has been defended among others by Cope 1877 and Rapp 2002). However, it is unclear (i) what the opposition between general/common and specific refers to, (ii) where in the Rhetoric the common topoi can be found and (iii) whether the distinction is meant to be a distinction between topoi in the first place, since even though Aristotle distinguishes topoi that are common from specific ( idia ) rhetorical devices, he never explicitly uses the phrase ‘specific topoi ’, as one might expect on the traditional reading.

As for (i), Aristotle points out in Rhet. I.2 that some things are specific to physics, others to ethics, etc. This seems to suggest a distinction between topoi (or other building blocks of arguments) that are peculiar to the different sciences on the one hand and other topoi that are not, but are instead applicable to all sciences and fields of knowledge alike—just as (most of) the dialectical topoi of the Topics are. However, from Rhet. I.3 on, Aristotle makes the readers think, by contrast, that ‘specific’ refers to the different genres of rhetoric, so that some topoi are specific to deliberative, others to epideictic, and still others to juridical speech. Correspondingly, this would require a sense of being‘common’ that boils down to saying that they are not specific to one single species of speech, but that does not amount to the topic-neutrality of the dialectical topoi .

With regard to (ii), it is generally agreed that the specific topoi can be found in the first book of the Rhetoric and the common topoi in the second. Most commentators assume that all common topoi are listed in chapters II.23–24 (real enthymemes in II.23, fallacious enthymemes in II.24). However, it is less common to count the items listed in II.19 (about the possible/impossible, past and future facts, significance and insignificance) as common topoi , which might be due to the controversy mentioned in (i) about the required sense of being ‘common’, for the topoi in II.19 are applicable to all genres of speech, but are most probably not common in the way the dialectical topoi are. In addition, it is important to notice that even chapter II.23, which is undisputedly dedicated to common topoi , is a mixed bag, for it includes some topoi , especially in the first third of the chapter, that, being topic-neutral, thoroughly correspond to dialectical topoi and even might be generally applicable as the dialectical topoi are, while some other topoi mentioned in II.23 are quite different in style, as they are taken from extant historical speeches.

The most difficult debates are posed by (iii), as the traditional interpretation is based on some fragile assumptions. Not only does Aristotle never call the specific items ‘ topoi ’ by name, it is also significant that the specific items that are listed in Rhet. I.5-15 often have the form of mere propositions or premises rather than of topoi as we know them from the Topics (see above § 7.3 ). This is why several authors insist that the distinction between topoi , which are thought to be common, and idia is not a distinction between different types of topoi , but between topoi and something else, most notably premises, commonly accepted premises or premises established by the arts. This objection comes in several versions. (a) Several authors subscribed to the view of Solmsen 1929 that there are two types of enthymemes, respresenting different stages in the development of Aristotle’s logical thinking insofar as some are taken from topoi (deriving from Aristotle’s early- pre-syllogistic logic) and some are built from premises through the figures of the syllogism (thus presupposing syllogistic logic), not from topoi . According to this view, the specific topoi given in the first book of the Rhetoric are the premises of the latter type of enthymemes, and the enthymemes of the former type are taken only from common topoi . From this point of view, only common topoi would be topoi in the proper sense, while specific topoi would be, strictly speaking, nothing but premises. Accordingly, one would expect to find propositions of the form “All F are just/noble/good” in the first book of the Rhetoric ; with such propositions one could construe syllogisms like “All F are just/noble/good—This particular x is F —This particular x is just/noble/good.” Against Solmsen it has been objected that what one actually gets in the first book hardly fits Solmsen’s model. In some sense one finds more than the required premises in that Aristotle gives here not only isolated propositions, but also certain propositions together with a reason or a justification. Furthermore, chapters I.6–7 of the Rhetoric offer topoi which can also be found in the third book of Topics ; in the Topics they are clearly called ‘ topoi ’, so that there is less pressure to think that they are premises rather than topoi . (b) Grimaldi 1958 requires that in order to build a rhetorical argument one needs the logical form of an argument provided by the topoi plus the material (content) provided by the specific premises or idia . A more refined version of this ‘complementarity’-view has been suggested by Rubinelli 2009, who, however, also allows of the possibility that some enthymemes are taken only from the topoi , while others are only taken from the idia . Against Grimaldi’s view it is has been objected that many of the common topoi listed in chapters II.23–24 are not based on linguistic, semantic or logical categories as the topic-neutral topoi of the Topics are. Some of them only offer strategic advice, for example, to turn what has been said against oneself upon the one who said it. For this reason, it would be misleading to interpret the common topoi of the Rhetoric as providing logical schemes of inference. (c) Havrda 2019 has attacked the presuppositions of the traditional view, but does not settle for the alternatives suggested by Solmsen, Grimaldi or Rubinelli either. According to him, Aristotle never distinguishes between common and specific topoi . Rather, he distinguishes between two different sources of rhetorical deductions; one source, the dialectical one, uses topoi , while the other, which is based on definitions provided by arts and sciences, does not.

8. Style: How to Say Things with Words

Rhet. III.1–12 introduces the topic of lexis , usually translated as ‘style’. This topic was not announced until the final passage of Rhetoric II, so that most scholars have come to think of this section as a more or less self-contained treatise. The insertion of this treatise into the Rhetoric is motivated by the claim that, while Rhetoric I & II dealt with thought (dianoia), i.e., about what the orator should say, it remains to inquire into the various ways of saying or formulating one and the same thing. In the course of Rhetoric III.1–12 it turns out that Aristotle tackles this task by using some quite heterogeneous approaches. After an initial exploration of the field of delivery and style (III.1) Aristotle tries to determine what good prose style consists in; for this purpose he has to go into the differentiation and the selection of various kinds of nouns, one of which is defined as metaphor (III.2). The following chapters III.3–6 feature topics that are at best loosely connected with the theme of good prose style; among these topics is the opposite of good style, namely frigid or deterring style ( psuchron ) (III.3), the simile, which turns out to be connected with the metaphor (III.4), the issue of correct Greek (III.5), the appropriateness (III.7) and the means by which one’s style becomes long-winded and dignified (III.6). Chapters III.8–9 introduce two new approaches to the issue of style, which seem to be unrelated to everything that has been said so far: These are the topics of the rhythmical shaping of prose style and of periodic and non-periodic flow of speech. Chapters III.10–11 are dedicated to how the orator can ‘bring things before one’s eyes’, which amounts to something like making the style more vivid. Again metaphors are shown to play a crucial role for that purpose, so that the topic of metaphor is taken up again and deepened by extended lists of examples. Chapter III.12 seems to make a new start by distinguishing between oral and written style and assessing their suitability for the three genres of speech (see above §2 ). The philosophical core of Aristotle’s treatise on style in Rhetoric III.1–12 seems to be included in the discussion of the good prose style (see below §8.1 ), however it is the topic of metaphor (see below §8.2 ) that has attracted the most attention in the later reception up to the present day.

Originally the discussion of style belongs to the art of poetry rather than to rhetoric; the poets were the first, as Aristotle observes, to give an impulse for the study of style. Nevertheless he admits that questions of style or, more precisely, of different ways to formulate the same subject, may have an impact on the degree of clarity: “What concerns the topic of lexis , however, has some small necessary place in all teaching; for to speak in one way rather than another makes some difference in regard to clarity; although not a great difference…” ( Rhet. III.1, 1404a8–10). Clarity again matters for comprehension and comprehensibility contributes to persuasiveness. Indeed Aristotle even claims that the virtue or excellence ( aretê ) of prose style ultimately depends on clarity, because it is the genuine purpose of a speech is to make something clear. In prose speeches, the good formulation of a state of affairs must therefore be a clear one. However, saying this is not yet enough to account for the best or excellent prose style, since clear linguistic expressions tend to be banal or flat, while good style should avoid such banality. If the language becomes too banal it will not be able to attract the attention of the audience. The orator can avoid this tendency of banality by the use of dignified or elevated expressions and in general by all formulations that deviate from common usage. On the one hand, uncommon vocabulary has the advantage of evoking the curiosity of an audience. On the other hand the use of such elevated vocabulary bears a serious risk: Whenever the orator makes excessive use of it, the speech might become unclear, thus failing to meet the default requirement of prose speech, namely clarity. Moreover, if the vocabulary becomes too sublime or dignified in relation to prose’s subject matter (Aristotle assumes it is mostly everyday affairs), the audience will notice that the orator uses his words with a certain intention and will become suspicious about the orator and his intentions. Hitting upon the right wording is therefore a matter of being clear, but not too banal; In trying not to be too banal, one must use uncommon, dignified words and phrases, but one must be careful not to use them excessively or inappropriately in relation to prose style and the typical subject matter of prose speeches.

Bringing all these considerations together, Aristotle defines the good prose style, i.e. the virtue of prose style, as follows: “Let the virtue of linguistic form be defined as being clear, for since the logos is a (linguistic, sc.) sign, it would fail to bring about its proper function, whenever it does not make clear (whatever it is the sign of, sc.)—and neither banal/mean/flat ( tapeinên ) nor above the deserved dignity, but appropriate ( prepon )” ( Rhet. III.2, 1404b1–4; similar at III.12, 1414a22–26). According to this definition, the virtue of prose style has to avoid two opposed tendencies, both of which are excessive and therefore fallacious: The good style is clear in a way that is neither too banal nor too dignified, but appropriate (in proportion to the subject matter of prose speech). In this respect the definition of stylistic virtue follows the same scheme as the definition of ethical virtues in Aristotle’s ethical writings, insofar as both the stylistic virtue and the virtue of character are defined in terms of a mean that lies between two opposed excesses. If the virtue of style is defined as a mean between the banality involving form of clarity and overly dignified (and hence inappropriate) speech, it is with good reason that Aristotle speaks of only one virtue of prose style, and not of clarity, ornament (by dignified expressions) and appropriateness as three distinct virtues of style. However, from the times of Cicero and Quintilianus on, these three, along with the correctness of Greek or Latin, became the canonical four virtues of speech ( virtutes dicendi ). Reading Aristotle through the spectacles of the Roman art of rhetoric, scholars often try to identify two, three or four virtues of style in his Rhetoric .

Finally, if the virtue of style is about finding a balance between banal clarity, which is dull, and attractive dignity, which is inappropriate in public speeches, how can the orator manage to control the different degrees of clarity and dignity? For this purpose Aristotle equips the orator with a classification of words (more or less the same classification can also be found in Poetics chapter 21): First of all Aristotle distinguishes between the kuria onamata , the standard expressions, and the glôtta , the borrowed words, idioms or vernacular expressions. Most examples that Aristotle gives of this latter class are taken from the different Greek dialects, and most examples of this type are in turn taken from the language of the Homeric epos. Further classes are defined by metaphors and by several expressions that are somehow altered or modified, e.g., newly coined expressions ( pepoiêmena ), composite expressions (especially new or unusual compositions ( ta dipla )), and lengthened, shortened or otherwise altered expressions. Sometimes Aristotle also uses the term kosmos under which he collects all epithets and otherwise ornamental expressions. These different types of words differ in accordance with their familiarity. Most familiar are the usual or current words, the least familiar words are the glôtta or words that are newly coined. The metaphors are also unknown and unusual, because a usual, well-known word is used to designate something other than its usual designation (see below §8.2 ). The best established words, the kuria , make their subject clear, but do not excite the audience’s curiosity, whereas all other types of words are not established, and hence have the sort of attraction that alien or foreign things used to have. Since remote things are admirable ( thaumaston ) and the admirable is pleasant, Aristotle says, one should make the speech admirable and pleasant by the use of such unfamiliar words. However one has to be careful not to use inappropriately dignified or poetic words in prose speech. Thus the virtue of style is accomplished by the selection and balanced use of these various types of words: Fundamental for prose speech is the use of usual and therefore clear words. In order to make the speech pleasant and dignified and in order to avoid banality the orator must make moderate use of non-familiar elements. Metaphor plays an important role for prose style, since metaphors contribute, as Aristotle says, clarity as well as the unfamiliar, surprising effect that avoids banality and tediousness.

