Aristotle on Happiness

At the end of chapter four of Rhetoric, Aristotle writes, “These, then are the most important kinds of information a political speaker can possess. Let us now go back and state the premises from which he will have to argue in favour of adopting or rejecting measures regarding these and other matters.”  According to Aristotle one of these premises is “will this make me happy?”  In chapter five he states that happiness is the emotion behind what men choose and what they avoid.  I read this as meaning that in order to persuade a man you must convince him that his happiness will increase.

            Reading Aristotle’s point got me thinking about how logical and emotional appeals work together.  Yes, happiness is an emotion, but it could be the end game of a logical appeal.  For instance, a commercial shows a girl with a new bike smiling and laughing, her parents happily videotaping.  The unstated logical argument is: girl has bike; she is happy; buying this bike will make you happy.  This is an inductive argument, but it is also one that appeals to our desire to be happy.  

As for Aristotle’s contention that happiness is the emotion behind what they choose and what they avoid—I don’t buy it.  As a counterexample, a woman might be persuaded to a certain action if that action would decrease her own happiness but would increase her child’s happiness.  I’d like to know what people think.

Enargeia Revised
http://thesophistrhe330e.blogspot.com/2011/01/enargeia-revised.html

Enargeia revised

I tried to shut out the sound of the other students’ speeches and go over my notes in my head.  But what I had planned to say now sounded like a fifth grade show and tell project, and I couldn’t stop imagining myself in front of the classroom, shaking as I held my notes, every other word caught by an “umm” or a “soo” Every time another student explained something well, I imagined myself doing the exact opposite—starting to speak, forgetting my place, backtracking, shaking, botching a difficult word, shaking some more.   Ok, ok, ok, I could do this.  I just needed to develop an entirely different presentation.  I frantically restructured my notes and began practicing under my breath.  But I was getting disapproving glares from my peers.  “Who was this muttering psycho?” their faces seemed to ask.  No, this wasn’t working!  I had to stick to my original presentation.  But panic had destroyed any memory of my former speech.  A sense of impending doom overcame me, causing me to let out a tiny high-pitched squeal.  Just then, the professor stuck his hand in the hat.  A quick glance at the clock told me that there was time for one more presentation.  My back stiffened, and my eyes widened.  I was a frightened doe, listening for the minute sounds of a predator in the woods.  I stared at the hat, willing the piece of paper with my name on it to run, hide, or destroy itself!  “Ok, who do we got here…” Dr. Jefferson trailed, “James!”  I collapsed with relief onto my desk.  When class ended I went home to really prepare my presentation.

Enargeia

Day of Reckoning

I woke up early that morning to draft my presentation notes and to do an informal run-through in front of the mirror.  Our professor was drawing from a hat to see who would go today.  The minimal preparation I had done did not bother me; I was convinced that I could wing it well enough to snag a good grade.  When I got to class I sat down and started half-heartedly rehearsing my presentation in case my name was called.  Dr. Jefferson pulled the first name from the hat—Katie Andrews.  Katie strutted confidently to the front of the classroom to deliver a perfect presentation, which included powerpoint, charts, graphs, pictures, and excellent verbal transitions.  This is when the first wave of anxiety hit me.  The quality of my presentation was nowhere near Katie Andrew’s.  I smothered my panic by telling myself that Katie Andrews was an overachiever.   But as the class continued, the quality of presentations did not decrease.   I was really panicking now as I realized I that I was going to look like a fool up there with my graphless, chartless presentation.  My heart began to race; my breathing quickened.  I tried to shut out the sound of the other students’ speeches and go over my notes in my head.  But what I had planned to say now sounded like a fifth grade show and tell project, and I couldn’t stop imagining myself in front of the classroom, shaking as I held my notes, every other word caught by an “umm” or a “soo.”  Ok, ok, ok, I could do this.  I just needed to develop an entirely different presentation.  I frantically restructured my notes and began practicing under my breath.  But I was getting disapproving stares from my peers.  “Who was this muttering psycho?” their faces seemed to ask.  No, this wasn’t working!  I had to stick to my original presentation.  But the waves of panic had somehow erased it from my memory.  Just then, the professor stuck his hand in the hat. A quick glance at the clock told me that there was time for one more presentation.  I stared holes into the hat, trying to tell the piece of paper with my name on it to run, hide, or destroy itself!  “Ok, who do we got here… James,” Dr. Jefferson announced.  I collapsed with relief onto my desk.  When class ended I went home to really prepare my presentation.

Hi