What is the key to persuasion? 

Over two-thousand years ago, people much smarter than me (and with better fashion sense) were pondering this question and coming up with some great answers. Long before we had Sigmind Freud and Mary Ainsworth revealing the inner-workings of our minds, Aristotle was asking himself: "If I want to persuade someone to do something, what does it really take?"

Put yourself in his shoes (or sandals). If you had to surmise what the key to persuasion was based on your own experiences--succinctly enough that you could etch it onto a clay tablet--what would you say? 

To come up with that answer, you might want to first think of a time when you had to convince someone to do (or stop doing) something. Perhaps you were trying to get your mom to buy you a new laptop, or your roommate to wash her own dishes, or your dad to forgive your for wrecking the car. How did you go about trying to convince them? Chances are, you tried several approaches: talking reasonably, appealing to their vanity or ego, making them feel sorry for you, reminding them that you're a responsible person. Depending on what you knew about the person, you would tailor your argument accordingly. If you knew your mom had a good sense of humor, then you might try to be funny as you convince her to hand over a thousand bucks for your new MacBook. If you knew your dad was safety-conscious, you might emphasize that the accident only happened because you were being overly cautious. Whatever the scenario, you would draw upon your knowledge of the person to say things that you knew they would find appealing. 

In the same way you probably figured this all out years ago, Aristotle, Plato's wisest and most well-known pupil, came to the realization that in order to persuade a person of anything, he had to "appeal" to them--and he knew different things would appeal to different people. But rather than try to list every possible thing that could potentially appeal to every type of person, he came up with three broad categories of appeals: ethos, pathos, and logos. He would teach people, like Alexander the Great, that these appeals were the key to getting men to vote for you, to follow you into battle, and to give up their land and their freedom for you.* If you wanted to convince someone to die for you, it wasn't enough to simply say, "I am your ruler." It wasn't enough to rile up people's anger toward a neighboring nation. It wasn't enough to logically explain why going to battle would be a good thing. But if you could do all three: get them to trust you as their leader, get them to feel some sense of anger or pride or patriotism, and get them to see the logic of your request, you could persuade them to do just about anything. 

While Aristotle was speaking specifically to rich, land-holding males of ancient Greece about public speaking, his idea of rhetorical appeals are universally applicable to people of all ages, genders, and socio-economic status, and in all forms of communication (written and verbal). It's as true now as it was when togas were still cool: If you want to persuade someone to do or to think something, you have to appeal to them on three distinct levels: they have to trust you (ethos), they have to feel something (pathos), and they have to sense the logic (logos). 

The following diagram illustrates how these three appeals overlap to produce the most likely scenario for persuasion to occur. Some arguments can still be effective even if they lean heavily on one appeal and ignore the others--but to be the most persuasive to the widest range of people, finding a balance of all three is your best hope. 

You'll notice in the diagram that I refer to each as an appeal or a fallacy. That's because when we do something that works, we call it an appeal. But if it doesn't work, we call it a fallacy. The words fallacy and fail have the same roots: a fallacy is a failure in your argument. For example, if I say, "I know what I'm talking about because I have a Ph.D. in rhetoric," and that makes you want to believe me, then that's an ethical appeal. If I say, "I know what I'm talking about because I have a Ph.D. in physics," and that makes you question my authority (what does a physicist know about rhetoric?), then it would be an ethical fallacy. 

Pathos

When discussing the art of persuasion, pathetic doesn't mean the same thing as when your roommate can't find a date. Here, pathetic simply means referring to emotion (or pathos). If our attempts to stir emotion in our readers or listeners works, we call it a pathetic appeal. If it doesn't work, it's a pathetic fallacy. 

Here are a couple of print-ads that demonstrate what a pathetic appeal looks like. I like to use advertisements because they are very short arguments that are much easier to pick apart than, say, a twenty-page scholarly article. At a glance you can see what appeals the creators are trying to make. 

What is the pathetic appeal you notice in the following ad for car tires?

If you're not sure, I'll make it simple: just about anytime you see an animal or a baby in an advertisement, it's because the advertisers know we're suckers for animals and babies. They make us go, "aw." Babies naturally bring out our protective instinct, and that protective instinct is what the marketers are hoping will get us to be a little less miserly when it comes time to make a purchase. They are hoping deep inside, we will see the ad and think, "My family really is worth the extra money for nice tires." 