According to Aristotle Poetics 21, 1457b9–16 and 20–22, a metaphor is “the application of an alien name by transference either from genus to species, or from species to genus, or from species to species, or by analogy, that is, proportion”. These four types are exemplified as follows:

Most of the examples Aristotle offers for types (i) to (iii) would not be regarded as metaphors in the modern sense; rather they would fall under the headings of metonomy or synecdoche. The examples offered for type (iv) are more like modern metaphors. Aristotle himself regards the metaphors of group (iv), which are built from analogy, as the most important type of enthymemes. An analogy is given if the second term is to the first as the fourth to the third. Correspondingly, an analogous metaphor uses the fourth term for the second or the second for the fourth. This principle can be illustrated by the following Aristotelian examples:

Examples (a) and (b) obey the optional instruction that metaphors can be qualified by adding the term to which the proper word is relative (cp. “the shield of Ares ,” “the evening of life ”). In example (c), there is no proper name for the thing that the metaphor refers to. In example (d) the relation of analogy is not, as in the other cases, indicated by the domain to which an item is referred to, but by a certain negation (for example “without name”); the negations make clear that the term is not used in its usual sense.

Metaphors are closely related to similes; but as opposed to the later tradition, Aristotle does not define the metaphor as an abbreviated simile, but, the other way around, the simile as a metaphor. The simile differs from the metaphor in the form of expression: while in the metaphor something is identified or substituted, the simile compares two things with each other, using words as “like,” “as”, etc. For example, “He rushed as a lion” is, according to Aristotle, a simile, but “The lion rushed” is a metaphor.

While in the later tradition the use of metaphors has been seen as a matter of mere decoration, which has to delight the hearer, Aristotle stresses the cognitive function of metaphors. Metaphors, he says, bring about learning ( Rhet. III.10, 1410b14f.). In order to understand a metaphor, the hearer has to find something common between the metaphor and the thing the metaphor refers to. For example, if someone calls the old age “stubble”, we have to find a common genus to which old age and stubble belong; we do not grasp the very sense of the metaphor until we find that both, old age and stubble, have lost their bloom. Thus, a metaphor not only refers to a thing, but simultaneously describes the thing in a certain respect. This is why Aristotle says that the metaphor brings about learning: as soon as we understand why someone uses the metaphor “stubble” to refer to old age, we have learned at least one characteristic of old age.

Accepted opinions: endoxa
Argument: logos
Art: technê
Character: êthos
Counterpart: antistrophos
Credible: axiopistos
Decision (practical): prohairesis
Deduction: sullogismos
Emotions: pathê
Enthymeme: enthumêma
Example: paradeigma
For the most part: hôs epi to polu
Induction ( epagôgê )
Judgement: krisis
Location: topos (an argumentative scheme)
Maxim: gnômê
Means of persuasion: pistis (in pre-Aristotelian use this word also designates a certain part of the speech)
Metaphor: metaphora
Persuasive: pithanon
Place: topos (an argumentative scheme)
Practical intelligence: phronêsis
Premise: protasis (can also mean ‘sentence’, statement’)
Probable: eikos
Proof: apodeixis (in the sense of ‘demonstrative argument, demonstration’)
Proof: tekmêrion (i.e. a necessary sign or sign argument)
Sign: sêmeion (can also mean ‘sign argument’)
Style: lexis
Specific topoi : idioi topoi (Aristotle refers to them also by ‘ idiai protaseis ’ or ‘ eidê ’)
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–––, 2018. “Aristotle and the Dialectical Turn of Rhetoric,” in Demetra Sfendoni-Mentzou (ed.), Aristotle — Contemporary Perspectives on his Thought. On the 2400th Anniversary of Aristotle’s Birth , Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter 223–236.
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Library of Congress Catalog Data: ISSN 1095-5054

– An Open Forum for Classics

Two Concepts of Free Speech, from Classical Athens to Today’s Campus

James Kierstead

As the Oxford political theorist Teresa Bejan reminded us a few years ago now in The Atlantic , the Greeks had two concepts of free speech . The first, isēgoriā (ἰσηγορία) could more literally be translated ‘equality of public speech’, whereas the second, parrhēsiā (παρρησία), is more directly focussed on the license to say whatever you want: the prefix comes from pās (πᾶς), ‘all’ or ‘everything’, so that parrhēsiā is,at root, the freedom to say anything.

Bejan argued that we risk misunderstanding today’s deplatformers and anti-free-speech campaigners unless we realize that they’re more concerned about isēgoriā than parrhēsiā. “What they care about,” writes Bejan, “is the equal right to speech, and equal access to a public forum in which the historically marginalized and excluded can be heard and count equally with the privileged.” Bejan thinks that a convincing defence of parrhēsiā on college campuses can and should be mounted, but only if we reconnect with the egalitarianism that she thinks undergirds both isēgoriā and parrhēsiā .

I’m basically in agreement with Bejan on this – that “the alternative” to defending expressive liberty “is to allow the powers-that-happen-to-be to grant that liberty as a license to some individuals while denying it to others.” But I also think there’s more that we can get out of the Classical Greeks’ two concepts of free speech, especially if we go back to the world they emerged from and examine the ways in which they were used and the spaces they were associated with. Once we do that, we should be in a position to develop a more nuanced conception of which types of speech norms should be encouraged or defended in different contexts. Isēgoriā , I will argue, does have its claims in certain spaces, and it does make sense to encourage it in the seminar room in particular. But it’s parrhēsiā that we will ultimately need to defend if we want to keep free speech alive, within the academy and in society as a whole.

Even before Athens’ Classical democracy was up and running, parrhēsiā and isēgoriā had emerged from slightly different contexts. Parrhēsiā was particularly associated with a tradition of satirical poetry written in iambs and often aimed at tyrants , the sole rulers who came to power in a clutch of city-states across the Greek world in the 6 th century BC. Isēgoriā , by contrast, had long been associated with formal political bodies such as assemblies and councils, and with the ability of every man who qualified for them to have his say on the affairs of the polis (πόλις, city-state) on an equal basis with his peers.

These historical differences carried on into the Classical period, with the two values always being associated with slightly different spaces and institutions. According to his student Plato, Socrates expressed puzzlement about why the Athenians only listened to experts when it came to things like ship-building, but were willing to listen to any man – including poor and low-born men such as shoe-makers and carpenters – when it came to making decisions about the direction of the city-state. Demosthenes stresses that it’s in the Athenians’ own interest to listen to everyone who wants to offer advice, because that will mean they have a variety of proposals to choose from. Both of these passages show the importance that the ideal of equal public speech – isēgoriā – had in the Assembly, the most important decision-making body in democratic Athens.

P arrhēsiā , for its part, was more likely to be found as part of ordinary social life: the philosopher and orator Isocrates, for instance, describes it as having an important part to play in education, since it allows the sort of honest feedback from acquaintances which can help a man improve himself. Unlike isēgoriā , parrhēsiā didn’t really flourish in the formal political institutions that ran the democratic city-state; but it did flourish in the theatre, especially the comic theatre.

That the comic theatre was a place where parrhēsiā thrived is something we hear from the ancient sources themselves. Isocrates complains (almost certainly inaccurately) that, even though Athens is a democracy, there is no parrhēsiā except “here in the assembly – for the most moronic and narcissistic people – and in the theatre for producers of comedy.” The legal speech-writer Lysias describes the defendant in one case as doing things that are too shameful to mention – “although you hear of them from the comic poets every year” ( Fragment 53 ). And in the ideal city of Plato’s Laws , comedy is regulated in order to keep kakēgoriā (‘bad public speech’) under control.

Nobody who’s seen or read the plays of Aristophanes will be surprised at this association between comedy and unhindered, sometimes even offensive, free speech. His eleven surviving plays – the only complete examples we have of the hard-hitting, no-holds-barred genre of ‘Old Comedy’ – are brimming with obscenities, both scatological and sexual. Actors wore an exaggerated paunch and an outsized phallus as part of their costumes, and acted out defecation and sexual acts on stage. Characters shifted from mock-tragic at one moment to broadly orgiastic the next, creating an effect that probably has its closest modern analogy in fast-moving, nothing-is-off-limits cartoons like South Park or Family Guy . And the plots can be similarly outlandish – a farmer who’s had enough of the Peloponnesian War drawing up his own private peace-treaty with Sparta ( Acharnians ); women bringing the war to an end through a coordinated sex-strike ( Lysistrata ); a man flying to the abode of the gods on a giant dung beetle ( Peace ).

Aristophanes’ plays were also bracingly political – here the modern analogy would be something like John Oliver’s or Bill Maher’s shows, though Aristophanes can be even more hard-hitting (and considerably more offensive). In a few passages where he seems to address his audience directly, Aristophanes appears to defend himself, claiming that what he was doing was helpful to the democracy he lived in. We don’t know exactly what the Athenians thought about that; but they didn’t seem to have any trouble with bawdy satire having a prominent place in their public culture. The Festival of Dionysus was, after all, a major civic and religious event, and a centrepiece of the Athenian festival calendar.

Why was this sort of unhindered free speech seen as salutary in democratic Athenian society? Perhaps because parrhēsiā , as a character in Euripides’ Suppliants implies , allowed the weaker members of society to have their say, permitting them to push back and hold their own against wealthier and more powerful citizens, if only every now and then. But parrhēsiā didn’t just help people lower down on the social hierarchy speak up against their supposed betters. It also allowed intellectuals to speak up against the reigning orthodoxies of the day. Socrates in Plato’s dialogue Gorgias , for example, encourages one of his interlocutors to speak frankly , adding that he is “clearly saying things now which others think, but don’t want to say out loud.” And Aristotle describes the “great-souled man” as “ a frank speaker ” ( parrhēsiastēs ), since “hiding things is characteristic of people who are afraid, and who care less for the truth than for opinion.”

These, then, were the Greeks’ two concepts of free speech, and what came to seem their natural habitats: isēgoriā , or equality of public speech, which was associated with formal political institutions and democratic deliberation; and parrhēsiā , the license to say anything, even (or especially) if it went against the current, which had its stronghold in the ribald comic theatre of playwrights like Aristophanes. Nobody would argue that the Athenians lived up to these ideals perfectly, and there are ongoing scholarly controversies about what the effective limits of free speech were in Athens – which was, we should bear in mind, a more traditional and religious society than our own. But my argument here isn’t that democratic Athens was a free-speech utopia that we should emulate in every respect. Rather, it’s that the Greeks’ two concepts of free speech can help us think about the contemporary debate about free speech in universities.

In some ways, this shouldn’t seem very radical, because isēgoriā , at least, is an ideal that would find a ready home in modern discourses about free speech, at least within the academy. One of the principles most often held up by recent theorists of liberal democracy is deliberation, in the somewhat technical sense of genuinely reasoned and open discussion. In one of the most well-known versions of this ideal, Jürgen Habermas’ “ideal speech situation,” the best sort of discussion is imagined as one in which everyone is able to propose or question any idea whatsoever, without feeling intimidated or coerced by anyone else. The idea that everyone should be equally able to have a say – isēgoriā , in other words – is obviously central.

And deliberative ideals of this sort are clearly something which have a place on college campuses, especially in classes and seminars. In these contexts we might well want to try to make sure everyone taking part in a discussion has a roughly equal chance to have a say. Most academic seminars, in any case, run on a series of implicit norms that the vast majority of participants are happy to go along with. These include waiting your turn to speak; not engaging in ad hominem attacks; and trying to express criticisms politely.

These kind of seminar norms aren’t a bad thing at all. Indeed, they clearly embody isēgoriā and related deliberative values in their concern for equality and for reasoned discourse. But these values can’t be the only ones informing the way we have conversations on campuses; still less can they be the only norms we have for speech outside of universities (not least because, though we academics are sometimes liable to forget it, not every conversation is a seminar). We also need to honour the unrestricted license to express ourselves, even in a way which rubs some people up the wrong way – which the Greeks called parrhēsiā. And, in fact, it’s parrhēsiā that has to be our bedrock free speech value, both on campus and off, if we’re going to preserve everyone’s right to have their say.

Why? Because even though sometimes everyone will be in agreement that something someone said was disrespectful, that won’t always be the case. People often disagree about whether something was impolite or not; and it can be easy to perceive or present something someone has said as disrespectful even when what has really bothered you isn’t the way they’ve expressed themselves but the content of what they’ve said. In other words, claims about respect, politeness, and so on, are easily weaponized against legitimate expression; and they’re especially easily weaponized in environments like contemporary universities, where an enormous political imbalance of academic and administrative staff effectively gives one side free rein to decide what counts as offensive and what doesn’t.

I sēgoriā and its modern descendants provide us with some excellent ideals to aspire to, but, short of a few minimal and practical measures such as banning direct personal abuse, it’ll never be possible to do away completely with complaints about people being disrespectful and impolite. These kinds of claims emerge virtually inevitably from conflict, and conflict is itself an inevitable feature of doing things together with other humans, who have an irritating tendency to look at the world in different ways – and to want to express these different perspectives.

