By Michael Kelman Portney

Donald Trump is many things: a billionaire, a reality TV star, a former president, future President, and walking controversy. But one thing he is not is a rhetorician in the classical sense. He couldn't tell you what ethos, pathos, or logos mean—let alone how to balance them in a speech. And yet, his instinctual command of rhetoric has made him one of the most effective communicators in modern history. The irony is that, for all his success, Trump’s lack of intellectual rigor holds him back. If he were smarter, he might not just dominate the news cycle—he might dominate the world.

Trump’s Accidental Mastery of Pathos

Aristotle would have marveled at Trump’s instinctive grasp of pathos, the appeal to emotion. Trump’s speeches aren’t designed to inform; they’re designed to ignite. He doesn’t present facts—he conjures feelings. Whether he’s evoking fear of immigrants (“They’re bringing drugs, they’re bringing crime”) or rallying pride in his audience (“You’re the forgotten Americans”), Trump is a maestro of emotional manipulation.

But unlike a classical rhetorician, Trump doesn’t wield pathos with precision; he swings it like a wrecking ball. He’s not trying to persuade the skeptical or win over the undecided. His goal is simpler: whip his supporters into a frenzy and leave everyone else too outraged or exhausted to counter him effectively. It works—until it doesn’t.

A smarter Trump would understand that emotional appeals are more persuasive when paired with reason and credibility. Instead, his pathos is untethered, leading to chaotic messaging and alienation of anyone outside his base.

Ethos: Confidence as a Substitute for Credibility

Trump’s ethos—the appeal to authority and credibility—is both his Achilles’ heel and his superpower. He has little conventional ethos: no military service, no record of public service before his presidency, and a penchant for lying that undermines his credibility. Yet, Trump projects confidence so effectively that many see him as the only man for the job.

When Trump says, “I alone can fix it,” he’s not making a logical argument; he’s making a primal appeal to ethos through sheer bravado. His branding as an outsider, a disruptor, and a “winner” reinforces this manufactured authority.

A more self-aware Trump could have built genuine ethos by tempering his ego, aligning with credible experts, or demonstrating a consistent moral compass. Instead, he relies on projection: "I say I’m great, therefore I am." It’s a house of cards, and when it collapses, it leaves him vulnerable.

Logos: The Illusion of Logic

Logos, the appeal to logic, is Trump’s weakest suit. His arguments are riddled with contradictions, factual inaccuracies, and blatant oversimplifications. Yet, for his audience, this doesn’t matter. Trump has mastered the art of creating the illusion of logic.

He doesn’t explain policies in detail; he offers soundbites that resonate emotionally but mimic logical structure. “Build the wall.” “Stop the steal.” “Make America great again.” These slogans feel logical because they provide simple solutions to complex problems.

But without genuine logos to back them up, Trump’s rhetoric collapses under scrutiny. A smarter Trump could have used logos to craft detailed policies and present coherent arguments that appealed to moderates and skeptics. Instead, he dismisses complexity, leaning entirely on emotional appeals and sheer force of personality.

The Bullshitter’s Craft

Let’s be honest: Trump’s greatest rhetorical skill is bullshitting. He’s a master at deflection, distraction, and creating enough chaos to obscure the truth. This isn’t Aristotle’s rhetoric—it’s improvisational theater. Trump doesn’t argue; he overwhelms.

This approach works because it bypasses intellectual resistance and goes straight to the gut. But it’s a double-edged sword. While bullshitting is effective in the short term, it erodes trust and credibility over time. A smarter Trump would understand when to switch gears, using genuine arguments to solidify his position rather than relying on perpetual chaos.

What If Trump Were Smarter?

Here’s the unsettling thought: if Trump had the intellectual discipline to study and refine his rhetorical instincts, he’d be far more effective—and far more dangerous.

• A smarter Trump would balance pathos with logos, creating emotional appeals grounded in reason.

• He’d build real ethos, collaborating with credible figures and crafting a more consistent moral narrative.

• He’d know when to bullshit and when to be serious, adapting his style to different audiences and contexts.

Instead, Trump remains a creature of instinct: a natural rhetorician whose raw talent is both his strength and his limitation.

Why This Matters

Understanding Trump’s rhetorical style isn’t just an academic exercise—it’s a survival skill. Whether you support him or oppose him, knowing how he operates allows you to see through the noise and focus on what truly matters.

Trump isn’t a genius or a fool. He’s a creature of instinct, thriving on chaos and emotion. If he were smarter, he’d be unstoppable. But perhaps it’s his very limitations that keep him human—and keep the rest of us safe.

Michael Kelman Portney is a philosopher, satirist, and rhetorical strategist. For more biting commentary, visit misinformationsucks.com.