Most articles I have read and lectures I have listened to about Aristotle's rhetorical appeals mention Sarah McLachlan's super sad commercials trying to raise money to prevent animal cruelty: 

https://youtu.be/9gspElv1yvc

Just like the print-ad above, it is hard as a consumer to see sad dogs in cages while Ms. McLachlan rips our hearts out with the saddest song in the history of the universe. That makes it such a great commercial for demonstrating pathos in its purest form. But it doesn't work on everyone. Usually, when I show the commercial to my students, there are a few snickers and groans. It's not that they're heartless, but they certainly know when they're being manipulated. 

How can you make pathetic appeals in your academic writing? It would be great if every paper you wrote could somehow play Sarah McLachlan in the background, rendering your professor into a bubbling mess of grief and tears. But there are more effective ways to string some pathos into your papers: 

• You could tell a sad story

• You could share a startling statistic 

• You could ask a pointed question 

• You could tell a joke 

• You could incorporate patriotic, Biblical, local, or political language 

• You could include photos and images

Every year, I get a few e-mails from students at the end of the semester begging for a higher grade. The following comes from an actual student: 

Dear Mr. Mike:

I’m so sorry I haven’t turned in my paper. I was going to, but my dad had a heart attack last week and I had to fly to LA because we thought he was going to die. I just got back yesterday, and I found my car broken into. I had to fix the window this morning because it’s so cold outside, and I need my car to get to work and school. I promise to turn in the paper by Friday. You’re such an awesome teacher. I’m going to refer you to all my friends when they start college. Thank you so much.

Just like my world-wary students snickering at the animal-cruelty commercial, I gave a massive eye-roll to this e-mail. I even e-mailed the student back and reminded him that we had just finished a four-week unit on the art of writing persuasive arguments, and that he could do much better. Perhaps for a younger, less cynical professor this would have been a true pathetic appeal, but for me it fell hard into the pathetic-fallacy category. 

Ethos

To put it simply, ethos refers to authority or trustworthiness. Your readers or listeners have to view you, the writer or speaker, as either an authority on the subject, or as someone they can trust. If they can see you as a trustworthy authority figure, that's even better. But you don't have to be a true authority. That's why we write research papers, after all, with good sources: this shows our readers that even if we don't know everything about the topic, we took the time to find information from people who do. Even if I know nothing about Japanese history, I could still appeal to my readers at an ethical level by citing actual experts in my paper. 

Advertisers tend to make ethical appeals in their commercials in one of two ways: 

1. A Celebrity Endorser

2. A Smart-looking Person in a White Lab Coat

Take the following Proactiv ad. Anyone who has turned on a television or flipped through a magazine in the last ten years knows who Katy Perry is. Even if she didn't claim to use Proactiv (which she does), we trust her simply because of the fact that she is beautiful, and advertisers know that for whatever reason, people (especially middle-class Americans) tend to trust attractive people more than unattractive people. Proactiv takes this ethical appeal one step further by only enlisting celebrity endorsers who claim to have used the product for many, many years. 

Sometimes, though, the celebrity endorser doesn't have an immediate connection to the product. Does Michael Jordan really wear Hanes underwear? Perhaps. But it doesn't really matter. People love him. He's a super attractive, super talented athlete, and if he tells me to buy Hanes undershirts because they don't cause "bacon collar," then I'm going to go out and buy Hanes undershirts. 

Pay attention to commercials for toothpaste, medication, insurance, and so on. You'll often see a person dressed like a doctor or scientist or lawyer, and in small words at the bottom, there will be some sort of disclaimer, like, "Paid actors." Even if people notice the disclaimer, the trick still works. Our brains begin associating the product with trustworthy professionals. 

Ethical appeals can quickly become ethical fallacies, though. Consider what happened a few years ago when Lance Armstrong, who was Nike's celebrity endorser, admitted to being part of a huge doping scandal. 

https://youtu.be/MIl5RxhLZ5U

All of the commercials were pulled, Nike cut ties with Mr. Armstrong, and they overhauled their entire Nike campaign. Had they continued running the commercials, it would have been a disaster. Companies pay a lot of money to make sure their celebrity endorsers lead to an ethical appeal, not an ethical fallacy. 

Lipitor had a similar problem when it was revealed that Dr. Jarvik, the inventor of the artificial heart, never was a licensed, practicing physician (he was a medical researcher), and that he didn't single-handedly invent the artificial heart, but was part of a team who created the first prototype. For my money, he's still a trustworthy fellow--a medical researcher who specializes in the heart can tell me any day which cholesterol medicine to use--but the revelation cast enough doubt that Lipitor pulled the ads and cut ties with Dr. Jarvik. 