We might still want to encourage the narrower set of values associated with isēgoriā in our classes and seminars. Personally, I believe we should. But the ease with which claims about disrespect can be employed to shut others up means that they shouldn’t form the basis of disciplinary procedures; instead, we should have formal rules that defend a much more generous notion of free expression.

In a previous attempt to formulate this idea, I suggested that universities should look to encourage civility as a soft norm , but also protect free speech via hard rules (for example, against scholars being sacked for ordinary political expression). Teresa Bejan is right that both of the Ancient Greek ideals we have looked at here are, at bottom, bound up with a commitment towards free and equal speech. Not all concepts of free speech are created equal, though, and the Greeks’ two concepts of free speech are different in significant ways. Ultimately, it’s the broader, more general claims of unrestricted free speech that we will have to defend if we want to have a hope of halting the gradual erosion of our expressive freedoms in our universities and beyond.

James Kierstead is Senior Lecturer in Classics at Victoria University of Wellington and the moderator of Heterodox Classics, a Heterodox Academy community.

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Speeches from Athenian Law

Edmund m. burke , coe college. [email protected].

The last few decades have witnessed a good deal of scholarly work on the complex fabric of Greek social history, along with a revitalized interest in Greek, particularly Athenian, law. In both enterprises the speeches of the Attic orators have been an essential resource, as somewhat more than a hundred forensic addresses have survived from the last century of the democracy (i.e., from roughly the 420s until the 320s BCE). Michael Gagarin designates his primary audience as “teachers of Athenian law and students and scholars wishing to learn about Athenian law” (vii). The principal audience for Andrew Wolpert and Konstantinos Kapparis is more explicitly the traditional undergraduate or graduate student interested in Athenian history (vi-vii). But with certain caveats, both volumes, as their editors/translators note, could be of use to students and teachers whether of law or history, not least as six of the fourteen speeches translated by Wolpert and Kapparis also appear in Gagarin’s volume of twenty-two.

In Speeches from Athenian Law , Gagarin has made selection from orations previously translated for the Oratory of Classical Greece series, for which he served as Series Editor, and has arranged these along with the original introductions and notes under four headings: I. Homicide and Assault (eight speeches), II. Status and Citizenship (four speeches), III. Family and Property (five speeches), and IV. Commerce and the Economy (five speeches). 1 The selection presents a fair cross section of the broad range of legal issues with which many individuals of means, whether living or doing business in Athens, might be concerned at one time or another in their lives, though students of Athenian law and society should also recognize that the poor who comprised nearly half the city’s citizen population are virtually absent from the extant corpus, so that any selection can provide us only with a fractional view of the workings of the law within Athenian society. 2

As his selection is meant primarily for those interested in Athenian law, Gagarin has done some editing of the original introductions and notes in order “to provide a sharper focus on law by reducing or eliminating material that is purely historical or otherwise non-legal” (vii). The introductions are informative and to the point, and the notes are helpful particularly in elucidating ambiguities in the Greek or providing brief explanation of an Athenian institution or practice noted in the text. In almost all instances, the translations themselves are the same as they were originally; the handful of changes are quite minor, corrections in matters of detail or to achieve consistency in style. At the same time, there are, as Gagarin observes, some inconsistencies among the translations, with different translators preferring one or another legitimate phrasing alternative for the original Greek. So, to use Gagarin’s example (vii), dikastai is by some translated as ‘judges’, by others ‘jurors’, and still others ‘dicasts’. For most readers—especially in light of Gagarin’s caveat —these inconsistencies will not impede understanding of any of the texts, though in the example chosen a fuller elaboration in the Introduction (on Trials) might have enriched understanding for the non-specialist of such distinctively Athenian issues as the manner in which juries were selected or the limited boundaries on juror demeanor during trial.

As for the overall organization of the volume, the Introduction follows generally the format for the volumes in the Oratory of Classical Greece series, though here the issues of Government and Athenian Law are treated separately, and the section on Law is more sharply articulated. The analysis remains a model of succinctness and clarity. Thus, the thirteen pages are divided into six sections: I. Oratory, II. The Speeches (focusing on the preservation of the corpus), III. The Orators (with comment limited to the eight who appear in the volume), IV. Government (including sub-sections on Officials, The People, and The Liturgy System), V. Athenian Law (with sections on History, Judicial Organization, The Trial, Witnesses, Types of Procedure, and Laws), and the Conclusion (VI). Each of the four categories under which the twenty-two speeches are grouped has a brief introduction, a page or a bit more, summarizing the distinctive features of the Athenian norms and practices in question and how the speeches selected serve to illustrate these. Consistent generally with the volumes in the series, the Bibliography is quite select, and virtually all titles are in English. There is a general Index, but no Glossary (though Greek words and technical terms are glossed throughout the text).

One measure of the appropriateness of Gagarin’s selection is that roughly three-quarters of the speeches in the volume have appeared in other collections of Athenian forensic oratory in recent years. Thus, beyond the overlap with Wolpert and Kapparis noted above, ten of the fifteen speeches in Kathleen Freeman’s The Murder of Herodes and Other Trials from the Athenian Law Courts (first published in 1946, but reissued by Hackett in 1994) are repeated in Gagarin, as are a dozen of the seventeen speeches in Christopher Carey’s Trials from Classical Athens (London and New York 1997).

The fourteen speeches translated by Wolpert and Kapparis are arranged not by topic, but by ancient author in chronological order. Thus, there is a single speech by Antiphon, five from the Lysianic corpus, one by Isaeus, four by Demosthenes, two by Apollodoros, and a final one by Aeschines. 3 Six of the fourteen are unavailable in other recent collections.

The somewhat lengthier Introduction in Wolpert and Kapparis (ix-xxix) is devoted mostly to the law, the courts and the orators (sections 1, 3, 4, and 5), with a summary overview of Athenian politics and society (section 2). There is a brief but balanced list of recommended readings at the end of the Introduction, standard book-length studies or edited volumes. Each of the fourteen translations has a detailed introduction, with notes and a useful checklist of Key Information (providing, as the evidence permits, the name of the speaker, his opponent, the type of action, the court, the penalty, the verdict and the date when the speech was delivered), along with citation of the appropriate ancient sources as well as more recent secondary scholarship. There are ample notes to each of the translations, both elucidating ambiguities in the Greek and providing detailed information on Athenian institutions and practices, again with citation of appropriate scholarly literature. There is a useful Glossary, a rather more substantial Bibliography, and an Index.

The thirty-six translations of the two volumes are the work of ten different hands, so that comment on their character and quality necessarily will be broad. With Gagarin’s selection, a stated objective was that the translations be “up-to-date… and readable,” and despite the eight different hands at work in the volume, the translations consistently are lucid and contemporary, comporting with English idiom and usage. As they intended, Wolpert and Kapparis have in their translations remained “true to the Greek while making the speeches accessible to an English-speaking reader” (viii), and in this they have provided translations that generally are more literally faithful to the Greek and thus more attuned to the culturally embedded nuances of the language, but that can consequently strike the ear at times with a certain awkwardness. Thus, as illustration: in addressing the jurors of certain courts, the speaker would use the Greek word andres literally meaning ‘men’. And it is this literal translation that Wolpert and Kapparis elect, as in Lysias 1.1: “I would greatly appreciate it, men, for you to judge me in this trial, etc.” Stephen Todd, in Gagarin’s volume, translates andres as ‘gentlemen’, rendering the same phrase: “I should be very glad, gentlemen, if in this case, etc.” To readers accustomed to the American English commonplace “(ladies and) gentlemen of jury” Todd’s rendering of andres may sound more natural. But in a note, Wolpert justifies his literal rendering not only because ‘gentlemen’ may still possess a latent suggestion of class which the Greek andres does not, but more critically because the word ‘men’…“does draw attention to the importance of masculinity in Athenian ideology,” and then cites appropriate secondary literature (21, note 8). For the student of Greek social history especially, this literalness with its explanatory note enriches cultural nuance in fair trade against any awkwardness to the ear. Apart from these intended differences, the translations in both volumes are accurate, with ambiguities in the Greek regularly observed in the notes of each.

While Wolpert and Kapparis do not organize the speeches they have translated into categories, their fourteen translations do cover the same broad four areas of law and society as Gagarin, though in both volumes the legal and social issues explored extend significantly beyond these categories. But for students of law, particularly comparative law, there is benefit in the greater exposure provided by Gagarin to the varied manner in which litigants looked to persuade juries in the law’s application, in courtrooms where there were neither lawyers to make objection nor judges to direct from the bench. And for those students concerned with day-to-day law, matters of family and property are central, and here Gagarin provides five speeches, while Wolpert and Kapparis offer us one. For the undergraduate or graduate student of Greek history, on the other hand, nuance in the art of persuasion may be less immediately important than the ways in which a particular trial was a reflection of distinctively Athenian social values or political circumstance. And here, Wolpert and Kapparis in the somewhat fuller introductions to their translations, but especially in the detail of the notes throughout provide richer background information, not only in setting the context, but in summarizing the salient arguments, and commenting in detail on the important legal and historical phenomena exposed by the speech.

With both volumes there are some points about which to cavil. In Gagarin’s volume, there are, beyond the occasional inconsistency in translation noted earlier, some differences among the translators on matters of interpretation of Athenian law. Gagarin, as editor, has elected not to attempt resolution of these, “preferring to let the reader see that some features of Athenian law (indeed of any legal system) can be understood in different, even opposed ways” (viii). This editorial decision and justification have a cogency, though for the novice student of Athenian law or for the non-specialist scholar uninitiated in the law’s ambiguities, an editor’s specific comment and direction where such differences exist could prove helpful. So, e.g., in his translation of Antiphon 2.1.4, Gagarin observes in a note elaborating on the word kakourgos —literally an evil doer or criminal—that “The most serious street crime in Athens was lõpodusia or the theft of a cloak, a cloak being normally the most valuable possession a man had with him in public ” (my italics). Victor Bers, on the other hand, in the note to his translation at Demosthenes 54.3, observes that the stealing of a cloak “…would have been understood as a crime committed not to acquire a valuable object but to humiliate the victim ” (again, my italics). To Bers’ note, Gagarin, as editor, adds a cross reference to his own note at Antiphon 2.1.4. Thus, for the reader following the cross reference, the differences between the two translators are observed, but for the student of Athenian law there is no explanation for these differences in interpretation. Citation here of, e.g., David Cohen, Theft in Athenian Law (Munich 1983) 79-84 would have sent the interested student or non-specialist scholar in a right direction. Throughout, Gagarin has elected to keep editorial direction and documentation quite lean, a decision that valorizes the primacy of the text, but also one that has the potential periodically to frustrate the inquisitive non-specialist.

With Wolpert and Kapparis, there are a couple of points of minor complaint, somewhat related. Because their volume is intended primarily for students interested in Athenian history, the overview of politics and society in the Introduction might well have been developed separately and in greater detail, locating the reader more securely in the narrative of political events from the first decade of the Peloponnesian War to the wrangling over the city’s posture vis à vis Philip of Macedon. The circumstances that spawn litigation, though not invariably an immediate reflection of the historical narrative, often can acquire richer nuance when seen against the backdrop of that narrative. Also, as the translations are not organized by topic, the Preface might provide a somewhat fuller summary of the salient issues raised by the individual speeches (see vi- vii), allowing the reader lacking specific direction to decide more easily which speeches to read and in what order.

Both of these volumes succeed in their stated primary objectives. Despite grumblings over detail, and despite the overlap, each possesses merits that distinguish it from the other. For this reviewer, the decision by Gagarin to edit the historical and non-legal materials that were in the original translations makes his volume somewhat less useful to students of history than is Wolpert and Kapparis’s volume to their secondary audience of students of law, though it is the case that for students of law there is less in Wolpert and Kapparis on matters of family and property. Nonetheless, for teachers and students of Athenian law and Athenian social history, there is virtue in having available in English translation different resources of quality from which to make selection.

1 . For Homicide and Assault, the speeches are Antiphon 2: First Tetralogy; Antiphon 6: On the Chorus Boy; Antiphon 1: Against the Stepmother; Antiphon 5: On the Murder of Herodes; Lysias 1: On the Death of Eratosthenes; Demosthenes 54: Against Conon; Lysias 3: Against Simon; and Isocrates 20: Against Lochites. On Status and Citizenship they are Demosthenes 57: Appeal against Eubulides; Lysias 23: Against Pancleon; Demosthenes 59: Against Neaera; and Aeschines 1: Against Timarchus. On Family and Property include Isaeus 1: On the Estate of Cleonymus; Iseaus 7: On the Estate of Apollodoros; Isaeus 8: On the Estate of Ciron; Lysias 32: Against Diogeiton; and Demosthenes 27: Against Aphobos I. And on Commerce and the Economy the speeches are Demosthenes 55: Against Callicles; Hypereides 3: Against Athenogenes; Lysias 24: For the Disabled Man; Isocrates 17: Trapeziticus; and Demosthenes 35: Against Lacritus.

