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Lend me your ears
Lend me your ears On Campus
A
ristotle appeals to me. Among his most important achievements (including inventing philosophic concepts of science and property), though, is his concise rendition of the winning appeal. Aristotle figured that all winning appeals had three parts. The stronger each of these parts, the more likely the appeal was to succeed. Aristotle understood that the speaker needed credibility (ethos), a sound argument (logos), and an emotional appeal (pathos). In a campus chemical health & safety environment, all three of these play important roles. As a group, by and large, of scientists, the logic of the argument usually comes with its own quickness. It’s probably best if we don’t store things that burn next to things that start fires. It’s probably best if we put some disposable layer between our skin and the nasty stuff we’re handling. It’s probably best if we don’t put deadly poison into the water supply, though a long and tortuous path often lies between the sink drain and the water faucet. Living and working in a litigious society bound on almost all sides by regulation and controls of one kind or another makes short work of another logical argument: ‘‘it’s unwise to put your employer in a bad position.’’ I’m a fan of this particular line of reasoning, because it dispenses with the notions which no-one can prove – ‘‘the lead ion will surely find a sulfide ion somewhere downstream and safely precipitate out,’’ for example. It might, but drain disposal of a concentrated lead sulfate solution is still a violation of law, regardless of the prudence of the management plan. An old lawyers’ adage reminds us to ‘‘pound the facts, pound the law, or pound the table.’’ It is here that we come to quicksand. If we cannot create a logical argument, whether on the science or the law, for our perspective, we can only pound the table. And, of course, sometimes this works. Sometimes, ‘‘think of the children’’ or ‘‘it’s in the name of national defense’’ are perfectly acceptable bases for an initiative, or an invasion. Most times, they are not. Members of the audience disposed against might easily, and rightly, counter with ‘‘we can do more good a different way.’’ But credibility is the capital reserve of persuasion. Without this, we are simply shouting in the desert. No-one – not administrators, not faculty, not students, and not staff – will stand by while an incompetent boob dribbles on about this or that. Even if the argument is
1871-5532/$36.00 doi:10.1016/j.jchas.2009.05.007
sound and important, credibility buys critical access. Credibility comes with formal power (granted by the organization), external validation (usually granted by people outside the organization, as a certification, license, or degree), and respect (granted by the people in the organization). The last of these is essential to success. It requires integrity, intelligence, experience, and a track record of trustworthiness. I have long held that the journey to credibility requires one to be right most of the time, and to admit it quickly when wrong. Assertions of fact that the audience can quickly dismiss destroy credibility. Those who don’t enjoy it when others show that they’re wrong should try to be right more often. And nothing wins the day faster than fact. Yes, it’s good to be the king (or the boss), and those letters after your name, like a necktie, often allow a more favorable reception. But neither of these matter without respect. Consider a lecture I attended recently. The goal was to engage college students in the process of global philanthropy. The target audience of college students attends a small, private university, where the total cost of attendance (before discount) is north of forty thousand dollars per year. Truly, this audience may very well need a compelling presentation to move on this issue – especially if the motion requires capital outlay. So, following Aristotle, the speaker needed ethos, logos, and pathos. The premise of the argument was simple – once politicians figure out what needs doing and how they will pay for it, these students, among others, will come up with the ‘‘how.’’ And, in so doing, they will help hundreds of thousands of the world’s poor. Our speaker presented well-developed arguments for the efficiency and effectiveness of his approach. He documented time and time again where his process had created greater good for hundreds of millions of the world’s poor. He showed how two people can make a single connection that makes life more meaningful, and increases wealth all around. Perhaps the speaker have packed the house were he not a former President of the United States, and perhaps not. He was, and that meant that a much larger audience lending him a great many more ears. Does your audience respect you, consider you credible, and therefore allow themselves to lend their ears to your argument? If not, what’s missing – logos, pathos, or ethos?
