The most underrated figure of speech

Soldiers used it going into battle. I've used it going into a workout.

The orators in ancient Greece and Rome recognized the magic of rhythm. They noticed that the cadence of an expression could have a huge influence on an audience[. Cicero was especially fond of one of the more powerful rhythms, the paean. We think of the paean today as a song or poem that praises, gives thanks, or celebrates a triumph. But it first meant words that heal. The original Paean was a Greek god who served as official physician to the immortals on Olympus. He became associated with language that warded off evil or injury. Soldiers would chant paeans as they went into battle, asking Apollo or Thanatos, the god of death, to spare them.

For maximum effect, a paean had to be expressed in prescribed rhythms. Cicero wrote that one kind of paean began with a long syllable followed by three short ones: Stop doing it. Get on to it. Press down on it. Another kind consisted of several short syllables: Beaten them all; clatter of hooves. Combine the two and you have a convincing spell. Given its ability to stir the blood, soldiers began using the paean as a rhythmic chant to gin up their courage as they marched into battle. They called this particular war cry paean a slogan.

While the rhythms in Greek and Latin seem foreign to us, our brains have changed little over the centuries. Cicero called the paean a “heroic” rhythm, quoting Homer’s description of Apollo: Golden-haired far-shooter, son of Zeus. You could almost imagine classics majors chanting that in a basketball game. We can still find English versions of the slogan-style paean in the nerdy college football chant: Repel them, repel them, make them relinquish the ball! Activists are especially fond of the protest paean: What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now! And you can hear it in the empowering song: Hit the road, Jack / Don’t you come back no mo’!

There must be a reason that the device pops up over the millennia, in languages around the world. The paean seems to make an excellent command: “Hey, you. Pay attention!” In some settings, it can come across as noble. And in our own capitalist economy, paeans worked their magic to foster whole industries.

Lay’s potato chips: Betcha can’t eat just one.

This classic paean starts with three short syllables, then applies the brakes with three long ones. The hugely successful slogan seems creepy today, given America’s addiction crisis—not to mention the snack food industry’s deliberate approach to making its products addictive. With its Lay’s potato chips, Frito-Lay actually bragged about it. One chip will get you hooked! Lay’s, the gateway snack! When Pringles came along, its agency’s copywriters saw a good thing in the competition. They came up with “Once you pop, you can’t stop.” This rhyming paean—three short syllables, then another three—tells consumers that popping the vacuum-sealed lid of a Pringle’s can opens a delightful Pandora’s box of addiction. Do these slogans make all that much sense? No matter. Lay’s sold $4 billion worth of unstoppable chips in 2023. Pringles took in $1.3 billion. Pure magic.

The New York Times: All the News That’s Fit to Print.

Another paean. It also composes an isocolon—two equal clauses expressing opposite things—in balanced phrases: “All the news,” then a “That’s” for a fulcrum, followed by “fit to print.” This worthy expression has stuck around since 1896, when it won a contest held by owner Adolph Ochs. The slogan beat some alliterative competition, including “News, Not Nausea” and “Fresh Facts Free from Filth.” There’s a lesson here. Mediocre writers often turn to alliteration when they feel desperate for a bit of wit. But alliteration is one of the weaker figurative elements. It can help you remember a concept, but not to believe in it. Rhythm and repetition have a more unconscious sticky effect. What’s more, “All the News That’s Fit to Print” arguably affected the company’s entire ethos by implying that the Times was the newspaper of record, the first draft of history, encompassing all that was happening—minus the nauseating and filthy.

Nike: Just Do It.

The three short words employ sharp consonants, coming down hard on the action verb. It cuts Cicero’s first kind of paean by skipping the last syllable; he probably would have preferred “Just Conquer It.” But the slogan follows Aristotle’s advice to make the first step of any enterprise seem easy. The just is a trigger. No thinking. Take the plunge. Marketing historians point to a grim origin for this slogan. Legendary ad executive Dan Wieden got the idea from the murderer Gary Gilmore, who in 1977 became the first person in ten years to be executed in this country. Gilmore faced his firing squad and said, “Let’s do it.” And so this murderous drifter coined three of the most famous last words. Wieden used it to craft the greatest command in advertising history.

Why spend all this time on the paean? And how on earth could you and I come up with the sort of war cry that earns brilliant marketing minds the big money? Granted, the best slogans are not easy to make. But with repetition, they can lubricate our habits and enforce belief in our goals. If a few rhythmic words can conjure up whole junk food empires, think what they can do for you and me.

One way to craft your own paean is to imitate an existing one. Take the M&Ms slogan with its Beethoven beat:

Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

The short-short-short-long rhythm can serve as a reminder motto to keep you focused. An antithetical isocolon can also correct your form in any physical activity. I use this paean to adjust my terrible posture:

Head on a swivel, not in my lap.

For some reason (my unhealthy profession most likely), I look down when I walk or run, and my head tends to droop lower as I go. The slogan puts my head in the right place, both figuratively and literally. The antithesis—do this, not that—can be annoying. But the rhythm lets you bounce past the command and right into action.