2 . A noteworthy exception is Lysias 24, included in both Gagarin and Wolpert and Kapparis, where a poor man argues to preserve his disability pension, though how this man was able to secure the services of a professional speechwriter such as Lysias remains a puzzle.

3 . These are Antiphon 6: On the Chorister; Lysias 1: On the Murder of Eratosthenes; 12: Against Eratosthenes; 16: For Mantitheus; 23: Against Pancleon; and 24: On the Suspension of the Benefit of the Disabled Man; Isaeus 12: On Behalf of Euphiletus; Demosthenes 21: Against Meidias; 32: Against Zenothemis; 41: Against Spudias; and 54: Against Conon; [Demosthenes] 53: Against Nicostratus; and [Demosthenes] 59: Against Neaera; and Aeschines 1: Against Timarchus.

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Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, Pythagoras, Heraclitus, and so many others… Ancient Greeks showcased a clear tendency toward philosophy, which emerged from their urge to understand the world around them as well as the meaning of life. Ancient Greek philosophy rose around the sixth century BC and continued to flourish throughout the Hellenistic period . This set the basis for the early development of different sciences, including astronomy, mathematics, physics, and biology.

B- Greek Orthodox Church

Most Greeks identify as Orthodox Christians and this highly influences the society as a whole. Nearly every Greek village has its own church, which also serves as a meeting point for the villagers. There are also plenty of chapels on top of mountains and on the edge of cliffs, offering spectacular views. If you have the chance to visit a Greek church or chapel, please feel free to do so regardless of your beliefs or religion. Just make sure to wear conservative clothing—no shorts or trousers, and not showing too much skin.

2. Family & Work

Greek culture values family, which is an integral part of the social structure in Greece. Family members develop very strong bonds—even members of the extended family can be found around the house. Children are expected to care for their elderly parents and usually live nearby (or even in the same house), even if they have their own family. Greeks tend to be very proud of their heritage, and the family offers psychological and economic support throughout their lives.

On the other hand, interactions in the workplace are similar to those of other European countries. Worklife normally involves eight-hour shifts five days a week. Many people are working or investing in the tourism sector , which is the most important industry in the country.

Nevertheless, Greece underwent a major economic crisis from 2007 to 2009, resulting in a dramatic reduction of the standard monthly wage. For the past several years, Greece has been taking consistent steps toward increasing the standard wage and creating a favorable economic environment for investments.

The arts thrived in Ancient Greece. Back then, minimalism was prominent—for example, thin lines and geometrical patterns were very popular. And this was just the start, since Greek civilization eventually gave birth to Western civilization. Even today, many Greek art pieces have managed to sneak their way into art-lovers’ hearts. Let’s explore some of the most famous Greek art pieces of all time!

A- Αρχιτεκτονική ( Arhitektonikí ) – “Architecture”

When you hear ‘Greek architecture,’ the first thing that probably comes to your mind is “The Parthenon” in the Acropolis of Athens. Indeed, η Ακρόπολη της Αθήνας ( i Akrópoli tis Athínas ), or “ the Acropolis of Athens ,” is an ancient town at the highest level of the city and it serves as the cornerstone of Greek architecture. People from all over the world come to Greece to admire it. We can say with all certainty that this is the most famous sample of Ancient Greek architecture .

Other, more contemporary pieces of Greek architecture are the traditional white houses with blue shades of the Greek Aegean islands. This is where the sea meets the sky. These homes are minimal and iconic at the same time.

B- Γλυπτική ( Gliptikí ) – “Sculpting”

Of all surviving art from Ancient Greece, the sculptures are most prominent today. Try finding a large museum in Europe with zero ancient Greek sculptures in it—believe me, it’s harder than it looks! Some of the most famous Greek sculptures include:

Ο δισκοβόλος ( O diskovólos ) – “Discobolus”
Το αέτωμα του Παρθενώνα ( To aétoma tu Parthenóna ) – “The Parthenon Frieze”
Η Νίκη της Σαμοθράκης ( I Níki tis Samothrákis ) – “Nike of Samothrace”

C- Ζωγραφική ( Zografikí ) – “Painting”

While painting did flourish in Ancient Greece, the natural substances that were used as paints faded over the years. As a result, the surviving collection of Greek paintings is a bit smaller.

One of the most important collections, which was able to withstand the wear and tear of time, consists of the Minoan frescoes . These pieces, painted on walls, mainly represent aspects of everyday Minoan life. To this day, you can admire some of the oldest samples of Greek painting within the Minoan Palace, as well as in the Heraklion Archaeological Museum .

In addition, you might have heard of these famous Greek painters:

Domenikos Theotokopoulos (El Greco)
Dimitris Mytaras
Nikolaos Gyzis
Yannis Tsarouchis
Nikos Hadjikyriakos-Ghikas
Yannis Moralis
Nikos Nikolaou
Nikos Engonopoulos
Panayiotis Tetsis
Alekos Fassianos
Theophanes the Greek

D- Λογοτεχνία ( Logotehnía ) & Ποίηση ( Píisi ) – “Literature & Poetry”

Greek literature dates back to the ancient times, spanning from 800 BC until today. Epic poems, such as Homer ’s Iliad and Odyssey , make up a great portion of early Greek literary masterpieces.

Later on, many Greek writers gained worldwide fame. One of the most important Greek writers was certainly Odysseas Elytis , a representative of romantic modernism who won a Nobel Prize in Literature in 1979. Before him, the prominent poet Giorgos Seferis made history in 1963 by becoming the first Greek to win the Nobel Prize. Seferis is largely known for his poems, many of which were influenced by Hellenism and his love for Greece. He also composed a few works of prose, most of which were published posthumously.

Poet C.P. Cavafy became famous worldwide for his poem Ιθάκη ( Itháki ), or “Ithaca,” and Dionysios Solomos is considered Greece’s national poet. The first two verses of Solomos’s poem Ύμνος εις την Ελευθερίαν ( Ímnos is tin Eleftherían ), or “Hymn to Freedom,” later became the national anthem of Greece and Cyprus.

Other famous Greek writers include:

Kostis Palamas
Penelope Delta
Alexandros Papadiamantis
Nikos Kazantzakis

E- Θέατρο ( Théatro ) – “Theatre”

Love of theatre is one of the most popular characteristics of Greek culture, and for good reason: the Greek culture is a theatrical one.

It all began with Ancient Greek drama, which consisted of two genres: tragedy and comedy. This form of theatre reached its peak around 500 BC. By the way, did you know that the word “tragedy” is derived from the Greek word τραγωδία ( tragodía )? Well, now that you do, let’s take a look at this unique form of performing arts.

Ancient Greeks thought highly of the power of speech. Therefore, they combined speech with movement and singing to create an influential form of drama. Most tragedies are based upon myths and their main characteristic is catharsis —the purification of emotions that spectators experience at some point during the performance.

The most famous playwrights of this genre were Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Many of their works are still being performed today in theatres of all kinds, even in Ancient Greek theatres.

However, Greek theatre wasn’t all about drama. Aristophanes was a famous Ancient Greek comic playwright, today considered to be the “Father of Comedy” and one of the best-known early satirists. Some of his most popular plays include The Women at the Thesmophoria Festival and The Frogs .

When you visit Greece, you should definitely search for any plays being performed in Ancient Greek theatres, such as Epidaurus or the Odeon of Herodes Atticus . It will be a unique experience in terms of location and acoustics. The summer is the best time to do this.

Oh, the Greek cuisine…!

Greek culture and food go hand in hand. When fresh vegetables meet local cheese , meat, and olive oil, something magical happens. Greek cuisine is an acknowledged representative of the broader Mediterranean cuisine . The most popular Greek dishes include:

παστίτσιο ( pastítsio )
μουσακάς ( musakás )
φασολάδα ( fasoláda )
γεμιστά ( yemistá )
σουβλάκι ( suvláki )

In Greece, you can taste all of the above at nearly any ταβέρνα ( tavérna ), or restaurant with Greek cuisine. Greeks love to eat along with their family and friends. Therefore, they often meet and enjoy drinking some ούζο ( úzo ) or τσίπουρο ( tsípuro ), accompanied by a variety of Greek delicacies, known as μεζέδες ( mezédes )—small dishes of traditional Greek food.

Have you ever eaten or heard of any of these traditional Greek foods?

If you want to learn more about Greek cuisine, check out our relevant blog post.

5. Holidays & Observances

A Greek Flag with Santorini Island in the Background

Greeks don’t miss any chance to spend public holidays with their friends and family. The two most important Greek holidays are:

After nearly 400 years under Ottoman rule and an almost decade-long revolution, Greece finally became an independent country on February 3, 1830. The Greek Revolution that began on March 25, 1821, is one of the most important chapters of Greek history and it’s celebrated across the country. Interestingly, the Greeks don’t celebrate their independence as there is no public holiday to commemorate the events of February 3, 1830.

March 25 is a national holiday for Greeks, meaning that the schools are closed. Nevertheless, on the business day immediately before that, each school organizes a feast with songs, poems, short school plays, and traditional dances. Each classroom is decorated with laurel wreaths and small Greek flags as a sign of patriotism.

Here is the slogan of the Greek Revolution, which is often included in various acts of the celebration.

Greek: Ελευθερία ή Θάνατος! Romanization: Elefthería í Thánatos! Translation: “Freedom or Death!”

Since religion is an integral part of Greek culture, we should mention that March 25 is also a religious holiday where the Greek Orthodox Church celebrates the Annunciation of the Virgin Mary by the Archangel Gabriel.

On October 28, 1940, Ioannis Metaxas—the dictator of Greece at that time—refused the ultimatum made by Italian dictator Benito Mussolini . This was the start of a Greek-Italian war, which marked Greece’s involvement in World War II. The word ΌXI ( ÓHI ), or “NO” in uppercase letters, is iconic for Greeks as it represents Metaxas’s refusal.

This is another national holiday, also commemorated in schools one day before. It celebrates the courage of Greeks to resist, a trait which is often praised in the celebrations.

6. Conclusion

Greek culture is rich, and we couldn’t possibly cover all its aspects in a single lesson. However, we hope that you’re now a step closer to understanding Greek culture as well as the traits of modern Greek society.

At GreekPod101.com, we aim to combine cultural insight with useful Greek language materials in order to create a well-rounded approach to language learning.

Start learning Greek today in a consistent and organized manner by creating a free lifetime account on GreekPod101.com . Tons of free vocabulary lists , YouTube videos , and grammar tips are waiting for you!

Before you go, let us know in the comments how Greek culture compares to that in your country. We look forward to hearing your thoughts!

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speech (n.)

Middle English speche , from Old English spæc "act of speaking; power of uttering articulate sounds; manner of speaking; statement, discourse, narrative, formal utterance; language." It is a variant of Old English spræc , which is from Proto-Germanic *sprek- , *spek- (source also of Danish sprog , Old Saxon spraca , Old Frisian spreke , Dutch spraak , Old High German sprahha , German Sprache "speech"). See speak (v.).

The spr- forms were extinct in English by 1200. In reference to written words by c. 1200. The meaning "address delivered to an audience" is recorded by 1580s.

And I honor the man who is willing to sink

Half his present repute for the freedom to think,

And, when he has thought, be his cause strong or weak,

Will risk t' other half for the freedom to speak,

Caring naught for what vengeance the mob has in store,

Let that mob be the upper ten thousand or lower.

[James Russell Lowell, from "A Fable for Critics," 1848]

But when men have realized that time has upset many fighting faiths, they may come to believe even more than they believe the very foundations of their own conduct that the ultimate good desired is better reached by free trade in ideas — that the best test of truth is the power of the thought to get itself accepted in the competition of the market, and that truth is the only ground upon which their wishes safely can be carried out. That, at any rate, is the theory of our Constitution. It is an experiment, as all life is an experiment. ... I think that we should be eternally vigilant against attempts to check the expression of opinions that we loathe and believe to be fraught with death, unless they so imminently threaten immediate interference with the lawful and pressing purposes of the law that an immediate check is required to save the country. [Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., dissent to "Abrams v. United States," 1919]

Entries linking to speech

Middle English speken , from Old English specan , variant of sprecan "to utter words articulately without singing, have or use the power of speech; make a speech; hold discourse" with others (class V strong verb; past tense spræc , past participle sprecen ), from Proto-Germanic *sprekanan (source also of Old Saxon sprecan , Old Frisian spreka , Middle Dutch spreken , Old High German sprehhan , German sprechen "to speak," Old Norse spraki "rumor, report"). This has sometimes been said to represent a PIE root meaning "to strew," on notion of speech as a "scattering" of words, but Boutkan finds no Indo-European etymology for the Germanic word.

