Thank You for Arguing: What Aristotle, Lincoln, and Homer Simpson Can Teach Us About the Art of Persuasion

“Argument’s Rule Number One: Never debate the undebatable.”

Heinrichs calls attention to one of the most crucial aspects of an argument: tense. Most arguments take place in the wrong tense, which is why so many end in accusations and name-calling. One needs to use the appropriate tense depending on topic: blame questions deal with the past and require past tense (forensic rhetoric), value questions are in the present and require present tense (demonstrative rhetoric), and choice questions have to do with the future and require future tense (deliberative rhetoric). For example, morals and values are inarguable in forensic and deliberative rhetoric.

“Logos, ethos, and pathos appear to the brain, gut, and heart of your audience. While our brain tries to sort the facts, our gut tells us whether we can trust the other person, and our heart makes us want to do something about it.”

Logos (logic), ethos (character), and pathos (emotion) are Aristotle’s three megatools of persuasion. Logos requires a persuader to get inside their opponent’s head, ethos requires a persuader to appear trustworthy, and pathos requires a persuader to understand what makes their audience tick. These tools require that the persuader understand their opponent and sympathize with their audience.

“I stared at John in astonishment.

John: What?

Me: How did you do that?

John: Do what? Give a girl a flower?

Me: You called her ‘doll.’

John: Yeah. She was cute.

Maybe he was on to something. ‘Wait here,’ I told him, and I jaywalked back across the street and bought another rose from the Hare Krishna just as the light changed and a crowd of bar hoppers came toward me, including several young women. I picked out a stunning blonde and thrust the rose at her just as John had done. I even tried to imitate his tone.

Me: Here ya go, doll.

Women: Go to hell.”

In this passage, Heinrichs’s brother John successfully gifts a flower to a woman despite calling her “doll.” Shocked by this turn of events, Heinrichs tries an experiment. He attempts to replicate his brother’s behavior to see if he gets the same result: The experiment fails despite him and his brother looking similar. This experiment highlights one of the most important elements of decorum: What works for one persuader might not work for another, even if their audiences are the same. In this case, the audience is similar (i.e., John and Heinrichs give flowers to young women). However, Heinrichs’s target likely picked up on him straying from his usual self, his usual character. He notes that John was more open and jovial than him. In fact, Heinrichs was extremely embarrassed to try the experiment in the first place. By acting out of character, Heinrichs was unable to persuade his audience of his sincerity, explaining the difference between how the young women reacted.

“George W. Bush made a smooth switch in opposing the Department of Homeland Security and then fighting for it when its creation seemed inevitable. He never apologized, never looked back, and few people called him a waffler. Hillary Clinton pulled a less convincing Eddie Haskell ploy when, after promoting the Trans-Pacific Partnership trade deal as secretary of state, she opposed it while running for president.”

Heinrichs uses George W. Bush and Hillary Clinton to illustrate the Eddie Haskell ploy, an ethos tool with which a persuader makes an inevitable decision seem like a willing sacrifice on their part. He named this tool after Eddie Haskell from television show Leave It to Beaver, who was always flattering his neighbor’s mother. In both examples, Bush and Clinton pretend they were in favor of a particular action from the start despite initially opposing it. Heinrichs believes Bush pulled off a more convincing Eddie Haskell ploy than Clinton, underscoring that some people are better at it than others.

“After Dean Wormer expels the fraternity, John Belushi’s Bluto addresses his brothers with a passionate oration.

Bluto: Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! And it ain’t over now. ‘Cause when the goin’ gets tough…the tough get goin’! Who’s with me? Let’s go!

He runs from the room, and nobody moves. How come?”

Heinrichs uses a scene from the film Animal House to illustrate a key quality of ethos: practical wisdom or craft. John Belushi’s Bluto attempts to get his fraternity brothers to take action after the dean of the university expels them. Bluto uses several timeless rhetorical tools—including asking a rhetorical question and then immediately answering it (“Who’s with me? Let’s go!”), a figure of speech (“‘Cause when the goin’ gets tough…”), and a call to action. Yet, his speech fails. The reason for this failure is Bluto’s lack of craft. His fraternity brothers know him as a friend, not someone who necessarily knows what he is doing—not someone worth following into action.

“Everyone lusts after something. If you can suss out the desire, exploit the lust, dangle the carrot, then you bridge the gap.”

