Gore vs. Bush

Why It's All Greek to Me

by Gary Orren

According to many media critics, this year's presidential nominating conventions were among the most lackluster — and perhaps irrelevant — in recent history. The major networks apparently deemed sitcom reruns to be of more vital national importance, and by all accounts, the American public was more entranced by the political machinations of the castaways on "Survivor." Despite this seeming apathy, however, some persist in speculating about the outcome of the presidential race. As I write this — nearly three months before election day — such early prophesying reminds me of the sage advice of former Yankees manager Casey Stengel. "I never make predictions," declared the Hall-of-Famer. "Especially about the future."

The precise shape of the campaign can be perceived but dimly on the horizon. In baseball parlance, we're still in the early innings. While we can pore over players' batting averages and past fielding errors in an effort to predict a given game's outcome, we never know for sure what they'll do when the pressure is on — or how the game will turn out. Not unlike baseball, unpredictability is the hallmark of modern electioneering. Before the balloting on November 7, oratorical triumphs and verbal blunders, strategic virtuosity and tactical ineptitude, are sure to provide enough twists of fate, bolts from the blue, and tremors in the political seismograph to humble the most seasoned political handicapper or academic analyst.

Aristotle's Tripod

For real insight into the candidates' respective personalities and chances of winning November's contest, it may be useful to turn from America's favorite pastime to the birthplace of democracy — ancient Greece. An apposite model for viewing the current contest was unwittingly proposed more than 2,500 years ago by the Greek philosopher, Aristotle. In The Rhethoric, he argued that persuasion relies on the interplay of three critical elements: a logical, coherent, well-reasoned argument (logos); the speaker's personal strength — especially his character (ethos); and the frame of mind and feelings of the audience (pathos). Aristotle's elegantly simple framework affirms what most of us suspect intuitively — that effective persuasion appeals to both the cognitive (informational) and affective (emotional) sides of our brains. Ultimately, the candidate who proves most adept at balancing these three rhetorical ingredients will win the laurel crown of persuasion — and the hearts and minds of the voters.

Viewing Vice President Al Gore and Governor George W. Bush through Aristotle's lens yields the unambiguous conclusion that the two candidates are virtual mirror images of one another.

Logos: Al Gore

Utterly devoted to logic and reason, Gore is perhaps the most logos-oriented presidential candidate in memory. He arms himself with hard facts, thinking and arguing deductively instead of inductively, anecdotally, or emotionally. If God is in the details, Mr. Logos need fear nothing from the Christian Right, for Gore revels in the intricacies of policy with an almost religious fervor. His penchant for complex scientific and technological issues — like energy, the environment, and arms control — is second only to his love of abstract intellectual concepts. Gore generally possesses a crusader's faith in the power of proof and reasoning and assumes that others will be similarly swayed by logical argument. Since the convention, Gore has tried to turn the race into a policy debate and an ideological one at that. In Gore's black-and-white view, "It all comes down to this: which side are you on?"

In fact, on many issues, the public is on his side. Polls have proven that voters see eye to eye with Gore on most of the key issues — health care, Social Security, education, gun control, abortion, taxes, and the budget surplus. As Aristotle reminds us, however, persuasion involves not only an audience's assessment of what we say, but also of who we are.

Gore's tripod leans too heavily on the logos leg. Without a redistribution of weight to the ethos side, his campaign could be in danger of toppling. As he accepted the nomination, Gore conceded that he is "not the most exciting politician." His ethos deficits go beyond a mere lack of showmanship, however. Ironically, his strong commitment to logos and his ability to construct tight, factual arguments may actually undermine his capacity to connect with the public. Gore's erudite, cerebral demeanor often comes across as pedantic. Similarly, his command of the issues and faith in the validity of his issue crusades often renders him arrogant and sanctimonious. By eschewing emotional or intuitive appeals in favor of logos-based arguments, the vice president projects a remote and impersonal image. As Gore himself has admitted, "Sometimes I turn too much to my head" in evaluating problems, rather than allowing himself "to feel the emotional dimension."