In English the -r- began to drop out in Late West Saxon and was gone by mid-12c., perhaps from influence of Danish spage "crackle," also used in a slang sense of "speak" (compare crack (v.) in slang senses having to do with speech, such as wisecrack, cracker, all it's cracked up to be ). Elsewhere, rare variant forms without -r- are found in Middle Dutch ( speken ), Old High German ( spehhan ), dialectal German ( spächten "speak").

Apparently not the primary word for "to speak" in Old English (the "Beowulf" author prefers maþelian , from mæþel "assembly, council," from root of metan "to meet;" compare Greek agoreuo "to speak, explain," originally "speak in the assembly," from agora "assembly").

Also in Old English and Middle English as "to write, state or declare in writing." Of things, "be expressive or significative," by 1530s.

Speak is more general in meaning than talk . Thus, a man may speak by uttering a single word, whereas to talk is to utter words consecutively ; so a man may be able to speak without being able to talk . Speak is also more formal in meaning : as, to speak before an audience ; while talk implies a conversational manner of speaking. [Century Diuctionary]

To speak out is from late 14c. as "speak loudly;" by 1690s as "speak freely and boldly." To speak up "speak on behalf" (of another, etc.) is by 1705; as "speak loudly" by 1723. To speak for "make a speech on behalf of" is by c. 1300; to speak for itself "be self-evident" is by 1779.

Speaking terms "relationship between two in which they converse with one another" is from 1786, often in the negative. As a type of megaphone, s peaking-tube is by 1825; speaking-trumpet by 1670s.

"make a speech, harangue," especially "talk in a pompous, pontifical way," 1723, implied in speechifying , from speech + -ify . With humorous or contemptuous force. Related: S peechification .

speech-maker

stump speech
See all related words ( 6 ) >

Trends of speech

More to explore, share speech.

updated on April 20, 2023

Dictionary entries near speech

speculation

speculative

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Learn How to Speak Basic Greek

Overview of the parts of speech in the greek language.

Written by Greek Boston in Learn How to Speak Basic Greek Comments Off on Overview of the Parts of Speech in the Greek Language

According to Webster’s Dictionary, a noun is:

any member of a class of words that typically can be combined with determiners to serve as the subject of a verb, can be interpreted as singular or plural, can be replaced with a pronoun, and refer to an entity, quality, state, action, or concept

Nouns are an important part of any Greek sentence. They can change form depending on which case they are in the sentence (such as nominative or accusative). In the following examples, the nouns are boldfaced:

Το σκυλί έφαγε ένα κόκκαλο . To skili efage ena kokkalo . The dog ate a bone .
Η γάτα έπινε γάλα . – I gata pane gala . The cat drank milk .
Το αυτοκίνητο έχει κόκκινα καθίσματα . To aftokinito ehee kokkina kathismata . The car has red seats.

According to Webster’s Dictionary , a pronoun is:

any of a small set of words in a language that are used as substitutes for nouns or noun phrases and whose referents are named or understood in the context

In the Greek language, these are the main pronouns:

I – Εγώ – ego
You – εσύ – esi
He – αυτός – aftos
She – αυτή – afti
It – αυτό – afto
We – εμείς – emees
You – εσείς – esees
They – αυτοί – afti

According to Webster’s Dictionary, an adjective is:

a word belonging to one of the major form classes in any of numerous languages and typically serving as a modifier of a noun to denote a quality of the thing named, to indicate its quantity or extent, or to specify a thing as distinct from something else

Adjectives are also very common in the Greek language. In the following examples, the adjectives are boldfaced:

Το κόκκινο αυτοκίνητο έχει καινούργιες θέσεις. To kokkino aftokinito ehee kenooryies Το κόκκινο αυτοκίνητο έχει καινούργιες θέσεις. thesees. The red car has new seats.
Το κορίτσι είναι μικρό . To koritsi eenai mikro. The girl is little .
Η γλυκιά ζύμη έχει ένα υπέροχο σιρόπι. I glikia zimi ehee ena uperoho siropi. The sweet pastry has a delicious syrup.

Verbs are an important component of every sentence because it indicates an action done by the subject. In the sentence, “She runs” the subject is “she” and the verb is “runs”. Verbs work the same way in the Greek language. Here’s a more in depth definition from Webster’s Dictionary:

a word that characteristically is the grammatical center of a predicate and expresses an act, occurrence, or mode of being, that in various languages is inflected for agreement with the subject, for tense, for voice, for mood, or for aspect, and that typically has rather full descriptive meaning and characterizing quality but is sometimes nearly devoid of these especially when used as an auxiliary or linking verb

In the following examples, the verbs are boldfaced:

Το κορίτσι περπατά πολύ γρήγορα. to koritsi perpata poli grigora. The girl walks very fast.
Το βιβλίο είναι ασφαλές εδώ. To vivlio eenai asfales etho. The book is safe here.
Αγόρασα ένα νέο φόρεμα. Agorasa ena Neo forema. I bought a new dress.

According to Webster’s Dictionary, an adverb is:

a word belonging to one of the major form classes in any of numerous languages, typically serving as a modifier of a verb, an adjective, another adverb, a preposition, a phrase, a clause, or a sentence, expressing some relation of manner or quality, place, time, degree, number, cause, opposition, affirmation, or denial, and in English also serving to connect and to express comment on clause content

Adverbs work the same way in Greek as they do in the English language. In the following examples, the adverbs are boldfaced:

Το παγωτό ήταν εξαιρετικά κρύο. To pagoto itan exepetika kruo. The ice cream was extremely cold.
Το βιβλίο είναι αρκετά συναρπαστικό. To vivlio einai arketa sunarpastiko. The book is quite fascinating.
Περπατά πολύ γρήγορα. Perpata poli grygora. She walks very fast.

Prepositions

According to Webster’s Dictionary , prepositions are:

a function word that typically combines with a noun phrase to form a phrase which usually expresses a modification or predication

They also work in much the same way in English as they do in Greek. In the following examples, the prepositions are boldfaced:

Το βιβλίο είναι πάνω στο τραπέζι. To vivlio eenai pano sto trapezi. The book is on the table.
Η γάτα είναι κάτω από την καρέκλα. I gata eenai kato apo tin karekla. The cat is under the chair.
Το αγόρι είναι με τη μητέρα. To agori eenai me ti mitera. The boy is with the mother.

As with learning anything in Greek, it is important to familiarize yourself with these concepts. With repeat exposure through practice, they will become more ingrained.

The Learn Greek section on GreekBoston.com was written by Greeks to help people understand the conversational basics of the Greek language. This article is not a substitute for a professional Greek learning program, but a helpful resource for people wanting to learn simple communication in Greek.

Categorized in: Learn How to Speak Basic Greek

This post was written by Greek Boston

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Ethos Definition

What is ethos? Here’s a quick and simple definition:

Ethos , along with logos and pathos , is one of the three "modes of persuasion" in rhetoric (the art of effective speaking or writing). Ethos is an argument that appeals to the audience by emphasizing the speaker's credibility and authority. If the speaker has a high-ranking position, is an expert in his or her field, or has had life experience relevant to a particular topic, anything the speaker says or does to ensure that the audience knows about and remembers these qualifications is an example of ethos .

Some additional key details about ethos:

Ethos shares a root with the word "ethics ." This is helpful to remember because speakers often try to establish their own strong moral character by using ethos.
The word "ethos" is also often used to refer to a community or organization's characteristic belief or spirit, as in the sentence, "We will not give you a larger bonus than your coworkers: that is against our company's ethos of fairness." However, this guide focuses specifically on the rhetorical technique of ethos used in literature and public speaking.
The three "modes of persuasion"— pathos , logos , and ethos —were originally defined by Aristotle.
While ethos appeals to an audience's instinctive respect for authority, logos appeals to the audience's sense of reason, and pathos appeals to the audience's emotions.
Ethos is used in advertising just as often as it is used in public speaking and literature. Any commercial in which a celebrity endorses a product, for example, hopes to persuade its target audience by cultivating an aura of authority or expertise through its association with the celebrity—and is therefore an example of ethos.

How to Pronounce Ethos

Here's how to pronounce ethos: ee -thos

Ethos Explained

Aristotle (the ancient Greek philosopher and scientist) first defined e thos , along with logos and pathos , in his treatise on rhetoric, Ars Rhetorica. Together, he referred to e thos , logos , and pathos as the three modes of persuasion, or sometimes simply as "the appeals." Aristotle believed that in order to have ethos a good speaker must demonstrate three things:

Phronesis : Sound reasoning, and relevant experience or expertise.
Arete : Moral character.
Eunoia : Good intentions towards the audience.

Aristotle argued that a speaker in possession of these three attributes will naturally impress the audience with his or her ethos , and as a result will be better able to influence that audience. Over time, however, the definition of ethos has broadened, and the significance of the three qualities Aristotle named is now lost on anyone who hasn't studied classical Greek. So it may give more insight into the meaning of ethos to translate Aristotle's three categories into a new set of categories that make more sense in the modern era. A speaker or writer's credibility can be said to rely on each of the following:

Within literature, it's interesting to notice when characters attempt to invoke their own authority and enhance their ethos by reminding other characters of the titles they possess. Often, this can be an indication that the character citing his or her own credentials actually feels his or her authority being threatened or challenged.
In literature, this form of ethos is particularly relevant with respect to narrators. Authors often have their narrators profess impartiality or objectivity at the outset of a book in order to earn the reader's trust in the narrator's reliability regarding the story he or she is about to tell.
This type of ethos translates into literature quite easily, in the sense that characters' opinions are often evaluated within the framework of their professions.
Literary characters often use ethos to communicate similarity or likemindedness to other characters, and you can detect this by certain changes in their speech. In these situations, characters (as well as real-life speakers) often use a shibboleth— a specialized term or word used by a specific group of people—to show that they belong. For example, if you knew the name of a special chemical used to make jello, and you wanted to impress the head of a jello company, the name of that chemical would count as a shibboleth and saying it would help you show the jello executive that you're "in the know."

The Stagecraft of Ethos

In order to impress their positive personal qualities upon audiences, public speakers can use certain techniques that aren't available to writers. These include:

Speaking in a certain manner or even with a certain accent.
Demonstrating confident stage presence.
Having reputable people to introduce the speaker in a positive light.
Listing their credentials and achievements.

Put another way, the ethos of a speech can be heavily impacted by the speaker's confidence and manner of presenting him or herself.

Ethos and Ad Hominem

An ad hominem argument is a specific type of argument which involves attacking someone else's character or ethos, rather than attacking that person's position or point of view on the subject being discussed. Ad hominem attacks usually have the goal of swaying an audience away from an opponent's views and towards one's own by degrading the audience's perception of the opponent's character. For instance, if one politician attacks another as being "elite," the attacker may be seeking to make voters question whether the other politician is trustworthy or actually has the public's interest at heart. But the first politician is not in any way attacking their opponent's positions on matters of policy.

An ad hominem argument is not necessarily "wrong" or even a bad strategy, but it's generally seen as more dignified (another component of ethos ) for speakers to focus on strengthening their own ethos, and to debate their opponents based on the substance of the opposition's counterarguments. When a literary character uses an ad hominem argument, this can sometimes indicate that he or she is insecure about his or her own position regarding a certain issue.

Ethos Examples

Examples of ethos in literature.

Characters in novels often use ethos , as well as logos and pathos , to convince one another of certain arguments in the same way that a speaker in reality might use these techniques. In addition, authors often use a subtler form of ethos when establishing a narrator's reliability at the outset of a novel.

Ethos in Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged

In Atlas Shrugged, a group of pioneering American industrialists, financiers, and artists go on strike against a corrupt government. As the strike nears its end, its leader—John Galt—delivers a speech to the nation about his ideals. He promises that the strike will end only if Americans allow him to remake the country according to his moral code, which he explains in the following lines:

Just as I support my life, neither by robbery nor alms, but by my own effort, so I do not seek to derive my happiness from the injury or the favor of others, but earn it by my own achievement. Just as I do not consider the pleasure of others as the goal of my life, so I do not consider my pleasure as the goal of the lives of others. Just as there are no contradictions in my values and no conflicts among my desires—so there are no victims and no conflicts of interest among rational men, men who do not desire the unearned and do not view one another with a cannibal's lust, men who neither make sacrifices nor accept them.