Desire, exploiting an audience’s lust, is a powerful tool of pathos. This tool can help an agent overcome an impasse. By determining what their audience desires, the agent can use it to persuade them into action. This technique works in nearly every human endeavor.

“Early in my publishing career, I worked for a small magazine that had no fact-checkers. When Mount St. Helens erupted for the first time, I wrote a short news piece in which I cluelessly placed the volcano in Oregon. I didn’t realize my mistake until after the magazine was published and a reader pointed it out to me. I walked into the editor’s office and closed the door.

Me (looking stricken): I’ve got bad news, Bill. Really bad news.

Bill: What?

Me: It was sloppy and stupid and I swear, boss, it’ll never happen again.

Bill: What will?

Me: I put Mount St. Helens in the wrong state.

Bill: It’s in Washington, right?

Me: I put it in Oregon. I’m dying over this one.

Bill: Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. These things happen. Just write a correction for the next issue.

Me (handing him the correction): Done.”

Heinrichs uses this story to illustrate an important pathos tool for checking emotion in advance: backfire. With this tool, an agent overplays their audience’s emotion. Heinrichs exaggerates emotions that his boss, Bill, is likely feeling over his mistake. By turning these emotions on himself, Heinrichs causes Bill to sympathize with him rather than stewing in anger and frustration. A backfire works best one-on-one with someone an agent already knows and likes. If Heinrichs had attempted this strategy with a stranger, they might have taken his dramatic statement at face value. His attempt to defuse the situation might have quite literally backfired.

“Mr. Burns: Oh, meltdown. It’s one of those annoying buzzwords. We prefer to call it an unrequested fission surplus.”

In this quote from The Simpsons, the iconic series that satirically depicts life in the US, Mr. Burns, a reoccurring antagonist, hears news of his nuclear power plant’s meltdown. By replacing “meltdown” with “unrequested fission surplus,” Mr. Burns attempts to redefine the issue to put himself in a more favorable light with his audience. Meltdown is a commonplace word that carries extreme emotion. In contrast, “unrequested fission surplus” is not a commonplace word; therefore, it does not have the same emotional effect as meltdown. Heinrichs uses numerous examples from The Simpsons throughout his book to help drive home how accessible and commonplace rhetoric is to readers.

“Annie: All politicians are alike when it comes to taxes; the only difference is that the Republicans won’t admit it. Given two politicians, I’d vote for the more honest one.”

Heinrichs uses this quote to illustrate deductive logic. Annie uses a commonplace (premise) that both she and her friend Kathy agree on: “all politicians are alike.” She then applies the commonplace to a situation (the election). Her goal is to persuade Kathy that Republicans are worse than Democrats because they lie, so Kathy should vote Democrat (conclusion). All logical arguments include a premise and conclusion.

“It’s not about you.”

This statement represents the fundamental rule of persuasion: A persuader should never talk about their own motives, needs, or wants. Instead, they should determine what their audience wants. Once the persuader finds this hook, they must structure their argument around solving the audience’s needs or wants through their own preferred choice.

“An ability to detect a fallacy helps you protect yourself—against politicians, salespeople, diet books, doctors, and your own children.”

One of Heinrichs’s goals is to demonstrate how rhetoric can help readers sift through noise to extract truth. Logical fallacies are ubiquitous, being found in advertisements (“all natural food”), political campaigns (Do you support abortions financed by the government and a woman’s right to choose?), parenting methods (If a parent lets one of their children skip dinner, then they’ll have to let the others skip dinner as well), and more. To help readers spot logical tricks (and potentially use them against opponents), Heinrichs encourages readers to look for bad proof, the wrong number of choices, and disconnects between proof and conclusions.

“I love rhetoric’s refreshing lack of rules. It forgives your logical sins. It says to humanity, Don’t ever change, you’re beautiful. Any sort of discourse that required reforming humans would make me hide in my cabin.”

Formal logic follows strict rules, whereas rhetorical logic has very few rules. Individuals can commit logical fallacies in arguments. The purpose of an argument is not to be correct but to persuade; logical fallacies are only wrong if they fail to persuade an audience. Heinrichs thoroughly enjoys rhetoric’s lack of rules, believing it suits human nature. The only true fouls in rhetoric are fighting and distracting, which prevent arguments from reaching their conclusions.