ß Division of Chemical Health and Safety of the American Chemical Society Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
33
A
ristotle appeals to me. Among his most important achievements (including inventing philosophic concepts of science and property), though, is his concise rendition of the winning appeal. Aristotle figured that all winning appeals had three parts. The stronger each of these parts, the more likely the appeal was to succeed. Aristotle understood that the speaker needed credibility (ethos), a sound argument (logos), and an emotional appeal (pathos). In a campus chemical health & safety environment, all three of these play important roles. As a group, by and large, of scientists, the logic of the argument usually comes with its own quickness. It’s probably best if we don’t store things that burn next to things that start fires. It’s probably best if we put some disposable layer between our skin and the nasty stuff we’re handling. It’s probably best if we don’t put deadly poison into the water supply, though a long and tortuous path often lies between the sink drain and the water faucet. Living and working in a litigious society bound on almost all sides by regulation and controls of one kind or another makes short work of another logical argument: ‘‘it’s unwise to put your employer in a bad position.’’ I’m a fan of this particular line of reasoning, because it dispenses with the notions which no-one can prove – ‘‘the lead ion will surely find a sulfide ion somewhere downstream and safely precipitate out,’’ for example. It might, but drain disposal of a concentrated lead sulfate solution is still a violation of law, regardless of the prudence of the management plan. An old lawyers’ adage reminds us to ‘‘pound the facts, pound the law, or pound the table.’’ It is here that we come to quicksand. If we cannot create a logical argument, whether on the science or the law, for our perspective, we can only pound the table. And, of course, sometimes this works. Sometimes, ‘‘think of the children’’ or ‘‘it’s in the name of national defense’’ are perfectly acceptable bases for an initiative, or an invasion. Most times, they are not. Members of the audience disposed against might easily, and rightly, counter with ‘‘we can do more good a different way.’’ But credibility is the capital reserve of persuasion. Without this, we are simply shouting in the desert. No-one – not administrators, not faculty, not students, and not staff – will stand by while an incompetent boob dribbles on about this or that. Even if the argument is
1871-5532/$36.00 doi:10.1016/j.jchas.2009.05.007
sound and important, credibility buys critical access. Credibility comes with formal power (granted by the organization), external validation (usually granted by people outside the organization, as a certification, license, or degree), and respect (granted by the people in the organization). The last of these is essential to success. It requires integrity, intelligence, experience, and a track record of trustworthiness. I have long held that the journey to credibility requires one to be right most of the time, and to admit it quickly when wrong. Assertions of fact that the audience can quickly dismiss destroy credibility. Those who don’t enjoy it when others show that they’re wrong should try to be right more often. And nothing wins the day faster than fact. Yes, it’s good to be the king (or the boss), and those letters after your name, like a necktie, often allow a more favorable reception. But neither of these matter without respect. Consider a lecture I attended recently. The goal was to engage college students in the process of global philanthropy. The target audience of college students attends a small, private university, where the total cost of attendance (before discount) is north of forty thousand dollars per year. Truly, this audience may very well need a compelling presentation to move on this issue – especially if the motion requires capital outlay. So, following Aristotle, the speaker needed ethos, logos, and pathos. The premise of the argument was simple – once politicians figure out what needs doing and how they will pay for it, these students, among others, will come up with the ‘‘how.’’ And, in so doing, they will help hundreds of thousands of the world’s poor. Our speaker presented well-developed arguments for the efficiency and effectiveness of his approach. He documented time and time again where his process had created greater good for hundreds of millions of the world’s poor. He showed how two people can make a single connection that makes life more meaningful, and increases wealth all around. Perhaps the speaker have packed the house were he not a former President of the United States, and perhaps not. He was, and that meant that a much larger audience lending him a great many more ears. Does your audience respect you, consider you credible, and therefore allow themselves to lend their ears to your argument? If not, what’s missing – logos, pathos, or ethos?
ß Division of Chemical Health and Safety of the American Chemical Society Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
33