Galt not only creates an impression of moral rectitude, but also emphasizes his own self-sufficiency. He assures his audience that he expects nothing in return from them for sharing his personal views. In this way, his ability to cultivate an aura of impartiality and objectivity enhances his ethos.

Ethos in Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter

The Scarlet Letter opens with a chapter called "The Custom-House," in which the unnamed narrator—who has a similar biography to Hawthorne—describes his job in a Custom House, a place where taxes were paid on imports in 18th century Massachusetts. The narrator's stories about his job have no relation to the actual narrative of The Scarlet Letter, except that he finds the scarlet letter of the title in the Custom House attic. This discovery inspired him to research the life of the woman who wore the embroidered letter, and to tell her story. By presenting himself as someone who merely discovered, researched, and "edited" the story the reader is about to begin, the narrator effectively creates the impression that his is a reliable historical account, thereby strengthening his ethos.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has a certain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as explaining how a large portion of the following pages came into my possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a narrative therein contained. This, in fact—a desire to put myself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of the most prolix among the tales that make up my volume—this, and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation with the public.

Ethos in F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby

In the opening lines of The Great Gatsby , the narrator, Nick Carraway, claims that he has followed one piece of his father's advice throughout his life:

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. 'Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,' he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.'... In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men...

Nick's tendency to reserve judgement makes him an ideal, objective narrator, while his awareness of his own economic and social advantages makes him a perfect guide to the privileged world of The Great Gatsby. Though he describes his non-judgmental, "neutral" affect with self-deprecating humor, it's a subtle way of strengthening his ethos as a narrator, and of causing the reader to eagerly anticipate hearing the stories that "wild, unknown men" have shared with him.

Examples of Ethos in Political Speeches

Every politician recognizes that a speaker must earn an audience's respect and trust if he or she expects to be listened to. As a result, it's difficult to find a political speech that doesn't contain an example of ethos. It's particularly easy to spot ethos in action when listening to speeches by candidates for office.

Ethos in Mitt Romney's Acceptance Speech at the 2012 Republican National Convention

When he accepted the Republican presidential nomination in 2012, Romney pointed to his business success as relevant experience that would serve him well if he were to take office:

I learned the real lessons about how America works from experience. When I was 37, I helped start a small company. My partners and I had been working for a company that was in the business of helping other businesses. So some of us had this idea that if we really believed our advice was helping companies, we should invest in companies. We should bet on ourselves and on our advice. So we started a new business called Bain Capital...That business we started with 10 people has now grown into a great American success story. Some of the companies we helped start are names you know. An office supply company called Staples – where I'm pleased to see the Obama campaign has been shopping; The Sports Authority, which became a favorite of my sons. We started an early childhood learning center called Bright Horizons that First Lady Michelle Obama rightly praised.

In addition to strengthening his ethos by pointing to his past achievements, Romney also hopes to portray himself as principled, rational, and daring when he explains how his company decided to "bet on ourselves and on our advice."

Ethos in John Kasich's 2016 Ohio Primary Victory Speech

After winning his first campaign victory, 2016 presidential candidate John Kasich told his supporters about his disadvantaged yet hardworking relatives to contextualize his own rise to success:

And you know, ladies and gentlemen, my whole life has been about trying to create a climate of opportunity for people. You know, as my father carried that mail on his back and his father was a coal miner, and you know, I was just told by my cousin—I didn't realize this—that my mother, one of four [children]‚ was the only one to graduate from high school. The other three barely made it out of the eighth grade because they were poor... And you know, as I've traveled the country and I look into your eyes... You want to believe that your children are going to have ultimately a better America than what we got from our mothers and fathers. That's the great American legacy: that our kids will be better than we are.

By saying that he comes from a modest background, Kasich hopes to convey that he is "just a regular American" and that he will advocate for other hard working Americans.

Ethos in Winston Churchill's 1941 Address to Joint Session of the US Congress

In this speech to the US Congress during World War II, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill enhances the ethos of his speech by emphasizing both the qualities he shares in common with the American people and the American Democratic values instilled in him by his parents:

I am a child of the House of Commons. I was brought up in my father's house to believe in democracy. "Trust the people." That was his message. I used to see him cheered at meetings and in the streets by crowds of workingmen way back in those aristocratic Victorian days when as Disraeli said "the world was for the few, and for the very few." Therefore I have been in full harmony all my life with the tides which have flowed on both sides of the Atlantic against privilege and monopoly and I have steered confidently towards the Gettysburg ideal of government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Examples of Ethos in Advertisements

Advertisers often attempt to use ethos to influence people to buy their product. Dressing up an actor as a doctor who then extols the benefits a medication is a way that advertisers used to try to gin up a little ethos , but such obvious practices of what might be called "fake ethos" are now regularly mocked. However, any celebrity endorsement or testimonial from an expert are also attempts to build up ethos around a product's endorsement. For instance, here's a Prudential Financial commercial that ups its ethos with an appearance by Harvard social psychologist Dan Gilbert.

Why Do Writers Use Ethos?

Politicians, activists, and advertisers use ethos because they recognize that it is impossible to convince an audience of anything if its members do not believe in the speaker's credibility, morality, or authority.

The use of e thos in fiction is often different from real-world examples. Authors are not usually trying to directly influence their audience in the way politicians or advertisers are. Rather, authors often show one of their characters making use of ethos . In doing so, the author gives insight into characters' perceptions of one another, their values, and their motives.

In addition, e thos is an especially useful tool for authors looking to establish a narrator's credibility. Having a credible narrator is hugely important to the success of a literary work. Books with narrators that never establish a reasonable claim to an objective viewpoint are nearly impossible to read because everything they say is cast in doubt, so that readers come to feel like they're being lied to or "jerked around," which is fatiguing. Although often enough readers simply assume that a narrator has credibility , if you've ever read a book where you felt you simply didn't like the narrator very much—or watched a television show where you felt that none of the characters were likable or believable—that might be another sign that the writer has failed to establish a character's ethos . There are circumstances in which a writer creates an unreliable narrator —a narrator who is either purposefully or subconsciously offering a slanted narrative—but ethos is just as crucial in creating such a narrator: the author must first establish the narrator's ethos and then slowly undermine it over the course of the book.

Other Helpful Ethos Resources

The Wikipedia Page on Ethos: An in-depth explanation of ethos , and how the concept has changed over time.
The Dictionary Definition of Ethos: A definition and etymology of the term, which comes from the Greek ethos meaning "character, custom, or habit."
Ethos on Youtube: An excellent video from TED-Ed about the three modes of persuasion.

The printed PDF version of the LitCharts literary term guide on Ethos

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An illustration of Thales of Miletus beneath an eclipse with geometric figures floating around him.

The Eclipse That Ended a War and Shook the Gods Forever

Thales, a Greek philosopher 2,600 years ago, is celebrated for predicting a famous solar eclipse and founding what came to be known as science.

Credit... John P. Dessereau

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By William J. Broad

William J. Broad studied the history of science in graduate school and still follows it for the light it casts on modern developments. This article is part of The Times’s coverage of the April 8 eclipse , the last time a total solar eclipse will be visible in most of North America for 20 years.

Published April 6, 2024 Updated April 7, 2024

In the spring of 585 B.C. in the Eastern Mediterranean, the moon came out of nowhere to hide the face of the sun, turning day into night.

Back then, solar eclipses were cloaked in scary uncertainty. But a Greek philosopher was said to have predicted the sun’s disappearance. His name was Thales. He lived on the Anatolian coast — now in Turkey but then a cradle of early Greek civilization — and was said to have acquired his unusual power by abandoning the gods.

The eclipse had an immediate worldly impact. The kingdoms of the Medes and Lydian had waged a brutal war for years. But the eclipse was interpreted as a very bad omen, and the armies quickly laid down their arms. The terms of peace included the marriage of the daughter of the king of Lydia to the son of the Median king.

The impiety of Thales had a more enduring impact, his reputation soaring over the ages. Herodotus told of his foretelling. Aristotle called Thales the first person to fathom nature. The classical age of Greece honored him as the foremost of its seven wise men.

Today, the tale illustrates the awe of the ancients at the sun’s disappearance and their great surprise that a philosopher knew it beforehand.

The episode also marks a turning point. For ages, eclipses of the sun were feared as portents of calamity. Kings trembled. Then, roughly 2,600 years ago, Thales led a philosophical charge that replaced superstition with rational eclipse prediction.

Today astronomers can determine — to the second — when the sun on April 8 will disappear across North America. Weather permitting, it’s expected to be the most-viewed astronomical event in American history, astonishing millions of sky watchers.

“Everywhere you look, from modern times back, everyone wanted predictions” of what the heavens would hold, said Mathieu Ossendrijver , an Assyriologist at the Free University of Berlin. He said Babylonian kings “were scared to death by eclipses.” In response, the rulers scanned the sky in efforts to anticipate bad omens, placate the gods and “strengthen their legitimacy.”

By all accounts, Thales initiated the rationalist view. He’s often considered the world’s first scientist — the founder of a radical new way of thinking.

Patricia F. O’Grady, in her 2002 book on the Greek philosopher, called Thales “brilliant, veracious, and courageously speculative.” She described his great accomplishment as seeing that the fraught world of human experience results not from the whims of the gods but “nature itself,” initiating civilization’s hunt for its secrets.

An illustration of soldiers in ancient armor with spears and shields looking up in alarm at an eclipse.

Long before Thales, the ancient landscape bore hints of successful eclipse prediction. Modern experts say that Stonehenge — one of the world’s most famous prehistoric sites, its construction begun some 5,000 years ago — may have been able to warn of lunar and solar eclipses.

While the ancient Chinese and Mayans noted the dates of eclipses, few early cultures learned how to predict the disappearances.

The first clear evidence of success comes from Babylonia — an empire of ancient Mesopotamia in which court astronomers made nightly observations of the moon and planets, typically in relation to gods and magic, astrology and number mysticism.

Starting around 750 B.C. , Babylonian clay tablets bear eclipse reports. From ages of eclipse tallies, the Babylonians were able to discern patterns of heavenly cycles and eclipse seasons. Court officials could then warn of godly displeasure and try to avoid the punishments, such as a king’s fall.

The most extreme measure was to employ a scapegoat. The substitute king performed all the usual rites and duties — including those of marriage. The substitute king and queen were then killed as a sacrifice to the gods, the true king having been hidden until the danger passed.

Initially, the Babylonians focused on recording and predicting eclipses of the moon, not the sun. The different sizes of eclipse shadows let them observe a greater number of lunar disappearances.

The Earth’s shadow is so large that, during a lunar eclipse, it blocks sunlight from an immense region of outer space, making the moon’s disappearance and reappearance visible to everyone on the planet’s night side. The size difference is reversed in a solar eclipse. The moon’s relatively small shadow makes observation of the totality — the sun’s complete vanishing — quite limited in geographic scope. In April, the totality path over North America will vary in width between 108 and 122 miles.

Ages ago, the same geometry ruled. So the Babylonians, by reason of opportunity, focused on the moon. Eventually, they noticed that lunar eclipses tend to repeat themselves every 6,585 days — or roughly every 18 years. That led to breakthroughs in foreseeing lunar eclipse probabilities despite their knowing little of the cosmic realities behind the disappearances.

“They could predict them very well,” said John M. Steele , a historian of ancient sciences at Brown University and a contributor to a recent book , “Eclipse and Revelation.”

This was the world into which Thales was born. He grew up in Miletus, a Greek city on Anatolia’s west coast. It was a sea power . The city’s fleets established wide trade routes and a large number of colonies that paid tribute, making Miletus wealthy and a star of early Greek civilization before Athens rose to prominence.

Thales was said to have come from one of the distinguished families of Miletus, to have traveled to Egypt and possibly Babylonia , and to have studied the stars. Plato told how Thales had once tumbled down a well while examining the night sky. A maidservant, he reported, teased the thinker for being so eager to know the heavens that he ignored what lay at his feet.

It was Herodotus who, in “The Histories,” told of Thales’s predicting the solar eclipse that ended the war. He said the ancient philosopher had anticipated the date of the sun’s disappearance to “within the year” of the actual event — a far cry from today’s precision.