The ethos requirements of persuasion revolve around character and credibility, and while electioneering demands a heavy dose of theatricality from all candidates, Gore seems more scripted, rehearsed, and programmed — and therefore less believable — than many. But the vice president's less than stellar reputation for straight talk owes less to his delivery than to his actual tendency to stretch and embellish the truth, the most obvious instance of which is his infamous claim to have created the Internet. Gore has also changed his positions on some issues to suit the vicissitudes of his constituencies. This is a common enough practice among politicians, but it may have more severe effects on the public's already wary perception of the vice president's veracity.

Gore's character has been further tainted by the 1996 fundraising scandals, and his evasive, hair-splitting explanations on the subject haven't helped matters. Perhaps most damaging to his ethos, however, is a factor over which he has little control — his relationship to Bill Clinton. Whether public opinion will finally bequeath "the sins of the father" to Gore remains to be seen. His choice of Orthodox Jew and Clinton detractor Joe Lieberman as a running mate — and symbol of rectitude — may represent an earnest effort to strengthen his ethos and balance the tripod.

Ethos: George W. Bush

George W. Bush, on the other hand, is ethos incarnate. The amiable Texan's meteoric rise in American politics is a triumph of personality over policy. Spontaneous and unpretentious, the governor's good-old-boy demeanor and habit of bestowing nicknames on new acquaintances belies his patrician roots. Unlike the sometimes mean-spirited Gore, who has been known to pursue his opponents with the ferocity of a pit bull, George W. has fashioned a role for himself as the "kinder, gentler" candidate Bush. In the process, he has earned an increasingly elusive prize in today's politics: "likability." During a campaign swing to Texas, Gore hinted at the fundamental differences between his opponent and himself — logos versus ethos: "I understand that Governor Bush is a popular and well-liked governor here, and I want to give him some credit on that score. I think he has a warm and engaging personality, but, you know, the presidency is more than just a popularity contest."

Bush's firm grasp of ethos transcends mere affability. His promise to restore honor and dignity to the White House has hit a resonant chord; Bush has struck many as a credible candidate to redeem the sullied reputation of the office. On the character question, the governor actually appears to be something of a late bloomer. Nevertheless, his personal journey from a fairly undisciplined youth to a more sober and restrained maturity has elicited public admiration and even invited comparisons to Shakespeare's prince Hal, the rebellious son of Henry IV, who transformed himself from a dissolute lad into a model Christian monarch when he inherited the crown as Henry V.

One could argue that Bush's ethos track record has not been entirely perfect. Since the beginning of his campaign, pundits have carped that he lacks sufficient gravitas for the job, and his well-publicized inability to name several foreign heads of state prompted attacks on his intelligence. Obviously, the selection of seasoned veteran Dick Cheney as Bush's running mate was intended to alleviate these concerns. Bush also made a favorable impression at the convention with an intelligent and moving speech. Still, many Americans continue to wonder if he has "what it takes to be president," to quote Gore's press secretary. Sadly, when mere sound bites are offered up as genuine information, this negative impression is difficult to counteract. Hopefully, the debates will provide Bush with the chance to take his ethos to the next level.

If Al Gore is the most logos-oriented presidential candidate in memory, George W. Bush may be the least. Although both Democrats and Republicans who have worked with Bush say that he is actually smart, shrewd, and a quick study, he is not particularly interested in the details of public policy. Preferring to focus on "the big picture," he relies heavily on his staff to supply the specifics. His grasp of the substance of public policy, particularly foreign affairs, is tenuous at best.

Furthermore, Bush exhibits little taste for abstract concepts. Colleagues describe him as anti-intellectual, a label he wears as proudly as a rancher's belt buckle. He prefers a more intuitive and pragmatic approach over ideological or deductive reasoning, and he follows his instincts, which are neither rigid nor deeply partisan. Bush does hew the conservative line, but the closest he comes to any political philosophy is the non-doctrinaire amalgam "compassionate conservatism." Steadfast Republican conservatives have decided to suppress bedrock policy principles and give Bush greater ideological latitude in order to win back the White House.

