Commentary #6 (Aristotle's Rhetoric)

Just the Facts?

“The right thing in speaking really is that we should be satisfied not to annoy our hearers, without trying to delight them: we ought in fairness to fight our case with no help beyond the bare facts: nothing, therefore, should matter except the proof of those facts.”

Have to admit that these words from Aristotle (Book III, Chapter 1) had me nodding in agreement. Yes, how neat and tidy and easy it would be for all of us (speakers and listeners) to successfully pitch and receive, respectively, only the bare facts.

Aristotle continues: “Still, as has been already said, other things affect the result considerably . . .” Yes, that’s true. After all, raw facts are often bolstered and enhanced by other elements, as basketball teams are often buoyed to victory by the wildly cheering fans surrounding them.

Now comes the painful ending to Aristotle’s previous sentence: “. . . [other things affect the result considerably,] owing to the defects of our hearers.” Two paragraphs later he adds: “Even now most uneducated people think that poetical language makes the finest discourse. That is not true: the language of prose is distinct from that of poetry.” (237). Ouch! Aristotle is blaming the failure of the speaker’s bare-facts tactic on the inadequacies of the audience!

Here’s the thing: Many years ago, I had to take a course called English Literature from the Middle Ages to the Eighteenth Century as part of an undergraduate degree in secondary education. At the startup, neither my classmates nor I were especially thrilled with the prospect of Beowulf, Everyman, An Apology for Poetry, and other perhaps dryish readings included in the syllabus. The cause of our ennui – whether it be preconceived notions about the contents of the course or just our immaturity – doesn’t matter. What matters is that the teacher presented an argument FOR the literature that included way more than facts. This curious-looking young prof, with one pronounced eye that wandered outwardly – plus a tangle of dark, untamed waves that often flopped over his brow – plunged into our texts with vigor. Unlike Aristotle, Dr. Gallagher was not satisfied “not to annoy” his hearers. In fact, he might have wanted to “delight” them, because during each class period, that man poetically exuded life and meaning from mere words and ideas that could have easily remained dormant. He made his students true believers in the talents and worth of the likes of Christopher Marlowe when, with total absence of self-consciousness, he jumped on top of his desk to explain the importance of a specific dialogue between Dr. Faustus and Mephistopheles. Dr. Gallagher’s enthusiasm, his genuine excitement in sharing facts he had already savored, and his bigger-than-life delivery were spectacular – not to mention effective in teaching the facts.

So, as brilliant as Aristotle may have been about the subject of rhetoric, I think he could have shown more respect to options of delivery. Of course, were he here, he might remind me that the success of speaker Gallagher’s inappropriate delivery was the fault of my classmates and me – the audience – the defective, uneducated hearers.