Modern experts, starting in 1864, nonetheless cast doubt on the ancient claim. Many saw it as apocryphal. In 1957, Otto Neugebauer, a historian of science, called it “very doubtful.”

In recent years, the claim has received new support. The updates rest on knowledge of the kind of observational cycles that Babylon pioneered. The patterns are seen as letting Thales make solar predictions that — if not a sure thing — could nevertheless succeed from time to time.

If Stonehenge might do it occasionally, why not Thales?

Mark Littmann, an astronomer, and Fred Espenak , a retired NASA astrophysicist who specializes in eclipses, argue in their book , “Totality,” that the date of the war eclipse was relatively easy to predict, but not its exact location. As a result, they write , Thales “could have warned of the possibility of a solar eclipse.”

Leo Dubal, a retired Swiss physicist who studies artifacts from the ancient past and recently wrote about Thales, agreed. The Greek philosopher could have known the date with great certainty while being unsure about the places where the eclipse might be visible, such as at the war’s front lines.

In an interview and a recent essay , Dr. Dubal argued that generations of historians have confused the philosopher’s informed hunch with the precision of a modern prediction. He said Thales had gotten it exactly right — just as the ancient Greeks declared.

“He was lucky,” Dr. Dubal said, calling such happenstance a regular part of the discovery process in scientific investigation.

Over the ages, Greek astronomers learned more about the Babylonian cycles and used that knowledge as a basis for advancing their own work. What was marginal in the days of Thales became more reliable — including foreknowledge of solar eclipses.

The Antikythera mechanism, a stunningly complex mechanical device, is a testament to the Greek progress. It was made four centuries after Thales, in the second century B.C., and was found off a Greek isle in 1900. Its dozens of gears and dials let it predict many cosmic events, including solar eclipse dates — though not, as usual, their narrow totality paths.

For ages, even into the Renaissance, astronomers kept upgrading their eclipse predictions based on what the Babylonians had pioneered. The 18-year cycle, Dr. Steele of Brown University said, “had a really long history because it worked.”

Then came a revolution. In 1543, Nicolaus Copernicus put the sun — not Earth — at the center of planetary motions. His breakthrough in cosmic geometry led to detailed studies of eclipse mechanics.

The superstar was Isaac Newton — the towering genius who in 1687 unlocked the universe with his law of gravitational attraction. His breakthrough made it possible to predict the exact paths of not only comets and planets but the sun, the moon and the Earth. As a result, eclipse forecasts soared in precision.

Newton’s good friend, Edmond Halley, who lent his name to a bright comet, put the new powers on public display. In 1714, he published a map showing the predicted path of a solar eclipse across England in the next year.

Halley asked observers to determine the totality’s actual scope. Scholars call it history’s first wide study of a solar eclipse. In accuracy, his predictions outdid those of the Astronomer Royal, who advised Britain’s monarch y on astronomical matters.

Today’s specialists, using Newton’s laws and banks of powerful computers, can predict the movements of stars for millions of years in advance.

But closer to home, they have difficulty making eclipse predictions over such long periods of time. That’s because the Earth, the moon and the sun lie in relative proximity and thus exert comparatively strong gravitational tugs on one another that change subtly in strength over the eons, slightly altering planetary spins and positions.

Despite such complications, “it’s possible to predict eclipse dates more than 10,000 years into the future,” Dr. Espenak, the former NASA expert, said in an interview.

He created the space agency’s web pages that list solar eclipses to come — including some nearly four millenniums from now.

So, if you’re enthusiastic about the April 8 totality, you might consider what’s in store for whoever is living in what we today call Madagascar on Aug. 12, 5814. According to Dr. Espenak, that date will feature the phenomenon of day turning into night and back again into day — a spectacle of nature, not of malevolent gods.

Perhaps it’s worth a moment of contemplation because, if for no other reason, it represents yet another testament to the wisdom of Thales.

William J. Broad is a science journalist and senior writer. He joined The Times in 1983, and has shared two Pulitzer Prizes with his colleagues, as well as an Emmy Award and a DuPont Award. More about William J. Broad

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Donald Trump speaks during a rally in Vandalia, Ohio, on 16 March, at which he predicted there would be a ‘bloodbath’ if he loses the election.

Trump’s bizarre, vindictive incoherence has to be heard in full to be believed

Excerpts from his speeches do not do justice to Trump’s smorgasbord of vendettas, non sequiturs and comparisons to famous people

Donald Trump’s speeches on the 2024 campaign trail so far have been focused on a laundry list of complaints, largely personal, and an increasingly menacing tone.

He’s on the campaign trail less these days than he was in previous cycles – and less than you’d expect from a guy with dedicated superfans who brags about the size of his crowds every chance he gets. But when he has held rallies, he speaks in dark, dehumanizing terms about migrants, promising to vanquish people crossing the border. He rails about the legal battles he faces and how they’re a sign he’s winning, actually. He tells lies and invents fictions. He calls his opponent a threat to democracy and claims this election could be the last one.

Trump’s tone, as many have noted, is decidedly more vengeful this time around, as he seeks to reclaim the White House after a bruising loss that he insists was a steal. This alone is a cause for concern, foreshadowing what the Trump presidency redux could look like. But he’s also, quite frequently, rambling and incoherent, running off on tangents that would grab headlines for their oddness should any other candidate say them.

Journalists rightly chose not to broadcast Trump’s entire speeches after 2016, believing that the free coverage helped boost the former president and spread lies unchecked. But now there’s the possibility that stories about his speeches often make his ideas appear more cogent than they are – making the case that, this time around, people should hear the full speeches to understand how Trump would govern again.

Watching a Trump speech in full better shows what it’s like inside his head: a smorgasbord of falsehoods, personal and professional vendettas, frequent comparisons to other famous people, a couple of handfuls of simple policy ideas, and a lot of non sequiturs that veer into barely intelligible stories.

Curiously, Trump tucks the most tangible policy implications in at the end. His speeches often finish with a rundown of what his second term in office could bring, in a meditation-like recitation the New York Times recently compared to a sermon. Since these policies could become reality, here’s a few of those ideas:

Instituting the death penalty for drug dealers.

Creating the “Trump Reciprocal Trade Act”: “If China or any other country makes us pay 100% or 200% tariff, which they do, we will make them pay a reciprocal tariff of 100% or 200%. In other words, you screw us and we’ll screw you.”

Indemnifying all police officers and law enforcement officials.

Rebuilding cities and taking over Washington DC, where, he said in a recent speech, there are “beautiful columns” put together “through force of will” because there were no “Caterpillar tractors” and now those columns have graffiti on them.

Issuing an executive order to cut federal funding for any school pushing critical race theory, transgender and other inappropriate racial, sexual or political content.

Moving to one-day voting with paper ballots and voter ID.

This conclusion is the most straightforward part of a Trump speech and is typically the extent of what a candidate for office would say on the campaign trail, perhaps with some personal storytelling or mild joking added in.

But it’s also often the shortest part.

Trump’s tangents aren’t new, nor is Trump’s penchant for elevating baseless ideas that most other presidential candidates wouldn’t, like his promotion of injecting bleach during the pandemic.

But in a presidential race among two old men that’s often focused on the age of the one who’s slightly older, these campaign trail antics shed light on Trump’s mental acuity, even if people tend to characterize them differently than Joe Biden’s. While Biden’s gaffes elicit serious scrutiny, as writers in the New Yorker and the New York Times recently noted, we’ve seemingly become inured to Trump’s brand of speaking, either skimming over it or giving him leeway because this has always been his shtick.

Trump, like Biden, has confused names of world leaders (but then claims it’s on purpose ). He has also stumbled and slurred his words. But beyond that, Trump’s can take a different turn. Trump has described using an “iron dome” missile defense system as “ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. They’ve only got 17 seconds to figure this whole thing out. Boom. OK. Missile launch. Whoosh. Boom.”

These tangents can be part of a tirade, or they can be what one can only describe as complete nonsense.

During this week’s Wisconsin speech, which was more coherent than usual, Trump pulled out a few frequent refrains: comparing himself, incorrectly , to Al Capone, saying he was indicted more than the notorious gangster; making fun of the Georgia prosecutor Fani Willis’s first name (“It’s spelled fanny like your ass, right? Fanny. But when she became DA, she decided to add a little French, a little fancy”).

Trump attends a campaign rally in Green Bay, Wisconsin, on 2 April.

He made fun of Biden’s golfing game, miming how Biden golfs, perhaps a ding back at Biden for poking Trump about his golf game. Later, he called Biden a “lost soul” and lamented that he gets to sit at the president’s desk. “Can you imagine him sitting at the Resolute Desk? What a great desk,” Trump said.

One muddled addition in Wisconsin involved squatters’ rights, a hot topic related to immigration now: “If you have illegal aliens invading your home, we will deport you,” presumably meaning the migrant would be deported instead of the homeowner. He wanted to create a federal taskforce to end squatting, he said.

“Sounds like a little bit of a weird topic but it’s not, it’s a very bad thing,” he said.

These half-cocked remarks aren’t new; they are a feature of who Trump is and how he communicates that to the public, and that’s key to understanding how he is as a leader.

The New York Times opinion writer Jamelle Bouie described it as “something akin to the soft bigotry of low expectations”, whereby no one expected him to behave in an orderly fashion or communicate well.

Some of these bizarre asides are best seen in full, like this one about Biden at the beach in Trump’s Georgia response to the State of the Union:

“Somebody said he looks great in a bathing suit, right? And you know, when he was in the sand and he was having a hard time lifting his feet through the sand, because you know sand is heavy, they figured three solid ounces per foot, but sand is a little heavy, and he’s sitting in a bathing suit. Look, at 81, do you remember Cary Grant? How good was Cary Grant, right? I don’t think Cary Grant, he was good. I don’t know what happened to movie stars today. We used to have Cary Grant and Clark Gable and all these people. Today we have, I won’t say names, because I don’t need enemies. I don’t need enemies. I got enough enemies. But Cary Grant was, like – Michael Jackson once told me, ‘The most handsome man, Trump, in the world.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Cary Grant.’ Well, we don’t have that any more, but Cary Grant at 81 or 82, going on 100. This guy, he’s 81, going on 100. Cary Grant wouldn’t look too good in a bathing suit, either. And he was pretty good-looking, right?”

Or another Hollywood-related bop, inspired by a rant about Willis and special prosecutor Nathan Wade’s romantic relationship:

“It’s a magnificent love story, like Gone With the Wind. You know Gone With the Wind, you’re not allowed to watch it any more. You know that, right? It’s politically incorrect to watch Gone With the Wind. They have a list. What were the greatest movies ever made? Well, Gone With the Wind is usually number one or two or three. And then they have another list you’re not allowed to watch any more, Gone With the Wind. You tell me, is our country screwed up?”

He still claims to have “done more for Black people than any president other than Abraham Lincoln” and also now says he’s being persecuted more than Lincoln and Andrew Jackson:

“ All my life you’ve heard of Andrew Jackson, he was actually a great general and a very good president. They say that he was persecuted as president more than anybody else, second was Abraham Lincoln. This is just what they said. This is in the history books. They were brutal, Andrew Jackson’s wife actually died over it.”

You not only see the truly bizarre nature of Trump’s speeches when viewing them in full, but you see the sheer breadth of his menace and animus toward those who disagree with him.

His comments especially toward migrants have grown more dehumanizing. He has said they are “poisoning the blood” of the US – a nod at Great Replacement Theory, the far-right conspiracy that the left is orchestrating migration to replace white people. Trump claimed the people coming in were “prisoners, murderers, drug dealers, mental patients and terrorists, the worst they have”. He has repeatedly called migrants “animals”.

Trump speaks during a campaign rally at the Hyatt Regency in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

“Democrats said please don’t call them ‘animals’. I said, no, they’re not humans, they’re animals,” he said during a speech in Michigan this week.

“In some cases they’re not people, in my opinion,” he said during his March appearance in Ohio. “But I’m not allowed to say that because the radical left says that’s a terrible thing to say. “These are animals, OK, and we have to stop it,” he said.

And he has turned more authoritarian in his language, saying he would be a “dictator on day one” but then later said it would only be for a day. He’s called his political enemies “vermin”: “We pledge to you that we will root out the communists, Marxists, fascists and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country,” he said in New Hampshire in late 2023.

At a speech in March in Ohio about the US auto industry he claimed there would be a “bloodbath” if he lost, which some interpreted as him claiming there would be violence if he loses the election.

Trump’s campaign said later that he meant the comment to be specific to the auto industry, but now the former president has started saying Biden created a “border bloodbath” and the Republican National Committee created a website to that effect as well.

