At first glance, Aristotle’s considerations of the place of emotion in argument put forth in Books 1 and 2 of the Rhetoric may indeed seem contradictory. After all, Book 1 opens with the proclamation that “The modes of persuasion are the only true constituents of the art: everything else is merely accessory. … The arousing of prejudice, pity, anger, and similar emotions have nothing to do with the essential facts; but is merely a personal appeal to the man who is judging the case” (1.1 beginning). How, then, can we reconcile this with the painstaking consideration of individual emotions that makes up Book 2? A consideration of Aristotle’s historical and ethical positions provides numerous clues.

First, it’s helpful to remember that Aristotle occupied a philosophical space somewhere in between the ruthless persuasive tactics of the Sophists and the more idealistic meditations of Plato, his old teacher. Aristotle was a pragmatist who worked toward developing a scientific, practical understanding of how bits of human existence worked – ethics, plants, rhetoric, the soul, etc. Regardless of whichever huge topic he was working with, he followed a method of breaking it down into tiny, workable pieces and then rebuilding it into a grand theory – a sort of ancient, philosophical version of the garage mechanic who breaks an engine down into individual bits of metal and then rebuilds it into a machine that generally works. It makes sense, then, that as a pragmatist occupying a historical moment consumed with two radical ideas of persuasion, Aristotle would be looking at which persuasive means were ethically sound, which were effective, and how persuasive discourse functioned as a whole.

As an ethicist, he firmly believed that virtue was situational and rational. He also saw it as purpose-driven: “Goodness varies with purpose. That is good which fulfills its purpose or function. That is excellent which fulfills its purpose or function to the highest level. What then is good of each?” (NE 1.7). This quote sounds more than a little Sophistic. However, we must also consider his other thoughts on personal responsibility and what constitutes good citizenship. In his view, solidness and strength are virtues when applied to any area of human existence. Aristotle expects the virtuous individual to be able to rationally evaluate the kairotic potential and ethical demands of any given rhetorical situation in order to create solid persuasive discourse.

It follows, then, that Aristotle’s virtuous orator would understand that emotional appeals are unethical within the context of judicial discourse. In his view, judicial discourse is predicated on past facts and therefore can only be weakened by any current emotion concerning those facts. Since members of judicial forums should only be concerned with facts, he deems it unethical to persuade them through any other device: “It is not right to pervert the judge by mobbing him to anger or envy or pity – one might well warp a carpenter’s rule before using it” (Rhetoric 1.1).

So no emotional appeals in the courts. We must remember, though, that Aristotelian virtue and rhetoric are situational and rational. And above all, we’re dealing with a pragmatist who was by no means a stupid man. He understood and accounted for the undeniable effectiveness of emotional appeals early in Book 1: “Of the modes of persuasion furnished by the spoken word there are three kinds: The first kind depends on the personal character of the speaker; the second on putting the audience into a certain frame of mind; the third on the proof, or apparent proof, provided by the words of the speech itself” (1.2). In other words: ethos, pathos, and logos.

Aristotle wasn’t about to throw out the pathos, and he didn’t claim that it’s inappropriate for epideictic or deliberative discourse, only for judicial. Instead he acknowledged the power of each appeal: “There are, then, these three means of understanding persuasion. The man who is to be in command of them must, it is clear, be able to reason logically, to understand human characters and excellences, and to understand the emotions – that is, to know what they are, their nature, their causes and the way in which they are excited” (1.2, emphasis mine). He opens Book 2 with a contemplation of the importance of considering emotional climate in audience analysis and then, in true Aristotelian fashion, he sets out to break them down into little pieces and understand them. He takes it all apart and puts it all back together, because he trusts that the virtuous orator will employ emotional appeals where they are most effective and ethical.