How do we make ethical appeals in academic writing? 

The obvious answer is to hire Michael Jordan to hand in your papers for you. Or to get Samuel L. Jackson to write an epilogue to your next essay. Or, you could take a more traditional approach and try the following: 

• State why you are an authority on the topic

• Use credible sources 

• Cite professionals 

• Show how your experiences provide you with special insight 

• Demonstrate a mastery of grammar, usage, and style

That last bullet-point about grammar, usage, and style might seem kind of odd, especially when we're talking about authority and trustworthiness. But think about how many times you've read a comment online like this: "What do you know? You can't even spell!" If something, like a run-on sentence or misspelled word, causes your readers to focus on errors and ignore your great ideas, then you are letting those mistakes undermine you. Don't let your readers lose faith in you because of something so banal as a misplaced comma or rogue homonym. 

If you want to see an ethical appeal in its purest form (with little pathos or logos mucking it up), just look at your resume. They are all about making one giant ethical appeal: Hire me! Just look at why I'm the right person for the job!

Logos

If you're lucky, you're attending a college that requires you to take a course in logic--or at least that offers it as an elective. If you get the chance, take the course, because the more sound your logic is, they more convincing your arguments will be (and the easier it will be for you to pick apart other-people's arguments).

Some quick and easy ways you can make a logical appeal in academic writing include: 

• Not contradicting yourself 

• Using data and facts correctly 

• Backing up claims with adequate evidence (timely, relevant, and reliable sources that pass the CRAAP Test) 

• Making it clear when you are merely expressing your opinion  

• Anticipating your readers’ counterarguments 

• Avoiding absolutes, such as all, none, nobody, everybody, never, and always 

I also recommend you spend some time reading my chapter on logical fallacies. 

The purest form of a logical appeal in academic writing would be the lab report. If you haven't had a chance to write one yet, you likely will before graduating. You'll quickly learn that there's really no room in a lab report for pathos or ethos. You won't spend your time opening the report with a provocative story or telling your reader why you are a reliable scientist. You'll just report the facts: what your hypothesis was, what experiment you conducted, and whether or not it supported the hypothesis. 

Click on the following links to television commercials. As you watch them, try to identify the ways in which the advertisers attempt to make ethical, logical, and pathetic appeals. You'll notice some commercials lean more heavily on one or two appeals rather than making a balanced approach. 

Moccona "Cinderella" Commercial: 

https://youtu.be/6NAeMGn8m14

Pathos: stirring music, easily-recognized Cinderella story, full of attractive people (i.e. sex sells)

Ethos: attractive people (i.e. Americans trust attractive people)

Logos: the final tag line: "never settle for less than perfect"; the idea that Moccona is the coffee you've been searching for this whole time

Nike "Find Your Greatness" Commercial: 

https://youtu.be/A9pmgoETgQQ

Pathos: no music; inspirational to see an average person rather than an athlete or typically-attractive person

Ethos: narrator has a British accent (i.e. Americans trust people with British accents)

Logos: the whole question about what greatness is, the implication that their shoe will help you achieve greatness (note: there's kind of a contradictory logic at play here: Nike wants you to believe that greatness comes from within...but you still need their products to achieve it!)

DirecTV "Don't Wake Up In a Roadside Ditch" Commercial 

https://youtu.be/kIv3m2gMgUU

Pathos: it's ridiculous and funny, it purposely commits a logical fallacy (slippery slope) for comedic effect

Ethos: not much, other than the narrator sounds authoritative

Logos: the whole thing is built on a logical fallacy (slippery slope), which is actually supposed to be a pathetic appeal (because it's so ridiculous that it's funny), buy DirecTV and avoid bad things happening to you

Final Thoughts

You'll get a lot of mileage out of understanding rhetorical appeals. Anytime you are asked to analyze something that is meant to be persuasive--a TED Talk, a commercial, a textbook chapter, a blog post, or an article--you can analyze it using ethos, pathos, and logos. It's easy to point out what worked (appeals) and what didn't (fallacies), and when you use terms like "logical fallacy" and "ethical appeal" and "slippery slope," your professor will be impressed. They eat that stuff up. And understanding rhetorical appeals will also help you to write more convincing arguments because you'll be able to anticipate what will actually appeal to your readers and what won't. Your writing will shift from just trying to show everything you know about a topic to selectively presenting ideas and data in a way that will convince your reader to think or act a certain way. 

*We don't know exactly what Aristotle taught Alexander the Great, but it's safe to assume that elements of persuasion might have been in the curriculum.