The persuasive repertoires of the two candidates contrast sharply. Gore draws on an impressive command of logos, while showing little knack for ethos. Bush capitalizes on his ethos, while showing little appetite for logos. Meanwhile, Bill Clinton casts a long shadow over election 2000, having mesmerized Americans over eight sometimes turbulent years with an awesome mastery of both logos and ethos — logical argument and personal magnetism. One recent illustration of Clinton's rhetorical versatility was his valedictory address at the national Democratic convention. The New York Times called it "a reminder of Mr. Clinton's skills as an advocate who can both speak from the heart and argue a case through a series of logical points."

The Primacy of Pathos

Logos and ethos represent but two legs of Aristotle's tripod. In addition to the substantive merits of the argument and the personal strengths of the messenger, persuasion ultimately hinges on pathos — the attitudes and beliefs, hopes and fears, knowledge and emotions — that an audience brings to the table.

The two campaigns confront a multitude of challenging pathos questions: In a time of peace and prosperity, with few burning issues at stake, are voters more concerned with logos or ethos, ideology or temperament? Can Gore embrace the prosperity bequeathed by Clinton but otherwise escape Clinton's negative legacy? Will Gore's populist theme ("They're for the powerful and we're for the people") not only energize core Democratic voters, but also attract moderate swing voters? Or will this message sound divisive to a public weary of partisan bickering? Does the public perceive George Bush's pet theme of "inclusiveness" as genuine, or as a rhetorical illusion? These are crucial questions that will require hitting the thematic chords that resonate with the public mood, and it will not be an easy task.

Bush and Gore have a handy weapon in their campaign arsenals for measuring pathos: polls, the modern day oracles that provide daily illumination of voter attitudes and intentions. Publicly, the Bush and Gore campaigns scoff at polling. "The only meaningful poll is on election day," says the Bush campaign. "The vice president does not waste time and resources in analyzing polls," says the Gore campaign. But while they dismiss polls, both campaigns invest heavily in them and monitor them closely. Neither campaign would choose to do battle without a pollster in its holster. As valuable as polls are, however, they are not neat and thorough solutions to the ancient challenge of intuiting pathos. That mysterious art still depends on the shrewdness and judgment of perceptive political leaders.

Bill Clinton has shown a remarkable aptitude for pathos. He possesses an uncannily sensitive radar for seeing the world through others' eyes, which is the deepest form of pathos — empathy. Clinton's pitch is not perfect. For example, it eluded him during the battle for health care reform. But his ear is generally tuned to the needs and concerns of his constituents. It is perhaps Clinton's fine-tuned sense of pathos that gives him such a facility with logos and ethos. His highly-evolved sense of his audience's predispositions informs his arguments, allowing him to tailor his rhetoric to address their concerns. This, in turn, has a positive effect on the public's perception of his sensitivity. In this manner, a firm grip on pathos sets the cycle of persuasion in motion. Therefore, pathos will undoubtedly be the deciding factor in the presidential race. The campaign that can gauge the temper of the times most accurately will almost certainly master the other elements of Aristotle's tripod and emerge from the fray victorious.

We live in a world competing for our attention with a daily barrage of easy answers, and candidates seeking to bring voters into their fold are not immune to these forces. Aristotle's tripod reminds us of a deceptively simple truth — putting too much weight on one leg eventually lands you on the floor. Persuasion requires more than knowing how much the polar ice cap has melted, more than assigning folksy nicknames, and more than convincing an audience that you "feel [their] pain." An election campaign, like life, is a great balancing act.

Who, you ask, will win this November — Gore or Bush? Casey Stengel's admonition against predictions notwithstanding, I believe the victorious candidate will be the one who clearly understands and adroitly blends the persuasive elements of logos, ethos, and pathos.

Gary Orren is a professor of public policy at the Kennedy School. He currently is writing a book on persuasion.