“Rhetorical virtue lets you leverage what you know, applying that limited knowledge to areas where you don’t have the facts. This is especially useful with political issues, where the pundits and pols know more than you and I. Politicians often pitch their own arguments as the means between extremes, even in these polarized days. They do that by making their opponents appear to lie further from the middle than they actually are. Conservatives can’t say the word ‘environmental’ without following it with ‘extremist’; that makes anyone who expresses concern about global warming seem like a froth-at-the-mouth radical.”

To Heinrichs, assessing a person’s rhetorical virtue is one of the best liar detectors. To do so, an individual needs to pay attention to how the persuader describes extremes and determine whether the persuader’s middle ground is similar to their own. Checking extremes (or the persuader’s virtue) is especially important given today’s polarized climate. Heinrichs underscores the need to consult one’s own interests when politicians use terms like “‘extremists’ or ‘special interests’” (209).

“Practical wisdom is the compelling trait of good politics.”

Throughout Thank You for Arguing, Heinrichs laments the absence of rhetoric in American life—especially in politics. Voters should want to pick candidates who are rhetorically wise, meaning they avoid applying their own experiences to particular situations all the time. Rhetorically wise politicians understand that a good choice changes and depends on a given situation. They also know when to apply comparable experience. Should they lack this experience, they do not try to tout irrelevant experience. Heinrichs believes the US would not be as polarized if it had more practically wise politicians.

“Rhetoric is about swaying, not blowing away.”

Bullies are everywhere and often assume they can use rhetoric to “blow away” opponents. In fact, students frequently ask Heinrichs how they can use rhetoric to do just that. Heinrichs asserts that rhetoric cannot be used for this purpose. Rhetoric is about persuasion. Those who try to misuse rhetoric to bully are not technically committing a fallacy, but they are increasing tribalism on both sides.

“I slammed a Red Bull, downing the whole can. Liquid courage. Time to make my pitch to the C-Suite. The receptionist gives me the stink-eye, which I guess means it’s showtime. My slides are already thrown up on the screen and a roomful of suits are raising their faces like they’re hoping to get a PowerPoint tan. Feeling pumped and glad for the face time, I dive right in. ‘Ladies, gentlemen, the social strategy I’m presenting today is more than just collecting eyeballs. More than dashboard friendly analytics and clickbait content. More than a crowdsourced consumer-journey play. It’s a marketing revolution!’”

Heinrichs illustrates the magic of metonymies—which take a characteristic, action, sign, material, or container and make it stand for something greater than reality. There are at least nine metonymies in this paragraph alone (all of which have been bolded). “Downing the whole can” is one example. If Heinrichs literally consumed a can, he would need an immediate visit to the emergency room. The can stands for the liquid it contains. “Downing” is also a metonymy on its own. It takes the results of an action (drinking, which causes liquid to go down the throat) and makes it stand for the action itself. “Roomful of suits” is another example. Suits, worn by businesspeople, represent all the men and women in the room. Heinrichs equates metonymies to black magic because they show different angles to reality.

“Oh, jeez. Here I was, just starting my journalism career, and I’d already moved an entire volcano by accident. I had to make a choice, and make it fast: rewrite my resume, or come up with a plan. I chose option two. So I sat at my desk for five minutes thinking. Then I picked up the letter and took it into the boss’s office. After telling him I screwed up big-time, I handed him the letter.

‘I have a plan,’ I said. ‘What if I bought a volcano and brought it to the governor.’

‘You want to take her a volcano?’

‘Well, not a real one. A bronze one, or plaster of Paris. That way we could be giving her her volcano back. Good publicity for her, and for us.’

‘A screw-up like this doesn’t earn you a trip to the West Coast,’ my boss replied. ‘But go ahead and mail it.’

‘So that’s what I did. I found a little plastic volcano and mailed it with a nice note thanking the governor for letting us borrow it. Some days later, I received a photograph signed by the governor. It showed her smilingly holding up the volcano along with a copy of the offending magazine. We published the picture with our correction in the next issue.’”

This story in which Heinrichs accidentally places Mount St. Helens in the wrong state (in an article) illustrates how one can benefit from an error. First, Heinrichs sets a goal. Instead of making up an excuse, he creates a plan to ensure job security, a happy boss, and a happy governor. He also delivers the news first (a tool known as kairos, or rhetoric timing). Fortunately, the governor emailed Heinrichs about his error rather than his editor, so he was able to control how he broke the news to his boss. Once Heinrichs told his boss about the mistake, he immediately switched to the future tense by suggesting what they could do about it. The future is the rhetoric of choices, whereas the past deals with blame. In the end, his plan enhanced his ethos. He not only kept his job but also made both his boss and the governor happy.