It’s tempting to find a coherent line of attack in Trump speeches to try to distill the meaning of a rambling story. And it’s sometimes hard to even figure out the full context of what he’s saying, either in text or subtext and perhaps by design, like the “bloodbath” comment or him saying there wouldn’t be another election if he doesn’t win this one.

But it’s only in seeing the full breadth of the 2024 Trump speech that one can truly understand what kind of president he could become if he won the election.

“It’s easiest to understand the threat that Trump poses to American democracy most clearly when you see it for yourself,” Susan B Glasser wrote in the New Yorker. “Small clips of his craziness can be too easily dismissed as the background noise of our times.”

If you ask Trump himself, of course, these are just examples that Trump is smart.

“The fake news will say, ‘Oh, he goes from subject to subject.’ No, you have to be very smart to do that. You got to be very smart. You know what it is? It’s called spot-checking. You’re thinking about something when you’re talking about something else, and then you get back to the original. And they go, ‘Holy shit. Did you see what he did?’ It’s called intelligence.”

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Word of the Day

What it means.

Aegis is a formal word that refers to the power to protect, control, or support something or someone. It is often used in the phrase under the aegis of .

// The issue will be decided under the aegis of an international organization.

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aegis in Context

“French President Emmanuel Macron visited Notre Dame Cathedral on Friday, one year before its scheduled reopening in 2024. … During his visit, Macron paid homage to Gen. Jean-Louis Georgelin, who oversaw the reconstruction and died in August. Wearing a hardhat, Macron was given a tool to assist as Georgelin’s name was inscribed in the wood of the spire under the aegis of an artisan, memorializing the general’s contribution to the cathedral.” — Thomas Adamson and Sylvie Corbet, The Associated Press , 8 Dec. 2023

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English borrowed aegis from Latin, but the word ultimately comes from the Greek noun aigís , meaning “goatskin.” In ancient Greek mythology, an aegis was something that offered physical protection. It has been depicted in various ways, including as a magical protective cloak made from the skin of the goat that suckled Zeus as an infant, and as a shield fashioned by Hephaestus that bore the severed head of the Gorgon Medusa . The word first entered English in the 15th century as a noun referring to the shield or breastplate associated with Zeus or Athena. It later took on a more general sense of “protection” and, by the late-19th century, it had acquired the extended senses of “ auspices ” and “sponsorship.”

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COMMENTS

Ancient Greece
Rhetoric, as defined by Aristotle, is the "faculty of discovering in the particular case all the available means of persuasion.". [1] For the Greeks, rhetoric, or the art of public speaking, was first and foremost a means to persuade. Greek society relied on oral expression, which also included the ability to inform and give speeches of ...
Glossary of Greek and Latin Rhetorical Terms
The physical delivery or performance of a speech by means of voice, facial expression, gesture, and motion ("graceful regulation of voice [vocis], countenance [vultus], and gesture [gestus]" [Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.3]). The last of the five parts of rhetoric (Gk. rhētorikēs merē; L. rhetorices partes).
2.2: Ancient Greece
For the Greeks, rhetoric, or the art of public speaking, was first and foremost a means to persuade. Greek society relied on oral expression, which also included the ability to inform and give speeches of praise, known then as epideictic (to praise or blame someone) speeches. The ability to practice rhetoric in a public forum was a direct ...
The Essential Glossary for Ancient Greek Philosophy
Arete (ἀρετή): The Realization of Excellence. The word arete (ἀρετή) literally means "that which is good"; it signified rank, nobility, moral virtue and excellence. Etymologically speaking, it is a word of uncertain origin. Arete is a fundamental concept in Ancient Greek culture, particularly in Greek philosophy and ethics.
Symposium (Plato)
The Symposium (Ancient Greek: Συμπόσιον, Greek pronunciation: [sympósi̯on], romanized: Sympósion, lit. 'Drinking Party') is a Socratic dialogue by Plato, dated c. 385 - 370 BC. It depicts a friendly contest of extemporaneous speeches given by a group of notable Athenian men attending a banquet.The men include the philosopher Socrates, the general and statesman Alcibiades, and the ...
Speeches
Direct speech entered Greek historiography under the influence of a long-standing narrative tradition. More than two-fifths of the Iliad consists of direct discourse, ranging from brief statements or verbal exchanges to formal speeches delivered in public. In contrast to this flexible use of speech in epic poetry and Herodotus, Thucydides kept other types of direct discourse, such as ...
Pericles' Funeral Oration: The Greatest Speech in History
Pericles' Funeral Oration is regarded as one of the greatest speech sof all time. Public Domain. In 431 BCE, the Athenian statesman Pericles delivered one of the most influential speeches of all time, "Pericles' Epitaphios," otherwise known as "Pericles' Funeral Oration.". The speech, recorded by the historian Thucydides who was ...
Greek Rhetoric
Much of our current theory on oral communication derives from early Greek and Roman scholars, such as Aristotle and Cicero, who felt effective public speaking, or rhetoric, was one of the most valuable skills they could demonstrate within their society. Rhetoric topped the list of required areas of study for young Greek students. A famous quote ...
Aristotle's Rhetoric
The methodical core of Aristotle's Rhetoric is the theorem that there are three 'technical' pisteis , i.e. 'persuaders' or 'means of persuasion'. Persuasion comes about either through the character ( êthos) of the speaker, the emotional state ( pathos) of the hearer, or the argument ( logos ) itself.
Two Concepts of Free Speech, from Classical Athens to Today ...
James Kierstead. As the Oxford political theorist Teresa Bejan reminded us a few years ago now in The Atlantic, the Greeks had two concepts of free speech.The first, isēgoriā (ἰσηγορία) could more literally be translated 'equality of public speech', whereas the second, parrhēsiā (παρρησία), is more directly focussed on the license to say whatever you want: the prefix ...
Speeches from Athenian Law
Review by. Edmund M. Burke, Coe College. [email protected]. The last few decades have witnessed a good deal of scholarly work on the complex fabric of Greek social history, along with a revitalized interest in Greek, particularly Athenian, law. In both enterprises the speeches of the Attic orators have been an essential resource, as somewhat more ...
Greek language
Greek has been spoken in the Balkan peninsula since around the 3rd millennium BC, or possibly earlier. The earliest written evidence is a Linear B clay tablet found in Messenia that dates to between 1450 and 1350 BC, making Greek the world's oldest recorded living language. Among the Indo-European languages, its date of earliest written attestation is matched only by the now-extinct Anatolian ...
Free Speech in Ancient Greece
The ancient Greeks were pioneers of free speech. Their theater, literature, and educational institutions explored the human experience, freedom of expression, and questioning of authority. Like contemporary societies, however, ancient Greece did not allow complete freedom of speech.
Greek Culture Facts Greek Learners Should Know
On this page, we'll explore some of the most important aspects of Greek culture, including philosophy, religion, art, and traditional holidays. Keep reading to enter the fascinating world of modern Greek culture. 1. Philosophy & Religion. Philosophy and religion play a huge role in Greek culture and traditions.
Pathos
Pathos Definition. What is pathos? Here's a quick and simple definition: Pathos, along with logos and ethos, is one of the three "modes of persuasion" in rhetoric (the art of effective speaking or writing). Pathos is an argument that appeals to an audience's emotions. When a speaker tells a personal story, presents an audience with a powerful visual image, or appeals to an audience's sense ...
speech
speech. (n.). Middle English speche, from Old English spæc "act of speaking; power of uttering articulate sounds; manner of speaking; statement, discourse, narrative, formal utterance; language." It is a variant of Old English spræc, which is from Proto-Germanic *sprek-, *spek-(source also of Danish sprog, Old Saxon spraca, Old Frisian spreke, Dutch spraak, Old High German sprahha, German ...
Overview of the Parts of Speech in the Greek Language
According to Webster's Dictionary, a pronoun is: any of a small set of words in a language that are used as substitutes for nouns or noun phrases and whose referents are named or understood in the context. In the Greek language, these are the main pronouns: I - Εγώ - ego. You - εσύ - esi. He - αυτός - aftos.
Ethos
Ethos Definition. What is ethos? Here's a quick and simple definition: Ethos, along with logos and pathos, is one of the three "modes of persuasion" in rhetoric (the art of effective speaking or writing). Ethos is an argument that appeals to the audience by emphasizing the speaker's credibility and authority. If the speaker has a high-ranking position, is an expert in his or her field, or ...
speech
speech n. (declaration, address) ομιλία ουσ θηλ. λόγος ουσ αρσ. The vice president's speech was politely applauded. Η ομιλία του αντιπρόεδρου έγινε δεκτή με ένα ευγενικό χειροκρότημα. ⓘ. Αυτή η πρόταση δεν είναι μετάφραση της ...
The Gift of Tongues and Interpretation of Tongues: A Greek Study
BDAG (Greek lexicon) lists the following meanings for glossa: 1) "organ of speech, tongue". 2) "a body of words and systems that makes up a distinctive language, language, tongue". 3 ...
Parts Of Speech
Parts Of Speech. In Greek there are 10 parts of speech. Some of them we can conjugate: a modifier of a noun or pronoun ( big, brave ). Adjectives make the meaning of another word (noun) more precise. a syntactic connector; links words, phrases, or clauses ( and, but ). Conjunctions connect words or group of words.
Glossolalia
glossolalia, (from Greek glōssa, "tongue," and lalia, "talking"), utterances approximating words and speech, usually produced during states of intense religious experience.The vocal organs of the speaker are affected; the tongue moves, in many cases without the conscious control of the speaker; and generally unintelligible speech pours forth.
Demosthenes
On the Liberty of the Rhodians[Dem. 15] For the Megalopolitans[Dem. 16] On the Accession of Alexander[Dem. 17] On the Crown[Dem. 18]
The Eclipse That Ended a War and Shook the Gods Forever
Published April 6, 2024 Updated April 7, 2024. In the spring of 585 B.C. in the Eastern Mediterranean, the moon came out of nowhere to hide the face of the sun, turning day into night. Back then ...
Trump's bizarre, vindictive incoherence has to be heard in full to be
Watching a Trump speech in full better shows what it's like inside his head: a smorgasbord of falsehoods, personal and professional vendettas, frequent comparisons to other famous people, a ...
Word of the Day: Aegis
Did You Know? English borrowed aegis from Latin, but the word ultimately comes from the Greek noun aigís, meaning "goatskin."In ancient Greek mythology, an aegis was something that offered physical protection. It has been depicted in various ways, including as a magical protective cloak made from the skin of the goat that suckled Zeus as an infant, and as a shield fashioned by Hephaestus ...

Module 16: The Origins of Public Speaking

The Nature of Rhetoric

Dialectics and Logic

The Rhetorical Approach

2.2: Ancient Greece

The Rise of Democracy

The Nature of Rhetoric

Dialectics and Logic

The Rhetorical Approach

The Essential Glossary for Ancient Greek Philosophy

Table of Contents

Arche (ἀρχή): The Perennial Source

Logos (λόγος): A Rational Order

Mythos (μῦθος), the Oral Tradition

Physis (φύσις): Natural Law

Nomos (νόμος): Human Law

Arete (ἀρετή): The Realization of Excellence

Final Thoughts

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Aristotle’s Rhetoric

1. Aristotle’s Works on Rhetoric

4. The Nature and Purpose of Rhetoric

5. The Three Means of Persuasion

6. The Enthymeme

7. The Topoi

8. Style: How to Say Things with Words

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Two Concepts of Free Speech, from Classical Athens to Today’s Campus

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Speeches from Athenian Law

Free Speech in Ancient Greece

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A Brief Overview of Greek Culture

1. Philosophy & Religion

A- Ancient Greek Philosophers

B- Greek Orthodox Church

2. Family & Work

A- Αρχιτεκτονική ( Arhitektonikí ) – “Architecture”

B- Γλυπτική ( Gliptikí ) – “Sculpting”

C- Ζωγραφική ( Zografikí ) – “Painting”

D- Λογοτεχνία ( Logotehnía ) & Ποίηση ( Píisi ) – “Literature & Poetry”

E- Θέατρο ( Théatro ) – “Theatre”

5. Holidays & Observances

6. Conclusion

How To Say ‘Thank you’ in Greek

How to Say Hello in Greek: Do it Like a Local!

How to Say I Love You in Greek – Romantic Word List

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30+ Common Greek Classroom Phrases

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Ethos Definition

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Ethos Explained

The Stagecraft of Ethos

Ethos and Ad Hominem

Ethos Examples