If you were to ask some ancient Romans about US presidential candidate Donald Trump’s rhetoric, they would probably say that what he lacks in eloquence, he makes up for with his command over his audience’s emotions.
Trump’s strategy throughout the 2024 campaign revolves around stoking voters’ anger, fears and insecurities. By all accounts, the strategy works: voters are expressing strong emotional reactions to Trump’s potential re-election, and, until the announcement of vice-president Kamala Harris’ candidacy, Trump led several national polls. Although Harris is now pulling ahead in some states.
These techniques would be all too familiar to those living under Roman control who regularly heard speeches from their leaders. Much of Trump’s rhetorical style is recommended in treatises written by the Roman statesman, Marcus Tullius Cicero, over 2,000 years ago. In his treatise On The Ideal Orator, written in 55 BC, Cicero wrote that emotional arguments were especially effective for winning over a crowd, saying:
Mankind makes far more decisions through hatred, or love, or desire, or anger, or grief, or joy, or hope, or fear, or error, or some other affection of mind, than from regard to truth, or any settled maxim, or principle of right, or judicial reform, or adherence to the laws.
Trump’s appeals to emotions therefore follow a millennia-old tradition of speech-making. Ancient theory helps us understand why these ignite our emotions.
Remembered conversations
A staple strategy in Trump’s political rhetoric is to use his version of past conversations. At a rally in Michigan on July 20, for example, Trump recalled conversations with leaders including French president Emmanuel Macron.
Roman rhetoric refers to the practice of presenting conversations in a speech as sermocinatio. Sermocinatio helps emphasise claims made by a speaker, and appeals to the emotions by providing vivid narratives of events.
Trump’s stories about conversations put words into others’ mouths to build up his image. For example, Trump characterises Macron as subservient to him. This projects Trump’s strength as a leader, and appeals to the emotions of an audience who are increasingly concerned with America’s global strength.
Questioning identity
Vice-president Kamala Harris’s candidacy has highlighted another common Trump tactic: the mispronunciation of her name. Trump’s tactic has been criticised for attempting to characterise Harris as un-American. Roman rhetorical theory shows how this works. Cicero’s treatise On Invention notes that inferences may be drawn about people based on attributes such as their name. Cicero gives the example of a man named Caldus (“hot”, in Latin), who could be criticised for being hot-headed. Other examples also occurred of men being criticised for having names which were considered too Greek, which made them appear “un-Roman”.
Trump’s refusal to pronounce the name Kamala correctly, and his statement that there are several pronunciations, suggest her name is somehow “un-American”. He has also questioned her racial identity, suggesting she only recently “became a Black person”.
With this, Trump attempts to fuel fear and anger which are associated with anti-immigrant positions. Similarly, at the 2024 Bitcoin Conference, Trump criticised Senator Elizabeth Warren’s claim to Native American heritage, calling her “Pocahontas.” The contrast between this racially charged characterisation of Warren, and Trump’s statement that Warren “ hates your people,” sends a clear message of division. There’s a suggestion here that if you vote for “others” such as Harris and Warren, you are not American.
Showing off an injury
Trump’s campaigns have always featured a notable visual element. Recently, he appeared at the Republican National Convention wearing a prominent bandage following the attempted assassination on Trump in Pennsylvania in July.
Displaying an injury is not a new strategy. The historian Plutarch observed that political candidates would wear togas without tunics underneath, exposing their battle-scarred chests as marks of courage.
Roman rhetorical treatises generally avoided discussions of theatrics: they were considered inappropriate because they relied on emotional manipulation instead of logical argument. However, these theatrics still happened: the Romans knew that visual shorthands prompted audiences to remember certain events or to feel a certain way.
For example, battle scars indicate their bearer’s virtue by demonstrating the sacrifices they would make for their people, as well as their courage as a fighter.
After the assassination attempt, Trump and his supporters started wearing bandages on their ears to public events. The bandage projects a similar image to the Romans without togas. It invites the audience to recall the anger and fear experienced from these events. At the same time, Trump’s presence at the convention, despite his injury, was a symbol of strength. He had been attacked for representing the people, but he would continue fighting. The visual imagery of the bandage, like many other elements of Trump’s campaign, plays into his supporters’ anger and fear, and offers his presidency as a solution to them.
Roman rhetorical theory tells us that emotions are a valuable tool for winning people over, more so than logical arguments. Trump appears to have mastered the rhetorical playbook in this sense: many of his methods for mobilising his audience link directly to ancient Roman ideas. Emotional appeals are not exclusive to Trump’s campaign – in fact, it is a growing trend among right-wing parties worldwide.
But, we should remember that while Roman theory discusses the manipulation of audiences’ emotions, it also warns us about just how dangerous this can be. Cicero’s On the Ideal Orator is not just a handbook for how to win over an audience, but a discussion of the morals a leader should possess: a leader with the skill to sway an audience but without the morals to guide them in the right direction is a dangerous prospect for any nation.
Cicero might have been impressed with Trump’s rhetorical appeals to emotion, but he would certainly have been wary of the morality of using such techniques.
Tyler Broome does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
