September 29, 2008, 9:52 am by Brett

 pathology - 1: the study of the essential nature of diseases and especially of the structural and functional changes produced by them 

source: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pathology

I didn’t do enough research into the etymology of the word pathology to rightly claim that the emotional appeal of an orator is akin to spreading a disease; however, if you think about it in the right light, pathos is the contagious part of rhetoric.

There is an effort to spread your enthusiasm for your argument when you speak to an audience. You want to produce “structural and functional changes” in the minds and actions of your speaker. One accomplishes this by creating an argument that has not only the proper logos and ethos, but a pathos that carries the argument to the audience.

Just like disease, there are different ways of spreading the pathos around. Crowley and Hawhee speak about methods like enargeia, honorific and pejorative language. A rhetor speaks about events with such vivid language that the audience is transported to a scene in their minds - smack! . . . they just got slimed with the pathos transported by the enargeia germs. Another rhetor speaks honorably about all the good deeds and respectful accomplishments of a person - aaagh-cheew! . . . the rhetor just sneezed a whole slew of honorific language all over the audience. I hardly want to imagine what it is like to have pejorativitus.

Once the pathos has linked the rhetor with the audience, it is easier to persuade them with the use of logos and ethos. They are on your side, because they are sick with the same disease the rhetor has. The world becomes a shared experience.

You’ve all had experiences where you’re feeling on top of the world, then you meet your cynical and pessimistic friends for lunch, and once lunch is over, suddenly you see that dark rain cloud moving from atop their heads over yours. That’s the contagious nature of pathos at work. So next time you feel like going out into the world, remember there is another side of disease you have to avoid, and washing your hands 25 times a day won’t help a bit.

September 10, 2008, 10:17 am by Brett

Kairos: where time meets place with opportunity. This is one of my favorite parts about rhetoric. Seizing the moment when presented is one of the most exhilarating feelings a person can experience. I think that kairos is also one of the most important parts of rhetoric. Without the proper time and place to present a particular point, then what good can come of it? Kairos is like the volume knob on your guitar amp, the moment will determine whether or not you will be strumming your tune at 2, or cranked up like a real rock star at 11.

Progymnasmata. If you want to take a stab at pronouncing that word, then be my guest. While you’re at it, try chreia. According to the authors of our text, a brief saying or action that makes a point is known as chreia, this being one of the four forms of progymnasmata. I coined one of these chreias a while back. Have a gander, if you will:

I do what I can do, when I can do it; because if I don’t do it when I can, then it won’t get done.

It has yet to be elevated to the status of proverb like our man Jefferson and his, “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today,” but nevertheless, I have high hopes of spreading my little chreia far and wide.

Thinking again about the definition of chreia, I wonder what action could qualify as such? A thumbs up? The bird? Slapping someone in the face? What action could possibly make a point better than a high five? I could be way off base here, so feel free to help me out. Until next time, be on your toes so you can grab hold of that Kairos by the locks of his looney haircut.

August 19, 2008, 11:39 pm by Brett

I found the rhetorical exercises in Chapter One of Ancient Rhetoric, by Crowley and Hawhee to be of great interest. The practice of progymnasmata and declamation in ancient times taught students to prepare for active citizenship. As I read about the techniques and methods rhetoricians used to instruct their students, I reflected upon my own education and realized I had no similar experiences. I figure for my reading response, I will take a stab at the first level of progymnasmata, the fable. Enjoy:

There once was a cheetah named Tuma. He spent his days of youth roaming the grasslands of Africa with his mother and two brothers. Tuma and his brothers needed to learn how to hunt in order to survive. Their mother showed them how to run, lengthening their strides farther and farther. She encouraged the three to race while she hunted for the evening’s meal. 

While Tuma sat in the comfortable shade of an umbrella thorn tree, his brothers raced each other in the sweltering sun. Back and forth they ran, and in between races they approached their brother panting, ‘Come run, with us, Tuma. You must lengthen your stride!’ Tuma said, ‘No, brothers. You go on. I must see to this tree.’

The year came when the mother left the brothers to fend for themselves, so they traveled together for a while. Tuma could never catch his own meal, and his brothers only allowed him scraps of their own. Soon they needed even the scraps to store enough energy for the next hunt. Tuma was forced to leave them. He now spends his time foraging for carrion like a coyote. 

If you listen closely, you can hear Tuma’s cackle, cracking as he attempts his lonely coyote call under his umbrella thorn tree.