“Barack Obama was a relatively popular president toward the end of his second term. The economy was gradually improving, violent crime was at historic lows, and gun owners got to keep every one of their guns. Yet Americans were in a rotten mood. A dysfunctional government seemed unable to make any decisions. So the status quo became very uncool. Half the eligible voters sat out the election, and nearly half of those who bothered to vote chose a man who promised a radical shake-up. Donald Trump had chosen a persuadable moment to run for the White House.”

One of the strengths of Heinrichs’s book is that he uses modern examples to illustrate ancient and often complex rhetoric tools. Kairos, the ability to spot and exploit a persuasive moment, has been around since ancient times. Rather than picking older examples to illustrate this rhetoric tool, Heinrichs focuses on one familiar to all Americans: the 2016 election. In doing so, Heinrichs demonstrates how times of uncertainty can signal a persuadable moment.

“In 2012, CERN, the European nuclear research organization, made its biggest announcement ever: It had detected the long-sought Higgs boson particle. CERN announced this very big deal, this great discovery, in Comic Sans—a goofy type that Microsoft had created for word balloons in online cartoons.”

Fonts are designed for specific purposes; thus, using the wrong one can be bad decorum. In this example, CERN announced a significant discovery with the wrong font. In doing so, they took attention away from the discovery itself; Comic Sans conveyed the wrong message. CERN seized the moment—but failed to use the right medium. This mistake broke their audience’s immersion, a break in an otherwise persuasive moment. Heinrichs encourages readers to learn the purpose of particular fonts to avoid making CERN’s mistake.

“By putting the proof before the conclusion, you turn an argument into a story while ‘discovering’ your point along with the audience.”

Throughout the book, Heinrichs offers tangible advice on how to craft persuasive speeches. After studying TED talks, he argues that the most popular ones all have one thing in common: The most popular speeches are journeys of discovery, meaning they present proof first and then a conclusion (inductive logic). While most students learn the opposite technique, Heinrichs encourages readers to think about crafting their speeches like TED talks.

“Obama: Virginia, I have just one word for you, just one word. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.”

Heinrichs uses excerpts from President Barack Obama’s speeches to illustrate how ancient rhetoric tools and tricks are still relevant in modern day. In this excerpt, Obama utilizes a key tool of demonstrative rhetoric: a single key word. Obama could have said the election comes down to election day. Instead, his repeated use of “tomorrow” makes it sound like this moment in history will determine the future of the country and humanity as a whole. By doing so, Obama brings his audience together to focus on a shared value: electing a Democrat to save the country.

“Reading this funny, bawdy, conversational, ingenious man for the first time feels like meeting the greatest uncle you could imagine. You almost expect him to gently lift his cat off the chair and offer you a seat. He pours you a glass of his sweet golden wine and then tells you about the time he talked his way out of being held hostage by a group of bandits. But most readers don’t realize that Montaigne was doing something even more powerful than inventing a new way of writing. His essays comprise one of the most effective arguments in human history. In a world that was tearing itself a part with conflicting eternal truths, Montaigne argued for a humble, science-loving, tolerantly curious view of humanity.”

Heinrichs sees parallels between the world of Michel de Montaigne (a French diplomat and philosopher who lived during the late 1500s) and the present. Montaigne lived in an extremely turbulent and uncertain time, like the readers of today. While Heinrichs primarily focuses on rhetorical speech, he frames writing as an equally important persuasive tool. He believes everyone has the ability to unite others by touching on common flaws, which is what Montaigne himself did. Heinrichs finds comfort in writing essays that bind him to his fellow humans and hopes the reader does too.

“One way to get a feel for the tool is to watch the arguments around you and try to determine the techniques people use—or fail to.”

Throughout the book, Heinrichs presents over 100 rhetorical tools. He reiterates that he does not expect readers to memorize them all—rather, he simply hopes that they familiarize themselves with them. He also recommends observing everyday arguments to determine how different people use tools of persuasion. By teaching these tools, Heinrichs hopes that more people will learn about persuasion, and the US will return to a nation of rhetoric.